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Jordan flips the waffle maker and smiles at his reflection in the kitchen window.
He loves this. It smells like home, but not his home. Not muddy cleats and Jodie’s bubble bath, the scent of his childhood. No, it smells like Virgil’s home - damp grass and earthy river water, cinnamon syrup and sweet floral perfume.
The home that he invited Jordan to, where his entire family opened their arms with a warm welcome.
Not this home, the one that they’ve created for themselves, but home nonetheless. Hundreds of miles away, but still there waiting for them like a refuge when it gets too hard to breathe.
Jordan never thought he’d find anything like this.
He still remembers the first time Virgil’s mum taught him to make stroopwafel. Remembers promising Virgil he’d be okay at home while the younger man went to see some childhood friends, remembers the pout on his boyfriend’s face at the thought of leaving him. Remembers being nervous, for some reason, at being left alone with his almost mother-in-law, but he didn’t need to be. Hellen treated him like he was one of her own, insisted on teaching him some recipes.
Jordan never could cook, but he tried his best with the stroopwafels. Wanted to give Virgil a piece of home whenever he could.
It’s a regular treat now. One that they hide from the nutritionist, but Jordan can’t resist the smile on Virgil’s face whenever he wakes up to the scent of freshly baked stroopwafel.
“God,” Virgil says suddenly, back in the present where Jordan is scooping hot waffles onto a plate. He pads further into the kitchen and wraps his arms around Jordan’s waist, nuzzling into his neck like he belongs there. “You’re so good to me.”
“Always,” Jordan says, twisting slightly to press a gentle kiss to Virgil’s cheek. “Love you.”
There’s silence for a moment, comfortable and settling into the spaces between Jordan’s ribs. He doesn’t know how he ever considered leaving this. This city, this safe space, this man. He could never, ever give this up. Even when he was inside his own head and thinking that the answer was waiting for him between the sand grains of the Middle East - he knew, deep down, that this was it.
“Marry me,” Virgil whispers, out of the blue. Jordan’s not quite sure he heard him right, opens his mouth to clarify, but then ––
“Marry me, Jordan Henderson.”
The silence gets even more deafening, somehow.
“I––” Jordan says, twisting in Virgil’s arms to face him. He knows his jaw is on the floor, but he can’t pick it up. “What?”
“Marry me,” Virgil repeats. There’s a nervous look on his face, one that’s not there often. Jordan wants to kiss it away, so he does.
“You – you don’t even have a ring,” Jordan chokes out, shock still squeezing his heart tight. “Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee?”
Virgil pauses for a moment, swallows nervously. “Wait here,” he says, clutching Jordan’s hand for a split second, and then he’s gone.
Jordan counts the sounds of his own heart beating until he’s back.
Watches Virgil drop to one knee, ring box open in his hand.
“Jordan Brian Henderson,” Virgil says softly. There’s a determined look on his face now, and Jordan falls in love with him all over again. “I love you. I love your smile and your heart and the way you cook me stroopwafel even though it’s not on the diet plan. I love that you put your cold feet on me in bed and spend ten minutes cuddling me to warm me up after a training session in the winter. I love that you love me like you do, so intensely, so gently, so sincerely. I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side. So will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Jordan breathes, without a second thought.
Yes. The answer will always be yes.
Virgil beams and eases the ring out of the box, sliding it onto Jordan’s finger with shaky hands. It’s a perfect fit, and it looks like it belongs there already. A tear falls down his cheek and Virgil climbs to his feet to wipe it away.
“How long have you had this?” Jordan whispers, turning his wrist to watch the platinum band catch in the light.
“A month after our first date,” Virgil says, thumb smoothing over the ring like a reflex. “I knew I was going to marry you the moment I met you.”
“But that’s like––” Jordan starts, then pauses to do the mental calculations in his head. “You’ve had it for eighteen months?”
“Yeah,” Virgil admits. There’s a sheepish smile on his face, cheeks flushed pink, and Jordan reaches up to stroke the reddened skin. He has never, ever felt so loved. “I take it everywhere with me. Training, games, Europe aways. On holiday and back home to see mama. Waiting for the right time, but I was always overthinking it. Took it everywhere with me, and now you get to take it everywhere with you.”
“Why now?” Jordan whispers.
“It just felt… natural. Like, I saw you standing there, making my favourite food and –– I knew, without a doubt, that this was my future,” Virgil says. “This is going to be my forever. I knew you wouldn’t say no. It just made sense.”
Jordan surges up to kiss him, hard and dizzying and breathless.
Forever. He likes the sound of that.
“I love you,” he whispers, cupping both of Virgil’s cheeks and resting their foreheads together. “Husband.”
Husband.
Forever.