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~.*.~
The mission was a resounding success, and what better way to celebrate the night than with a victory meal?
Al-Haitham isn't too surprised at Kaveh's offer to pay for dinner. Their heist assignments paid handsomely, after all—Al-Haitham wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise, for all the trouble.
But while at the counter, Kaveh suddenly leans conspiratorially towards him, breath tickling at his ear now. "You're convincingly melodramatic when you want to be. It’s like watching an amazing theatre unfold back there, heh... The King never saw that coming!"
Caught off guard (and almost, almost flattered) by this sudden praise, Al-Haitham finds himself going down on one knee just as Kaveh passes the bucket of fried chicken towards him, the words leaving his lips before he even realises it: "We're getting married."
Kaveh nearly drops the iced pineapple coffee that Diluc hands to him. Luckily, he only accidentally splashes it all over Diluc's apron instead.
"W-What??" Kaveh splutters in shock, swivelling his head back to where Al-Haitham is still kneeling before him. His crimson gaze widen further when Al-Haitham's expression softens then into the barest of smiles, the resolve in those too-intelligent teal eyes unwavering.
"We're getting married," Al-Haitham says again, this time with conviction, the bucket of fried chicken held up to Kaveh like the most garish of bouquets.
The perfectionist aesthete in Kaveh is already internally screaming at what's possibly the ugliest proposal flowers in existence. But the sensitive old soul within his heart falters just as quickly at the sight, almost bursting with smug joy.
"Hmph!" He scoffs haughtily, even if he doesn’t hide the grin that’s flitting over his face. He accepts the bucket and Al-Haitham's hand, pulling the other man to his side once more. "Of course we are getting married—Who else would be able to put up with your constant roguery and awful personality?"
Al-Haitham only exhales a soft huff of amusement. "Who else but you, indeed. Well, it's settled then."
Across the counter, Diluc clears his throat impatiently at them, his scowl as frosty as Dragonspine's glacial chill. "You're holding up the queue. Please pay and then get out." He pauses, then adds for good measure: "Also, physical canoodling is not allowed on the premises."
Thankfully, the two overdressed weirdos paid and left swiftly in whirl of clinking ornaments and bright fabrics with their newly procured fried chicken, hand-in-hand in bliss.
Diluc lets out another tired sigh. He definitely isn't getting paid enough for this.
—End—