You sat on your porch waiting for Bruce. He was late. Not even just a few minutes late, not at all.

Two hours. Two hours you'd been sitting on your front porch, waiting for him to magically appear and say something witty like, "Sorry, my watch was off a little bit."

It wasn't quite summer yet, around late April, but it was an unusually hot night. You'd actually attempted to make yourself look nice with eyeliner, mascara, the works. But by now, with two hours of sitting in the evening sun, it would be gone, replaced with the sweat that drenched your whole body.

The skirt and leggings you wore had become uncomfortably hot, and it became unbearable. You went inside and changed into your usual attire before settling into your sofa.

It hurt. You had been stood up by your boyfriend of a year and a half, best friend of even longer, and it hurt. You wiped a silent tear from your eye as you opened Netflix and cradled the pillow. You had gotten only a minute into an episode of (favorite TV show) before the doorbell rang and there was a frantic knocking on the door.

You scowled as you looked through the peephole.

"Well, look who decided to show up," you almost snarled through the closed door. Bruce stood on the welcome mat, obviously feeling UNwelcomed and guilty. He pulled at his shirt collar.

"I'm so so SO sorry, Y/n. Please, can you just open the door?"

"Lemme think about it... Nope," you said, popping the p. You went back to your couch.

"Y/n! I'm sorry, okay? I had to do something. I swear I tried to hurry, but it simply was something that had to be perfect, otherwise it wouldn't have been good at all," he yelled through the door.

"Bye, Bruce!" you simply stated before resuming the episode of your show.

"Then I'll just wait out here until you open the door," he spoke with a thump following his words. You rolled your eyes. You weren't opening that door, not for a while, and he wouldn't stay that long.

You fixed your dinner of popcorn and pizza from the fridge while you watched TV. Around nine, you couldn't resist. You had to see if Bruce was still out there.

You stood on your tiptoes to see through the peephole. You nearly gasped. There Bruce was still sitting, playing with the cuff of his khakis pants. The flowers sat beside him, his hand still at the ready to grab them if you chose to open the door.

You turned away from the door. You were still mad, you decided. Plus a new episode had started, and you really didn't want to miss it. You went to the couch to watch it and did- but you found yourself a bit preoccupied, glancing at the door every few minutes.

The night seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, it was one in the morning. You shut off the TV, and without any thought to anything but being exhausted, you fell asleep on the couch.

~•~

You woke with a start. You didn't know why, you hadn't had any bad dreams you could remember and you slept relatively well for winding up on the couch.

You sat up to see the time. Eleven A.M., of course you slept for what seemed like forever. You glanced across the room, trying to grasp the night before from your memory. (You were not a morning person, and many things were impossible without your mug of coffee.)

You went into the kitchen to get your coffee and when you came out, your foot hit something very not-carpet-like. You looked down to see your dress, crumpled and wrinkled from spending the night on the floor.

Your dress! You nearly broke your coffee cup because you slammed it so hard on your coffee table and ran to the door. You looked through the peephole for the third time.

You did gasp this time. Still out there, ever faithful. Bruce was asleep against the door, one hand wrapped around the bouquet of flowers and the other in his pocket.

"Bruce," you whispered out his name, full of emotions- joy, self-deprecation, sadness, anger. He seemed to stir. You unlocked the door, and he moved again.

"Bruce, wake up," you said through the door. He opened his eyes, startled that the door behind him was moving.

"Oh. Did I...? I guess I did," he groggily spoke as he rubbed his eyes. You wrapped your arms around him.

"I didn't think you'd stay."

"For you, Y/n, I would do anything. I'm so so so very sorry I was late. It's just that I had to get something before I came and I had chosen a bad time to get it. I would've planned it, you know me, with the little details that must be perfect. But I felt an impulse," Bruce explained as he stood up, pulling you up with him. You silently invited him in and he walked in after you.

"But why didn't you just tell me where you were?" you inquired. He laughed.

"Couldn't say, it would ruin the surprise. Now, I'm gonna ask you. Can we forget yesterday and do this again?" he asked. You nodded and he smiled brightly. "Great! So I will see you at exactly 5:30... I'll be there this time, I swear."

He left after bidding you goodbye, and the day flew by. The time arrived, and as he had promised twice, Bruce showed up at exactly 5:30 on the dot.

He took you to dinner, which seemed pretty normal, except his hand was in his pocket the whole time.

"Hey, are you okay? Does your hand hurt or something? I have meds in my purse if you need 'em," you asked, to which he shook his head quickly.

"I'm nervous, that's all. I'm not sure how to ask you how to marry me," he explained, and you nodded.

"Wait, what?!" you said after you realized what he'd said, and Bruce cringed.

"Ah, crap. I was gonna wait 'till we got to your house! I'm an idiot," he whispered, pulling out a ring box from his pocket and slamming it on the table.

"Careful there, Bruce! That's my engagement ring, isn't it? I can't say yes to a broken ring," you joked. He smiled and opened the box to reveal the most beautiful ring and you took it, sliding it on your finger. "You aren't anything but in love, silly... You're not an idiot."