Photo from @ThatEricAlper
Tony put his hands over his mouth. Jim held up his cell, the screen serving as proof. Confirmation. They jumped into each other’s arms. Overhead, the Empire State Building celebrated in all the colors of the rainbow.
“Wait,” Jim said into his ear, pushing away. “I’ve got to do this the right way.”
Jim fell to a knee, like he always did before push-ups. Except tonight his hands reached into his pocket and pulled out an elegant jewelry box.
“Anthony Harris, will you…”
Tony could scarcely hear the proposal over the honking horns and screaming tweens. Instead he read Jim’s features, the enthusiasm that was honestly too rare now blooming in his lips. As he mouthed the words, Tony watched the nicotine stains on his front teeth. God, he just would not quit menthols. He could smell it from here – shit, the smell had even gotten on his own shirt from the hug.
His lips stopped moving. His eyes were urging for a response, deaf to the general deafness in New York City tonight. Even that expression was too familiar. He just looked at you like you were supposed to give him what he wanted now.
Whether Jim heard him or not, he reached out and touched the box, saying, “You know Jim, we never talked about…”
And for the first time in New York State, a gay man wondered if he couldn’t do better. Speaking legally.