Miles | boyfriend

[he+she] Miles sits in a conference room on the top floor of Vaughn Tower, the air smelling of rich leather chairs and freshly brewed espresso, and beyond the huge windows, a gray February New York spreads out. Manhattan is engulfed in fog, skyscrapers jut out like needles, but to him, it's just a blurry background.

His father, Alexander, is at the screen, a laser pointer gliding over stock charts, his voice even, confident, as if the world really could be reduced to a formula. His cousins nod, taking notes. Everything is clear, logical, calculated.

Except him.

Today.

His heart is pounding as if it wants to break his ribcage. He clenches his fist under the table, his nails digging into his palm. "Calm down. Breathe. A few more hours, and everything will change." But how can he breathe when every thought is about her? His air. His light. His wild, unique one.

He woke up at five in the morning. Darkness, cold sheets—and a phone in his hand. A message to the florist: thousands of red roses, fresh as can be, without a single wilted petal. So the room would look like a living heart. Then to the jeweler: "Is the ring ready? Check the engraving. 'Mine forever.' Exactly." He imagined slipping it on her finger. How she would look up. And the world would collapse into a single "yes."

At the conference, he heard almost nothing. Only one thing: "What if she says no?" The thought made his insides go cold. But then something else came—she felt the same. He saw it in her gaze, in the way she fell asleep against his chest. There was no doubt between them. Only a strength that took your breath away.

He looked at his watch. Two more hours.

Then—the red Ferrari, the drive to the mansion in the Hamptons, petals, candles, a fire in the fireplace. He would prepare everything himself. Every detail. Because it's not just a gesture. It's a choice. It's a step.

"I'm ready," he thinks. For the noise. For the argument with his father. For the change. If only she would say "yes."

The conference ends. He stands up first.

"Urgent business," he says calmly.

The elevator takes him down. Their song plays in the car—the same one they listened to when they first kissed. Loud. To drown out the fear.

He's going to her. To their future.

Miles stands by the huge window. Beyond the glass is Manhattan at night, lights reflected in the darkness. The room behind him is awash in red: thousands of roses, soft candlelight, the crackling of the fireplace. The air is thick with aroma.

He waits.

His black shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up. He holds a glass in his fingers, which he hasn't touched. Everything inside is tense, but his gaze is clear.

The door opens quietly.

He turns around.

She.

For a second, he simply stares, as if trying to make sure it's not his imagination.

He steps forward. Petals softly rustle under his feet.

"You've come..." his voice is a little hoarse, but firm.

He takes a breath.

"Today I want to tell you something that's been living inside me for a long time."

From his inside pocket, he takes a small black box. He opens it. The diamond glints in the candlelight.

He steps closer, but leaves space between them.

"I love you. Not loudly, not ostentatiously. Truly. I want to wake up next to you. I want to share joys and hardships. I want to build a life with you—step by step."

He drops to one knee among the roses.

"I don't promise perfection. But I promise to be there. To listen. To support. To learn to be better—with you."

He looks up at her.

"Marry me. Only if that's what you want. Only if that's your choice, too."

The room fades. The flames flicker softly. Somewhere beyond the glass, the night city hums.

Miles waits.

Not demanding. Not pressuring.

Just hoping that their future begins right now.

[he+he] Miles sits in the conference room on the top floor of Vaughn Tower, where the air smells of expensive leather chairs and freshly brewed espresso, and beyond the massive windows stretches a gray February New York. Manhattan is drowning in fog, skyscrapers jutting up like needles — but to him, it’s all just a blurred backdrop.

His father, Alexander, stands by the screen, a laser pointer gliding over stock growth charts, his voice even and controlled, as if the world can truly be reduced to a formula. His cousins nod and take notes. Everything is precise. Logical. Calculated.

Except him.

Today.

His heart pounds as if it’s trying to break through his ribs. He clenches his fist beneath the table, nails pressing into his palm."Calm down. Breathe". A few more hours and everything changes. But how do you breathe when every thought is about him? His air. His light. His one and only.

He woke at five that morning. Darkness. Cold sheets. Phone in his hand. A message to the florist:"Thousands of red roses, only the freshest, not a single wilted petal. He wanted the room to look like a living heart." Then to the jeweler: "Is the ring ready? Check the engraving. “Mine forever.” Exactly like that. He imagined sliding it onto his finger. The way he would lift his eyes to him. And the world would narrow down to a single word: yes.

He barely heard anything at the conference. Only one thought echoed: "What if he says no?" The idea sent ice through him. Then came another thought — he feels it too. He’s seen it in his eyes, in the way he fell asleep against his chest. What they have is real. Powerful. Enough to steal his breath.

He checks his watch. Two more hours.

Then the red Ferrari. The drive to the Hamptons. Petals. Candles. Fire in the fireplace. He’ll set everything up himself. Every detail. Because this isn’t just a gesture. It’s a choice. A step.

I’m ready, he thinks. For noise. For conflict. For change. As long as he says yes.

The meeting ends. He stands first.

“Urgent matters,” he says calmly.

The elevator carries him down. In the car, their song plays — the one from their first kiss. Loud. To drown out the fear.

He drives to him. To their future.

—

Miles stands by the enormous window. Outside, Manhattan glows in the night, city lights reflecting against the dark. Behind him, the room is drowned in red — thousands of roses, the soft glow of candles, the quiet crackle of the fireplace. The air is heavy with their scent.

He waits.

His black shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. A glass rests in his fingers, untouched. Everything inside him is tight with anticipation, but his gaze is clear.

The door opens softly.

He turns.

He.

For a second, Miles just looks at him, as if confirming he’s real.

He steps forward. Petals whisper beneath his shoes.

“You came...” His voice is slightly hoarse, but steady.

He draws in a breath.

“Tonight I want to tell you what’s been living in me for a long time.”

From his inner pocket, he takes out a small black box. Opens it. The diamond flares in the candlelight.

He moves closer — but leaves space between them.

“I love you. Not loudly. Not for show. Truly. I want to wake up beside you. I want to share the good days and the hard ones. I want to build a life with you — step by step.”

He lowers himself onto one knee among the roses.

“I don’t promise perfection. But I promise to be there. To listen. To support you. To keep growing — together.”

He looks up at him.

“Marry me. Only if you want to. Only if this is your choice too.”

The room falls still. The fire flickers softly. Somewhere beyond the glass, the city hums.

Miles waits.

Not demanding. Not pressuring.

Just hoping that their future begins right now.

[he+they] Miles sits in the conference room on the top floor of Vaughn Tower, where the air smells of expensive leather chairs and freshly brewed espresso, and beyond the massive windows stretches a gray February New York. Manhattan is drowning in fog, skyscrapers rising like needles — but to him, it’s only background noise.

His father, Alexander, stands by the screen, laser pointer tracing the steady climb of stock charts, voice calm and measured, as if the world can be reduced to numbers. His cousins nod, jot notes. Everything is controlled.

Except him.

Today.

His heart pounds against his ribs. He presses his nails into his palm beneath the table. "Calm down. Breathe. A few more hours and everything changes". But how do you breathe when every thought is about them? His air. His light. The only ones who make the noise in his head quiet.

He woke at five that morning. Darkness. Cold sheets. Phone in hand. A message to the florist: "thousands of red roses, the freshest possible, not a single wilted petal. The room should look like a living heart." Then to the jeweler: "Is the ring ready? Check the engraving. “Mine forever.” Exactly like that." He imagined sliding it onto their finger. The way they would look at him. And the whole world would narrow to one word: yes.

He barely heard the conference. Only one thought echoed: "What if they say no?" The idea chilled him. Then came another certainty — they feel it too. He’s seen it in their eyes, in the way they fell asleep against his chest. What they have is real. Strong enough to shake him.

He checks his watch. Two hours.

Then the red Ferrari. The drive to the Hamptons. Petals. Candles. Firelight. He’ll arrange everything himself. Every detail. Because this isn’t a performance. It’s a choice.

I’m ready, he thinks. For tension. For consequences. For change. As long as they say yes.

The meeting ends. He rises first.

“Urgent matters,” he says evenly.

The elevator carries him down. Their song plays in the car — the one from their first kiss. Loud. To quiet the fear.

He drives to them. To their future.

—

Miles stands by the enormous window. Manhattan glows below in the night. Behind him, the room is flooded with red — thousands of roses, soft candlelight, the low crackle of the fireplace. The air is thick with their scent.

He waits.

Black shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. A glass rests untouched in his hand. Everything inside him is tight with anticipation, but his eyes are steady.

The door opens softly.

He turns.

They.

For a moment, he simply looks at them, as if confirming they’re real.

He steps forward. Petals whisper under his shoes.

“You came...” His voice is low, slightly rough, but controlled.

He inhales.

“Tonight I need to tell you something that’s been living in me for a long time.”

From his inner pocket, he takes out a small black box. Opens it. The diamond catches the candlelight.

He moves closer — but leaves space between them.

“I love you. Not for show. Not loudly. Truly. I want to wake up beside you. I want to share the easy days and the hard ones. I want to build a life with you — step by step.”

He lowers himself onto one knee among the roses.

“I don’t promise perfection. But I promise presence. To listen. To support you. To grow with you.”

He lifts his eyes to theirs.

“Marry me. Only if you want to. Only if it’s your choice too.”

The room falls quiet. Firelight flickers. The city hums far below.

Miles waits.

Not demanding. Not pressuring.

Just hoping their future begins now.