Ch 22

Friday night came, finally, I was running on pure willpower, caffeine, and Lea's steady texts throughout the week. Mount Sinai had chewed me up and spit me out in equal measure — residents scrambling, patient crises, and paperwork stacked higher than I could handle. But the moment I walked into our apartment, it was like the weight of the world slipped off my shoulders.

Lea was in the kitchen, barefoot, hair up, humming as she plated pasta. The smell of garlic and butter hit me immediately.

"Honey," she said over her shoulder, grinning, "if I timed this right, you're just hungry enough to think I'm a world-class chef."

I dropped my bag and laughed. "Honey... even if you gave me instant noodles, I'd still act like you were Michelin-starred. But this smells like heaven."

She handed me a glass of wine and leaned in for a soft kiss. "Sit, hon. Eat. Then tell me how many times you saved the hospital this week."

I sat at the counter, watching her move with ease. "Honey... I've lost count. One crisis bleeds into another. But this — this makes it worth it."

Lea winked, sliding the plate to me. "Eat, hon. You're going to need strength if you keep taking on the entire medical system every week."

After dinner, we moved to the couch, legs tangled, a movie playing softly in the background. I sighed, leaning against her. "Honey... some days it feels like the world expects me to be this perfect De Torre, perfect doctor... and I'm just... tired."

Lea brushed her fingers over my hand. "Hon, you don't have to be perfect. Not here. Not with me."

I looked at her, smile tugging at my lips. "Honey... you always know the right thing to say."

She grinned mischievously. "Well, hon... if that De Torre name is weighing you down, we could always revisit our little running joke."

I groaned, knowing exactly where this was going. "Honey... not this again."

"Oh, come on, hon," she teased, wiggling closer. "Just imagine... courthouse, one signature, and bam. You're a Salonga instead. No more heavy legacy baggage."

I laughed, rolling my eyes but letting the warmth of her hand linger. "Honey... you're relentless."

She smirked, nudging her nose against mine. "You know me, hon. I never let go of a good idea."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Fine, honey... maybe one day you'll get your way."

She laughed, head resting lightly against my shoulder. "Oh, hon... one day? You'll see. And when that day comes, I'll be the happiest person in the city."

I leaned against her, finally allowing the tension of the week to slip away, the joke — our running joke — making everything feel lighter. With her, even the heaviest weeks at Mount Sinai didn't feel impossible.

She had a way of turning chaos into comfort, exhaustion into laughter, and dreams into something achingly, wonderfully real.

The next day, I woke up to an empty bed, the cool sheets pressed against my skin and a quiet apartment around me. My brows furrowed instinctively. Not that it was unusual — Lea had her rehearsals, her errands, her commitments — but it was a Saturday. One of the rare weekends off I had during the month, and I had expected her to linger a little longer.

I rolled onto my side, listening for any sign of her, but the apartment remained silent. Sighing, I swung my legs over the bed and padded to the living room, arms crossed over my chest like a scolded child. I flopped onto the couch, eyes narrowing at the muted sunlight streaming through the curtains.

By the time Lea finally arrived, it was already afternoon. I was still on the couch, arms crossed, legs tucked under me like a stubborn child.

"Honey... lunch?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as she entered, a little surprised at my sulky posture.

Lea chuckled softly, shaking her head as she set down her bag. "You look... so determinedly grumpy, hon. But alright, what do you want?"

I smirked, letting my arms fall to my sides. "Something simple. Pizza, maybe? Or sandwiches. Just... feed me, honey."

She laughed again, reaching over to ruffle my hair. "Honey, you're ridiculous. Simple it is. I'll order. Or maybe we make it together, chef and sous-chef style?"

I groaned playfully, but couldn't resist the warmth that spread through me at the familiar banter. "Honey... I'll survive if you just order it. We can keep the chef drama for another day."

The afternoon passed quietly after that, pizza eventually delivered and devoured, laughter filling the apartment as we discussed nothing of particular importance, just enjoying being together.

By night, I had settled back into my patient files, reviewing charts and notes, the soft glow of my desk lamp highlighting the furrow in my brow. Lea appeared beside me, sliding onto the couch with a quiet plop. She didn't speak at first, just settled into the space beside me.

I noticed immediately that she seemed... nervous. A faint fidget with her hands, the way her eyes darted briefly to mine before looking away.

"Honey..." I said softly, not looking up from the file. "Something on your mind?"

Lea didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned forward and hugged me tightly, pressing her face into my shoulder. The hug was so firm, so filled with some kind of urgency, that a small pang of fear tugged at my chest.

"Honey... what's going on?" I asked, pulling back slightly, brows furrowed. "Have you... come to your senses? Do you want to break up?"

Lea let out a soft, lilting laugh, the kind that made my heart ache in relief. "Oh, hon... quite the opposite."

My eyes narrowed in confusion as she reached into her bag, producing a small, velvet box. My breath hitched.

"This..." she whispered, placing it gently into my hands, "is why I was gone for half the day."

"Honey..." I whispered, looking up at her, eyes wide. "You... this is real?"

She smiled, that warm, mischievous glint in her eyes that always made my chest ache. "Real, hon. And I've been waiting for this moment. For us."

I let out a shaky laugh, half sob, half exhilaration, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "Honey... you're impossible. You know that?"

Lea's hands were gentle but insistent as she nudged the velvet box toward me. "Hon... open it," she said softly, her eyes glinting with that mixture of mischief and warmth that always made my heart skip.

I hesitated, fingers brushing the lid. "Honey... I... I don't know if I'm ready for this..."

She laughed lightly, a sound that felt like sunlight spilling across the room. "Hon... you've been ready since St. Kilda. Just... trust me."

With a shaky breath, I lifted the lid. Inside was a simple, elegant band — nothing flashy, nothing ostentatious. Just a plain, perfect band that felt like it had been made for me, the kind I could wear to work without it ever feeling out of place.

I looked up at her, voice barely above a whisper. "Honey... this... this is..."

Lea reached out, gently tilting my chin so our eyes met. "Hon... it's simple, because us... we don't need grand gestures. We just... need each other. That's enough for me. And I want it to be enough for you, too."

I swallowed hard, heart hammering, feeling a mixture of disbelief and joy twist in my chest.

Then she asked, softly, almost reverently: "Hon... will you marry me?"

The words hung in the air like a promise. My breath caught. My mind raced, and yet, in that moment, everything else — the stress, the hospital, the weight of the world — fell away. It was just her, just us, and the simple gold band resting in my hand.

I felt tears prick at my eyes, my voice trembling as I whispered back, "Honey... yes. A thousand times... yes."

Lea's smile broke across her face, radiant and full of triumph. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple before hugging me so tightly I thought I might melt right into her.

"Honey... you don't know how long I've been waiting to hear that," she murmured, her lips brushing against my hair. "You... you're mine."

"And you're mine, honey," I replied, clutching the box like it was a lifeline, though really, it was her I was holding onto. "Always mine."

Lea pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, her hands still holding mine. "Hon... I know we've danced around this for years. But now? There's no more dancing. It's us. Fully. Forever."

I laughed through the tears, shaking my head. "Honey... impossible. You're impossible."

"And I'll always be, hon," she whispered, grinning. "But now, you've got a ring, and no excuses. You're stuck with me."

And for the first time since that day at St. Kilda, I truly believed it — that we had chosen each other. That this yes, finally, was everything.