Hux stretches out his hand, fingers grazing the soft, dark box tentatively, as though he’s afraid it will evaporate. When it does not, he picks it up, holding it against his chest.
“Is this …” he starts to ask, voice wavering. “Ben. Say it. Actually say the words. Please.”
Ben’s lips quirk with a smile; ambiguity in the past has not served them well. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. “Will you … actually … marry me?” The Roof of the Night, Ch.8
dispatches from the dumpster 