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"You fucking prick!" Stiles yells, but he's laughing, not even aiming properly as he throws the pillow at Ennis.


"I have no idea what you mean," Ennis grins at him and catches the makeshift missile before it hits the bookshelf and knocks something off of it.


"Of course you don't, you cheat! You let me win!"


He did, the proof is all there on the screen where Ennis is all over the scoreboard. But Stiles can't even be mad at him. Not when the places from 1 to 10 on the screen form a message just for him.


He can't even imagine how much time Ennis spent playing the game just to do this.


"Well, it was kind of the point," Ennis says with a shrug, his grin still wide because he obviously can already tell what Stiles' answer is.


Stiles, for his part, feels fondly exasperated, but also ridiculously jubilant, like he's about to vibrate out of his skin with happiness. It's only reasonable that he steps right into Ennis' arms and hugs him as hard as he can, letting his boyfriend-- his fiance hold and ground him.


"I can't believe you," he tells Ennis, loosens his hold on him enough to be able to lean up for a kiss, "But you're mine and I'm definitely keeping you."


The kiss isn't really a kiss when they're both too busy smiling, but it's still absolutely perfect.


Behind them the scoreboard still flashes on the screen saying: "Hey, pretty boy. Will you marry me? Love you, Ennis."