Tyson Granger stood stock-still, staring with a glazed expression at his reflection in the full-length mirror, as his two teammates primped and fussed.

"I don't see why I can't wear my hat," Tyson grumbled, folding his arms obstinately across his chest.

Kenny made a disapproving sound.

"Tyson," Kenny reasoned. "I had to go through a lot to get you a table at The Aurelio, the most romantic restaurant in Tokyo. You really wanna dine there in your hat?"

Tyson rolled his eyes, but remained silent. Kenny had a point.

Max tugged his arms loose. "Don't wrinkle the suit – it's rented and hard to iron," he frowned.

"Which anniversary is it anyway?" Tyson squinted, as he tried to count backwards in his head.

"Seventh," supplied Kenny.

"Seventh!?" echoed Tyson, with a suppressed moan. "Are you sure?"

"It's not hard to work out," murmured Max, as he squirted a large dollop of blue coloured hair gel into his palm. "You're twenty-three."

"What, are you worried it's gonna be unlucky?" laughed Kenny, as he reached for a comb and ran his finger down the prongs. "You've been dating Hilary for seven years. You're practically already married. Even before that; you and your-"

"Intimate friendship," Max joined in with a smirk, remembering an eighteen-year-old Tyson's excuse for being SO close, but NOT romantically attracted, to Hilary. Tyson scowled darkly, and rotated his shoulder to pull the ill-fitting tuxedo up.

"But I KNOW Hilary," he protested. "With her, unless I ask PERFECTLY, she'll get all moody and complain I wasn't romantic enough or something." Tyson sighed and Kenny raised an eyebrow.

"And you're marrying that, intentionally?" he asked, incredulously, and Tyson shot him a glare.

"Well, I guess she's kinda right," he mumbled, shuffling, and staring down at the pair of highly shined black shoes Max had lent him. "It is a big deal, and I want to propose exactly the way she must have dreamt of, but it kinda ruins the atmosphere if I ask her how to do it…"

"Don't worry about it," advised Max, as he spread the gel evenly through Tyson's unruly spikes, and Tyson winced as he felt imaginary tugs. "You'll get all scrunchy."

"Scrunchy?" gawked Tyson, eyes widening.

Kenny and Max sweatdropped as he reached for the hairdryer.

"Okay, so we've got the ring?" asked Kenny, as Max set the hairdryer on maximum and set about drying the gel rock-solid. Tyson patted the bump in his jacket pocket.

Kenny went to carry on, but stopped suddenly. "I hope it's a diamond ring, Tyson." he asked, accusingly. Tyson shrugged.

"Well yeah but- ow, Max you're burning my ears! Um, yeah, it has a diamond in the middle, but it's got little sapphires around the side."

Kenny grabbed the black, velvet box out of Tyson's hand, and stared at the engagement ring, in a scrutinising manner. It wasn't anything gaudy and overly elaborate – a gold band, with a large diamond in the middle of a ring of small sapphires. Kenny smiled slightly, and closed the box with a click.

"Even I'll say yes to this." he teased his approval, tucking it back in his friend's jacket pocket. "Okay, have we got a dozen red roses?" Tyson held up the sophisticated looking bouquet.

"You know, roses symbolise a woman's private part," Max informed, switching off the hairdryer and setting it down on the table. Kenny and Tyson looked at the flowers in disgust, before Tyson thrust them into Kenny's chest.

"Why can't I just give her then lilies?" he asked. "They are her favourite flowers!"

"Okay, okay, I'll deal with the flowers," Max sighed defeatedly, tapping the numbers on his phone and placing it on his ear. This other end received the call. "Hey, it's Max. I bought a few roses from your store this morning….Yeah, I'm the blonde…Yeah, the one who tried to hit on you…So listen, the roses aren't working out. We'll be needing a bouquet of your finest lilies up her. I already gave you the address. Okay, Thanks!"

"Man, he's flirt with that flower girl too. I really don't want to offer Hilary flowers that emit sleeping gas." Tyson sweat-dropped.

"Yeah, no girl is safe from him," Kenny deadpanned, as Max finally managed to wrench himself away from the phone.

"Lilies will be here in 20 minutes, tops," he announced.

"Good, can I sit DOWN now?" asked Tyson, and without waiting for a reply, sank down on the couch. "Why aren't I nervous?" murmured Tyson, looking aghast as he realised he could tap on his hair.

"Oh, you will be," Kenny replied, from the kitchen where he was trying to push the unwanted bouquet of roses down the garbage disposal.

"I hope the flowers gets here soon," smiled Max. "You wouldn't wanna be late!"

Half an hour later, Tyson once again stood in front of the mirror, clutching a beautiful bouquet of white lilies and pale blue ribbon, specially arranged as a favour by flower store owner. Squinting, he concentrated on the reflection of his left hand, and began to imagine a gold ring on one of the fingers.

"Nervous yet?" smiled Kenny, slapping Tyson on the back.

"Kinda," breathed Tyson, as he swapped which hand held the flowers so he could wipe off the sweat.

"Good," Kenny affirmed. "Because it's time to go." Tyson's eyes widened and his grip on the flowers tightened.

"No…" he whimpered. "Don't make me go… don't make me go! She's too scary! What if she says no?"

"She can't! You're her only choice!" Kenny rolled his eyes, and gently pushed Tyson towards the front door where Max was holding his coat.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Max repeated, bundling Tyson into the coat. "Just get down on one knee and open the box."

"Say it would be a great honour! The ladies love that!" put in Kenny, helpfully. Tyson looked even more frightened as they jostled him into the awaiting taxi, and closed the door on him.

"Which knee do I bend down on?" cried Tyson through the open window, as the driver pressed on the gas.

"The left knee!"

"The right one!" called his friends as the taxi disappeared out of sight.

"Well…" began Max, breaking the silence.

"What do you think?" Max followed Kenny's gaze to where the bouquet of lilies was lying, dropped on the porch.

Tyson watched Hilary as she animatedly talked about something or other, waving her chopsticks around in the air as she gestured and every so often popping some food into her mouth. He wasn't really listening, but he'd learnt from experience, that as long as he kept his eyes on her face rather than her chest, and nodded every now and again, she thought he was.

This wasn't even necessary – they already lived together and after thirteen years he had no doubts whatsoever that, as argumentative as they were, he'd never ever want to leave her. He leant on his elbow, face slightly tilted, and watched the softness in her auburn eyes as she talked earnestly about something or other-

"Tyson? Tyson? Were you even listening to me?" she suddenly asked, the annoyance in her voice rather than the words grabbing his attention.

"Uhuh!" he assured her, reaching for her hand across the table.

"Then why didn't you answer me?"

"I was, I was thinking…"

"I didn't think you'd have that much to think about…" she pouted, her brow furrowing in brewing anger.

Tyson sighed. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Hilary pulled her hand away from his and sat backwards in the chair, folding her arms across her chest, in a stubborn mirror-movement of him earlier. "I asked you to marry me," she blinked, meaningfully, but quietly, as if to check he was actually listening. Tyson's mouth twitched.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" he suppressed a smile.

Hilary rolled her eyes. "I asked you to marry me, idiot. Jeez, I wouldn't have bo- what?" Hilary stopped as she realised his mouth twitching had turned into a full-blown grin. Wordlessly, Tyson pulled out the small box and pressed it into her hands.

"Will you excuse me a minute?" he asked, breathlessly, and Hilary nodded, carefully. Tyson disappeared out of view, around the corner to where the lifts were, pulling a battered hat out of his pocket.

"What in the world…" murmured Hilary, feeling self-conscious as she realised that all that tables around her had been listening attentively to her whilst she poured her heart out, even if her idiot boyfriend hadn't.

"ALLLLLLRIGHT!" came a familiar shout of triumph from around the corner, and Hilary laughed, flicking open the small jewellery box, and smiling fondly at the contents. Tyson sheepishly reappeared, wearing the hat backwards, with his tie shoved half in his pocket and his shirt untucked.

"And you're marrying that, intentionally?" laughed a woman from a nearby table.

Hilary slipped the diamond and sapphire engagement ring on her wedding finger with a grin. "With every intentions…"