I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World

May 5th, 2024 — 8:30 AM

Sentinel HQ, BGC — Comms & Outreach Division

Angel stood in front of a backlit corkboard filled with colorful thumbtacks and string-drawn media timelines. She had a marker in one hand and her tablet in the other, guiding two PR officers through a revised launch sequence for the public unveiling of the new Pulse Line stations.

Matthew, standing in the doorway, watched her speak. She wasn't trying to be commanding. She didn't need to be. The room naturally followed her—her cadence, her confidence, her clarity.

He used to think there was nothing more satisfying than watching a system click into place.

Now he knew better.

Because nothing compared to watching her in her element.

Angel turned slightly and caught him staring. Again.

She narrowed her eyes and mouthed, Focus.

He grinned. Always.

—

10:00 AM — Aurora Central Hub, Lower Logistics Corridor

They walked side by side through the quieter loading corridor between offices, coffee cups in hand. Angel tapped the edge of her cup against his as they strolled.

"You've been quieter since yesterday," she said. "What's in the overthinking compartment today?"

Matthew took a sip before answering. "Vendor options."

She blinked. "You're still on wedding mode?"

"I'm multitasking," he defended. "Reviewing transport bids and also comparing lighting designers."

"Matthew."

"Yes?"

"You know we're still technically unengaged, right?"

He shrugged, eyes forward. "You say 'technically,' like there's a waiting list for it."

Angel laughed. "You're incorrigible."

"I'm just prepared."

They stopped near a pillar alcove where their favorite vending machine lived—home to the best matcha bar in the building. Angel leaned against the steel column and gave him a once-over.

"Okay," she said, tone mock-serious. "Give me the pitch."

"For what?"

"For this wedding plan you're slowly engineering in secret."

Matthew didn't hesitate.

"Modular build. Coastal venue. Late November. Seventy guests max. Plated dinner but informal dress code. No fog machines. Battery-backup lighting. Custom playlist. One dog-friendly policy."

Angel raised both brows, impressed. "You forgot to say 'hypothetically.'"

He leaned slightly closer. "Did I?"

She sipped her drink. "God help me, I think I love you more every time you say the word 'backup.'"

—

11:45 AM — Sentinel HQ, Briefing Theater 1

A half-day seminar on international transit protocols had been scheduled by their oversight board—a polite requirement masked as a 'leadership opportunity.' The rows were filled with project leads, satellite officers, and a few very bored financial controllers.

Angel sat three seats away from Matthew at the front, the both of them trying very hard to look like they weren't texting each other in the group chat named Operation: Not a Wedding Yet.

[Matthew]

The speaker just said "integration resilience" and I think that's what we're calling our marriage.

[Angel]

Strong start. I want "signal continuity" in the vows.

[Matthew]

"Latency-free communication." I'll have it etched into the ring.

[Angel]

Who's designing that, by the way?

He looked up. She was staring at him with that same mischievous glint.

He typed slowly.

[Matthew]

Already talked to someone in Silang. Handmade, conflict-free, industrial minimalist.

[Angel]

…You already picked a jeweler?

He didn't reply.

She mouthed, stunned: You insane man.

He just smiled.

—

1:30 PM — Rooftop Terrace, Sentinel HQ

The sun filtered through the angular shade panels as they ate lunch out of brown compostable boxes. Chicken teriyaki and eggplant stew. Angel picked at her rice.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "you're setting a very dangerous precedent for men in engineering."

Matthew blinked. "How so?"

"You're organized, emotionally available, and romantically proactive. It's unfair."

He shrugged. "I live to exceed expectations."

She jabbed at her rice. "I mean, the ring. The planner interviews. You're halfway to being the Pinterest boyfriend."

"I'm honored. I think."

Angel reached into her bag and pulled out her own tablet. "So. If you're already planning in secret…"

She opened a folder titled Project Eternal Drafts and tilted the screen toward him.

"...then so am I."

Matthew laughed, loud enough that a passing analyst gave them a puzzled look. The file was an outline, color-coded, labeled with things like Aisle Material Negotiation and Florist Vetting Matrix.

"You've been planning too?" he asked, delighted.

"Since two weeks ago," she said with a shrug. "I thought I was hiding it well."

"You weren't. But it's adorable."

Angel looked at him. "So now what?"

Matthew leaned closer. "We meet in secret. In off-the-record rooms. Compare tablescapes and guest lists. Agree on a soft engagement announcement timeline."

She nodded solemnly. "Project Stealth Wedding."

"Project Stealth Wedding."

They bumped fists like two kids with a ridiculous, wonderful plan.

—

4:15 PM — Matthew's Apartment, Rockwell

By late afternoon, they were curled up on the couch in soft clothes, shared screens, and lazy legs draped over each other.

The TV played a muted documentary about tunnel boring projects in Norway. Angel scrolled through her contacts.

"Okay," she said. "Wild question."

"I'm listening."

"Do we invite the President?"

Matthew choked on his tea. "What?"

"She attended the Cebu launch. She gave us a commemorative plaque. It feels rude not to."

"I don't think we can just add her to the guest list like she's your college roommate."

"Why not?" Angel said, eyes twinkling. "If she RSVPs, I'll even let her bring a plus one."

He groaned. "This is escalating."

"I'm kidding," Angel said, stretching. "Probably."

He tugged the blanket up over both of them. "Let's stick to the engineers and a few sane public officials."

She nodded. "And the interns who stayed past midnight during the TBM jam."

"Absolutely," he said. "They earned it."

—

6:30 PM — Final Note

They sat on the floor with a notebook between them, sketching timelines not just for the wedding—but for life. For merging their spaces. For backup childcare plans for when deadlines overlapped. For yearly beach trips, and maybe—just maybe—the first year they could both sleep for eight hours straight.

Angel tapped her pen against the edge of the notebook.

"We still haven't picked a final date."

Matthew leaned over, kissing her temple. "Let's pick the life first."

She smiled. "Then the date will pick itself."

And in that quiet, steady certainty, they kept building.

Together.