EDIT: As I've worked through some backstory/bios for these two, I've had to make just a handful minor edits to this story. Don't fret; you likely won't have noticed, if you've read this previously! The plot has not changed in the slightest. (:

No (1)

A contented Esmeralda lounged on her back on soft grass under the shaded protection of a stout oak tree, one arm pillowing her head, the opposite hand clenched the neck of a brandy bottle Phoebus had brought along for them to share.

She was fully engrossed in him as he lay next to her, supported on his side by his left elbow with one knee up, fiddling with blades of grass as he talked.

Having both been incessantly active for most of prior week, Phoebus wanted to take her somewhere tranquil and secluded. Thankfully, he remembered a vast meadow right outside of town; the countryside linking Paris and Montlhery.

They were swapping histories and upbringings, to get better acquainted. Over the last handful of months, as their relationship evolved, conversations like this grew more common, both enthusiastic to delve more into each other and imbibe all they could.

"You mean to tell me that at just thirteen, you were taken from your family to fight in the war?!" Esmeralda aimed to confirm, distressingly.

Phoebus plainly authorized, "Mhmm. Would've been hung for treason if I refused."

"And you were away for twenty years?"

"Well...I rounded up a bit. It was actually eighteen." He hesitantly confirmed, now worried of what she was, surely, getting to: calculating his current age. Because, come to think of it, they'd never clarified their ages. Abruptly, Esmeralda's youthful beauty austerely occurred to him—perchance it was because she was youthful? She looked like a woman—hell yes, she did—but how far into womanhood was she…or wasn't she…?

After a beat, Esmeralda concluded, "Which makes you—"

"Thirty-one." he finished, fearing for what tone she'd say it in herself. He sat up and casted his gaze southward dolefully. He dared assume aloud: "That probably...changes things...doesn't it."

Not dissuaded by his age in the slightest, she responded with playful air, "Not at all. I like older men."

"Ol...older men?" He eyed her in alarm, suddenly feeling very inappropriate, the fiery warmth of guilt scuttling to cover every inch of his body.

Did he not understand the humour? "Phoebus, I was just joking!" She explicated hurriedly, laughing apprehensively.

Phoebus began to ask in a thin, timid voice, "How old ar-"

"Guess." She interrupted.

"Esmeralda, this isn't a good time for-"

"Guess."

"Alright, alright." He shifted uncomfortably, dreading what the absolute answer to this puzzle would be. "Probably ten years my junior, right?"

She frowned at him pointedly, though changed expressions when she identified his evident worry, realizing that he really was uneasy about this.

Discarding her game with him, she calmly revealed the solution and echoed his earlier concern: "I'm twenty-six. That doesn't change anything, does it?" She queried his body language and face for, hopefully, a relieved reaction.

Phoebus palpably deflated, his hand flinging to his chest as if to calm his racing heart as chortles of delight bubbled out of him. Esmeralda smiled lovingly as he met her gaze, both pairs of eyes scintillating with fondness; grateful about this unspoken agreement that their relationship could ensue.

"No, no, it doesn't change anything, no." Phoebus asserted with a wide, doting grin, then eagerly accepting her lips when she leaned into him.

His hand reached to hold her hip and he scooted forward to erase the distance from her he had subconsciously created. "Not in a bad way, anyway." He tagged on, puckishness plaited through his tone.

After several minutes containing numerous fervent kisses, they parted. He propped himself upright against an adjacent tree and she moved to sit between his legs, reclining to join her back with his front, her head meeting his breast. He swathed her with his thick arms and bowed his head to kiss her uncovered shoulder and neck.

How the hell did he luck out like this?

In fact, he'd never felt so fortunate—ever. Nor so devoted. Perhaps it was because he'd never had the opportunity to be with a woman for longer than a couple hours (side effects of being a soldier). Well, it was more than pure limited opportunity. It was also the lack of want. He never longed to truly please a woman past carnal satisfaction. To cherish her, to delight her, to dedicate significant time and effort to her. In fact, the thought of marriage always stressed him greatly and nearly repulsed him. But that was probably because, he realized, he hadn't ever valued a woman past mild adoration. Certainly not enough to cogitate the remainder of their lives bound to each other.

Until now. With this woman. This outstanding, compassionate, intelligent, challengeable, spitfire of a woman. He didn't interpret her as flawless or angelic—in fact, sometimes quite the contrary. She could be hard-headed, impulsive, distasteful, curt.

But he had his faults, too. Everyone does.

She occupied the majority of his thoughts at all hours of the day. He wanted his free time to be indisputably spent in her presence. He appalled himself when Clopin once playfully referred to them as married and he didn't at all protest or even flinch. The idea of being a husband actually filled him with surprising pleasure and warmth. Being her husband.

Every interaction they had, be it banter, sincere conversation, profound reflections, or affectionate exchanges, left him parting from her with remarkable reluctance, finding her enticingly phenomenal and superbly baffling in a way that he wouldn't mind spending decades exploring.

So, he took a chance.

"Marry me." He muttered into the skin under her jawline, then kissing where he spoke. He hoisted up his head, waiting for a reply or reaction.

She took a deep breath in through her nose and her eyes enlarged, then frenziedly flickered around everywhere in front of her before she fixed her position to look at Phoebus directly. With every action, he looked at her more and more fretfully. If their ages didn't make a difference, this certainly would.

Esmeralda couldn't seem to assemble a response, unexpectedly finding lucid thoughts impossible, therefore mustering an answer to his statement becoming abnormally laborious. It was either yes or no; why such complexity?

Well, because "yes" wasn't what she wanted. But she didn't mean "no", either.

Meanwhile, her muteness was dispiriting Phoebus by the second.

"Ah. I see I made a bad choice." He said quietly, releasing his hold on her. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced away in disgrace, feeling quite stupid and remorseful now.

Her hands flew to clutch his shoulders in encouragement as she quickly consoled him, "No! No, you didn't. I just…I…I don't know, Phoebus."

She struggled for a long moment to find precise words to communicate what she meant.

"I do know that you're wonderful. And I hope I mean as much to you as you do to me." She began, fixing his head to look at her and giving him a brief smile. "I just don't know about…marriage. It's not like I had many examples growing up, or many men before you. I've never been with someone whom I feel…this much for. And it's quite..." she delayed, to settle on the just term for it: "...unfamiliar."

He understood her doubtlessly about that, though still disheartened at her overall implication. "So, you're saying no?"

Her heart felt heavy as she confirmed, "I am. I'm sorry. It's just not for me, not right now. I truly am sorry, Phoebus." Then, wanting to lift some of the strain, she continued with a light-hearted jolt to his shoulder, "Will we keep seeing each other, or do you not like me anymore?"

"Yes! My God, of course." He said a little too readily, then recovered by saying in an egotistical, dramatic voice, "Just because you reject a proposal from my dashing, desirable self doesn't mean you can reject me altogether!" He took on boastful, prideful body language, raising his chin and flexing his bicep with a broad smile. She rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth at him, then told him flatly, "You aren't that desirable, monsieur 'sun god'."

"Oh? I'm not? I seem to recall some times you acted otherwise…" He dipped his head and looked at her impishly.

An unpreventable blush stained her bronze cheeks as she pressed her lips together, forming an embarrassed half-smile, causing Phoebus to laugh heartily and kiss her cheek.

They rose to their feet, seeming to both decide to bring their outing to an end. Phoebus whistled for Achilles, who was a great distance away, munching on grass. They strode unhurriedly to meet the horse halfway, each with an arm around the other.

Esmeralda smoothed her hair to hook behind her ear, then interrupted the silence with, "But, you know something?"

"What is it, mon amour?"

"If, perhaps, I become sure about marriage, I'd want to be married to you."

Phoebus beamed, then tugged her to him to give her a peck.

That was enough for him.