Story 03 / Collection 2: You captivate me
Peach is the colour of the first kiss.
Arnold headed down the hallway towards Natarle's room with a bit of a jittery feeling building inside of him. Her shift had ended half an hour ago, and now his had too; this would be the first time they spent a nighttime off-shift together—not that there was much of a distinction between day and night in a warship in the middle of space.
His anxiety was not due to him having expectations. Quite the contrary, it was because he did not have expectations that had him worried about how to conduct himself. It had been a little less than one week into their relationship, and Natarle could barely handle him holding her in a hug without her body freezing up and her mind shutting down. It was no surprise he had still not managed to find the right opportunity to get just even one kiss. So when she told him he could stay in her room tonight—and while he very much welcomed her invitation—he was not sure what she had in mind when it came to getting their much needed sleep, in the only bed available in her room.
He supposed the good thing was it meant she had a lot of trust in him.
When he reached her room, he knocked lightly before entering. With a quick scan of the room he found Natarle sitting at her desk, where there was a small mirror standing in front of her, and a cotton pad in her hand.
Arnold immediately connected the dots—she was about to take her makeup off, and he was very intrigued.
He would forever remember the moment they met, how he was completely in awe of her at first sight. She was undeniably beautiful, and distinctively so—there was no one like her.
Everything about her facial features were delicate, which seemed a mismatch with her stoicalness, but it only made people want to look at her more. Her eyes were a rare violet colour that glimmered like gemstones, and she had a sharp, intense stare that would make lesser men cower like children. Her clean, curt movements lacked the softness that most women had, yet screamed an inherent gracefulness that was likely drilled into her since a young age. Her cold beauty, aided by her choice of makeup, was a shield she used to keep people at an arm's length.
She was what men would instinctively tell themselves, 'Look, but don't touch'.
But now that she had let him past the walls she built around herself, he wanted to know what she was like without her mask.
She eyed him curiously as he walked up to her desk to sit down next to her, and informed him, "I'll just need a moment."
"It's fine, take your time," he told her with an eager smile.
She was a little taken aback by his enthusiasm. Carefully, she asked, "Do you want to do something else while you wait?"
"No, I want to watch you." To cement his point, Arnold proceeded to prop his arm up on the desk and rested his chin in his hand, getting himself into a comfortable position. "Carry on, don't mind me."
Her brows creased into a slightly troubled frown, then after what seemed like a few seconds of inner turmoil she finally looked back into the mirror and let out a breath of air, visibly very conscious of his gaze.
She pressed the damp cotton pad to her face and started wiping it carefully across her cheeks, down her jawline, and along her forehead. She then took a fresh cotton pad and poured some liquid onto it, repeating the process once more, and finally folding the pad over and wiped off her lipstick with its clean side. With that, she seemed to be done—much quicker than he thought it would take.
"What about your eyes?" Arnold asked inquisitively.
"I don't put anything on for the eyes."
That was somewhat unexpected, and he held her chin gently between his fingers to turn her face towards him for a closer look.
Indeed, her eyelashes were naturally long and voluminous, and even without any work on them they added a layer of allure to the exquisite amethyst shine of her eyes. He cast his sight downwards to look at her face; her skin was as flawless as perfect porcelain, but without the makeup, it seemed brighter with a natural, dewy glow coming through, topped with a hint of rosiness on her cheeks. All her delicate features were even more pronounced without the makeup.
He pulled back a little to take in her full face, and realised that surprisingly, she looked almost the same—yet her aura was completely different.
There was a childlike innocence that was not there before; he was not sure if it was because of the radiance of her skin, or the pretty pink colour of her lips, that even her eyes seemed more gullible.
He was fascinated.
"You look… so much younger. Like a teenager."
She took offence at his words and sent a glare with her counter attack, "That's rich coming from you with your baby face."
He chuckled as he defended himself. "It's the lipstick. It makes you look more mature."
His comment seemed to satisfy her, but not as though she was convinced, and rather like she had hoped to hear this. It suddenly made sense. "Is that why you chose that colour for your lipstick?"
She averted her gaze and mumbled, "People take you more seriously when you don't look like you just graduated from the academy."
He totally understood, especially when she was pouting this way with her fresh face and pink lips—she was literally proving her own point.
Her lips though.
He mused to himself all the different colours she could wear; her lips were a pretty shade of peach pink that probably suited vermillion red more than the plum purple she usually adorned.
He was staring, and she noticed. She bit her lips, trying to hide from his fixation on them, but her actions only stoked his pertinacity; he reached his hand to cup her cheek, and ran his thumb across her mouth to get her to relax. "I like your natural lip colour. It's a peachy pink."
He felt himself leaning in, and her stiffening her body. Her face was getting redder and redder, and her lips looked more and more inviting. He heard the beating of his heart in his ears, like the eager roll of drums at a parade.
"So cute," he muttered under his breath. So very soft, very plump, and very kissable.
Kiss her.
Kiss her.
Kiss her.
The thought repeated itself like a spell.
She did not move; she did not push him away either.
Seconds passed, and she still did not move, so he took it as an approval. First a light, tentative peck on the lips, then the second one a bit more insistent, and soon he found his hand entangled in her dark silken hair, holding her to him, their lips only ever parting for the next kiss to follow.
Perhaps by the end of this, the colour of her lips will become a different shade of pink.
Side story: The sleepless night
With the rather limited space to share between the two of them, Arnold had Natarle wrapped in his arms in order for both of them to fit comfortably in her bed.
Her head was tucked under his chin, and she wanted to move but was afraid she would disturb him, so she was taking careful, measured movements. It did not help; from his breathing, she knew Arnold could tell she was still awake.
He brushed his hand lightly across her back to soothe her restlessness. "Natarle, are you going to sleep at all?"
"That's what I'm trying to do!" She cried in a loud whisper.
He placed a quick kiss on her forehead. "Are you sure you want me here?"
"…Yes," she hid her head deeper into his shoulder. "I want to be able to get used to this."
"If it's any help, I'm not staring at you. My eyes are closed. Does that make it better?"
"I don't know… Just sleep. I'll figure it out."
In the end, her stupid beating heart kept her awake the whole night.
[Prompt title 23: キス/ Kiss]
Author's notes: Writing notes for this chapter are on Twitter/X.
