Story 24 / Collection 8: Only you

The unfortunate case of misplaced sunglasses.

"Thank you for the presents. I hope your vacation was enjoyable?" Arnold asked his captain as he set the bag into the seat next to him.

"It was wonderful," Murrue replied with a beaming face as she sipped into her cup of tea. "Almost didn't want to come back. You should see Mwu, he's got a pretty serious tan."

Arnold smiled as he leaned back into his seat, happy for her and Mwu having gotten their well-deserved rest. They just came back from their long-awaited honeymoon vacation, and Murrue had invited him to lunch so she could give him the presents they got him and Natarle during their trip.

They had actually married a few months ago, but peacekeeping was not an easy task; things kept getting in the way and they had only managed to fit their proper honeymoon trip into their schedule for last month. Even their engagement was a turbulent one. When Mwu had proposed, she had immediately accepted, but the timing was terrible and between the second war and its aftermath, they had to postpone their plans not once, but twice. Arnold could still remember on the wedding day when the ceremony ended, how the Archangel crew collectively breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief while cheering on them.

There was a short moment of silence between them, until Murrue asked with seeming hesitation, "So… Do you and Natarle plan on getting married anytime soon?"

Arnold looked up at Murrue; it might have sounded like an honest question if he considered her current state of bliss, but he had an inkling that there was an agenda behind her question. She sent him an innocent smile—one that he knew was anything but—and pressed, "I know you both are workaholics, but I kind of really want to see you two tie the knot too."

He gave an uneasy smile, unsure what to say, where to begin.

Ever since the end of the first war, he had been planning his new life with Natarle at the centre of it; she was the one thing he would never compromise on. 'Only her'—that was his vow. But specifically on marriage, they had never set a timeline, or even talked about it much. They were just too busy, dealing with war and its aftermath and all that.

If anyone asked him, he would for sure say that he absolutely, definitely, without the slightest bit of hesitation wanted to get married with the woman who was the love of his life, ideally as soon as possible. But sometimes he wondered if he should give it more time; if she was ready for the next step yet. On the few occasions where their conversations brushed the periphery of this topic, her response was always 'I don't mind', as though she had no preference either way. Perhaps she was not keen and was satisfied with them just being together?

As though sensing his troubles and connecting the dots, Murrue tried to probe a little more. "Have you two talked about this recently, say… after Mwu and I got married?"

Arnold made an incomprehensible face that looked somewhere between being judgemental and concerned. "That's an oddly specific timeframe. No, we haven't, why?"

"Arnold," she spoke with a knowing smile, "I think you two actually both want the same thing. She's just leaving the decision in your hands and waiting for you to make a move."

Her words had Arnold confused. "Why would you think that?"

"You know when she came to my bachelorette party? Erica and I asked her the same question. I told her I wanted to throw her my bouquet on my wedding day, and she was practically begging me not to. She said she didn't want to give you pressure over this."

He fought the urge to bang his head onto something as he processed what he was hearing. All this time he thought she was not ready for marriage, and she was actually waiting for him?

"All she cares about is what you want. That being said," Murrue gave him a mischievous wink, enthusiasm lining her next words, "remember that I ended up giving her the bouquet anyway? Don't you think it'll be nice if something actually came out of it?"

Arnold hid his face in hands, and let out a long, deep sigh.

After this, he would need to make a stop at that jewellers where he had already found the perfect ring a while back.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Arnold was putting his jacket on while Natarle readied her things. "I'll get the car started," he told her as he made his way out of their bedroom.

He had just stepped outside the door when he heard Natarle call out to him to ask, "Do you need your sunglasses? I'll get them for you."

Shit.

In a millisecond, he turned around and sprinted back into the room, straight towards her.

Her hand was already on the handle of his bedside cabinet when he wrapped one arm around her shoulder to make sure he would not knock her over with his sudden impact, and his other hand pressing onto the drawer front, stopping it from being opened.

His reaction had startled her—he already knew how it would play out the moment he swung into action; there was neither subtlety nor grace in his movements, and his frantic scramble was going to be very difficult to explain. But as soon as he heard her going for his sunglasses, held in its case inside his drawer with that little black box sitting on top of it, he knew he had to act first and think later.

He felt Natarle's body tense up to an unnatural stiffness—suddenly it felt like he had a very nice marble statue held between his arms.

"Natarle," he looked at her just in time to catch her turning her face several degrees away from him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dig into your things." Her apology, on face value, was the perfect response, but the distracted tone of her voice gave Arnold an indication that she probably just said it without thinking.

Arnold leaned forward a bit more, trying to get a better look at her. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a pensive frown as she kept staring at the drawer that his hand kept shut.

She must be very curious.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged lightly—a cue that they should be moving, hoping that it would get her to leave it alone. Instead, she swung her head around and stared him straight in the eyes.

Those purple eyes—always the more beautiful the closer he looked—now trained onto him with a restrained curiosity, like warning lights that told Arnold he was in trouble.

"We both respect each other's privacy. That's a given. I appreciate that we might not always want to share every single thing with each other. But honesty is a very important part of our relationship, and we're always honest to each other."

Arnold listened in amusement, wondering where she was leading with speech on their relationship.

"I trust that you won't keep secrets from me," she said in the most straightforward way that indicated there was never any doubt on her end.

"I'd never."

"You'd tell me if you wanted to, right?"

"Absolutely. I'd tell you if I wanted to."

"Mm hmm." She sounded like she was expecting further elaboration; the words 'carry on' were loud and clear even without her saying them.

Which was met with dead silence from him.

She was trying to be nonchalant about it, but Arnold noticed how her lips tightened ever so lightly in displeasure.

"It's for work?"

"Nope."

"But it's still classified, I presume. Something I don't have clearance for?"

"No, nothing of that sort. Not by a mile."

"Oh. Then it must have something to do with Tonomura and the boys."

"No it isn't." It was getting hard for him to keep a straight face. Good thing she specialized in tactical warfare and not intelligence, because what was this pathetic attempt at prying intel out of him?

"Are you going to give me a hint?"

"I'd rather not."

She stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then finally said, "I guess you don't want me to know then. That's fine, it's ok. I don't mind."

Her voice was neutral, pretending she did not care, but her face could not hide her disappointment. She was pouting.

Failing to get what she wanted from him, her response was not to pressurise him, not to bargain with him, but to just pout.

Arnold had to take a moment to maintain his composure from the overwhelming cuteness of her pretending to be indifferent with a pout in her face, but a small laugh slipped out of him anyway and earned him a glare from Natarle.

"I'm not being nosey!" She defended herself, "It's just- your reaction made me curious!"

Were they not the same thing? Arnold laughed again, and saw her avoid his gaze in embarrassment.

Change of plans. Whatever fancy ideas he had with that black little box were now abandoned as he made a split second decision to go with the spur of the moment.

The hold of his arm around her waist tightened; she looked back at him, a little confused, and tugged lightly on his wrist as if testing whether she could get him to loosen his grip. He moved the hand he had on the drawer, this time pulling it wide open by its handle. It contents were clear and sparse; just a few small boxes tidily stacked together, a notebook and a pen, two cases—one for his watch, the other for his sunglasses—and there it was, the little box in black velvet, sitting comfortably on the top of the sunglasses case, unmissable by any chance.

"I wasn't trying to hide it from you. It was meant to be a surprise."

She glanced at him, then the contents of the drawer, unsure what she was supposed to do.

"The black box," Arnold prompted as though reading her thoughts. "It's for you."

His words evoked the opposite reaction from her, and she held her hands together close to herself while looking at him with a mix of incomprehension, reservation, and a tiny hint of anticipation.

He smiled and gave a quick peck on her forehead, secretly enjoying her reaction as he took the box himself. He then moved around her to sit down on the bedside, before tugging her to settle down on his lap in the way that was solely her privilege, and held her enclosed within his arms.

"I want you to know that this wasn't what I had in mind." He raised the box up in front of her, bringing his other hand around her to open it up, revealing the contents within.

It was a ring, with one slightly larger amethyst gemstone set in the middle, and two smaller emeralds on either side of it—minimalistic, but thoughtfully crafted, and quintessentially them.

She did not move a single inch, but Arnold caught her eyes widening a little, and a rosy red colour slowly creeping up her cheeks.

He tilted his head, making sure he got a good look at her beautiful face—it was a once in a lifetime occasion, and he wanted to take everything in and etch it into his memories forever.

"I was going to make us a nice dinner, spend a quiet evening together, then ask the question. But I don't want you walking out of this room today wondering if I was keeping secrets from you. And I've been wanting to ask you this question for a very, very long time. Natarle, will you marry me?"

And those purple eyes were now once again looking straight into his, this time radiant like starlight—full of joy, full of love.

"Yes." Her answer was short, yet sure.

One simple word, and Arnold felt like his life was complete.

Side story: The bachelorette party

When Murrue was much, much younger, she imagined her bachelorette party would be a crazy night out with lots of friends, alcohol and partying through the night until the next morning. Instead, she was now in a luxury hotel suite, dressed in cosy pyjamas, lying in a king sized bed with her two closest friends and a glass of wine in her hands, and she could not think of it being any better than this.

On one side was Natarle, her once second-in-command whom she adored almost like a younger sister, and on her other side was Erica, her now-colleague whom she respected as a mentor in life.

They had spent the night in the company of good food and wine, anecdotes of Murrue's early life, and sharings of wisdoms on marriage from Erica, when the topic came back to the wedding itself.

They were in the last stretch of final preparations, and Murrue—who had never expected she and Mwu would have the worst of luck when it came to getting married—was immensely grateful to her two friends for keeping her sane throughout the process.

Murrue had even asked Natarle to be her maid-of-honour, and for Arnold to be Mwu's best man. It took plenty of persuasion from both her and Mwu, and having Arnold work his magic on Natarle to finally get her to agree. Murrue thought she might have overestimated what their friendship meant to Natarle, but to her surprise, Arnold explained that it was quite the contrary. Her reluctance was not because she did not see Murrue as a good friend, but rather she viewed her as so very important that she did not want to mess this up for her.

Murrue had always known despite her seemingly aloof exterior, Natarle had a good and kind heart. But it was throughout the months of preparing for the wedding that she saw how unimaginably sweet and considerate she could be, and just rarely letting it show and terribly inept at expressing herself honestly in general.

It made Murrue want to do something for her, and just to make her happy too.

"So," she started, "I was thinking about the part where I throw the bouquet."

"Okay?" Erica perked up with interest, seeming to immediately know where this was heading, while Natarle looked at Murrue blankly, her cheeks a little pink from the wine.

"Do you think it's okay if I don't actually throw it?"

Natarle frowned a little, not quite sure why she would want to do this but supported her nonetheless. "Well, it's tradition, but you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"What if I just gave it to you, Natarle?"

"Of course, I can hold onto it for you. Do you still want it for photos afterwards or just to bring it home later?"

Erica started giggling, and Murrue was staring back at Natarle with wide eyes.

"Natarle, you know what the point of throwing the bouquet is, don't you?" Erica asked.

"Yes, it's a symbolic gesture; a blessing of sorts," she answered diligently, still not making the connection.

"And what it means for whoever gets the bouquet?"

"Yes, she'll be the one who gets married next—if you believe those things. But Murrue's not throwing it, so why does it matter?"

"It's my fault, I worded it badly," Murrue chuckled lightly. "Natarle, I want you to have the bouquet; I don't want to throw it, I want to just give it to you."

Natarle took a few seconds to digest what she heard, and her face slowly turned red.

"No! I- I don't need- I don't want it!" She was caught by surprise and stumbled through her words—it might have been the alcohol, but even so she sounded very resolute. "Th- thank you… I know you mean well, but I- I don't think it's a good idea…"

"If you're worried about being the centre of attention, I can try to do it discreetly?"

"It's- it's not that…" She bit onto her lip and averted her gaze, unsure how to continue.

Her reaction had Murrue slightly worried. She edged closer, "Natarle, are you and Arnold alright?"

"Yes!" She replied in a heartbeat. "We're fine."

"Do you two want to get married?"

"I think so… At least I want to."

"Have you ever talked about it?" Erica asked, intentionally keeping her tone light to avoid sounding judgemental.

"Yes…?" came the quiet response with a small, hesitant nod.

The question mark at the end of her response had both Murrue and Erica raising an eyebrow that indicated a demand for further explanation.

"We- we've briefly touched on it, and I told him I don't mind," Natarle rushed to clarify.

"You said you don't mind," there was a tinge of disbelief in the way Murrue repeated her words.

Natarle stared at her with confusion, not quite sure what the problem was.

"You don't mind," Erica followed suit, this time adding emphasis to help Natarle understand.

And she was still staring back with incomprehension written all over her face.

"Natarle," Murrue tried to be as gentle with her words as possible, "if someone asks you about potentially getting married with you and you say you don't mind, it doesn't sound like you're very enthusiastic about it."

Natarle's eyes widened. "But I didn't mean it that way!"

"Poor Neumann," Erica sighed. "So, help me understand. If you do want to marry him, why would you tell him 'I don't mind'?"

"I- I don't want to give him pressure over it," Natarle's voice was uncharacteristically timid—clearly out of embarrassment—but she carried on anyway. "Love is… just love. But marriage is different. It carries so much weight, beyond just signing papers and a ceremony. Whether we get married, and when will it happen; I want to let it be his decision."

"And what if he doesn't want to?"

"That's fine. We've gone through enough for me to know that we for sure want to spend our lives with each other. The form doesn't matter. I just want to be with him."

From the way she said it with a little wistfulness in her words, oddly contrasted by a gentle smile across her lips, Murrue came to the realisation that she had might have misunderstood it all in the beginning—Natarle was the marriage type of person, only that she had prepared herself to give it up if Arnold saw differently.

For a person who rarely talked about her feelings, this was the first time Murrue got a glimpse of how deep Natarle's love ran underneath the observable surface. But Murrue was also sure that Natarle had been overthinking the whole thing; no matter how you looked at it, there was no possibility in any way whatsoever that Arnold did not want to marry her.

"Natarle, you know what?" Murrue tapped lightly on her lips, eyes concentrated as though planning something. "You will take my bouquet, and I will take care of the rest for you."

[Prompt title 11: メガネ / Glasses]

Author's note

I took some liberties with the prompt. The title was supposed to be glasses, and I made it sunglasses. Not that the story has much to do with the said sunglasses anyway haha.