The Knight and The Fox.

~It's Gonna Be a Long Time~

His eyes linger on her for long as he can manage without blinking. She's beautiful. She feels so familiar, yet so far. He's seen her before and he loves her. Well- maybe love is a strong word. No. Love is accurate, he's sure of it. He's more sure than he's ever been in his whole 25 years of life. She's what he wants most in this Goddess-forsaken world. She's what he needs most in this Goddess-forsaken world. His everything belongs to her, it always has. He had just been too immature to see it till now. He needs her with a passion he's never felt before.

She's stunning, tonight especially, in her dark green satin gown and the lightest touch of make-up to her face. Her choppy hair, tied back with twin braids around her head, flings wildly as she laughs with her friends. Her smile is piercing as her seafoam eyes in the dimness of the room. She's glowing under the twinkling fairy lights above her and he feels as if he could stare at her all night if his body might let him. He finds himself melting as she glances at him with a light smile and a tiny wave.

She's perfect in all her fiery, stubborn, ungraceful ways.

His honey-brown eyes only blink when they start to water, obstructing his vision. He can't let one moment slip away from him. He wants to be there for every smile, every tear, every second she spends alone. He wants to see her trust him and trusts her in return. He wants to see her, all of her, even though he knows she's beautiful. Yet, he doesn't want it to be like all the previous times he's seen women. He wants it to be special, comfortable, not rushed or adrenhaline-fueled. He wants her to feel beautiful, wants her to know just how captivating she is, wants her to know she's safe with him and that he'll never leave her or hold her up as a prize. She deserves that, he thinks, she deserves to be happy and comfortable and loved and free. He'll give her as much of that as is humanly possible.

Suddenly he's up on his feet. He can't wait for the 'right moment' anymore. He doesn't give a crap as to who's around or who sees. All he does give a crap about is Ingrid and, hopefully, not messing this up monumentally. His feet move his tall figure over to her out of pure instinct and before he knows what he's doing, her beautiful eyes are turned up towards him as he settles to her right. Her cheeks are red and he can feel heat radiating off of her. She's warm and visibly tired, but also content and enjoying the company.

Then, her voice breaks through the chatter he'd tuned out as white noise and suddenly it's only her in the room as she looks up at him.

"Hey you."

It's silly. A tease, a simple acknowledgement, yet it pierces through him like a silver arrow.

He can't formulate a cohesive sentence. It's fine. He already has a plan and won't stray from it no matter how large the urge to dip and kiss her is at this very moment.

He takes her hand and lowers his weight onto one knee. His free hand blindly searches his pocket as he locks his honey eyes with hers. He finds it and pulls it out to open  smoothly with his pointer and thumb. It flips open fairly easily, revealing a delicate piece of jewelry with a single red stone. He glances at the ring, then back at her, who's face has gone almost worryingly pale. He smiles warmly and finally pulls the lines he's rehersed over and over from the back of his mind.

"Ingrid Brandl Galatea, " He emphasizes the more delicate syllables to the name. "For long as I've known you, you were always my best friend, even though you scolded me for just about everything-"

"Well deserved."

He almost laughs but continues. "I never grew tired of it and never will because I know you, and I know that means you care. I care about you as well. I love you. Which is why I want to stay by your side and love you till the day I die. So, that being said... "

He takes a deep breath.

"Ingrid, Will you marry me?"

He isn't sure what she says next but the message is delivered when she collapses onto the ground in front of him and throws her strong arms around his neck. Her face is then buried in the gap of his collarbone and he feels her trembling. Then, there's a sudden mix of gasps and squeals and chatter that reminds him of the other people around them.

Ingrid isn't bothered. She simply cries into his chest, evergreen optics shut tight. Does she know why she's crying? No, not really. All she knows is that Sylvain had asked her to marry him and she had said 'Yes.'

He holds her in his arms tight as he can, willing time to stop and keep her there forever. But alas, she removes her grasp and switches the contact to her lips on his. The kiss is passionate, excited, anxious, and the tiniest bit sloppy, but it's theirs and neither of them could be happier. She pulls away and touches their foreheads.

"I love you, Sylvain. I have and always will. I'm...in love with you. Saints, how long did it take for me to realize that??"

Sylvain chuckles, pulling his fingers through her dense blonde hair. He closes his eyes as he takes in the fading scent of her mint and honey perfume. "Oh Ingrid,"

"I'm going to keep you in love with me for a long time."