Chapter Text
Fridays at the Inn were certainly interesting.
The fact that every Friday, nearly the entire town gathers in one place for an evening of fun was unfamiliar to the newest member of Mistria. Back in the city, everyone kept to their own circles, leaving nary an inch for new faces. She had gotten used to the brusque way of life there. So this… this was different. And she liked it.
The warm air of the inn greeted her as she pushed her way in through the doors, and her ears were immediately met with the chatter of the townsfolk. The temperature change was much welcomed, chasing away the bite that fall had left on her cheeks. Her arrival was met with a few kind words from the inn’s patrons, which she returned with a friendly nod and a smile.
“Hey there, we thought you might not be coming!” Hemlock called to her from behind the bar, already pouring a drink for her.
She approached him, and before she had fully reached the bar he was already pressing the warm glass into her hands. She nodded gratefully as she took in the sweet aroma of the hot apple cider. The cup was lifted to her lips, and it burned down her throat. Spiked—with something alcoholic, surely. Hemlock grinned at her scrunched face knowingly.
“I just got done pulling all my pumpkins from the vines,” she said, pretending to wipe the metaphorical sweat from her brow. The sting in her arms and hands was hard to ignore, but after a few glasses of the cider, it would be a distant memory.
“All by yourself?” He frowned, looking concerned. “We got plenty of hands around here to help—if you would ask.”
The farmer shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s okay! I wouldn’t want to bother anybody. Besides, it’s a good workout!”
Hemlock raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us. Now go on, enjoy yourself.” He waved her away in good faith, turning to refill the empty glasses perched on the bartop; it seemed that Valen and Juniper were in another heated discussion, and of course, being egged on by Elise and Terithia.
Turning her attention away from the scene (but not before leaving a few tesserae on the counter), her eyes scanned the lively room, drifting from face to face. Eiland was hosting yet another session of Dungeons & Drama, with an eager table consisting of Nora, Balor, Celine, and Adeline. Over the past few weeks, Balor had really taken to the game and was utterly immersed in the story that Eiland was unraveling. She had been thinking about asking to join in on the next game if they had room for one more.
Someone called her name and pulled her attention away from the table. Her head whipped toward the voice and she immediately spotted Olric waving his arms energetically. Waving back, her eyes dropped down to the person sitting across from him; seeing a familiar mop of red hair set atop a pair of broad shoulders. Warmth spread out from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes, and she couldn’t stop an excited grin from spreading across her face.
She hurriedly bee-lined for their table, where the rest of the townsfolk seemed to be in the middle of a game of cards. She took the open seat next to March, who seemed surprised at her choice of seat. He straightened his back, acknowledging her with a grunt. A quick glance down at his glass of beer revealed it to be about half-empty, which inclined the farmer that tonight would be one of his “grumpy” nights.
“Glad you could make it!” Olric said genuinely. He held out his glass to her, to which she mirrored him and clanked the edge of her cup against his. As she took a generous sip, she pointedly gestured toward the lack of cards in the brothers’ hands.
“Not playing?”
Olric shakes his head while March sighs. “I'm banned. They told me I had to sit a few games out, so I'm on spectator duty.”
That earned a hearty laugh from her, as she heard the rumble of agreement from the players at the other end of the table.
She becomes distinctly aware of March's presence beside her, trying her best to ignore the heat radiating off of the blacksmith. It wasn't unlike the forge he worked at most days; it was hard to keep herself from melting like a lump of copper ore. He had such a profound effect on her, and he hadn’t even said one word.
“And how about you?” She asked him, trying to keep her voice level. “What's your excuse?”
He finally made eye contact with her, shrugging as he pulled his beer closer. “Not feeling like it today,” he said gruffly, but not unkindly. She can see the redness in his cheeks now; he must have had a few drinks before she arrived.
“I’m surprised; I didn’t think you’d miss out on a chance to beat everyone,” she teased. He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair.
“I guess I'm not in the mood for showing off tonight.” He smirked, taking a hefty pull from his glass. March was notoriously competitive, everyone knew that. She never knew why he was so abrasive with her right off the bat, not until she came into his shop on a rainy afternoon at his request and he unleashed his grievances with her showing up in Mistria to help revitalize the town. She was glad for that interaction, though, because that was when she started to understand more about him and why he is the way that he is—she didn't need the copper hoe he gave her to see that.
So, it was obvious to her why March might sit out on a few games if his brother was being excluded, too.
“How sad, I would have loved to crush you,” she lamented, frowning playfully.
Olric sucked in a breath, his eyes darting between the two before him. The farmer seemed keen on playing with fire; the problem was that March was more like a volcano, where one little push might cause him to erupt.
But to their surprise, March just laughed. It's bubbly and rewarding to listen to; she felt butterflies in her stomach at the sound.
March quieted down, catching his breath. A grin remained on his face as he leaned in closer to her, face flushed and eyes hazy. Surely, he had more to drink than she initially thought; he was close enough that she could smell it oozing off him, mixed with the unmistakable scent of sweat and soot. She felt lightheaded.
She couldn't tear her eyes away from his lips as he formed his next words. “ You. Wish .”
Then suddenly, he moved back, his chair rocking back onto the floor with a resounding clatter. The sound makes her jump.
Regaining her senses, she clears her throat and finishes off her drink. She eyes Olric from behind her glass, who has a suspiciously innocuous expression on his face. The moment her glass was back on the table, he scooped it up with his brother's.
“Looks like we need a refill! Don't worry, I got you guys,” he says chipperly, standing up from his seat. Before she can get any words out of her mouth, he's gone; but she swears she catches a wink from him as he strides away to the bar.
The air was a little tense, and the farmer found her fingers thrumming against the side of her leg in an attempt to soothe her nerves. March is only being friendly because he's drunk, she reasoned. No other reason.
When she looked back up, March was already looking at her. His face betrayed nothing; he was just studying her, as if wondering what she would do next.
“I don't bite,” he finally said after some time. His words surprised her and her expression twisted somewhat in remorse - she didn’t mean to make him feel like she was scared of him, or something. Unbeknownst to him, it was quite the opposite.
“I know,” she said quickly, dispelling any doubt. “I just-” she paused, not wanting to say too much, lest she embarrass herself with the alcohol loosening her tongue.
“Just what?” He pressed.
She is suddenly very interested in the torn skin around her fingernails. “I don't know.”
“You knew about 5 seconds ago.”
“-I just want you to like me,” she spilled, unable to stop the words from flowing out of her mouth. She bit down on her knuckle, punishing herself for her pathetic attempt at restraint. His face was unreadable, and the farmer wished she could curl up into a ball and disappear. Not only did she not mean to say that out loud, but now she had effectively ruined the rare playful mood between them.
March reached out, gently pulling her hand away from her mouth. His touch was warm and gentle; a stark contrast to his usual harsh behavior. “You don't have to worry about that, so stop it.”
He squeezed her hand lightly before letting go. She was disappointed at the loss of contact but relished in the lingering feeling on her skin. “I'm sorry,” she says.
He scoffed in disbelief while shaking his head. “For what? I know I can be hard to get along with, that's not your fault.”
“I don't want to mess things up between us,” she said quietly.
“You didn't.”
The air was stagnant as she struggled to find something to say. Thankfully, she didn't have to.
“I think Olric forgot about us.” He craned his neck around to the bar, his brother nowhere in sight. He sighed and scooted back in his chair, making to stand. “Wanna go outside and get some air?”
She nodded gratefully, swiftly following him up from her seat. Together, they made their way to the door, not noticing the hushed whispers and curious glances from the Inn’s patrons as the pair slipped out into the cool night air.
The loud chatter and music faded to a distant hum as the doors closed behind them. Her body tried to hold onto the warmth as the breeze seeped through her flannel, but it felt nice; the cold air helped sober her up a bit. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked away from the building and down the dimly lit road. A shiver made its way down her spine, but she couldn't tell if it was from the cold or something else.
Silence hung heavily in the air, only broken by the intermittent chirping of crickets. She recalled donating an impressively sized one to the museum the other day, and wondered if March would have something pettish to say about it after what he said about the worm.
They didn't stop until they came to the bridge that led to her farm; she hadn't realized they walked so far without a word, only each other's company.
March paused on the bridge, resting against the railing as he looked out over the calm water. The light of the moon reflected off the river and cast a glow over his features. His once vibrant flush had since died down, and he had come to look more like the man she saw during the day: apprehensive, cold, and unapproachable - at least to her. His hands flexed as he squeezed the railing a bit tighter. It seemed he was struggling with something, but she didn't know what to say, so she kept quiet.
“Why did you come to Mistria?” The silence was finally broken.
The question caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”
He turns to face her, still leaning against the railing. His expression is cautious but intense.
“Why are you here?” He repeats as if saying it again would somehow make it make more sense. “You had a life somewhere else, right? Friends, family?” His voice was thick with an emotion she couldn't quite place, but it didn't make her feel good. “Why leave it all behind?”
Knots twisted and furled in her gut and her heart raced like a hummingbird in her chest; suddenly she felt defensive. “I wanted change - to start fresh. Why does it matter?”
“Because! People don't just come to a dying town for a fresh start! They always want more—more than we can give,” he's raising his voice now, and it reverberates through the thicket of trees lining the area, bouncing back and piercing straight through her.
She recoiled at his words, a burning sensation bubbling up inside her. “How dare you? I’ve done nothing but try to help, and you—what have you done? Sat back and judged me from the moment I got here!”
The bridge creaked concerningly as he shoved away from the edge, pressing the heels of his palms into his face frustratedly. “You don't get it,” he groans.
“I'm trying,” she pleaded. “I really am.” How did they get here? They were doing so well, so how did it get to this point? She tried to stem the tears that threatened to fall by biting the inside of her lip.
“It's not as easy as you're making this out to be. You can't just barge in here with your bright ideas and think that you can fix everything!” He's closer than he was before, barely an arm's breadth between them.
A laugh made its way out of her mouth, and he looked offended. “So, you think I'm naive? That I don't understand that these things take time and effort? I came here because I wanted to be a part of something meaningful, something real. But all you've done since I came here is try to push me out like I'm some kind of outsider who doesn't belong!”
“Maybe you are!” he shot back sharply. “You don't know this town, these people. You don't know me.”
Bitter tears rolled down her cheeks, chilling her blotchy, reddened skin. “You know what March, you're right. I don't know you. I've tried to get closer to you, to understand you; but you won't let anyone in,” she paused to dry her eyes with her sleeve. “Earlier, I wasn't lying when I told you I just wanted you to like me.”
March was frozen in place, his mouth clamped shut. His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he stared down at her, trying to calm his racing heart.
“Why?” He finally asked, his voice hoarse. “Why do you care so much if I like you?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. How could she explain it when she barely understood it herself? All she knew was that ever since she’d met him, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. His rough edges, his stubbornness, the way he seemed to care so much about the future of this town - she wanted to be there for him, to ease some of that burden, even if he was vehemently against it.
And that was just the shallow end of the pool; she didn't dare think to mention the countless thoughts she had about heated glances, the way his calloused hands might feel against her skin, or moments where he might show her his true colors - who he might really be beneath his stone-cold facade.
Her silence spoke volumes. It didn't take much for March to string together the clues - his shock at the realization was obvious. “Wait—what are you getting at?” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, breaking his usually confident demeanor.
There was no hesitation. “I care about you,” she said, using what little courage she had left to speak it aloud. “More than I probably should.”
March barely moved a muscle, and she felt like throwing up. God, she had just thrown everything all away. The fact that he hadn’t said anything was surely because he didn't feel the same. She could never show her face in Mistria again after this-
Suddenly, in one swift motion, he was closing the distance between them. The farmer barely had any time to gasp in a breath before his hands were on her shoulders and pulling her in close to crash his lips against hers.
It was everything she had imagined and more; his kiss was demanding, yet careful. Her mouth was stiff against his, still barely registering what was going on. After a moment he pulled away, breathing heavily and looking at her expectantly.
Her body responded on instinct, her hands coming up and grasping the front of his shirt to pull him back into a bruising kiss. He responded in kind, his arms coming around her and caging her against his body. She poured the cumulation of months of frustration into the connection. Her body flooded with relief because finally, finally , it was happening; the emotion was overwhelming. A sob fell from her lips, and he swallowed it hungrily.
His lips moved against hers without abandon, like he was making up for lost time. He barely let her come up for air before he was pressing his mouth against hers again, and again, and again. She wasn’t aware she was moving until her back fell hard against the railing. There was never any fear of falling, because March’s grip on her was like an anchor keeping her ashore.
Her hands should have been freezing, but the heat from his body radiated off of him like a furnace, even through his shirt; they splayed across his toned chest, and she could feel his heart pounding erratically against her palms. He finally came up for air, resting his forehead against hers as he tried to catch his breath, which puffed out and warmed her face. His signature headband was askew and covering part of his face; so she reached up and pushed it back, resting her hand on the side of his sweaty face.
March’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned his head into her hand. He carefully moved an arm from behind her and pressed his hand to hers, as if afraid she might take it away.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole,” he said quietly. She frowns, shaking her head.
“You’re not an asshole. A jerk, maybe.”
He laughs, leaning back and looking at her fully. “That’s a polite way of putting it.”
A grin forms on her face, and she swats him on the arm playfully. “I mean it, but thank you for apologizing anyway.”
They stood there for a bit, enjoying the closeness they both likely wanted for a while. It may have been cold outside, but she felt warmer just being beside him.
“I’ll be better,” he repeated, his voice sincere. “I promise to stop being such a jerk all the time.”
She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips in pretend thought. “I don’t know, I think I like your grumpy side, just a little bit.”
March let out a huff, amused. “Oh, so now you like it when I’m mean to you?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she moved to wrap her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his sternum; his heartbeat picked up as a result. “I think you just need a hug every now and then.”
He returned her embrace enthusiastically, squeezing her tightly.
“Maybe you’re right.”