Chapter Text
Little star-themed lamps, candles, and decorations dotted Mistria, casting flickering, soft shadows. People were shutting down their shops and some were setting out blankets just as the sun was setting, marking the beginning of the shooting star festival. March was still at the anvil, wrapping up an order of nails as Olric laid out a picnic blanket not too far away. He handled his tools harshly, deliberately ignoring the twisting feeling in his chest.
He was just about finished cleaning up the workstation when he heard her mellifluous voice suffuse through the plaza, wishing everyone a happy festival as she passed by. He turned to see her leaning against the fountain in a long summer dress and boots, staring idly at the decorations with an appreciative smile.
He frowned, brows furrowed.
Was she waiting for someone? He was confident that she was going to watch the stars from the comfort of her farm after his refusal, but when he saw Hayden approach and courteously extend an elbow to her, he froze, his stomach sinking to his feet when she smiled and threaded her arm around his.
As they approached, he rushed to look busy. He faced the forge and probed at the cooling coals, clenching his teeth and ignoring her eager greeting. The silence after was stifling. She was waiting for him to respond, but he buried himself deeper into tending the dying fire, poking at it and struggling to breathe through the smoke and suffocating tension. Only when her boots faded in the distance did he let down his sloppy act, leaning against the forge with his fingers digging into the stone frame. He tasted something bitter in his mouth as he watched the coals glow a fading red.
Why did he care so much? Why did the thought of her going with someone else make his throat close and his jaw clench? He rejected her first. How could she be fine when he wasn’t? He hauled a bucket of water and doused it into the forge with more force than necessary, a cloud of steam hissing in his face as he ran his hands through his hair, irritated.
Was he that easy to replace? He wasn't kind like Hayden. He wasn't emotionally mature, placid, and chivalrous, nor did he tower over her and have biceps the size of her face. He provoked her and taunted her and turned everything into a petty competition, but she enjoyed it. Right? She responded with her own jabs, egging him on with careful quips that kept their banter flowing. She lingered by the anvil, sack full of ore and wrestling with him for space to smelt them down to ingots. If she wasn’t farming or mining, she was with him.
So why was she going with Hayden ? Did she like him? Was she seeing Hayden when she wasn’t with him?
That made his chest ache .
He needed to know.
He glanced back at Olric, who was already comfortable on the blanket and giving him a curious look. He had watched the scene unfold, and when their gaze met, he asked knowingly, “You're gonna talk to Ari?”
Cheeks warm and throat tight, March turned away. “I'll try to be back on time.”
Olric's eyes softened as he grinned, and March itched to flee. “Don't worry about me, little bro. Take your time.”
He nodded wordlessly, heading west to the summit with his mind hazy.
When he ascended to the top and saw their silhouettes, bitterness clawed at his throat. They sat a respectable distance away from each other, Ari tucking her legs beside her modestly as Hayden leaned back on his palms, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She giggled lightly at something he said, making March dig his teeth deeper into his bottom lip and approach them.
At the sound of a twig breaking beneath his heavy boot, they turned to him, Hayden's brown eyes gleaming with understanding and amusement.
“March!” Ari called just as Hayden pushed himself up, a grin spreading across her lips.
Standing at the center of their attention, he felt the air being sucked out of him and his head clearing suddenly. He clenched his hands in consternation. What was he doing? Why was he here when they were on a date? He was interrupting. He shouldn't be here. He should go–
Hayden clapped his shoulder with a firm and warm hand, bringing him to the present. With his pupils blown wide, March stared into Hayden's eyes that were soft with wisdom. The crow’s feet hugging his temples seemed to wink at him as the farmer smiled.
Leaning slightly into his space, Hayden said kindly in that warm, fatherly voice of his, “Be honest, won't you?” He stepped back and waved goodbye to a confused Ari, who tilted her head and watched them curiously. He walked away, giving him one last encouraging grin.
“What was that about?” she mused once Hayden was out of earshot.
March coughed into his fist, unable to look at her. He stood like a statue even as she patted at the spot beside her, welcoming him, but he couldn't get himself to move.
“Are you okay?” she asked gently, making him flinch.
“I'm fine!” he barked. Sighing in frustration at his temper and her raised brows, he trudged over and sat cross-legged in Hayden's spot, retreating into his tense shoulders.
Ari hummed contentedly, stretching her legs in front of her and leaning onto her palms to gaze up at the darkening sky. She breathed deeply, taking in the woody scent of the forest around her and the crickets chirping in the tall grass. It was beautiful out, though the atmosphere was a little thick with March sitting beside her, stewing in his thoughts. She could hear him thinking but didn't want to rush him, so she tried focusing on the violet sky above her.
“Listen,” he started, fisting at the grass and pulling it out. She didn't turn to face him, knowing he'd fumble under the pressure of her stare, so she kept her gaze on the twinkling stars. He took in a shaky breath. “Why…why Hayden?”
She blinked and resisted the urge to face him, caught off-guard. “What about Hayden?” she parroted slowly.
Still looking at the ground, he continued, “You know what the Shooting Star Festival means, right? Do you…like Hayden?” He bit at the inside of his cheeks, detesting how small and pathetic and weak his voice sounded.
Ari hummed, now understanding. “No, I don’t.” She paused, curling her fingers and picking at her dry cuticles with her thumbs. “I like you, March,” she nearly whispered, face warming and heart thumping.
He recoiled at the confession, his cheeks blazing. It felt different hearing it now that he felt the same. But it was also unusual for her to be vulnerable and sincere with him. Her presence had always been so assertive and loud and big , which made her attraction to him oftentimes feel like a show, like she was starring in a play and he was the audience. When she had presented the brooch to him, the atmosphere was casual; she had shrugged off his rejection and they both moved on as if nothing had happened. The next day, they were back to bickering and making fun of each other – it was never so… raw .
He grasped at the verdant blades of wildgrass, tugging and tugging to distract him from the palpable awkwardness growing between them. She coughed, readjusting her weight on her palms when her fingers brushed against his. She flinched back, but his hand found hers again.
She turned to him, alarmed, but he stubbornly kept his gaze forward, his face radiating warmth. His hand dwarfed hers; it was warm and a bit clammy, and she could feel the calluses of his palm against her knuckles. He began fiddling with her fingers, facing their hands and mumbling something about how much dirt was caked underneath her nails to try not to appear tender. But she stilled his hand, holding his fingers firmly and slowly weaving them together, palms pressed against each other.
He finally met her gaze, mouth opening and closing in many attempts to respond.
She grinned at his effort but decided to grant him clemency. “I take it you like me back?” she quipped, glancing down at their intertwined hands.
He rolled his eyes. “Obviously,” he grumbled automatically, but he bit his tongue, reprimanding himself.
Now was not the time to be belligerent when she was lowering her own walls to be open with him. Uncomfortably, he returned his eyes to their hands, rubbing her knuckles distractedly and nearly crumbling beneath her intense stare. But he persevered. He needed to do this.
“I…I like you, Ari. Have for a while.”
He trailed off at the end, his confidence already dwindling just from speaking his confession out into the stillness of the forest, but he pushed on, keeping his focus on their hands even as his heart thumped loudly in his ears.
“You’re annoying as shit, you’re bossy, and you need to be knocked down a peg” -- he ignored her snort – “but I like it and you’re pretty and funny and strong and I can’t get you out of my fucking head. Rejecting you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made, and I want – I want you . So…will you – will you have me?”
His voice dropped to an uncertain whisper at the end and just as she was about to respond, he clicked his tongue abruptly and turned away, his determination spent.
“Fuck, this is so cringe ,” he groaned, clamping his eyes closed and rubbing his forehead with his free hand. Then he glared at the stars, wishing a meteor would strike him down to remove him from this embarrassing situation.
She wrapped her hands around his, scooting closer. “You’re okay. You did great,” she soothed, but that made him prickle in chagrin. Noticing the rise in his shoulders, his hand tightening around hers, and the crease in his brows as he stubbornly kept his steely gaze on the stars, she tried to steer the conversation into the familiar territory of light and easy while also earnest, but that proved difficult.
“March,” she started, her voice cracking into a broken squeak. She hastily cleared her throat and saw a slight smirk curl on his lip, making her scrunch her nose. His shoulders sank from his ears and his grip loosened in her hand, but he still wouldn’t look at her. “First, how dare you take pleasure in that,” she stammered, her cheeks warming. “Second, I like you. You like me–”
“Yea, we already established that,” he interrupted with an unbidden grin.
She huffed, flustered. “Okay, whatever. So, you wanna date or what?” she grumbled. Now she was fiddling with his fingers, hoping the flush on her face wasn’t visible in the dark as she compared the size of his fingers to hers – his pinky finger was as large as her index finger, scarred and rough from years of his trade.
Her touch left a tingling and burning trail on his skin, as if he had strayed too close to the forge with his bare hands. “Sure, I guess.” He wished a breeze would sweep through and cool down the heat of his cheeks.
“Oh, um, okay. Cool,” she replied, releasing his hand and leaning back against her palms again, breathing deeply to steady her racing heart and calm the red on her face. Then she gasped, drawing his eyes to her. “Look! It’s starting!” she exclaimed, watching as meteors fell into orbit and blazed through the black night, leaving a trail of glimmering stardust in its wake.
March briefly looked to the sky. The streaks of gold left in the sky still left him in a state of awe, despite seeing the same view every year. But this year, it was different. He glanced at her. Who knew so much could change in so little time? Ari had come to Mistria like a tornado, throwing him off kilter and bringing him somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere new and exciting and different from his mundane life. At first, he felt threatened when she had disrupted his deeply-rooted routine, but over time, her visits became a breath of fresh air – something to look forward to.
“What? You’re staring at me,” she said with a smile. “Can’t get enough of me?” She shimmied her shoulders in exaggeration, finally easing them into their usual dynamic.
He glanced away, scoffing at her act but biting back the habitual insult with no ire. It wouldn’t be good if he insulted his girlfriend on the first day of dating. His stomach jumped to his throat at the word. They were dating .They were boyfriend and girlfriend .
She giggled at his expression, and her head fell to rest on his shoulder, her hair tickling the inside of his elbow. He jolted slightly and turned to her; she stared up at him with those doe eyes, making him freeze like he was the deer in front of headlights. Her lashes were long but uncurled, a light sheen of sweat and oil from the thick summer air made her skin glisten in the weak moonlight, and her eyes, endless pools of hazel dilated in the dark, were soft with adoration. His breath hitched at the sight of her raw beauty.
“Is this okay?” she whispered.
“Yea.” His voice cracked in his nervousness, and he coughed it out. She grinned, but not in a mocking way. More like in endearment.
“Nice one, boyfriend ,” she teased, turning her attention to the sky as she reached for his hand. He yielded, letting her interlock their fingers. Her thumb swept across his knuckles, grounding him into the moment.
“Shut up, girlfriend ,” he bit back softly, leaning his cheek atop her head and thanking the stars that blazed above.