Work Text:
Alm is not a shy child. Why, he’s the life of Ram Village, and everyone knows it. With a full head of green, he runs around, arm outstretched in front of him, and leads the other children into games and shenanigans. He does not think, he does not falter. He merely walks, and the others follow. (It comes so naturally; it feels so right to just lead, to just be with the other children).
Alm is not a shy child, but it’s when a head of red—red, red, red, a pastel red, the color of poppies shimmering in the early morning fog, and the color of his cheeks, when he first sets eyes on her—enters the village with a bow tied neatly atop her head, that he becomes shy, unsure of what do. He does think, and he falters, stumbling over words while his mind races a mile a minute over thoughts that are only spoken partially and never fully elaborated on.
The girl does not, however. Celica, she introduces herself as.
His mind goes silent. Celica, he repeats.
Even at the age of nine, he hung on tightly to her name, vowing to never forget her nor her eyes. Oh, but of course he’d never, not when the name belongs to the kindest girl in the world.
In the fields, where she weaves flower crowns so delicate yet so sturdy for his head, he learns she smells like caramel, rose water, and morning dew drops. Fresh, refreshing; like she was born from the earth in the early morning, and he was so lucky enough to be awake to greet her. How fortuitous! Surely even Mother Mila is jealous that it is he that gets to spend time with Celica and not her.
Something draws him nearer to her. Impress her, impress her, he thinks. Alm tries, a lopsided smile painting his lips when he tells her that she should be careful because the blades of grass can be very sharp. She calls him a clod for telling her such a stupid joke—a smile accents the end of her insult, and he laughs, mostly out of anxiety and mostly out of excitement because she knew it was a joke. She knew it was a joke! He will have to practice and tell her more.
Later, Alm learns that she is quite punderful herself, when she tries to return puns wittier than his, and though he appreciates the sentiment, they were never quite as good. (He still laughs; oh, of course he laughs. He can't help but laugh, because she brings him so much joy, terrible puns and all). Hands to his lips, he doubles over laughing, and she follows suit.
Alm is not a shy child, but with Celica he falters occasionally, briefly, and it’s always, only, when she smiles and laughs. It’s always when she gives him the time of day, and he, excited to be in her presence, stays by her side, hand in hers, as he leads her around the village. No longer with any of the other children, just them.
Just them.