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They’re going to the observatory again, as a date. This is their fourth or fifth time going up there, for the sole purpose of eating lunch and chatting about their day. Dylas knows damn well they’re not going to do anything new up there— just sit and share their food with each other, and maybe, if Dylas is brave enough, he’ll ask her nicely for a kiss.
They meet up outside her room, ignoring the poorly veiled staring and giggling from passerby who recognize them for what they are— a blatantly young couple who’s blatantly in love. Frey takes his hand into hers for a second, disregarding the fact that his hands are so much larger than hers, which is more than enough to send Dylas redder than a tomato.
If this had been back when they first got together, Dylas knows for a fact he’d have keeled over onto the ground from either sheer embarrassment or the overwhelming love he has for Frey. Maybe even both. He doesn’t even think he’d make it to her door.
But now, just short of a year into their relationship?
His heart swells with pride as she leads him through the streets, a smile bright on her face as she walks and chats about anything that catches her interest. Her crops, her monster barns, something that happened with Clorica, even something that she had seen while out adventuring with him. He listens to her every word with his full attention, not caring that she leaps from topic to topic without any sort of logic.
Truthfully, he thinks her voice is sweet. He normally doesn’t enjoy sweet things, not in the slightest, but Frey is different. Her voice washes over him like a bucket of ice cold water over his head. Crisp and clear and refreshing, a feeling Dylas thinks he could bask in all day long. Powerful and exciting and maybe a touch overwhelming, but in a good way.
Frey is talkative. It’s endearing. Dylas likes listening to her talk, and if she stops to greet every one of their friends they pass while marching along to their destination of choice, who is he to stop her? It’s not like them dating is a secret of any kind.
Really, everyone in Selphia knows they’re dating. Everyone knows what to expect when they see Frey dragging him around town, or when they see Dylas standing outside the right wing of the castle with a covered plate of food, still fresh and warm. And, well— that knowledge makes something stir within him, something Dylas has yet to identify and name, new and not unwelcome in the slightest.
Leon gives them a knowing look, sending a smug grin at Dylas once Frey looks away. Vishnal and Volkanon coo over them, and even Margaret gives them a smile as they run past. Amber giggles, Kiel laughs, and Porcoline even offers to give them lunch when they inevitably end up dropping in, just so Frey can drop off something she made for Arthur.
“Sorry for taking so many detours,” she apologizes as they exit the restaurant. “It’s probably a little annoying, making you listen to me babble at everyone.”
Dylas has never heard a more wrong statement in his life. “N-No! Never!” If only he knew how to better convey it.
The door to the observatory building creaks open. Dylas lets Frey start her trek up the stairs, staying behind to keep a close eye on her as they make their way up. Not that he likes watching her (he does), but, hey, what if she falls? Dylas can’t exactly keep her safe in fights— it’s the other way around, actually— but the least he can do is keep her fed and make sure she doesn’t trip every ten seconds.
Frey pauses. Dylas pauses as well. She turns to face him, the stairs giving her enough of a boost in height so that he’s forced to look up at her for once. “Are you sure? I know we said we’d meet up at ten, but it took us an hour to even get here. You don’t have to, like… Let me drag you around, or anything like that.” Her cheeks redden. “I want you to be honest with me, and tell me if it ever bothers you… okay? Or, um. I guess…”
Her face goes red. Dylas has to physically restrain himself from cooing and squishing her cheeks. It’s so unfair that she can be so cute all the damn time. Teach me your secrets, Frey.
“I want you to be honest with me,” Frey finishes, looking embarrassed enough for the both of them. “I know it’s hard for you, and that you get nervous and stuff, but…”
Inexplicably, and without any good reason at all, Dylas feels his own cheeks redden as well. How the hell can she say something like that with so little hesitation? If he tried to say something like that, he’d never make it past the first word. He’s sure of it.
He opens his mouth to say something like, I want to be honest with you too, except through some kind of stupid, divine fuck-up in his brain, it comes out as, “Y-Yeah. I… I want to…”
The words all get stuck in his throat. His mouth feels like it’s been emptied of any moisture, and Dylas isn’t so sure he’s able to conjure any real sentences anymore.
Still, Frey keeps looking at him, smiling softly despite the brilliant redness to her face. There’s not a single thing that would make Dylas think she’s mocking him— it’s the same earnest, tender gaze she gives him when they’re swapping lunches, or when Dylas drags her out of harm’s way when exploring or…
Whenever, really, he thinks. And, mind you, this isn’t something he’d ever tell her out loud, but it also reminds him of himself, somehow. He’s pretty sure he’s given her the exact same look. Numerous times. Usually when she’s not looking.
Her gaze makes him feel tender, too. It’s hard to look directly at her like this.
“I get it,” Frey finally says, voice hushed as though it were some deep secret between them and them alone. And truthfully, Dylas thinks it very well might be. He doesn’t doubt her in the slightest.
“Y… Yeah. I do too.” And he does.
Her smile grows. Dylas feels his own smile form to match.
Reaching up, Dylas offers Frey his hand. His face feels like it's on fire, and still he does his best to look her in the eye. “Well... if you’re still up for our lunch date up top…”
Frey tips her head back and laughs, as though that were the funniest thing she’s heard all day long. She slips her hand into his, slotting their fingers together and rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb— something Dylas realizes, with a start, he finds disgustingly soothing, how has this never happened to him before— and then even leans over to kiss him on the forehead.
She pulls away with a giggle, squeezing his hand tightly and leading him onwards.
The door to the balcony opens up effortlessly, revealing to them an empty area perfect for them to share their lunch together. Dylas holds the door open for her, letting her slip outside with ease. She turns to face him, still grinning bright, then presents her dish of choice. “I made us milk porridge today! It came out way better than it did last time!”
Last time hadn’t been edible in the slightest. There’s not much of a bar to pass, though Dylas doesn’t say this out loud— they’re both fully aware. Lifting the cover to the bowl reveals that yeah , she hadn’t been lying— it looks amazing, actually.
“Yeah, it did,” he agrees, mouth watering just from looking at it. He wonders if he should have put more thought into his dish, and brought something Frey loves as much as he loves milk porridge. “You practiced a lot, huh?”
“Of course! I mean, I have to learn at some point, I think,” Frey explains, clearly on the start of one of her little rambles. She settles on the ground by the railing, letting her legs dangle off the edge, bowl set on the floor besides her. “I know I’m good at fighting, and at forging weapons, but I don’t think I’ll have to fight forever. Or, at least, I hope I won’t have to. So I was thinking, and I realized I felt bad for always bringing sashimi or sandwiches to our lunch dates, and decided that I had to figure out how to cook for you!”
Dylas frowns as he takes a seat besides her, his own plate of gyoza being held carefully in his lap. That same something starts to stir in his chest again, light and fuzzy. “You don’t have to learn to cook for me if you don’t want to. I, uh…” He turns away from her, as though that would somehow give him the courage to say what he wants to. “It doesn't b-bother me. Cooking all the time. For— For you, I mean.”
That’s the horrible, terrible, embarrassing truth, one that Dylas has been too shy to admit to himself for weeks now. Their whole lunch date thing had started out as their schedules meeting up, and nothing more. But now it’s a thing, and it's their thing now. Never before has it bothered him that Frey only ever brings the same few things to lunch, or that he’s been the one doing the bulk of the cooking for them. In fact…
“I actually… I wouldn’t mind…” Everything he wants to say is right there on the tip of his tongue. Why is it so hard to just talk? He clenches his jaw and tries his hardest to force the words out. “A-Always cooking for you doesn’t sound… all that bad. I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t mind. At all.”
His face is for sure on fire. Dylas is extremely thankful that nobody else is around to witness him butchering his own words. He’d never live it down.
Frey is silent. She gapes at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. For a whole minute, she stares at him, not a single noise coming out of her. It’s almost concerning.
Then she shuts her mouth with a faint clack , a steady blush spreading across her face like a wildfire. She turns away from him, her hair narrowly missing his face. “You’re terrible,” she huffs, though the meaning behind it is lost on Dylas. His brain is transfixed on the way the tips of her ears are tinged red now. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen her this flustered before.
“T.. Terrible how?”
“You— ugh. You can’t get all embarrassed over me saying mushy things and then— and then say things like that!” Frey smacks his arm lightly, whipping her head back around to look at him face to face once more. Her face is so red it's practically glowing. “I thought you were supposed to be the shy one between us, Dally!”
Dally? The use of a pet name sends a fresh rush of embarrassment (he refuses to call it shyness) through his body. His face quickly grows to match Frey’s in color. “Huh?! What’s that supposed to mean? I was— I’m just being honest! Li- Like you said!”
He can’t even think of a fitting pet name to get her back with. What kind of nickname is he supposed to pull from Frey , anyways?
Silence settles between them. Frey stares at him, and he stares back. They’re both disturbingly red, which is probably the most embarrassing part of all. They’ve been dating for… a while now, haven't they? What do they have left to be embarrassed over?
Dylas takes in the sight of his girlfriend. Face red, bowl of porridge in her lap, hair all messed up from the breeze...
He laughs. Something about her face, combined with their whole situation, is honestly a little funny to him. A lot funny, actually. Frey stares at him wide-eyed for all of a second, before she starts to laugh too. She laughs so hard she knocks her bowl of porridge over, sending it toppling off the edge of the observatory.
The sound of ceramic breaking cries out, closely followed by a cry that’s distinctly Porco , and for a second Frey and Dylas freeze. But then Frey snickers and giggles again, leaning against Dylas’ side to muffle her delight into his shoulder as her giggles evolve to full laughter. He doesn’t mind all that much, having to turn away just to hide his own smile.
If she’s happy, then… he’s happy. As stupid and sappy and terrible as it may sound, it’s true.
A sudden warmth blooms in his chest, sugar-sweet and almost overwhelming in its power. It’s a weird feeling, and certainly not one Dylas is used to feeling. Frey is happy, though, so it can’t be that bad. And Frey being happy makes him happy.
This is what it’s like, then, to be in love. Probably. The thought makes his smile grow softer. His heart flutters and flits about in his chest the same way it has every time he thinks about Frey, even after all this time.
That’s good, Dylas thinks. That’s how it’s supposed to be.