Archive of Our Own

Childhood memories, as most people will tell you, are oxymoronic. The same memory that brings happiness one day can bring regret the next. Nostalgia falls somewhere between these, dancing along the lines of sorrow and joy as it churns an uncomfortable - yet comforting - sensation in your chest.

Milliecap was only eight years old (over halfway to being a half-foot adult, mind you!) when she decided she hated everything. Hated the loud music that would play from the tavern nearby. Hated how the sun was always shining in her eyes. Hated how her hair just wasn’t as long as she wanted it to be. 

Chilchuck was only ten years old when he decided he hated everything. Hated how much his father would drink. Hated how the days felt too short for him to hone his picklock skills. Hated how his fringe was constantly hanging over his eyebrows and tickling his eyelashes for weeks between his mother trimming it.

They hated different things, aside from one. Each other. Milliecap had been forced into Chilchuck’s life the same way he had been forced into hers. Forced to play together because “It’d be good for you to make friends with a half-foot boy your age, Millie!”. She didn’t even want to move to the Eastern Continent in the first place, let alone be friends with someone so smug . That wasn’t to say that Milliecap was the epitome of humble; It was quite the opposite, actually.

Milliecap was only eight years old when she decided she hated everything. Everything other than playing the wooden flute. It was a gift left from her mother, before she passed. Milliecap didn’t remember her mother, which didn’t bother her much. It made life easier. She’d seen how depressed it made her father, and she didn’t want that for herself. Whenever Milliecap felt as though things were getting too much, she’d sit and play. Whenever her father yelled at her, asking how she didn’t even care to get to know what kind of person her mother was. Never one for expressing herself, Milliecap found solace in that little wooden instrument. Through those crescendos, those malinconico notes, those reprises, Milliecap felt as though she had finally found a way to let out all of those uncomfortable emotions she’d spent eight years keeping locked away. 

The field was Milliecap’s only reprieve from the four walls of her home. The only place where she wouldn’t get yelled at for playing ‘that damn racket’. It was especially wonderful in the early hours of the morning, when dewdrops were left undisturbed on those green blades that were eager to drink them. Sitting there, becoming one with nature as she played and played and played until her lungs gave up on her. Until she could recite it again and again without any faults. Those were the moments that got Milliecap through each day.

Moving into the Eastern Continent had ruined that, for a while. Between unpacking, buying enough food until her father could get a job, and learning the unfamiliar layout, Milliecap simply didn’t have the time to play. With the addition of Chilchuck, those opportunities became rarer and rarer.

Today, she’d finally found the time. Milliecap had woken up earlier than she needed to, flute in hand, and snuck off into the field. The sun had barely finished rising, basking the village in those lovely golden hues as it made its presence known. The flowers were opening up, accepting the warmth into their core to help them grow. Milliecap liked flowers, she supposed. They were pretty, and she liked pretty things. As she settled down - dress wet from the early morning rain - Milliecap took a moment to look up at the sky. She wondered, idly, if her mother was looking down on her. Would she be happy with the young woman Milliecap was turning into?

Bringing the flute to her lips, Milliecap began to play.

She couldn’t remember where she’d heard the song originally, but she remembered how it made her feel. Peace was not something that came easily to Milliecap’s heart, not with all those difficult emotions bubbling and threatening to spill at any moment. Though when she’d heard this, peace was the only thing she could feel. Like all of her problems over her life had faded. Like there was nothing to worry about anymore. Milliecap quickly decided that this was her favourite piece to play. It had taken her months to perfect it.

Chilchuck didn’t get the chance to hear the flute that often. It wasn’t a necessarily uncommon instrument, but those around him much preferred the lute. So when he was rudely awoken by the melody radiating from the field behind his house, he found he couldn’t be too angry about it. Instead, he groggily slid his boots on and decided to find out who it was that was making such a beautiful sound. Slipping through the house, Chilchuck wandered out to the field, shielding his eyes from the sunlight as he trekked. Imagine his irritation when he saw it was Milliecap - the only person in the village he just couldn’t find it in himself to get along with. It irked him, knowing that someone he hated with all of his chest had such a talent tucked away. She played the flute as though it was as natural to her as breathing, and he hated that.

His feet worked before his brain, dragging him deeper into the field until he saw the back of Milliecap’s head. Chilchuck sat down just to her side, pulling his knees to his chest as he peeked at her. Milliecap’s eyes were closed as she played, completely absorbed in the melody as she gently swayed side to side, allowing all of her emotions - her pain - to be poured into the notes of the music. She was gorgeous, Chilchuck thought to himself. Something about her was magnetising, forcing his gaze to stay transfixed on the way she played. 

Chilchuck noticed a ladybug on a nearby blade of grass, and held his finger out to it. Smiling softly as it accepted the platform, he couldn’t help but study it. Those spots on its back weren’t too dissimilar to freckles, really. 

… Huh.

The song ended just as quickly as it had begun, Milliecap bringing the flute down from her lips with a frown on her face. “It’s rude to stare, Chilchuck,” she complained, turning her blue eyes to the half-foot sat beside her. “Don’t just sneak up on me like that, or I’ll feed you to a Mimic next time.”

Chilchuck looked at Milliecap, then back to the ladybug just in time to watch it fly away.
“You’re pretty good at that, Millie bug,” he grumbled, a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks as he begrudgingly gave the compliment. The young picklock didn’t know how Milliecap would react to the new nickname. Probably beat his ass, if past experiences were anything to go by.

To his surprise, no response came. No seething remark, no punch to the arm. When he finally turned his gaze back, he was met with a flustered Milliecap. Eyes wide like a deer in headlights, and mouth slightly agape. Finally, he got some kind of reaction out of her. It was in the form of a scoff and a sharp head turn, but it was a reaction!

“... Shut up,” Milliecap huffed before bringing the flute back to her lips.

They didn’t get on, but maybe they could at least tolerate each other for the time being.