Work Text:
(Fischl’s POV)
“Fischl?” says Mona who is beside me, her figure framed by the night sky. It feels so natural, the two of us standing here under its watchful gaze—perhaps an outcome of the many stargazing dates we’ve gone on. Above us, the stars twinkle, forming familiar patterns that I can’t quite name, but the sight of them is beautiful nonetheless.
“What is it, beloved?”
In response, she leans on my shoulder. “Nothing, it’s just… nice to be here. With you. I haven’t relaxed like this in a while.”
Smiling, I peck her forehead, and soon, her lips are on mine. They’re soft, and the taste of them is as sweet as ever. When I caress her body with my hands, she presses herself into my touch, sighing.
“Amy…” Huh?
“Why’re you—” I blurt aloud, only to find myself faced with the ceiling of my room. Oh. Relieved, I let out a sigh. Just a dream…
Nonetheless, it leaves a profound impact on my heart, and more so on my mind. For so long, I’ve aimed to bury my birth name for good, cursing it as a relic of a past I wished to forget. But shocked as I was to hear it even while dreaming, the way she said it… it feels different, somehow. It doesn't carry the subtle venom of my parents’ rejection or the sneers of those who’ve never understood me; in Mona's voice, it was gentle. Natural, even—as if that name belongs to me just as much as “Fischl” does. Normally, the thought of that repulses me, but… she’s always known and accepted me as Fischl, the Prinzessin der Verurteilung—my chosen identity. So… maybe, it won’t feel as awful if she were the one calling me “Amy”. (A small part of my mind reminds me she did so once—only back then, she carelessly called it my “real name”. To say I wasn’t hurt by it would be a lie, but Mona just didn’t know any better. Now, things are different.)
But… what if Mona thinks it’s silly and dismisses the idea? What if I still can’t bear the weight of that name? What if… granting her the permission to use my birth name once is enough to cause her to no longer recognise my identity as Fischl? Worries soon turn to tendrils that squeeze my heart with a cruel strength, the pain inflicted by them intolerable in an instant. The mere thought of such betrayal—it hurts. It hurts so much.
No, no... She won’t do that to me, right? We’ve been together for 5 years, known each other for even longer; she’s well aware of how much being Fischl means to me. She’ll understand and respect my wishes if I revoked my permission... won’t she?
Despite my fears, day after day, the idea of asking Mona to attempt to call me by my birth name begs to be released from the confines of my mind. Perhaps writing it out in a letter might suffice, but for a matter so delicate, it warrants discussion in person; it’ll be easier to gauge her opinion on it, too.
***
It was supposed to be a normal visit to Mona’s house—one where I’d simply spend time in her presence, reading a storybook I’ve brought over while she works on her column and talks to me from time to time. However, as soon as I look up from my book and watch her pour over her charts and books at her desk, the idea pops up in my head once more. Is this the right time to ask? She looks so busy… I attempt to resume reading, reclining back against the headrest of her bed, but even as the scene on the page comes alive, I find myself more detached from the story than before, distracted by the nagging desire to ask in the back of my mind.
Unable to ignore it any longer, I try to speak up, "Mona, I, um, had a dream…"
In an instant, she looks at me and sets down her quill. "What’s it about?"
Now that her attention is on me, the worry that I disturbed her over something as trivial as a bizarre scenario my subconscious came up with catches up to me again, almost forcing the words I’ve so desperately wanted to say back down my throat. She won’t judge, she won’t judge… I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
“In the dream, you called me both ‘Fischl’ and ‘Amy’, and it was shocking, but… it didn’t feel as terrible as I thought it would. So I was wondering if the real you could call me by… that name. Maybe, it’ll sound nice if it’s from you.”
In response, she blinks quickly, and soon fidgets with the edges of her parchment. “Oh, uh, huh… Now, or…?”
After all these years together, it’s still cute how flustered Mona gets when receiving unexpected compliments. A small smile tugs at my lips. "Surprise me."
With a nod and an uttered acknowledgement, she returns to her work. Just like that, the conversation ends—none of my worries came true. I let out a quiet sigh, relieved, before I resume reading. But the seed has been planted, and the moment it blooms now rests in the palm of Mona’s hands.
***
A week passes, and I nearly forget about my request. That is, until one night, as we lie entwined beneath the sheets, the world outside quiet, Mona’s hands idly playing with my hair. Her fingertips graze my scalp in a way that sends pleasant tingles down my spine. Wrapped in the warmth of her embrace, it’s all too easy to cross over into the realm of dreams.
Until suddenly, she murmurs, "Amy."
The sound of that name—even when spoken by her with such tenderness—jolts me awake. As if it were second nature, my body immediately tenses up, faster than I can make sense of my actual feelings.
"Hm," she hums, sensing my reaction. "Still don’t like it, I presume?"
I open my mouth to reply, but my feelings remain tangled in my chest. A moment more passes before I manage, "I… feel conflicted.”
"Why?"
"I still hate that name, but when you say it like that, it… doesn’t seem so bad."
“I see… Still prefer ‘Fischl’?”
I nod, only to realise she probably can’t see it. "Yeah.”
Suddenly, she brushes my hair aside, her lips pressing gently against the nape of my neck. The sensation startles me, and a quiet gasp escapes my lips.
"Mona?" I ask, confused by the unexpected (but welcome) affection.
"Whatever name you go by, you’re still the one I love,” she says with a steadfastness that makes my heart stutter. “Don’t you forget that, Fischl."
Her reassurance—simple, yet unwavering—forces my fears to dissipate and fills the spaces where they once lingered with warmth. To know that she won’t disregard any part of me for a mere name, that she’ll always love all of me—it’s akin to the comfort a fireplace brings as it chases away the cold of the harshest of winters.
"Thank you," I whisper, soft with sentiments I cannot fully express. In response, she leaves another kiss, this time on my shoulder before we fall back into a comfortable silence. The gentle weight of her arm resting on my waist, the softness of her body against mine, and the lingering sensation of her lips on my body—all of it further calms the chaos in my heart and mind and leaves it lighter.
Just like this, the night cradles us both, and I soon fall asleep in peace.