Archive of Our Own

The first thing that Clorinde notices when moving into the small town of Poisson is that it smelled nothing like the city. 

All she can smell around her is the deep scent of the freshly rained-on soil beneath her feet, coupled with the smoke coming from a nearby farmer’s barbecue grill. She can see children running around in front of her, their hair free in the breeze and their necks craned to look behind them to watch each other rather than what it’s in front of them—pointedly different from the way children in the Court of Fontaine would play, when they were always at risk into bumping into something even five inches away from themselves.

“It’s nothing much, of course,” Furina says off-handedly, waving her hand as she takes her through the middle of town, “but you’ll learn to love it! In fact, there are dedicated hunting spots in the nearby woods. It’ll keep you occupied until you’re fifty, I’m sure.”

Clorinde chuckles. “Hunting isn’t my only hobby, Furina.”

“You make it seem like it sometimes,” Furina retorts, and Clorinde grunts in response. Furina stops in front of a bigger building—the word Saloon is written in an overhanging sign on the door. Clorinde notices that the roof is shaped like the hull of a ship. “If you ever find yourself in need of a drink before or after your hunting sessions, come right here. It’s the only spot in town that most of the townsfolk like to commingle in, really.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Clorinde sighs politely. Her eyes dart around the plaza. “And… how many more places do you have left to show me?”

“Oh, many!” Furina says, as if half-offended. “We still haven’t dropped by the clinic—which, by the way, Sigewinne runs now, and she’d most likely become incredibly offended if you don’t come see her when she gets off in the next hour—and the bookseller is closing soon, so we have to hurry on there. Not to mention that you have even yet to see the beach, and the community center on that hill needs—are you even listening?”

“Huh?” Clorinde whips her head over to Furina, and she knows from Furina’s tightly pressed lips and hands on her hips that she caught her red-handed. 

She tries to smile to seem innocent, but it wobbles at the corners. It makes her look guilty even more. 

“Clorinde.” It’s all she says, but it’s loaded with enough chiding that Clorinde almost hangs her head like a kid caught with the cookie jar. 

Clorinde sighs, and her shoulders slump. There’s no point hiding it now. “I’m looking for Navia—and before you tell me to give it up,” she says quickly once she sees Furina take a deep breath to respond, “I will, after just one look. I’ll look at her once, I won’t even speak to her, and I will concentrate back on your tour. I promise.”

Furina levels her with a scrutinizing look. Clorinde stares back at her, unwilling to back down. 

Then, Furina huffs. “Lucky for you, our house isn’t too far from here. It’s just down the road, really.”

Clorinde’s eyebrows jump up in surprise. “When you told me that Navia was here, and you knew that because she was ‘accommodating’ you with your arrival here last year, I didn’t think you meant…”

“Yes, yes, Navia is the sweetest angel for taking me in and letting me live with her rather than alone,” Furina says with a roll of the eyes. “Now, come along before your eyes get stuck shifting around like that.”

“Eyes don’t work that way,” Clorinde responds matter-of-factly.

“Even if they don’t, you’re still scaring the kids. Now, come,” Furina insists, taking her by the wrist. She shakes her head. “Honestly, sometimes it feels like you’re only moving here for Navia.”

Clorinde almost laughs at the thought. She’s… almost right. 

“It was for a change of pace,” she says for the nth time that day. “But… knowing that you’re here—and Navia—to help me settle in might have sweetened the deal for me.”

After all, she hadn’t seen Navia in three years. But they separated on amicable terms, hadn’t they? 

Then again, “separated” insinuated that something more had transpired between them. Sure, she broke up with Navia because she thought she deserved more and she was spending more and more time buried in her work—not to mention the strain after the incident with Navia’s father—but that doesn’t mean that Clorinde wanted any bad blood between them. It was just a temporary break. 

Perhaps a “see you again soon” would suffice in this scenario more. Or, perhaps she’s just being too optimistic.

Still, she can’t help from feeling those butterflies in her stomach. She’s practically bouncing on her heels with each step she takes. Being close to Navia again, or even just thinking about her, just has that effect, she supposes. 

Furina’s pace slows. A frown starts to tug at the corners of her lips—a rare sight. 

Furina is almost never one to muse about something so negatively.

So, Clorinde cocks her head and asks, “Is something the matter?”

Perhaps she has another stomach ache again from another batch of mac and cheese. Clorinde adds, “Like you said, your house is nearby. If you need to use your… quarters, I don’t mind quickening our walk if it would—”

“Have you spoken to Navia yet?” Furina asks her curiously. There’s something odd to the edge of her voice. 

Clorinde blinks in surprise. “No,” she admits, a little sheepish. She glances at a colorful ball arching over their heads, landing in the arms of a grinning child who waves enthusiastically at them. She can get used to living here for the foreseeable future. “I thought it would be better to have the chance to speak to her in person.” 

“Yes, yes, you told me that,” Furina says off-handedly. She comes to a full stop, and she turns to look at Clorinde with an odd look on her face. 

She regards Clorinde for a moment, then slowly asks, “Have you kept tabs with her since then, at the very least?”

Clorinde looks up at the sky to think about it deeply. “I know that she moved back here three years ago after—” Her breath catches. She means to say, after her father’s wrongful death, and I couldn’t bear to look her in the eye so much I practically locked myself at Palais Mermonia Inc. But Furina already knows that part. 

“I also know that she’s beloved in this community—but that’s hardly surprising, considering how well-loved she was in the Court,” Clorinde continues as evenly as she could. 

“Is that all?” Furina asks. It’s as if she’s accusing her of something. 

Clorinde helplessly shrugs. “I’ve thought about sending her flowers in the mail on momentous occasions.” Roses, even. “But other than that—no, I can’t say I’ve talked to her much at all.”

Furina levels her with a look. Clorinde can hardly understand it. “Three years is a long time for anyone, Clorinde,” she just says. 

Clorinde’s shoulders slump. “I know,” she says softly. She knows that she can’t do anything to make up for three years of lost friendship, but what else could she say? 

Clorinde clears her throat, then continues, “But I know Navia, and I know that not even three years can bring her down for anything. I don’t expect to be welcomed with open arms, but I do know that she wouldn’t disagree in continuing where we left off.” 

Furina’s frown deepens at that. It’s surprising, considering Clorinde had thought that out of anyone, Furina would be the most understanding and supportive to her current predicament. 

Furina looks as if she wants to say something to her. 

She never gets the chance to, because Clorinde’s eyes zero in on the small, yellow speck just right over her shoulder. 

Her eyes narrow, and Clorinde shimmies slightly to the side to get a better look. 

There, out in the distance and in the breeze, is a smiling Navia Caspar in a yellow sundress. She holds onto a sunhat as the strong breeze greets her, and her shoulders shake with her giggles. She’s holding a kamera tightly in her hands, and the lenses are pointed towards a few children who seem familiar with her (new?) photographic habit. 

Clorinde is already marching towards her. Skipping, really. 

Furina is desperately trying to catch her attention, but her short legs can’t match her long strides, especially not when Clorinde can hardly let herself look at anything but the sunny girl in front of her. 

“Clorinde!” Furina shouts, squeaky and already out of breath. “Clorinde, wait!”

Clorinde’s heart is hammering so hard in her chest that she’s almost certain that it would burst out of her chest, grow wings, and fly off in the distance. She’s nervous, anxious—but most of all, excited. 

After all, this is the girl she’s shared most of her life with. Reconnecting with her would be like gaining back a piece of her soul. Perhaps Navia would feel the same way. Perhaps Navia will turn around, gasp in surprise, break into a sprint towards her, jump in her arms, and kiss—

But when a twig snaps beneath her foot with just a stretch between her and Navia left, Navia turns around, squints, and glares. 

Startled, Clorinde stops right where she is. She stares into Navia’s narrowed eyes, at a loss for what to do. 

It gives Furina ample time to catch up to her. She stops at her side, hands on her knees as she catches her breath. “I wish someone would take an axe to your shins and cut down your tree trunk legs a few inches!” she exclaims, red in the face from the exertion. “I told you to wait for me!”

And while Furina continues to huff and puff next to her, Clorinde stands there as still as a ghost.

She feels as if she’s turning to stone in Navia’s eyes, and like quicksand had opened up beneath her feet and is actively swallowing her whole. 

She was wholly prepared for Navia to look at her as if she were a stranger. After all, they hadn’t spoken in three years, give or take. 

But to look at her like this? 

As if she were chewed-up gum beneath the sole of her shoe?

Clorinde doesn’t really know what to say. 

She can feel her throat itch, as if the remnants of a greeting is still sticking to it. She can’t bring herself to say anything, though. 

Furina looks back and forth between them, and she doesn’t really seem at all surprised to find the situation in front of her unfolding. In fact, she sighs. Furina draws in a deep breath and straightens her back, all to clap her hands to get everyone’s attention. 

“So!” Furina says, half-enthused. “Navia, Clorinde. Clorinde, Navia. I—honestly, I’m not quite sure why I said that. You know each other quite well.” She laughs out loud, but it tapers off when no one laughs. 

Navia still has her eyes trained on her. There’s a scowl on her face, and her kamera hangs limply by her side. Again, Clorinde really doesn’t know what to say or do.  

“Anyway,” Furina says quickly, motioning to Clorinde’s general direction, “as you know, we have a new neighbor joining us in Poisson. I didn’t know until this morning that it was Clorinde, but now we do! Isn’t that great!”

“Great,” Navia says, in a way that is not at all great. 

Clorinde’s mouth is dry. She clears her throat, and she meekly says, “Hello, Navia. I live on the—”

“—farm down the road,” Navia finishes for her. She sounds curt. Something Navia rarely is. “I know. Everyone’s been talking about it ever since we saw the moving trucks come in.”

“Yes!” Clorinde says, and she sounds too enthused even to her own ears. She coughs into her fist, and tries again in a more neutral tone. “Yes. Uh—Furina’s been telling me all these great things about the town, and that you two have been living together. I…”

She had meant to ask Navia if it would be okay that she took her around on a tour sometime, even if Furina was meant to give her one right now—but with the way Navia is still scrutinizing her, with her judgmental eyes coming up and down her body, Clorinde doesn’t really think that would be a good idea.

Navia doesn’t answer right away. She just gives Clorinde’s tattered clothes (the ones that Clorinde had found in Petronilla’s farmhouse) one last lookover. 

Then Navia says, “If it weren't for those horrendous clothes, Clorinde, you might actually be pretty cute.”

Clorinde is shocked into silence. Evidently, so is Furina. 

Navia giggles at their reaction, a mischievous quirk playing on her lips, and she turns away. “Actually, nevermind,” she says haughtily, then walks away. 

Clorinde stands there, flabbergasted. 

Furina half-heartedly exclaims, “Welcome to Poisson!”

And so, Clorinde figures out a few things during her first week in Poisson. 

1: Farming is a lot harder than it looks. If it weren’t for her familiar training regiments back when she lived in the high society of the Court of Fontaine, she would have already collapsed dead by now. Still, she has more bug bites on her body than she has ever gotten in her entire lifetime, and the parsnips that Furina lent to her as a housewarming gift seem to be her first and only income thus far. It's quite an adjustment being in Poisson.

She even found an odd-looking fruit in the mines. It's strange, but the taste reminded her of Navia's baking.

2: What’s even harder than farming is introducing herself to the townspeople. There are many whom she has never seen in her lifetime, but there are a handful of familiar faces that puts her at ease. Wriothesley comes here sometimes on vacation, apparently, but she doesn't really care. Sigewinne also runs the clinic, Chiori has a boutique nearby, and Furina is the town’s acting… mayor? 

Apparently, the old mayor passed away when Furina was staying over for a quick vacation, and she was enacted as the next power almost unanimously. Clorinde didn’t know whether to be impressed or worried. 

And finally—

3: She’s determined to win Navia back over. 

She can’t exactly march up to Navia and Furina’s house and demand that she gives her the time of day, though. That would just be rude etiquette, and she doubts Navia would like to talk to her then. So, Furina had suggested the next best thing for her—gift-giving. 

Neither of them were really big gift-givers to each other. What clothes they owned were always taken by the other without protest if needed, and food was shared between them without much preamble. What was hers is Navia’s, and vice versa. 

But apparently, the gift-giving culture in Poisson is the closest way to show someone that you care. She knows Furina isn’t lying from the way that the other townspeople seem to react to her random gifts. 

Clorinde gave a little girl a flower once from her flower basket since she had a fresh batch of poppies to transport. The little girl had gasped, as if Clorinde presented her with a palm-sized diamond, and she declared Clorinde as her new friend. Pulling something like that in the heart of the Court of Fontaine wouldn’t have such extreme reactions than it would here. 

She supposes it’s to her advantage. What else could she have done to get Navia’s attention without seeming too weird? Furina had given her the nastiest look when she was spit-balling ideas and suggested that she should rent a few fireworks to spell out “PLEASE TALK TO ME, NAVIA” in the sky.

So, she approaches Furina the next day with her intention to shower Navia with gifts during their stay at the beach. 

Furina is sun-tanning at a nearby chair, and she peers at Clorinde over her sunglasses. “You can only give her gifts twice a week, so make them count,” she warns. “I heard that she likes all sorts of dishes, but it might be because she’s too nice to say no. And—”

“Why only twice a week?” Clorinde asks, incredulous. What an arbitrary number.

Furina shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know.”

At Clorinde’s skeptical look, she sits up in her chair, sighs, and adds, “People in Poisson think that giving more gifts than that is bad luck—or something. Point is, you don’t do it, just like how you wouldn’t pick your nose in public in the Court.”

She doubts that they could pick their nose in public anywhere, but Clorinde can see where she’s coming from.

Still, Clorinde doesn’t let that sway her. 

The very next day, Clorinde stops Navia on the street with a fresh batch of sunflowers wrapped in homemade paper. Before Navia could say a word, Clorinde nudges her horse to keep going. 

(She’ll later tell Furina that it’s because she didn’t want to give Navia another chance to call her farming clothes horrendous—but in truth, she just thought Navia’s curls that morning looked so nice that she was too flustered.)

She continues to give Navia a few more gifts: homemade chocolates from her farm, a daffodil from her foraging trip, a fruit salad made from ingredients made from her crops, and even a purple and yellow cake that she spent all afternoon preparing, thanks to a cooking show on her small TV. 

Two weeks after that, Clorinde fights off a bear in the woods at midnight to swipe some beeswax from a dropped beehive. 

Returning to her farmhouse relatively unscathed (minus some stings to her lips and a claw-shaped mark on her thigh), Clorinde spends the rest of her night making the perfect lipstick. She heats up the beeswax, mixes the right amount of reds into a small bowl, and painstakingly drops it into a homemade lipstick tube.

Clorinde knocks on Navia’s door at 8 a.m. on the dot, pale and ready to drop dead at her door from all the hard work and lack of sleep. 

To say that Navia is surprised at the sight of her would be an understatement. 

Navia, still clad in her robe, yelps and takes a step back. 

“Clorinde?” she asks in shock. 

Clorinde practically pushes the tiny box into Navia’s chest. She nods curtly at her. “For you,” she just says. 

Without another word, Clorinde turns around on her heel and makes her way back to her farm for some well-needed sleep. 

“Wait!”

It feels like Clorinde’s entire body freezes at that moment. It makes sense. Even after all this time, her body knows to obey all of Navia’s whims and wants. 

Clorinde turns around to look at her. 

For the first time in almost three weeks, Navia isn’t looking at her as if she were the scum of the earth. 

She’s not smiling, exactly—but her face is softer. She’s clutching the box to her chest, and Clorinde can assume that she had taken a look inside already.

“How did you know?” Navia asks her simply. 

Clorinde knows that she can’t lie in this instance. When has she ever lied to Navia, anyway? 

“I overheard you talking to Sigewinne when I was in the other room waiting for my routine exam,” she admits, shrugging. “You missed having a particular lipstick shade, but you can’t get anymore online because they discontinued the color. I remember the color. You wore it everyday when we were younger.”

It didn’t take much to make the exact same recipe in her own home. She had stared at Navia’s lips—her smile—every day for over a decade that it wasn’t hard to replicate.

Navia doesn’t seem like she has anything to say. 

Until finally, right before Clorinde turns back around, she quietly says, “Thank you.”

Clorinde swallows the lump in her throat, then nods. “Have a good night, Navia.”

Navia’s lips curl upwards. It reaches her eyes this time. “It’s morning,” she teases. 

The fact that Clorinde can see that old Navia shining through the cracks, even if just a little, lifts her spirits more than anything ever can. She smiles weakly back at Navia and corrects herself, then makes her trek back home. 

She’s practically skipping all the way there, despite the exhaustion deep in her bones. 

Something has shifted between them. 

Not exactly all the way, but it’s like having furniture shift an inch to the left. Subtle, but it’s changed.

She tells Furina about it when Furina comes by the farmhouse to pick up an order of honey.

Furina just answers, her voice flat, “Congratulations. You earned the first two hearts of Navia’s love meter.”

Clorinde chuckles. She knows that Furina is making fun of her, but she can’t help but answer, “How many hearts do you think I need to get from her to have her forgive me?”

Two days later, Clorinde finds herself on the steps of Navia and Furina’s abode. 

She takes a deep breath, hooking a long finger into her collar and loosening it up as best as she can. She can hear little children giggling behind her, whispering amongst themselves about how nervous she looks. Though her back tenses, she doesn’t dare to turn around and face them. 

Sure, she isn’t carrying a bouquet of roses, but rather, a jar of jam—but children are perceptive, and they know better than anyone in Poisson that Clorinde showing up at Navia’s door is neither surprising nor for any pragmatic reasons. 

Clorinde raises her fist to the door. For a moment, she hesitates. 

Then, she knocks.

Clorinde stands there, waiting with bated breath. 

She counts up to twenty in her head, then knocks again, just in case Navia hasn't heard it.

She’s certain that Navia is home too. She’s memorized her schedule by now, and Navia is never up until nine in the morning, and she doesn’t leave her house until ten. 

Thinking about it now, knowing Navia’s schedule without ever being told might be a little creepy, but—

“I cleaned them last week!”

“No, you didn’t!”

Clorinde’s hackles raise. Without even having to press her face against the door, she can hear Furina and Navia’s muffled shouting all the way from where she’s standing. It certainly sounds heated. She hasn’t heard Navia yell like that ever since they were fourteen, and Clorinde had taken her favorite skirt without asking (by accident, of course—not that Navia had seen it that way back then). 

The memory brings a smile to her face, but she tries to school her features as best as she can as she nudges the door open. Surprisingly, it swings open. She should really have a talk with the both of them about locking their doors more securely. What if a coyote came in?

Furina and Navia are standing in the nearby kitchen. Next to them is a dirty countertop, and they’re throwing a rag at each other as if they were playing hot potato. 

Clorinde almost snorts. She cradles her jar of jam under her arm instead. 

“You know I would never lie to you,” Furina says through gritted teeth. She throws the rag back at Navia’s chest. She’s wearing a white mask over her face. An overnight face mask, Clorinde assumes. “I cleaned the countertops last week, and I did the dishes yesterday! What need do I have to lie to you about that?!”

“Maybe to get some more ‘beauty sleep’? Like you told me a few minutes ago?” Navia asks her, huffing. She slams the rag down on the countertop, putting her hands on her hips. “Cleaning the counters is a five minute task! You could’ve done them last night!”

“I was too tired from cleaning the dishes!” Furina argues, stamping her foot. “You always make me do the dishes anyway! Why can’t you pull your weight and clean the counters?”

“‘Pull my—’?” Navia stares at her in shocked awe. “Because I have paperwork to do in the evenings! And I cooked us dinner, like I do every single night so your veins don’t have mac and cheese running through them!” 

“Oh, your shepherd’s pie was amazing last night, that I do admit,” Furina says, mostly under her breath. 

“Really? That was the first time I made it, so I was worried—” Navia blinks. She points an accusing finger at Furina. “Stop getting me off-track!” 

“That was your fault!” Furina shoots back. “You never clean after yourself when you make a mess in the living room, y’know!”

Navia throws up her arms. “Just clean the countertops so we can get this over with!”

Clorinde can imagine steam coming out of her ears. 

The imagery, combined with Navia’s reddening face and her high-pitched whining, makes Clorinde bark out a laugh. 

She slams her hand over her mouth, but the damage is done. 

Furina and Navia stop dead in their argument to look at her. Furina doesn’t seem all too shocked, but Navia yelps and jumps nearly three feet in the air like a cat.

“Oh, it’s C—the farmgirl,” Navia says. Clorinde can’t make out her tone. 

“She has a name, you know,” Furina says with a sniff. 

Clorinde gestures uselessly at the door behind her. “Your door wasn’t locked, and I was worried about the shouting,” she excuses herself weakly. 

Navia opens her mouth, then closes it. Clorinde can see a cascade of different emotions run through her face: frustration, excitement, then finally, acceptance. 

Navia’s shoulder slumps, and she says, “Well, you’re here now—maybe you’ll get my point of view.”

Clorinde nods shortly. “Considering I was, quite literally, in your position when we were younger, yes, I would.”

Furina laughs loudly while Navia looks affronted at her side. Navia doesn’t seem to have a proper comeback, however, so she settles on exclaiming, “Then just—just tell her that I’m right!”

“What even happened?” Clorinde asks neutrally. 

Furina grumbles under her breath, “What use is it to tell you? I could say that Navia was asking me to scrub the floors with a toothbrush and do all her laundry like I’m Cinderella from my plays, and you’d still take her side.”

“Furina!” Navia chides, looking horrified. “She wouldn’t do that!”

Clorinde would maybe, in fact, do just that.

She stays silent, waiting for an explanation, until Furina huffs and answers, “She barged into my room and told me to clean the kitchen because I ‘forgot’ to do it last night. Can you believe that? Why not ask a woman after she wakes up?”

“Because you would’ve made another excuse!” Navia complains. “And I cleaned up after you all week!”

Clorinde, after mulling it over, realizes that she has two choices. 

She can either turn to Navia and say, Navia, you need to take the high road and do it this time.

A little callous, but all is fair in love and war, she supposes.

Or, she can turn to Navia and say, Navia, why not negotiate this with Furina and make a schedule?

It is, after all, how they had settled their fights whenever they had long sleepovers together.

So, she goes with the latter choice. 

Furina gives her a nasty look, but Clorinde tries not to pay too much mind to it. 

There’s a flicker of recognition in Navia’s eyes when Clorinde says it. But then Clorinde blinks, and Navia has already faced away from her to regard Furina with a sigh. 

She sticks out her hand to Furina and says, “Alright, alright. Let’s have a truce. How about we talk about having a chore calendar when we both get home later tonight?”

All Clorinde had said was that they should negotiate a schedule—not a chore calendar. It was something from their youth together, and the fact that Navia had remembered it makes caterpillars dance in her stomach again.

Navia glances at her briefly. Clorinde swears she sees her smile at her for a moment. 

Furina draws out a long sigh, then shakes Navia’s hand. Clorinde can see her smiling even as she rolls her eyes.

“Sounds good to me,” Furina says. Her hand slips out of Navia’s grip, and she adds, “Honestly, I thought Clorinde would have genuflected in front of you and agreed to every word out of your mouth.”

“Furina!” Navia chides for the second time that morning, but Clorinde just chuckles.

Her jar of jam almost slips from her grip, but Clorinde cradles it to her chest just in time. 

“Oh. I almost forgot,” Clorinde quickly says, and she walks over to the kitchen to place the jam on the (dirty) countertop. Furina and Navia are instantly intrigued.

“I made a fresh batch of strawberry jam on the farm this morning,” she starts to explain. Clorinde pries open the lid with her bare hands, and lets the duo take a peek inside. The smell of sweet strawberries fills the air. “I already shipped off what was needed, but I had a few extra jars lying around. I figured that I should give it to you two as a gift for being such… nice neighbors?”

Furina glances at her. 

Clorinde knows from the way that she’s looking at her that she knows Clorinde is lying, and that she made Navia’s favorite recipe of strawberry jam just to impress her. 

Clorinde shakes her head to discourage her from saying anything. 

Meanwhile, Navia seems absolutely enchanted with the jam. She swipes the outer rim and licks the jam off her fingertip—and beams.

“Are you sure we can have this?” Navia asks. “The last thing I want is to deprive your farm of a good profit.”

The fact that Navia is being civil to her for once is encouraging, to say the least. 

Clorinde screws the lid back on and dismissively says, “Take it. If you run out, please don’t hesitate to ask for more. I have more than enough of these to know what to do with on my farm.”

“That’s really nice of you, Clorinde,” Navia says, a hint of shyness to her voice. 

Clorinde smiles at her, but it comes off a little wonky from her nerves. “Anything for you—I mean, for the community.”

Furina looks unimpressed. Though, she says nothing else besides, “Thank you for your contribution to the community, Farmer Clorinde.”

Clorinde nods at them both. 

She walks out of the door, one expensive jar of jam lighter, but with absolutely no regrets. She puffs out her chest in giddy pride. 

Clorinde trips on the last step on Navia and Furina’s shallow steps, but she doesn’t let it bother her, even when the children begin to giggle at her again. She just dusts herself off and keeps going. 

Crossing her fingers as she makes her way back to the farm, she hopes that her olive branch today proves to help rebuild the bridge and earn some more lovey-dovey hearts with Navia.

By now, every resident in Poisson knows that Clorinde the Farmer likes to show up at Navia and Furina’s residence whenever she finds the time (which, really, was all the time). 

It’s why no one is surprised when she comes into town galloping on her trusty horse, holding all sorts of things under her arm to present to the loveliest woman in town. 

In fact, the sight of Clorinde rushing her way to Navia’s place at ten in the morning on the dot is so regular that people have taken to waving at her and saying things like, “Giving Miss Caspar daffodils this time, I see!”

The Spina di Rosula, or Navia’s trusty lackey as Clorinde likes to put it, are so used to seeing her loiter near Navia’s house that she’s practically become a blindspot to them. They would part like the sea whenever they would accompany Navia out on walks, letting her through to give Navia another bouquet of fresh roses from her farm before torpedoing off on her horse without no more than a tip of the hat.

She also likes to think that she’s melting through Navia’s defenses too. 

They crossed paths in the early afternoon once, where Navia was taking pictures near a park surrounded by her Spina friends. Navia had dropped a key and said an exaggerated, “Whoopsies!” and when Clorinde tried to hand it back, Navia had simply disappeared. 

Clorinde keeps the spare key to Navia’s place in her flannel pocket at all times. Just in case Navia wants it back, of course. 

And now, Clorinde is back on her regular schedule of waiting for Navia to come out of her house to hand her a fruit salad, fresh from her farm. 

In order to not seem so—ahem—creepy, Clorinde whistles and takes a look at her reflection by the nearby river. She smooths down a piece of her hair, and her horse, Balthazar, sneezes close to her face. She makes a face at him, and he snickers as if he were laughing.

Before Clorinde could tell him to knock it off, she hears a noise coming from Navia’s house.

It’s between a grunt and a squeak. While the sound is unfamiliar to her, it’s undeniably coming from Navia. 

Before Clorinde knows it, she’s shoving the key into the lock and fumbling inside the door, her heart pounding in her chest. 

But Navia isn’t being torn apart by her garbage disposal or being kidnapped by a gang out to get her like she had feared; instead, Navia has a jar of pickles squished in between her thighs, and her face is turning red as she tries helplessly to get it open with her hands. She even has a hand towel thrown over the lid. 

Clorinde fights back a snort. 

It doesn’t work. 

Navia looks up at the sound of her laughter. She makes a face at first, but she looks relieved more than anything else. Clorinde subconsciously puffs out her chest in pride and puts the fruit salad on the counter. The counter is shinier than the last time she had come into their abode.

“Oh! It’s you, Clorinde.” Navia sounds breathless, and it’s accented by the rosiness of her cheeks. “Say, you’re pretty strong, aren’t you?”

Clorinde tries not to glow too much under the blatant praise. “Stronger than most,” she replies humbly. 

Navia laughs at that. She straightens up, then holds out the jar of pickles to Clorinde. She huffs to get a strand of hair out of her face, and Clorinde has to resist the mighty urge not to tuck it behind her hair for her. 

“Then you shouldn’t have any problem opening this jar for me!” Navia says with a beam. 

Clorinde crosses her arms. Navia’s out-reached hand falters for a moment at her reaction. Cocking her head to the side, Clorinde asks, “Now, what’s in it for me?”

“What’s—?” Navia flounders. She looks flustered by Clorinde’s question, and Clorinde has to fight to keep down a twitching smile. “Clorinde!” 

“I’m serious!” Clorinde answers seriously-not-seriously. “What’s in it for me? Jar-opening is a lost art that requires compensation.”

“You never asked for any compensation when you opened jars for me when we were kids!” Navia argues. 

Touché. 

Clorinde already knows the answer to that: it’s because the compensation had been Navia’s squeal of delight, her arms throwing around her shoulders, and having her kiss her cheek in gratitude. 

But clearly, that’s not the compensation Clorinde will be getting for a time like this. 

So instead, Clorinde says, “Well, I’m a changed woman now, and I’ve learned that I need to value my assets.”

Navia huffs. She’s only one huff away from stomping her foot, and Clorinde finds it extremely hard not to smile. 

“What if you’re refusing because you’re not as strong as you look?” Navia asks her. 

“Of course I—” Clorinde pauses. 

From the look on Navia’s face, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Navia knows better than anyone how to get under her skin and play her like a fiddle. 

Clorinde takes so much delight in getting bested by Navia for the first time in forever that, begrudgingly, she takes the jar to prove her wrong. Navia grins at her proudly. 

Navia offers her the hand towel for more grip. Clorinde waves her hand dismissively. 

She doesn’t even brace the jar of pickles between her thighs like Navia had. She just wraps her long fingers around the base of the jar and uses the other hand to grip the lid—then pulls it off in one quick motion. It makes a funny little plop noise when she twists it open. 

“You really do look stronger than you look, Clorinde,” Navia says with a grin, and Clorinde knows that she’s only saying that to get another reaction out of her. 

It works. Clorinde rolls her eyes and holds out the lid and open jar. 

“Just take it,” she deadpans. 

Navia giggles. She reaches out—and touches Clorinde’s arm instead. 

Her fingertips run over the inside of Clorinde’s forearm. Clorinde’s arm jerks in surprise, and it elicits another laugh from Navia. 

Clorinde can’t even find it in herself to stammer through a response. She’s so bewildered that all she can do is stare at her, wide-eyed. 

“You really are strong,” Navia purrs, and Clorinde can see the mischievous glint reflecting in her eyes. This is another way to get back at her, Clorinde knows.

The best way to fight fire is with fire—at least, that’s the only line of thinking that her mind can come up with right now.

Clorinde blurts out, “You should feel my bicep. It’s become much bigger during my time on Petronilla’s farm.”

Navia’s eyebrows jump up. Her false front falls through for a moment, and Clorinde can see the rosiness coming back to her cheeks. This time, she’s sure the redness isn’t from trying to get a jar of pickles open. 

Still, Navia isn’t one to back down from a challenge. Her fingertips caress upwards, and Clorinde has to repress a shudder. 

Her fingers close around Clorinde’s bicep—at least, the best that it can. Her arm girth is so wide nowadays from her hard days tending to crops and picking up her animals that Navia can’t wrap her fingers all the way around her arm anymore. 

Navia isn’t the only one flustered by the revelation. 

Clorinde’s grip loosens subconsciously on the jar, and it slips from her hand. 

It crashes to the floor, and they both yelp and back away. Splatters of pickle juice end up on both of their clothes.

Navia is quick to bend down to pick up the glass shards. Clorinde tries to kneel to join her. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” she says dismissively, laughing under her breath. Clorinde hesitates as she looks down at her. Navia carefully places every shard of glass on the hand towel that she spread out on the ground. 

“Are you sure?” Clorinde asks nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, I promise,” Navia assures her. She picks up the last shard of glass and looks up at her through her eyelashes. She’s so close to Clorinde’s fly that Clorinde has to clear her throat. 

Navia notices. Instead of backing away, she gasps and says, “Oh, you got pickle juice all over your pants!” 

“It’s alright, I could—” Clorinde strains out. 

Navia pulls up her sleeve to the side of her hand and begins to rub at her thigh and fly. Clorinde feels like she can’t breathe. 

Meanwhile, Navia is just laughing lightly under her breath. She looks back up at Clorinde, and Clorinde has to stop herself from putting her hand on top of her head—to steady herself, obviously. Nothing else. 

“Maybe you aren’t as strong as we thought if you could barely hold up a jar for that long,” Navia teases. 

“Well—” Clorinde starts. 

She’s grateful she never has the chance to finish. Her voice was coming out high-pitched. 

The door swings open. Clorinde curses under her breath. She should have locked the door after herself to prevent things like this. 

“I know you told me to tighten the hem for your dress yesterday, but I really don’t think it’s possible with the kind of fabric we’re—” 

Chiori stops where she is. 

Navia, who’s still kneeling in front of Clorinde, and Clorinde, her hand hovering on top of Navia’s head in uncertainty, both freeze. 

Chiori peers at them. 

Navia’s hand is still placed firmly against Clorinde’s pants, fingers close to the zipper. The stain on her pants can be… negotiable, from where Chiori is standing. 

The three of them stare at each other. 

Chiori walks backwards, then silently closes the door. 

So much for trying not to start any rumors in town.

The only thing that Clorinde had on her schedule when she woke up that morning was the same old: Tending to her crops and animals, giving Navia a gift that she had gotten from a trip to the desert the other night, and more tending to her farm. She just needed to get a doctor’s visit out of the way in the morning first. 

Sigewinne, the town nurse, had different plans for her though. 

She berated Clorinde for almost ten minutes straight in the clinic, scolding her for overworking herself nearly to death and never allowing herself some time to breathe. 

“New doctor’s orders!” Sigewinne declared after shoving a lollipop in her hands. “You’re going to spend the entire day at the beach today to relax—no foraging, no fishing, no anything strenuous!” 

“Then… what can I do at the beach?” Clorinde asks in genuine confusion. 

“Relax,” Sigewinne insists, as if that could clarify it at all. 

Clorinde is pushed out of the clinic, and Sigewinne closes the door on her before she can turn around to ask her more pesky questions. She chuckles, shaking her head. It would be in her best interest not to continue pissing off the only medical expert in town. 

She walks back to her farm and changes out of her regular ol’ farmer’s clothes. Though she didn’t bring any bathing suits, she did have a suitable shirt and shorts to bring to… relax? Whatever that meant. 

Clorinde slathers herself in sunscreen and eats a hearty meal at home. The last thing she wants is to get sunburnt and be out of commission to do her work the next day. 

The beach isn’t too crowded when she gets there. There are some children flying kites near the docks, and a few fishermen are casting lines in the farther east. A few teenagers are playing volleyball at a nearby court, and the sun beats down on everyone equally. 

Clorinde puts her hands on her hips and looks around. What did Sigewinne say? “No foraging, no fishing, no anything strenuous”? Well, what was left for her to do if she couldn’t do any of that? 

She guesses that she can walk aimlessly around until the opportunity presents itself.

The opportunity, it ends up being, is a crying Navia sitting alone in the sand. 

Clorinde is immediately alarmed. Had she gotten into a fight with Furina? No, Furina would have told her immediately—neither of them are good at fighting with each other. Did she fight with a friend? Is it about her  father? What if—?

Screw the ‘what ifs’, she hisses at herself. 

She makes strides towards Navia, reaching out for her like she had always done when Navia was sad. Her hand floats right next to Navia’s shoulder, untouching. Navia’s shoulders rack up and down with her quick sobs, and it stabs something through Clorinde’s heart akin to a dagger. 

But Navia is still wary of her, for some reason. She still has sins to pay back; therefore, she has no right to be holding her like she used to. 

Clorinde’s arm comes back to her side like a stiff joint of a doll. 

She clears her throat. 

Navia’s sobs halt with a gasp. She looks up at Clorinde, wide-eyed with alarm. Her eyes are bloodshot, and there’s snot coming from her nose. Navia quickly wipes it away with the back of her hand, and she avoids eye contact with Clorinde. 

Clorinde frowns. She kneels next to her to look at her better, but Navia seems to shrink away from that. 

“What happened?” she asks softly.

Navia’s shoulders slump. No matter how angry or upset she must be with Clorinde for whatever reason, muscle memory between them will always be there. In this case, Clorinde had always tried her hardest to be there for her. Why wouldn’t she be here now?

“I lost my necklace somewhere,” Navia mumbles. She draws up her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, looking out into the ocean. “We all ran down the pier to go swimming, and I didn’t realize I dropped my necklace until I got out of the water. For all I know, it’s at the bottom of the ocean.”

Clorinde works her jaw. She tries to find something comforting to say, but she knows that empty words have never been Navia’s favorite. 

Still, she can’t help but gently say, “I’m sorry, Navia.”

Navia sighs, sniffles, then quietly answers, “Maybe it’ll wash up on another shore.”

Navia’s always been the most optimistic one between them, no matter the circumstances. 

Clorinde looks out at the deep blue ocean, then gulps. As much as she would like to, she can’t exactly rent some scuba-diving gear to go out and find it. Even if she wanted to, it wouldn’t guarantee that she could find Navia’s necklace in practically five hundred feet of water.

There’s a part that whispers to her, that tells her that even if it had taken her twenty years to scour the waters of Fontaine, she would still do it. Anything for Navia, of course. 

Clorinde swallows thickly. She looks back at Navia, still sniffling and wiping at her eyes, and tells her firmly, “Stay here.”

Navia tilts her head. “What? Why would—” When Clorinde rises and dusts her knees off, Navia’s eyes widen. “You’re not really—?”

“I’ll be back,” Clorinde says firmly. 

She leaves without another word. 

She bites down on her tongue when she tries to swat at a few loose branches in a nearby scatter of trees, only getting twigs snapped back at her face in return. Her flip-flops don’t help at all with keeping the sand out of her toes, and she can already tell that it’s going to take more than a couple showers to get the feeling of grainy sand off of her body. 

Clorinde can practically taste seasalt on her tongue from how much of the beach air she’s inhaling. She’s sweating hard enough that her pits are beginning to stain, and her hair has more than enough twigs and dirt in it to warrant calling it a bird’s nest. Still, she marches on. 

The sun is beginning to set by the time Clorinde finds something shiny by the shore. 

She stops, then blinks. 

She rubs at her eyes, and then she sees a twinkle again. 

A necklace is half-embedded in the sand, close to the shore. It’s close to a seemingly abandoned cabin—if she remembers correctly, it’s Monsieur Neuvillette’s vacation home. The necklace looks as if a few people have trampled on it in their excitement to get into the water. 

Clorinde makes a run for it. She sprints as fast as she can, untrusting of the shore. The ocean could wash away Navia’s precious jewels just like that without trying. 

With it clutched tightly in her hand, Clorinde makes her way back to Navia. She prays that Navia somehow found it in herself to listen to her—but knowing how restless Navia can be, she might have called it a day and went back home to wash off the tears and sand in her face. 

Navia is still sitting where she left her. 

She’s looking out into the dazzling ocean, looking at the oranges and yellows that reflect from the sunset into the dark ocean. 

Clorinde remembers when they used to watch the sunset together near the ocean when they used to live in the Court of Fontaine together. Navia would always put her head on her shoulder, whisper to her how much she loves her, and hold her hand tight as if Clorinde would drift out into the sea and never come back. 

Back then, Navia would even say, “You’re like the ocean at sunset—dark and broody, but you have a lot of beauty underneath.”

“And you would be the sun that touches my heart,” Clorinde had replied back to tease her. But it would always be true.

When Navia turns to look at her when she approaches, looking defeated at first until she sees the shining necklace in her fist and smiles so bright, Clorinde would have said it again. 

Navia gets up from her position on the sand, staggers, and runs. Clorinde presents the necklace to her like it’s made out of diamonds and a priceless heirloom passed down in her family.

She knows better, though. It was a birthday gift from her father when she turned thirteen. Callas had admitted to them that it didn’t cost much due to their financial situation, but clearly, Navia had thought the world of it. 

Navia doesn’t go straight for the necklace, however. 

Instead, she runs straight into Clorinde’s arms, jumping into her arms and hugging her so fiercely that Clorinde’s breath knocks out of her chest. 

But muscle memory never fades. Clorinde wraps an arm around her to keep Navia from falling over, and she feels Navia nuzzle her nose into the crook of her neck like she used to. She can feel Navia breathing in her scent, even though she knows she must smell like sweat and seaspray by now. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Navia squeals, and she pulls back to look at her. 

Clorinde chuckles. She puts the necklace into Navia’s warm palm. “It was no problem.”

If twigs in her hair and crabs pinching her feet wasn’t any problem anyway.

“Still,” Navia says breathlessly. She squeezes Clorinde’s shoulders. “You spent a whole afternoon just…”

The look she gives her is familiar and unfamiliar all at once. It’s… charged.

Clorinde falls into that look like a fish falls for bait. 

Her mouth dries, and her arms slowly come back to her side. She can hear the sounds of waves overlapping against the nearby pier. She can hear the distinct chatter of teenagers and fellow townspeople saying goodbye to make their way home for the night. It smells of seaspray, seaweed, vanilla, and Navia’s enchanting perfume. 

“Navia,” Clorinde whispers.

It seems to snap Navia out of her trance. 

She jumps back, as if Clorinde had shocked her with her hands, and clears her throat. 

“Um!” Navia exclaims, the pitch of her voice oddly high and wobbly, and she coughs into her fist and laughs nervously. 

She avoids eye contact with Clorinde, and she tucks a strand of her hair behind an ear. Clorinde tilts her head at her, confused. 

“Is something wrong?” Clorinde asks her innocently. She glances down at the necklace in Navia’s hand, held loosely at her side. “Did I get the wrong necklace? I… didn’t have a photograph to consult, so I had to go off my memory. It’s possible that I could’ve—”

“No, no!” Navia says quickly. “It’s, um—it’s good! Right. I mean.”

“I see.” Clorinde shifts her weight onto the other foot. At least, as best as she can with the uneven sand beneath them. 

Navia is still avoiding eye contact with her. She can see pink twinged on the tip of the ear that Navia had tucked hair behind. 

A slow smile begins to creep on Clorinde’s face. Now she’s starting to understand. 

“Is there any reason why you won’t look at me right now?” she asks, her tone encroaching on teasing. “Is it because you can’t stand the sight of twigs in my hair?”

“No!” Navia insists, but her pitch is, once again, very high. “I was—I was just admiring the view!”

“You can hardly see anything with the sun almost down,” Clorinde points out. 

“I can!” Navia tells her. “I have really good night vision.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Look at my eyes—they’re big and bright, so obviously that means I can see better than most.”

She tries to make a point by looking at Clorinde, but she quickly looks away when she finds that Clorinde is already staring at her. Clorinde has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too hard. She can feel her heart begin to ache in her chest. This is all too familiar. 

“Navia—” Clorinde starts again. She stops. 

She’s not really sure what she wants to say to her. What could she say to her? “I like it when you get like this around me, like we’re sixteen again”? “I would do anything for you if you ask it of me”?

“Please, forgive me for whatever faults I have, because I miss you so much”?

She ends up saying, “It’ll be dark in the next ten minutes. Let me take you home.”

She’s not sure if it’s because Navia is still flustered by the prior conversation, or because she feels better in confiding in Clorinde now that she retrieved an item for her, but Navia simply nods her head and gives her a warm, thankful smile. 

Their walk isn’t as filled to the brim with chatter as she hoped it would. She missed hearing Navia go on and on about her day and everything on her mind whenever Clorinde would take her home or walk with her, but it seems that Navia’s lips are sealed on this night. 

Clorinde doesn’t mind it too much. She can tell that she’s cracking through Navia’s defenses, especially whenever Navia’s fingers would come up to fiddle with the necklace in her hands or she would randomly tell a story out of the blue and cut it off, as if she were remembering that she shouldn't be telling Clorinde these things anymore. 

She even holds onto Clorinde’s strong arm when an owl flutters up above and frightens her. She holds onto Clorinde for sixty-seven seconds (of course Clorinde had to count, for posterity sake) before letting it go. 

It makes Clorinde sad to know that Navia is still finding ways to shut her out—but Clorinde is persistent when it comes to her. 

They end up on Navia’s front door. Clorinde shoves her hands into her pockets and tries to give her a reassuring smile. 

“Next time someone in town loses jewelry, I’ll tell them to call you,” Navia jokes. 

Clorinde chuckles. “I won’t have as much ambition to find their jewelry as the kind I had to find yours,” she admits. 

Navia’s eyebrows jump up in surprise. Why would she be surprised? Doesn’t she know that Clorinde would do anything for her, after everything she’s done since arriving in town so far? 

Hell, she even bought five hundred seeds to stock up on Navia’s favorite flowers for the next spring. Not that she had to know that right now. 

“Thank you, Clorinde,” Navia says softly.

Before Clorinde can say or wave her goodbye, Navia steps forward—

And kisses her on the cheek.

When Navia pulls back to look at her, there’s a familiar, impish smile on her face. Unlike in the past, where Clorinde would be adamant in calling her out for it—Clorinde is frozen on the spot, in practically a catatonic state. 

Navia giggles, turns around on her heel, and makes her way back inside her house. She calls for Furina inside to chide her for whatever monstrosity she’s making on the stove, but that’s the last Clorinde hears from her. 

As if her feet are moving on their own, Clorinde makes her way to her farm. 

She goes through her entire night routine in shock. 

She lays down in bed, goes to sleep, gets up and does her morning chores—all in a state of perpetual shock. 

Children point at her and giggle to one another, and a few adults whisper and gasp when they see her on the streets. A few coo. Chiori mostly just rolls her eyes. 

Furina sees her while in line for some ice cream, and her eyes go as wide as her teacup saucers. 

“Do you know you have a little, um…?” Furina trails off. She points her delicate pointer finger at her cheek. “I’d like to say, something akin to a… mark of… affection?”

“I know,” Clorinde says simply. She can feel the lipstick mark against her cheek like it’s warm gold, resuscitating her and giving her more energy than any cup of coffee can. 

“You… know?”

“Yes. Of course I do.”

“So, why aren’t you going to…?”

“Do I have to?”

Furina shakes her head and mumbles, “Unbelievable. The both of you.”

Navia begins to smile more at her after that day. 

It’s such a great relief to her that townsfolk begin to whisper to one another to ask about Clorinde’s whistling and good mood. Not that it’s much of a secret. Practically everyone in Poisson knows. 

The only people who seem oblivious to their budding romance slash re-romance is Clorinde and Navia themselves. 

One time, in the Saloon, Navia had giggled a little too hard at Clorinde’s joke—which caused Clorinde to spill her beer all over her shirt. She didn’t really mind. She didn’t even like beer. 

Another time, Clorinde had passed by the town square on her horse, and she almost fell face-first into the dirt when Navia smiled at her with a book in hand and tucked her hair behind an ear. 

And yesterday—the most damning of them all, Furina claimed to her—Clorinde and Navia climbed into a tree to save a cat that they both heard meowing in. Turns out that the cat already knew how to land on their feet on the ground below, and instead of climbing back down, they talked up there for hours. Charlotte asked what they were doing, and Clorinde had fallen out of the tree on  her back in the rush to get down. 

Still, that doesn’t mean that whatever Navia had against her has disappeared into thin air, even though she really wished it would. 

She’s left plenty of moments to give Navia the chance to tell her about it, too. 

Sometimes, Navia would spend her night alone on the pier on nights she can’t think. Clorinde would join her silently. Navia would never initiate any more conversation besides asking her how she is and why she wouldn’t go back to sleep. Clorinde didn’t really mind. She liked being there for Navia in any way she could. 

Clorinde figured that, given enough time and gifts and showing her her deepest sincerity, Navia would open up and tell her what’s wrong.

When she stumbles onto Navia, setting up a tripod pointed at a cow munching on some grass, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, this is that chance.

Navia twirls around to get something from her kamera back and startles when she sees Clorinde standing there with her arms crossed. Instead of getting huffing and rolling her eyes at her like she would whenever they would cross paths during the first season when Clorinde had appeared in town, Navia lights up.

Clorinde can’t say that it didn’t feel good to see. 

“Are you taking photos of cows for a cow-themed project, or…?” Clorinde teases. 

Navia huffs, and Clorinde almost laughs. She knows it’s in good fun this time from the way Navia can hardly keep herself from not smiling. 

“The lighting is really nice today,” Navia admits. 

She twiddles with her fingers as she adds, “I’ve been getting into photography ever since I found my mother’s kamera equipment in my house. I never got the appeal at first—until I realized that I was basically taking still shots of cherished memories. Who wouldn’t want to look back on beautiful memories?”

“I see,” Clorinde says, not unkindly. She glances at the tripod and the cow. Surprisingly, the cow has yet to move. “Do you need some help? I’ll admit that I know next to nothing about Fontainian kameras, but—”

“Actually,” Navia interrupts, and Clorinde doesn’t know whether she likes the mischievous smile on Navia’s face or not, “I have a really bright idea. Do you think you can help?”

“Of course I can,” comes out of her mouth before she can even process what Navia is trying to ask of her. 

She finds herself helping Navia into the cow pen (“I got permission, don’t worry!” Navia had insisted, and Clorinde laughs because of course she did—though she doubted anyone could have said no to her puppy face anyway), and finding that the rancher’s cows are much, much bigger than her cows back on her farm. 

She’s a little envious, in that regard. 

“Do you think they feed these cows on a quarterly schedule?” Clorinde mumbles, mostly to herself. “Relevant, similar question: do you think I should play music for my cows? I’ve read studies last night where—”

A flash of light nearly blinds her. Clorinde has to blink the spots away in her vision. 

She looks over at Navia, and she finds Navia giggling. 

“Sorry,” Navia says, in a way that shows that she isn’t sorry at all, “I should've warned you about the kamera light.”

“You think so?” Clorinde asks sarcastically, and it makes Navia giggle again. 

She likes how crinkly the corners of Navia’s eyes get when she laughs like that. She makes a mental note to ask Navia for the pictures when Navia snaps another photo in that moment, causing another bright flash of light to dance in her vision. 

She doesn’t mind the flashing. She is, after all, used to seeing the brightness of the sun in front of her. This is nothing to her. 

They take a few photos standing next to the cow. Clorinde stands mostly still, while Navia poses and tries to get her to pose along with her. 

After a few more snaps of the kamera, Navia pulls on her arm and begs her to come closer to the cow with her. Surprisingly, the cow comes up to her when she holds out a handful of grains. It shouldn’t be so shocking, considering how well-loved Navia seems to be with everyone that she meets. Even at nine-years-old, Clorinde wasn’t the exception. Just the rule. 

Then, Navia asks, “Can you hoist me up to her back?”

Clorinde has to turn that over in her mind a few times. “Say that again?”

Navia giggles. “Can you help me up?” she asks again, batting her eyelashes at her teasingly. 

Clorinde is willing to do anything for her—except put her in any kind of danger. So for Navia to ask her to do something, but having that something put her in danger, is almost like giving her an unsuccessful feedback loop that’s malfunctioning her to the very core. 

She blinks a few times, then says, “Navia, I’m not sure if that’s something you should be doing.”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Navia teases. She pats the cow’s side, then says, “I know this gal! She and I are thick as thieves. I’ve climbed onto her back a few times as a kid, so I don’t think she’ll buck me off like your horse does.” 

Clorinde argues, “Balthazar is tamed! He just likes to show off in front of you.”

“Sure, sure,” Navia responds with a laugh. 

Desperate to change the subject, Clorinde huffs and says, “Fine. I’ll help you up. But if you fall, I won’t call for help or help you myself.”

“Sure,” Navia says. 

They both know that’s not true. 

For Clorinde’s own pride, she says nothing more about it. She raises her eyebrows at Navia, and Navia holds up her arms with a laugh. 

Clorinde bites down on her own embarrassment and puts her hands on Navia’s hips, hoisting her up onto Big Betsy. Navia laughs harder when she nearly slips on the side, all the while Clorinde nearly has three heart attacks in the span of two seconds. 

Navia snaps a few more photos while she’s on top of the cow. She’s laughing and giggling, and Clorinde is sure that she’s photogenic enough that every single photo of her in that kamera roll will turn out great—but she also knows that half the photos of herself will turn out accentuating her silent anxiety while she holds out her hands, waiting to catch Navia in case she gets bucked off. 

She’s right to be anxious when it finally happens. 

It’s not anything from what Navia did. The cow just hears a bell in the distance—perhaps the rancher signaling her cows to come eat without realizing that Navia was still in the pen—and the cow rushes off without caring much for Navia on its back. 

Navia squeaks, and everything happens in slow motion. 

Clorinde holds out her arms. 

Navia falls off the side of the cow. 

Clorinde catches her in her arms with a grunt. 

However, with the mud all over the pen, Clorinde slips. 

They fall to the ground, with Navia laying on top of her. They’re covered, head to toe, in dark-colored mud. 

They stare at each other, nearly nose to nose. Clorinde can smell cow manure and mud everywhere—but she’s never been happier seeing Navia this close to her, smiling and giggling like this is the best day of her life. 

She’s so happy, in fact, that she can’t stop herself from laughing from both relief and from the adrenaline. She can feel Navia’s hand on her chest. She wonders if Navia can feel how heart is beating underneath those fingertips of hers. 

Clorinde is so happy, in fact, that she takes Navia’s wrist in her hand. 

She tugs her Navia, still laughing under her breath, closer against her chest. 

And kisses her. 

She feels Navia’s breath hitch just half a second before their lips make contact. She feels Navia’s lips move against hers. She can feel how hard Navia is smiling against her. 

Even with the cow manure and mud clinging to them, Navia clings harder to her. 

Closer to her heart, really. 

Nothing really changes much after that. 

Sure, Navia waves at her and smiles whenever Clorinde passes by on her horse to get her errands done, but she doesn’t leap into her arms and pepper kisses all over her face like she used to when they dated way back when. 

They’re civil with each other now—perhaps even friends again—but not… where they used to be. 

Clorinde wants them to get back to where they used to be more than ever. 

But it would be selfish of her to beg for that. Navia has her own reasons for not wanting to come back to it, and she should respect it. She at least owes her that. 

So, life in Poisson goes on. 

Clorinde wakes up at five in the morning on the dot to water her crops, fill her water can, tend to her animals, haul things into her shipping bin, run errands for the townsfolk, and fight off monsters in the nearby mines. She’s grateful for all the training that Petronilla had passed down to her to allow her to swing her sword effectively. 

She’s even more grateful to have Navia. The thought of her getting hurt should she not slay the monsters in front of her while in the mines makes adrenaline course through her veins much faster than any coffee could. 

Still, she remembers waking up in Sigewinne’s infirmary once. Navia was right next to her, dozing off on a chair. When she woke up, Navia had jumped practically ten feet in the air, right before jumping into chiding her about keeping herself safe and healthy.

(And if Clorinde smiled a little while Navia dabbed at her superficial wounds, neither of them mention it.)

Clorinde continues to run her errands. She still gives gifts to Navia when they pass each other on the street. Navia still sends her things in the mail, rather than in her face (Furina had told her once that it was because Navia was too shy, but Clorinde’s not sure if she should believe her side of the story). They smile and nod at each other at the beach. 

Sometimes, they dance with each other in the Saloon. With alcohol running through their veins, sometimes they would end up slow dancing together in the middle of the floor, uncaring for the way the townsfolk whisper and look at them. It would be the closest thing to a normal routine Clorinde could ever have. 

Until one day, Navia sends her a letter, and she breaks that normal routine. 

Clorinde takes off her straw hat and wipes at her forehead as she peers at the envelope in her letterbox. She can place this fancy, cursive handwriting anywhere. There’s even a small heart written above the ‘i’ in Clorinde to replace the circle on top. Just the way Navia has always written her name.

Clorinde sits down on her steps. Her dog runs up to her and nudges her knee, begging for attention. She chuckles under her breath and gives him a nice scratch under the chin while she breaks the wax seal with her fingernail. 

Navia is succinct, more than anything else. 

Clorinde,

I thought it would be fun to write you a note again! Sorry, no macarons in the mail this time. 

Clorinde barks out a laugh at Navia’s introduction. She was a little disappointed to see no desserts attached to her envelope this time, and Navia knows her enough to know that. 

I had so much fun with the cows the other week. I never got the chance to thank you for that, so thank you. Now I'm starting to understand why you chose the farmer’s life. Hope to see you soon.

- Navia 

Clorinde runs her thumb over Navia’s signature. There is a heart above the ‘i’ to match the one with Clorinde’s name on the envelope. 

“You’re wrong,” Clorinde mumbles to herself, silently rereading the last two lines. “You really don’t understand why I chose this life, do you?”

Her colleagues back in the Court of Fontaine had been more than a little surprised to hear her say that she was putting in her two weeks’ notice with their company to move to a remote town. She gave the same excuse to everyone who asks—that she simply needed a change of pace, and that the fact that her recently passed guardian, Petronilla, awarded her with a plot of land back in her hometown gave Clorinde just that opportunity.

It’s mostly true. She could only spend so long in the Court, with barely any time for herself and alone in her big apartment, before she went mad.

But mostly, she missed Navia. 

She missed feeling the sun’s warmth in her life. 

She missed looking forward to the spontaneity of each day. Who was better at knowing how to do that than Navia and a fresh start in a new town?

Clorinde carefully folds the letter in half and tucks it gently in her breast pocket. Like with all of Navia’s letters, she likes to keep them on her person to read throughout the day. They’re only changed out when a new letter arrives to greet her. 

Clorinde waters her crops. She feeds her animals. Pets her dog and refills his water bowl. Scrapes out jars of honey. Checks her basement to check on her kegs. Presses more cheese. Avoids getting pinched by the lobsters caught by her nets. 

It’s almost five in the afternoon by the time Clorinde is finished with everything.

She huffs and wipes at her brow, surveying her land to check for any unwatered patches or pesky crows that may be trying to feast on her seeds. There isn’t anything wrong that she can tell from here. 

Clorinde pulls out the letter from her breast pocket and rereads a few times. 

Hope to see you soon, rings through her head. She can hear it in Navia’s voice, all in different intonations with each reread in her head. First, with her chirpy, happy tone. Then, something more shy. Then something in between. 

Clorinde wonders how Navia wanted it to be read as. 

She has the bright idea of coming over to her house to ask her herself. 

Why not? Maybe Navia will need her to fix the pipes in her house or something while she’s there, and it would be a win-win for everyone. It’s definitely not because she just wanted to see her or anything of the sort. Not at all. 

Clorinde throws on a fresh set of clothes and reapplies her deodorant and perfume. The last thing she wants is for Navia to think that she smells after working so long on the farm all the way. Or, maybe Navia is into that. Should she redress back into her—? 

Clorinde shakes her head to snap out of it. She pockets the letter back into her fresh shirt’s breast pocket, says goodbye to Balthazar in his stable, pets her dog, and goes on her merry way to Navia’s house.

She makes it onto the front steps and knocks gently on the door. 

She hears a muffled, “Come in!”

Confused but happy to oblige, Clorinde gently pushes the door open with a shoulder. The living room is void of both Navia and Furina, and it only deepens her confusion even more. 

Navia pokes her head out of her bedroom. Her face is a little red, and she’s breathing quite hard. 

Clorinde wonders if she interrupted a… get-together with someone in her bedroom. A flash of jealousy strikes her stomach like lightning to the ground, but she quickly tries to swallow it back. 

“Furina’s practicing for an upcoming play,” Navia explains to her quickly. “She told me she won’t be back until midnight at the earliest, if you’re looking for her.”

“I came here for you,” Clorinde admits. She tries to peer over Navia’s shoulder. She sees something glowing red over her shoulder, and her curiosity is piqued. “If you’re busy, I can always come by another time.”

Navia’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vehemently. “Oh, no, I’m not! I was just—”

Navia pauses, as if she were thinking. When she smiles, it’s a little mischievous; Clorinde has to bite back a wince.

“Do you want me to show you instead?” she purrs, and another flash strikes Clorinde’s abdomen. It’s partially fear, as if she wants to run away, and partially… well.  

She knows that tone in Navia’s voice, much too well.

“Are you planning to strike my head with a wrench and bury my body under your floorboards?” Clorinde tries to joke. 

Navia snorts, and she beckons her into her bedroom with a finger.

Like Navia has enchanted her with the simple movement of her finger, Clorinde begins to follow without any more qualms. 

It turns out that Clorinde hadn’t imagined the red hue coming from Navia’s room after all. Near her bed is another door, which Clorinde had mistaken for a walk-in closet—except this time, the frame around it is glowing. 

Navia giggles and takes her by the limp forearm. She pulls her in, and Navia twists the knob open. “You have to come inside as quickly as you can,” she warns. “There can’t be any light coming into the room.”

Clorinde nods in understanding. Navia levels her with one last look, before she pulls the knob. All Clorinde can see inside is darkness. 

Before she can try to adjust her eyesight, Navia pulls them inside and closes the door. Clorinde even hears a tiny click—Navia’s locked it. 

Finally, Clorinde’s eyesight begins to adjust around them. She can see photos strung near and around the walls. There are sinks and other materials on the tables. She can see Navia’s tripod and kamera sitting in the corner. 

“What do you think?” Navia exclaims, smiling at her. The redness in the room highlights the blue in her eyes, and the yellow in her hair. 

Clorinde thinks, you look gorgeous. But she doubts that’s what Navia is asking of her. 

Navia clarifies, “It’s my brand new dark room! This old place looked more like a shed than anything else, but I figured—why not do something new for a change?”

Clorinde chuckles. She’s thoroughly impressed with everything around them, even in the low lighting. 

“What is it for? Your new photography hobby?” Clorinde asks her out of genuine curiosity. 

Navia shrugs nonchalantly. “After I moved back to Poisson when you took up your new job and Papa died—” her voice catches, and Clorinde has to fight back the urge to touch her arm comfortingly, “—helping people in town was the best thing I could do next. I make them food, spend time with them, let them open up to me, the whole shebang. But when I started to use Mama’s photography equipment, I realized that I could make people happy with it too. Handing someone a physical photograph of their loved ones smiling was so… rewarding. The dark room helps me make more in less time.”

“I see,” Clorinde says softly. “Immortalizing happiness like this, which can often be fleeting, is an honorable task, Navia.” 

There isn’t much more she can offer more with admission like that. It’s just simply Navia, being Navia. 

She looks at the photographs on the wall. She can see families and people she’s seen all around town doing mundane things like playing volleyball and picking spring onions. They all have a common theme: cherished memories. 

Navia is still looking away from her, perhaps too embarrassed to say anything. 

So, Clorinde jokes, “But… I will say that I’ve seen better.”

It does the job. Navia turns to look at her in disbelief, but the twitching corners of her lips gives away her amusement, and the fact that she knows what Clorinde is trying to do. 

“Hey!” Navia whines.

Navia kicks her gently in the shin, and Clorinde grins. 

She leans her forearms against one of the tables against the wall as Navia continues to pout. 

“I was only teasing,” Clorinde says sincerely, cocking her head to the side when Navia tries to avoid her gaze. “I think it looks incredible, Navia. It’s beautiful—” like you, “—and I can see every inch of effort you put into making this a sanctuary for yourself.”

Navia’s shoulders slump. Clorinde is grateful that she still knows how to break through Navia’s walls. 

“You really think so?” Navia asks her shyly. 

“Of course,” Clorinde says firmly. “Everything you touch seems to turn to gold. You always manage to find the charm in everything. It’s why I wasn’t surprised when the people in Poisson told me that I could always catch you with a kamera in your lap. It’s in your nature to find beauty, when you, yourself, are so incredibly beautiful.”

She hadn’t meant to go on such a spiel. Perhaps it’s the environment around them that’s making her this way. 

She clears her throat and looks away when Navia just gawks at her. 

“It’s a little warm in here,” Clorinde says quickly. She fans her face, and Navia looks at her in disbelief. 

To punctuate that what she’s telling is the truth (it’s not), Clorinde unbuttons her shirt. It makes Navia look away, the red in her face somehow more present even with the red lights around them, and Clorinde realizes that stripping out of her shirt and leaving herself in a tank top is doing the opposite of helping each other in this situation. 

“Are you sure you’re warm?” Navia asks her, still looking slightly over her shoulder as to not look her in the eyes. “Dark rooms are supposed to be a little colder than bedrooms. If it’s too warm in here, then that means I vented this room wrong.” 

“Did I say warm?” Clorinde asks quickly. “I mean, I’m too cold.”

She quickly tries to put her dress shirt back on. 

Navia laughs, and she puts her hand on top of Clorinde’s to keep her from putting it back on. 

“Keep it off,” she insists. “I like seeing your broad shoulders. Farming really does take a toll on your body.”

“As if my decades of fencing and swordsmanship wasn’t enough?” Clorinde asks sardonically. 

The way that Navia is looking at her now, glancing down at her bare arms and curling the side of her mouth like Clorinde is something to be devoured—it’s all just making Clorinde a little bit warmer. 

Clorinde clears her throat. She thinks desperately to find something to change the subject to. 

Navia takes her mercy on her. 

She giggles, until it fades away, and she bashfully asks, “So… anyway, what do you want to do?”

The atmosphere becomes—what’s the word? 

Charged. 

Clorinde swallows thickly. She knows that the easy way out of here is to lean in and kiss Navia. 

She’s almost sure that Navia would just sigh and kiss her back, melting into her kiss and taking hold of her face and never letting her go again, at least for the night. 

But doing that would mean doing what they did back in the cow’s pen. 

They need to talk about something, whether they want to or not. 

Clorinde exhales through her mouth and looks at the walls to gather her thoughts. Navia says nothing, and Clorinde wonders if she knows what Clorinde is trying to do. Knowing her, she probably does. 

There are a few photos that catch her attention on the wall. Photos of her working around on her farm, or smiling at the Saloon, or playing with the kids of Poisson. 

She remembers Navia being there with her kamera, taking photos of the landscape and the rivers. She had no idea that Navia was taking pictures of her too. 

Navia follows her gaze and looks at them with her. 

“You’re one too,” Navia says to her. 

At Clorinde’s puzzled look, Navia exhales fondly and clarifies, “My fleeting, happy memories.”

Navia sounds mournful. Bitter. As if the very thought is confusing, hurtful, and lovely all at once. 

Clorinde shakes her head. Her mouth feels dry, but she still tries to swallow. “No. Not me,” she says quietly. She can see how Navia’s pupils shake ever so slightly from how close they are together in this room. “I will never be like that for you. I’ll stay frozen in time with you right here, if you only ask.”

Then Navia laughs. 

It’s a sharp noise that pierces through the room—sharp enough that it ricochets and lodges in between Clorinde’s ribs like a shrapnel. 

Clorinde tilts her head, quietly questioning. She has no right to demand answers. 

Navia sniffs, angrily pushing the palm of her hand into the side of her eyes to wipe away her tears. 

Clorinde leans forward to cup her face and gently wipe her tears away with the pads of her thumbs. Navia lets her. It feels like a step in the right direction. 

Navia asks, quietly but vindictively, “Then why didn't you respond to my letters?”

Clorinde feels like she stops breathing. 

“What letters?” she asks her numbly. 

Navia hiccups visibly. Clorinde isn’t sure if it’s from what she said, or to stop herself from hyperventilating with tears. Perhaps both. 

“I sent you letters,” Navia tells her slowly, like Clorinde is trying to speak to her in another language. “Every—every day for almost a year, I sent you letters while you were still living in the Court of Fontaine. After a year with nothing from you, I figured you just—that you moved on.”

Clorinde doesn’t know what to say to that. 

There were so many things that Navia said that she wanted to laugh at, not because it was funny, but because it was all so wrong. 

But the most damning one, oh, of course Clorinde had to respond to first.

“I could never move on from you!” Clorinde exclaims, looking at her as if Navia had grown a watermelon for a head. “Never. How could I ever move on from you?”

Navia shrugs helplessly. “When you told me that we needed to take a break, I figured that was Clorinde-speak for—” Her voice fades, and Navia doesn’t even bother to finish it. Clorinde understands why. Even speaking it out loud felt like blasphemy to the highest degree. 

Clorinde holds her face so tightly and dearly that she’s almost afraid that her hands will begin to shake. Maybe they already are. She couldn't be bothered to look at anything besides Navia’s mournful look. 

“You were moving back to Poisson and I knew that long distance would have hurt you,” Clorinde whispers. “I asked for a break so I could save up and—I… I’m not even sure. I figured that I would have something figured out after a while. Maybe I would have asked you to marry me and move in with me. Maybe I would have ran after you in Poisson and begged you to have me again.”

And, really, isn’t that what she effectively did in the end? With Petronilla’s help, sure, but still. 

“Not having you at all hurt me more than you could ever imagine, Clorinde,” Navia snaps, but it lacks that angry bite. She sounds more tired and stunned, than anything else. “But I agreed because I thought you were right. And when you didn’t respond to anything I sent to you, I thought…”

Clorinde takes hold of Navia’s hands and squeezes them fiercely. 

“I didn’t get a single letter,” Clorinde tells her quietly. She looks into Navia’s mournful eyes and doesn’t look away. “Not a single one. I never sent you one myself because I thought you were the only one who had the right to engage with me after what I did.” 

Navia’s laugh is breathless. “Why are you so self-righteous for the wrong reasons every single time, Clorinde?”

Clorinde shrugs, but she’s beginning to smile. Mostly from the shock of their conversation. It feels unreal. But it feels—it feels as if a weight has lifted off of her shoulders.

“And you—” Clorinde reiterates, gently pinching the back of Navia’s hand. Navia whines. “You loved torturing me for the few months I was here just because I didn’t answer your letters.”

“What was I supposed to do!” Navia asks, breathless with her little giggles. “You showed up in town tailing after me like a lost puppy who thought she did nothing wrong after tearing up my couch. I couldn’t just turn around and kiss you all over your face, even if I wanted to.”

“Did you want to?” Clorinde asks her teasingly. 

“Besides the point,” Navia says quickly, and Clorinde laughs. She blinks at Clorinde, still a little stunned. 

Clorinde decides to take pity on her. She changes the subject and asks for the address that Navia had sent her letters to. 

The address Navia ended up writing down was one in Snezhnaya—she was, unfortunately, just one letter off. 

A ‘1’ in the end rather than an ‘i’. 

It makes her think of the way Navia dots their names with hearts. She smiles because of it, and Navia misconstrues her slight amusement.

“You didn’t get a single letter?” Navia asks suspiciously. “Are you sure? Are you lying to me to save face?”

“Navia.”

“Hmm?”

“If I ever lie to you for anything, I want you to take my tongue and cut it off with my gardening shears,” Clorinde says with every ounce of seriousness she can muster in her body. 

Navia snorts. “Goodness!” she exclaims with a giggle, and Clorinde thinks she can live on this high for the rest of her life even if she died tomorrow. 

They laugh together, foreheads pressed together, giggling and laughing and holding each other in their delirium and disbelief. 

When their laughter subsides, the charged atmosphere in the room gives way to the receding of the tides—everything has calmed down, but it leaves one last warning for a wave, small or big. 

“So, what do you want to do?” Navia asks her softly, her hand running over Clorinde’s slightly sunburnt shoulder adoringly. 

Clorinde’s not sure if she’s asking about what to do in that moment, or after it. 

Her answer is one and the same anyway. 

Clorinde gently presses her forehead against hers. She wraps her arm around Navia’s waist and pulls her in closer. 

With her other hand on Navia’s thigh, Clorinde pleads, “Can I… can I start where we left off?”

Navia’s sigh is from relief and excitement all at once. 

“Oh, Clorinde,” she whispers, and Clorinde’s entire body shivers from the way she says her name again. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to ask.” 

Clorinde chuckles. She leans forward, aiming for Navia’s lips—

“Wait! One moment,” Navia says quickly. 

Clorinde barely grunts out something unintelligible in confusion before Navia shuffles close to her, pressing their bodies flush to one another. 

A click. Every light in the room goes off. 

Clorinde can feel Navia’s warm body beneath her hands and the way she giggles against her cheek. 

Their kiss is warm, like the sun after a long day out on the fields. 

She gives Navia a bouquet the next day. 

It was colorful, beautiful, and made Navia tear up and fling her arms around her to kiss her all over. 

Navia does the exact same thing when Clorinde presents her with a mermaid's pendant the very next spring.

Clorinde finds Navia drinking coffee on the porch of their farmhouse just before five in the morning. 

She looks out into the field next. At this time in the morning, the horizon has barely begun to shift from dark, blue hues to its golden paint. The chickens are pecking at freshly thrown chicken feed on the ground. The soil of the crops in front of the house are dark—freshly watered, it seems. Even their dog’s water bowl has been filled with fresh water. 

Clorinde looks over at Navia, amused. 

“What?” Navia complains. Her hair resembles more like a crow’s nest than anything else, and she looks tired and ready to flop back into bed with the dark circles under her eyes and the dirt embedded in her nails. 

Clorinde thinks she looks absolutely beautiful. 

Clorinde tells her so. 

Then she wraps her arms around Navia’s waist, moves her hair out of the way, and kisses a spot on her neck. She whispers, “Thank you for getting up early to do the chores, my beautiful girl.”

“Your beautiful farm girl now,” Navia says with a giggle. 

Clorinde flips her around so that Navia could face her, and Navia squeals in both surprise and delight. 

Clorinde kisses her deeply. Navia melts into her kiss. How could she resist kissing her wife so early in the morning? She should be kissing her wife every time of the day, really.

Their golden rings glint in the morning sunlight. Their pendants hang around their necks, colorful and proud. They were more than happy to wear more than one thing to show their love to the world, even if their town was too small to be surprised.

Clorinde takes Navia’s hand and kisses her knuckle next to her ring. “I’ll make you breakfast, and you can go back to bed after you eat,” she promises. 

“Can you make buttermilk pancakes with chopped strawberries on top?” Navia asks her, her words slurring together in her exhaustion. 

Chuckling, Clorinde kisses her cheek and nods. “Anything for you. What else?”

“And a cup of orange juice?” Navia asks hopefully. 

Clorinde laughs, then answers, “Of course, ma princesse.”

Navia grins. She takes Clorinde’s cheeks in her hands and kisses her. Her kisses always feel like sunlight on her face. 

They sit together on the chairs on the porch. Navia cuddles into her side, her head on Clorinde’s chest. Clorinde’s arm is tight around her shoulders, keeping her as close to her as possible. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a honeymoon out of Poisson?” Clorinde murmurs. She rubs Navia’s arm. “I’m sure we can find someone to take care of the farm for a week or two.”

Navia shakes her head. “We’ve had this conversation over a dozen times now,” Navia says with a laugh under her breath. She plays with Clorinde’s hand, moving her wedding ring around her finger. Navia looks up at her, holds her gaze, then smiles warmly. It makes Clorinde’s heart ache. 

“I love being on the farm, and so do you,” she says softly. “This is as best of a honeymoon as we can get.”

Clorinde concedes with an amused exhale. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Navia says firmly, and Clorinde chuckles at her stubbornness. “Besides—there’s no one around here to hear us like there would be in a resort or a hotel.”

The insinuation sets in after a moment, and Clorinde looks at Navia sharply. Still, she can’t stop from the twitching smile to reach her face. 

“What? What am I wrong?” Navia asks her innocently, batting her eyelashes. 

Clorinde rolls her eyes and looks away, looking back at their farmland. “You are such a wonder to be with,” she declares, and Navia giggles at her side. 

They bask in the comfortable silence between them. They watch the sunrise together, listening as the rest of their farm animals begin to wake and the roosters begin to croon about a new day. 

Being here with Navia is the greatest privilege that Clorinde could ever have in this lifetime.

“Clorinde, dear?” Navia calls out against her chest. 

Clorinde hums in response. 

“Why do you have an entire field of sunflowers?” Navia asks her curiously. 

She points out into the near distance. Among their assortments of crops is an entire square stock of land full of tall, yellow sunflowers. Sometimes, the children of Poisson would ask to play hide and seek in them. Navia would make them cookies and milk while they played, and Clorinde would often supervise to make sure no one got lost or hurt. 

And to answer Navia’s question—“Because sunflowers are your favorite flowers,” Clorinde replies easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Why would a farmer not make an entire field of their wife’s favorite flowers? “You would often squeal in delight when I would hand you a bundle of sunflowers. I figured early on that they were your favorite.”

She says it all with the utmost confidence and slight pride. Navia didn’t even have to tell her about her favorite flowers. She just knew it without being told. Isn’t that such a testament to their love and strengthened bond?

Navia goes quiet for a long while. 

Then, softly, her shoulders begin to shake. 

Alarmed, Clorinde sits up to look at her. 

Navia isn’t crying. She’s laughing, and laughing very, very hard. 

“What?” Clorinde asks her, confused but mostly offended. 

Navia shakes her head, still laughing. She leans over to kiss Clorinde on the cheek, even as she continues to laugh out loud. It almost sounds like a howl of laughter from how hard she’s laughing at her. 

“Can I tell you something?” Navia asks her gently. 

Clorinde tilts her head to the side. “Anything, Stardrop.”

Navia’s smile reaches her eyes. Clorinde loves those kinds of smiles on Navia; though perhaps, maybe not for this situation. 

“I reacted like that whenever you got me sunflowers because I reacted like that with everything you got me,” Navia admits, shoulders still shaking slightly with her residual giggles. “My favorite flower are pluie lotuses. Not sunflowers. But they are pretty nice.”

Clorinde pauses. 

She looks out into the fields. 

“Well,” she says slowly. “There’s still some unplotted land near the back. Perhaps we can make your field of pluie lotuses there, next to your sunflowers.”

Navia bursts out laughing again. 

Clorinde was hoping for that. 

She looks over at Navia, smiling to herself as Navia continues to laugh herself silly. 

She wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life hearing Navia’s laughter in the mornings after their responsibilities on their farm.