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Dormont’s been snowed-in for days now, ever since the turn of the month. Soft powder lies thickly along the ground and roofs, whipped to and fro by the howling wind. The cheeping birds and chittering squirrels have all fled or retreated into their burrows to wait out the cold, much like the residents of this town. Save for one stood atop the frozen-over river bank, twisting the auger’s metal tip deeper and deeper till it breached the ice. Satisfied, the winding drill is cast aside, rubber boots trudging back to land. The Fishing One, dressed in a teal padded coat and slacks, plops their rear down on the snow next to the bank. Gloved hands retrieve the half-buried fishing rod, holding the pole aloft with the tackle aimed above the hole. Howling wind is soon overcome by the sound of vigorous cranking, until the line meets the water with a plunk.
Then, they waited…
…
There was something dreary with fishing in the winter. No singing songbirds, no skittering squirrels, no tittering townsfolk… only the encroaching, chilly breeze, numbing what exposed flesh it kissed. Profound quiet, where the mind can easily be emptied and left so. It was true solitude.
“…What’re you doing?” The fisher’s eyes blink open, sliding over to the person now standing to their right. Bigger eyes stared back, curtained by black hair. It was the fan of that one book series which the fisher never really cared for, a heavy blanket draped over his shoulders, “It’s like, below zero out here.”
“Kehehehe… I don’t mind it.” Snickers back the fisher with a half-hearted shrug. They weren’t kidding, if anything the numbing sensation was nice. But the book-series-fan didn’t look convinced, in fact he rolls his eyes. At that, the fisher just shrugs again, turning back to the ice hole. Though nonetheless, they had to ask before he left, “...Would you like to fish with me?”
“Huh? Oh, uh…” He drew his blanket closer, gazing unsurely at the snow. A nervous hum escapes him; eventually he finally responds, “Well really, I was just making sure you were okay? Since, uh, I saw you out here alone from my house.”
“Oh… kehehehe, how thoughtful of you.” The Fishing One earnestly compliments, to which the fanboy looks away, bashful. A curious reaction, but the fisher doesn’t press it further, only bringing up their offer again, “So… how about it?”
“…Sure, yknow, this is just like Lord Joséphandre’s recovery arc in issue #73!” The fisher hums contently as the fanboy settles down next to them, they didn’t get the reference but were nonetheless glad he agreed. So they run him through the basics, using the spare rod they always brought when fishing. It ends up taking a lot longer than what they envisioned, lots of fumbling and mis-casts, but eventually the fanboy manages to land his hook into the same hole as the fisher’s. A silence settles over them as they wait, and wait, wait… until the fanboy’s expression fell, and a groan escapes his throat, “Ugh… why aren’t any fish biting? It has been almost ten minutes now!”
“Kehehehe… usually, nothing bites for hours!” They cackle again at the fanboy’s agape mouth, eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets. Of course this was common knowledge, or at least it should be, even for those who don’t fish. Yet, the fisher wasn’t at all aggravated by the fanboy’s complete and utter incompetency, in fact, they found it cute…
Cute?
Before the fisher ruminates on that further, they finally notice how frustrated the fanboy was getting, staring at the hole as if it robbed his house. Well, since they would rather not lose a potential fishing-enthusiast, the fisher reassures with a grin, “Don’t worry… and be patient, you’ll catch one before you know it.”
“..Do you really just sit here and wait? For that long? Not to judge, but that sounds crazy boring.” When the fisher simply shrugs, the fanboy huffs in indignation… yet, also makes no move to leave. Instead, his eyes were glued to the fisher, awash with a strange look. The kind of look you’d give to, say, a shiny coin?
“…You know, you don’t have to stay out here with me.”
The fisher breaks the ice after some more time passes, shattering whatever trance the fanboy was in.
“Wh- Huh?” He blinks twice, trying to arrange his thoughts in a way that produces words, “I mean- it isn’t that big of a deal, I just-… I don’t know, I guess I just don’t really get this fishing stuff. In issue #42 the party had this whole contest where they caught bigger and bigger fish, until Lord Joséphandre befriended the biggest of them all and won through that friendship! It was- it sounded more exciting than… this.”
“…Is that so?” They reply with a bemused smirk, growing further intrigued towards this beguiling story, “Kehehehe, well you should know that fishing, as a hobby, isn’t all about catching fish.”
“…Really?” The fanboy’s eyes narrow in disbelief, though the way he almost-comically frowns ends up betraying his genuine interest.
“Not quite… here, close your eyes.” The fisher sets down their rod, shuffling closer to and behind the increasingly confused fanboy. Their hands raise, but hesitate, choosing to first whisper, “Ah, do you mind if I touch you?”
“Wh- What?” His voice stutters and a flush creeps onto their face, signs that it must really be getting cold out here. With a large gulp, the fanboy nods his head while looking forward, “Y-Yeah, s-sure…”
“Okay, now shut your eyes… and clear your mind…” Slowly, the lithe hands of the fisher move to cover the fanboy’s eyes, reaching around his blanketed shoulders as if giving a big hug from the back. His body tenses, mind obviously hyper-concentrated on something, probably the book series he seems to always want to talk about, “Psst, I said clear your mind, don’t think about anything. Just relax… breath.”
He shudders when the soft utterings tickle his cheek, followed shortly by warm breath. Yet, he complies with the instruction, taking a deep inhale… then exhaling. Repeating until his body finally goes lax in the fisher’s embrace, who responds with a pleased hum. They softly instruct him to focus on the sounds of nature, of the gentle breeze, of the rustling trees, of the gurgling water. His face was really hot beneath their fingertips, burning even, and the fisher began to worry that it was getting too cold out there for him. However, his expression was nothing but peaceful, attuned… so they suppose everything was going alright.
“I-… I think I get it…” The fanboy mutters as the fisher retracts their hands, opened eyes greeted by a “knowing” smile. Skittish, he looks down to his trembling hands, still holding the fishing rod tightly. His mouth makes a shaky smile, big eyes wider than ever, “Y-Yeah, I can see why- AH!”
Suddenly, the rod lurches forward and the string tugs sharply, the fanboy yelping as he scrambles to keep hold of the pole. The fisher startles too, hastily reaching their arms back around to help keep grip of the handle. Both fight against the creature trying to escape the hook, pulling with all their might until it abruptly bursts out from the water and causes the two to tumble onto each other. The large fish lands on the ice with a wet thud, flopping wildly in a desperate bid to escape back into water. The fanboy is fast to realize his awkward position atop the fisher, stammering out an apology before getting up with them.
“Kehehehe… not bad.” The fisher remarks as the two walk over to examine their catch, reaching down to scoop it up. Despite the fish’s might it cannot escape the practiced grasp of the fisher, who remains, evidently, impressed, “Pretty good for a first-timer.”
“Yeah… not bad…” He smiles in amazement, eyes shining brightly. For a while they watch the fish struggle for air, up until the fanboy breaks the silence, “So… what now?”
“…” The fisher approached the hole, and like a maiden would for her child, lowered the fish through into the waters. It slips free to swim away beneath the ice, leaving the fisher’s gloves empty and soaked. They turn back, pride still plastered across their face, “Kehehehe, like I said, it isn’t just about catching the…”
The fisher trails off when they catch the look of the fanboy. It wasn’t miffed as they were expecting, no, it was… captivated. Captivated… with them? It’s strange, despite the biting cold now enveloping their hands, the blood in their body seemed far more eager to invade their visage. So to distract themself, the fisher begins gathering their equipment, telling him, “It’s getting quite cold out here, no? I think it would be best for us to retreat home for the night…”
“O-Oh, yeah…” A look flashed across his expression, one that almost looked… disappointed. He waves goodbye and, with hunched shoulders, turns back to his home, hesitating to take the first step. Before he does, he looks back a final time, “This… was fun.”
“Yeah…” an awkward pause, neither appear really sure. As this was the best of any indication to leave he’d get, he turns to take the first-
“Wait.”
The fanboy stalls, then turns back, a hopeful flicker passing, “Y-Yeah?”
“…Perhaps… I could accompany you home tonight, the book series you seem fond of sounds interesting, and I’d like to hear more about it.” Now the fisher is the one to avoid eye-contact, a snowy mound suddenly more appealing to gaze at than the answer which lies with the fanboy’s expression, “T-That is, if you do not mind!”
“No… I-I’d love that, actually!” Their eyes rise up to greet ones alight with sparkles, the stupidest grin they’ve ever seen worn below it. His legs bounce excitedly, excitement which bleeds into his voice, “I’m like, the BIGGEST Cursing of Château Castle fan there is! Crab yeah I’ll tell you all about it! C’mon, I have an entire library at home to show you!”
Ah, so that was its name. With surprised laughter the fisher is pulled along by the apparent castle-lover, stumbling with their equipment over to his door. Up until now, they haven’t realized how long they’ve spent in social solitude, mostly keeping to themselves and only connecting to others through fishing. This seldom worked, and now the fisher began to think they should change that. Solitude is nice, yes, but too much of it can really start making you feel lonely. At least, it was for the fisher.
“Oh yeah” a thought suddenly crosses the fisher’s mind, right before they crossed the doorway’s threshold, “...I never told you my name, did I?”
“Oh Change, you’re right!” The castle-lover exclaims, before groaning in realization, “And I didn’t either!”
“Kehehehe, it’s okay.” The fisher steps into the dwelling first, while the castle-lover reaches for the doorknob, “I will go first, my name is-”
The door is shut, and the following warm laughter is carried away by the winter air.