Work Text:
The crisp autumn air filled the streets of Mistria, the golden leaves crunching underfoot as you made your way through town. Two years had passed since you first arrived, and in that time, you’d grown to love this little village and its people. Everyone here felt like family—well, almost everyone. The lone exception was March, the town’s brooding blacksmith.
Your first meeting with him had been a disaster, filled with snippy remarks and glaring eyes. But now, things are different. Over time, you’d worn down his walls. He’d started greeting you whenever you passed by the forge, albeit with a begrudging grunt, and you’d taken to visiting him regularly, just to see how far you could push his patience. Surprisingly, he never seemed to mind.
Today was no different. You waved as you passed the forge, his voice trailing after you. “Don’t trip over your own feet.”
You shot him a grin over your shoulder. “Don’t work too hard, March!”
“Harder than you,” he quipped back, the clang of his hammer punctuating his words.
Laughing, you adjusted the straps of your pack. “I’m heading to the mines today. Need to stock up on ores and maybe find something shiny. Want me to bring you anything?”
He raised an eyebrow, pausing in his work. “Just don’t get yourself stuck down there.”
“Would you come save me if I did?” you teased, stepping back toward the forge.
“Not a chance,” he replied, but his lips twitched, almost betraying a smile. “You’d probably just complain the whole way out.”
Shaking your head, you turned to leave. “See you later, March!”
He grumbled something unintelligible, but as you walked away, you felt his gaze linger. Neither of you said it aloud, but these little exchanges had become a highlight of your days.
When you told him you’d be leaving for the capital to visit an adventurer friend for a week, he barely reacted. A simple “Safe travels” was all you got. But as the days passed, March found himself restless. The forge felt quieter without your constant chatter, and even the routine clang of metal against anvil couldn’t drown out the thought of you.
The evening after you left, Orlic wandered into the forge, a knowing grin on his face. “You’re a mess,” he declared, leaning against the doorframe.
March scowled, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’m fine.”
“Sure, sure,” Orlic drawled, his grin widening. “You know, if you’re that worried, you could always send her a letter. Just to check up on her.”
“That’s ridiculous,” March snapped, turning back to his work. “She’s fine.”
“Right.” Orlic crossed his arms, his smirk firmly in place. “But you’re still going to do it, aren’t you?”
March muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t deny it. That night, he found himself sitting at his desk, pen in hand. It took three attempts and a lot of muttered curses before he managed to write something he didn’t immediately crumple.
On the third day of your absence, a note arrived in your mailbox. It was short and awkward, the handwriting messy but unmistakably his.
Dear ,
How’s the capital? Staying out of trouble? Don’t forget to eat.
March
You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. Without hesitation, you replied, detailing your day and teasing him for his concern. To your delight, he responded the next day. And so it began—a steady exchange of letters, each one carrying snippets of your lives, little jokes, and moments of unexpected vulnerability.
In one letter, he asked about the colors of the capital’s autumn leaves. In another, he requested a small charm from a market stall, claiming it was for "decoration" but secretly cherishing it when it arrived. The letters bridged the miles between you, and though neither of you said it outright, they carried an intimacy that words left unsaid.
Sometimes, his letters carried small sketches—an attempt at a leaf, a crude drawing of a mug, or even a tiny depiction of you with a speech bubble that read, “Annoying.” You teased him relentlessly for his artistic talent, and his replies always came back gruffer but more heartfelt. Each letter felt like a thread, weaving your connection tighter despite the distance.
When you finally returned to Mistria, the entire town turned out to welcome you back. Among the smiling faces, you spotted March standing at a distance, his arms crossed and his usual frown in place. But as your eyes met, he offered a small smile, and your heart swelled.
That evening, he invited you to the inn for drinks. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to share a beer, but tonight felt different. March was unusually quiet, nursing his mug as you recounted your adventures in the capital. It wasn’t until his second drink that the words began spilling out.
“I missed you,” he said, his voice low and a little slurred. “Missed your stupid grin, your laugh, the way you… you always barge into my forge and bother me.”
You blinked, taken aback by his sudden confession. “March, are you drunk?”
He ignored the question, his eyes unfocused as he continued. “Your smile, your… your scent. It’s been driving me crazy all week.”
The words left you speechless, heat rising to your cheeks as he leaned closer. “I like you,” he mumbled. “Been trying not to, but I do.”
When it was time to leave, March refused to let you take him home, insisting he wanted to stay with you. With no other choice, you brought him to your place. As you tried to wake him so he could settle on the couch, he groaned, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down beside him.
“March!” you hissed, trying to wriggle free. But his grip was firm, and before you knew it, you’d both tumbled onto the bed. His arms wrapped loosely around you, his warmth pressing against you in a way that made your heart race. “Stay… don’t go,” he murmured sleepily, his breath soft against your hair.
Your protests died on your lips as his steady heartbeat and quiet breaths lulled you into stillness. With a soft sigh, you allowed yourself to relax, his presence wrapping around you like the warmth of a hearth on a cold night. As the moonlight filtered through the curtains, sleep finally claimed you both.
The next morning, March woke up to a pounding headache and the smell of breakfast. Disoriented, he looked around the unfamiliar room, noting the cozy walls and simple furniture. It wasn’t his forge—it was your home.
He stumbled out of bed, following the scent to the kitchen, where he found you cooking in an oversized sweater. The sight made his cheeks burn. He cleared his throat, and you turned, smiling brightly.
“Good morning, March. How was your sleep?”
“I-It was fine,” he stammered. “What are you cooking?”
You gestured to the counter, listing the dishes. “Perch Risotto, Sesame Tuna Bowl, Potato Soup, Cod with Thyme, and hot chocolate. I figured you’d need something hearty after last night.”
March’s stomach growled, and he muttered a gruff “Thanks” as he sat at the table. The two of you ate in companionable silence, the warm flavors filling the room. But the air grew heavier as both of you hesitated, unsure how to address the previous night. Finally, March broke the silence.
“So, about last night…”
“Y-Yeah?” you prompted, your heart racing.
He hesitated, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “What I said last night was an accident. But my feelings for you… they’re not. I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
Your breath caught as his words sank in. Gathering your courage, you confessed your own feelings, voice trembling but sincere. “I’ve felt the same for a while. I just… didn’t know if you’d ever feel the same.”
March exhaled deeply, his shoulders relaxing as relief washed over him. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
You laughed softly, tears pricking your eyes. “And you’re impossible.”
The two of you talked long into the morning, sharing stories, teasing each other, and weaving plans for the future in tentative, hopeful tones. When he finally rose to leave, March paused at the door, his expression uncharacteristically soft.
“I’ll see you tonight at the forge,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Don’t forget your jacket this time.”
Fall in Mistria had never felt so warm.