Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had been a long week. You were staring up at the husk of the barn you had been trying to finish since winter started. But something about the cold weather meant things turned frenzied all around mistria. You had been swamped with requests from the town all week leaving you scant time to water your crops and take care of your animals first thing in the morning before you deserted the farm until well after sunset.

Adeline had requested a mountain of baked goods, apparently that was something the capital could request. You’d spent all of Monday with Reina at the inn slaving away to have all of the goods shipped by the end of the day.

Dell and the Dragon Guard had lost their precious map of Mistria that they had been working on for months and when they all came to you, begging for your help in hunting it down, you knew there would be no way to refuse. Tuesday morning was supposed to be for working on the barn you wanted to finish before spring, but it took you until almost sunset on Tuesday to find the map they had lost. They had pushed it under Dell’s bed, but it was still fun to spend some time with the kids even if the day had vanished out from underneath you with a blink.

On Wednesdays you liked to take walks with Elsie and discuss town gossip before she went down to the docks with Terithia. But Errol had requested a special fish from the ponds for his dinner, so you spent sunrise to sunset on the bridges and in the deep woods searching for this elusive eel that Errol had politely asked for. Errol never asked for much so you saw no harm in helping.

On Thursday, you’d become startlingly determined to finish your new barn before spring. The permafrost was already beginning to melt and you didn’t have much time before you had too many foals and calves and lambs and crias and chicks and pups and ducklings and bunnies to deal with. You couldn’t let yourself run out of space before the weather turned warm. But Eiland had found you, frantically panting out about a new piece of mysterious armor he was sure they would be able to find in the ruins.

You spent all of Thursday with Eiland in the dirt of the digsite and trekking through the ruins. You were aching all over by the time Eiland finally decided to call it a day. But you haven’t even managed to find anything new. Part of you wondered if you would spend your whole life looking for the rest of the armor. You secretly decided you would head back to look around the ruins yourself when you had the chance.

Your week had been so hectic, that by Friday you realized you hadn’t really seen much of anyone except for your work. Typically you would drop by the forge several times a day, chatting with Olric was always nice, but the burn of March’s gaze was what always drew you back in. It was impossible to ignore. You watched each other, circling, as you both had been since you’d moved into the farm almost three years ago. You and March had sat in silence and had drinks at the inn, you’d gone on silent walks through Elsie’s garden, you’d walked all the way to the summit and back. But you’d never truly spoken about anything important. It was impossible to when it seemed any time March opened his mouth, an insult came out.

You spent Friday morning on the farm, finally making some headway with the new barn. The walls were up and the doors were functional. The roof would be exhausting to tackle on your own but if you could swallow your pride you would talk to Ryis about getting some help next week. Elsie, who spent a little time every day in her garden, loved when you would lend a hand and you would be side by side kneeling in the dirt as you talked about the latest gossip around town. There wasn’t as much to tend to when the weather was so cold and the ground was still mostly frozen, but it was still a good excuse to gossip. You spent the early afternoon with Elsie, talking about the latest news about Juniper and Valen before you decided you were well overdue for paying March and Olric a visit. It would probably be good to look over your tools and make sure everything would hold up if you decided to head back to the ruins to keep looking for that armor anytime soon. You came down around the side of the shop, the stones cold and ice-slicked against your gloved hand, but you paused before you turned the corner. You could hear March’s hammer on the anvil at the forge, but you could also hear Olric and Ryis with him, they were probably sitting on the bench on the far side of the forge near the fire where you liked to sit when you needed reprieve from running around through the snow.

“Okay okay,” Ryis was laughing, so was Olric. You’d almost walked into the middle of something. “We get it, you’re in a shit mood. But what’s got you all worked up?” Ryis said, still laughing.

“Nothing,” March hissed with a particularly vicious swing down onto the anvil.

“Oh, let me guess–” Ryis said, “you’re all butt hurt because our resident farmer was a little too busy this week to pester you while you’ve been working right?” You could hear the devilish grin in his voice.

“Oh Ryis–” Olric obviously knew better than to poke fun at March’s ego, but apparently Ryis liked playing with fire.

“You’re jealous everyone else loves the farmer too, huh? But I mean what’s not to love?”

“Are you nuts?” March barked out an obviously forced laugh, “I don’t give a shit about the stupid farmer, alright? I mean– they just showed up one day and decided this place was right for them and everyone just rolled over and fawned. I don’t get it, they’re probably just here to make a couple bucks and will move on soon enough. A waste of all our fucking time.”

You paused, suddenly numb to the icy stone at your back and the sharp air in your lungs. You had spent almost the entirety of the last three years trying to demonstrate how much you cared about Mistria. You had filled every request, helped with every repair that Adeline had asked of you following the earthquake, searched every ruin, cooked every meal, tried every tea, and potion. Every Saturday you brought March a cup of coffee from Darcy, and you even learned how to make hot chocolate for him on special occasions because Elsie had let it slide that it was his favorite. But it wasn’t just March. You had been helping Reina with dinner prep every Friday for six months. You had learned all of Celine’s favorite flowers and helped Luc expand his bug collection. You’d earned a coveted spot on the Dragon Guard and became very good at charades in the process. Henrietta preened every time she saw you, knowing you always brought treats and Dozy was always happy to let you into the baths. Most importantly, you’d loved every second of it. You’d moved away from the city because the city had chewed you up and spit you out. The city had broken your heart, and when you were feeling your worst you heard about the quaint, quiet town of Mistria. Fuck March for assuming you’d only come to exploit Mistria and it’s people. Fuck March for trying to distort the one good thing that had happened to you in a long time. Fuck March.

“Oh c’mon March,” you could hear the strain in Olric’s voice. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t?” March scoffed, you heard the bucket of water beside the forge sizzle and hiss when March roughly dropped his scalding hot tools inside of it. You hoped they froze in there. March stomped away from the forge and slammed the front door to the shop shut.

You stood with your back pressed against the wall of the shop, Olric and Ryis were standing in silence. You pushed away from the wall and walked right past, not sparing either of them a glance as you made your way to the museum.

Over the next week you made a point to avoid March. Last week it had been an accident, but you avoided even passing the shop on your way about town if you could. You didn’t see much of anyone unless they made a request. You tried your best to remain your chipper self but it was hard to do anything but keep your head down and get your work done.

“Hey Farmer,” Celine waved over her head as you came up the road from your farm. The sun was barely up but you’d put a saddle on your beloved steed, Pancake, and set out for the day.

“Morning,” you slowed to a stop at her porch and gave her a smile.

“Busy week again this week?” she asked, she was holding an empty woven basket, and you assumed she was setting out to forage for the day. You longed to go with her. But Errol had a loose step, and broken railing at the museum and wouldn’t be able to handle it on his own. It was already Wednesday and you’d made no further headway on your barn, or making splints for your bean plants, or spraying down your cauliflower.

“Yup, heading over to the museum for the morning then I’m going to help Valen make some teas this afternoon, she was thinking about selling her own line of comforting herbal teas.” You nodded and brushed your fingers through Pancake’s main, who in truth could use a real scrub down, but you needed a new barn for that.

“Oh…alright. Is…everything okay?

“What?” you gave her a small lopsided smile. “Everything’s fine.”

“Oh, okay then. I just noticed you’re— you’re neck deep in taking care of everyone else lately, wanted to make sure you aren’t neglecting your own needs. Everyone may love that you're here to help, but I’m sure they want you to take care of yourself more.”

“Thanks, Celine.” You grit your teeth, but force a smile anyway. “I will see you Friday?” you knew she meant well, but if you couldn’t be useful, that meant March was right, that you had no place in Mistira and that you’d just come for the free land and the rest was an afterthought. You’d been so scared about what the people of Mistria would think of you when you had first arrived, but helping Ryis repair the bridge in your first days in Mistria had shown you that maybe there was so much more to the town than what meets the eye. You wanted Mistria to be your home.

It still could be, but you were still mortifyingly stuck on what March had said about you. It shouldn’t matter what one person thinks, but March wasn’t just anyone. March was the one person in all of Mistria who didn’t like you. It was an impossible feeling to contend with. You liked to pretend that you weren’t an incessant people pleaser. But you wanted your place to be Mistria and you wanted to do everything possible to make sure that March wasn’t right about you. You couldn’t let everyone down.

“Yup!” she beamed.

You nodded, and tugged Pancake away, taking a left off of the bridge into Mistria to avoid the forge and head over to the Museum.

Over the rest of the week you still went on your walks with Elsie, and picked up produce for Nora, and repaired roofs for Adeline and did some mild spelunking to find a specific kind of rock for Olric. But you didn’t so much as look at March for almost seven whole days.

On Friday morning Ryis knocked on your door before you’d even had the chance to get to your plants.

“Morning Farmie,” he grinned,

“Ryis,” you patted his shoulder and he followed as you brought your watering can out to your field.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Course! Whatever it is, you know I'd be happy to help.” you said.

“No, it’s nothing like that, Farmer.” he shook his head, he was wringing his gloved hands, standing just off your shoulder.

“Oh…okay.” You didn’t look back at him. “Is everything alright?”

“Well that’s what I need you to tell me…did you– did you hear what March was saying last week, about you? At the forge?” you stopped your watering for a split second before returning your focus.

“Yeah. I did.” You shrugged one shoulder, the calluses on your hand burned where you were gripping the handle of your watering can so hard your knuckles were white.

“Oh man– you know he didn’t mean it, right? You know it was out of line for him to say something like that?”

“I mean I obviously know it’s out of line,” you scoffed. “But I doubt he didn’t mean it. I appreciate the attempt Ryis, but he doesn’t like me. He thinks I'm here to turn a profit and then I’ll be on my way again. I thought he’d change his mind after I stayed for almost three years but– that’s not the point.” you shook off the spiral you’d begun. “He’s allowed to think whatever he wants about me. Why should I care?”

“Oh c’mon…Farmer– everyone here knows you care about him.”

You exhaled sharply, stomping past Ryis to put your watering can back in the shed. “What I feel doesn’t mean shit, at least not to him it doesn’t.” you hadn’t even let yourself admit the true depth of your feelings for March. You hadn’t stuck around for three years for nothing. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? We’re both adults and we can both live here, even if we don’t like each other.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up.” Ryis grimaced.

“It’s fine, man,” You shook your head at him, “I appreciate you trying to help. But there’s nothing to be done. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Yeah, see ya Farmie.” Ryis gave you one last smile before leaving your farm.

It was almost dark, and you should have left the ruins around six like you always did. Dropping whatever you were doing to go down to the inn for a drink and spending some time with friends before retiring. It was always refreshing after a long, sometimes grueling, week. But you loved the work, and you loved helping the people of Mistria. You’d never had a community, you’d never met people so willing to welcome and to trust. Maybe that’s why hearing what March really thought hurt so much.

But regardless Eiland had brought up the armor again, renewing your determination to find the stupid piece of armor that was apparently hidden somewhere in the western ruins. You’d gone through the dig site for hours, checked in every bush and under every rock. You’d even done some fishing to see if you would come up with anything. But it was almost pitch black and there was still one place you hadn’t checked.

The stairs up to the statue that you could almost make out at the top of the ruins were in disrepair. They looked dangerous to walk on but it was the last place you had to check. Maybe if you could help piece together Mistria’s history, then March would see how much you cared, how much you wanted to stay.

You carefully took the first few steps, crumbling stone catching beneath your work books. You took another step, and another, nearly halfway up the broken staircase now. But it was late, and your eyes certainly weren’t as good as they used to be.

You should have seen the ice, and the hole in the steps, and realized that you couldn’t reach the wall to catch yourself from where you were standing. But you didn’t and your foot caught a patch of ice on the next step, you stumbled and caught a pocket of crumbled stone, a hole in the steps. The steel toe of your boot got stuck and your ankle screamed in pain as you fell backwards down the six steps you managed to make your way up. You should have been more careful, you should have put your hands down to catch yourself, but you didn’t, and caught an iced-over rock to the side of your head before everything went dark.

Everyone went to Friday nights at the inn. It had been the tradition long before March was born, and it would continue to be tradition long after he died.

But something was wrong this week. No one else seemed to notice, the Farmer had been helping Reina in the kitchen for months and was always waiting behind the bar with a dumb smile when everyone else was shuffling inside and shucking off their coats.

But not tonight.

It was arguably one of the coldest nights of the year, everyone’s noses and ears were pink and chapped with the cold, even himself. Staying close to the heat of the forge wasn’t always enough to ward off the bite of the icy wind.

Part of him wanted to be relieved that he didn’t have to look the Farmer in the eye. Ryis had dropped by the forge on Wednesday to chew him out for what he’d said about them. He wasn’t sure when Ryis turned into the Farmer’s knight in shining armor, they had always been more than capable of defending themself, but apparently that wasn’t enough this time.

Apparently the Farmer had heard what March had said. Ryis said they’d been coming from the Manor, from their weekly chat with Elsie, which March knew already, and that he should have known better than talking about them like that in public.

March had told Ryis he didn’t give a shit.

They both knew he was lying.

But he had been in such a terrible mood already. And Ryis had hit the nail on the head about why. Not that a single forgotten cup of coffee on a Saturday morning even mattered, but he’d spun out. Ryis pushing him about it hadn’t helped either. But Ryis didn’t want to hear that. They both knew he was a massive douchebag for saying what he did, but sometimes he still found it hard to trust the Farmer. Not when the rest of the town had so easily bared its neck for a stranger. The Farmer had everyone eating out of the palm of their hand, March wouldn’t fall so easily for their placating grin and polite conversation. He was going to be careful so he could tell everyone I told you so, when the Farmer up and left, leaving everyone heartbroken.

Maybe he was exaggerating slightly.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was: he’d said something awful about the Farmer, and then he’d avoided the Farmer all week–which wasn’t very hard, because the Farmer was avoiding him too–and now they weren’t at the inn. Which was probably the most worrying part of it all.

“Where’s the hick?” March looked up at Reina who was at her station in the kitchen. She frowned down at the cutting board she was standing over.

“You know what? They never showed up for meal prep…Elsie did you see the Farmer today?”

“Come to think of it, no I did not, dear.” she sported a matching frown, “They always visit at least once when I’m on my walk.” She considered them both for a moment longer. “I’m sure they just got wrapped up with one of Juniper’s projects again, right honey?”

Juniper was mid sip of her glass of red, but shook her head with a shrug. “Nope.”

March forced a breath through his lungs, unclenching his fists on the bar. He couldn’t let everyone see him get so worked up.

“Has anyone seen the Farmer today?” March called. The conversation throughout the inn lulled briefly as everyone looked back and forth.

“I dropped by the farm this morning to talk about a project, but I haven’t seen them since.” Ryis shrugged one shoulder staring into his mug. “They…didn’t seem in the best of spirits, but they said it had just been a long week.”

“Great,” March hissed, he hadn’t even made it through his first beer and now he had to go on a wild goose chase for the stupid Farmer, who was probably just holed up in their cottage. “I’m going down to the farm, Olric, Ryis?”

“Gotcha, bro!” Olric jumped up, following to the doors of the inn.

“Celine and I will head over to the deep woods, and check the eastern road.” Reina said.

“The Dragon Guard will investigate the town!” Dell roared, standing on her stool.

“I suppose Landen and I can go take a look around the Museum, and make sure they didn’t venture too far into the mines.” Errol said

“I will head down to the docks,” Terithia took a final massive gulp of her drink before lumbering away from the table.

“What about the ruins?” Eiland said.

“We’ll head up to the Ruins after we check the farm,” March grunted, not sparing the inn a second glance before him, Ryis, and Olric walked out into the cold.

As they approached the footbridge to the far side of the river, March had a sickening realization. He’d never been to the farm before. It seemed that Ryis and Celine were helping out the Farmer on their turf daily, but in three years March had never thought to visit their farm, despite all of the times the Farmer would drop by whatever they were doing to hang out at the forge March had never once thought to stop by and see if they’d made any progress since they moved in.

There was faint light at the end of the tree-shrouded path onto the farm. The path was lined with extremely well-crafted lanterns, not that March would ever admit that to the Farmer’s face. There were a few benches, bookended with flowerpots, and bird houses, and trellises that would bloom with flowers in the spring.

March followed the bend of the path and yelped when he came face to face with a large shaggy-haired cow who was munching happily on some grass, unbothered despite the late hour and obvious absence of their Farmer.

“They never brought the animals in,” Olric frowned, considering the few other shadow-y shapes across the stretch of field before them.

“Here, I think this is how they do it.” Ryis said, pointing to an obscenely large bell posted near their cottage.

Ryis rang the bell twice and all of the animals began to move back across a bridge far to their left where March could see the shape of three barns standing among the trees.

They followed the animals back to the barns, which upon closer inspection they found one of the barns was just walls and frame, no roof. None of the animals seemed to be living there, though.

They shut the animals in for the night and went next to the cottage. All of the lights were off inside, there was a dying fire in the wood-burning stove, and a dog asleep on a dog bed near the stove in the kitchen, but that was all. No Farmer.

“I guess we should head up to the Ruins?” Olric suggested, wiping away the fog his breath had left on the Farmer’s windows.

March just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and followed the sign that indicated what direction the Ruins were in.

The Ruins at night never failed to creep him out. The museum leered down at them as they came up the hill to the path that would take them to the ruins. The wind bit at them and March found himself more than worried about the possibility of patches of ice on the path. No one came all the way out here to salt the walkways. The Farmer was the only one who came out to the ruins regularly.

They took their time crossing the fallen stone pillar across the river, the wind ripped off the water and made March worry someone was going to fall in, but they all made it across without incident.

March had never been to this part of Mistria either, he’d been a curious child but had never dared to venture this far. Most of it hadn’t even been accessible until after the earthquake. Sometimes March felt like he fell asleep the night before the earthquake happened and woke up in a whole new universe unfolding in the aftermath of the destruction.

The dig site and tent were empty and silent, but the dirt had recently been dug up, mounds of dirt all through the ditch. The Farmer had been to the site today. Wherever they were they had to be close by.
They trekked out of the dirt and as they eclipsed the first flight of stairs into the ruins, they all froze.

Olric spoke first “Oh gods is that–”

“Farmer!” Ryis called, already sprinting over to them. They were lying still at the bottom of the broken, icy staircase that went deeper into the ruins. They might have been bleeding but March couldn’t be sure.

March kneeled beside them, pressing his fingers to the right side of their neck, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “They have a pulse.”

“Let’s go, we have to get them somewhere warm.” Ryis said.

Before Ryis could move, March scooped the farmer into his arms, their skin was like ice and their lips were blue, but they were breathing. “Olric run ahead, get Valen and tell her to meet us at the clinic.”

“Done,” Olric nodded, and was already hurrying back across the fallen pillar.

“Tell her to hurry!” Ryis called after him.

They navigated as quickly and safely as they could back through the dark and back to town. The lights in the clinic were on when they turned the corner, Valen was waiting on the porch.

“Quickly, bring them inside. Hayden has the fire going. We need to get them warm.”

It seemed that the entire town had managed to squeeze itself into Valen’s small clinic. One of the treatment beds had been turned into a makeshift couch, Dell, Luc, Maple, and Adeline occupying it. Some of the parents were crowded around Valen’s desk, the last of the search party shuffling in the door and stomping the snow off of their boots.

“I’m sure our Farmer appreciates the concern you all have but I need space to work,” Valen announced as March laid the Farmer down on the unoccupied treatment bed.

“C’mon everyone!” Josephine clapped her hands. “Hot chocolate at the inn, we will wait for news and you all can fill up the rooms tonight. It’s too late to walk home. We’ll start making up beds as soon as we’re back.”

And just like that everyone was shuffling out of the clinic in a slow procession.

“You’ve got this, March?” Ryis paused at the door, Olric at his shoulder.

“Yeah. got it.” March nodded.

Then it was silent. Valen was already hard at work, scribbling down their vitals and laying a warm cloth around their neck.

“Alright if I stay?”

“It’s just fine, March.” Valen nodded.

March sat on a stool near the partition between the treatment beds as Valen worked. Hot chocolate sounded better than anything else in the world right now but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the clinic. The Farmer was fierce-willed and quick witted and never let March get under their skin. But they looked so fragile lying in the dim light of the clinic, pale and shivering. It made March ache, it made March want to berate them for being so careless with their own safety. It made March wonder why they had stayed out after dark in the freezing cold.

Valen worked, and worked and March debated what point would be appropriate to ask for Valen’s prognosis.

Finally Valen seemed to steal her frenzy of treatment. The Farmer’s ankle was bandaged and elevated. That certainly wasn’t good. And there was a small cut on their lip that had been cleaned up.

“They’re going to be just fine. They will probably need a hot meal, and a warm bath when they wake up. But they shouldn’t put weight on their ankle for a couple of days. I also think they may have a mild concussion but we won’t be able to tell for sure until they are awake.”

“So they are okay?”

“Yes, they are okay.” Valen grinned at him and March felt his face flush.

“Good,” he murmured.

“If they aren’t awake by the morning, you should take them back to their cottage. I’ll stay close by just in case you need me, but if they are properly supervised they should heal swiftly and without incident.

“Wait, supervised? You mean– I’m taking care of them?”

“Well…yes?” Valen cocked an eyebrow at him. “You were the one who thought something was wrong, and the one who found them…and the one who carried them here from the ruins…March are you sure you didn’t slip and hit your head out there? You are the obvious choice.”

“But– but they have other friends!” March scoffed, “they are basically everyone’s best friend here,” he said.

“Well if you truly don’t want to I’m sure I could talk to Ryis–”

“No no– that’s not what I meant,” March crossed his arms and sat back in the stool. “I’ll do it.”

“Alrighty then.” Valen eyed him warily, but picked up their coat and wrapped their scarf around their neck. “I’m going to grab some hot chocolate, would you like some?”

March almost said yes, but he wasn’t sure the guilt would let him keep anything down. “No, thanks.”

“If they wake up, come get me immediately.” They nodded and shut the door.

March looked over the Farmer’s face. He couldn’t help but feel like he had some part in this. He’d said something truly horrible about the Farmer and the next week they get themselves injured and left lying out in the freezing cold. Truthfully, March had been warring with himself all week. He needed to apologize, but he was sure if the Farmer had even an ounce of tolerance for him before it was long long gone. He didn’t deserve their kindness. He didn’t deserve the same effort that the Farmer put into everything else that they did.

You came to slowly, bouts and fits of bright lights and the shuffling of familiar blankets. The sun was just peeking through the window of your bedroom when you finally seemed to open your eyes for good.

Your bedroom.

Your bedroom?

You were in your bedroom in your cottage and it was eight in the morning. You were late to let out the animals for the day, late to water your crops, late to check your requests for the day. Hell you’d forgotten to bring Josephine the wool she needed. And you were pretty sure there was–

The door to your room opened and the whole world screeched to a stop before your eyes.

March was in your house. More importantly March was wearing his boots in your house. He was wiping his hands on his jeans like this was a normal Saturday morning.

Then you realized your head was throbbing.

You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut, pushing yourself upright. You were sore, your neck and back hurt and your lip was split. What happened? Why the hell was March in your house?

“How are you feeling?” March asked, drawing the curtains closed which surprisingly helped stave off some of the searing pain behind your eyes.

“Since when do you care?” you hissed, “I thought I was a waste of everyone’s fucking time.” you remembered March’s words, you remembered the pain in your chest and the stab of March’s contempt. You remembered working in the ruins until dark, you remembered the moment you realized that the steps were too slick and too ruined to be safe, you remembered your stomach dropping as the ground rushed up to meet you. Then nothing.

March’s knuckles were white where they were gripping your curtain, his back was still to you.

“What?” you prodded, “Nothing to stay? You can’t even look me in the eye and tell me you hate me? Tell me that you hate me to my face or get the hell out of my house.”

“I don’t hate you,” March turned, glaring down at you. “I shouldn’t have said what I did–”

“You expect me to believe you? After what you said? After I’ve tried everything to show you that I’m serious about staying in Mistria, about being a part of this community and you just don’t seem to care?”

“Why do you need my approval?!” March barked. “I’ve been shit to you and you still– you still follow me around like a lost puppy!”

“Because–” you huffed, flustered, your chest heaving. You didn’t have the answer he wanted to hear. “Because you’re the only person, in this entire town, who– who I–”

“Who what? Who doesn’t immediately bend over backwards for you? Who wouldn’t do whatever you ask? Please Farmer, your people pleasing is showing.”

“Stop it,” you grit out. Your stomach rolled uncomfortably.

“No!” March laughed. “Why does everyone have to be so obsessed with you? What do you get out of it?”

“March I–”

“What?!” March growled.

“I think i’m gonna be sick–” the room was spinning and your face was hot, but March was suddenly handing you a trash can as you heaved into it. March had planted a broad, warm hand on your shoulder, and you tried to focus on that as you shivered

“Valen mentioned this might happen,” March murmured, handing you a rag soaked in warm water, you used it to wipe down your hands and mouth, this was humiliating.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“You’ve got a concussion. A pretty bad one, too.”

“Ugh,” you dropped your head into your hands, fighting off another wave of nausea.

“Listen, Farmer,” March murmured, sitting on the edge of your bed. “I don’t hate you. Ryis was trying to get a rise out of me and I just– I shouldn’t have said any of it because I know none of it is true. I know you love this town, and I know this town loves you. I know you’re here for good.”

Your brow creased deeply as you slowly met March’s eyes. “You– you think I’m staying?”

“I mean…it’s been three years, Farmer. Look at this place,” March glanced around your bedroom. “You wouldn’t have spent all this time fixing this place up, and helping Adeline with the town, and adding entries to the museum, and joining the stupid Dragon Guard if it meant you were going to up and leave tomorrow.”

“The Dragon Guard is a very serious organization,” You sniffed.

“Okay, Farmie.” he rolled his eyes.

“I…I thought that maybe if I could find all of the missing pieces of Mistria’s history that maybe– maybe then you’d believe I wanted to stay in this place.” you whispered, keeping your eyes on your hands that were fiddling with the worn quilt over your lap. “That’s why I was trying to get into the older parts of the ruins last night.”

“What?” March looked horrified. “You got hurt– because of me?”

“No, no!” you rushed, “Eiland and I have been looking for something all week but I thought that maybe it would bring me one step closer to you seeing me like everyone else.”

“Why would I want that?”

“I want to belong here.”

“You do belong here,” March said. “But what’s the fun if you're just like the other twenty-one people I’ve spent my whole life with?”

You watched March’s face, but he didn’t waver. “I’m really glad you’re here, Farmer, I’m glad you made Mistria your home.”

“Oh…” you felt your face flush. “Thank you– March.” you forced a breath. “I– I have to take care of my animals, they need to be let out for the day. I need to water my crops and my barn needs a roof and–”

“Slow down there, farmer,” March rushed, “You sprained your ankle, Valen said you can’t put weight on it for a few days, okay?”

“But what about the farm–”

“Your farm is fine. I just came back from watering your crops. Hayden brought out your animals this morning and Ryis and Landen volunteered to finish your barn. Everything is being taken care of while you get back on your feet.”

“What? How?”

“C’mon Farmer,” March grinned, it was new and you found it extremely endearing. “It’s no secret that this town adores you. Everyone wants to help. There’s an entire grocery store’s worth of meals in your fridge. You’ll be eating Josephine’s cooking until the new year at this rate.”

“Well you’ve probably got your own orders to fill and other things to take care of, you should go.”

“Not until you can walk on your own at least, farmer.” March shook his head.

“What?” you deadpanned.

“Valen said you had to be monitored until the worst of your concussion has passed. I was the one who found you and brought you to the clinic. I also brought you back here and made sure everything was squared away while you’re getting better. So…until you’re back on your feet for good, that couch–” March pointed to your living room, “Is my new best friend.”

“No way you’re just volunteering yourself for this. Who put you up to this?”

“Why is it so hard to believe that I want to help?” March scoffed.

“Because this time yesterday you wouldn’t even look at me!” you squinted at him.

“We already established that I’m sorry, right?”

“Ugh,” you wanted to throw yourself dramatically back across your pillows but the world spun slightly every time you moved, so it felt like not the best idea if you wanted to maintain your current stomach contents.

“You should drink some water. Reina brought over some homemade chicken stock, Valen said you should try to keep at least something down, okay?”

You watched March like he was a newly discovered species moving through your cottage. March was caring, he was careful and wanted you to get better. March knew you were going to stay. Everything that had happened had curled up into a knot inside of you and you weren’t quite sure what to do with any of it but watch as March continued talking into your kitchen leaving your bedroom door open so you could hear him.

“This place looks amazing, too y’know.” he commented. You could hear him opening cabinets and digging through drawers. “Did you redo this all yourself?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, leaning back against your pillows, slowly. “I added on my bedroom and the bathroom myself.”

“You’re not serious.” March poked his head back through the door.

“Completely.” you shrugged.

“Where did you learn to do all that?”

“Oh…” you shrugged, “around.”

“C’mon is Landen giving you private lessons or something?”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to gather your scrambled thoughts. You blinked hard as March came back into the room.

“My dad built houses, he was a genius when it came to working with his hands…and my mom she was good with books, and words and math. They were totally different but I think that’s what made them work. In the beginning anyway.” you didn’t look at march. He was holding a glass of water and a steaming mug of broth. He sat back down on your bedside. “I guess things were different after they had me, my dad and I never really got along and my mom– she left for a job in the capitol when I was starting school.”

“Oh.” March blinked at you.

“My dad tried his best but he was just as heartbroken as I was. We moved around a lot and…he died, that’s when I decided to leave home, I left after his funeral.”

“I’m– I'm so sorry I had no idea.”

“It’s not a big deal. It was a while ago now.”

“Doesn’t matter how long ago it was, not if you’re still holding onto it.” March shook his head.

You pressed your lips together, grounding yourself with the dull ache of your split lip. “I guess so.”

“Our parents died at sea.” he looked down at the hand-stitched comforter you’d spent a week making last spring. “But I’m sure you already asked Elsie or Josephine what happened,” he shrugged, not looking at your face.

“March no–” your breath caught. He was finally being honest with you, you could finally see past the iron-clad walls that March had forged between the two of you, he was finally letting you see beyond them. “I didn’t want to go looking for anything you didn’t want me to find…”

“You– you really don’t know anything?” March’s brow furrowed.

“I know your mother Jade was a Blacksmith, and I know your father Olrin was a Merchant.” You shrugged. That was all that was written on their graves that you had accidentally stumbled upon after finally making your way through the deep woods.

“Well it’s true, my mom was an amazing blacksmith,” March smiled faintly. “She had such a way with her tools, she could make anything or anyone bend to her will. And my dad was a merchant, he’d sailed all around the world to make a living before he settled in Mistria with my mom. But even then, they would take long trips to sell the things my mom would craft. Olric would stay home and take care of me. They left one summer–just like they always did and they never came home,”

“God March that’s awful…I’ve been to their graves but I– I had no idea.”

“You went to their graves?”

“I was in the deep woods– I didn’t mean to– I didn’t know that there was a cemetery there. I found it by accident.”

“No it’s alright. It’s part of this place. You would have found it sooner or later.”

“That must have been hard for you both.”

“I was little, but it wasn’t easy for Olric. Or anyone else. But we’ve got each other. And we’ve got this town. Everyone here loved them…they were– they made Mistria special. They would have loved you.” March’s eyes were glossy but you were transfixed by the soft smile on his face. “You’re just like them,” he whispered.

Your eyes went wide, swallowing thickly around the lump in your throat, you said: “I’m sure they were wonderful. I’m sorry you lost them.”

“It’s alright, Farmer. After all…if everything that’s happened has put you in Mistria, then I guess I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

you watched his face.

“Olric can’t think of things that way, he thinks it's disrespecting them to see a positive side to the life we have now. But I know they would have wanted us to keep trying to see all the good things about life, even if they aren’t here anymore.”

“Man, you’re secretly an optimist aren't you?” you grinned at him.

“Oh shut up, Farmer. Now drink some water, and have some broth. I’ve got to go and run an errand. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, and watched March leave and shut the front door behind him.

When you thought of adjectives to describe March, thoughtful had never jumped out of you. But surprisingly that’s what you were finding when you tried to figure out exactly what you were thinking when you looked at March. Thoughtful, endearing, gentle, funny the words seemed to fall right into your lap sending you reeling, leaving you dizzy from seemingly more than just your persistent headache.

There was nothing holding back the feelings that you had dammed carefully within the delicate chambers of your heart. March didn’t hate you, there was no way to fend off the spiral of what if.

But there was still a much louder pessimistic voice that reminded you of your extensive lack of romantic understanding. If only love and relationships were a skill you could hone and fine-tune like ranching, farming, and crafting. But life couldn’t be so simple, could it?

On the first morning after you woke up, you sat with a plush blanket and fresh coffee, with your bay window open so you could watch March as he watered your crops to make sure he was doing it right, and also partially just to get under his skin. But you could see the smile on his face even from your seat inside the house.

“You know, Farmer…” March began, he was washing the muck from his hands at the kitchen sink. He looked more at ease like this without the glare of the forge and the ping of hammer on metal. “I think I get the appeal now,” he said.

“What do you mean?” you shut the window, locking it against the chill and scooping your mug of coffee back up to warm your chilled hands. You could still smell the winter morning lingering in your living room. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to equate it to anything other than these moments with March.

“It’s fulfilling, all this work, the farm, Mistira. I see why you do it.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve got a soft spot or something for this place Mr. “I don’t like anything but my forge,” you laughed into your coffee.

“Oh please, I have never said that.”

“You may as well have.”

March scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I try to give you a compliment and this is what I get?”

“That was supposed to be a compliment? Just sounded like you were finally getting the point, March.”

“Ouch!” March laughed, coming to lean against the bay window, very much in your personal space. “What does that even mean?”

“I mean why I’m here.” you said. “Of all the places in the world I could have gone, why I chose to come to this tiny tiny town on the edge of the world that had nearly been swallowed whole in an earthquake not a week before I arrived.” you said. “That’s the point, March, it’s the best feeling in the world to watch Nora and Holt talk about Dell getting to have a future wherever she wants, and Adeline talking about the potential of Mistria becoming a major port. And even you are able to fill bigger orders for bigger buyers. I want Mistria to stay Mistria, but I also want Mistria to thrive.”

“You’re just too much of a do-gooder for your own good, huh Farmer?” he grinned down at you, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like a dream, he looked like a future in Mistria.

“Guess so.”

On the second morning you managed to get yourself up and out of bed all on your own, you were incredibly happy with your progress, until March ruined it by scowling and claiming “you should be taking it easy, because at this rate you’ll never get better if you keep being careless.” which put a very big damper on your chipper mood.

March left to go where you could only assume was the forge, leaving you to the quiet of your cottage.

“Farmer!” Celine rapped her knuckles twice on your door, she sounded sun-shiney as ever.

“Come on in Celine!” You said, “The door's open!”

“How’s Mistria’s favorite farmer doing?” she smiled, taking off her shawl and hanging it on the hooks you’d put in along the front wall.

“Ooh,” you cooed, “don’t tell Hayden!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she giggled. “Anyway! I brought you some lavender. I remembered you mentioning how much you loved it once, and I know how calming it can be. I figured since the scent isn’t as overwhelming as other flowers you might like some to dry and hang somewhere.”

“That would be great, thank you! I’ve already got some hanging in the kitchen,” you pointed to the boughs of twine that were strung all over your kitchen, dried herbs and flowers and fruit galore.

“Oh wow, I always forget that you’re just as busy here as you are all over town,” She looked around the main room of your cottage, smiling at all of the trinkets and books you had collected over the last three years. “You’re really at home here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I'd like to think so.” you smiled.

“So where’d March wander off to?” she asked, not-so-subtly glancing to the bathroom and bedroom, like she was expecting him to suddenly appear out of thin air.

“Ugh, no clue. He just left.” you frowned, not looking Celine in the eye.

“Uh oh,” she frowned back, “that’s not good.”

“Why?” you scoffed, “he’s an adult, he can go wherever he wants.”

“Yeah, well he hasn’t left your side since he found you a couple nights ago, did you guys get into a fight?”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “I was excited I managed to get out of bed without losing all of my stomach contents and he got all pissed at me.” you sighed, “it sort of ruined my morning. I was in a really good mood before he lost it on me.”

“Oh Farmer, I think he just really wants you to get better.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he does. Really wants his life back.”

Celine sighed. “I’m sure you’ll talk when he comes back. It’s going to be just fine.”

“Thanks Celine, for putting up with all of this.”

“Oh please,” Celine laughed, “it’s what friends are for!”

“Alright well if you see him, let him know I’m hungry, because he still won’t let me cook for myself. Not that I don’t love Reina’s cooking but I can only eat so much leftover curry.” you smiled half-heartedly at her. You wanted to believe that everything would be fine, but sometimes March would still be so cold and it made you question everything you were learning about him. You wanted to have thicker skin, but it was hard to feel like you could let March if you were going to constantly have to worry about getting hurt.

Not that you had a good reason to let him in. But you’d told him about your parents. He was the first person in all of Mistria who you’d told about your life before. That had to mean something.

“Okay.” she nodded, I’ll bring some cookies soon okay? Just try to focus on getting better for now. Take care of that head of yours, Farmer.” she grinned, shrugging her shawl back on, and then she was gone.

You were still stranded on the couch until March returned, he would probably get even more upset if you tried to walk around while no one was home while you were still so unsteady on your feet. It wasn’t worth the headache. Ha.

You find yourself dozing when you hear someone stomping down the path towards your door. Valen had mentioned during her last visit that your sleep schedule would probably be royally fucked from your injury, but that didn’t make it any less inconvenient.

“Celine said something was wrong?” he was out of breath, like he’d been running.

“What?” you pried your eyes open, still feeling exhausted, “no? I’m just hungry, you said i shouldn’t move around much when no one is here and I didn’t feel like getting yelled at any more today. I didn’t think she’d actually hunt you down to tell you that or anything.”

“Gave me a goddamn heart attack,” he snapped, stripping off his jacket and leaving his boots on the towel you’d made him lay out by the door to keep the mud and slush off of your hard-wood floors.

“Sorry…” you mumbled, not looking him in the eye. “I really didn’t mean to–”

“Stop apologizing,” he huffed, sitting down on the edge of the hand built coffee-table that had taken you a whole weekend to make, and then three weeks to carve a design into the face and legs. “I shouldn’t have gotten so pissed at you this morning, I’m sorry. But you need rest, you need to let me help you. If you push yourself too hard too soon you could really get hurt.”

You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut, you could feel a dull ache beginning in your temples, great. “Being like this is driving me insane,”

“I know,” March nodded solemnly, “I’m sorry.” he said, “but your ankle needs time to properly heal. You need to be able to run around like the crazy person you are when your head is better, right?”

You sighed and didn’t respond.

“You’ll need to be in perfect shape because you’ll have all these ideas and all these things to get caught up on. If you can’t move well because you permanently mess up your muscles you’ll be even more miserable.”

“What are you, my doctor?” you crossed your arms.

“No, Valen is your doctor. I’m just making sure you don’t keep pushing yourself.” March bit out, clearly losing his patients.

“I’m sorry,” you said, shrinking down on the couch. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” March murmured. You thought you’d imagined him squeezing your shoulder as he got up, but you couldn’t be sure.

They had fresh eggs and toast for breakfast, and Hayden brought them fresh salads from the general store for lunch when he was done checking on the animals, who he said were doing just fine.

March went out again before dinner, grunting something about ‘groceries’–which you were sure you misheard–before he left.

You tried to read a book you’d left on the coffee table but ended up unable to focus on the words, they seemed to wiggle on the page and it only amplified the dull ache in your temples to a mounting stab.

When March returned, you’d curled up with a blanket over your head to try and block out some of the burning light of the setting sun.

“Farmer– what in god's name are you doing?” March asked, you heard the crinkle of paper bags on your counters and realized March really had gone out for groceries.

“I tried to read a book, now my head hurts and I didn’t want to risk getting up to shut the curtains.”

“Shit–” March hissed, "I'm sorry I should have thought to shut them before I left.”

“It’s fine,” you shrugged, only coming out of your blanket cocoon when you heard the slide of the curtains closing.

“Do you want me to go get Valen?” March asked, looking deep into your eyes, but you knew he was just checking to see that your eyes were dilating properly.

“No no, i’m not dizzy or nauseous, it’s okay.”

March sighed, watching you for a second longer before walking back into the kitchen. “So…i’m making salmon for dinner.” he said.

“What?” you peered over the back of the couch. “You can cook?” you gaped.

March scoffed, “god did you hit your head that hard? You saw me at one of my cooking lessons at the inn. I actually quite enjoy cooking, if I do say so myself.”

“Well well well, I never expected you to take such pleasure in something so domestic.”

“Well someone had to learn, and we both know Olric can’t be near an open flame.”

You found yourself laughing harder than you would have thought. It caught you off-guard. When March wasn’t too busy worrying about you, he could actually be pretty funny.

“You should do that more.” March said.

“Do what?” you asked, laughing a little again.

“Laugh like that.” He was at the kitchen sink with the water running, he kept his back to you.

You stared wide-eyed at his shoulders and the back of his head. “Oh,” you wet your lips with your tongue, your mouth had gone dry. “Only if you keep making jokes like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like funny March.” you sighed, “you’re actually pretty funny when you’re not being grumpy, or angry, or worried.”

“Oh well thanks, I guess I will just quit being human then too, while I'm at it.”

You clicked your tongue at him once, “so dramatic.”

“Says you Farmer,” March laughed, “as I recall, you were nearly in tears because your mutt sat a little too far out of reach for you to pet him this morning.”

“He should know I'm injured and that should make him spend more time with me!” you protested.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” March said under his breath.

You didn’t want to admit it, but March was a surprisingly good cook. He’d made a simple baked salmon over rice with rosemary and garlic roasted potatoes and you feared he might even rival Reina’s cooking. He was playing a dangerous game by sharing that secret. Reina might just have the threat neutralized if she found out.

You ate dinner on the couch and March sipped a glass of wine (another thing on the long list of life’s pleasures you currently couldn’t indulge in) but you found yourself barely able to keep your eyes open as March began to clean up from your meal and wash dishes, (one of your least favorite chores that you took great pleasure in having someone else do). March may have started talking to you as he washed dishes and knives and cutting boards and wiped down varnished walnut countertops, but you couldn’t be sure, you were mostly gone to a pleasant dreamless sleep.

.

You woke up only briefly to the gentle strength of March’s arms as he lifted you like you weighed nothing from the couch and tucked you into bed, before turning your oil lamp down low and leaving the door to your bedroom almost shut.

Your blinds were shut when you came to, but you could see the hint of sun coming up between the trees. The cottage was quiet but you could hear the hiss of your kettle on the stove, which didn’t make sense because even though you quite liked tea, March liked coffee, and usually he made a pot with several cups for the two of you to drink throughout the morning. You debated getting up yourself, but didn’t want another verbal lashing from March, you felt surprisingly good. Your headache had retreated to a faint blink at the back of your skull but your mind was less foggy, and any residual dizziness you were left with yesterday was mostly gone. You felt a little lighter knowing your head would be better sooner rather than later.

You pulled back your covers to inspect your ankle, there was faint bruise still lingering when you pulled the wrap back to inspect it, but as you slowly flexed your muscles in the wrap despite minor tightness, the pain was also on its way out. Your chest felt a little lighter.

“March?” you tried to peer into the living room but you couldn’t see beyond the couch and bathroom door directly across the room.

“Hey,” he was at your bedroom door in an instant. You tried to push away the thought that he’d only seen you in your pajamas for nearly a week. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Really good, all things considered,” you grinned.

“Good, good,” he nodded, “saw Valen this morning, she’s coming by for lunch for a follow up…so I told Hayden I’d let him know if we’re still going to need him after this.”

We

“Oh, right yeah. Well hopefully we’ll be able to let him off the hook,” you said. You’d forgotten all about the ephemerality of this arrangement. March had to go back to the forge and you had to go back to the farm. You would spend your days running errands and repairing roofs, just like always.

But you’d rather stay just as you are now anyway, especially if it meant March stayed in your life and treated you exactly as he was now. Maybe it would fade once your injuries fully healed, but you would always have the memories of the quiet mornings over coffee and fresh eggs from the coop. Afternoons with visits from friends and updates on town progress, and evenings with home-made dinners and quiet talk about the day. You’d never forget the short time you spent like this. And that would be enough.

“Mm, yup.” he nodded, “...you need some help getting out here? Or do you think you’ve got it?”

“I think I’ve got it,” you nodded firmly, gently swinging your legs down to the rug and slowly stood up. No dizziness, no nausea, it felt great to stand on your own. March still opened your bedroom door for you and hovered as you made your way to sit down on the couch, but it didn’t matter. You would finally be out of the house and back to helping Mistria.

And it would be time for March to go back to filling orders and glaring at you as you galloped past on your errands. Back to normal.

You snapped out of your daze when you realized March had been speaking to you. “Sorry?”

“Are you sure you’re all good?”

“Yeah,” you waved your hand dismissively, “just space out, what did you say?”

“I found a french press in your cabinet–”

“What?!” your eyes went wide.

“I mean I don’t even know why you’d bother with this,” he was examining the contraption he’d set out on the counter. “Your regular coffee pot works great.”

“I– well–” you winced, “I was trying to learn how to make better coffee?” you said quietly. “I was always buying cups for you from Darcy– which I'm happy to do, I love supporting the economy here–”

“Of course you do,” March huffed.

You glared at him, “but I thought it would be better if I learned to make them for you myself,” you shrugged, and March suddenly seemed to fully process what you had said.

“This…was for me?” he frowned at the device, like it was going to answer him.

“Yeah?” you shrugged and turned away from the kitchen, “it was stupid, and I was really bad at it. It always came out too strong or too weak or all of the grounds didn’t filter out.”

“It’s not stupid…” March murmured, “it’s sweet. And I can show you how, if you’d like.”

You let him help you to the kitchen, even though you were almost certain you didn’t need the arm he offered you. But you did sit on the counter next to the sink, just to get him to stop glaring.

“Okay, so…these coffee grounds aren’t ideal,” he said. “Usually you want to grind your own coffee beans and make sure they are pretty coarse, not too fine like the stuff that balor gets. But Nora usually has some pretty good quality beans for cheap. I’ll pick some up for–” he stopped himself. “I’ll drop some off, sometime” he said. “So you put as many scoops as you desire for strength, I like a 1.5 to 1, a scoop and a half for each cup but it’s all by your taste.” He scooped your paltry store-bought coffee into the press. Now, you take your water–I think it’s best if it’s still boiling but this is all coffee-snob shit anyway–” he grumbled, not looking at you, which you were glad for because if he did he would see just how enraptured you had become listening to him. “And pour it over the grinds, I usually just walk away and come back in a couple minutes, but some people are really specific, this is the other thing that will add or take away from strength. Depending on how strong I want it, I leave it for three or four minutes."He took the strange plunger for the press over to the sink, rinsing it off presumably to rid it of dust before beginning to dry it off.

“Where did you learn this?”

“Oh,” March smiled something secret, “my mom really loved coffee, everything about it. My dad would drink coffee no matter where it came from, as long as there was caffeine in it really. He would always bring her the most exotic and high-end coffees he could find, even if he claimed it all tasted the same. But my mom talked about it like an art.”

“You do too,” you said.

March chuckled and shrugged, “guess it’s just how I hold onto them. It was always on my mom’s skin, the smell. That and the metal.”

“Mm, not you though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t smell like the forge…?” you winced realizing you really hadn’t meant to say any of it out loud.

“Oh really?” March smirked at you, “what do I smell like, then, Farmer?”

“Like sage,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “And– you smell like the shop…but not like metal, like the cedarwood chests you both use to keep your clothes in, and the coffee, that too.” you murmured.

“Paying pretty close attention huh Farmer?” Marched cocked an eyebrow at you, hands caging you in on the counter.

“I think the coffee’s done!” you rushed out, you could tell you were flushed, you knew March could tell by the sly grin on his face, it only made you flush even more.

March nodded and turned to the press, “the only thing you have to remember about this part is to go slow, better to take your time than get coffee grind-filled water all over.” He pressed the plunger into the glass jug and the grounds got caught in the wire-mesh filter, just hot coffee left on the top side of the jug.

March took down mugs from the cabinet, he didn’t even have to ask which one, and poured mugs for the both of you.

“Before you ruin it with cream and sugar, just try it black.”

“C’mon really? Is it that big of a deal?” you asked.

March just watched you as he took a sip, a pleased hum escaping past his lips.

You just glanced at the cup once more and took a sip before you could psyche yourself out. The coffee was strong, but there was more to the taste than you had ever known could be in a cup of coffee. It was really good. That didn’t mean you weren’t at least putting a little sugar in it.

“How’s that?”

“It’s really good, thanks.”

March just nodded, and turned back to the window over the kitchen sink and sipped his coffee.

You found you had a renewed appreciation for showers.

Since you’d hit your head and sprained your ankle, standing for a prolonged period of time in a place notorious for causing injuries had not been the ideal circumstances for the one time you were alone all day.

So you’d been forced to take baths exclusively since you had been hurt.

Usually you would jump at the prospect of soaking in a hot bath at the end of the day. But that was just about all you found pleasant about it. It was not the easiest place to clean yourself, and it became increasingly difficult to get out of if you were particularly dizzy. Not that you had been feeling that way excessively over the last few days, you were getting better. But in the beginning it had been more than just a nuisance.

Besides the issue of the bath, which was mostly resolved at this point since you hadn’t been dizzy getting up, or dizzy much at all for a couple of days. Your brain fog had mostly subsided and you hadn’t had any issues moving around in a few days either. Almost every part of you wanted to be relieved, to be happy that you would finally be able to go back to your normal schedule. But something was off about it all.

Valen arrived around noon for lunch. March had made sandwiches and Valen brought potato salad from Josephine that was so good you could cry.

“So Farmer,” Valen said, “you mentioned the dizziness is mostly gone?”

“Yeah, sometimes it’s there for a second when I first wake up, but nothing compared to the first couple of days.”

“Your eyes look just fine, and you haven’t had any lingering confusion? You remember everything leading up to, and after your fall clearly?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you pressed your lips together. You remembered actually falling in perfect technicolor. But you tried not to dwell on that. It made your heart feel like it was going to leap out of your chest. It made the world feel like it was racing away from you at mach-five. It left you feeling like you were laying cold and alone in the dark on a snowy night.

“No nausea? Have you experienced worsening headaches since your fall?”

“No nausea since I woke up the morning after. I’ve had some mild headaches, ones aggravated by light and smell but…nothing as bad as when I first woke up.”

“Hmm,” Valen considered you again, “well I think you can finally let March off the hook.” Valen nodded, “maybe he should stay overnight once more, just as a precaution but tomorrow you should be fine to be on your own, Farmer.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but your eyes found March, who was already watching you carefully, like he was waiting to see how you would react. March leaving meant going back to life as normal. It meant that this sweet, thoughtful version of March that you had grown so used to would vanish into thin air. But you both had to go back to your lives. You couldn’t stay cooped up in this cottage forever. March was probably just looking for your cue to be relieved to finally be free of you.

“Well March,” you grinned, “looks like you can go back to your forge, huh?”

“I guess so.” March nodded once.

“I’m able to go back to my work? My animals and my crops? I’m sure Adeline has a repair list a mile long for me.”

“As long as you take care of your body, and get enough rest, and try not to hit your head again…I am okay with you taking things slow, at least for now until we can follow up again in a week or two.” Valen sighed, a thin smile on her face. “Though you might experience some more headaches of varying intensity as you heal. But if they get too bad, or the nausea and dizziness return, come get me right away.”

You smiled wild and bright at Valen, and then at March, who just shook his head and sighed.

“Thank you, Doc.” he nodded to her. “Appreciate all the help.”

“Oh no, thank you March. Our Farmer’s lucky to have you. You’ve been so helpful.” Valen smiled.

“Yeah, he has.” you nodded as Valen rose from her seat at your hand-carved round top kitchen table and gathered her coat and medical bag.

“Would you like me to walk you back to the clinic?” March offered, walking her to the door.

“No, thank you March. You two take care and I want to see you in two weeks, Farmer!” she called over her shoulder, and then she was gone.

March stood with his hand pressed to the door of your cottage. You watched his back, the way the light of the afternoon sun cut his silhouette against the wood. The way the muscles in his back and arms moved beneath the blue henley he wore in the winter.

“So I guess I’m off the hook, huh Farmer?”

“Relieved?” you asked, turning your face to the tabletop. Your eyes stung, you weren’t sure why they would be, you blinked the feeling away. “Or just happy to finally be done with me?” you grinned, but March stayed quiet, you could feel his eyes on you.

“I’m sure the Forge is a mess, I’ll have to go back and make sure Olric hasn’t destroyed the place…but, you’re not as bad as you think you are, Farmer.” March leaned his hip against your cabinets, watching you with a curious glint in your eye.

“Please, just get out of here, no need to spare my feelings. You heard the Doc, I'm all better. You’re free to go.”

“She also said it would be good for me to stay one more night, just to be cautious.”

“Oh c’mon we both know Valen is just a little too careful for her own good.”

“I’d rather be here, than risk something happening while you’re alone. What if you fell? What if your head hurt too much for you to move? Then what?”

“You’re just as bad as she is,” you murmured, and pushed yourself up out of your chair. You’d always get head rushes when standing, but the concussion had amplified them greatly, you reached out for the kitchen counter at your back but found March waiting instead, he placed a firm hand on your lower back to steady you.

“See? Will you let me stay now?”

“Ugh, fine.” you would have rolled your eyes but you were keeping them squeezed shut against the momentary dizziness as you regained your bearings and pulled out of March’s space.

“Can we open up the windows?” You looked around and all of the shut blinds and windows.

“What, why? It’s freezing out there.”

“I know…but I can’t leave yet, I'd like to at least pretend I'm getting some fresh air. You don’t want me getting Cabin Fever, do you?”

March groaned, “fine. Just– put on a coat, please?”

You grinned at him, “too kind for your own good huh March? I don’t know how anyone in this town could ever think you hate it here. You’re just a softie.”

“Would you shut it?” he grumbled, “I might just leave you here, if you keep it up.”

You laughed and shrugged on your winter coat as March began throwing open your bay window.

Usually during the afternoon March would run any errands he had for the day, leaving you to your own devices. But today he broke away from your routine, and he set up at your kitchen table with note pads and a drafting pencil and began scratching away at designs and notes and drawings. You listened to his breathing and the shuffle of his papers and pencil as you dozed in and out of sleep for most of the afternoon.

But true to Valen’s word, by the time you heard March rising from the table to start your last meal together, the inkling of a headache began to form at the back of your head. The worst ones always started there. You decided to dutifully ignore it, in favor of peering over the back of the couch to watch March cook.

It had become one of your favorite forms of entertainment since your injury. Reading was still a chore so when March would cook you liked to watch as he stepped carefully around your kitchen that had been built plank by plank with love and lots of counter space. You had almost missed it the first time he’d cooked, the lack of tension in his shoulders, the relaxed muscles in his face. He really did enjoy cooking and it left him looking particularly open, and at ease. And that fact that he had the gall to look like that standing in the middle of your house made it very close to impossible to ignore how much you wanted this to be your new normal. March, relaxed and at ease in your home after long days at the forge. March smiling at you, just because. Curling up on the couch, and watching March’s profile as you whispered in the dark. If you closed your eyes you could almost see it. You could almost feel the rightness of it all.

The ache in your head began to creep, getting louder, and harder to ignore. You opened your eyes but even just the glare of the candles on your coffee table felt like fingers digging into your eyes.

“Ready to eat, Farmer?” March called, the water wash running in the sink he was probably washing his hands to eat. You hadn’t even realized that much time had passed.

“Sure,” you murmured, slowly shifting upright, but sitting up felt like someone had tied an anchor around your skull and was trying to pull it to the floor.

March sat down beside you, setting two plates on the coffee table, but he stilled when he saw your face.

“What’s wrong?” you could make out the vague shape of his face through the blur of your squinting eyes. But it was becoming harder and harder to keep him in focus.

“My head–”

“I’ll get V–”

“No–” you exhaled, circling your fingers around his wrist before he could get up. “It’s just a headache, I'm not dizzy and I still have an appetite. It just…hurts.” you shook your head, or moved it slowly to one side and back again, more accurately.

“Farmer if you’re in a lot of pain then just let me go–”

“no, please March–” your breath hitched, your hand tightened on his wrist ever so slightly, “I don’t want to be alone.”

March went still, the only clue he was alive was his pulse beneath your fingertips. You still couldn’t make out his face.

“Do you want to try to eat something? Or do you want to go lie down?”

“No you spent all that time making dinner, we shouldn’t let it go to waste.”

March sighed, but you could see him nod. He handed you a warm plate and you ate slowly in almost complete silence save for the breathing of your dog, and the crackle of the stove.

March dumped your plates in the kitchen and sat back down on the couch. You could feel him watching you.

“Would you stop worrying, please?” your eyes were closed, your back against the arm of the couch and using the top of the couch cushion to support your still aching head.

“How do you know I'm worrying? Your eyes are closed, Farmer,” he huffed.

“I can feel it,” you grumbled.

“Oh please,” he scoffed.

“Don’t pretend,” you said, “you’re not as subtle as you think, March.”

“I’m not, huh?” you could hear the smirk in March’s voice.

“You pretend you're all mean and too tough to give a shit about anything. You let everyone think that you're cold and rude. But you’re not. You care more about this town than any of us, I think…” you were breathing slowly, carefully. You weren’t sure where your sudden confidence was coming from, but maybe pretending that he wasn’t really there on the other side of your closed eyelids was helping.

“I do.” There wasn’t the faintest hint of a question in his voice.

“It’s your legacy. You decided to pick right back up where your mother and father left off. But no one knows that. You like to pretend that you don’t have the biggest heart in this town.”

“I don’t know Farmer,” March’s voice sounded closer, the heat of his skin felt more tangible, you could almost hear his breathing. “I think you’re giving me a run for my money.”

“I’m still new here, it’s just my nature. This is your place.” you said. You couldn’t let him put you on such a pedestal, you couldn’t let yourself believe he saw you like everyone else. It was too dangerous.

“You know what I think, Farmer?”

“What do you think, March?”

“I think that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Mistria,” he whispered, it felt like he was speaking directly against your ear, “and to me.”

Your breath hitched, your hand slid out of your lap and onto his where it was planted beside your hip. His fingers laced in yours and the whole world seemed to slow down to a crawl.

“Careful March,” you exhaled, forcing your eyes open, his face was inches from yours, “might start sounding like you like me or something.” You grinned up at him, picking your head up, despite the ache resurging.

“I’ve always been pretty bad at keeping secrets,” He shrugged one shoulder. Your lips were nearly brushing, it was driving you absolutely crazy.

“Would you just shut up and kiss me already?” you huffed out.

March stifled his laugh with your lips. His were slightly chapped from being out at the forge, and his lack of care for hunting down something as hard to find as chapstick. You were smiling against the press of his lips and you could barely stop. It probably was a pretty shitty kiss by most standards. But it was March, so to you, it was perfect.

You curled your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers into his hair, scratching at his scalp with your dull nails. He pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against yours.

“Happy now?” he murmured, his chest was heaving, it was comforting that he was just as worked up as you were.

“Mm, I mean I could go for one more–”

He pressed one more, chaste, kiss to your lips before he was standing up, and pulling you into his arms.

“You need to rest, try and sleep this off so you can prove Valen right and go back to your long to-do list tomorrow.” he said, and nudged open the door of your bedroom with his foot. Your dog trotted into the room behind you. The sheets were chilly against your flushed skin.

“Will you stay?” you gripped March’s hand before he could banish himself to the couch.

“I already told you,” he began, “I am staying tonight, just to be safe. “

“No–” you patted at the comforter beside you, “will you stay here?”

“Oh,” he blinked down at you, mouth hanging open slightly. “Yeah. just— lie down, I have to go do the dishes and get changed. I will be right in, okay?” he brushed your hair away from your face gently and pressed his lips to your forehead and left the door ajar when he left. You pleasantly dozed while he cleaned up, and put out the fire, and slid briefly into the bathroom to change.

You were roused from your light sleep when the bed dipped beside you and March slid rigidly into your bed. You reached for him as soon as he was settled, curling towards him. He welcomed you into his arms and held you against his chest, the tension finally fading from his shoulders. You let yourself fall asleep only when he stilled.

You woke up sleep-warmed and headache-less. You weren’t even sort of dizzy. It was the best you’d felt in weeks.

You turned your head towards the other side of your bed, the rush of emotion coming back to you as soon as you remembered March’s gentle hands and lips pressing warmth into your skin.

You reached for him beside you, shifting towards him, but his side of the bed was cold. He was gone.

Ice shot through your veins as you sat upright. You listened, maybe for the shower running or grease sizzling on the stove, you listened for the cows in the yard or the running of the hose. But your house was silent. March was gone.

You’d kissed him, you’d asked him to stay, asked him to hold you, and you woke up alone. Tears sprang to your eyes unprompted, you’d thought that maybe this meant life would look a little different going forward, maybe March wouldn’t retreat to staring you down from the forge anymore.

But you’d been mistaken. You’d thought March wouldn’t hurt you. You’d thought that maybe things with March would be different. You’d thought you would finally build a home in Mistria. A home with March.

But he’d left without saying goodbye.

Your breath caught, sobs creeping up on you like the oceans waves, getting bigger and bigger rolling through you with force you hadn’t anticipated. The sobs eroding your heart.

Your dog began nosing at your thigh, obviously unsettled by the wailing cries that had taken hold of you. You’d been so naive, you’d been so careless and now everything was falling apart.

“Farmer?”

March was panting like he’d just run a mile, his coat half unbuttoned and his muddy, slush-logged boots on your hardwood floors.

Tears still dragged sluggish lines down your face but you watched each other, wide-eyed and silent.

“Are you alright? What happened?” he almost took a step into your room,

“Don’t track all of that mud in here,” you sniffed, wiping at your cheeks with the flannel sleeve of your pajama top.

“What? Farmer–”

“I’m okay just take them off,” You felt shame light up your face the most garish red. You were so pathetic you’d been nearly hysterical moments before you were so embarrassed you wanted to pull your covers over your head and never emerge.

March sat on the edge of your bed, his hip pressed against your leg. He gently guided your chin away from your chest.

“What happened?”

“I thought you’d left without saying goodbye,” you whispered, “I thought I’d ruined everything.”

“Oh, Farmer.” March’s smile was pained and filled with something that made your lungs twist up around your heart. “I just went to pick up some groceries from Nora, I wanted to make you breakfast…If I’d known that you’d be so upset waking up alone I never would have left, I’m sorry.” he pressed his lips to your forehead, you leaned into the warmth of his breath.

“I didn’t know either. You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” you took one of his hands, “I’m sorry for making such a big deal out of nothing.”

“It’s a big deal if it upset you as much as it did. I promise I won’t let it happen again, alright?”

“Okay,” you whispered, and tilted your face towards his, catching his lips in a brief kiss.

“Now why don’t you go and get back to your chores?” March grinned, “I’ll have breakfast and coffee ready when you’re done.”

You grinned, he knew exactly how to make you feel better.

You walked March from your farm back to the forge after breakfast and chores that morning. You weren’t allowed to ride your horse just yet, but taking everything a little slower allowed you to enjoy the quiet morning. Your ears burned when everyone gawked at your hand laced with March’s, but secretly you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He kissed you on the cheek before disappearing inside the shop and you went back to your long list of town, and capital requests that had accumulated since you’d been temporarily decommissioned.

You mended fences for Hayden, you replaced an axel for Baylor, you pulled weeds with Elsie while you let her have all the updates about you and March, you did some fishing in the late afternoon with Terithia before taking your catch back to your cottage and began preparing dinner. You did all of your meal prep, and chose something you could leave in the oven while you walked to the forge. You made extra, just in case.

Celine was on her porch with a mug of tea when you crested the hill on which Mistria sat.

“Busy looks good on you, Farmer!” she waved with a bright smile.

“It feels good,” you grinned.

“I apologize for my nosiness, but Elsie hasn’t stopped talking about you and March…” she giggled, not quite meeting your eyes. “Is it really true?” she asked, “are you two…an item?”

You smiled, “not sure what I’d call it, yet. But I think so,” you nodded, unable to wipe the goofy grin off your face that you were sure you’d been sporting all day.

“I’m happy for you, Farmer. You’re good for each other.”

“Thank you, Celine.” you nodded, “are we still on for garden club this week?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it,” she winked and you waved as you crossed the bridge into the center of town.

The forge looked to be cooling as the shop came into view. Olric was polishing tools and cleaning up the workspace, no March in sight.

“Farmer!” Olric waved and smiled his million-watt-smile at you. “So glad you're feeling better!”

“Thanks, Olric. But it’s all thanks to March. He’s the one who took care of me this whole time.”

Olric hummed thoughtfully. “He’s really just a big sweetheart,” he nodded, “just likes to pretend he isn’t.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laughed.

“He seemed in an exceptionally good mood this morning…” Olric trailed off, “you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh Olric– I’m not sure I should–”

“Farmer,” March came out of the shop, he was in only his winter blue henley, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, fingernails caked in grime and his face set like iron. He looked like he’d had a long day. He looked like he needed some peace and quiet. But he looked like home.

“Hey,” you inhaled sharply. You suddenly felt stupid for showing up. He obviously wasn’t ready to tell people anything that had happened, he didn’t even look like he’d intended to do anything this evening but go to bed. Your stomach twisted up around the stone of dread that had taken root. “I’m sorry I was just hoping we could talk.” Your eyes dropped briefly to your work boots, you could feel Olric watching you both.

“Yeah, of course,” his voice softened almost imperceptibly. “Just let me clean up,”

You nodded.

“Why don’t you come inside, get out of the cold for a while.” he held open the door to the shop and guided you into the showroom with a gentle hand between your shoulderblades.

You began to apologize almost as soon as the door shut. “I’m sorry I promise I didn’t tell Olric anything I just wanted to see you and–”

“I know, Farmer. It’s okay.” March grinned, shaking his head. “I’ve been swamped today, I’ve been meaning to talk to him but I’m sure he’s already pieced together what’s going on. The whole town already seems to know.”

“I’m sorry if you wanted to keep it a secret I– I wouldn’t have said anything but I was so excited…”

March laughed, completely unfiltered, your heart clenched and your knees felt weak. You loved hearing him so at ease. “We’re no secret, Farmer. I had no intention of pretending we are. You can tell whoever you’d like. Just let me tell Olric.”

“Of course,” you nodded eagerly. “So that means we’re…?” You chewed on your lip, not quite meeting his gaze, he’d leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yeah, we are.” he smiled softly at you.

You laughed, briefly, before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Do you want some space? I know you had a long day and you spent almost the entire last week at my cottage, you should sleep in your own bed if you need to.”

“I slept better next to you than I have in months, I just need to clean myself up and then we can head down to the farm.”

“Perfect,” you said, “dinner’s already in the oven, I should go back and keep an eye on it, meet me?”

“I’ll be down in an hour,” he stooped to kiss your temple and pushed away from his workbench, disappearing into his room.

The sun was setting when you got back to your cottage, your dog trotted up to the door behind you, shaking the light dusting of snow off of its fur before sliding inside. You scratched it on the head as you slid off your boots and shut the door behind you. The cottage was warm from the heat of the oven. You turned on just one lamp, the whole room casting in a dim orange glow. Took plates out of the counter and made sure all the utensils you needed were clean. You washed dishes and cleaned up what you’d used for meal prep and even had time to take a scalding hot shower, leaving you more ready for bed, than for dinner.

But less than an hour after you’d gotten home, the doorknob twisted and March came in, dusting the snow off of his shoulders and running his fingers through his still shower-damp hair. He left his coat beside yours on the coat rack and placed his boots on the towel beside yours in front of the stove to dry off. You were plating your food when he came up behind you, wrapping you in a firm hug.

“This looks amazing. I can’t believe you spent all day helping everyone and still had the energy to come home and do all of this.”

“You’re making me sound much more heroic than I am,” you shook your head. “It feels good. And I am happy to cook for you since you spent so long taking care of me, I want to repay the favor.”

“No repayment necessary,” March said, his forehead on your shoulder. “I loved taking care of you. You’re always so busy taking care of everyone else. You need someone to remind you to slow down every once in a while.”
“Well I’m glad that person is you,” you turned around in the circle of his arms to peck him on the lips.

“Me too, Farmer,” March squeezed you closer and you rocked gently back and forth in the glow of the hearth burning in your home.