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The ball, for all the fuss that was kicked up, is surprisingly elegant when Fern enters the room that evening.
She didn’t appreciate it at first — being forced to stop by Vorig, but with the funds they were promised and the organisation of this ball, she thinks maybe their stop was worth it after all. Clearly so from the rest of their party’s perspective, anyway, as she watches Frieren and Sein from afar, devouring food together.
Well, it’s not like Fern can blame them for enjoying themselves.
“Fern,” a familiar voice calls, prompting her to turn her head.
Beside her, Stark stands, his hands clasped politely behind his back, a neutral expression on his face. She’s felt that he’s grown different ever since taking his etiquette classes, though not in a bad way. While it’s unnatural to see Stark so prim and proper, she thinks the overall look isn’t too bad on him.
The efforts of his classes are not futile either, proven when he offers his hand and brings her to dance.
They sway to the music, performing a simple waltz. Fern has the steps drilled into her head by now. She can feel the whoosh of her dress every time she spins, the rhythmic click of her heels on the polished floors, and the warmth radiating from Stark’s gentle embrace.
Stark isn’t really looking at her. His gaze is focused, though, and she knows he’s just concentrating strongly on not messing up the moves. It’s almost cute, in a way, and it makes laughter bubble up her throat.
Quite characteristic of him, she thinks, eyes locked onto his every feature. Stark’s a hard worker, and Fern finds that to be his most admirable trait.
Her hold on Stark’s hand tightens as a soft smile grows on her face.
“Roar! I’m the big scary dragon, I’m going to eat you!”
Fern watches the commotion from where she’s seated on a wooden bench, chewing on some grilled skewers. It’s late afternoon, the sun shielded by fluffy clouds, overcast lighting blanketing the town.
Normally, this kind of weather would make Fern sleepy, but today, her attention has been captivated by the scene in front of them.
A group of kids are chasing Stark around, waving their fake swords and weapons at him. It’s all made out of sticks they found from the ground, clearly not strong enough to hurt someone as tough as Stark. Stark’s own weapon, on the other hand, remains safely on his back, sheathed and secured.
“I caught one of you!” Stark claims, lifting one of the children in his arms. The child squeals, kicking his feet, and the rest of them burst into war cries, amping up their chase.
“He’s really good with them,” Fern comments to Frieren, who’s been somewhat dozing off next to her.
“Yeah,” Frieren agrees sleepily. “Kids love him. Himmel was the same way.”
Fern hums. There’s a large grin on Stark’s face. Even when one of the children lands a good hit on him, and he pretends to collapse to the ground in defeat, he’s still smiling like the sun.
It’s like this in every village or town they visit. Stark has that natural effect.
Suddenly, Stark’s gaze turns, meeting Fern’s own. She jumps, but she doesn’t bother looking away, pulling her expression into one of neutrality so she doesn’t seem like she was staring.
Not that it matters. Stark’s grin widens even more, if that’s possible, and he sends a little wave over that has Fern’s heart fluttering in her chest.
Biting down a smile of her own, she waves back.
The sun hasn’t fully risen by the time Fern awakens.
She tends to wake up earlier when they’re camping outside, always a tad bit more restless when they’re not safely sleeping in an inn. Today, though, when Fern returns from washing her face at a nearby river, she’s surprised to find Stark awake, too.
“Oh,” Stark says when he notices her. “Good morning, Fern.”
“Good morning,” she greets back. “Are you packing already? We have a while before we set off today. I doubt Frieren-sama will be up anytime soon.”
“That’s true,” he agrees. “I was just looking for something to do.”
“Well, you’re not usually up this early.”
He shrugs. “Maybe something’s in the air?”
She shrugs back, dropping onto her knees and reaching for her bag. After digging around for a bit, she takes out her usual hairclip and a comb, getting ready.
“…You know,” Stark pipes up, “you’re always doing Frieren’s hair for her. Hasn’t anyone done yours for you?”
Fern isn’t sure what expression she has on when she looks at him, but it’s enough to make Stark yelp and stumble back on his words. “I— I meant, like, wouldn’t it be nice if someone helped you? Not that you need it—”
“Stark-sama,” she interrupts, cutting off his spiel. His mouth snaps shut. “Here.”
He stares at the offered hairclip in her hands for a good few seconds, hesitance in his eyes. “…Really?”
She nods. So Stark takes the hairclip, coming over and kneeling behind her. She’s already bunched half her hair up — all he needs to do is slide the clip in.
Indeed he does, carefully too. Fern curls her fingers into her dress, heat rising to her cheeks when she turns back to face him.
“Thank you,” she mumbles.
He smiles back. “No problem.”
Perhaps Fern’s feelings are stronger than she thought.
She spends her nights awake sometimes, running through everything she can remember about Stark. Sometimes, it’s to convince herself that she shouldn’t like him. He’s insensitive, he’s a loudmouth, he’s tactless…
(But he’s also kind and good with children and braver than he gives himself credit for, and Fern can’t imagine travelling without him anymore.)
Tonight, with the stars hanging high and a cloudless sky to behold, Fern leans her weight on the balcony’s railings, gazing upwards. Usually, when she’s thinking too much, peace and quiet helps to calm her—
“Hey.”
Fern’s breathing catches, only because she didn’t hear him coming. Which is odd, since Stark isn’t a particularly quiet walker. She must’ve been more lost in thought than usual.
“I was coming back from the bar when I saw you out here,” Stark explains. At the same time, something heavy and warm drapes over Fern’s shoulders. Her fingers brush against it — her blue scarf.
Her heart stumbles terribly in her chest. Does Stark know the effect he has on her, with just these tiny actions?
He probably doesn’t. It makes Fern pout, because who allowed him to be so sweet yet dense, to withhold such power and not even be aware of it?
She clicks her tongue. “You dug through my belongings without my permission?”
Stark gapes at her retort. “Okay, come on, it was on your bed! I just thought you’d be cold!”
Fern ducks her head so her hair hides her face. She knows Stark did it out of care. She just likes to tease him sometimes.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Stark continues, his promise a borderline plea, and that finally makes Fern break character.
“No need,” she replies airily, reaching out to pat his head instead.
“Do you think we bought too much this time?” Stark asks, balancing two paper bags of fruit and vegetables in his arms as he and Fern make their way back to their inn.
“There’s never such a thing as too much with us,” she sighs, her own arms also full of food. She always feels like their supplies run out faster than she can fire mana — that is to say, very fast.
Stark laughs, tilting his head. “That’s true. We don’t know how long it’ll be until we get to the next town. Maybe I’ll visit the bar here one last time.”
Fern glances at him from the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t comment. Stark is the only one among the three of them who enjoys barhopping, mostly to interact with the townsfolk, who always adore him like he’s one of their own. Again, it’s just one of his charms that she has to deal with.
“Oh,” Stark says, catching her attention. “Or actually, maybe we could— hey, Fern, wanna get dessert with me tonight?”
She blinks at the sudden request, ignoring the tug on her heartstrings. “Dessert?”
“I helped one of the townsfolk yesterday with her things, and apparently, she owns one of the best dessert places in this town! She offered me a free trip there!”
That does sound nice, Fern thinks. But… “Just the two of us?”
“Yeah?” Stark looks at her with a simple smile, like the implications of them hanging out together late at night are just flying right over his head. “You love dessert, right? Plus, I think you deserve a sweet treat every now and then.”
Fern swallows down a sigh. Well, she supposes it doesn’t really matter whether or not Stark realises how date-like his idea seems. “Okay. Sure.”
“Yes!”
At this point, Fern has assumed her feelings to be insignificant, or at least not worth vocalising.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to. She just feels like Stark is too oblivious to even consider romance as an option in his current life, much less think about returning her feelings.
Fern believes it to be okay, though. She likes what they have now, and all the time they spend together are moments she treasures, whether they’re explicitly romantic or not.
“It’s a shame we couldn’t wake Frieren-sama up,” Fern says, eyes fixated onto the golden sunrise, its rays bouncing off the ocean’s edge.
Stark chuckles from beside her. “You tried your best,” he assures.
“I know. It just feels like a waste. The view is beautiful.”
An awkward beat of silence passes before Stark’s reply comes, in the form of a shy whisper, “It is.”
Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion. She turns, wondering what that was about, but her voice dies in her throat when she sees him already looking at her.
Stark jumps, whipping his head forward. “T-The sunrise! I was saying it was beautiful, haha, obviously!”
His cheeks burst into flames, as red as his hair. Fern’s own cheeks aren’t faring any better.
“Right,” she agrees, taking a deep breath.
Before she can think too hard about it, she reaches out, lacing her fingers with Stark’s. He squeaks in surprise, stiff as ice, but after a moment, relaxes and lets it happen.
Fern stares at their intertwined hands, at Stark’s flushed face, and feels a spike of hope in her chest. It makes her nervous and giddy at the same time. She prays it doesn’t show, though.
Together, they continue admiring the sunrise, hand-in-hand, and Fern thinks that her feelings may not be so unreciprocated after all.