Work Text
And it's warm and real and bright
And the world has somehow shifted
All at once, everything is different
Now that I see you
Daphne fiddles with the star brooch in her pant pocket, her hands sweaty and pulse racing as she nears the entrance of the mines. March and Olric’s once distant silhouettes grow larger until she’s finally in front of them, her knees wobbly and regret beginning to run cold through her veins. If you’re planning to watch the stars with a special someone, just present this brooch to them. Elsie’s words are ringing in her head as she looks at March, then turns away when he glances at her curiously. She can do better than this. What is she, some blushing school girl? She’s faced hundreds of people every night on stage, broken then mended her body time and time again, forcibly given up a dream after pushing herself to physical limits unimaginable, started a whole farm from scratch with the help of a sentient dragon statue, and yet this is what makes her feel like the earth is caving in beneath her feet, ready to swallow her whole? “Hey Daphne!” Olric is the first to break the awkward beat of silence when she reaches them, waving with his usual unmatched vigor. She smiles at how easily the older brother can diffuse tension without even trying. She figures she might as well cut to the chase; pulling out the brooch, she presents it to March, arm outstretched as it lies on the palm of her hand. She says nothing and for a good while, so does March. She can’t bear to see his reaction, preferring to look at the weeds below. But she knows she needs to do this right. She raises her head to see him frozen, mouth slightly parted, clearly at a loss for words. There’s a crimson flush to his face, the one he always wears near her. She’s still uncertain if it stems from annoyance or embarrassment—perhaps both.Olric nudges his brother with an elbow, ever so gently despite his stature, and that seems to snap the redhead out of his stupor. “F-fine,” he mutters. “I’ll go with you. Olric will definitely badger me if I say no.” “Oh you know it bro,” Olric hums, giving a satisfied nod and thumbs up.“Great,” Daphne manages to reply, aimlessly tugging a lock of her hair to quell her jittery hand. “So…”“See you at 8:00 PM,” March finishes, crimson still tinting his face. “Don’t be late.”“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, at last regaining some semblance of composure now that she finally managed to ask him out. “Oh yeah, and I love the new hair Daph,” Olric adds, pointing at her slightly messy, bob cut. “Thanks,” she smiles, tucking a loose strand and fussing over her bangs a little too self-consciously. “I asked Vera for a good trim before she closed shop last Saturday. My hair is kinda on the wavy side though, so I was worried it would look unruly. She calls it a ‘care-free, I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-looking-like-this cut.’” Daphne chuckles at the memory. “Not sure if the effect was achieved, but it’s certainly better for the summer. Might keep the look.”“What do you think, March?” Olric asks. Does he know his brother is probably going to come up with some snarky remar—“It suits you,” March says in gruff, rushed mutter. He gazes at her for a long second before turning away, arms crossed. “Alright, well…see you later. We gotta get back to the forge and finish up some backlog.”“I’m looking forward to it,” she says, reaching out to touch his forearm, before quickly letting go. March gives a stiff nod before turning to walk back to town. “That’s March’s way of saying he’s looking forward to it too,” Olric says in a conspiratorial whisper as he pats her on the shoulder. They grin at one another; she wishes, more than anything, that the statement is true. March is having a crisis. Well, he’s been having a crisis for months since Daphne came to town. He can’t stop thinking of her, and he knows why. That’s the frightening part. Then she has this new hair style that frames her face just so, flying here and there as she rides on what’s probably the strangest, fastest horse he’s ever seen, going around town helping people like some character straight out of a fairytale. It’s driving him crazy. Wanting her feels silly, the way a little boy might yearn for a princess or a fairy, a fantasy far from his reach. Him, in his stained blacksmith apron, all soot and unpleasantness. Her, some kind of miracle that’s achingly real: the snorts that accompany her laughter, the soft touches, the depth of her drowning gaze, the stretch of her muscles, the sweaty strands of hair that cling to her forehead and cheeks, the smell of soil and apples and mint. Just when it feels like there’s an opening, some sign that they could be something more, he shuts down. There’s that self-sabotaging impulse that seizes him, tells him to stop wanting, stop thinking that she’d ever give him a chance. Because he knows how hard it is to see past his achievements and merits: that, at the end of the day, Daphne is the town sweetheart and he’s the guy who makes the nails and screws and hinges—about as sweet as a lemon can be. And he can’t change overnight: it’s a hard shell, a protective layer of reputation he’s spent years building. He looks at himself in the mirror now, his tank top greasy and covered in black smudges, his hands calloused, his gaze steely. He tries for a smile, but it feels off, flickering before disappearing altogether. March groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Why did she ask you out,” he mutters to himself. “There’s a whole line of well-adjusted men just waiting to sweep her off her feet, and she wastes the brooch on you .” He sighs. It does sound like the kind of insane thing she’d do. He makes his way to the bed, sitting at the edge as he rubs his hand, the ghost of her touch lingering as it always does when he summons it from memory. “Hold your fingers out of the way and keep the pressure even , ” he told her, a hand pressed against her right one, the tip of his nose just a hair's breadth away from the shell of her ear. Everything felt warm even in the winter chill. The world went quiet; all he could hear was the sound of their breathing amid the crackling of the forge.
“Um, March,” she said, sliding her other hand atop his own, the one still pressed against her fingers. “You can let go of my hand now.”
He let go as if he’d been burnt.
“Ah, s-sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as he backed away, though his feet felt like they were trapped in amber.
March lets out a strangled cry of frustration at the memory, lying in bed as he throws an arm over his eyes. She’s just being nice to you. Maybe you’re coming off stronger than you think, and she feels obligated to ask you out tonight. There’s a knock on his door, and he knows it can only be one person.“Come in,” he says, suddenly too tired to get up.“Hey bro, just thought I’d check in.” The sound of Olric’s hefty footsteps, then a weight sagging the edge of the bed. “I know it’s taking a while for you to warm up to Daphne,” Olric starts. “And you’re not planning to get close to her.”“Olric, that’s…that’s not it.” March rolls to his side, turning away from his brother so he doesn’t see the blush that creeps up his face.“It’s not?”“No.”“So…you like her?”“No…I…don’t know what to feel about her.” March lies, because he still can’t bring himself to utter the truth, even to the one person he’d trust with his life. Not now. Maybe not ever, because it’s not going to pan out, this thing with him and Daphne. Why get people’s hopes up?
Why get my own hopes up?
“Oh, no worries, that’s cool!” Olric laughs. “I mean, I thought you really didn’t like her. So…I was a bit worried. Since, y’know, you agreed to join her for the Shooting Star Festival.”March doesn’t answer, only giving a small shrug. Olric ruffles his hair in return. “I just don’t want either of you getting hurt, somehow,” he says. “Daphne really wants to be your friend, but I can’t force you to feel the same way about her. I know she knows that.”“Right…and I’d get hurt because?”“Because… you might not let yourself be happy,” Olric says, his tone taking a pensive turn. “I noticed that…since mom and dad…”“Hey,” March warns. He feels his muscles stiffen, and he’s glad his face is still turned away from his brother. There’s a painful lump in his throat; he swallows, eyes stinging. “Sorry. But…you know what I mean,” Olric continues. “You’ve been carrying this weight on your shoulders. I can see it, and I get it. You’re still grieving. I am too.”“I’m not ,” he counters. “Olric, I’m fine.”“March—”“I’m fine ,” he hisses through his teeth. “I just want you to be happy. Ryis is the closest friend you’ve made since we got here,” his brother says. “And that’s great. But it’s also good to have a wider support system. To meet more people who enjoy being with you—and to actually let them.”“Things are fine just as they are,” March says. “I don’t need to drag another person into my messes, and vice versa.”“I just think…it’s worth giving people that chance to know you, even with all the potential pain that comes with being in any relationship. That’s all I’ll say; pinky promise, I won’t bring this up again.” Olric gets up and walks to the door. “I love ya, bro. You know that, right?”“I know. And…thanks, Olric.”“Anytime, man. Now, let’s leave in 15 minutes; we can meet Daphne by the fountain.” March sits up in time to see his brother’s gentle smile as he shuts the door. Before Daphne leaves the farm, she visits the small shrine she made for Caldarus, now even prettier than the first time she built it, sprinkled with shining crystals and elegant stonework she worked on during slow, rainy days with Ryis. It’s become a habit now, to seek comfort from the dragon: after having lived for a millenia or more, her little worries must seem so small to him, in the grand scheme of things. It’s something she needs to remember on days like this.“Nervous?” the stone dragon asks, voice rumbling like an earthquake. “A little,” she says, placing a hand on one of his clawed feet and giving it an absent-minded pat. “I guess…I’ve been thinking about tonight a lot. Imagining all the ways it might go wrong.”“Or right,” Caldarus hums. She can’t help but laugh. For all the things he’s witnessed, he manages to be quite the optimist. “Or right, yeah,” she says. “Maybe. We’ll see. It helps to talk to you whenever the worries surge. It’s just March—but also, it’s March . At this rate, I’m just surprised he can’t see the big crush I’ve been harboring for a good few seasons.”“I suspect the boy needs more time,” the dragon replies. “He strikes me as someone who isn’t accustomed to letting people into his inner circle. Let alone such a lovely lady.”“Aw shucks, quit with the flattery.” She playfully punches the dragon’s arm, though she knows he probably can’t feel a thing. “I mean it,” he says. “And if he gives you any trouble, just remember: I can still bite, in my own way. Summon a storm to send him flying out of Mistria.”“Nope, not happening,” she replies. “But thanks for the offer, big guy.”“Have fun, little one.” If a talking dragon statue could smile, she swears he did so right at that moment, the carved edges of his jaw curling ever so slightly. Daphne finds March waiting with Olric by the fountain, the two of them staring up at the changing sky as it shifts from magenta to indigo.March is wearing his usual summer fit, arms exposed in a way that makes her stomach do flips and spins. It’s annoying that he doesn’t seem to know how effortlessly good he looks: tousled red hair falling in just the right places, his jaw set to accentuate the soft angles of his face, the slight, pouty upturn of his cupid’s bow. “Hey,” she says.“Hey,” he echoes, “You look nice.”“As opposed to how I usually look, which is…?”“Also nice.” March scratches the back of his head, red blossoming on his cheeks—it’s always fun to tease him. “Anyways,” he turns to Olric. “Guess it’s time to go.”“Have fun you two!” Olric gives Daphne his signature suffocating hug before pointing a finger at March. “And I better not see you in the house earlier than 9:00 PM! Savor the moment!”“Okay, okay, got it,” March says, giving a flustered wave. “I’ll see you later.”As Olric makes his way to his viewing blanket past the fountain, March turns to Daphne, pointing towards the path leading up to the summit.“C’mon, we gotta make it there before someone steals the two very specific star cushions with our names stitched on them.” He gives her a small grin.“Is that a joke I hear?”“Hey! I can crack a joke.”“Never doubted you.” She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze before letting go, relishing in the warmth of it all. “Oh my…March, you made these?” Daphne takes a star lantern and turns it around slowly, examining the rays of glittering light emanating from its glass panes. “Yeah well, go big or go home, right?” he says, settling down on a star cushion. “Made a quick job of it, a little after you asked me to come.” The truth is, he worked on the two lanterns all morning to afternoon, ensuring that everything worked perfectly, because it needed to work perfectly. Out of all the bachelors in town, she asked him to accompany her to the festival, and he wasn’t going to let her down.“They’re beautiful, March.” Daphne returns the lantern to its spot on the grass, settling down on her cushion. She watches the first set of falling stars careening across the night sky. Pink, yellow, white, and blue streaks of shimmering light paint the dark expanse, and March is growing painfully aware of just how alone they are. “Here we are,” he says, trying to fill in the silence, to keep things casual even if his heart is ramming against his chest, threatening to break it open. “Up on the summit. Watching the stars.”“Yup,” Daphne gives him a shaky chuckle, and his stomach drops. Oh I made it weird. I made it so damn weird . He needs to dig a hole and disappear inside it.He fidgets with the tassels of their viewing blanket, sweat beading his brow as he tries to think of something else to say. Anything. Or maybe he shouldn’t speak at all. “So uh,” Daphne says, breaking his train of thought. “Did you watch the stars with your family when you were younger?”“My…family?” he repeats, the world suddenly spinning. No, not this kind of question . March looks at the sky, his fists clenching around handfuls of grass in an attempt to calm himself. Daphne wouldn’t know, it’s not her fault; but the innocent question drags him down the rabbit hole, back to that dark place right after the accident.“Olric and I didn’t have time for that kind of thing growing up,” he says in a gush of words, trying to recover as quickly as he can. Daphne can’t see the cracks, the deep ones seeping like festering, open wounds. “Can we talk about something else?”The truth is that he did have a family, once. So did Olric. They used to watch the stars, but it was so long ago it might as well have been someone else’s life: one with his parents still alive, his mother’s perfume and laughter wafting in the breeze, his father carrying both his boys to gaze at the night sky. March sees Daphne fidgeting with a lock of her hair, biting her lip as she tries to find another topic of conversation, because he can’t even talk to her like a normal person. “Um, aren’t the stars beautiful?” she offers, giving her best smile—surely forced. She’s probably regretting this decision now more than ever. March stands up, his fingernails digging half moons into his palms, trying to look calm even if he knows the night is falling apart. “Why did you really invite me here, Daphne? To press my buttons?” Here it goes: his walls are up, words tumbling out of his mouth, thoughtless and callous, but real enough to hurt when he speaks them into existence. “Or as some kind of…joke.” Because it has to be. It can’t be anything but that.Daphne looks surprised for a moment, before her gaze turns contemplative—like she’s bracing herself, trying to remain calm as she approaches a wild animal that’s prepared to attack. “B-because,” she stammers, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She pauses, as if deciding on something, before opening her eyes to stare back at him. “Because I like you.”“You…what?” March takes a step back, and he feels like he’s fallen off the cliff face, the cold air coagulating in his lungs. “Quit messing around, will you?” He huffs, sitting down once more to steady himself.“I’m not—” Daphne says, but stops herself. She examines his reaction and exhales through her nose, but says nothing more. She shifts to hug her knees, resting her chin on them as she looks at him. Her blue eyes glow by the lamplight, two shining pools of refracted light. He turns his attention to the sky once more as he tries to slow his breathing. “If…if you want to watch the stars,” he says softly. “Then let’s just watch the stars.”They sit and see the blue canvas erupt in a fury of blazing colors, the twinkling forms dancing like fireworks. It’s mesmerizing. March sneaks a glance at Daphne, who sits with a smile on her face, her eyes glistening as the celestial bodies continue to rain down. Her face is bathed in multicolored lights, a mosaic of the night sky. “The stars…do look pretty from up here,” he says softly, still focusing on her. “I didn’t realize they’d be so clear. It almost feels like they’re drawing you in, doesn’t it?”He’s not sure if she heard him, but Daphne closes her eyes before leaning in ever so slightly, their shoulders touching. March hopes she can’t feel the rush of his pulse. He’s not sure how much time passes after that, but the falling stars begin to dwindle and the evening grows heavy with cicada chirps. There’s not much light left, save for a sprinkling of small, blinking stars and the two lamps that flank their blanket. “It’s getting pretty late.” He stands, offering Daphne a hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the farm.”“Such a gentleman,” she says in a lilt, clearly teasing. He gives a tch and rolls his eyes, his face heating up again.“If you fall and hurt yourself in the dark, I won’t hear the end of it.” A lie, of course. She takes his hand, her skin warm and admirably rough from hard work. He doesn’t want to let go, but he doesn’t want to be a creep, either. He holds on just long enough to help her get up; but as he tries to pull away, she grasps his hand, squeezing it gently in the way she often does. “Hold my hand on the way back?” she asks.“Why?”“It’s dark; you wouldn’t want me to fall and hurt myself.” She tries to put on a serious face, but he can see her biting her lip, clearly stifling a giggle. “Seriously?”“Yes.” She gives a ridiculously exaggerated pout that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.“Alright, alright,” he relents. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her hand, but he can never think straight when he does. And he’s made a fool of himself enough tonight. They wrap the cushions and lamps inside the viewing blanket, and March lifts it all in one swoop, slinging the makeshift pack over his shoulders. His other arm hangs awkwardly; he’s too embarrassed to take Daphne’s hand—but he doesn’t need to. She reaches out and entwines her fingers with his, humming a little tune as they make their way down from the summit. “Well, we’re here,” March says as they reach the front of Daphne’s house, which is no longer the small ramshackle cottage it once was. Everything in the farm feels lived in, each corner teeming with life. The last of her summer crops are bursting from the ground, ready to turn over for the next season. “You’ve really improved the place,” he says. “Thanks, I’m pretty proud of it.” She places her hands on her hips as she does a quick survey of the plot she now calls home. “Care to step inside for some tea before you go?”“I…can’t. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”She scoffs, giving his forehead a little flick.“Ow!”“Good, it should hurt a bit.” She shakes her head. “Stop acting like you know how I feel better than I do.”“What?”“This whole ‘You’ve got to be joking, there’s no way you like me’ thing?” she crosses her arms, leaning against her door. “I told you the truth.”“It’s just hard to believe.”“Because you think you’re so unlikeable?”“Yes!” March throws his hands up in exasperation, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. “That’s not true. Not from what I’ve seen.”“And what have you seen?”“A guy who cares for this town more than he’ll ever admit,” she starts. “But—”“And,” she cuts in, taking a deep breath. “And yes, he’s kind of a sourpuss. He’s not perfect. But that doesn’t change the things he does, each day, for the people around him. The truth of the matter is that I like him—and if he needs someone to talk to, I hope he knows I can be that person.”Daphne finally finishes, her breathing heavy. A thick silence blankets them, punctuated by the swishing waters of the nearby lake. She sees March open his mouth, then close it, unable to say anything. She had sensed she touched a sensitive topic back in the summit, when she asked about his family. She isn’t going to open it up again unless he wants to, but she needs him to know that his burdens aren’t his alone to carry. “Daphne…” March trails off, his voice strangled. “You’re going through things you’re not ready to talk about.” She moves forward and takes his hands in hers. “I get it. Just know that I really enjoyed our time tonight. I wanted to spend the festival with you, that’s why I asked.”Her heart races as, in a bold move, she leans closer, tilting her head to kiss him on the cheek—the smell of sage and cedarwood permeates her senses, mixed with a hint of smoke. She feels him stiffen before relaxing, his lashes fluttering ever so slightly. “So thank you,” she whispers. “And I hope this won’t be the last time we get to do this.”“Um…y-yeah, sure,” March stutters, placing a hand on the spot her lips touched. “I-I’ll um, I’ll see you around.”He slowly walks away, and for a moment, she worries she might’ve spooked him with the kiss. But he stops in his tracks, turning back with a small smile. “And…I had a good time, too.” Then, hands in his pockets, he walks off into the night. Once he’s gone, Daphne makes her way to Caldarus’ shrine, taking a seat by the stone bench. “I trust tonight was good?” the statue rumbles. “Some things went wrong,” she says simply.“But some things went right?”Daphne leans against the solid rock behind her, looking at the bright dots in the sky.“Yeah,” she smiles, lightly tracing her lips with her index finger. “And that’s what matters.”