#eiland fluff

The thought of telling you hurts. He can imagine the questions you'd ask him, the look of disappointment on your face, the betrayal you might feel by it. He's hates the thought of turning his back on you like that. Months ago, he had promised you that you would be helping Mistria get on its feet again together. All your work has been intertwined since that day. Every morning when Balor comes to check on your shipping bin before the sun has even risen solidifies that. It's a truth he can't ignore. He works better by your side.

It's the first time he's ever had a partnership quite like this, and he fears it will be the last time, too. Moving away from Mistria for better pay means leaving you behind. There's no world in which he can have both. And now, he has to make the choice. A glamorous life working far, far away from Mistria, or staying in the one place he's started to feel is home.

The decision is tearing him apart piece by piece, and he's never once felt this fragile or indecisive. Months, even weeks ago, he would have packed his bags overnight and left before morning, chasing opportunities as fast as the wind. He's always been selfish, self-preserving, self-obsessed, and any other vain word one could describe him as. Balor has heard them all, and every time has been unable to defend it. It's the truth, after all. There is nothing that drives him quite as much as tesserae in his pocket. Over time, he's tried to embrace it, living year after year as a vagabond.

He's never shown anyone how lonely it can get. No one ever seemed to care. No one, except you.

He's never given his deepest wants any time to consider. He's always been stubborn like that, convinced that this way of life is the only one that suits him. He doesn't deserve stability or a place to settle down. He doesn't need a home—things like that just aren't compatible for him. And who would even want to make a home with him? Who would even give him the chance?

You.

It's always been you, day after day, month after month. Every time you show up at his stall, every morning you eat breakfast with him at the inn, every night you stay up talking in his room at The Sleeping Dragon, spilling your wants and fears and aspirations. You are the first person who has ever made Balor feel a little less alone—that is why he feels so torn at the thought of leaving you. No one has ever cared if he stayed or not, no one bothered to make a strong connection. Only you.

Balor knows as much as he wants to hide this secret from you, word spreads fast in this town. The second he spilled it to Hemlock at breakfast, he knew it was only a matter of time until you got the news.

The knock on his door is desperate and rushed. He doesn't even have time to answer it before you let yourself in, breathless and determined. Balor expected this. There was no way you would let him go without a fight, and that thought makes his heart feel both guilty and loved at the same time.

"You must be out of your damn mind, Balor," you rasp, staring daggers at him. He stands, pushing his hair back in an attempt to get his thoughts together. How is he supposed to say it to your face? How is he supposed to say goodbye to the person who made him feel the most alive?

"Business calls," he mutters, feeling smaller than ever. Where has his shameless pride gone? Why does he feel so shitty about the whole situation? He should be overjoyed. "I answer. You know me… this is what I do."

"So you're leaving just like that?"

"I already overstayed my welcome. Mistria doesn't need me anymore—" Balor tries to argue. It feels weak and useless. He's dancing around the elephant in the room, too scared to address it. You do it for him.

"I need you, Balor. We're supposed to be in this together, a-and now you want to throw it all away for what? A higher salary?" you stammer, your emotions raw on your face.

Balor feels worse than he thought he would. He's quiet, studying you as if you have the answers. The pain in your eyes is clear as day. The crease of your eyebrows is a desperate plea for him to stay, and the way you gnaw at your lip anxiously a silent confession. The realization hits him like a stab to the heart. He can't leave the person he's fallen in love with.

EILAND

Eiland, despite how knowledgeable and observant he can be, is still as dense as the artifacts he discovers. Perhaps its a royal trait passed down on him, or maybe there's a missing connection between his brain and eyes, but he's missed all the signs thus far.

If you weren't so down bad for him you would have found it frustrating. Instead, it's somehow endearing. The entire town is seated for the entertainment of it all—when will Mistria's beloved lord Eiland realize his own feelings?

Juniper has offered to make you a love potion for him to speed up the process. Reina has planned nearly a dozen dinner dates for you, all of which have been perceived as merely platonic by your dear prince. Holt has given you insights to a man's perspective on it, but even he agrees that Eiland is a rare and almost hopeless case. How could someone be so blind to your pursuits?

You're not even sure how much more you can take before you shut up his excited rambling about Aldarian history with your lips. But still, you force yourself to be patient. One of these days, he has to realize your feelings for him, right?

Today is not unlike any other day spent with Eiland. You've made a fresh strawberry cake—sweet whipped cream and juicy berries filling the layers of soft sponge. It's always been Eiland's favourite. You think his excitement every time a dessert is involved is adorable, and you always find yourself feeding his sweet tooth more and more.

Eiland had sent a letter to you this morning about deciphering an ancient scroll he had come across. You make a good team together, uncovering more about Mistria's past than ever before. Eiland gets delighted whenever you find so much as a speck of new information.

Today's work has stumped Eiland. The words you're picking out from the ancient text seems to all be flowery poetry and figuring out what the meaning behind it is proves difficult. The information you have so far is limited. You know the letter is from an old Aldarian king, but neither you or Eiland can figure out who it's addressed to or why the letter was sent.

"Pass over the cake, I'm having no luck with this," Eiland says in defeat. You slide a piece over—already his second—and scoop some up with your spoon. Holding it up to his mouth and prompting him with an 'ah', Eiland doesn't even question it. He opens his mouth and lets you feed him, a satisfied hum following as he closes his eyes to savour the sweet taste. From the corner of the room, you see Elsie winking at you. You smile back knowing exactly what the scene looks like.

There's nothing that says best friends about it. Eiland's desk is a mess of papers and pens, always enough stationary for both of you, always set up for two. His chair is pulled up right next to yours; too close to not suggest something different. And then there's the way he relaxes next to you every time, as if your mere presence reminds him to relax the tension in his shoulders and let his neck have a rest from hunching over his desk all day.

To the outside eye, it couldn't be more clear. But Eiland still lives oblivious day by day.

Your eyes draw back to the scroll laying on the desk, shifting back and forth between the text and feeding Eiland spoonfuls of cake. You notice one of the words at the top of the letter, almost entirely worn away but just barely legible. Juniper had talked about ways ancient Mistrians' referred to their lovers while trying to help you with Eiland. You recognize the word to mean dearest lover.

You straighten in surprise, losing hold of the spoon in the process in a way that causes some cream smear to the side of Eiland's lips. He opens his eyes again in response to your startle, noticing the spark in your eyes as you piece it all together.

"It's a love letter, Eiland! The king was writing to his dearest lover—look here," you exclaim, pointing to the top of the scroll again. Eiland leans down in excitement, gasping at the detail he had somehow missed.

You get lost in the way his lips turn up in a smile and earrings sway. The shimmer in his purple eyes drawing you closer and the bit of whipped cream on his lip tempting you further. You reach out to wipe it away. Eiland's breath catches in his chest. You're suddenly very close, perhaps too close. He tries to distract himself.

"So the ancient nobles used poetry to win over their lovers… How… romantic…" he whispers, eyes drawn back to yours. His cheeks are dusted with blush all over.

"What about modern day nobles?" you ask quietly, drawing yourself ever closer to Eiland. He takes a breath, considering it carefully.

"I think… they tend to be a bit bolder nowadays."

Your heart soars when you hear that, knowing you've finally got him. When you lean in, his lips are sweeter than you could have imagined. Perhaps its the lingering taste of the strawberry cake, but you have a feeling that Eiland always tastes like this. Whichever it is, you'll have many more months to find out, because when Eiland pulls away, flushed a bright red in shyness, he looks at you with only one emotion in his eyes: love.

HAYDEN

The scene is perfectly domestic in a way that makes Hayden almost shiver. The sun is just starting to peek through the windows of his cottage casting golden beams on the counter-top of the kitchen and the couch where you sit. Henrietta is in your arms, happier than he's ever seen her, and something feels unmistakably right about it all.

You had stopped by his farm early this morning, still sleepy and hair clearly not brushed yet, asking if you could have breakfast with him. Who was he to say no to that adorable sight?

Ever since the news of a new farmer moving into town reached Hayden, he's been curious about you. You became good friends within a few weeks, but something started to shift lately. Over the past six months, you've started putting extra effort into ranching on your own farm, and your passion for it is undeniable. Hayden has always loved like-minded people, those who understand his love for animals and how precious they are. Someone who also wants to spend their life caring for them. Seeing you like that made something in his heart shift. You're kind, patient, perseverant… you fit all of Hayden's standards almost too well.

Love is a tricky subject for Hayden to tackle. He's always felt content in his independent life, alone with his animals for company. It's never felt lonely. There was never anything "missing". He's seen Josephine and Hemlock, Nora and Holt be perfect lovebirds, running the town through the strength of their strong marriages. Hayden has watched their families grow and the town become more lively because of it.

But he loves the quiet life, the routines, the farm-work. He loves Mistria with all his heart, even if the town was far too small for the chance of meeting new people. Everyone knew that newcomers arriving to Mistria was rare. The small community was part of its charm. Growth was a hard thing to achieve.

But when you arrived after the earthquake, determination in your eyes, and a goal that everyone could see, you started to shake Hayden's small world. Every improvement you made to the town: helping with repairs, boosting sales, growing more food locally—made impacts bigger than anyone else ever had before. For the first time, the small town of Mistria started to grow bigger than it ever had.

Hayden has always admired your work ethic. You never seem to tire, and are always up for a new challenge. You learn quickly, are amicable with everyone, and generous beyond nature. But he also adores the faults he's seen in you too. How short-tempered you can be when you reach a stumbling block, your mutters under your breath trying to keep up with all your tasks, and your panic whenever you arrive back home so late your animals have fallen asleep outside. You're not perfect, but you always keep moving forward, and Hayden couldn't ask for anything more in a person.

These thoughts surrounding you swirl in his head as he cracks a few eggs into a sizzling frying pan. They're still warm, freshly laid this morning. Next comes beautifully browned pieces of toast, slathered with butter he had mixed up just two days ago from a fresh batch of cream. Hayden takes pride in his animals and their produce. Happy, healthy animals means fresh, nourishing food.

He sets down the plates on the table and you shoot your head up at the smell. Henrietta squawks, hopping off your lap, allowing you to rise and join Hayden at the breakfast table.

"Looks delicious, Hayden! Thank you, this'll wake me right up," you say, rubbing away the last bits of sleep from your eyes and smiling at him. Hayden's breath catches, strong hands gripping the back of his chair. He waits for you to take a seat before settling down too, eyes never able to leave you.

Maybe it's something about the angelic quiet of the morning, or the soft glow of the sun streaming on your face. Hayden can't help but imagine spending every morning just like this, making you breakfast, talking about the plans for the day. A gentle companionship, something that wouldn't take away from the life he's already built. When Hayden thinks about it, he realizes how perfectly you already fit into it. The way you greet his animals on your way inside. The way Henrietta bawks excitedly at your arrival every time. The way his lips can't help but burst into a breathless smile when he sees you.

Maybe—Hayden thinks—this is what love feels like.

MARCH

Your daily routine confuses March. You spend all day running around, completing different errands. Some days you're planting a new field of seeds. Others, you're delivering something for Adeline. And at least three times a week you're at the mines, digging deeper for fresh ore and gemstones. Your schedule has been busy since the first day you arrived, and March cannot imagine having so much energy and excitement for everything. It makes him exhausted just seeing it.

But what keeps him pondering is how you always take time out of your day to talk to him. Usually you have some ore to give him as well. In the beginning, he tried to refuse it, feeling as though accepting it would hurt his pride in some way. After months, he's learned how determined you are. There's no refusing you anything. You'll always find your way to do what you want, and that includes giving him freshly harvested minerals daily.

Your streak is almost impressive… not like March has been keeping track or anything. You're nearing almost six whole months straight without missing a single day. You're always stopping by first thing in the morning or late at night before heading home—not like he's paid close attention to that—so when the clock strikes 1AM and March still hasn't seen you all day, he starts to wonder what's keeping you. You've never been this late before.

March can't sleep. He tosses and turns in his bed; his pillow feels too warm despite it being a chilly Autumn night, and his blankets scratch and irritate his skin. Why didn't he see you today? Have you finally decided to stop pursuing him so stubbornly? Has he finally gotten rid of you for good? No more interrupted work at the forge? No more bracing himself when he sees you across town and knowing you'll start sprinting towards him any second?

If that's the case, then he should be happy. He's wanted that since the first day you arrived and started bothering him like it was your only daily mission. But… he's not happy at the thought. In fact, he feels the opposite. His chest tightens and his mind is cloudy when he thinks of his day ending without seeing you, without talking to you.

At first, your daily conversations were something he tried to end as fast as possible. But now he's gotten used to them, and perhaps even… looks forward to them. But no, he shouldn't care. If you decide to stop whatever routine you've crafted for the past six months, March won't even bat an eye. His life was fine before you came into it. He can easily go back to pretending like you don't exist.

But he still can't sleep, and the thought still continues to bother him throughout the night.

At 5AM, he gives up trying to sleep. A hot shower and fresh clothes does enough to hide his eye bags, and although he's tired, he has enough energy to start on a new order for tools at the forge. It's a bit early to start business, but it beats staring at the ceiling while you race in his mind. He's starting to get annoyed by how you refuse to leave his head. You decided to not stop by to see him, yet you won't let him stop thinking about you for even a second? Unfair.

He's able to ignore the pit in his stomach for a few hours as he works, getting half the order finished by lunch time. There's still been no sign of you. Just as he's accepting that his suspicions are confirmed—you really have decided to give up your daily visits—he squints over at the fountain. There you are.

He averts his eyes immediately. He can't look too excited to see you again, or you'll never let live it down. But still, he sets down his tools and wipes his hands on his apron, preparing for the impending conversation.

"Morning, March!" you say, cheery as ever.

"It's afternoon," he points out, stuffing his hands in his pockets and turning towards you. Damn, you look prettier than usual.

"You're right—guess I'm a bit late," you shrug, opening up your bag and sifting through it.

"Where were you yesterday? You didn't stop by," March asks, trying to sound as uninterested as possible, even as his heart races to know the reason. If you've stopped by like usual, then surely his original thought must be wrong. You still like seeing him every day… right?

"Ah, I was at the mines!" you explain, biting back a smile. "I lost track of time, though. By the time I got out, I was about to pass out. Plus, I'm sure you were already asleep. It was way past 1AM." He was definitely still awake at 1. He would've opened the door for you. "And look what I found while I was down there!"

You pull out a shiny piece of metal from your bag and plop it into March's hands. He holds it up, studying it. The most perfect gold ore he has ever seen. It's too rare to be turned into a regular bar—heck, it should probably get displayed somewhere. He's never seen a piece of metal so flawless.

"For you!" you grin, eagerly awaiting a response. March just gulps, hoping his red ears don't give him away completely.

God, what have you done to him?

RYIS

When Ryis first started taking orders over from his uncle, he often found it overwhelming doing everything by himself. He's good at his craft, and enjoys it fully, but the demand could easily overload his own ability to keep supplying. But, ever since you've started taking on more jobs with him, he's felt that burden lessen. You're not just a great farmer, but an excellent carpenter, too. Ryis has always found himself drawn to passionate people. Perhaps your talent is what keeps him so invested in you. Hours a week spent in your company still isn't enough for what he craves.

You've been quite productive this morning, stopping by the shop early and getting straight to work on a new set of bookshelves for a library commission. The birds singing has been your background noise, and you flow together with Ryis so naturally anyone would think you've been working together for years. In truth, it's only been a few weeks.

"You know, you're quite like a bird yourself," you say offhandedly, catching Ryis' attention from the other side of the porch. He's at his workbench, biting at his pencil (a habit he can't seem to quit) while thinking of what type of wood would hold up the best for the main bookshelf. It'll have to hold a lot of weight, and given the ornaments and embellishments the commissioner wants, he'll need to pick a wood both sturdy and easy to carve. Mahogany is probably his best bet, although it'll be expensive to supply. You're sorting through some of Landen's old toolboxes, searching for broken pieces and signs of wear.

"How so?" Ryis prompts, turning a fresh piece of paper over to sketch a new print idea.

"You and all your sisters growing up together in your parent's bakery—your "nest", so to speak. But you couldn't stay forever. Birds have to learn to fly on their own eventually. I think it's brave of you to be the first one to take that step. You took a leap of faith, and now look at you? You're soaring," you grin.

Ryis flushes a little. You spell out the thought that he's has had for a long time so clearly. Like you extracted the exact ideas he's had in his head and put them into words. His fascination with birds has always come from a feeling of solidarity. But it's also mixed with admiration (he's sure that anyone could tell that much).

He envies their innate ability to survive and adjust. Birds, upon close observation, have distinct patterns and behaviours. They always seem to know exactly what to do during each stage of life. Migrating south, returning to certain forests for mating, or even the best spots to find food for their young. The many guidebooks he owns on them gives him all the secrets he needs to appreciate all the native species. Their similarities and their differences. He finds a piece of himself in all of them.

Ryis wishes there were a similar guidebook to tell him what he should be doing with his life. You tell him that he's soaring, but most day's he isn't too sure. He misses home; his parents, his sisters, the bakery. At the same time, he's doing his best to make a new home for himself here. He loves living with his uncle and taking over the carpentry business. It feels fulfilling enough. But he feels lonely sometimes too.

"You seem quiet. Thinking?" you inquire, walking over to his bench and pulling up a stool.

"You know, I've always felt a little conflicted. Most days, I feel so glad I took the risk and moved here. I love how closely-knit the town feels. I love seeing how much I can help out. I love having nature in my backyard and waking up to the sound of birds chirping," he smiles. You can't fully decipher the mix of emotions behind his eyes.

"But I also miss the Capital. My family was always busy with business. Even with me and all my sisters, we somehow always felt short-staffed at the bakery. It was always loud… chaotic at times, too. But it felt like home, you know? And, I miss it…"

You pass him a sympathetic smile. "Homesick?"

He nods, biting on his pencil again. Melancholy is an emotion you don't like on Ryis. For someone who shines so brightly in your eyes, he looks deflated. But even in his down-turned state, he's still beautiful. You trace your eyes over his chocolate skin, strong calloused hands that suggest the years he's put into his craft, his deep brown eyes that have stared at you with both wonder and excitement.

Ryis glances back at you, granting a smile that tell you not to worry. He doesn't have to say it out loud for you to know. You make Mistria feel more and more like home every day. With every look and every conversation. Every project you complete together, and each hour you spend birdwatching with him. It's all been adding up faster than Ryis can keep up, but he doesn't need a guidebook to know that he's fallen so in love with you.

© mistria-chronicles ── do not repost translate or copy

Captivating eyes, a mischievous smile, and, undoubtedly, a love for adventuring that mirrors his own. It only took a week for Balor to start to get attached to you. It was strange. He's liked people before, but never enough to trump his passion for a free life. He's sworn that settling down isn't something he's interested in for a while. Life on the road is exhilarating. It suits him.

But he thinks you suit him even more.

He hasn't made any firm moves yet, but he knows you're aware of his intentions. He's never tried to hide them, and even the kids have caught onto his clear affections for you. The rest of the town complain whenever they catch him giving you an 80% discount on an item. Balor knows it's bad business practice, but how could he resist your smile?

This recent work trip to the capital has kept him away from Mistria for almost two weeks. He's written to you just to keep you partially satiated. But he knows it's not quite enough. He knows you're missing him badly. And he is too, which is why he's cut some corners to be able to make it back tonight instead of tomorrow.

The familiar sight of warm light spilling from the windows of The Sleeping Dragon Inn has never looked more inviting. It's nearly 2AM when Balor rolls his cart back into town. He would stop by your farm, but you're sure to be asleep by now. He'll surprise you in the morning. So he makes his way to the Inn instead, anticipating a warm bed to sleep on and a cold drink before he hits the sack.

The Inn is quiet on Monday nights, sometimes even closing early. It's usually just Balor chatting away with Hemlock about his recent finds and sales while he cleans up the bar. Sometimes Terithia will come in for a late meal after fishing. If Balor's lucky, Eiland will have a reason to talk to him about new treasures he's discovered. He's always interested in something new to make lucrative.

He expects tonight to be no different, especially given how late it is. But, to his surprise, the back table is occupied. By a very cute, very sleepy, possibly very drunk you. Balor raises a brow at the sight. Reina has answers for him.

"You're back a day early! Y/n's had a few too many tonight… perhaps you can help her back to her house?"

Balor is more than happy to. He slips onto the bench next to you, eager to see you again after a while. Your glass of beer is almost empty but very clearly abandoned. Balor shifts it over to his side and takes a sip. Still cold.

You shift a little, turning your head so it rests against your arm on the table facing him. You blink slowly. Balor can almost see the cogs turning in your head as you piece together who's in front of you.

"Ba…by?" you slur. Balor's cheeks flush a bright pink.

"I'm back a day early from my trip. Miss me much?" he smiles fondly, fighting how shy he suddenly feels under your intense stare. You have no shame while drunk.

"Miss… you s'much," you nod, reaching for his hand across the table. You don't manage to reach it, just barely grazing his arm before your arm falls limp and your eyes blink closed again. Balor chuckles. Looks like he'll need to carry you home.

EILAND

You can't help but be excited to help out Eiland with all his archeological research. For one, it's fascinating to piece together the history of Mistria and fill in your own answers to help out Caldarus. And, for two… you may be developing a small crush on the town's very own noble lord.

You look forward to your daily meetings, delving deep into the past of artifacts and scrolls, all while enjoying a fresh slice of cake and warm tea, of course. You're unashamed with your flirting, always catching Eiland when he least expects it. You never tire of the way his cheeks flush in surprise. Adorable.

Today is no different. You're excited to dig more concerning the new artifacts you uncovered during yesterday's mining trip, although you've been feeling tired since the morning. Maybe you pushed yourself too hard while fighting down there. It was too late to bother Valen when you got back home, though, and you thought you would feel fine in the morning.

It's starting to bother you more now—your eyelids falling shut every few seconds and yawns bubbling up in your chest. You hide it as best you can from Eiland. You don't want him to think that he's boring you with his research. You really are invested in it all.

But against your best efforts, Eiland's rambling is starting to mush together into sentences of gibberish. You're struggling to make out all the fancy terms he uses thanks to your brain fog, and before too long, you give up trying altogether.

Eiland startles when your head falls almost comically against the table.

"Y/n?"

He leans over the table, hesitantly poking your cheek with his ink pen. You don't budge. Panic rises immediately. What if some monster in the mines cast a spell on you and you left it unattended? Could ancient Aldarian magic be at play? Are you gravely injured and hurt? How could he not have realized before?

You wake up in Valen's clinic, blearily blinking to try to adjust to the bright overhead lighting. Damn. You must have passed out. You hope Eiland isn't too worried—

"It's just overworking, nothing else. She needs some rest, but that's all. She should take the rest of the day off and get to bed early, but she should feel much better tomorrow. Perhaps you should limit your archeological studies to every other day? Physical fatigue can build up quickly when paired with mental strain."

You glance over at the scene. Valen stands, arms crossed, explaining your symptoms to a very panicked-looking Eiland. He's nodding quickly to everything the doctor says. You stifle a laugh. Cute.

MARCH

March had (begrudgingly) asked you to help him gather some resources for a new forging job about a week ago. He's been stuck in your company since Monday, and only God knows how impatient he is to spend Friday at the Inn and finally be rid of you for a while. He hates your stupid bright eyes, your carefree smile, your unbothered responses whenever he throws a jab at you. He doesn't know how else to make it clear that he truly wishes he had nothing to do with you. You can't seem to take even the most obvious of hints.

He first started to feel weird on Wednesday. He had accidentally snapped at you harsher than intended when you brought back the gold he needed and put it in the wrong place. Although you didn't get mad at him—only apologized and offered another of your stupidly sweet smiles—he noticed how… saddened you seemed. A glimmer behind those eyes that felt almost defeated. March wasn't sure why he even noticed it, or why he cared, but it's stayed in his mind ever since. Has he been too hard on you?

The job is almost done now, anyway. Thanks to his push for efficiency, the job is even ahead of schedule. He just needs one last bundle of silver ingots from you, and he'll be able to finish the final details. Sweat gathers on his forehead as he hammers a piece of molten metal into shape. He glances at the clock, confirming his suspicion that you should have gotten here already. He expected you to walk in half an hour ago with that annoying bounce in your step and the fresh metal. But you're nowhere to be found, and March knows you're never late to anything.

Against his better judgement and the voice in the back of his head telling him he has no reason or right to care about you, he sets his tools down and heads in the direction of the mines. He's ready to brave the ladder down and wind through the narrow passages until he finds you either wounded from a monster or stuck somehow. But the sight he faces is completely unexpected.

You lay on the ground next to the entrance of the mine, limbs relaxed in utter exhaustion. March notes the overflowing bag of fresh ore you gathered. Despite it all, you had still completed his request.

"You… okay?" March dares to ask quietly, gulping down an inkling of guilt spreading through him. Is this… his fault?

You can only groan in response, eyes shut, body too tired to even get off the ground. March isn't dumb. He can see the telltale signs. Your clothes drenched in sweat, your muscles clearly aching to the point of giving up, and your eyes barely able to open. You overworked yourself just to help him complete his job quicker—because of one comment he made about wanting to get ahead of schedule.

March sighs. He's not gonna leave you here collapsed. Damn, you always put him in such a tough spot. He hauls you onto his back, arms firmly wrapped under your thighs to keep you steady. He already knows the earful Valen will give him when he walks through the clinic door with you like this. The entire town is obsessed with you. March's pissy attitude towards you doesn't give him any favours.

He feels you slightly wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, and then very softly he hears you whisper, "Giving me a ride? How sweet."

RYIS

Ryis, truthfully, saw this coming a mile away. He's been watching you intently over the weeks completing task after task, rushing back to your farm past midnight, waking up early every day despite it, and running your energy down to its lowest every single day. He's starting to wonder if you ever even sleep? Now he has his answer.

It's not even midday yet. You had stopped by the shop to build some new furniture for your house, telling Ryis animatedly about the design you've drafted up and how cohesive it'll all look. He's as excited as you are about it and decided to lend a hand. You ran short on wood after a few hours of cutting and sanding, so he offered to go cut some more. He's walking back from the forest, logs in hand, when he sees you slumped over his workbench utterly wiped out.

Ryis lets a soft smile form on his lips at the sight. You need this sleep badly, and if his workbench is the place you feel comfortable enough to get it, he'd let you occupy it for hours. He will, however, make sure you're fully comfortable. He tucks a blanket over your shoulders, pushing your hair out of your face, and tells his uncle to close up shop early so you can have some quiet. Then he settles down next to you with some fresh graph paper and a sharpened pencil. Might as well get some new blueprints done while your project is on hold.

You wake up three hours later, dazed and slightly dizzy. Ryis is still sitting by your side, switched to reading a bird manual. You blink at him sleepily.

"Ryis… how long did I sleep?"

He rests his cheek against his palm, pursing his lips while he pretends to count the hours. "You fell asleep at around eleven… it's almost 3 now. Hungry?"

You furrow your brow, slightly panicked at wasting so much time in the day. Adeline needs materials for a new town project, Hayden invited you over for tea yesterday, and you've set your mind on helping out Reina with fresh ingredients for her new menu. That stacked on top of your own farm upgrades hasn't given you much time to rest. Maybe you did give yourself more than you could handle.

You're about to refuse Ryis' offer for food. He's a total sweetheart and you know he'll treat you to the best meal at the inn, keep you company with good conversation and that dashing smile of his, but you already feel terrible for taking up his day with your nap. Before you can say anything, though, your stomach rumbles. Quite loudly.

Ryis laughs, "I guess that answers it."

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However, you promised him that it would be fun (and also bribed him with fresh glowberry cookies), so he's set his expectations high. But he feels a bit squirmy dressed in a matching pyjama set to yours with fluffy slippers. The clothes aren't entirely uncomfortable, it's more so the sticky feeling of the skincare mask on his face that throws him off. He's not sure how you got yours to stick on your face so well when his keeps trying to slide off.

"How long was this supposed to sit on for?" he asks, tilting his head up to try to keep it from slipping off.

"Twenty minutes!" you supply, digging through your drawers in search of the next activity. Eiland wants to ask when he'll get to try your glowberry cookies, but he holds his tongue. It wouldn't be very princely of him to sound impatient, although you've never been one to judge his sweet tooth.

"Manicure time!" You plop down in front of him and spread out a variety of different tools, all distinctly pink and most of them glittery. Eiland doesn't have a clue what any of them could be for.

"Do I need to do anything? You know I'm not good with learning new skills."

"You just have to sit there and look pretty. Oh, and give me your hands, of course," you assure him, smiling at the tinge of pink that flares on the tips of his ears.

"I think I can do that…"

"Great! Now pick a polish!"

Eiland glances down at the bottles you have laid out in front of him. They are all different shades of pink, a mix of dusty and muted, bright and glossy and a few pastels. He picks out a softer pink, one that vaguely reminds him of a piece of old Aldarian fabric he studied for nearly a month as a teenager. He starts telling you about it as you work on his nails—everything from popular fashion silhouettes to accessible dyes. When it comes to history, Eiland has uncovered all the details.

You're a bit broader with your interests. Eiland is always impressed with how many skills you've acquired from cooking to carpentry to combat. You seem to be a natural at almost anything you try your hand at.

He always struggled to find his talents as a kid. Much like the rest of his family, he easily got consumed by tasks, hours ticking away as he lost himself in old manuscripts or hard-to-decipher scrolls. Adeline was always good at execution and planning, but he often got stuck in daydreams. There were few who shared his passion for archaeology or history, save for Errol and Terithia.

You like hearing about his discoveries, though. Anything that your boyfriend is passionate about is also interesting to you, no matter how long he could ramble about historical events or artifacts.

Over half an hour later, you finish with his nails, somehow before Eiland reaches the end of his explanation on traditional stitching methods. He seems more comfortable now that the sheet mask is off his face, only after questioning the benefits of such a product for someone who already has perfect skin nearly three times. He would always humour you in the end, though.

You take a break for cookies after his nails are dry, finishing an entire plate of them within minutes. Next comes a classic: truth or dare and would you rather's, another game that you fear Eiland doesn't quite get the concept of.

"Would you rather travel back five hundred years and witness pre-Alda civilization or kiss me five hundred times?"

You raise an eyebrow, "Is that supposed to be a hard choice? Of course I'd rather kiss you."

Eiland looks bewildered at how you chose so fast. "Is it not? I don't know which one I'd choose."

You cross your arms, "Wasn't that around the time of the Witch Queens rule? I don't think either of us would have lasted long."

"But imagine the discoveries! There's so much information lost to time. I would die for a chance to spend even an hour in those days."

"I'd still pick kissing you five hundred times."

"I think you'd get tired after 10."

"Is that a dare?"

Eiland doesn't even have to answer that. You can tell his eyes are gleaming with curiosity. How many times could you kiss him without getting tired? There's only one way to find out.

Although you start out strong, keeping the kisses short and counting out loud in between, you both soon forgot all about the dare. The plush of his lips, the faint taste of glowberry on his tongue, and his slightly disappointed look whenever you pull away quickly all get to you eventually. Eiland's not sure if making out is part of the usual sleepover traditions, but you don't seem to be protesting.

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