#uugghhhhh

March twists the last clasp on his latest project with a scowl. It’s a silver, intricate bracelet with a sparkling ruby at its center. A perfect ruby, to be exact. A perfect ruby excavated from the mines and gifted to him by a certain, sunny farmer.

March grimaces, the thought of the farmer bringing up that annoying, confusing feeling in his chest. Like he’s being squeezed like the bellows of his forge. Ugh.

But you’d brought him this ruby, late last night as you stumbled half-dead into the blacksmith’s. You’d been covered in nicks and bruises, smiling through the dirt on your cheeks.

You’d handed him your gift, opening your filthy palm to reveal a sparkling scarlet gem. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen.

Well, besides you.

But that squeezing feeling happens in his chest again, and he does his best to push the image of your scuffed up, smiling face out of his mind. He surveys his work: the silver band inlaid with an intricate pattern, the dazzling ruby. Yes, this will have to do.

***

“Farmer,” March calls, seeing you walk into the inn. “Sit by me!” He grins, holding a frothy glass of stout beer. He knows that this liquid courage is exactly what he needs to get himself to talk to you, and not mess it up.

You smile, and make your way across the inn to slide onto the barstool next to him. He smells like ash, and sweat; it’s intoxicating.

“Made somethin’ for ya,” he slurs, fumbling out a small black box from his pocket. He slides it across the bar, cheek rosy. He crosses his arms on the bar, resting his chin on his forearms as he watches you open his gift.

You take the box, flattered at having received a gift from the town’s grumpiest neighbor. You open the box, and gasp. It’s a silver bracelet, with a sparkling perfect ruby at its center. There are leaves inlaid into the silver, forming an intricate design. You lift it from the box, examining the beautiful piece of jewelry in the inn’s warm lighting.

“Put it on,” March commands, reaching out to clasp the bracelet around your wrist for you. His fingertips brush your skin, sending tingles up your arm.

“Thank you,” you murmur, awed. You turn your wrist back and forth, watching the sparkle of the ruby play in the light.

“Thought ya deserved somethin’ nice,” March says, deeply blushing. From the booze or something else, you’re not sure. But the bracelet is beautiful, and you’re leaning over to kiss the blacksmith’s cheek before you can tell yourself not to.

“Thanks,” you whisper, before pulling back. March has stilled next to you, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed some line. But March stands suddenly, and leans so close you can feel his breath hot on your cheek.

He whispers in your ear, “My place. Now.”