Dinner arrived in stages.
First came the starters, the aperitivos Hilda had brought earlier. Homemade bread, still warm and flecked with herbs, cured local cheeses with an intense and complex flavour, and olives marinated in a blend of spices that, without question, I had brought from a place Erza, in her innocence, did not need to know existed. Not yet, at least.
Then came the main course: wild boar, slow-roasted for hours until it was so tender it fell apart at the touch of a fork, served with caramelised seasonal vegetables and a dark, rich sauce that Hilda, with a mysterious smile, refused to teach me, insisting that "some family secrets, my dear, must die with me."
And finally, the wine. My wine.
Hilda poured it with an almost ceremonial reverence, as though handling an ancient and dangerous artefact, filling our crystal glasses with the shimmering golden liquid with extreme care.
"Go easy on that, girls," she warned, with a seriousness that wasn't like her at all. "That stuff's no joke. It's strong."
With a curiosity I found adorable, Erza brought her glass to her nose first, like a proper sommelier, and inhaled deeply. Her eyes, suddenly, widened. Slightly, but I saw it.
"This... this smells like..."
"Bottled sunlight," I finished, with a small smile. "Yes. I know."
With a hesitance that was almost reverent, she took a small sip.
The silence that followed that first sip was almost comical. Erza stayed there, completely still, glass still at her lips, her large brown eyes lost somewhere distant, on another plane of existence entirely.
"Erza?"
Nothing. No reaction.
"Erza? Are you all right?"
"I..." With a small start, she blinked, as though returning from a long journey. "I... I think I just saw, with my own eyes, colours that shouldn't exist."
"Ah, yes. That's normal," I said, with a casualness that only confused her further.
"How can that possibly be considered normal?!"
"Normal for this particular wine." With a small smile, I took a sip of my own, feeling the familiar, comforting warmth spread through my body. Ambrosia, even in tiny quantities, always had that effect. It was like swallowing a small star. "But, seriously, just don't drink it too quickly. Hilda wasn't exaggerating in the slightest about how strong it is."
And Erza, with a new and profound reverence, looked at her glass as though it truly contained all the secrets of the universe. Which, technically, was almost true. But, as always, that was just a small detail.
The meal that followed was... perfect.
There was, honestly, no other word for it.
The food was absolutely delicious, each dish, each ingredient, a perfect balance of flavours that made you want to close your eyes and simply... exist in that moment. The wine, of course, complemented everything in ways that shouldn't have been physically or chemically possible. And the soft music from Seu Tobias, who continued to play from his dark corner, possibly still asleep (the mystery remained unsolved), created an atmosphere that seemed to have been lifted straight from a dream.
But, for me, the very best part, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, was the company.
Erza... she had relaxed. Completely. The tension she, as Titania, always carried in her shoulders, the result of years of being "the strong one," "the leader," the person everyone trusted to sort everything out, that tension had simply... disappeared. Vanished.
She laughed more easily, a sound that was still rather rare, but that, when it appeared, was the loveliest melody in the world. She spoke more freely, without weighing every word. And she told funny stories about our guild, about Natsu and Gray, with a gleam in her eyes that made me want to listen to her talk forever.
"—and then," she was saying, between one mouthful and the next, gesturing with her fork for extra emphasis, "Natsu, in his infinite genius, decided that the best and most efficient way to 'test the resilience of our new pool' was to use his Fire Dragon's Roar." And she paused, dramatically. "Underwater."
"Please, tell me he didn't."
"Half the pool's water evaporated. Instantly," she said, shaking her head in disapproval, but clearly laughing on the inside. "So much steam went up that no one at the guild could see a thing for a good ten minutes. It was like an infernal Turkish bath." I burst out laughing. "And, to make matters worse, Gray tried to freeze the pool back, to help, but, as always, he miscalculated the strength of his spell and ended up freezing Elfman along with the water."
"Ah, I heard about that bit. He kept shouting 'BEING FROZEN SOLID IS THE MANLIEST THING THERE IS' for half an hour, didn't he?"
"Yes, he shouted that, with immense pride, whilst poor Mira tried to thaw him out with hot water, which, of course, only made things worse."
"And what did Master Makarov do about it?"
"He cried," Erza replied, taking another sip of her wine. "But not out of sadness. Out of pure and absolute fury. The poor pool had only been unveiled a few weeks earlier. It hadn't even been a month, Azra'il."
"I still think my record is going to be broken. That fancy new guild hall isn't going to last a whole year intact."
"You're being ridiculously optimistic. I, honestly, give it six months, at most."
"Bet on it."
"Bet on it," she smiled, raising her glass in a toast. "After all, life at Fairy Tail is never, ever dull."
"No. Never," I agreed, twirling the stem of my own glass. "But tell me, little redhead... sometimes, just sometimes, don't you wish it were?"
And her smile softened. "Just a tiny bit. Sometimes."
"That's a lie."
"...Yes, it's a lie," she admitted, with a small laugh. "I'd probably go mad with boredom within a week."
At some point during the evening, when the plates had already been cleared away and our wine glasses were, to my regret, nearly empty (on the fifth round, to be precise, because Erza, under the ambrosia's influence, had insisted rather forcefully that "a wine like this cannot be wasted"), the conversation grew softer. And Seu Tobias, somehow sensing the shift in the air (or perhaps just in his dreams), had switched to a slower, more intimate melody, as though he knew precisely what our moment called for.
And Erza... my Erza... was, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, magnificently and adorably drunk.
It was not a "mildly tipsy." And, definitely, it was not a "slightly merry." It was, to my absolute delight, a "completely and hilariously plastered."
"Azra'il," she said my name as though it were a significant and recent scientific discovery. "Azra'il. Azra... il. Your name has very pretty sounds when you say it slowly."
"Erm... thank you, I think?"
"Az-ra-il," she repeated, savouring each syllable as though it were a rare sweet. "It's like... it's like music. But with letters. A music of letters."
"That, my dear and inebriated Erza, is called a 'word.'"
"EXACTLY!" And, with an enthusiasm that nearly toppled the table, she slapped her hand on the wood, making the glasses wobble dangerously. "You! You understand me!"
[Status analysis: the intoxication level of user Erza Scarlet is currently classified as "significant." She has, apparently, just lost the ability to distinguish between the basic concepts of language and music,] Eos reported in my mind.
(Yes, Eos. I noticed. Thank you for your brilliant observation.)
[She is also looking at you, at this precise moment, as though you were the last and most delicious slice of strawberry cake in the entire universe.]
(I noticed that too. And, honestly, I am not complaining.)
With a movement that lacked her usual grace, Erza rested her chin on her hands, gazing at me with an intensity that would, under other circumstances, be rather intimidating. Were it not for the fact that her eyes were, quite clearly, a touch out of focus.
"You're very pretty," she declared suddenly, with the seriousness of someone making an important revelation. "Like, VERY pretty. And that, honestly, is unfair."
"Unfair?"
"Yes. It's unfair to everyone else in the world who isn't you." With a vague, uncoordinated gesture, she waved at the air. "The rest of the universe, you know? They have to wake up every single day with the dreadful certainty that they are NOT you. That is very, very sad, if you stop and think about it."
"I... I really don't know how to respond to that particular logic, Erza."
"And you don't need to respond. You just need to accept, with humility, that you are..." And she, with an expression of deep concentration, searched for the right word. "Stunning. Devastating. A true and absolute visual calamity."
"A... visual calamity?"
"Yes. But in the good sense of the word."
"Is there, by any chance, a good sense to the word 'calamity'?"
"There is now. Because I just invented it."
And she smiled, with an expression that was both smug and thoroughly pleased with herself. "I've been inventing a lot of new things today. New words. New concepts. It's a very productive day for my mind."
And, with a somewhat uncoordinated movement, she attempted to reach for her wine glass again. But, with a quick reflex, I gently intercepted her, covering the glass with my hand.
"I think, perhaps, you may have had quite enough for one day, little redhead."
"I disagree," she protested, and then, to my shock and absolute delight, she pouted. An actual pout. The great and powerful Erza Scarlet, Titania, Queen of the Fairies, terror of dark guilds across the entire continent, was, at this precise moment, giving me a childish little pout. "The wine is good. I want more of the good wine."
"The good wine, my dear, will still be here tomorrow. I promise."
"But what if it isn't? What if... what if it runs off during the night?" And her eyes, suddenly, widened with a genuine and almost palpable concern. "Can wines run away, Azra'il?"
"Wines, Erza, are liquids. They don't have legs."
"But some animals don't have legs either, and they still move! Snakes, for instance. And worms." And she, with an effort of concentration, counted on her fingers. "And slugs."
"I'm almost entirely certain this particular wine is not a slug, Erza."
"But you don't know that for certain, do you? You're not the wine."
And her logic was, in its own absurd way, flawless.
"All right, all right," I conceded, trying not to laugh. "You win. The wine, most probably, is not a slug."
"Probably," she repeated, nodding her head with deadly seriousness. "But, even so, we should keep a close eye on it. Purely as a matter of safety."
"Erza."
"Hm?"
"Can you, by any chance, feel your own face right now?"
With a curious movement, she brought her hand to her own cheek and squeezed experimentally. "Yes. Yes, it's still here." A small pause. "But... it's warm. My face is very warm, Azra'il."
"That, my dear and clever little redhead, is because you have had five glasses of a divi— of a very special wine."
"It was four."
"It was five."
"It was four and a half. I, as you may recall, spilled a little of one of them." With an air of triumph, she pointed at a small stain on the tablecloth, as though it were irrefutable proof of her innocence. "That, technically, does not count as a whole glass."
"That was, at most, three measly drops."
"But three drops is still 'a little.' I, technically, did not lie."
[Technically, and based on the semantics of the word, she is correct. Three drops could, in fact, be constituted as "a little."]
(You are not helping, Eos.)
[And I am not attempting to help. I am merely documenting the facts with my usual and impartial precision.]
"You know," Erza said, suddenly, with the air of someone about to make a grand revelation, leaning across the table towards me, "what have I realised? I have realised something very important."
"And what would that be, oh great inebriated philosopher?"
"You." With a finger, she pointed directly at me. "You, Azra'il, always, always look after me. Always. Even when I don't ask. And even when I pretend I don't need it." And her eyes, suddenly, grew strangely and dangerously bright. "Why... why do you do that?"
(Oh no. No, no, no. Drunk and emotional Erza. This was, without the slightest doubt, the most dangerous and difficult category of all to handle.)
"Because I care about you, you thick-headed little redhead," I said, with the simplest possible honesty.
"But why?" she insisted, with the stubbornness of a curious child. "I am complicated. And stubborn. And proud. And, sometimes," she added, as though it were a trivial detail, "I even sleep in my armour."
"You... you actually sleep in your armour?"
"Only sometimes. When I'm very tired." With a gesture, she waved her hand, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. "But don't change the subject. Why, exactly, do you care?"
And I considered a whole range of answers. Poetic answers. Philosophical answers. Answers that would probably involve long and complicated explanations about souls, about destiny, and about connections that somehow transcended lives and universes.
But, in the end, with my heart beating a little faster than I'd like to admit, I chose the simplest and most honest truth of all.
"Because, Erza... you are you. And that, to me, is more than enough."
And Erza, in response, simply blinked.
Once.
And twice.
And then, to my mounting internal panic, the tears, once again, began to fall from her large brown eyes.
"That is..." she sniffled, her voice thick. "That is the most... oh, gods, I'm not crying again."
"Yes, Erza. You most certainly are crying."
"I am not. It's the wine. The wine is making water come out of my eyes. It's a rare and as-yet-undocumented side effect."
"That, my dear and stubborn girlfriend, is called 'crying.'"
"NO, IT ISN'T! IT'S... it's..." and she, desperately, cast around for a more scientifically plausible alternative. "...spontaneous ocular perspiration!"
"That isn't even a thing that exists."
"IT EXISTS NOW. BECAUSE I JUST INVENTED IT!"
With a sigh that was equal parts resignation and affection, I got up and went to her side of the table, kneeling in front of her to be at eye level with her face.
"Hey," I said, my voice now surprisingly soft. With my thumb, I wiped away a stubborn tear trickling down her cheek. "Hey, little redhead. Look at me."
And she looked. With her red and swollen eyes, her damp cheeks, and an expression of someone feeling every emotion in the entire universe all at once and not knowing what, exactly, to do with any of them.
"I care about you," I said, with a softness that was rare for me, "because you, Erza Scarlet, are, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, the most incredible, the strongest, the most loyal, and the most infuriatingly noble person I have ever had the privilege of knowing, in this long and rather tedious life of mine. And, believe me, I have a vast wealth of experience to compare against."
"But you haven't met that many people in your life..."
(Oh, my dear. If you only knew...)
"I've met enough," I said, with a small smile. "And none of them, Erza, was you."
Erza looked at me for a long, silent moment. And then, without any warning, she took my face in her two hands, pulled me close. And kissed me.
It was not a gentle, planned kiss.
In truth, it was somewhat uncoordinated from the effects of the alcohol, somewhat desperate from the intensity of the emotion, and, honestly, entirely perfect in its glorious and endearing imperfection.
When she pulled back, she was smiling. That crooked, slightly silly, slightly bashful smile of hers that only ever appeared when she had completely let down her guard.
"You," she said, with absolute certainty, "are my favourite person in the entire universe."
"You too, Erza, are my favourite person."
"Good. Because I would have been very, very cross if I weren't." With a small pause, she added, with an air of concern, "Not that I could do anything about it right now, to be perfectly honest. I think my legs, all of a sudden, have stopped working."
"Your legs are perfectly fine."
"No, they're not. They're tingling. With malicious intent."
"Legs, my dear, don't have intent."
"Mine do. And, at this moment, they are being rebellious."
That was when Hilda, with her perfect sense of timing, appeared, hands on her hips and that look of hers that said she knew exactly, and in every detail, what she was doing. "Right then, you two lovebirds." She stopped beside our table, with a smile that was a mixture of amusement and fondness. "It's getting late, and from what I can see, someone here has rather overdone it on the wine."
"I did not overdo it," Erza protested, with a surprising dignity given her state. "I merely... appreciated it. Deeply. And repeatedly."
"Yes, I saw. You, my dear, appreciated nearly the whole bottle."
"But it was a very good wine."
"It was a wine that, according to my sources, could make an ordinary person see the gods themselves, dear. And you, with your Titania constitution, drank it as though it were grape juice." And Erza, wisely, considered this for a moment.
"It was, in fact, a grape juice of the gods," she said finally, with unwavering conviction. "Far superior."
Hilda looked at me, shaking her head at Erza's drunken state. "You two, without a shadow of a doubt, need to rest," she declared, with the authority of a matriarch.
"We can go back to—" I began to say.
"You'll go back to nothing," Hilda cut me off. "Do you honestly think I, in my right mind, am going to let you two try to catch a train back to Magnolia at this hour of the night? With her in this state? And you—" with a gesture, she pointed at me, "—are not much, much better."
"But I am perfectly sober."
"You, my girl, have been grinning like a lovesick fool for exactly twenty minutes straight. And that, in my vast experience, is not a sign of sobriety. It's a sign that you are drunk on infatuation."
[She does, in fact, have a valid point. Your smile has been active, and logged by me, for exactly 23 minutes and 47 seconds.]
(You are a traitor, Eos.)
"Your room, upstairs, is already properly prepared and waiting for you," Hilda continued, ignoring my minor internal collapse. "First corridor, last door on the right. No arguments."
"Hilda, honestly, there's no need for—"
"My girl," and she, now, looked at me with that expression of hers that simply did not accept a "no" as an answer. "I have known the two of you since you could fit under my counter. And the two of you, tonight, are going to sleep here, going to rest, and, most importantly, are going to stop arguing with me. Am I clear?"
"...Crystal clear."
"Excellent."
With an effort that appeared herculean, Erza, finally, got to her feet. Or, to be more precise, attempted to get to her feet. Her legs, apparently, had other and far more interesting ideas, because she immediately swayed dangerously to one side and only avoided falling flat on her face because I caught her in time. "Whoops." With an expression of genuine betrayal, she looked at her own useless legs.
"But they were working perfectly well until now."
"That, my dear, was because you were sitting down."
"Minor details." And, with a sigh, she leant heavily against me, draping her arm over my shoulders. "Can you, please, be my temporary legs until we get to our room?"
"That, Erza, makes absolutely no anatomical sense whatsoever."
"But it makes perfect emotional sense. And emotional sense is far more important." And she nodded, with the wisdom that only drunk people possess. "I read that somewhere, I'm quite certain."
"Where, exactly?"
"I don't remember. But it was, without question, a very intelligent place."
Hilda, who had watched the whole scene, was visibly holding back laughter.
"Just... get a move on, Azra'il," she said, with an encouraging gesture. "Take her up before she starts having an existential crisis and philosophising about the nature of reality."
"Too late," Erza murmured against my shoulder. "I was already, at this very moment, thinking about that exact thing. The floor... is the floor really real? It seems real. But what if it's not? What if it's all an illusion?"
"Yes, Erza. The floor is real. I promise."
"But you're only assuming that. You, technically, have no proof."
The corridor was, in fact, short, but the little journey to our room felt like an Olympic marathon. Erza stumbled about three times, not out of any lack of coordination on my part, but rather because she, every couple of steps, insisted on stopping to observe, with profound scientific interest, the most mundane of things. "Azra'il. Just look at this wall. It's fascinating."
"Yes, Erza. It's a wall. Made of wood."
"But it's a very, very beautiful wall. The cracks in it make a pattern. Like... like a map." And she, with intense concentration, tilted her head. "A map that, most probably, leads nowhere at all."
"That was strangely and unexpectedly poetic, little redhead."
"I am a poetic person when I drink," she smiled. "It's one of my many and incredible hidden talents."
"And do you happen to have many other hidden talents?"
"Many. Countless. Like..." and she thought about it for a moment, with deadly seriousness. "I can whistle the Fairy Tail anthem."
"That is, in fact, very impressive."
"It is indeed. And yet, no one ever asks me to demonstrate it. Which is a great loss to humanity."
[Shall I log this new and valuable ability for future reference?]
(Please, Eos. With all the details.)
And, finally, after an eternity and a few more philosophical questions about the nature of wood grain, we reached the door of our room. I opened it with my free hand, and—
(Oh. No. Oh, Hilda, you old matchmaker.)
The room, which was supposed to be a simple, rustic inn room, had been... transformed.
There were candles. Dozens and dozens of them, scattered across every available surface, casting that soft, golden, flickering light that seemed to have been lifted directly from a cheap, poorly written romance novel. There were wild flowers, the same ones from the hall, but now in an absurd quantity, decorating the chest of drawers, the window, and, basically, any other surface capable of holding a vase. And there were petals. Rose petals, forming a treacherous path from the doorway all the way to... the bed.
A single, spacious double bed.
Large. Inviting. Covered in sheets that looked softer than anything in the universe had any right to be. With a number of pillows that defied all logic. And, naturally, more petals scattered across the duvet, as though someone with a great deal of free time had read every romantic scene ever written in the entire history of literature and decided to replicate all of them, simultaneously, in one small room.
Erza, beside me, was quiet for a moment. And then: "AZRA'IL."
"I swear on my life I did not do this."
"THERE ARE PETALS, AZRA'IL."
"Yes, I can see. But I swear that—"
"PETALS. ON OUR BED." And her eyes were enormous. "THERE ARE PETALS ON THE BED."
"Erza, I swear on my honour as a swordswoman that I did not—"
"You... you planned all of this, didn't you?" And her voice, suddenly, rose an octave, and her face, if such a thing were possible, went from an intense red to a shade of nuclear scarlet. "You planned... this?"
"No! I mean, the dinner yes, but the room, absolutely not—"
"Because I... I don't know... I mean, I've never... I don't know if I'm ready to... not that I don't want to, eventually, but—"
"Erza."
"—we've only been together such a short while, and this all seems a bit... a bit too fast, and—"
"ERZA. Breathe."
And she stopped, breathing heavily, as though she had just run a marathon.
"I did not plan this room, little redhead," I said, with all the calm I could gather. "This, with absolute certainty, was Hilda's doing."
And, as though summoned by magic, Hilda's voice, from somewhere downstairs, echoed through the corridor: "You're welcome, girls! Enjoy the evening!" And I heard her footsteps hurrying away. Very quickly, for a woman in her sixties. "HILDA, YOU MEDDLESOME OLD WOMAN!" I shouted, but only a distant laugh was my only reply.
With a stiffness that betrayed her nerves, Erza walked into the room with me for support, her wide eyes taking in every romantic, clichéd detail. "There are... there are a lot of candles," she said, her voice strangely high-pitched.
"Rather a lot, indeed."
"And... and a lot of flowers."
"I noticed that too."
"And only... only one bed."
"...Yes, Erza. Just one." With an abrupt movement, she stepped away from me, nearly tripping over her own feet, and stood, tense, in the middle of the room. First she crossed her arms over her chest. Then she uncrossed them. Then she put her hands on her hips. And, finally, simply let them fall, useless, at her sides. Her nervousness radiated off her in nearly visible waves.
"So," she said, staring fixedly at the window, at the darkness outside. "This is... erm... a room."
"It is, indeed."
"With a bed."
"We've already established that."
"A double bed." And she, with difficulty, swallowed. "Which, technically, is for... two people."
"Erza—"
"Two people who are going to... going to sleep." And she, finally, turned to look at me, her eyes an endearing mixture of panic, shyness, and a terrified sort of hope. "But is it a 'sleep' of the sleeping variety? Or is it a... erm... 'sleep' of the other kind?" And she didn't need to finish the thought. Nor did she need to.
(Ah. Right. So that's what this was about.)
She thought I had, somehow, planned all of this, the dinner, the tavern, the whole journey, purely for... for this.
[User Erza Scarlet is currently in a state of acute romantic panic. I recommend immediate and reassuring verbal intervention.]
(Yes, Eos. I noticed. Thank you for your brilliant analysis.)
"Erza." Calmly, I took a step towards her. And, like a startled animal, she took a step back, the back of her knees hitting the chest of drawers. Her hands, in an act of pure desperation, went to grip the wood of the drawers behind her, as though it were an anchor in a storm.
"I'm not running away," she said quickly, her voice a touch too high. "I was just... just adjusting my position."
"You're afraid."
"I am not afraid." And her chin lifted, in a gesture of pride so familiar, so entirely her. "I am Titania, Azra'il. I have faced demons, dragons, and entire armies. I am not afraid of... of..." And her voice, finally, died away, the bravado draining out of it.
"Afraid of what, Erza?" I asked gently, taking another step. And the silence that followed was heavy.
"...Afraid of... of disappointing you," she whispered finally, the words nearly inaudible. And the alcohol, or perhaps simply the raw honesty of the moment, had knocked down her last remaining defences. "I... I've never... I've never been with anyone before... properly... and you're..."
"And I'm what?"
"...You're you," she said, with a frustration that was almost moving. "You're so... so confident. And beautiful. And you always seem to know exactly what you're doing. And I..." And she looked away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don't know anything at all. And I'm afraid of getting everything wrong. And... and of you realising, in the end, that I'm just... pathetic."
And her heart, in that moment, was entirely exposed. Raw. Vulnerable. The great and powerful Titania was afraid. Not of battles. Not of enemies. But of something far more frightening to her: intimacy. Vulnerability. The terrible and paralysing possibility of not being... good enough.
With a deliberate slowness, I crossed the distance between us, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. And she, to my relief, didn't pull away. And, gently, I took her face in my hands, softly turning her to look at me.
"Firstly," I said calmly, my eyes fixed on hers, "I most certainly did not plan to do anything of the sort. This was Hilda's doing, who, apparently, has a secret and very promising career as a professional matchmaker and interior decorator with a taste for the clichéd." And a ghost of a smile, at last, appeared on her lips.
"And secondly," I continued, stroking her cheek with my thumb, "we are not, under any circumstances, going to do anything you don't want. Nothing. Ever. I don't care in the slightest if there are a thousand rose petals on this bed, or if Hilda, for some reason, hired an entire orchestra to play romantic music for us all night long. If you're not ready, if you don't feel comfortable, then it simply doesn't happen. As simple as that."
"But..." and her eyes, now, were shining. "But... what if you... what if you want to...?"
"What I want, Erza Scarlet," I said, with all the softness and all the sincerity of my ancient heart, "is only and entirely to stay right here, by your side. That's all. And to sleep with you, literally sleep, Erza. Eyes closed. Unconscious. And perhaps, who knows, even snoring a little."
"I've already told you I don't snore."
"Yes, I know. And you do snore, just a little. It's endearing."
"I do NOT—" She stopped, noticing that I was smiling. "You're... you're trying to distract me."
"And is it working?"
And she looked at me. For a long, silent moment. And, slowly, the tension in her shoulders began to ease. And her breathing, once so tight, became a little calmer.
"Yes. A little," she admitted, with a sigh. "Good."
And, with a movement that felt like the most natural thing in the world, I leant my forehead against hers.
"Erza, listen to me carefully. I have, quite literally, all the time in the world. There's no rush whatsoever. There's no expectation. There's only... the two of us. And we go at our own pace. Always. Okay?"
And a single, stubborn tear escaped her eyes.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
The silence that followed was almost comfortable. Almost. Because, let's be honest, there was still an entire bed covered in rose petals staring at us, like a floral and thoroughly romantic elephant in the middle of our room.
"So," Erza said, wiping her face discreetly, "we... we should... erm... go to sleep. Eventually."
"Yes, 'eventually' seems like a good and solid plan."
"But first..." with a hesitant glance, she looked at her own elegant outfit, and then at the bed. "I think... I need to change."
"That, indeed, makes sense." And she hesitated for just one more second. And then, with a familiar spark of magic in her eyes, she activated her Requip. And, in a flash of golden light, her beautiful dark blue dress vanished and was replaced with...
And I blinked. Once. And twice. "That is..."
"...a pair of pyjamas," Erza said quickly, her cheeks aflame once more. "With rabbits."
"Yes. They're patterns. Of rabbits. And carrots."
"And... and they're very, very PRACTICAL," she said, crossing her arms defensively over her chest, which, ironically, only made the pyjamas look even more adorable. The pyjamas were, indeed, a soft pale pink, with dozens of little white bunnies scattered across the entire fabric. And they had, to my absolute delight, RABBIT EARS on the hood. "The fabric is very comfortable and keeps your body temperature stable and—"
"Erza."
"What?"
"You're wearing bunny pyjamas with an ear-hood."
"...And what exactly is the problem with that?"
"The problem is that you are the great and terrifying Titania."
"Titanias, for your information, also need comfortable and warm pyjamas!" she said, growing redder with every passing second. "It's not as though I'm going to sleep in my armour!"
"But you yourself told me, earlier, that sometimes you do sleep in your armour."
"THAT IS NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW, AZRA'IL!"
[User Erza Scarlet is currently wearing pyjamas patterned with rabbits and a hood with ears. I should log this image, as it is, statistically speaking, extremely adorable.]
(Yes, Eos. In every detail.)
[And you, for the record, are grinning like a lovesick fool again.]
(And how could I possibly, in good conscience, NOT be grinning?)
With an expression of pure amusement, I turned around, searching for somewhere I could put down my hanfu. I hadn't brought any pyjamas. In my head, my plan had been simple and elegant: have a romantic dinner, perhaps a small stroll under the moonlight, and then return to Magnolia the same day. Hilda's nocturnal, matchmaking ambush had most certainly not been part of my calculations. I had, of course, my dimensional inventory. And could, with a simple thought, summon any one of the hundreds of outfits I kept there. But doing so, suddenly and without explanation, in front of Erza, would most certainly raise a whole host of questions I was, honestly, not the least bit inclined to answer.
"Are you... are you all right, Azra'il?" Erza asked, noticing my sudden and strange hesitation.
"I am, yes. I was just thinking that..." with a sigh, I looked at my hanfu, "I didn't, erm... I didn't bring anything to sleep in."
"Are you really going to sleep like that? In your clothes?"
"It wouldn't, by any means, be the first time." And Erza frowned, with genuine concern in her expression. "But that's not remotely comfortable."
"I'll survive."
"But—" She stopped. And, with a hesitance that was almost palpable, she bit her lip. And then, in a movement that, I knew, cost her every last drop of courage she had left, she activated her Requip again.
With another flash of golden light, she turned. And in her hands, which were held out towards me, appeared a second set of pyjamas. "Here," she said, without making any eye contact whatsoever, her face now as red as her hair. "I... I have a spare pair of pyjamas. For... erm... emergencies."
With a curiosity that outweighed my embarrassment, I looked at the pyjamas. And, to my surprise, they were just as adorable as hers. Made of soft fabric, in a gentle cream shade, with dozens of small and endearing orange fox prints scattered across the whole surface. And it had, to my growing delight, a small, fluffy fox tail embroidered onto the breast pocket.
"Erza..."
"It'll probably be a little tight on you," she said quickly, still unable to look at me. "You're a bit taller than me. And perhaps a little... erm... broader in the shoulders. Not that you're large! Not in the slightest! You're... you're proportional. Very, very proportional. I just—" With a sigh of pure and absolute embarrassment, she took a deep breath. "Just... just take it, before I die of shame right here."
And I, with a smile I couldn't quite hide, took the pyjamas. They were soft. Incredibly soft. And when I brought them a little closer, I caught a familiar scent. A sweet, comforting scent. Strawberries. It smelled of Erza. She had kept those pyjamas alongside her other clothes, presumably for long enough that the fabric had entirely absorbed her scent. And now, she was standing there, giving me, offering me, something so simple and yet so intimate, in a way that, I was certain, she herself hadn't fully realised.
"Thank you, Erza," I said, and my voice, to my surprise, came out softer than I had intended. "Truly. Thank you."
The red in her cheeks eased slightly when she saw my expression. "It's... it's just pyjamas, Azra'il."
"No, Erza. It isn't just that." And she, holding my gaze for a moment, seemed to understand.
With a clearing of her throat, she abruptly turned her back to me. "Right, you can... you can get changed now. I... I won't look, I promise."
"How chivalrous of you."
"Just shut up and get changed, you idiot."
I changed quickly. And, as she had predicted, the pyjamas were a little tight. The sleeves ended a few centimetres before my wrist, and the fabric stretched slightly across my shoulders. But it was, by far, the most comfortable thing I had ever worn. And it was warm. And, naturally, smelled wonderfully of strawberries.
"Ready," I said. And Erza turned around, slowly, as though afraid of what she might find. And then she saw me. Standing in the middle of the room, wearing fox pyjamas. Her pyjamas. And the expression on her face went, in rapid succession, through a complete journey of emotions: surprise, something soft I couldn't quite name, and, finally, a smile she clearly tried to hide with all her strength, and failed miserably. "It looks..." and she tilted her head, with an air of analysis. "...good on you."
"Good?"
"The little foxes... they suit you somehow," and her smile widened. "I don't quite know why. They just... suit you."
[I should inform you that she is comparing you to a fox. Given that, in many cultures, foxes are known for being cunning, mysterious, and, on occasion, a little treacherous, this is, most likely, a compliment.]
(Or, perhaps, Eos, she simply thinks I look cute in fox pyjamas.)
[That is also a statistically valid, and I should admit, quite likely possibility.]
I looked down at my own pyjamas, with its small, smiling foxes. And then, I looked at Erza, with her bunny pyjamas and her adorable ears atop the hood. "The two of us," I said, with deadly seriousness, "look like two five-year-olds."
"Two very well-dressed five-year-olds."
"So this is the standard we're going with now, is it?"
"It's the only standard that really matters, isn't it?" And she, with a dignity only Titania could possibly maintain in a situation such as that one, adjusted the rabbit ears on her hood. "Now, come along. The bed isn't going to lie down by itself."
"That sentence, Erza, made absolutely no sense at all."
"It made complete and total sense. You simply failed to follow my logic."
"Erza, with all due respect, you are still slightly drunk."
"I am mildly tipsy. And there is a great and significant difference."
"And what would that be?"
"...I, unlike you, can still walk in a straight line."
"But you tripped three times in the corridor."
"The floor was being particularly difficult tonight."
The bed, now, stared back at us. Or, more precisely, we stared back at the bed. With all its petals. And all its pillows. And all its suspiciously and invitingly soft sheets.
And then, without the slightest warning, Erza moved. With a speed and a determination that took me by surprise, she, mechanically, as though a robot following a programme, walked to the bed, dived headfirst into the mattress, seized the duvet, and, in under three seconds, wrapped herself entirely inside it, as though sealing an impenetrable fortress against hostile invaders. The great and mighty Titania, the Queen of the Fairies, had transformed herself into a duvet cocoon.
I blinked. Once. And twice. "...Erza?"
"I am asleep," her voice, muffled by layers of fabric, sounded from within the cocoon.
"You... you just spoke."
"People, sometimes, talk in their sleep. It's a perfectly normal condition."
"But you're wrapped up in a duvet, looking at me." And I saw two brown eyes appear through a small gap between the layers of fabric.
"No, I'm not."
"But I can, with absolute certainty, see your eyes." And the gap, instantly, closed.
[Analysis: user Erza Scarlet is currently employing the duvet as an emotional defence mechanism. I should note that this tactic is, simultaneously and fascinatingly, entirely ineffective and dreadfully endearing.]
(Yes, Eos. Yes, I know.)
[She resembles, I should add, a giant and frightened cinnamon roll, with rabbit ears.]
(I KNOW, Eos.)
With patience, I approached the bed slowly, trying, with all my strength, not to laugh.
"Erza."
"Zzzzz."
"You're now pretending to snore."
"That's a much more convincing zzzzz than the usual one."
"That isn't even a thing that exists." And the cocoon shifted, in a gesture of pure indignation.
"It does now. Because I just invented it."
With a sigh, I sat down at the edge of the bed. And the pile of blankets, as though it had a mind of its own, shuffled a few centimetres away, with a rustle of fabric. "You know I also need to lie down, don't you?" I said, with all the gentleness I could muster. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer I sleep on the floor, like a dog." And a single brown eye appeared again, through the same gap.
"...You're not sleeping on the floor."
"Then you, inevitably, will have to share the duvet with me." The eye widened in panic. And the gap closed.
"And... and if I don't share?"
"Then I, with my heart broken, will be forced to invade your small and fragile blanket fortress."
Silence.
"...You wouldn't dare do that."
"Erza, with all due respect, I have faced demons and dark mages. Do you really think I'm afraid of a simple duvet?"
More silence. And then, slowly, a small corner of the duvet lifted. Not much. Just enough that, perhaps, a single arm of mine might fit through. Perhaps.
"Is this an opening?" I asked.
"It is a... limited access permission," her voice, still muffled, sounded from inside the cocoon. "Terms and conditions apply."
"And what are the terms?"
"...I haven't decided yet. I am processing the situation."
With a smile she couldn't see, I finally lay down on the bed, beside the cocoon. It was an absurd image. Me, lying there in fox pyjamas. And, beside me, a large and trembling ball of duvet that, occasionally, shifted and made small sounds of indignation.
"Are you comfortable in there, by any chance?" I asked.
"Very, very comfortable."
"And you're not the least bit warm?"
"...Maybe just a tiny bit."
"And do you want to come out?"
"No."
"Why not?"
And the cocoon, for a moment, fell silent. "Because... because it's safe in here," she murmured finally, her voice so low I could barely hear it. "And... and out there... there's you."
"And am I dangerous now?"
"You're..." and the cocoon shifted, as though she were restless. "You... you make my heart beat in a strange way. And that's... that's dangerous."
And something warm spread through my chest. "Your heart beats in a strange way?"
"Very strange. Like... fast. And hard. And, sometimes, it feels like it's going to simply climb up and out through my mouth." And, with a small pause, she added, in a tone of accusation, "And it's your fault. Let's be very clear about that."
"And should I, perhaps, apologise for that?"
"No. Not in the slightest. I didn't say it was a bad thing," and the cocoon made a sound of pure frustration. "It's... it's a good thing. Frightening and wonderfully good. And that's exactly why it's so dangerous."
I reached out and touched the cocoon. "Hey, Erza."
"...Hi."
"You can stay in there as long as you want, honestly. But, if I'm being perfectly honest, I'm going to miss you terribly out here."
Silence. And then, slowly, like a flower unfurling in slow motion, the cocoon began to open. And Erza, at last, emerged, like a shy and thoroughly flushed butterfly, her hair completely tousled and her rabbit ears crooked on her hood. "I came out," she announced, as though she had just conquered an enemy fortress.
"Yes, little redhead. You came out."
"That... that was difficult."
"I know. And you were very, very brave."
"Are you mocking me again?"
"Never." I smiled. "Well, perhaps just a little."
And she looked at me with false indignation, but I saw it, I saw the corner of her mouth curve upwards.
Slowly, Erza lay down beside me. Still a little tense. Still a little flushed. But, finally, out of her protective cocoon. It was progress.
"And... and now what? What do we do?" she asked, with an almost childlike honesty, looking at the wooden ceiling as though it held every answer in the universe.
"Well, Erza, generally, people who are sharing a bed tend, at some point, to look at each other."
"Look at each other," she repeated, as though memorising a battle instruction. "Okay. Yes. I can do that." With a slowness that was almost painful, she turned onto her side, towards me. And, suddenly, we were face to face. Mere centimetres apart. The soft candlelight danced across her face, illuminating her large and expressive brown eyes, her still-rosy cheeks, and her slightly parted lips.
"Hi," I said, my voice a little lower than usual.
"...Hi," she replied.
"See? Wasn't so hard, was it?"
"My heart, at this precise moment, vehemently disagrees with you."
I laughed softly, a genuine sound of pure and absolute happiness. And then I felt it.
Behind me.
A thump... thump... thump... soft and rhythmic against the mattress.
(Blast. Blast, blast, blast.)
I tried, with all my ancestral willpower, to control it, but it was useless. That wretched, furry extension of my spine had a mind entirely of its own whenever I was particularly happy or content. And, apparently, "being in bed with Erza" qualified as "particularly happy."
And Erza, of course, noticed. Her brown eyes dropped for an instant and then returned to mine, one eyebrow perfectly arched in curiosity.
"Is your tail... wagging?"
"No," I lied, quite shamelessly.
Thump... thump...
"It is too."
"No, it isn't. It's an... involuntary muscular spasm."
"It's cute."
"It's not cute. It's a perfectly normal, scientifically explicable physiological response that—"
She laughed. And it wasn't a small laugh. It was that low, genuine laugh that seemed to vibrate through her entire body, and that made my stupid heart do ridiculous little somersaults in my chest.
And my tail, that small and furry traitor, in response, wagged even harder.
(Traitor.)
"Can I... erm... can I come a little closer?" I asked, in a desperate attempt to salvage some dignity and change the subject.
She simply nodded, her eyes still bright with amusement.
And, with a slow movement, our bodies finally met in the middle of the bed. Our legs entwining somewhat awkwardly, our foreheads nearly touching in the dim light. The warmth radiating from her was... intoxicating.
"Is this... is this all right?" I asked, my voice a little rougher than I'd intended.
"Y-yes," she stammered, and I revelled in the small hesitation in her voice. "Very, very good."
She looked at me with that intensity the wine had, certainly, amplified. The nervousness was still there, in her eyes, but now there was something else beneath it. Something warmer. Bolder.
"Azra'il?"
"Yes, Erza?"
"Would you... please... kiss me again?"
And the small "please," so vulnerable, so sincere, and so full of a longing that mirrored my own, very nearly, very nearly undid me completely. With all the gentleness I possessed, I leant forward.
And kissed her.