"You… are not joking, are you?" Damian asked, raising his brow at her with hints of concern.

What kind of reaction was that? Clelia didn't think her proposal was that big a deal. "Well, all my dresses are precious, Bepìn broke your umbrella, and I never got around to making another rain repellent spell after using my last one, so, if we want to go, that might be our only option."

His glance wandered out the window at the whitish layer with which the rain covered the village outside. He clicked his tongue with frustration. "Don't worry, it's alright if we postpone. It's just the two of us anyway, it's not like we would be inconveniencing someone else."

Clelia too showed her frustration with a long sigh. She remembered when, that morning, he nervously asked her if she had any plans in the afternoon, and proposed to spend some time together, hinting that he would bring her somewhere special. The glimmer in his eyes made her really excited and curious.

"Well, if it's just the two of us, then it doesn't matter all that much if I'm dressed up to the nines, does it?" She insisted.

He massaged the back of his neck. "Still…"

She put her hands on her hips. "Well, when will we have another chance to do this, then? Tomorrow afternoon I'll meet Madame, our neighbour, the day after I've been invited to a get together with some other girls from the village, and the day after that we'll have to get ready for the night at the opera. This morning you seemed impatient, is it really alright to postpone that far off?"

Plus, she thought, she was pretty curious to know what it would feel like to wear human clothes. She was starting to feel safe around him, so she didn't really care if she didn't look perfect in whatever he could manage to scrape together. And it didn't matter what he would wear, either: she just knew he'd still be gorgeous.

He sighed, defeated. "Alright, alright. I'll see what I can find."

She clapped, ecstatic. "Wonderful! I'll be waiting for you!"

***

At first sight, it looked like two boys in stepball uniform ran hand in hand in the rain, helping each other if one would slip and carrying a bag with them. A closer observation would reveal that the uniform on one of them was visibly oversized, to the point that his socks were long enough to not show any leg skin under the end of his shorts, which were long enough to cover his knees and then some. The rough blue hat he was wearing also fit like the glove of a father worn by his infant son, and rebellious strawberry blond locks escaped from beneath it in places. An even closer inspection would reveal that, although the long sleeved shirt he was wearing fell mostly flat on his chest, it didn't fall completely flat. At which point, one could come to the ludicrous conclusion that "he" was, in fact, a "she", but that would be absurd: after all, which girl would willingly wear a stepball uniform? Out in the rain, no less.

Damian truly hoped that no passerby would look at them twice, that the absurdity of what they were witnessing would be enough to cover up the truth of it. Fortunately, not many people seemed to be around at that time with that weather, and most of those few were too absorbed in their own affairs to give them so much as a glance.

They quickly cut through the village and then carried on the beaten path toward the woods. Damian moved naturally fast, and he also wanted to get Clelia under shelter as quickly as possible, but sometimes he had to consciously slow down, noting that Clelia's legs couldn't easily keep up with his pace.

His heart pounded, and it was difficult to tell how much of it was caused by the physical activity, how much by the weird anxiety caused by leading Clelia through the village while she was dressed like a boy, and how much it was just the fact that he was going out with her, with a very specific goal in mind. He gulped. Rosalba had seriously encouraged him to just take the plunge, even suggested a plan that, back then, sounded like an idea that could potentially work, maybe. However, as it often happens with plans, now that he was actually trying to pull it off, steaming ahead towards a point of no return, the good outcome seemed more and more out of reach.

The rain and the outfit that Clelia insisted so much she should wear, given the circumstances, didn't help. He peeked at her, and his heart somehow found a way to accelerate even harder. How was it possible for her to be that cute even when dressed as a boy?

It only took a couple of minutes for the two of them to reach a small wooden cabin at the edge of the woods. It had a small porch and a small door. He took a rusty key from his pocket and opened up. The entrance was barely tall enough for him to get inside without hitting his head. He touched a panel next to the door, starting the alchemical reaction that caused a few lamps on the walls to flicker alive with warm light. The space inside was small, almost child sized, but cosy, with some chairs, a bench covered with comfy pillows, and a few chests against the wooden walls.

Damian let the bag fall on the ground. "Alright, Clelia, here we are."

She looked around, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What is this place?"

He took off his long sleeved shirt, sopping wet. "My uncle had it built for my cousins. They insisted on going to the woods to play, so he wanted them to have at least a place where to take shelter if the need arose. As a child, I've been here many times, playing with relatives and friends."

He pointed at the only other door in the small house. "You can get changed in there, so that you don't catch a cold or something."

Clelia smiled one of her mischievous smiles, then closed her eyes as she joined her hands, almost as if in prayer; she then breathed a couple of times and the air around her started trembling gently. It built up, then released in a wave, not as harsh as those times she did that same thing in anger, and most water caught in the clothes she was wearing jumped off from their fabric at once, some of it even hitting him.

Her smile sweetened as her head tilted innocently. "There, no need to get changed."

As the fairy freed her wild hair from the blue hat he had given her, she asked, "So, why did you bring me all the way here?"

"Oh, I, uh… wanted to have some more time alone with you, without the lutin around, and show you a place from my childhood."

His heart, somehow still accelerating, made sure he didn't forget the unspoken reason he brought her there. He looked away from her, trying to hide his trembling hands. Now that it was time, he wasn't sure what he should say next.

***

Those human clothes, apparently made to play some kind of game Damian called stepball, were surprisingly comfy. How curious that humans would make clothes specifically for the purpose of playing games. Not wearing a skirt was a weird feeling, but she had to admit it had been very convenient when needing to keep up with Damian's long stride. She sat on one of the soft pillows covering the bench on one side of the room.

She peeked at Damian, trying her best not to give the impression she was staring. After he took off the long sleeved shirt he had been wearing out in the rain, all he was wearing on his torso was some article of clothing that left uncovered part of his upper chest, around his neck, and his entire arms, up to and including his well built shoulders. It wasn't as wet as the shirt he took off, but it was damp enough for it to stick to his developed pectorals. Seeing that made her feel a certain way. The way his expression seemed completely oblivious to the way he made her feel somehow only made that feeling stronger. After seeing how handsome he was, his hair soaked, droplets of water running on his beautiful face and highlighting the shape of his arms, for a moment she did regret not wearing something cuter.

But, no matter how she felt, she knew that it wouldn't be a good idea to try anything with him. After all, even if her departure from that village had been indefinitely postponed, she couldn't stay there forever. Getting emotionally involved wouldn't be wise. And, of course, there was no point in kidding herself: he wouldn't want to get involved with her in the first place. By the sounds of it, he had rejected way prettier girls than her. He was nice to her, sure, but that's just because she had been arranged to be his wife. Nothing in the way they interacted suggested to her that their relationship could go any deeper. In the light of those thoughts, it didn't really matter what she was wearing. With the two of them all alone in that cabin, that would be a very opportune moment to make a move, if that was the intention of either of them, but she simply couldn't imagine him doing that at all, let alone with her dressed as a boy.

Damian sat besides her, a reminiscent smile sweetening his already graceful expression. "You know, I made a lot of memories in this place. I broke a finger here once, too."

She winced sympathetically. "How?"

He pointed at one of the chests in the room by raising his chin in its general direction. "Those used to hold a bunch of toys. Toy balls, wooden swords, sticks with horse heads, that kind of stuff. Flibert, my middle brother, accidentally let its lid fall on my finger when it was still inside." He let out a nervous snicker. "Everyone laughed when it happened back then, and looking back I can see the funny side too, but at the time I can only remember the pain."

He also remembered being berated and mocked by his older brothers for crying like a baby throughout the entire walk back to the village. The mocking stopped when they learned the finger was broken, but, now that he thought about it, neither of them ever apologised.

Her brows furrowed. "That doesn't sound very funny to me. It could have been funny if you did it to yourself and didn't break a bone, but, as it is, I really don't see the humour."

Damian shrugged. "We were kids, it's not a big deal. I healed up just fine in the end, so no harm no foul."

The rain outside wasn't loud enough to force them to speak up, and it definitely did nothing to cover up the following moments of silence.

Clelia automatically reached for the hem of her skirt, only to realise that she was still wearing pants. "I seem to remember you mentioning that your brothers gave you a hard time growing up."

He quietly nodded.

"Well," she continued, "do you want to talk about it? I'd be more than willing to offer you an opportunity to get some stuff out of your chest."

After a thoughtful pause, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but ended up shaking his head instead. "I'm sorry, I… didn't bring you here just to unload my past onto you. I actually have a lot of fond memories of this place too, you know?"

"Alright, I get it." She glanced at the chests that used to hold toys in them. "What kind of games did you like to play as a child?"

"I already liked stepball a lot. They always used to make me play in defence, and the team with Vaufrej was the one that won, more often than not. Sometimes we would play pretend, with the toy swords and stuff like that. I didn't like playing that with my brothers, they always made me play the villain, be it an ogre or a witch, so that they could vanquish me. The kids of my aunt's servitude were way nicer to me, although, even back, then I suspected that, for many of them, it was only because I'm the nephew of their master. One of them, though, I think was nice just because that's how she naturally is."

That might be Rosalba, Clelia thought, but she didn't voice it because she hadn't told Damian they had become friends and didn't think right now would be the best moment. "I too have better memories of playing with the children of the servitude than with my own siblings. My sisters were very mean back then, and most of them are even worse right now."

"I never asked," he observed, "how many siblings do you even have?"

"I know of seven, but I'm pretty sure my mother had more. She's a matriarch, after all. We're just the ones that, for whatever reason, she recognises as part of her heritage. I have no clue why I'm part of that group, considering that most times I've met my mother it was so she could berate me for how much I tarnish our gens' good name."

He furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

Her body locked up. She had accidentally let slip something she had actively been hiding from him, that she was a failure in her family's eyes.

Within the panicked silence, she felt his hand gently perching on her shoulder, and his soothing voice gently reassured her. "Hey, it's alright. My family treats me the same way too, I've told you about what they think of my passion for Alchemy, didn't I?"

"It's not the same," she shook her head. "They berate you for what you do, but my problem is what I am."

"And what are you?"

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Could she really afford to open up about that? With him, of all people? Despite this question echoing in her mind stronger and stronger, she was helpless in preventing her next words from breaking out from her. "I'm weak, that's what I am. The most fatal of all flaws for a noble fairy."

His head snapped back with confusion, as if she had just revealed to him that she had been hiding a second and a third head. "Weak? In what way would you be weak?"

She sighed. "I can't make my own spells, unless it's very simple ones, and it takes me longer, compared with everyone else in my family, to make even those. My magic is weak. I'm weak."

For a few moments, all she could feel were the tears forming up in her eyes, as she desperately tried not to start crying for admitting that to him. She then felt his hand, still somewhat cool from being in the rain, softly touching her cheek and inviting her to turn towards him. His icy eyes stared at her intensely.

"Clelia, you don't need to be ashamed of that, not with me. It's true, we are together because we've been arranged to be, but I am your husband, your partner: I will stand up with you and for you, if you allow me to."

Oh my, she thought. Her eyes lingered on his lips. Her head was filled with the fantasy of leaning closer and kissing them. These feelings, both new and familiar, caused her heart to stab her chest with its next beat. Beautiful, flowing light brown hair came to her mind, and the iridescent wings of a dragonfly.

She grabbed the hand that was touching her with both of hers. "Thank you. Up until now, only one other person told me something like that. That they would stand with me, even against my own family."

He froze up. She knew he understood, so she didn't clarify further. "You are my husband, so this should go without saying. But then again, we didn't choose each other, so it wouldn't be strange if you didn't care about my plight. I don't think I truly deserve your loyalty this much… after all, what did I do to earn it?"

Damian took a deep breath. "I don't like thinking of loyalty as something that should always be earned. Through your actions, you can lose it, you can break it, but I don't like the idea that you strictly must earn it before you can have it in the first place. It makes it seem like the relationship is purely transactional, a matter of business."

"You mean, like an arranged marriage?"

He hesitated for a moment, but then nodded firmly. "Yes, exactly. Just because we are in one, however, doesn't mean that we can't forge our own bond and shape it the way we want."

Despite having had to live with the awareness of her shortcomings since childhood, Clelia was aware of one good thing about herself: she knew she was perceptive. As much as a part of her mind screamed that there was no way, that she was just deluding herself, a much more rational sense within her knew exactly where this conversation was going. His earnest and passionate expression, his welcoming body language, his voice quivering with the fear of rejection, not to mention the fact that he specifically wanted for the two of them to be alone, with no disturbances… everything pointed to only one outcome.

Everything within her tried to dissuade her, to assert that it wasn't possible, that there had to be another explanation. Maybe he was just that kind, maybe he offered to stand up against her family only in the hopes that she would reciprocate, maybe…

The perceptive part of herself knew she was making excuses, that the explanation was very simple and all of the pretences were only her emotions rejecting something they saw as unfamiliar and strange. After all, something like this had already happened to her, and she had been in denial leading up to the revelation even back then. And even that wasn't enough to completely chase away her doubts.

"How do you envision a bond between us? How would you want to shape it?" She asked, eventually.

He turned his body to be facing more directly towards her. "I… I don't want us to be together only because of the interests of our families: that's not what marriage should be about. I want us to… I…"

As he stammered a few false starts to his next sentence, she leaned forward and touched his lips with hers. Midway through that innocent kiss, she felt her body trembling with excitement, as well as her face burning from the tip of her nose to her ears.

It only lasted a few moments before she gently moved away, interrupting the kiss. Until he reacted, there was an instant in which his eyes went empty, vacuous, then they shimmered to life and he silently gasped. The traditional faerie wedding didn't mandate a kiss, and it was unusual for an arranged marriage to have the kiss during that kind of wedding, so they had just exchanged their very first kiss.

"Does…" she fretted, "does this resemble the kind of bond you'd like to build with me?"

The silence didn't last very long. Yet, it was long enough for her to start doubting herself again, to question if she had just made some big misstep and had just ruined everything.

He hugged her. As his big arms surrounded her small body and her chin rested on his shoulder, she felt his borderline laborious breathing, as well as the pulsation of his pounding heart.

"Ye… yes," he half whispered, half gasped, "this is what the bond I want to build with you looks like."

She sighed out a breath that she didn't realise she was holding, and raised her arms to reciprocate his hug.

***

Damian didn't know how to let go of her. He didn't know how to move forwards. He had never considered what course of action he'd need to follow in the scenario in which she accepted him. He'd been almost resigned to the idea that she'd shoot him down, reminding him of the artificial nature of their relationship. Never in his wildest, most optimistic fantasies he would have ever imagined she would be the one to initiate their first kiss, before he could even articulate his feelings in words.

Yet, here he was, holding her small body between his arms, not daring to hug tighter for fear of squeezing her too tight. When her arms softly returned his hug, however, he couldn't help himself, and tightened his embrace. The only sound he could perceive was her breathing. She was there with him, pressed against his body. She was alive. Warm. Breathing. That, alone, felt like some kind of miracle to him.

One of his hands slowly moved up, immersing his fingers in her wild hair, gently holding the back of her head. Her hair felt rough, yet comfortingly soft. She turned her head to give him a small kiss, not much more than a peck, on his jawbone. He shivered, surprised.

He interrupted the hug and gently moved her away, with both his hands on her shoulders (he somehow felt their warmth beneath the fabric of the sports shirt she was still wearing).

"Too much?" She timidly asked, her head sinking slightly.

"A…" his voice cracked, "a little, maybe. I… I'm still not sure I'm… this is all happening very quickly, I'm… I apologise to you."

It wasn't just that, though. He feared how far he may go if he didn't restrain himself. She probably didn't even realise what kind of effect that small kiss had, what power it could hold.

She shook her head, her entire face turned red. "Don't apologise, I… got ahead of myself."

They sat in silence. It was… not an awkward silence. Their eyes unapologetically moved across one another's body, sometimes meeting, and neither seemed embarrassed by it. Her being in boys' clothes did absolutely nothing to diminish her beauty in his eyes. The way she held her hands squeezed in between her thighs, her head tilted to almost touch her raised shoulders, the way the cotton of the blue shirt of his team fell too wide on her, with her feminine shape making its presence ever so slightly evident in only one respect… why were those even considered to be boy clothes anyway? She still looked like a girl even while wearing them, in fact she was as cute, as beautiful as ever. Or, at least, looking at her made his heart aflutter just the same as if she had been wearing her usual dress, maybe a tad more, if only due to the novelty.

And her eyes, looking back at him from behind the round glasses he had bought for her; those chestnut brown eyes never failed to capture him with their intensity, even when their gentleness made him almost forget how scary they could get on a moment's notice. He suspected that, short of covering them up, nothing she could wear could possibly change the way he felt about her eyes.

Eventually, she chuckled. "You know, the very moment I was able to finally see you clearly," she tapped the frame of her glasses, "my first thought was 'oh no, he's hot'."

He felt his face burning and fake coughed. "It… was?"

She nodded, extended her hand and ran her finger from his collarbone down to his stomach. "I can still barely believe that I got to marry someone as handsome as you. That you would try to set up a romantic confession to me… well, that was never in my wildest dreams. What do you even see in me? I'm sure you've seen my mother, perhaps even some of my sisters. I'm nowhere near as impressive as they are."

***

A bitter sting hit her lightly in the chest, as his eyes revealed that she had hit a mark with that last note.

He sighed. "I'd be lying if I said that I never thought that way. I really did not expect a fairy, especially from a notorious family, to be… small and unassuming. But it didn't take very long for my feelings about you to start changing. Living with you, starting to see you as just a regular person, and getting to spend some time with you gave me a completely new impression of you."

His hand brushed against her cheek again, still somewhat cool from the rain. "Clelia, you turned out to be much more than the fairy I had to marry. I want to be with you now, share your joys and your pains, offer you whatever I have and ask nothing in return but for you to be at my side."

Even though he hadn't used the "tide", the raw emotions in his words hit her like a shock wave, and caused her to resonate with it, setting her spirit ablaze. She grabbed a hold of the hand with which he was caressing her cheek and gently squeezed, and felt her smile die down a bit.

His brows furrowed. "What's wrong?"

She looked away. "You're sweet, way sweeter than I deserve. There is so much you don't know about me. I don't think your sentiment, however sincere it may be, would survive if you knew me better."

With his hand still on her face, he delicately turned her to face him again and gave her an enamoured smile. "I'll take those odds."

The voice in Clelia's head that reminded her of all of the secrets and intrigues of fairies, of the looming threat of whatever her mother wanted from their wedding, of her intention to leave from there with or without him, weakened under the direct attack of his smile, his words, and the feelings that they stirred within her. Just for that moment, she wanted to believe him, that everything would go alright if the two of them could just face it all together.

So she took him by the back of the head and drew him closer to initiate a second, more passionate kiss. During the first, he had been mostly passive, and during the second he was dreadfully awkward too, but that did not in any way douse her enthusiasm. It was her first time kissing a boy, but otherwise it was not her first time, not by a long shot. On the other hand, she could tell that he hadn't lied about not having previous experiences at all. She didn't mind. His lack of experience, in light of the powerful feelings they were sharing, was trivial.

After the kiss ended, they remained a few moments staring in each other's eyes, the tips of their noses almost touching one another. Her glasses were not meant to see from that up close, so the details went blurry, but that did nothing to dim the shimmering of his grey eyes. When his lips pecked her on the nose, his taking the initiative surprised her, and she responded in kind. She grabbed his shoulder with one hand, let it slip down brushing against the smooth yet strong skin of his bicep, his forearm, his elegant wrist, and ended up exploring his hand. Their fingers interlocked.

He was there, in front of her. Alive. Breathing. Feeling. He was a different, separate, independent person, yet it almost felt as if, were she to rest her ear against his chest, she would find that their hearts were beating in unison.

Clelia really wanted to indulge more in exploring his arms, his chest, his back, perhaps his beautiful neck, either with her hands or with her lips, but she reminded herself of his reaction when she kissed him on the jaw (aiming for his neck), and decided that she didn't want to put him off by pushing him too far too soon. She wouldn't have minded if he hugged her again, or wanted to caress her more, kiss her on more than just her lips and nose. Who was she kidding? It's not so much that she wouldn't have minded, she actively wanted him to. They were married, weren't they? What harm would come of it if he did? But, again, she didn't know how far she could push him, so she opted to err on the side of caution and put those wishes to rest, for the time being. But there was something she still wanted to do.

She tilted her head. "Dear hus… Damian. I have a little request."

***

He watched her skipping around in the light rain. It was as if she was dancing, pirouetting with the music of thousands of droplets faintly hitting the ground. Her joyous smile, the heartfelt laughter as she gracelessly jumped around, the way a child might, filled Damian with tenderness.

She slipped, almost falling down, and giggled about it. "I always wished I could play in the rain when I was a little girl. My tutor didn't allow me to do it without a rain repellent spell, but at that point it wouldn't be different from playing with a nice weather. I didn't have clothes I could wear for such an occasion."

"Be careful, though. I don't want you to get hurt," he worried, his arms still stretched out in an attempt to catch her from the fall that nearly happened.

She grabbed his hands and dragged him into spinning together with her. "I'll be fine, don't worry. Even if I fall, it's not a big deal."

When she let go, the momentum caused them to be flung in opposite directions, and she used that to successfully jump past a nearby puddle. He almost slipped himself, but managed to keep the balance.

His heart was beating with an unfamiliar feeling. Up until then, any time he ever had feelings for a girl they had always gone either unspoken or unrequited, so he never imagined that the blazing sensation in his chest he associated with those feelings could turn sweet and gentle, as opposed to tormented and anxious, painful even. But that's exactly how it was in that moment. The fresh memory of hugging her, holding her hands, caressing her cheek, both times they kissed, all of it filled him with joy, as well as the desire to make more and more memories like those going forwards.

She yelped in between the laughter, when she accidentally stepped in a pool and the muddy water splashed all over the socks and shorts she was wearing, presumably filling her shoes too. Both of them would really need a bath once they came back home. Yet, he couldn't be concerned about that in that very moment. He had never seen her smiling so genuinely and carelessly as she was right then and there, and the momentary discomfort of getting his socks wet in the rain was completely outweighed by his burning desire to preserve that careless smile of hers for as long as it would last naturally.

Damian approached her and grabbed her from behind, wrapping her in his arms at the height of her stomach, being careful not to touch too low or too high. He lifted her and twirled her around, to which she responded by yelling with delight. When he let her back down, she turned towards him and bounced on her feet with elation a few times, then hugged him tightly. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and used the other to pat her on her hair now soaked with rain.

To think that he didn't even want to follow Rosalba's advice. After he told her all about Clelia and his feelings for her, his old childhood friend had responded by smiling mischievously and violently grabbing him by the shoulder, then proceeding to tell him all he needed to do was to find a moment to ask her out in some place where they could be alone. There, he would only need to be truthful about his feelings. Well, she had worded it as him needing to spill his guts, but the gist of it was the same. She had insisted that that would be the right thing to do, and he doubted her. He doubted her, but was so desperate about his growing feelings that he was willing to go with it, despite having little confidence that it would work. Rosalba was unrefined and rough around the edges, but it was undeniable that she had been absolutely in the right. He would need to thank her properly.

Damian sneezed.

"Maybe," Clelia panted, "it's time for us to go back now. I can have the lutin heat up some water for a hot bath, so we don't catch a cold."

He nodded. "Yeah, that sounds great."

She took the blue hat out of the pocket in her white shorts, and placed it back on her head to hide her hair once more. Then, she stood besides him and extended her hand for him to grab it, so they could go back hand in hand again. As he did so, he closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of her small, smooth fingers, all wet and cold from the rain, interlocking with his once more.

Almost nothing about his confession had gone as planned. It rained, they got out both wearing stepball uniforms instead of being dressed up for the occasion, then he stuttered and was unable to just let out the words he had been rehearsing for hours, she took the initiative and kissed him, instead of him doing it as he imagined it, and now they were both drenched and covered in mud. In other words, it had been the best day of his life thus far.