'ello, I decided to take a break from HP and come up with a one shot for Harvest moon. This was originally intended to be a lot more dirty but I ended up making it fluffy. It can stand alone or with the next chapter which may or may not end up having some... implications. Read accordingly.

Anita had always loved the faces that Ivan made, yes, she also loved his kind heart and cute personality but the faces that come from them was like the cherry on top. In fact, she'd often find herself admiring the expressions that appear on his face, the way that they were inherently innocent despite constant attempts to put on a mature front never failed to bring a smile to her face.

For the longest time, her favourite expression of his had been his reading face; she'd always stop to glance over at it whenever they were sitting in his house passing the spare time that they both share reading books. However, that glance quickly develops into a gaze that the young man unknowingly held. Sometimes she'd catch herself staring and quickly avert her gaze to the book before he could notice but, more often than not, she's too slow and object of her attention would turn to her with a worried look on his face and ask,

"Is something wrong?"

Of course, Anita would always flush red and pretend that she was interesting in the book that he was reading. The first time this happened, he was worried but as it happened more and more often, the man had gotten used to this exchange, happily talking about the book he was currently reading to her. And she would listen equally happily, although at first it had been a half-baked excuse, she grew to love the enthusiasm of the young teacher, loving the way that he would smile and the glow in his eyes as he spoke fondly of each book he read.

This very enthusiasm was what had brought her to fall for the man, after all. She had been drawn to him by curiosity that day she caught him staring at the river like a madman but that curiosity grew into interest as she listened to him speak of the fish he'd read about in the books of his late father. So, she made an effort to speak to him more and soon enough, it was no longer an effort but rather a gravitational pull towards him. She'd soon learnt more and more about him and found that he was more than just a paper man with one dimension but someone with depth, who could laugh and get angry just as anybody else.

The latter, however, only came into her true understanding when she became the target thereof. That, she decided later one, was one of the few faces that she didn't love dearly. In fact, it had terrified her when his eyes lost their warmth and his expression steeled as his words cut into her, harsh and uncontrolled. It scared her so much, in fact, that she cried for the first time since coming to Zephyr town and walked as quickly as she could back to the refuge of her farm, leaving her intended gift of his favourite scent spilled across the ground. Some time later, however, there came a knock on her door, the farmer opened it gingerly, her eyes still red from crying, only to stop dead in her tracks upon realising who had knocked. The blonde was so overcome by the strange cocktail of emotions that she didn't notice the apologetic look he had on, nor the light red mark on his cheek, which, she had later learned, had been left by a rather furious Dirk. The notion of shutting the door had crossed her mind but, before she could act upon it, she found herself engulfed in warmth, her face pressed against his chest as he stumbled over his words with heartfelt apologies. All at once, her fears had melted and she let herself find comfort in his arms, hoping that it wouldn't end.

Nevertheless, it did, only to be replaced by a better moment that brought with it another favourite expression of hers. That is, of course, Ivan's blushing face. She would often find herself trying to elicit that same expression again and again, with varying results, but nothing could compare to that of the moment. His face was flushed red yet the apology still clear in his eyes, the tutors usually composed self was flustered and ashamed yet with resolve as well. And as he locked his eyes on hers, for a brief moment, she could see some many more emotions untold until he finally said those three words she'd longed to hear,

"I love you."

She then had not time to ponder the expression on his face as the realisation dawn on her; she threw herself back into his arms trying to convince herself that this was, indeed, reality. She'd probably crinkled one of his shirts with that tight squeezing but she didn't care; that moment, nothing else matter except the fact that she loved him and he loved her back.

Finally, perhaps her most beloved expression yet, was his look of hesitation, choosing between his fear-controlled 'reason' and his desire. She loved how he would avert his gaze and stare at nothing as his mind began an internal battle choosing between two very strong urges. Anita would spend this time admiring his thoughtfulness , a stunning contrast to her spontaneity that for some odd reason complimented her own actions as though they were two pieces of a puzzle. Her favourite instance of this is definitely on the day when they were eating together at her house, he was fidgety and restless, averting his gaze from hers. When she'd asked what was wrong he let out a deep sigh and the blonde farmer's heart clenched in anticipation. He paused for a long time before reaching into his pocket and taking out a bright blue feather and a small box. The man looked directly into her eyes and asked a question she had never expected to come,

"Will you marry me?"

She, of course, agreed and perhaps her tale ended there, with a lifetime of discovering and appreciating the many expressions that her friend, lover and husband would and could make be it in joy or sorrow, passion or delight she would always be there to share in his emotions.