Title: Words are Difficult
Author: Lalipop
Rating: T
Genre: Romance
Fandom: Harvest Moon: More Friends of Mineral Town
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, neither Harvest Moon nor Natsume belongs to me.
Summary: I wasn't antisocial, as she liked to call me. I just didn't like people. Or talking. Or talking to people. But for some reason, it was easy when it was with her. Oneshot.
Author's Notes: This is one of the first oneshots I've ever written, and definitely the first I've ever published on the site. PLEASE tell me what you think.
It all started the day she visited to tell the old man thanks for the upgrade. I'd seen the shy librarian around town before, mostly during the festivals Gramps made me go to. She was nice, cute, I guess. I'd never been one to talk to people, mostly because ordinary conversation was boring, and therefore hard. If anything was easy for me, it had to be interesting. The old man never got that, but I think she did. When she walked in that day, I didn't really notice. I was too busy working on the axe head that Claire had asked Gramps to repair. Although the old man liked the blond farmer, for some reason, he always stuck me with all jobs that had to do with her. I think he was hoping I'd end up spilling my heart to the girl and sharing my life's story with her. So not going to happen. Besides, I happened to know she liked that weird chicken guy that worked at Poultry Farm across from us. Rick something or other.
She was thanking gramps for the upgrade when the realization struck me for real. She'd actually come out of her little hole and walked over here, just to thank the old man. In my surprise, I forgot about the hammer in my hand, dropping it onto the fingers of my other hand. I cursed loudly, jerking my hand back, which caused the hammer atop it to fall off the counter and land on my foot. My eyes teared with the unexpected shots of sharp pain that ricocheted through both my hand and my foot. Damn it. I'd known I was unlucky, but damn… I clenched my jaw, barely hearing the reprimand that Gramps shot at me for being careless. He was always harsh, always cruel. He never approved of anything. Even if I hadn't dropped the tool, I was willing to bet my yearly earnings that he would complain about something regarding this job. He hated me too much not to, and he was just a stone-cold person in general. He had no social skills, grumpy old man he was.
But she… she was gentle. She turned to me, took my hand, did something. That was too long ago for me to remember what, and I'd never been good with stuff that was related to medicine. It was Doctor's job, not mine. My job was causing the wounds he usually fixed up. In short, I had no idea what she did, but honestly, it made me feel better. I was so shocked I couldn't even thank her as she smiled at me. She actually smiled. I could feel my whole face heat up. I wanted to talk to her, but no words came. Gramps yelled at me for that, too, but at least he waited until she'd thanked him again, asked me to be more careful, smiled to us both, and left. The smithy seemed bereft without her presence.
The old man's yelling and clout on the ear were received, but not comprehended. I went so far as to wonder why the side of my face hurt.
The day after, I asked to go to the library. I wanted to thank her. And for some Goddess only knows reason, Gramps let me. He said I'd be going every day for a while, until he deemed me worthy to work full hours again. Of course, my pay would be cut, but I'd be required to spend at least an hour every afternoon in the library. I don't know why I was so elated, but hell, I wasn't about to let that show. I was definitely weirded out enough when Gramps went so far as to smile as I headed out. I don't think he knows that I saw.
The way to the library was quick; although I'd never walked the path before, in a small place such as Mineral Town you get everywhere easily. It's almost impossible to get lost if you stay on the cobbled streets, and don't wander into the mountains. There, you can get lost faster than you can blink. As I walked, I got a couple of weird looks from the other people in town. I don't think they'd ever seen me outside the inn, the smithy, and my daily path between the two. I tugged the bill of my cap farther down over my face, keeping my eyes on the floor beneath, being eaten up by my shoes as I sped me pace. I wanted to get there faster than I was getting so far, and not only because of the weird looks. I think I was… anticipating saying hello to her. I knew her name, although I don't think we'd ever exchanged these, and I was sure she knew mine as well. Gramps yelled it often enough.
The library seemed huge compared to our humble smithy. It was two floors, as far as I knew. Considering how many books she had, there was probably a basement, too, but I didn't know about that. The connected house was where she lived with her parents. Her mother, on the few occasions she'd seen me, had gone out of her way to disparage my very presence. According to her, I brought a dark cloud on sunny events. I was tiresome, imperfect, and not worth a moment of her time or her daughter's. I wasn't sure how she would react to mine visiting the library, but I was sure that she wouldn't mind. She loved visitors, simply because she had so few. It had occurred to me several times that she was probably just as lonely as I was. Both our worlds had several people in them, but I doubted she interacted anymore than I did.
Although the library was a business establishment, I was tempted to knock. Instead, I settled for simply opening the door and announcing my presence with the request of an answer if anyone else was inside. Her brunette head peeked around the corner of her desk, her glasses askew, expression confused. As soon as she saw me, this brightened, and she grinned at me, inviting me in with warm words and a friendly smile. She asked why I was here, so I was forced to grunt the thank you. It wasn't much, but it seemed to make her happy, and that made me smile behind my cap.
She began a conversation about books, a subject I knew little about but was regarded rather enthusiastically. I preferred the escape of true life that fiction provided, and read what I could get my hands on, which was little. I'd never read more than the occasional book requirement in high school, which always surprised my English teachers. The high scores I received on tests and quizzes and such always seemed to imply I was well-read. The old man had insisted I was just smart, with a good head on my shoulders. Those were the ideas I still thought Gramps liked me. I intended for the conversation to last only a few minutes, although I felt I liked her in some way or manner that was completely absurd. I hardly knew the shy librarian.
Those minutes, however, turned into hours. Hours, turned into days. Within the week, she had me sitting down and paging through a novel that had caught my attention on her bookshelf. I finished quickly, to her surprise, and asked what I should read next. She had a million recommendations. Whenever I finished one of her countless books, she always had another two or three ready for me to pick from. As time passed, I finished these faster and faster. Within the year, I finished the whole library. I was in a better mood every day it seemed, and although I no longer received strange looks from the townspeople as I headed to the library every day but Monday (she was, unfortunately, not there), Gramps started treating my differently.
He didn't yell as often anymore. I think my mistakes lessened, and after a while, the quality of my work actually full-on improved. I was happier, I supposed. Things like getting up in the morning and not grunting everything I said became easier, at least around her. She made everything easier. Even when she talked, on the few days neither of us wished to read (although I read while she worked on something at her desk), about my reluctance for conversing with the other citizens, my response were clearer, if hesitant. I repeatedly insisted the same thing, and although she dropped it, I doubted she liked my answer. I wasn't antisocial, as she liked to call me. I just didn't like people. Or talking. Or talking to people. But for some reason, it was easy when it was with her. I guess I should have told her that, but I think she guessed it just from the way I acted around her. She was different. She was… simply amazing.
Winter rolled around too fast, and although Gramps wanted to let me off on my birthday, I went anyway. It was the best birthday I ever had, simply because she was there. I didn't expect anything from her. Hell, I had no idea she knew it was my birthday. Yet, just as I was finishing that weeks' novel, she was coming up behind me with a small box. She was blushing, and it was cute against the alabaster of her skin, the rims of her glasses resting atop the scarlet warmth, dark hair flaxen and braided with such care. She asked me to open it, and once I did, the most magnificent scarf I'd ever seen flowed forth, pouring into my hands like liquid silk. It was a gorgeous silvery gray, to match my name she told me. She said in the cold days of winter, I must get cold, and she didn't wish for me to fall ill. She said she hoped the scarf would help. Like that first day, I was unable to thank her with words.
I wore the scarf everyday that winter. My roommate at the inn teased me, said I shouldn't wear it for the health danger if I got too warm. I was rarely angry with him, for we were closer than we had been once upon a time, but it was one of the few times I told him to fuck off. This was none of his business. It was all mine. He was quiet for a long moment, and then he warned me of the summer days that were fast approaching. Our other roommate would spot my affection quickly, and his teasing would be far worse than any he could dish out. Our summer companion would steal her from me, simply to spite me. This did, as he so naturally expected, strike a bit of fear inside me. I did not wish to lose her friendship because a roommate of mine broke her heart. And he would certainly break her heart.
I kept my worries hidden until this roommate arrived, and even then. He did exactly as I expected, pursued her despite my continuing of visits. As far as I was aware, she turned him down at all times, never responded to any of his charm or initiations. One day, when he had left in frustration, I asked her why. Her response was simple, that there was already someone she was interested in. I didn't ask why, didn't wish to know because it would only hurt. I think I realized that day that I had feelings for her, that I was attracted to her. I doubted I loved her, as I felt I was almost incapable of the emotion that I felt I was also deprived of. I continued my days simply, bidding goodbye to my roommate almost in relief, certainly glad there was little competition left for the woman I had almost set my heart on.
It was mid-autumn when I realized I had read through all the fiction that her library held. Instead of suggesting a piece of nonfiction for me, she sat beside me and explained the work she had been doing for the past year and a half. She had been writing a novel, she told me, a romance story similar to one of the more recent ones she'd recommended. She asked me to read it, to see if I liked it, critique it per se. I was shocked and honored, and as often before, unable to communicate my emotions with words. Words had always been difficult for me to use, but never to understand. I agreed to read her book. I was blown away. Where I had trouble with words, she was an expert on their usage. I returned the manuscript to her and complimented her on everything. I suggested she send it off to a publisher.
She didn't tell me if she ever did, but for my birthday there was a new shipment of fiction. She allowed me to pick my ten favorite ideas and read these before anyone else was allowed to look at them. I through with them by only about two weeks later, and she placed them on the shelf. As she did so, she muttered something about being glad I'd worn the scarf again, and that she was sorry for not having gotten me anything better for my birthday this year. The mention of my birthday reminded me that I had no idea when hers was.
That was the only reason I dropped by her mom's on my way home. I begged the woman with the big hair and the expensive dress to tell me her daughter's birthday. I credit my success only to her surprise at mine having asked in the first place. Of course, once it had slipped out that her birthday was the very next day, she began to question my purpose. The only thing I assured the worried mother of was that I would not hurt her.
After a quick stop by the supermarket, I headed back to the inn and began my work. It was only a small thing, but the words came hard. I worked all through the night and into the morning. When I got to the smithy, I was s distracted with worry that I hadn't finished that Gramps told me to get my ass out of there before I broke something, mainly the tool I was trying to upgrade. In relief, I headed back to the inn and did my best to finish, then copied my not-so-masterpiece onto a fresh sheet of paper. At noon, I made my way to the library, walking slowly, trepidation flooding my system, mixing with hesitance. It felt like I shouldn't be doing this, but I knew I wouldn't be able to stop now that it was nearly over with.
I sort of zoned out until I actually gave her the envelope. When she opened it and the small blue feather fell out, her whole face brightened and she embraced me. Where words were usually hopelessly difficult, I think those were the easiest for both of us.
"Marry me."
"Yes."