Asking Duck for advice was a mistake. Fakir should have known it wouldn't go well. But who else could he turn to? Autor and Charon didn't remember, Erina was outside of this whole thing, and the only one he could really confide in on the matter, as always, was Duck.

He knew what her immediate suggestion was going to be as soon as she saw the letter from Mytho and Rue.

"I know it's different from before, but can't you see why I might not want to mess with stories right now?" he protests, somewhat grumbly.

"Well, yeah," Duck answers, fingers fidgeting with the letter. "The last time was different, though. We were inside the story, not writing it."

Fakir resumes his work, shaping a small piece of iron that would become part of what he hoped would be a nice door handle. No matter what, he found he prefers working to being still these days. "Even so, we weren't ourselves there. I don't want anything happening that we'd regret."

Duck's eyes widen a little. "You regret it?"

He hesitates then shortly sighs, thankful for the heat of the forge turning his cheeks red before this could. "I regret not being in control of myself. I don't know if I would have made the same choices Lohengrin wanted."

"I guess that's true," the ballerina admits. "Do you..."

"Hn?"

"Do you miss dancing?"

The blacksmith hesitates again before saying, "Of course I do. It's hard not to miss something I've done most of my life." He sighs again when he sees Duck wince. "Look, that isn't about you. You couldn't control what happened, either. What's done is done."

"So..." Duck starts again. "So it doesn't bother you to see me dance?"

"No. I like watching you dance."

She's kind of glad he turned back to his work while he said that. It made it easier for her to hide her quiet quack of surprise. "Anyway," she says, getting back on track. "We don't even know if you've got to write a story or if we've got to go in one again."

"Hn? What do you mean now?" Fakir asks, eyes still to his work.

"Maybe you could send a letter, too?" she suggests.

He drops his project in the water, admitting to himself with some satisfaction that it's the best curve he's done yet. "A letter," he repeats. "I haven't tried that."

"Do we know if they'll work the same way stories work?" Duck goes on. "Maybe you can just send one the same way you receive them."

He wipes the sweat from his brow. "Where would we send it to?"

"Well, what do the letters say when you get them?" she asks.

"They just have my name on them."

"Then why don't we try that?" Duck suggests, brightening some. "We could write a letter to Uzura and see if she sends anything back. That wouldn't be the same as a story, right?"

"I guess not."

"And if it doesn't work, then nothing bad'll happen, either, right?"

Fakir sighs heavily through his nose. "You're just not going to let up on this, are you?"

"I just want to try," she says, a bit calmer. "Because I miss Uzura, too. Don't you?"

He closes his eyes for just a moment and nods. "All right. All right, I'll write a letter. But only a letter and not tonight. I've still got work to do here."

"Oh, thank you, Fakir!" Duck yelps, reaching to give him a hug.

"Hold it!" he yelps right back, holding her an arm's length away. "You need to be more careful in the forge. What if I had been working iron?"

"Oh! Right!" she goes, stepping back again. "Wow, I was acting like a moron, wasn't I?"

Fakir frowns just a little. "Please don't call yourself that."

Duck blinks. "Huh? I'm surprised you didn't call me that, the way I wasn't thinking."

"Well, that wouldn't have made it right, either, now would it?"

Duck watches as Fakir finishes up and takes his heavy apron off. It seems like such a big change for a little thing. "Hey, Fakir?"

"Hn?"

"You know, you don't have to worry about anything from before with me. That's what we said, right? What's done is done."

Fakir nods. They did say that. Maybe he's worrying about some things too much. "All the same, I don't want to call you that anymore. So please don't call yourself that."

Duck smiles again, just a little, and reaches a hand out to him. "You hungry?"

He scoffs, finally smiling in the course of their conversation. "Yes, but not while I'm all sweaty." He pats her hand, and they leave the forge.