Erza.

Scarlet.

I write your name at the top of a letter and wish I could scribe down all the things I want to say. Nothing will come. Nothing meaningful, anyway. I could write words and words and words until my fingers are raw and bloody, until my bones are dull and rounded, until the page is torn because I've pressed my quill too hard. It wouldn't ever mean anything. You can read it over and over again—the words will still be worthless. You won't experience what I want you to—no, what I need you to, through pen strokes alone. You need to taste it.

Last night I dreamed of you, and though I wanted it to be, it wasn't sweet. They're always the same, those dreams, all twisted up with blood and hate and hurt. Red and shame. Over and over. It's a dream so deep its meaningless. In it, I see that day… the men I killed. I see the way you looked at me as they fell to the ground. Horror. Fear. Did you know that now, every single time I take a life, I think of you? How you shouted my name, how you whispered it. Shame and pleasure. Maybe it's fitting. Whenever I really want to hate us both, I remember. And sometimes even when I don't.

Erza almost fell out of the carriage, throwing open its narrow door and barreling out even before it had fully rolled to a stop. The driver shouted something-maybe he wanted a tip; she didn't slow to check.

Snow slipped into the toes of her shoes; that didn't hinder her-it only made her run faster. Wet, her feet slid around and she almost slipped again. Then she fell back on her training and impossibly found her balance.

"Erza," someone called from the shadows. "Hey."

Erza didn't stop to see who it was, just kept moving until the door to Fairy Hills was behind her and she was racing up the stairs to her room.

Rounding the corner, she almost ran into a stumbling Cana. The girl wore a sloppy smile on her face and had a mostly drunk bottle of whisky in her hand. "Hey, Erzie!"

Erza might have scowled at the name if she wasn't so rattled. Ignoring Cana, she threw wide her door and slipped inside, then closed it again so the woman couldn't follow.

Then…. Then she kicked off her shoes and paced. And paced. And paced until she was too tired, then threw herself down on the bed, threaded her fingers through her hair, pulled until it hurt and imagined kissing Siegrain Fernandez.

'The next time…'

There won't be a next time.

She almost believed herself.

In her dream, Siegrain's mouth was warm and his hands were cold. They moved up into her hair, then wandered back down her body like he just couldn't stop. She didn't want him to; she thought she would give anything to have him not.

"Erza." The way he whispered her name was so reverent. "Erza Scarlet and her scarlet hair." He pulled her hair until it hurt. "Do you miss the Tower of Heaven?"

She nodded yes because the tower still held her heart.

The next morning, Erza woke up with eyeliner smudged under her eye and the remnants of lipstick staining her mouth. Her hair was crimpy from her braids and puffy, like she'd received an electrical shock, and last night's dress was twisted around her waist like a vice. A quick shower erased any visual evidence from the previous night, but nothing could blur out her memory.

Hungry for something to do, she adorned her armour and prepared to go to the guild, dreaming of a two-month long job, something she could lose herself in, something violent and bloody and exhausting. Something that would stop her thinking of Jellal and Siegrain and Siegrain and Jellal.

She almost went back to pulling her hair. Instead, she ran her towel through it again, then brushed it slowly. It was wet against the metal of her armour; she hoped it wouldn't rust.

Once ready, she tore open her apartment door and almost fell over a short, yet wide wicker basket. With a hop and a skip, she corrected herself, then stared down at the thing in confusion.

What is it?

It's from…

She shook herself. No. It's not.

Stooping, she grabbed it up. It was heavy as all hell and adorned in opaque, black cellophane. The whole thing was topped with a scarlet red bow.

It's not.

To prove it to herself, she took it inside and set it down on her worn and scratched dresser, intent upon opening it. The packaging rustled irritatingly; each time it crinkled, it seemed to scream Siegrain.

It's you, being crazy, imagining things. Because really, why the hell would he send her something after the way she ran out on him last night? And I told him not to send me anything anymore.

Right. He seemed exactly like the kind of man that did as he was told.

'Yes men' don't get to sit on the Magic Council.

With each passing second, she became surer that it was from Siegrain. And she became surer that she couldn't look inside. Why? Because she didn't want to think of him. She didn't want to like him. She didn't want to receive gifts from him. With a frustrated huff, she turned her back on her dresser and stalked out of her room. The door slammed so hard in her wake that the thin walls shook. From the next room over, Laki let out a squeak, startled from sleep. Erza had a moment where she almost felt bad; it passed with the help of irritation.

The guild hall was nearly empty so early in the morning. Nab stood beside the request board, Gray was slumped on one of the tables, mostly naked and drooling ice cubes while he snored, and Mira stood behind the bar drying cups from last nights' shenanigans, her back facing the door so she didn't see Erza come in.

Remembering the takeover mage's probing questions and their abrupt departure last night, Erza casted her eyes to the ground and hurried as quickly and as silently as she could to the request board. Her armour wasn't the stealthiest. Every now and again, the armpit would squeal against the breastplate loudly. Every time it happened, Erza stiffened and expected Mira's clear voice to call her over. When it didn't, she held her arms out wide to avoid further noise and tiptoed the rest of the distance. While she approached Nab's broad back, she prayed that he'd be so absorbed in reading the requests that he wouldn't greet her. If he tries, I'll beat him to death. Maybe that was a little excessive for saying hello, but she'd do anything to avoid Mira's inevitable questions.

Coming to rest just a few feet behind Nab, Erza squinted her eyes and scoured the request board's porous surface for something horrific and long, something to offer her some kind of escape.

The job board was pretty clean.

Come on, come on, the redhead thought. Come on….

Nab reached out, hand hovering over a job with a 50,000 jewel reward, then he sighed loudly and let his hand drop again. With renewed lethargy, he kept looking.

Twice more that happened, each time grating on Erza's nerves a little more, until finally she snapped, "Just choose the one with the lowest reward, Nab, then you can come back here and stand in front of the job board for another fifteen years while you think."

The man startled and whirled on her. "Erza—!"

From the table, Gray sucked in an abrupt breath. The tinkering of glass hitting the floor and exploding told Erza that Mirajane had also been alerted.

"Erza!"

The requip mage cringed and gave Nab the darkest, scariest look in her repertoire. "You idiot."

"M-me?" he stammered. "W-what did I do?" He looked like he was going to piss himself.

Erza didn't get the chance to answer.

"Erza!" Mira called her again. "How did your date go?"

"Date?" Gray sat up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, swiping away excess drool. "I thought you didn't date, Erza?"

Erza's scowl got fiercer. Vividly, she imagined skewering Nab on her broadsword and watching him slide all the way up to the hilt. The image was dark, even for her. With some effort, she shook it out of her head and made herself turn. "Clean off that table, Gray, that's gross. This is a guild hall, not your house. And find some clothes."

"What?" The man sat up and looked down at his chest incredulously.

At least he had the decency to look ashamed. Satisfied that Gray looked thoroughly reprimanded, she turned her eyes away from his dark ones and regarded Mira. "Hello, Mira."

The takeover mage came around the bar. Today, she wore a long blue dress with cap sleeves with small pink flowers dotting the outside. On her feet were plain black flats. Comfortable working shoes. The whole ensemble was completed with a white apron. Her long hair was rolled up into a neat bun, her bangs pinned back. She looked like Miss-Molly-I-Can-Cook. The perfect image of domestication. Where the hell did the fierce she-devil go? It made Erza sad, if only because she felt like she had to be nice now.

"So?" Mira asked again. "How did it go?"

Erza cleared her throat and found a place on the wall to look at. "Fine."

"Loke said he saw you come in early."

That's who was creeping around the building, Erza thought.

Mira continued. "Cana came by last night around ten and said something similar."

"Did she?" Nonchalant is best. If you act like it wasn't a big deal, like your night wasn't a complete failure, she'll just drop—

"Didn't you like him?"

Mira's words were like a punch in the gut. Again, Erza was thrown back against the balustrade, Siegrain was millimetres from her mouth, so close she could feel his lips barely brushing hers. Just thinking about it, her stomach flipped with excited nerves. I could think about this forever. I could dream and dream and be happy. And totally fucked.

"Who is this guy?" Gray asked. He'd found his shirt somewhere, only now it was on inside out. Well, it was better than nothing, anyway.

"He's—"

"Master Siegrain from the Magic Council," Mira supplied unhelpfully.

Gray whistled. "Going big, huh?"

"Shut up, Mira," Erza lashed out. Her cheeks felt so hot. "And Gray—I'm not going anything. I only went because Master asked me to—"

"Well," Mira interjected. Her cheeks were slightly pink, like maybe she was trying not to be mad. "Master Siegrain came by early this morning—"

Erza's ears roared. "No, he didn't."

"Yes," she assured.

"Stop messing around, Mira, that's not funny," Erza wasn't quite able to control the venom in her voice. "If you're pissed about last night, this isn't the way to make me say sorry."

"Last night?" Her pretty face screwed up in confusion, then a lightbulb went on and it cleared. "Oh. About the panties—"

"Panties?" Gray both perked up and flushed.

Erza ground her teeth together and prayed to any god that would listen for the courage and strength not to pummel her defenseless childhood rival through the goddamn floorboards. "I'm sorry, you've made your point." The apology was ground out through clenched teeth. "Now, if you don't mind…" She tried to go back to the job board.

"Apology accepted. You were rather rude, but I really wasn't playing around." Mira came to stand at her side, either oblivious to her peril or totally uncaring. Maybe both. "He asked for you, and when I told him that you weren't here, he left you this note." From the pocket of her apron she produced a worn-looking piece of paper.

What does it say? That he was disappointed in your behaviour last night? That he's telling Master how terrible you were for company?

That he wants to see you again?

Childishly, Erza clamped her hands together and didn't accept the note. "No, thank you."

Mira raised a pale brow. "You're not going to read it?"

"Nope." She said it with false cheer and turned on her heel, thinking the hell with the job board and the hell with this.

"Well… I can tell you what it says."

Erza halted in her tracks and kept her back turned to Mira. "You read my note?"

Mira ignored the warning in the redhead's voice. "When he gave it to me, it was unfolded." She said it so innocently.

"You're a sneaking little gossip, Mirajane." Erza finally whirled on her.

Mira's smile was ear-to-ear. "He wants to meet today at Maple Park around ten. Before he left, he said he sent a basket to your room, but he didn't think you'd open it."

Again, Mira's words punched into her.How does he know me so well?

"Did you?"

"Did—did I what?" Erza's head was still spinning.

"Did you open the package?" Mira asked exasperatedly.

Erza knitted her brows together. "Just give me the note, Mira."

"I thought you didn't want it?"

And this is why I spent almost ten years kicking your ass, Erza thought savagely. "NOTE. NOW."

Mira handed over the ink stained parchment with a small smile on her mouth, a ghost of her former self. Erza snatched the paper away and didn't bother to say thank you. Mira didn't deserve it.

Standing against the exterior of the guild, she read the note again and again; it never yielded anything more, but she looked anyway.

Erza, it read. She tried not to look at the way he did his Z's exactly like Jellal's.You're imagining things. You want it to be and so you're seeing whatever the hell you want. She kept reading.

I have something for you. Please, meet me at Maple Park at ten by the indoor gardens.

Erza scoffed. Indoor gardens. Why the hell does he want to meet there?

Maybe he wants to walk around with you? She shook the thought away as soon as it formed. Not only just no, but men didn't do stuff like that for her. Men were intimidated by her. Men wanted to fight her and prove that they were stronger than her. Men wanted to arm wrestle and clash swords. Men wanted their pride and their penises and their sweet, delicate girls. That was it.

As soon as the thought presented itself, she felt terrible for it. Generalization was a dangerous thing.

Folding the note along the already worn crease, she tucked it into her pocket for safekeeping, then thrust her hands through her hair and held in a frustrated cry. The wind kissed against her face, both cold and calming. The sun slipped behind a cloud. Winter birds chirped.

It won't be the end of the world if you go. Maybe just… just see what he wants.

Just to prove to herself that it wasn't about the damn gardens.

'The next time we're like this—'

That was a precarious thought, and she was all too willing to tumble over the precipice.

Using her magic, she changed three times. Once into a long sleeved dress—it looked good, but like she was trying too hard—once back into her armour, which was comforting but hardly flattering—then the last time into a short black skirt with tall, soft leather boots and a light blue, tight-fitting sweater that dipped almost too low in the front. She almost changed again, but knew that this was a good mix, not too casual, not too formal, just right for an ambiguous meeting. I should leave my armour on.

The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that if she needed it, it was just a thought away.

Pulling her long black coat tighter around her body, she set off at a fast walk. The day was so bright with the sun reflecting off the snow, she had to squint to see properly. The wind kept grabbing her hair and whipping it in front of her eyes. Impatiently, she pushed it back and foolishly worried that it was going to be everywhere. Shut up, she thought, that stuff doesn't matter. Who cares if you look good or not?

The conviction just wasn't there.

Walking faster, she ploughed through the melting snow, catching it on the end of her boots and kicking giant wet globs ahead of her. The closer she came to Maple Park the more her stomach whirled, until she was popping her thumb into her mouth and chewing mercilessly at the skin around her nail. It hurt, but the pain helped keep her head clear.

Jellal knew the second Erza stepped into the park.

Turning from the living wall he studied, he found her trudging up the trodden path. The wind kept catching her hair, running through it like fingers. The strands were brighter than blood in the light of the sun and curling slightly at the ends. She was beautiful. He couldn't decide if she looked better by the sunlight or the light of the moon. Maybe she's perfect all the time.

She must have felt him looking at her because she lifted her dark gaze and automatically found him beside the rose bush. As soon as their eyes met, she dropped looked down and focused on the stairs. Her steps were slow and calculated. She's gathering her thoughts, Jellal mused with a small smirk. Her expression looked troubled. She's worried. Stressed. And yet, eager. She couldn't take her eyes off him for long; she was back to looking at him in seconds.

The blade in his hand felt heavy. Swallowing tightly, he folded its sharp edge back into the wooden handle and tucked it into his coat pocket, then made himself ease his grip on the rose he carried. Pain told him that the thorns had dug into his skin and now he was bleeding. The throbbing was secondary to the aching eagerness in his hollow-feeling chest. She was close now. Sucking in a rattling breath, he caught her scent on the breeze. Honeysuckle. It was a smell that went well with the metallic aroma of blood. The knife weighed heavy in his pocket.