Whole Hearted

He hadn't seen her in three days.

He haunted their usual meeting places, making slow, never ending rotations in hopes of catching her. He never seemed to. He was distracted, he knew, because even Guilt noticed his apathy, and punished him for it. His ribs still hurt from that particular incident.

It was after waiting for her at the road on the fourth day that he decided to go to her master's house.

The road was still unfamiliar to him, having kept himself mostly to the volcanic lands Guilty claimed as his own. Yet he knew she lived a bit outside the village, and when he finally came across a small hut, he knew it had to be hers. The property was quiet except for the sound of humming coming from the back of the house, and he crept along the sides, trying to maintain his level of secrecy. When he turned the corner into the back lot, he saw her pulling water from the well, red welts on her legs where her dress didn't reach, and a large hat, obviously too big for her, on her head.

"Esmeralda," he whispered coarsely, and she dropped the bucket of water.

She spun around, eyes wide and he saw her grip the sides of the hat, pull it down until it almost covered her eyes. He blinked and moved to her side, confused.

"Esmeralda, why haven't you come?" he asked, and she let out a sound like a hiccup.

"Why are you here?" she hissed, "If my master comes back and sees you-!"

"Why didn't you come see me?" he pressed, "Are you mad? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, now go!" she said pushing at his chest, "Quick, before he comes back!"

"But why?" he hated the note of pain in his voice, but he stood his ground, and her attempts at pushing him were feeble and useless, "What happened?"

"I'll tell you soon," she assured him, "Please, go!"

"Why did he beat you this time?" he gently took her hands, looking down at the bruises on her legs, "And why are you wearing that stupid hat?"

She shook her head, and he could see tears welling up. He frowned, and reached up, snatching the hat off her head. Esmeralda screamed and tried to grab it back but he held it out of reach, staring at her in shock. Her hair was chopped at various spots, one side woefully uneven and the other in jagged layers. She burst into tears, covering her head with her arms as she knelt down, shrinking into herself. That seemed to break the spell and he fell to his knees beside her, gripping her shoulders.

"Why did he cut your hair?"

"S-Someone wanted to b-buy me!" she managed through weepy gasps, "So h-he tried to m-make me look as bad a...as possible, and c-cut my hair!"

"Why didn't he just say no?" he asked angrily but she didn't reply, chest heaving with hiccups and sobs. "Is that why you didn't come?"

"I-I didn't want you t-t...to see me like this," she gulped for air, "I so-sorry-y!"

"I don't care about about how bad your hair looks!" he said angrily, and she began to cry again, "I-I mean that it doesn't matter to me what you look like, I just wanted to see you!"

"I wanted to wa-wait until it grew out a bit more," she whimpered, wiping her face on her dress, "No one would want to see me like this!"

"You should have told me," he argued, "I thought...I thought you hated me, or were hurt, or..."

She shook her head, and he rubbed her back, trying to stop the tears. He stood up for a moment, fetching the bucket and dropping it into the well, pulling up some water for her. She took a few slow drinks before splashing some on her face, and after a long moment, her breathing began to calm. He sat beside her and squeezed her shoulder, watching her face carefully.

"Are you okay?"

"...Yeah," she said slowly, and sighed, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he shook his head. "...I still wish you would have come."

She reached up to touch a choppy lock of her hair, sniffling. "I look awful."

"You don't," he swore. She gave him a look. He shrugged, feeling particularly cowed. "Is there any way to fix it?"

"...It's so short," fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and he shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to do. She was quiet, before she straightened a bit, and he looked at her in surprise. She went into the hut, and he heard her searching for a moment before she returned, holding a pair of scissors and a small mirror. "Don't look, okay? Not until I'm done," she instructed, and he nodded, before turning around and facing the chicken coop. The scissors squeaked and he heard her sniffle a few times as she cut. After what felt like an hour, the noises stopped, and he heard her sigh. "...Okay, you can look."

He turned around, and blinked, trying to get used to the short cut she was now sporting. She looked at him expectantly, and when he didn't say anything, her face fell.

"I look awful."

"N-No!" he waved his hands, "You look fine. You look like you."

She hesitated, before murmuring out a soft, "Really?"

"Promise," he nodded, going to take her hand. "It's...cute?" She gave him a flat look, and he tried a smile. Her lips twitched, and she give a tiny smile back, resigned.

"Thank you."

"Come on," he urged, squeezing her hand, "Let's go see the flowers."