Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics.

I do not condone or encourage any behaviors in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

CHAPTER 3

[Third Person POV]

.

Opening the door of his car, Jellal's dead chuffed with the easy traffic. He gets out in his wedding suit and slacks, looking great yet out-of-place as he pulls up the shades over his head to inspect the building in front of him. He pays no attention to the man who seemed to enjoy verbalising nonsense, like Jellal definitely thinks he does. When this happens, the 19-year-old him would usually be rolling his eyes and countering with a string of "shut ups." But he was 29, and for lack of better words, all grown up—his father may not agree—typical Fiorian dads.

Okay, maybe not everything is nonsense? Pressing his lips together, Jellal leaned forward with candid interest. Gildarts Clive, the Chief Financial Advisor of BlackHex Group, who's also his uncle, thinks this is a bad idea. "What the fuck am I supposed to answer your dad?" that I thought it was a good idea to make an enemy out of a perfect partnership. "This is bad, and this is the last time I'll say it." There it is. He had been relentless, nagging him this whole week, but the boy is his nephew; how can he be any worse?

Jellal glances away from a couple of foreigners asking for directions. After all, this time of year is the tourist season in the country. He rolls up his sleeves to squint at the time on his watch. "You said the same thing last time you said it, Harts. And it was only two minutes ago." That's his nickname for Gildarts. "I get why you think this is crazy. But I'm done trying to explain something that you can't understand."

This part of the city looks unreal, like someone has captured it out of a fairy tale. The buildings around this area looked like cool historical artefacts because of the ethnic background of this place. They were splattered with fig-purple, mulberries, and amethyst, like the house of a doll his cousin's son plays with. Harts had a visible cord on his neck, and an unreadable look was surfacing on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples. "You don't want to get married."

"I don't want to get married." The younger man repeated.

"I understand, even though you shouldn't have ditched the wedding like the Runway Bride."

"Aren't you going to pull up a list of arguments against this, like yesterday?"

"I rest my case." Harts sighed and yawned, too fatigued to complain any longer. He was a busy man, yet he had insisted on coming along with the bluenette. He was a decisive man just the same, and it helps. That's why. "I've got to buy some fresh strawberries for Cana. She reminded me of someplace that sells the larger, star-shaped ones? I forgot the name." Jellal would rather not be thinking about strawberries. Meanwhile, Gildarts looked like he was coming to terms with his fate. He's screwed for today. This is the hundredth time he's forgotten something Cana had asked him to buy.

"Is it even strawberry anymore with that shape?" Harts asked himself.

"Judging a fruit. It's so you." The older man glared at his nephew. Jellal snickered all the while they stretched their legs towards the entrance of the building.

.

Jellal has had certain experiences where his intuition has taken him south. Despite that, most of the time, his intuition proved greatly useful. They didn't even need to knock. Half of the room is visible from the doorsteps: neat, plain white, minimalistic interiors. White round pots with short leafy plants decorated the empty corners, adding a homey touch to this simplicity. The occupants have good taste (that is to say, a taste like his), good lord. Although it's a relief, good taste is hardly ever a criterion for a bearable personality, as he knows.

"We came here to meet Ms. Lockser." Jellal lifts his clean-shaven chin as he goes on to withdraw his hands from his pockets for the sake of making the slightest gestures.

"See, there's one problem." The brunette who had opened the door stroked the nape of her neck, taking too much time to blink.

Arms akimbo, Jellal peeked over her shoulders and discerned the object of his interest sprawled on the couch, sleeping. "We have a bit of urgency here. Can you please wake her up?"

"She's not sleeping. She passed out after watching the news." The men shot her equally quizzical looks.

Oh no. Sorano broadcasted it. There were multiple gasps in the room as the uninvited guests learned what had been playing out on the TV. Gildarts tapped his feet on the ground, whereas the other guy's hand gripped hard on the door handle, making their host uptight about broken things in her apartment.

"I'm very sorry. But we need your help." Gildarts looked up, trying hard to maintain eye contact instead of rubbernecking at the Bombay cat patting on the sleeping woman's belly. Even if he didn't mind coming across as a DILF who's a sucker for cats, serious situations call for serious measures. The sooner they come to terms with each other, the better. The quicker they seal the deal, all the better. Come what may that Jellal might make of this deal, if they needed to pull it off, Harts shall play his cards nice.

Water may be transparent, but it is not skin-deep. Her wisdom glittered like the sky in between the cornflower fields, playing the harp of the winds. Like stars in the sky, on the shallows spread out starfish, both white and violet; pink and white. Isn't water mesmerising? Juvia basked in her element like an elemental goddess. "JUVIA! Wake the hell Up!" Due to her friend's sincere efforts (which were accompanied by repeated yelling), the blacked-out bluenette comes to life, groggily sitting up on the couch.

Jellal unfreezes as the minutes pass by, eagerly resuming his duties. His room-filling presence only manages to knock the woken-up girl sideways, literally. "Can I talk to you in private?"

His eyebrows vanish to his forehead of trimmed locks as the girl's bum hits the floor. She holds her breath, managing a squeaky stutter. "S-shu—sho—sure."

Evergreen, the apartment mate of the girl he had French kissed the other day, gave him quite a dirty look while he followed Juvia, slithering past her. She moved away from the kitchen countertop, and Harts took his sweet time distracting her. Oh yeah, while Jellal himself didn't feel weird wearing an atrocity (his father's choices had always been) of a wedding suit to a place that doesn't have anything to do with it, it doesn't mean that others felt the same at the sight.

Entering Juvia Lockser's room, Jellal's attention was quickly drawn to the clothes rack, where, standing out against the sweeping aesthetics of the apartment, colorful, fancy clothes were hung. It starkly contrasted with the colour of everything else in the whole room.

Swarming pigeons broke away once the window clanked open. Jacarandas made heavenly vineyards over the clouds, with black branches poking out among them like chocolate sticks in vanilla cream. The view from here is ever-serene, even when it reminds her that she is only a window away from her snowballing bills. Belonging to the cheerful, chubby boy living with his grandmother two floors down, there was a three-wheeled pink bicycle parked in the shade of the tree-lined avenue. Unlike before, Juvia takes care of herself well enough that the blizzards brewing inside her have been mitigated into snowfalls. The instant she left feathery touches on the wide ledge, fresh dust collected on her fingertips. "You might know me."

Back in school, Juvia had seen his family name in her politics textbook. She had to memorise it half-heartedly for exams since politics had been deemed uninteresting in her teenage brain. She cranes her neck to see Jellal taking a seat on the stool near the small book shelf she owns.

Tempting anyone to take an incidental glance, pages flittering in the wind, on top of the shelf lay an open diary—obviously hers with the blue hardcover and JUVIA'S DIARY on the fluttering endsheet. He stayed silent, wide-eyed, not touching her possessions but rubbing his hands together as though he wanted to. "Of course I know you, sir."

Propping elbows on thighs, Jellal lithely put his fingertips together. "Please, no formalities. How will you respond if I ask you to pretend to be in a relationship with me?" Most fangirls would jump at the opportunity, but—unfortunately for him and fortunately for herself—the fangirl in Juvia kicked the bucket not long ago.

"I'm sorry, what?" She must clean her ears. She heard that wrong, right?

"Will you marry me?"

Deftly standing straight at his outrageousness, she furrows her brows and twists her mouth. That's sounding like real trouble, Fernandes. Is he going to execute me if I say no? "I don't understand any of this." This man is not Jellal Fernandes, but an imposter. Juvia taps a pen on the desk, the lip balm tinting her lips and restraining her from nervously biting them. No, this is not happening.

"What do you want the most in life?"

On her way from the bus station, when moonlight sweats on her skin, the bustle won't help, and the rustle never stops. The lampposts looked troubled after she had passed by the winking owls and heard the crepuscular critters making far-flung yowls. She would bloom her umbrella at the first drop of rain or swirl it around at the stray dogs stalking her. When nerves and paranoia cut a caper in her brain, she would burst a bubblegum and pop it on her lips.

Then there are times when she passes by some gardens or whiffs the scent of bonbons. At last, she shall pivot on her heels, speeding up the pace, then turn around a corner to smack into her house.

From the kitchen, a gay golden mist will blow as her mom shuffles out with a steaming plate of katsudon. She may sit down at the table, smooching on her cheek before digging into her dinner with a stupid smile. There's nothing warmer and no place safer than the haven in her arms. Flames crackle like fireworks in their hearth, and heavy eyelids latch up for dreams.

"Security. Stability. Comfort." Even after flinching like a whirlwind, she is prompt at putting on a fake smile. Her feet kick out, blue orbs narrowing. Is this a trap, mister? "Why do you ask, sir?" Wringing her hands, Juvia chooses to voice her distress. She believes she had not done anything particularly criminal other than getting kissed by him. Furthermore, it was he who kissed her, not the other way around!

"That's not it, and it's Jellal." Leaning back to look up at her, he rolls his eyes. "Let's talk about material things."

Nothing to do and unable to process, unable to fucking stand still from anticipation (fear of death? ), Juvia makes a tapping noise with her feet on the floor. "My answer is the same."

"What about something that can give you all three?"

The interrogation session was brief and brisk, since she also seemed to like not wasting time on unnecessary activities. Good. Time is precious for Jellal. "Money can't buy everything."

His lips parted slightly. "Okay, fine. If I can provide you comfort, stability, and security—everything except love," he says, rising from the stool and licking his lips. "Will you marry me?"

She took a step back and hummed. Jellal could see her turning things over in her head. "Totally. But please let me know how you found my address.

"Then sleep on it tonight." He decides, I like this woman. "I have your phone number; I'll call you tomorrow."

"What!" Gasping, she covers her mouth.

He laughs as his hands clasp behind his body. "That night, you forgot a purse on the beach. Remember?" Oh, so that's how it is. "It's with me. I'll give it back when we meet again tomorrow."

"Wait a minute. I was not serious—" Jellal dips his head, his face tilting closer.

He runs a knuckle over her cheek, and his lips mark the place where his knuckle had been. A whispered kiss that made her eyes flutter: "See you soon, darling."

By the time he returned to the living room, Harts was frying bacon in the kitchen, and the brunette woman was nearby, chopping paprika and giggling at some joke he just told. That man knows how to grow on strangers. He just knows.

.

"That was smooth." The older man smacks his lips while their car accelerates onto the highway. "I did not expect."

"She's better than I thought." His companion relaxes on the car seat, flashing a cocky smile. "I didn't have to coerce her."

Gildarts takes in a sharp breath. "But that was the plan. She still has time to disagree. What will you do then?"

The bluenette dons a full, mischievous grin that leaves his uncle dumbfounded. "Abduction."

"Gosh, Jellal. Tone it down." His nephew seems too invested in his new project. He really should tone it down, because every girl is not the same. Not everyone cheats. Every other girl is not Erza.

Author's Note:

Learning to write. Thanks.