Thank you so much for the reviews! I cannot say enough how much I appreciate them!
Enjoy!
Four jobs. Four missions in one day. Jellal had found several requests that had been rather easy to fulfil, though none of them had promised a big reward. Then finally, he had been asked to go on a more demanding quest, earning him a solid payment that would last at least a month – if Erza had not set anything on fire again, that was.
As expected, the last one had taken quite some time and Jellal hurried along the streets to his house, dragging a bad conscience after him. He took another moment of his time though, stopping at the bakery. He had to make it up to her somehow.
Up until now, he had tried to blame it on her, as she had kept him in bed all morning. He knew he could never tell her without ending in a pile of dust – or as a pile of dust –, scrapping the idea. Instead, he held onto the package with strawberry cake as if onto his own life, which was not too farfetched.
He had ruined everything again, had he not? Why was it so sheerly impossible for him to keep a single promise? To commit for once and have the nerve to do what she expected of him. What he wanted, too.
He arrived at the door, catching his breath. As he rummaged for his key in his pocket, he remembered for the first time that he had not been given a moment to think about the date at all. He had neither come up with a location nor an activity nor what to wear. He only possessed one suit – the one of his pardon – but could he wear white on such an occasion? Would it not be overdressed?
What was she wearing?
And would she still want to go?
He unlocked the front door, guilt and insecurities nearly drowning him. Usually, she was the one and only cure for his sore heart, but he was not sure he would be able to face her at that moment.
"Jellal?" Erza's voice called from down the hall. She must have heard him enter. He clenched his jaw. "Help me," he winced, sprinting towards the bathroom. He flung the door open, his heart hammering in his chest. How his brain could come up with that ton of horrible scenarios within milliseconds was a mystery to him, but his body was already pumping with adrenaline.
Jellal froze dead in his tracks. His shoulders fell. Erza had brought a chair into the bathroom – heaven knew where from; he did not own one – and was facing the mirror, holding up her hair. Dressed in nothing but a towel. He gulped, his feet slowly retreating.
"Here," she said without turning, "hold this," she jerked one elbow, unable to let go. She had formed two buns on either side on the top of her head, towards the back. He stared at her. She noticed, eyes watching him expectantly from the side, blinking at him with puzzlement. He had not expected her to be this cheerful. Or dressed this sparsely.
"Jellal," she said, not as a question. He snapped out of it, hesitantly going over to put his hand over the bun she was ordering him to hold in place. The bathroom smelled of the sweetness of her shampoo, just like her hair, warm steam surrounding them, fogging the window and mirror. It was almost making him dizzy.
"I thought of something for the new armour I bought, but I don't do this often, so…" she stuck out her tongue, reaching for the pins on the rim of the sink. He moved with her as she had to lean forward, watching her focused expression in the part of the mirror that she had wiped clean. "You're late," she stated, and he looked down.
"Sorry… the mission took longer than expected." He lied, not daring to accuse her of his delay. Erza spilled her hairpins in her lap, squeezing her legs together to keep them from falling. He turned his head away, trying hard not to look at them. At her.
"This one, too," she said absently, taken in by her own actions. He obeyed, now holding two buns of silky, moist hair in his hands. He watched as she took an unused section of hair at the front, braiding it along the side of her head until it reached the bun. Jellal kept holding as he had been told, moving his fingers as not to get in the way with her when she twisted the braid around the bun. He held it, too, waiting patiently as she pinned everything into place.
"I've always wondered how you change more than just clothing," he muttered, noting her smile in the mirror.
"If I wear a certain hairstyle with an outfit, I can save it like that in my storage dimension." She explained. She regarded her creation, frowning. "And since I only have to fix my hair once that way, I don't practice enough…" she swatted his hand off the other bun, handing him a comb. Jellal felt his blush rise anew, taking it anyway.
He waited for further orders, confusing her. She stopped braiding another section she kept in front of her shoulders, glancing at him through the mirror. He felt her eyes, not daring to meet them. Inhaling deeply under his breath, he finally started combing her hair. It was heaven. It was almost better than feeling it with his hands, though he did that, too, as much as he could without stopping his actions.
She finished the braid, opened it and did it over and over until she was satisfied with it. They repeated their procedure and she pinned until everything was perfectly still. Turning her head from side to side to admire her creation, Erza nodded to herself.
"You should, uhm… turn around while I change," she blushed upon getting up, apparently not having realised to be wearing nothing but a towel until now. His face flushed in a deep red and he stiffened, turning swiftly to face the wall. He could hear the towel drop, a shiver travelling down his spine. Fabric brushed against skin and metal was clinking and he started to question himself as to why he had not left the room but remained there, standing like a soldier. An idiot soldier.
"What do you think?" She interrupted his thoughts. Slowly, he turned, eyes widening. In a proper fighting stance, Erza presented her newest set of armoury. She stood on heels of steel, her feet and shins protected by upwards-spiking metal, reaching her knees. Ending just above them were dark red stockings, the same colour of the skirt that ended mid-thigh. It was tied at the side, exposing her hip.
A corset of metal defined her slim waist, pushing up her chest and framing her breasts with swirled ornaments that repeated themselves on the skirt in golden hues. Similar to her legs, the armour clad Erza's arms in spiky metal, a skeleton-like structure attached to each finger like claws. She held a broad, curved scimitar in her right hand, its handle resembling the pattern on the metal and fabric.
His eyes were shining. She was beautiful. Not that she could not literally wear anything and it would easily sweep him off his feet, but he felt honoured by having the privilege of being the first one to see her in it.
"Jellal…?" Erza waved her free hand to get his attention. He snapped out of his trance, jumping slightly, licking his lips. Had he drooled? And more importantly: had she seen?
"It's… great," he managed with a tiny stutter, cursing at himself. That had sounded the least bit impressed, the opposite of what he had meant to express. He was a mess in her presence.
"It's supposed to sense magic better than any wizard – it could predict attacks or track down opponents," she explained as if he had not just killed the mood a thousand times over. "And this is said to reflect weaker magic attacks," she went on, lifting the scimitar.
"Have you tested it yet?" He asked, unable to decide where to look. He wanted to seem interested in the weapon – and he was – but his eyes were glued to her, flashing up and down, trying to burn the image into his head.
"Are you volunteering?" Erza smirked. He opened his mouth to respond, but she charged, scimitar glinting right before his face. Jellal reacted like lightning, hauling a streak of magic energy at her. She sliced it, but instead of parting, it bounced off, hitting the wall. Perforating the wall. Both stared at the hole, dumbfounded. The light buzzed, snapping out.
"Oh…" Jellal noticed the severed cables within the wall, one shortly flickering with sparks. The hole steamed for a moment longer, bits tumbling down. He could see through to the hall, the wall on the opposite side black and crumbling.
"I'm sorry!" Erza exclaimed, rushing him with an apologetic hug. He groaned when the spikes and claws drilled into his flesh. "Sorry!" She repeated, retreating. The armour glowed and disappeared, being traded for her casual blouse and skirt, hair flowing down her back. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…" she stammered, hands frantically hovering around his torso. Blood seeped through his shirt, but he felt nothing expect for the heat of the dark liquid. He was till pumping with adrenaline from her attack.
Jellal blinked down at himself, more surprised than upset. She hugged with force, judging from his injuries and he knew he would have enjoyed it a lot had she worn something less dangerous. The distraught shivering of her entire body caught his eye and he let his gaze soften.
"That's okay," he hushed, putting his hand on her arm to still it, "it was an accident,"
"I keep destroying your house…" she sobbed, taking him aback. She stared at the floor, miserable, still shaking and trying to gulp down another sob by biting her lip. His shoulders sank. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her.
"Don't worry about it,"
"I do worry about it!" She struggled against him, fighting herself free. "You let me be here and take care of me and all I do is wreck all of your hard work…" her eyes were wild, filled to the brink with tears that she refused to let go. "You should throw me out already…" her voice was but a whisper, hiccupping with another sob.
Jellal stared at her, eyes and mouth wide. Did she seriously think that she was the problem of their relationship? That it was a burden to him to have her? That he was not sent into raptures by her being near – being allowed to tend to her and have her around.
He felt his insides stir, his own eyes itching at the mere sight of her sorrow. He fell to his knees, throwing his arms around her again, pressing his face into her stomach. She winced, congealing.
"Don't ever say that again." He cut every plead. This was not something she would be allowed to doubt.
"Jellal…" Erza breathed unbelievingly, her voice still shaken.
"You are never the cause of my troubles, and you know that." He said firmly. She ceased to shiver, her abdomen contracting when she bit down another jerking breath. "You can only truly hurt me by being hurt yourself. The only thing that bothers me with you around is myself," he felt her arms sink. Her hands hesitated, then dropped onto his shoulders. He lowered his voice. "You've always been the light in my life, Erza…" he whispered, "You don't know just how much you mean to me," her fingers grabbed his hair, vigorously raking it towards her, her stomach cramping with supressed snivels.
He slowly loosened his arms, rising to meet her swollen eyes. He kept his hands on her sides and hers ascended alongside his head, twitching away, then remaining around his neck when his attitude seemed to calm her. Jellal leaned his head down, touching his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.
"Please don't ever think like that again," he said. Erza sighed sharply, then increased the pressure against him, tilting up her chin.
"I'll pay for the repairs,"
"You don't have to,"
"I want to; please let me at least do that," she pleaded, fingers tightening around the strands of his hair. He sighed softly through his nose. Gliding his hands along her arms, he detached them from him, interlacing his fingers with hers.
"Come on," he tugged on her and she followed with the resistance of a withered leaf," I think we both deserve some sleep."
"Wait," she planted her feet into the ground, "your wounds," she stressed. He complied, sitting down on the rim of the new bathtub, watching her dig around the cabinet behind the mirror. He felt himself blush lightly upon spotting her box of pills on the shelf.
She did not let him lift a finger, not even when he wanted to help with taking off his shirt. With a brightly pink glowing face, Erza leaned down to unbutton his shirt, her hands stiff and slightly shaky but still determined. She brushed it over his shoulders, allowing him to have it drop down his arms while she fiddled with the end of the bandage. It would have taken half as long, would he have done it by himself and saved both of them a fuzzy stomach and feverish temperature. He waited though, knowing it would make her feel better.
Neither fell asleep quickly, even though they were exhausted. He held her close, stroking her back until her breathing was regular, drifting off only moments later.