A/N: Hello! Welcome to one of a few interludes of various events set slightly before/during Day 7. I wanted to squeeze in a bit more context before we head into the second half. I hope you enjoy this one in particular. It was both very easy and very hard to write. I wanted to do my favorite non-canon FT couple justice.

Macbeth watched as Cobra entered the apartment complex. He couldn't tell if he was more relieved there hadn't been bloodshed or irritated at all the nonsense Cobra spouted in order to be let in. He supposed he should be grateful his teammate hadn't turned Mirajane's ire onto Macbeth–as he'd somewhat anticipated–but the rest of his actions hardly made up for it. Macbeth seriously considered beating Cobra to the punch and killing a guildmate.

"…I'm sorry," a soft voice spoke. He glanced to his side where Mirajane stood. She faced the apartment as well, although her eyes were downcast. "I shouldn't have leaped at you like that. Even if I thought you were alone…I know you said sudden touch is hard. I'm sorry if you were uncomfortable."

He shifted in place. He had been uncomfortable, but more due to the person behind him at the time than anything else. Touch was becoming…a little easier with her. "You were glad to see me."

She raised her face to look at him and smiled. "Yes, I was. I was very glad."

I was too, he thought but didn't say. Why were words so hard around her sometimes, and at others, too easy? Macbeth still marveled at the idea that he could fret over the exact meaning of a word for hours before he spoke to her. At the same time, he could talk to her about things completely spur of the moment that he'd never thought about in shocking detail. Although, most of the time, he remained silent instead. But she didn't seem to mind that side of him. Unlike many, she didn't take his silence as him ignoring her or refusing to participate. Instead, she viewed it as him listening and processing, always giving him the time and space to find what he needed to say.

It was one of the things he loved about her.

He almost chuckled to himself at the thought. Yes, despite how much evidence appeared, he still struggled to grasp that fact about himself. That he…felt that way about her. And to think, even six months ago, such a thought would have been considered too absurd to fathom…

When Macbeth was Midnight, he fervently believed that the only love he'd ever need was the love from his Father.

He didn't remember his "real" parents. Most of the thoughts and feelings from before the Tower were long since scrubbed away by the time he met Father. Midnight figured any previous family were dead and buried years past. Best to let it stay that way, and embrace his new one.

His Father was a powerful wizard, and even though he rarely said it with words, Midnight knew he had his affection. Why else would he promote Midnight, praise his abilities so often, and tell him that he was his pride and joy out of all of the orphans he'd taken? Sure, sometimes he hit him, or banished him from the house for a day, or looked at him with an expression Midnight could never quite place, but always sent chills down his spine. But those things must have been done in love, he rationalized, in order to train and discipline him. Besides, they stopped almost entirely when he got old enough. Smart enough. Strong enough.

And it wasn't that he was oblivious to the other kinds. He shared a bond with the other children taken from the Tower, his adopted siblings in a way. He knew they had his back, and he had theirs, even if he was bad at showing it. They just had…a hierarchy to their relationship. One that prevented him from fully enjoying it while they were a dark guild.

That and…romantic love. Brain had explained some things, in a very technical manner, yet also forbade any of them from having a partner. There was talk of focus on their work, of not being distracted. Things Macbeth could see, in hindsight, as yet another tool for control, rather than real concern. Still, it worked just fine for him back then. The whole thing sounded disgusting anyway.

It wasn't that it secretly terrified him to be in such a vulnerable position with someone. It was just weird. And gross.

Then things changed. They'd been defeated, leaving Midnight in a wretched state. Afterward, he'd gambled everything, vaguely, on his love for his Father. That if he never saw him again, at least he'd become as powerful as his Father always said he was. Turns out…that didn't work out either, and he was back to square one again.

So it came as a genuine shock to him, in the moment Brain was finally deposed for good, just how little he felt in that moment. As Midnight became his past and Macbeth his present, he considered the idea that perhaps that love had been a lie all this time. Not just from Brain, but from himself as well. That put him on edge.

For if it was like that with Brain, would it be even worse with his former dark guildmates? The ones he'd ruled over not once, but twice? Would they view him as little more than what he'd fashioned himself to be briefly, a second Brain? Much to his relief, that turned out not to be the case. Instead, quite the opposite happened, and they treated him warmly after they joined Jellal's little posse. It was…nice. Nicer than he'd ever admit out loud. Once he became assured in that, he never once thought about trying to gain anything else. Perhaps, Macbeth thought at the time, he had finally learned to be content with what he had. Love, he'd learned, could be very deceiving, and he didn't want to be fooled anymore times.

Which only increased the irony of what happened next tenfold.

Their first meeting was nothing special. Well, the first meeting of a lot of people not counting the time he'd tried to kill them, Richard noted way too cheerfully. His new guildmaster had dragged the whole of Crime Sorciere out to the destroyed guild hall a week after the Tartarous incident, saying that they should help in the rebuilding. Macbeth was sure he met Mirajane in passing–the whole guild was aiding in the reconstruction–but nothing about their interaction stuck out in his mind. He'd been too busy either trying to avoid work or giving Erza the runaround. Nothing that seemed to indicate the coming storm ahead.

One month later, the guildhall had been fully rebuilt, and activity was ramping up again. That meant a lot of chatter and noise when Crime Sorciere rolled around for another visit. Normally, Macbeth tolerated noise, but for whatever reason, the volume that day started to grate on him. Quietly, he slipped away from the table he'd been at to go to the upper floor to nap in peace. Unfortunately, even the change in environment couldn't deter his fitful sleep. The uneven noise level–lulls and then sudden violence–played into his dream, reminding him of the Tower at some of its worst moments. It was the most unbearable he'd slept in months, although the average person wouldn't have been able to tell with his slumped head.

When he half awoke one time in those short spurts, he remembered seeing a figure set down something on the table in front of him. "This tea always helps me if I can't sleep," a feminine voice said. Just as quickly as she appeared, she left. Macbeth fully opened his eyes to see a steaming cup of tea in front of him. Hesitantly, he took a sip. It was a soothing flavor, camomile mixed with lemon balm, one blended just right. The last sip perfectly timed with his closed eyes, and he was out until Jellal came to wake him up.

"Did you order something?" Jellal asked, picking up the cup.

"No. Someone gave it to me. Don't know who. Said it would help me sleep," he mumbled.

Jellal handed the cup back to him. "It was probably Mirajane then, I saw her go up once. You should return it to her."

So he did, or tried since she was so busy running around taking and delivering orders. Another of the barmaids–her sister apparently–pointed her out to him when he asked. A vague memory of speaking to her before entered his head. She certainly looked familiar, but he couldn't remember much else. Just another Fairy Tail member to try and keep track of.

However, he noticed himself thinking, quite a few days later, that he hadn't had a single nightmare after drinking the tea.

The next time they visited, he found himself casually seeking her out amongst the crowd. That wasn't too hard as she buzzed around like a honeybee. Wandering between tables, checking on drinks and chatting. She had a friendly, charming presence, gracing everyone with a trademark kind smile.

Eventually, he went back to the upper floor to try and sleep again. It went better this time. Just as he was drifting off, he heard the sound of a figure approaching again. He recognized it now as Mirajane, holding another teacup. Macbeth forced his eyes open to look at her as she set it down. She noticed him and gave him the same smile she used downstairs. Then she turned to leave.

"…How do you make this?" he asked. That was the first time his words slipped out unprompted.

Mirajane turned back around, looking surprised. "Oh, it's not too complicated. What I do is…"

"Just write it down," he said. "I won't remember otherwise."

Mirajane simply nodded. Sitting down at the same table with the tea, she pulled out a pencil and paper from her front pocket. He watched her jot out a note, then leave it beside the cup. She glanced at him one more time, then left.

He read the note as he drank the tea, slower this time. The instructions were simple as she implied. Simple handwriting as well, clear and precise in its script. The contrast between the woman on the lower floor, navigating around all the social activity with ease, and the quiet, unintrusive one that came up fascinated him.

A fascination that led to a curious thought. What would it be like to have a longer conversation with her? He shook his head, the tea settling in and pushing him to close his eyes. At the time, it was just a stray thought. One he doubted would ever actually come to pass.

Their interactions grew bit by bit the next few times he saw her. Usually on the upper floor, although occasionally she brought him a drink in the main hall. She didn't talk much around him, and never attempted to strike up a conversation. Then again, neither did he. Despite this, he found he could perceive a multitude of things about her without any words at all. The way her nails were always well maintained, despite her working environment. That little smile that always ended their short interactions. The way the tea seemed to depend on her mood, the same flavor with hints of a different aftertaste each time.

He tried to replicate the tea himself, but it never quite tasted right. A smarter man might have recognized the real reason why. Instead, he blamed his tools and quickly gave up trying.

Then came one day, some months later, when she set the tea down in front of him, wearing the same smile. There should have been nothing different about that day, and maybe to someone else, that's how it appeared. But when Macbeth looked at her, he got an almost tangible sense that something was off. He could feel an edge to her, one he only noticed because he'd so often done it himself. Projecting an outer sense of normalcy while underneath, rage seethed. Only instead of anger, he got the impression that inside she hid a different emotion…

Again, before he could think, the words were out. "Something's happened."

"Everything's the same as always." Though her voice was even, she looked away as she said it.

"…I bet the tea will taste different," he said, taking a sip. "Yes, I can taste the tang more, normally there's more sweetness in it. Less honey this time, or perhaps the lemon overpowered it." She looked at him, shocked. "It doesn't taste bad, just different."

What he thinks she'll do is plaster on a smile again to reassure him and move on. Or perhaps glare at him instead. What he doesn't expect is for her to quietly sink down at the table across from him and cover her face in her hands to cry.

He had few frames of reference for this type of situation. Sorano was a loud crier, one that often lashed out and yelled. Mirajane appeared to want her cries to be as quiet as possible. As if she wanted to disappear into her sudden sorrow. He had no idea what he could, what he should be doing. He was no comforter, yet watching her shaking form stirred in him a strange feeling, one he couldn't quite define...

From the top of the stairs leading up to the second floor, Macbeth caught a person moving towards them. Some bright-eyed guild member had decided they needed to intrude. Without a second thought, he conjured an illusion around Mirajane. By the time the person arrived at the table, he was the only one there, drinking tea and glaring. The random Fairy Tail member attempted to ask a question, but after sputtering for a second at the stony-faced stranger they quickly fled the scene. After they'd scuttled back down, Macbeth let out a sigh and released his magic. Then he flinched.

Mirajane was staring at him, hands away from her eyes. He'd never really…looked at them before. They were big and blue, sort of like the sky that always seemed so far away in the Tower. The added glossiness from tears reminded him of the ocean that he looked down upon from the same place. Two things that felt so far away, yet so infinite. Why was this his first time noticing them?

He realized he was staring back and turned away, not wanting to give her the wrong impression.

"Thank you," she said. "Can I…stay here for a minute?"

"…That's fine," he replied.

Neither of them spoke after that. Macbeth tried to fall asleep but found he couldn't quite bring himself to fully close his eyes.

The next time, Mirajane lingered after setting down his cup. Her fingers rubbed the side of the serving tray in a circular motion, reminding him of when he played with his hair in a similar pattern.

"Don't feel obliged to say yes," she started, "but I was wondering…there's a place outside town that serves tea I rather like. If you'd like, I could pick some up and we could sit somewhere without too much traffic. I was trying to think about how to thank you for the other day."

Macbeth stared down at the tea he'd just received. Truth be told, he didn't drink much of the stuff outside of the guildhall. He wasn't sure if he would enjoy it. Yet, for some reason, he found himself saying "yes", and watched Mirajane's face light up in joy.

It wasn't terrible. The drink or…the rest of the experience. For most of it, they just sat on a bench sipping their tea. They barely talked besides a few points of conversation from Mirajane to which he mostly nodded. He didn't mind that fact and…neither did she it seemed. There was no pressure to do anything he didn't want to do; she appeared as content as he to let them sit mostly in silence. For that, he appreciated her.

It would only occur to him, several months later, that this had been their first date.

The same thing happened several more times, with slight variations. They'd go and get tea. They'd go and get a pastry. One time they even managed to watch a street show together (albeit from far away via a roof). There was something…pleasant about their time together that Macbeth couldn't quite describe. He kept surprising himself by agreeing to go on another one. It wasn't out of obligation, he didn't owe her anything, and he didn't feel like he was being coerced. So why was it that he so readily kept coming back?

He pondered this during one of their times out. They'd grabbed lunch and Mirajane found a location where they could view nearly the whole town from the side. It was cold outside being in the thick of winter, but the food was warm. Mirajane, unusually, started rambling about a particular pet project of hers. Her passions caused warmth to spring up within her; he suspected she could talk about said things for hours. He had no real interest in the project, matchmaking sounded about as far from a good time to him as imaginable, yet he found himself listening and nodding along as she rambled. Her eyes sparked with life and she had the most infectious grin on.

In the middle of her joy, she grew uncharacteristically melancholic. "It's just too bad. I would run it myself, but I have a feeling I'd get too excited and reveal myself accidentally…"

"Isn't anyone else interested in doing it?" he asked. Macbeth assumed she had a ton of friends, with how her demeanor and reputation around the guild preceded her.

She shook her head. "It's not that I couldn't get someone to run it…mostly I want to keep it open for them to do themselves. Although, I don't think many from my guild could handle giving love advice very well. I did toy with having one person do it, but even she wouldn't be able to piece together exactly who everyone is. If I set it up to be anonymous that would draw more people but I do want to know who uses it…I just can't decide."

An idea popped into Macbeth's mind. Before he could run a background check on it, he spoke. "Say, Cobra could be a good fit for that."

Her blue eyes widened, pressing him without words to continue. He obliged. "He doesn't just hear thoughts inside someone, he can also see things they're thinking about. Like memories in a way. He'd also know who it was even by just the voice if he knew their location, and would be able to detect anything they were trying to hide too."

Mirajane kept staring. Then her mouth worked its way into words. "Really? And do you think he'd do it if I asked?"

"He might need some…persuading," he admitted. "But I could probably convince him to."

"Macbeth…" she started, her eyes and mouth softening to form the most contended face he'd ever seen on her. And it was all directed right at him.

"Hmm," he replied. Like it was no big deal.

It was a huge deal.

The true severity of what he'd done only struck him late at night, magic coursing through his veins, preventing any true deep sleep and enabling his thoughts to spiral. Cobra snored on the other side of the tent, blissfully unaware of his teammate's treachery.

One question in particular kept popping up. Why her? He'd never, ever talked about one of his guildmate's abilities with another person. Certainly never revealed the full scope of what Cobra could do. Not even the Magic Council got quite the depth of what his soul-reading magic entailed. It was something he always thought he'd have to be tortured to even have a chance of revealing it. Yet he'd spoken so easily about it earlier that it was almost comical.

So, why? Sure, it would be embarrassing for Cobra, and that was always fun to watch, but could he say with all honesty that that was what he was thinking about in that moment? Was he simply going with the flow? For kicks and giggles?

His mind kept running in circles. There was a feeling he didn't quite understand, festering inside his head. And he hated not knowing how he felt. So he thought, and thought.

Until finally he asked himself what his reward had been for divulging such information. A smile, warm and joyful, directed right at him. Blue eyes gazing with a gratitude that made him look away. Soft words of thanks.

He'd liked that expression. In fact, when he thought about it, a dozen others popped into his head that he'd witnessed. Some towards him, others towards the world around her, or at the bar, or gazing off into space. But they all had one thing in common. They were all Mirajane's.

Once he got started down that track, he couldn't stop, and soon a horrifying conclusion washed over him. Had he…wanted to spend time with her? Even at the beginning? Could it be that he was…he was…

He couldn't finish that sentence, even in his head. Instead, he pulled his cloak over his head and groaned, vowing to put extra care into keeping his thoughts hidden from Cobra going forward. So that he wouldn't discover his reveal, is what he told himself, banishing any other notions to the void.

The next time they came to the guild, he considered skipping it entirely. He didn't know if he could meet Mirajane in the eyes anymore. Despite his epiphany, he found himself still confused. Was what he felt really…that? It probably wasn't. It shouldn't even. He had no idea what that feeling was supposed to, well, feel like. He was merely going based on context clues. What if he was just deluding himself? Again?

Maybe it wasn't as complicated as he made it out to be. Perhaps he simply felt at ease because she was the kind of person to make anyone feel at ease. You'd have to have a heart of steel to avoid her charms. That was it, he simply felt at ease around a charming person, and now he was taking it too far.

Yes, that would be easier, wouldn't it?

With less active thought and more going through the motions, he found himself climbing to the top floor and waiting. A part of him thinking that, perhaps today, he wouldn't see her. But soon enough, Mirajane arrived, carrying the usual drink.

This time, her smile felt…different than the one he normally saw her use at the guildhall. Smaller, but no less genuine than before. Merely…softer, a little warmer when it looked at him. He immediately dismissed such thoughts. No, this was simply his overly active imagination at use. It was the same smile. It…had to be.

"Macbeth," she said, setting down the cup, "I think I'm going to go for it."

"Go for…?" Suddenly he felt a heat on his face. Wait, no, she didn't mean–

"Yes, I'm going to set up the shop!" She clapped her hands together. "I'm thinking next time you arrive it will be all set up. If Cobra and my other candidate participate, I think it will be a success." Zeref, her smile now could melt anyone like wax. "I don't think I would have gone through with it if you hadn't mentioned Cobra. So…thank you again."

Dual feelings–one of guilt and one of quiet happiness–rose within him. He looked at Mirajane, and he wondered something he (abashedly) hadn't even considered up to this point. What were her feelings on all of this? Did she keep inviting him purely because she was a friendly person? Or did she also…did she also feel…

Mirajane tilted her head. "Are you feeling ok? It's not too warm is it?" Macbeth's eyes snapped up to look at her. Did he look red? He wished he could hide under the table, but that would look even more conspicuous.

"Yeah it's…it's a little hot," he mumbled. "I'm fine though. Congrats on the storefront. That should be amusing."

She beamed again. "I think so! And maybe, I can push something else as well." She gave off a giggle that was a touch more maniacal than Macbeth expected."This one's a bit of a new recipe, so I hope you enjoy it!" With that she left him to his own devices, taking in the warm steam coming off the tea. As usual, he had the whole upper floor to himself. Few guild members went up there, especially when he was around. Adding to that was the fact that there were fewer people around today, making the guildhall naturally more subdued. The perfect time to take a nap.

Instead, he peered out the side of the upper floor, watching Mirajane run around with orders and chat. And he thought. About how he felt…how she felt…and what he would need to do to confirm it.

When they arrived the next time, it was clear from the moment he saw her that Mirajane was on a mission. So instead of going upstairs immediately, he lingered on the main floor, following Sorano. He still hadn't mentioned her plan to Cobra, but he had a feeling that he wasn't going to take it well.

Sure enough, soon he heard a comedic shriek. "Are you actually insane? As if I'd ever agree to something like that!" Macbeth couldn't help but wince. Under different circumstances, that would have barely been considered background noise. In the current lull at the guildhall though, it turned a few heads.

"What was that about?" Sorano asked, looking behind her towards Cobra.

"I think she asked him if he could cover Kinana's shift tomorrow. Something about him being good at mixing poisons," he said. That earned him a few mild chuckles from the table. Soon the eruption was forgotten as Sorano's table devolved into gossip and Cobra's grew quiet. Good. He might have to damage control that night if anyone tried to ask about it again. He didn't want her project to fail now.

Not when it gave him a perfect opportunity to avoid Cobra's ears on him as he planned.

A bit later he sneaked away upstairs, and she came up as usual. Lately, her visits seemed timed in a way that implied she was keeping tabs on when he moved upstairs. After she set the drink down, he spoke up. "Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

She paused, and put a hand to her face in thought. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"There's a place in one of the parks near the edge of town that has a nice trail. It's not very well known, so not many people go there, but it's open even late into the night…and…" Gah. Why was this so hard to spit out?

"Oh, you'd like to try going on a walk there?" He almost sighed in relief.

"Yes. I was thinking around midnight? I know it's a bit of an odd time, but I'm more awake then. And the lights and such are supposed to be quite nice. But it is short notice, and the time is weird, so..."

She smiled. "That sounds lovely. I'll set an alarm for then. I used to be able to stay up all night, no problem. I guess I'm getting old. Where do you want to meet?"

And just like that, Macbeth had a date.

The walk went well. For the first time the two of them had gone out, Macbeth attempted to initiate conversation. It went…ok. He didn't hate talking. He just usually didn't see the point in doing it more than necessary. Unless he was going on a rant or starting some villain monologue; then he talked too much.

Tonight, he focused on asking questions about Mirajane. For someone so personable towards others, he didn't often hear much about herself. So they talked about jobs, her hobbies, and even their families. Mirajane didn't try to pry answers out of him, but every once in a while she would ask a question that prompted a response far deeper than he anticipated. It made him ponder other things he hadn't thought about in a long, long time. And she did it all with a grace that made it clear that no matter what the response, she was listening. He only hoped he did the same for her.

Then came the end of the walk. Where the hard part began.

"There's someplace else I was thinking of going. It's a little more…high end."

The two were now back at the beginning of the walking trail. Lanterns had been set up throughout the path, giving a soft amber glow as they walked. The start of the trail had benches to sit on, and even a free hot water machine and cups for tea. Where they'd stopped was just underneath a pair of lanterns illuminating the map for the trail. They hadn't seen a single other person that night, much to Macbeth's relief. He looked directly at Mirajane, bathed in the soft light.

His breath came out in puffs. Being a little nippy would help with disguising any potential embarrassment. "I know this is a little sudden again, but would you want to go tomorrow?"

Mirajane's gloved hands rubbed together. Maybe he should have offered her something to wear? Weren't the men in those cheesy romantic movies Sorano watched always giving away coats like they were that weird Ice Mage? But she already had on a coat…in fact, she was probably dressed warmer than he. Macbeth felt his own frozen hands between the pockets of his guild cloak he used to cover up.

"Wouldn't that be…dangerous for you?" she asked.

"I'd use an illusion. I don't believe it should be a problem unless everyone there is also a highly skilled mage who's also working for the Council."

He'd intended that to be a joke, but by her face, she still wasn't convinced. Macbeth's heart froze, a terrible feeling suddenly overtaking him. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it was too much since they'd only ever done casual things before this. Maybe he really was completely wrong, and now he was coming on too strong. Maybe–

"I'll go, but on two conditions."

Maybe he should stay quiet for a minute.

"One is that I don't want you putting yourself at any more risk than necessary. I know our town is a little more…lax than most about the idea of a former criminal entering, but you still need to be careful." He nodded. That went without saying. "Two is that I can't do it tomorrow, but I could the day after."

She said the last part a little quieter, glancing away from him as she spoke. He wasn't sure how to interpret it. Was she…embarrassed? Did she feel caught off guard by his request and was trying to give herself more time to process it? Maybe she didn't think it was a good idea after all.

Yet, she had agreed, and surely that meant something. He pushed away the negative thoughts and bid her farewell, agreeing to her terms. Refusing to let his mind slip into dangerous spirals, he focused on his favorite parts of the evening.

And found himself smiling, reflecting on all the times he caught her doing the same.

The night at the fancy restaurant, Macbeth wore a suit.

It wasn't stolen–he'd plead if Jellal ever found out–simply pawned off a businessman that was perhaps a little too accepting of a stranger in a back alley offering compensation for an extra suit. Either way, now he had one.

He could probably only count on one hand the actual number of times he'd had to wear one. It felt…odd. Like he was pretending again. To be someone who wasn't a dark guild member. Maybe he no longer needed to pretend, he wasn't a dark guild member anymore. But he still didn't quite feel…whatever this was.

He had an illusion covering himself like he said. Normally it would be tedious, keeping up an illusion for hours, but luckily they were having dinner at night, when his magic was at its peak. So it wouldn't drain him nearly as much.

His disguise made him look an inch taller, with medium-length blonde hair and light green eyes. He wondered if Mirajane had a type…before shaking his head at the idea. He couldn't model himself to look like another person to please her, he had enough sense to know that wouldn't end well.

He fidgeted with the buttons on his suit, waiting for her. Macbeth had told her approximately what he'd looked like, so hopefully, she would…

His thoughts faltered as Mirajane came into view.

She wore a red dress, the tone much brighter than the red she normally wore around the guildhall. Akin to a rose in full bloom. It came down to her ankles, with golden platform heels for shoes. A sky blue jacket, a much paler shade than her eyes, covered her shoulders. Her hair sat pinned up in a bun, while in the front she'd forgone her tie to let her bangs hang out. He couldn't remember ever seeing her hair, ever seeing her like this. Was this why she'd wanted to take an extra day?

She scanned the crowd, and her eyes lingered on him. He stepped towards her, and that action must have confirmed her suspicions as she glided over to him. "Macbeth," she said in a low tone, "I almost didn't recognize you."

"You as well," is what he almost said, before swallowing the words. Instead, he awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Maybe this was too much?"

She chuckled. "I admit I would have preferred the way you usually look…but I understand the circumstances."

Her words shouldn't have made him so pleased. Hopefully, the smile on his face was pleasant and not smug. He knew what he tended to default to.

Macbeth motioned her inside, and the two of them sat down to eat.

There were two reasons Macbeth picked this restaurant in particular. First was that the food was supposed to be some of the best in town. When most of your meals were rations or things scavenged off the land, you craved a nicer dinner every once in a while (for Mirajane too of course). Second was that just to the side of the place was an outdoor garden that could be used for free by the restaurant patrons after they were finished eating to continue conversations or drinks or…well both judging by the sounds he could hear as they strolled inside.

He'd checked out the place once before, becoming invisible to see if it was to his liking. The space was both large enough and had enough secluded spots that people could enjoy a fair amount of privacy if they were quiet. That meant that while there were plenty of people around, the hedges and plants separated him and Mirajane enough that they only had to worry about the occasional straggler passing through and not a crowd. They were effectively alone.

And for the first time since he'd known her, that made Macbeth genuinely nervous.

Mirajane didn't appear nervous. The whole dinner she'd conversed with him as naturally as any other time. Meanwhile, he had felt his mouth go dry on several occasions, no amount of water helping. He'd declined a drink, maybe that would have loosened his tongue a bit as he struggled to keep up a conversation. Usually, he found himself relying on her to spark something up again. Her face gave away no indication of annoyance at this fact, however. And he didn't have any particular reason to believe she was hiding anything either.

Now she gazed at a section of the garden. Stringed lights hung around the hedges, in different colors, much the same with the plants. They must have been sustained by magic somehow, as it was only starting to become spring, yet many plants were in full bloom. Underneath the clear night sky, the sight proved breathtaking. Mirajane looked mesmerized by their beauty. It wasn't something Macbeth ever really paid attention to…but he liked watching her study them so intently. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think how to bring up the next topic. The one he'd set up this whole…date…to ask. Yet, once again, he felt his mouth going dry. This time, another familiar emotion stirred within him.

Fear.

A strangely nostalgic fear. Not fear for his life, but a fear that he was fundamentally wrong about the things he assumed. That this was Brain all over again. That in his eagerness to find an answer, he'd discover he was asking all the wrong questions, and have to start all over again.

He told himself over and over before he'd arrived that night that it was ok to be wrong. It was even ok to be egregiously wrong. It didn't mean he would die, or even that she would hate him and curse his name. The worst-case scenario, realistically, was that they never interacted in this manner again.

Even that, he conceded, hurt to consider.

All he could do was explain and then listen for the answer. Although he'd strived for control nearly all his life, he knew he couldn't control this. And that too terrified him.

Perhaps that's why he still lingered instead of speaking, trying not to break the silence–and initiating anything that followed suit–too quickly. A part of him wanted the moment to last forever.

But then…she turned back towards him, and there was a strange light of expectation in her eyes. Like she could feel the charge in the air, could sense something on the horizon. She said nothing, simply looking away after a moment to continue gazing at the garden. He gulped. A sudden shame crept through him. Could he really not say anything now? What happened to the boundless confidence of a dark guild member with nothing else to lose?

Bolstering himself, he finally took that first step, literally towards her. She glanced his way, slowly turning to face him fully. Blue eyes met his and he felt that hidden weight of something come down through them again. He couldn't tell what that thing was, but he knew she was waiting for it.

"…I'm sure you know already, but for a long time, I had trouble falling asleep."

She tilted her head. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that.

"Because of the circumstances within the Tower, I began to value sleep above all else. Sleep became the thing that meant I was in control. Because whenever I was asleep I knew that anything foolish enough to wake me up wouldn't be around for long enough to hurt me.

"After we…stepped out of Brain's shadow, I didn't know how to feel about sleep anymore. I didn't know how to feel about a lot of things." He could feel his voice grow quieter and quieter. Almost like he was talking to himself. "I realized that I didn't understand a lot of things that I should have. I'm close to the other Oracion Seis members, but sometimes it's still confusing. Are we friends? Family? Teammates? More than any of those? Less? It's hard for me to define it.

"That is to say…I still don't quite know how I feel about you. Only that…it reminds me of the first days away from the Tower. When everything felt alright again. Like I could sleep without worry, not because I could eliminate any worries myself, but because I didn't have anything to worry about in the first place. Everything felt…safe. Comforting. Lovely. I…always wished that feeling had lasted longer than it did."

He looked away during that last part. It felt almost too private a confession in front of her. A part of him wondered if he'd chickened out, but nothing he said had been strictly untruthful. He was still trying to parse it all out.

Macbeth carefully looked back towards Mirajane. Her hands were clasped together and she looked at him with an oddly neutral expression. He froze. What did that face mean?

"So…you took me out here just as a thank you then?" she asked.

"I…" he started. "I did want to thank you, for all the times you've given me tea, and took me places I never would have tried myself. But I also wanted to…tell you how I feel. Apparently, they do this in fancy restaurants in the movies."

"…I see," she said. "I don't want to accidentally misunderstand your intentions, Macbeth. I…don't think I've been as clear as I could be about the matter either." She smiled. The same kind of smile he'd seen the other day at the guildhall, he was sure of it. "I'll say this. I've really enjoyed each time we did something together, Macbeth. In fact, I found myself looking forward to them more and more each time. You kept saying yes to them, so I kept inviting you. Are you saying that you…feel that same affection for them?"

He stared at her, words failing. Even though a simple yes or even a nod would have sufficed. Which was strange, since it seemed to him that she was basically confirming the one thing he'd been in the dark of this whole time. But nothing formed on his tongue, and he knew that the longer he did nothing, the worse an impression she would get of his response.

So instead of answering in words, he did something else that night that surprised him. He moved to stand in front of her and cupped the side of her face with his hand. Her eyes flew open in surprise, but she didn't pull away from him. Instead, she gazed at him, hand going to the arm holding her, as if waiting, expecting. Before his nerves gave out, he leaned down and kissed her.

Obviously, this was his first time. The idea of even being close enough to kiss someone had never exactly been high on his list of priorities. As such, he had little idea of what to expect. So he hoped he was doing it right. His mouth still felt dry, and he wanted to take a breath to calm his heart, but couldn't in the moment or disrupt the kiss. There was an uncomfortableness about many things in that moment, yet…an undeniable warmth also bubbled up within him at the touch, the taste. The fact that she leaned into him, encouraged it. Seemingly comfortable despite the assured awkwardness involved. That alone made him want to keep going, to continue savoring the feeling, despite the uncomfortable aspects. Macbeth used his other hand to pull her closer, extending the kiss.

After another heartbeat, they separated. Mirajane's cheeks were flush, and he was sure his were as well. A part of him wanted to try again, see if the uncomfortable aspects would fade with more practice. Instead, he steadied himself. He wanted to hear what Mirajane had to say if anything.

Her big blue eyes looked at him in quiet happiness. But then her face morphed into a small frown. His heart flipped. Had something actually been wrong with what he did?

"That was lovely Macbeth, thank you. Please don't misunderstand, it's not you, it's just…I don't know if this is the right time. I'm not sure if I can commit to something more right now, the way things are for our guilds. I thought maybe I would know by now but…" She hung her head. "I'm sorry. I can't give you an answer yet."

He gently used one arm to rub her back as she cried silent tears. In a way, this was further than he'd anticipated it going. Her answer, was whether she wanted to…continue this little going out. Only now did he consider the implications. It wasn't that she was debating how she felt, but instead what to do with those feelings. A little like himself not all that long ago. In this, a weight was lifted off his mind. He did have an answer. Just not the one she thought she needed to give.

"I can wait for it," he said. "I can wait for however long you need to take. I never thought this would ever happen to me, so I can be happy with just this night if that's what you want. But, Mira…" Somehow the shortening of the name added even more affection today. "If I'm lucky enough…I would do that…for the rest of my life. If you'd have me."

She finally looked back at him, eyes shiny in the soft light from tears. Despite this, he could see the smile in them, the same as on her lips. "I promise I won't keep you waiting. I don't want to do that to you. I'll tell you…before you leave. I'll make sure of it."

He nodded, and she followed by placing her head against his chest, wrapping her arms around his back in a tight hug. Macbeth wished the moment would continue on forever, like an endless dream.

Mirajane wiped away her tears. "Thank you for taking me out tonight Macbeth. No matter what happens next…please know I had a great time."

"…I did too."

She smiled up at him. Then she did a double take. "Wait, Macbeth…your illusion!"

He frowned, then spotted the color of his hair out of the corner of his eye. Black and white. Zeref! The kiss must have distracted his focus, and the illusion vanished with it. He warily scanned the area. No one in sight. Not that the average person would recognize him if they happened to glance by, but…

Was Mirajane laughing at him?

She tried to hide it by covering her hand, but he could see the shaking as she tried to control herself. "I'll have to tell Erza I found another good way to disrupt your illusions."

"…You wouldn't dare."

She laughed again, pulling him further into the garden, away from any spectators. Macbeth hastily put up the illusion again, although he wished he didn't have to. At least one benefit of doing so would be to erase the color now spreading across his face.

The rest of the night passed in a fashion almost as if the previous conversation never happened. The two simply talked quietly in the garden the rest of the night. Even though nothing else of note transpired, Macbeth could feel the difference in the air between the two of them. It was one that would take some getting used to. He wondered if Mirajane agreed to keep going, if his feelings would continue to grow as well or change altogether. It was an idea that made his anxiety spike, yet also his heart sing. He couldn't predict the direction he'd go in with her but realized he wanted it to change more than he wanted it to stay the same.

They parted ways soon after. Macbeth held onto the knowledge that he probably wouldn't see her again until she was ready to give an answer. That is until Cobra decided to drag him out that fateful early morning…

Macbeth shook his head, recollecting himself. There was still a feeling of awkwardness regarding the undelivered answer. He wasn't even entirely sure if it was good to be around her and not know. Yet, he wanted to be there for her in the meantime, regardless of what choice she decided on.

He reached out and gently brushed her hand. She looked down in surprise. He went further and grasped it, threading his fingers in between hers and squeezing. Mirajane returned the gesture. Her hand was smooth and a little cold, but the feeling of it against his brought him warmth. He positioned himself so he was standing almost in front of her, hand still holding hers.

"I…caused this in part too," he said. "So I'll help you see it through."

"Macbeth, you…" she started, before pausing. "You really do feel responsible for others, don't you?"

At this, a different heat filled his face. "I am responsible. I told you about Cobra, which started all this off. I need to make sure things are set right."

She giggled. A little infuriatingly, he noted. "Oh, Macbeth. I'm…" she trailed off, staring at his hand. "Thank you for being here…despite everything. I don't deserve it, but I'm grateful for it."

The redness faded, replaced by a sense of rest almost foreign to the former dark guild mage. It was a feeling he associated more and more with Mirajane's presence. A feeling he could get quite used to if she wanted to as well.

For now, he let go of her hand but continued staring at her, unable to slow the smile that crept onto his face.

No matter what answer she gave, he knew what his was. And that, for now, was enough for him.