Dan let the shy librarian guide him toward the library, listening to the sound of the rain against his umbrella thoughtfully. He clearly made her nervous, so he had decided not to talk her ear off. Instead, he waited until her soft voice spoke to him again before he glanced over at her curiously.
âHm? Ya mean the books Iâm lookinâ for?â it took him a moment to realize what she was asking, but once he figured it out, a sheepish look came to his face. âI suppose somethinâ about ship repair? Or carpentry, if thereâs nothing specifically for boats...â
He nodded to himself before continuing on, âI work at the docks, helpinâ with repairinâ the boats⌠But weâre short staffed lately and I ainât no carpenter, soâŚâ his expression turned serious and he heaved a sigh, âIâd like to be of more help to my boss, so I thought maybe if I could find some more diagrams to studyâŚâ
He wasnât sure if they made books with just diagrams, though. Normally the boss drew out his instructions for Dan, trying to by-pass the fact that he was unable to read. Life was a lot more difficult when one was an adult with absolutely zero schooling.Â
Surely enough, speaking on the subject of assisting Dan in his search eased the young womanâs nerves a little-- and in contrast to his initial, assertive flirtations, he seemed a kind and thoughtful person, at heart.
âW-we have an extensive... n-nautical section,â Mary smiled up at him as encouragingly as she could, in spite of her persistent shyness. It would be a strange thing if they didnât, being situated on an island.
âI- I w-work... a-at the library, you s-see...â she hastened to add.
âM-maybe I could help you.... f-find something...?â
The start the young woman gave him was swiftly forgotten as he followed her into the kitchen and watched what she was doing. She was turning on the burner of his rundown stove. Maybe it had something to do with the plastic bag sheâd brought in with her?Â
Still grasping his mug in his hands, Vaughn came to Maryâs side and watched her, curiosity shining clear in his dark purple eyes. At her words, he felt his cheeks flush gently.
Together.
Why did he like hearing that word from her so much?
⌠No, he knew why. He just didnât like admitting it to himself.
â⌠Yeah, okay,â he agreed with a faint crease in his brow. Hopefully he wouldnât screw anything up. But he was interested to try, at the very least, and with her to lead the cooking, he could only do so much damage, right?
âWhat are we making?â He looked from her to the ingredients, unable to deduce what theyâd be used for. Whatever it was, he guessed heâd never had it. A glance of trepidation skimmed over the wakame in particular, recognizing it as seaweed, which he was pretty sure heâd never eaten. (He wondered idly who had first decided to try eating that stuff, anyway.)
âA recipe a-as easy as... 1, 2, 3!â She counted off the numbers on her fingers, in allusion to the book. âI-itâs a soup from my m-motherâs hometown.... she made it often in the fall and winter, w-when I was little.â Mary had many happy memories of she and her mother-- and her Papa, when he was home from his travels-- gathered at the dinner table with bowls of the traditional Konohanan fare.
âI-it only really requires th-three... m-main ingredients, so....â Why was she over-explaining it? He had already said yes. Vaughn had... agreed to cook with her.Â
The domesticity of the scene slowly sunk in, and her initial eagerness to teach warped into something more anxious-- hands clasped tight and tucked to her chin in want of something to fiddle with, dark eyes slowly drifting to the floor.
Perhaps... she could just supervise.
But then he would be doing all of the work, and...
I wish for the same thing Iâve hoped for since the beginning. I wish for a life so brave, so unpredictable, so full of unexpected joys and unforgettable love that no box could possibly contain all my memories.
No matter what it was, or how well she tried to hide it, Maryâs mother always managed to wheedle whatever was troubling her out into the open during their weekly phone call. Try as she might to refrain, for fear of worrying her parents, the truth eventually came out about the injury she incurred-- confessing more easily than she might have to keep from admitting to what had truly upset her about the incident; that it prevented her from attending the Winter Masquerade.
Maryâs parents loved her, beyond a shadow of a doubt, but they had never really understood her-- and some part of the young woman feared a well-meaning lecture on the eventâs ultimate lack of importance, which she didnât know if she could handle on top of the heartache.
After the call concluded, she indulged in a few quiet tears-- tentatively awaiting the promised arrival of Aurelia, the kind nun who had helped her, to change the dressing on her wound. In the meantime... she would read.
After a deep, satisfied exhale and a careful blow against the hot surface of the cocoa, he took a tentative sip, savoring the warmth and sweetness on the tip of his tongue. Hot cocoa was a special drink, even if it was just some powder, stale little marshmallows, and microwaved water. It soothed him nonetheless, warmed him from the inside out and helped him relax his tensed shoulders and stiff jaw. But this was something entirely different.Â
Vaughn had never really had homemade hot cocoa before. Instant hot cocoa was much easier, simpler, but still good. But in this, the flavors were not only stronger, but just better. Even that small first taste was enough to make him feel warmer and less tightly wound.Â
But obviously it was nothing gourmet. It probably wasnât the best thing heâd ever drink or anything, What made it so special was the thought, as little as it was, to bring something for him. It had been a few years now, ever since heâd moved out from his auntâs place, that heâd eaten something he hadnât put his own two hands into making (aside from the rare fast food outing heâd made in Leuda). Of course, this usually consisted of instant meals and other quick, cheap, lower quality foods, but he relied on himself to keep him fed. And that was fine, that was being an adult.Â
But now⌠he felt cared for. He felt warmed, from the inside out, and not just because of the drink.
He was thinking too much into thisâbut who cared? He felt happy. Mary wasnât trying to make some grand gesture; she was just a good-hearted person. In the short time theyâd known each other, that, heâd become sure of.Â
How heâd managed to actually get a visit from that good-hearted person? That, he was still trying to figure out.
Just as heâd opened his mouth to thank herâhad he already thanked her? Oh wellâMary was suddenly jumping to her feet. âYou okay?â he asked quickly, turning to watch after her and standing up to follow shortly after.
An insatiably curious and investigative soul, Mary was in her element in the library. Not only was it her duty as an employee to provide the basic customer service of a receptionist, but that of a research assistant, as well-- whether that entailed combing through the card catalog, sifting through back issues of foreign and domestic newspapers, or simply being familiar enough with what the library had to offer to make appropriate suggestions.
Vaughnâs kitchen wasnât really so different from the stacks. There were the most likely places things could be, and if they werenât to be found there, she simply had to narrow down the possibilities. Anything to avoid having to trouble someone by asking for help-- especially him.
Besides, she wanted it to be a surprise!
Everything was where she left it, when she initially breezed through the kitchen-- a pot of water on the stove, wakame soaking in a bowl on the counter, and the remaining ingredients set out beside it. She heard him come in behind her just as she turned on the burner, and spun about to face him, still in a bit of a fluster.
âW-would you... l-like to make lunch t-together?â
He was silently satisfied to see her accept his invitation, settling down beside him on the couchâthough she looked anything but settled. Even after pouring a mugful for each of them, she was still clearly not quite comfortable with the situation, her spine stiff and her mug waiting patiently on the coffee table. Could he blame her? Had their positions been switched, Vaughn wouldnât have been comfortable either. But his problem would have been a lack of trust of the other person, a concern for being a young woman, alone with what was essentially a stranger.
⌠He didnât want to have to call himself a stranger anymore.
He hoped quietly the receptionist wasnât unnerved by being alone in his presence, hoped that she knew she would be safe and respected here. As hard as it was to admit itâhe definitely wasnât about to do it out loudâVaughn was fond of Mary and wanted her to have a nice visit. He didnât want her to leave here thinking this had been a waste of time.
If she enjoyed herself, maybe sheâd come again sometimeâŚ
A faint, appreciative nod answered her warning as long, calloused fingers curved around the mug closest to him. He savored the warmth against his skin, reminiscing over the warmth of her cheek against his thumb. A deep, slow inhale brought to him the quintessential scents of winter, one of his favorite seasons: cocoa, vanilla, a hint of cinnamon. They brought to mind daydreams of sitting in the forest beneath an old tree, snow falling as he sipped from his cocoa, muting all sounds in its crisp white blanketâŚ
â⌠Did you make it yourself?â he finally asked. It smelled nicer than instant cocoaâthough maybe that was only because sheâd brought it for him.
Catching movement in the corner of her vision, she sneaked a series of discreet glances in his direction from beneath demurely lowered lashes, quietly anxious to know what he thought of it. Though a notorious people-pleaser to begin with, often at the cost of her own well-being or comfort, Mary was quickly finding she craved his praise especially-- an entirely selfish, self-indulgent need, she felt, as he didnât make her uncomfortable at all.
Unnerved, yes. Uncertain, most definitely-- but not uncomfortable. Not unsafe.
She watched his hands intently as they wound about the mug, struck by how lovely they were in the absence of gloves, in spite of being work-worn. She was possessed again by the intense desire to hold them, to feel his long fingers intertwine with hers-- and moved her eyes shamefully away just in time to miss his own.
The want to be touched by someone was a new and frightening thing for her, and she naively couldnât help but to find it somehow... indecent.
She gave a subtle little nod in response to his question, pleased despite her abashment that he could tell. It was quite a simple recipe, really: cowâs milk, cane sugar, cocoa powder, a cap-full of vanilla extract, and cinnamon to taste. She could even share it with him, if he wanted...
Mary suddenly shot to her feet with a cry of recollection, dashing wordlessly to the kitchen with far more hurry than was warranted. She needed to get the water heating-- the wakame ought to be ready for them, by now!
he  noticed  how  her  expression  seemed  to  falter.  hm?  was  it  something  he  said?  heâd  imagine  he  was  already  giving  her  the  highest  of  compliments.  nevertheless,  leon  was  PLEASED  that  she  placed  her  hand  in  his.  his  slender   fingers  were  greeted  with  softness.  Â
 â  nakano,  mary?  are  you  from  here  or  are  you  a  LEUDAN  ?  â  his  tail  swished  behind.  â  i  certainly  have  not  seen  you  anywhere  else  in  town  except  for  on  certain  occasions  here  in  the  shrine.   â
âI-I was... r-raised in Leuda, sir....â she stammered, remembering her manners. Regardless of his teasing (and apparent lack of propriety), he was still the Dragon Priest, and deserved the respect and obeisance warranted by his position.
âM-my parents c-came from the mainland, b-but...â He still hadnât let go of her hand. Could she just... take it back? Would that be sacrilegious?
An anxious heat crept up her collar, filling her entire face.
âM-m-my m-motherâs f-family was Arcadian.... g-generations back...â Although nothing she had ever told her daughter even remotely prepared her for this...!
â All your life âŚÂ You were only waiting for this moment to ââ Arise. Aurelia halts in amidst her song, upon the sound of a loud splash and cooing of whimpers off in the distance. SomeoneâŚsomethingâŚwas hurt. The nun, curious as she is- went off to investigate the source.Â
Heading over to the sounds of choked sobs and the flow of the cool streams of a nearby creek. She sees a woman in the cold, unable to get up onto her feet. It was quite painful to watch, actually. It was as if she were a struggling bluebird, unable to-
Fly.
Well, we canât have you right there all alone to suffer. Thatâs far too cruel.
She makes her way over before her, kneeling down into the frigid waters. Aurelia didnât personally mind the cold. âMissâŚ..are you alright?â Of course she isnât why are you even asking? Her eyes observed the womanâs foot, and takes note that it was stuck in between rocks. Without even asking, the nun simply moved the rocks to release.Â
It looked painful. Aurelia internally winced by the look of it.
Gently as she possibly could, she offered assistance.Despite her need to respect space and leave things as they should be. â⌠Can you stand? If you cannot- IâŚif itâs alright, I could do my best to at the very least get you out of these near freezing waters.â
âSorry.â
Of course, after waiting upon her response- Aurelia gently picked up the woman into her arms. Cradling her as if she were a baby lamb, taking her back to solid ground on a nearby moss covered log. Removing her cloak, she places it on top of the woman, gently speaking as possible. â I donât have much on me for aidâŚbut- we ought to cover that wound to prevent any further infection. Alright?â The nun looks into her satchel, rummaging about for bandages. Nothing. Well, when you donât have anythingâŚ.improvise.
And so, the woman starts ripping up the sleeves of her shirt. She had plenty of the same white shirt, so it wasnât much of a problem.
With both the pain and embarrassment she felt at being approached in such a state, all Mary could do was sob in response to the womanâs question-- but upon being swept up into her arms as if she weighed next to nothing, she was shocked instead into tearful silence.
Before she knew what was happening, she was set gently on the bank, blanketed by a woolen cloak that retained a phantom of the otherâs warmth. Unthinking, she pulled it more tightly about her, sniffling pitifully while her rose-haired rescuer murmured words of comfort that didnât quite sink in, but still managed their intention of being mildly soothing.
She was vaguely aware of a sensation of openness at her ankle, even as the sharper edges of the pain began to dull with the coursing of adrenaline through her veins-- but it wasnât until the sound of tearing fabric penetrated her daze that Mary saw the true state of it, and, leaning over the back of the rotting log, coughed up her modest breakfast.
The initial twist, a little blood, she could handle-- but the white of bone peeked up at her from where the shallow tissue that covered it had been scraped clean, and the gentle library receptionist entirely lacked the constitution for such a thing.
Ears burning, her vision rapidly darkened, and she fell into a faint.
Maryâs graceful little swirl to face him, the fabric of her skirt rushing to follow, made him feel inexplicably happy. It was nice, he supposed, to see her little bursts of energy, of confidence. He remembered heâd met her that way, her passion for books and eagerness to help outweighing her shyness, if only momentarily. Maybe that passion would help her overcome her timidness, one day.
âAlright, alright. I wonât.â Vaughn held his hands up in mock defensiveness, briefly watching the young woman approach the kitchen before deciding to settle down onto the couch. He figured she would ask if she needed help finding anything.
Apparently she found everything just fine, as she was returning to him with her âsurpriseâ shortly after, along with a couple of mugs he recognized from his kitchen. His curiosity piqued, he looked up at Mary as her surprise was revealed.
âYeah, I do. ⌠Thanks.â
He had a bit of a soft spot for sweets, especially sweets with any sort of milk in them, so hot cocoa was definitely well-liked. Plus, it had been thoughtful for her to think to bring something like that. More thoughtful than he felt heâd earned.
He patted the couch cushion beside him. âWanna sit?â
Her chest swelled with delight, and relief, to hear that she hadnât chosen incorrectly. She'd considered bringing a nice, neutral black tea instead, but with the sky threatening snow all that morning, she had rather bravely decided to go with her gut instinct. After all, no other drink said âWinterâ quite like cocoa.
However, surprise at his unexpected offer held her breath a little longer. Obviously beside him was the only logical place to sit-- but Mary had been more than prepared to make a space on the floor across the table; the thought of being so close hadnât even dared to cross her mind.
Not that it wouldnât be... nice to be.
âO-o-oh... um, o-okay....â
She tiptoed the rest of the way over and sat down beside him stiffly, looking for all the world like she wasnât enjoying herself but for the deep, undeniable pink of her cheeks. She busied herself immediately with pouring their drinks, an enticing hint of cinnamon rising with the steam-- but instead of retrieving her mug afterward she waited awkwardly, hands folded in her lap and back straight as a board, even more aware of the space between them than before.
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