( Read on AO3 )
Pairing: march/farmer (fields of mistria) Word Count: 2.5k Summary: It's your first Halloween in Mistria, and you're excited for the costume party at the inn. One small problem: you accidentally match your costume with the worst possible person.
Tag: halloween, mild language, enemies to something, everyone ships you with march except march, friday night at the inn, unresolved romantic tension Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics
HALLOWEEN AT THE INN.
Maybe the Kiki costume is too on the nose.
While you’re technically the new farmer of the town, tending your crops has recently begun to feel like a secondary job to the impromptu delivery service you’ve tripped into.
Not that you mind — if Hayden leaves a communal bulletin stating he needs an egg, then you’re more than happy to pop by and deliver.
(Though… doesn’t he technically own a ranch? Why would he need more eggs?)
Whatever.
Not your problem, just your solution.
Tonight marks your first-ever costume party at the inn.
While it’s been a town tradition for years, perhaps even decades, you find Hemlock stating that this year simply feels different.
Lighter, maybe. More exciting.
(Because the town needs a little excitement that isn’t privy towards an earthquake.)
You stand in front of your elongated mirror tucked against your bookshelves, tugging at the purple-blue skirt skimming your thighs.
It isn’t difficult to guess what you’re dressed as: between the massive bright bow wrapped around your head like a headband, the flats, the smock dress, and the stuffed black cat tucked under your arm, you should hope your friends know what you’re dressed as.
Kiki, the delivery service girl from the Studio Ghibli movie of similar title.
With one last huff of anxiety, you turn for the front door and trudge through your dilapidated (see: work in progress) farm to make your way towards the heart of town.
Josephine has already decked out the front with strings of paper bats and pumpkins lining the doors to the inn. The gentle glow of recently-carved pumpkins framing said doors with the bails of hay you donated to tonight’s event brings a nostalgic warmth to your heart.
You can’t remember the last time you went to a Halloween event, much less a costume party.
As your hand reaches for the door, you’re met with a sudden burst of wind.
The door flies open towards you, revealing a button-nosed Dell peering up from her perch. Whiskers streak her rosy cheeks, the black cat ears a stark contrast to her cropped blonde hair.
“You’re here!” she chirps excitedly, beaming up at you.
“Hey, Dell,” you greet politely, opening the door for her.
It appears the rascals of Mistria are following in tow — as they tend to do all over town in a troop — all equal parts dressed up as various animals.
Maple has a small painted bunny nose with tall ears in her hair.
In true Luc fashion, a spider body with fuzzy arms attached to his appendages. He doesn’t look the least bit comfortable, but he’s clearly excited to be an arachnid nonetheless.
“Are you Kiki this year?” Dell inquires.
Luc fixes his glasses with his many arms before perking up at your added props. “Whoa, and you have Jiji with you!”
Dell gets this look on her face, as if knowing something you don't know, but you think nothing of it at the time.
“Celine is back by the kitchen with Adaline and Orlic,” Maple suggests as if assuming you’re looking for the eldest sister.
Celine had been one of your first friends in town, so it’s no surprise to you that one would anticipate you would gravitate right towards them.
However, hearing Orlic’s name in the mix makes your stomach flip-flop, because—
.
. — —
.
.
Well, let’s get it out of the way early.
For the record, you love to spend your time at the blacksmith shop.
For the past month you’ve been hard at work in the mines, exploring the ins and outs of such a mysterious place, so naturally you’ve come to the shop to forge your tools and weapons.
And you’ve gotten good at offering a helping hand when it comes to blacksmithing.
Like, really good.
So good that Orlic has even set up a little spot for you to consolidate and work.
—only issue is that it’s right next to March’s bench.
March.
The bane of your existence, if you ever had one.
The naysayer that wants you gone from this damn town.
The only person in town who seems to have a big problem with you being here.
You wish you understood why — it isn’t like you did anything wrong to him.
You show up to the shop with an ever-revolving door of gifts from the mines.
Slowly but surely, you’ve learned what each brother likes. Olric is easy to please: he’s happy to take any stone you find, hoping one day to find a gem in the rough.
March, however…
He couldn’t care less that you show up after a long day’s work, dirtied and exhausted, holding out a piece of copper ore like a proverbial olive branch.
(Tch, he clicks with his tongue like clockwork, I could do better.)
Still, you persist.
Because deep down, you don’t think March actually hates you.
Orlic has said it time and time again — his brother can be tough to get used to, but that’s because he doesn’t have many friends. A loner at heart; March would rather sit in solace and march (no pun intended) to the beat of his own drum.
He likes you in his own way!
If it wasn’t for one of the first nights at the inn, then you wouldn’t believe it.
You distinctly remember walking in with Adeline after accomplishing a renovation of a bridge (to nowhere, you’d like to preface, but a job’s a job) when a voice jumped out from the fray of baseline chatter.
“Yo, farmer!”
Slurred, maybe, but after so much time at the blacksmith shop, you know it well.
However there’s little bite to March as he stands from his bar stool, face flushed with a flourishing pink as he sips from his mug.
He makes it a point to poke his head over his brother’s to see your face, and he…
Smiles.
Not in mockery.
Not in hatred.
A real, bonafide, drunk-as-a-skunk smile.
“Come here,” he hiccups, sloshing some beer as he tries to beckon you closer. “C’mere—”
You don’t think March remembers, but he talked to you.
For three hours straight, actually, about nothing in particular.
Your farm.
Your week.
Your future plans.
Chin dropped to his propped-up fist, his eyes are hazy, but he listens. Intently. Like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say.
At first it was jarring, especially since Orlic hopped up to give you his seat and never returned, but after twenty or so minutes it was… nice.
The next morning you were strangers.
Six straight days of snappy remarks, but without as much bite.
By the time Friday rolled around again, you found him in the same position — drinking, happily enjoying a communal game, while waving to you periodically to get your attention while you’re busy spending time discussing the week with Celine and Reina.
You want to ask Orlic.
Hell, you want to ask anyone to make sure you’re not imagining the once-a-week friendliness.
But you don’t.
You just endure six whole days until the next Friday rolls around.
.
. — —
.
.
As the kids shuffle out of the inn to get some air, you walk into the festively-decorated venue looking for a drink.
Reina had said something about themed finger-foods and drinks, both mocktail and cocktail, that she was beyond proud of.
There’s a circle near the tail end of the bar where Celine, Reina, Orlic, and Ryis all chat. Ryis has gone traditional cowboy, while Reina and Celine match in regency ball gowns, presumably a period-piece costume. Orlic is standing in an inflatable dinosaur costume, so you can only make out the visor of his eyes in the blow-up ensemble.
And when their eyes land on you, they stop talking completely.
At first it feels normal, albeit intimidating, but you wave and walk over anyway.
(Why has Ryis’ jaw dropped to the floor? And why is he excusing himself with a little laugh?)
“Hey, guys!” you greet as cheerily as you can, and Celine gives a look to Reina.
…huh.
The same kind of look Dell had on her face, like there’s something unspoken being passed around by your appearance.
“Oh — hello,” Celine replies in her musical voice, curtseying in character. “Lovely costume!”
“Yeah, it looks amazing on you,” Reina adds, but she keeps looking around.
You feel like there’s something you’re missing.
Staring down the cat and broomstick in your arms, you open your mouth to compliment them in return, but—
“So that’s why March didn’t want to match with me!”
Orlic pipes up, his dinosaur suit squishing and swishing around as he holds his arms out.
“I would have never guessed you’d plan a costume together,” pipes up Celine, shoulders deflating as if glad someone brought up the elephant in the room.
Except you can’t see said elephant — it’s still invisible.
“I… sorry,” you start, fixing your bow. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t have to be coy, Kiki,” Reina teases with a wave of her hand. “I think it’s cute!”
“But what’s cute?” you urge. “I feel like there’s something—”
“Hey, nerds, I got us the stupid punch. You could’ve told me the ladle was for baby hands. Took me like five minutes to make four drinks.”
At the sound of a gruff, annoyed voice, you turn—
Oh.
Oh, no.
March stares back at you through black-rimmed glasses with equal horror, sloshing one of the drinks he’s delicately balancing in his hands in a diamond.
His hair’s a little flatter than usual, but the fluff fights the frizz of the heated inn. On his body is a striped red and white t-shirt, along with some light blue denim jeans rolled up at the ankles.
The costume is just as distinct as yours.
Tombo.
“The hell are you wearing?” he blurts directly at you, and you hear a high-pitched giggle of excitement behind you come from Celine.
“I… a costume,” you lamely reply.
March scowls. “Yeah, genius, I know that it's a costume 'cus you never wear bows.”
“Yes, I do?”
“Not as big as that one!” he snaps. “They’re always smaller or, like… two, on either side of your— Whatever! But why that costume?”
“Thanks for the drinks, little bro!” Orlic happily states, waddling around you in order to gingerly pick up his punch. “We’re gonna go see how the mummy-wrapping game is going.”
March's eyes shoot wide in confusion.
“Huh?”
“Yeah,” Reina adds, taking two drinks for her and Celine, before giving one back. “Actually, I’m totally hydrated. Our lovely Kiki might need a drink. You two have fun.”
“Huh?!”
March’s head whips side to side so fast that you expect the glasses to fly off of the bridge of his nose.
You stand with your plushie cat and broom, blindsided by the matching outfits.
Oh, god — it clicks.
They think the two of you secretly conspired together to do a couples costume.
That’s not good.
“Why’d everyone leave?” March grumbles. “It took a lot of damn effort not to spill those drinks.”
When you say nothing, he reluctantly returns his attention to you and holds out a drink.
“For the record, I planned to be Tombo before you even got to town, Farmer Girl.”
“I put together whatever I had in my suitcase,” you confess, taking the drink from his hand.
“Sure you didn’t sneak a peek of my costume hangin’ up when you were at the shop?” he accuses, squinting while he sips on his alcoholic punch.
“No, March,” you groan, dropping your head back. “Trust me, I don’t want to be matching with you, either.”
In true March fashion, he contradicts himself without missing a beat.
“Why the hell not?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, what’s so bad about matching me?”
“Because people will think—”
“So?”
“So?” you repeat, slightly higher pitched. “Uh, hello, it’s your worst nightmare?”
“Nah, dressing up as a t-rex is my worst nightmare,” he corrects, like everyone knows this vital piece of information about him. “Orlic was pretty hell bent on getting us to match this year, but I wasn’t sweating my ass off in a damn blow-up suit.”
“And accidentally matching with me is significantly less than that?”
March pauses, marinating on the words, before growing silent to sip more of his drink.
Exasperated, you throw your hands up and switch plushie Jiji from one arm to the other.
“Well, I’ll go home and change. Maybe I have a black shirt and jeans.”
Surely you have to have something basic in your arsenal, even if you were really excited for this costume. But the implication is rearing its ugly head into a territory you’re not sure you went to venture into.
Friendship with the one guy who hates your guts, or worse.
Yet his voice rumbles against the lip of his cup. “What’s a black shirt and pants combo gonna be for a costume?”
“I don’t know, a cat?”
“But Dell’s already a cat.”
“Then a raven! I don’t know.”
March snorts, shaking his head. He uses his free hand to push his fake glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“That’s dumb. Just keep being Kiki.”
The huff out your mouth is laced with disbelief. “And what, have you be my Tombo?”
You don’t mean the words to come out as harshly as they do, but the options to rectify this awkward situation are limited.
It’s either he changes, you change, or—
Well, or you match with your sworn enemy of the town.
Both of you stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the rest of the party rage on.
For what feels like hours, neither of you speak.
A few people greet the two of you, but beyond your initial friend group, no one else seems surprised to see the two of you in a common duo costume.
“I like your bow, by the way.”
The words are so quiet that you almost think you caught wind of a ghost.
Turning your head, the sight before you is one you’ve grown accustomed to: March’s cheeks are flushed, sprinkled with an embarrassed pink.
He side-eyes you, studying the bow before flickering his attention to your face.
You sip your drink, trying your best to look neutral.
“I… think you look nice with glasses.”
That pink turns into crimson, and he buries his head into his chest like he wants to curl into himself to hide the fact that your compliment affects him so deeply.
“...thanks.”
With a curt nod, you bring the cup back to your lips, only to realize it’s only left with ice.
Huh. You didn’t think you drank it all down.
In your peripheral you see it, but it doesn’t register until something warm lands on your hand —
March’s fingers overlap yours, gently nudging the cup out of your grip and into his.
“You're empty,” he mumbles. “I’ll get you some more.”
Before you can protest, he turns on a heel and rushes back to the punch cauldron. The blush goes so far as to creep up the nape of his neck and into his dyed-red hair.
You watch him disappear, your stomach flip-flopping with anxiety and…
Butterflies?
Weird. That’s new.
(But that’s how it goes on Friday night at the inn.)
.
author's note:
I wrote this in about an hour because I have been dying to try my hand at an FoM fic, and since I'm in a very Halloween-y mood, I figured I could write a little cute heart event for March!
If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! What other costumes do you think March would be cute in? Let me know in the comments! (And thank you for any reblogs, likes, etc.)
