Mirajane - POV
The mirror didn't lie.
And I, of all people, knew that better than anyone. I had spent far too many years in front of one, for magazine covers, photoshoots, Sorcerer Magazine posters, to fool myself about what it showed me. I knew every angle of my own face, every curve, every rehearsed smile that worked for each particular occasion.
And, in that moment, what the mirror showed me was a woman who had changed her blouse three times.
...Three.
I looked at the fourth option in my hands, a light fabric, lavender in colour, with a neckline that was elegant without being obvious, and, with a sigh I would never admit to letting out, I put it on.
Better.
Not perfect. But better.
My fingers went to my hair, adjusting my fringe with a care that, on any other day, I'd have called routine. But today wasn't any other day, and that extra care, that second glance in the mirror, that slight tilt of the head to check how my hair fell over my shoulder...
...All of that had a name.
And the name was Lucy Heartfilia.
The memory came back with an almost irritating clarity. The guild bar, two days ago. An ordinary afternoon, the usual noise in the background, Natsu shouting at Gray, some table getting smashed, the comforting sound of Fairy Tail's daily chaos. And me, as always, behind the counter, drying glasses with that serene smile that was practically my trademark.
And then... Lucy.
Lucy, who had approached the counter with the ease of someone walking towards their own execution. Lucy, whose fingers drummed nervously on the polished wood as she tried, with a visible and almost touching effort, to seem casual.
She wasn't, by any stretch, particularly subtle. But that day, she was especially... transparent.
"M-Mira-san?"
"Hm?" I had looked up from the glass I was drying, with my usual smile. Calm. Welcoming. The smile that put people at ease, that made them open up, that made them trust.
The smile that, in that moment, was concealing a genuine curiosity.
"I was... well... I was thinking... if maybe..." Every word seemed to be physically wrenched out of her, as though they had claws and were clinging to her throat on the way out. "If you, by any chance, maybe... didn't have anything to do... tomorrow? Or the day after? Any day, really. Doesn't have to be a specific day. Can be whenever you want. If you want. Which is completely optional, of course—"
...Adorable.
Genuinely adorable.
"Lucy." My voice, soft, cut through her spiral with the gentleness of someone trimming a flower stem. "Are you asking me out?"
And her face. Oh, her face. It went such an intense, such an immediate, such an absolutely devastating shade of red that I, for one brief and delicious instant, wondered whether she might actually faint right there, in the middle of the guild hall.
"N-No! I mean— yes! But not— not like that! I mean, it's just an outing! Between friends! Friends who go on outings! Together! In a completely normal and friendly way and—"
"I'd love to."
She stopped. Completely. As though someone had pressed a pause button on her.
"...What?"
"I'd love to go out with you, Lucy." And I tilted my head slightly, letting my smile soften just a touch more. Just enough. "The day after tomorrow suits me perfectly."
And something happened in her eyes. Something quick. A flash. A spark of surprise that turned into something warmer, something brighter, before she could manage to hide it.
"A-Ah... great! Brilliant! Perfect! So... the day after tomorrow! It's a... it's a date! NO! Not a date! An outing! A friends' outing! I'll— I need to— bye, Mira-san!"
And she was gone. Practically fled, actually, tripping over a chair on her way out.
I remembered standing there, behind the counter, glass still in hand, drying cloth forgotten over my shoulder. And staring at the spot where Lucy had been, with something I couldn't quite fully define forming somewhere behind my smile.
Amusement? Yes, certainly.
Tenderness? ...Perhaps more than I'd expected.
And something else. Something smaller. Quieter. Like the first wisp of smoke before the fire.
...Interesting.
Back in the present, my eyes met my own in the mirror. And the woman looking back at me was, indeed, pretty. The lavender blouse fell well. My hair was in place. My smile was the usual one.
But my eyes...
My eyes had something different about them today.
And I knew. With that quiet certainty that comes from years of knowing oneself, I knew that "something different" also had a name. The same name, as it happened.
My fingers made one last adjustment to my fringe.
...Perfect.
"Well, well~"
The voice came from my bedroom door, soft and melodic, with that sweet lilt I knew better than anyone alive. Because it was, essentially, a younger version of my own voice. Only, in that moment, carrying a worrying amount of amusement.
Lisanna was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, with a smile that was, for all intents and purposes, the smile of someone who has just struck gold.
"...How long have you been there?" I asked, without turning from the mirror, keeping my voice perfectly casual.
"Long enough to see you change your blouse three times."
...Blast.
"That was only twice," I corrected, with a dignity I did not possess.
"It was three, Mira-nee. The blue one, the white lace one, and the grey one you wore for exactly eight seconds before ripping it off as though it had personally offended you." Lisanna, with the inconveniently flawless memory of a younger sister, counted them off on her fingers. "And now the lavender one. Which, by the way, looks lovely."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now..." And her smile widened. Dangerously. "Going out today, Mira-nee?"
Ah. Here it came.
"Just... an outing." I turned, finally, adjusting an earring with a casualness I sincerely hoped was convincing. "Nothing special."
"An outing." Lisanna repeated, savouring the word as though it were a particularly delicious sweet. "Alone?"
"With a friend."
"A friend." Her eyes, blue and bright and dreadfully similar to my own, were practically dancing. "And this friend, by any chance, would she be blonde, use celestial keys, and have the adorable tendency to stammer when she gets nervous?"
"...Lucy is my friend, Lisanna. Friends go out together. It's perfectly normal."
"Normal friends don't change their blouse three times."
Fair. Irritatingly fair.
"I simply wanted to look presentable," I replied, with the unshakeable calm of someone who is, internally, considering the advantages of being an only child. "It's a matter of courtesy."
"Mira-nee." Lisanna peeled herself off the doorframe and walked over to me, stopping beside me, in front of the mirror. We looked alike, she and I. The same delicate build, the same pale eyes. But where I had learned, over the years, to keep everything hidden behind a serene smile, Lisanna had an honesty in her gaze that was, at times, dreadfully inconvenient.
Like now, for instance.
"Just... go easy on her, all right?"
"...What do you mean by that?"
"I mean..." and her voice grew a touch softer, a touch more serious, but without losing that little-sister gleam of someone who knows far too much. "That Lucy isn't like the others."
The air in the room went, for a fraction of a second, a little stiller.
"The others," I repeated, slowly.
"Yeah. The others, Mira-nee." And Lisanna's smile, which had turned momentarily gentle, returned in full force. "The ones you used to sneak back to the dormitory in the middle of the night, thinking no one heard."
"I was young, and—"
"The one who tripped over my pile of books in the corridor at three in the morning?"
"That was an isolated incident—"
"Or that one time..." and Lisanna tilted her head, with the thoughtful air of someone consulting a very, very well-organised mental file, "...when you brought two at once and one of them banged her head on the bathroom door because she couldn't find it in the dark?"
"..."
"Erza woke up thinking the dormitory was under attack. She nearly activated his Purgatory Armour in the corridor."
"...That," I said, with all the dignity I still had left, which wasn't much, "was a very long time ago. And I, since then, have matured considerably as a person."
"You've matured." Lisanna nodded, with a completely false gravity. "Which is why you're changing your outfit several times for an 'outing between friends'."
I opened my mouth. And closed it. And opened it again.
...No argument. There was, in fact, not one single, measly argument.
"Lisanna."
"Yes?"
"I love you dearly. You are my little sister. The light of my life."
"I know."
"And I need, with all the gentleness in the world, for you to leave my room. Now."
She laughed. A light, genuinely amused laugh, so similar to the one our mother used to give that something in my chest tightened, just a little.
"All right, all right. I'm going." Lisanna walked to the door but stopped at the frame. And, when she turned, her smile was different. Softer. More real.
"Mira-nee?"
"Hm?"
"I think Lucy really likes you. Not the way the magazine fans like you. Not the way those girls in the taverns used to like you." She paused. "The real way."
And, before I could respond to any of that, she was gone, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
...
The room fell silent.
I turned, slowly, back to the mirror.
The woman looking back at me was still pretty. Still presentable. The lavender blouse still fell perfectly.
But there was something else in the reflection now. Something Lisanna, with that inconvenient honesty of hers, had brought to the surface without asking permission.
...Lucy really wasn't like the others.
The others had been easy. Not in the pejorative sense of the word, but in the practical sense. Pretty women, one-night encounters, warm bodies and smiles forgotten the following morning. I knew that game. I knew the rules, the moves, the outcomes. It was comfortable. Controlled. Safe.
Lucy was none of that.
Lucy was awkward. Transparent. Brave in a rather crooked way that tripped over its own words. And she had a way of looking at me, sometimes, when she thought I wasn't paying attention, that was...
My fingers touched the mirror, lightly. Almost without realising it.
...She looked at me as though I were something precious.
And that, more than any one-night arrangement, more than any warm body in the small hours, frightened me.
I breathed in. Slowly.
Let the breath out.
And, with one last look in the mirror, I adjusted my smile. The right smile. Not the magazine one, not the bar one, not the seductive one.
The smile that, for some reason I wasn't quite ready to examine, seemed to exist only for Lucy.
I picked up my bag.
Time to go.
------------(*)-----------
I saw her before she saw me.
Lucy was standing in front of the fountain in Magnolia's central square, which was the meeting point we'd agreed on, and the first thing I noticed, before her outfit, before her hair, before anything else, was her posture.
She was fidgeting.
Not obviously. Not in a way any ordinary person would notice. But I was no ordinary person, and Lucy was not remotely subtle.
Her fingers played with the hem of her blouse, a pretty white blouse, with a blue skirt that matched her eyes well. She had made an effort. Carefully. Perhaps, if I dared to guess, with the same sort of care that had made me change my blouse four times.
(...Three. It was three. Lisanna was exaggerating...)
Every so often, Lucy checked her reflection in the fountain's water, adjusting a strand of hair. Then she'd glance sideways. Then go back to fiddling with the hem of her blouse. A perfect, repetitive little cycle of pure and adorable nervousness.
I could have announced myself immediately.
But instead, I stayed there watching for a few more seconds. Not out of unkindness. Not exactly. More out of... appreciation. The same way one observes something pretty and delicate before touching it.
...All right. Perhaps a little bit out of unkindness.
"Lucy~"
She jumped. Literally jumped, like a cat stepping on something unexpected, and turned to face me, eyes wide, cheeks already, already faintly pink.
"M-Mira-san! You're here! Hi! I wasn't... I only just got here too! Just now! This exact second!"
She had, without question, been standing there for at least fifteen minutes.
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting," I said, with a gentle smile, approaching at an unhurried pace.
"N-No! Not at all! I swear I only just—" And the sentence died in her mouth as her eyes, finally, took me in fully. The lavender blouse. The hair. The smile.
And I saw it. With an almost amusing clarity, I saw the exact moment Lucy Heartfilia's brain stalled, restarted, and stalled again.
"...You're..." she began, her voice somewhat distant.
"Hm?"
"You're... very..." The red in her cheeks deepened. "...pretty. Today. Not that you're not always pretty! Because you are! Always! But today specifically you're more— I mean, not more than usual— I mean—"
"Thank you, Lucy." I interrupted her, gently, before she could combust spontaneously right there, in the square, in front of the entire population of Magnolia. "You look lovely too."
And I meant that. Truly.
The way her face lit up at the compliment, open, sincere, without a single protective layer, made something small and warm ignite in my chest.
...Careful, Mirajane.
"So!" I held out my hand to her, with the ease of someone who does this every day. "Ready for our outing?"
Lucy looked at my hand as though I were offering her an S-Class magical artefact. For a moment, I thought she might faint. But then, with a courage I was genuinely beginning to admire, she took mine.
Her fingers were trembling slightly.
...And warm.
"R-Ready," she confirmed, with a smile that was half nervous, half radiant, and entirely charming.
I looped my arm through hers, drawing her gently to my side as we started walking, and felt, with a quiet satisfaction, the slight stiffness in her body ease, little by little, into the contact.
...This could be dangerous.
The good sort of dangerous.
The first shop was my idea.
It was a small, cosy boutique, tucked away on one of Magnolia's side streets that most tourists never found. The sort of place with clothes hanging on dark wooden rails, mirrors framed in wrought iron, and a proprietress who already knew me.
"Mira-chan!" The lady behind the counter, a short woman with grey hair and round spectacles, broke into an enormous smile at the sight of us. "It's been ages since you've been round, dear!"
"I know, I know. I've been busy." I leant over the counter to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. "Mrs. Yuki, this is Lucy. A very special friend."
And I felt, beside me, Lucy stiffen for a fraction of a second at "very special," before recovering with impressive speed.
"P-Pleasure to meet you, ma'am!"
"Oh, what a pretty girl!" Mrs. Yuki adjusted her spectacles, looking Lucy up and down with the approval of someone who knows beauty when she sees it. "A special friend, is it? Mira-chan, you always did have impeccable taste."
"Isn't that right?" I agreed, without the slightest shame, and the strangled sound Lucy made was, quite possibly, the funniest thing I'd heard all week.
The shop was territory I moved through with ease. I liked clothes, not with the obsession of a fashionista, but with the appreciation of someone who understood the power of a well-chosen piece. And Lucy was a delightful companion for shopping.
She touched the fabrics with curiosity. She fell in love with the details, a piece of embroidery, an unusual button, an unexpected colour. And whenever I pulled something off the rail and held it up in front of her, tilting my head with a "what do you think of this one?", she reacted with an honesty so transparent it was almost impossible not to smile.
"Ah, that one's lovely, but perhaps a little..." She bit her lip, searching for the word.
"Too sober?"
"Yes! Exactly!"
"Hm. And this?" I pulled out a dress in a deep blue, light, with a cut that I knew would flatter her figure perfectly.
Lucy's eyes widened. "Oh... that's beautiful, Mira."
"Try it on."
"What? Now?"
"Now." I put the dress into her hands and gently steered her towards the fitting room, with a light touch on her back that lasted exactly half a second longer than strictly necessary. "Go on. I want to see."
And Lucy, her face aflame once more, disappeared behind the curtain.
I leant against the wall beside it, arms crossed, and waited. From the other side of the curtain, I could hear the rustle of fabric, a low murmur, and what I was fairly certain was Lucy talking to herself.
"...stay calm... it's just a dress... she's only being kind... stop panicking, Lucy..."
...Adorable. Genuinely adorable.
The curtain opened.
And...
...Oh.
Lucy stepped out of the fitting room in the blue dress, and it fell on her exactly as I had imagined. The fabric followed her curves with a natural elegance, the deep blue made her skin look even more luminous, and the cut at the waist...
...Yes. I most definitely had good taste.
"S-So?" Lucy asked, tugging at the hem of the dress with a nervousness that contrasted absurdly with how lovely she looked. "Does it look odd? It looks odd, doesn't it? I knew that—"
"Lucy."
She stopped.
I peeled myself off the wall and walked over to her, slowly. I stopped in front of her and, with a gentle movement, adjusted the strap of the dress that had slipped slightly on her shoulder. My fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulder for less than a second.
She held her breath.
"It looks perfect," I said, my voice low. And I wasn't lying. Not in the slightest.
"Y-You think so?"
"But of course." And I tilted my head slightly, letting my eyes sweep over her one last time before I smiled. "The blue matches your eyes."
And Lucy Heartfilia, in that fitting room of a hidden Magnolia boutique, reached a shade of red I honestly hadn't known was possible for anyone who wasn't Erza.
"I— thank you... Mira-san..."
The "san" was back. That small and polite little barrier of formality that she sometimes, unconsciously, kept up between us because of her nerves.
...It's all right. There was no rush.
After the boutique, where Lucy, despite my insistence, flatly refused to let me buy the dress for her, "Mira-san, absolutely not, it's far too expensive!", we headed towards an accessories shop, a few streets further on.
This one was smaller, more intimate, its display cases full of earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and every sort of small, glittering treasure. And it was here, among the narrow shelves and the golden light coming in through the window, that I noticed.
Lucy had stopped.
She hadn't said anything. Hadn't pointed at anything. But her eyes were fixed on something in the display case, with that particular glow people get when they see something they want but have already decided, before even asking the price, that they can't have.
I followed her gaze.
It was a hair clip. Small, delicate, shaped like a star, with a blue crystal at its centre that caught the light and scattered it into tiny rainbows. Simple. Elegant. And absolutely perfect for her.
Lucy looked at the clip for another two seconds, then looked away with that faint smile that meant "it's lovely, but it's not for me," and kept walking.
...Ah, Lucy.
"Mira, look at this one!" She had already been distracted by another shelf, holding up an extravagant earring with enthusiasm. "Do you think this would suit Levy-chan?"
"Hm, perhaps..." I answered, distractedly, while behind her back, I made a silent gesture to the shop assistant and pointed, discreetly, at the star clip in the display case.
The assistant, with a knowing smile, nodded.
A few minutes later, whilst Lucy was still busy internally debating the merits of a pair of earrings for Levy, I approached her from behind.
"Lucy."
"Hm? What—"
"Stay still."
And, carefully, I moved aside a strand of her blonde hair and gently pinned the star clip just above her ear. My fingers brushed the curve of her ear as I adjusted the accessory, and I felt, more than saw, the slight shiver that ran through her body.
I took a step back. Tilted my head.
...Perfect.
The crystal star gleamed among the golden strands as though it had been made to be there.
"M-Mira-san?! What— when did you—"
"I saw you looking at it." I smiled, shrugging with a lightness that entirely belied how deliberate that gesture had been. "It looked lovely. It was meant to be yours."
"But— I can't— that's— you didn't have to—"
"I didn't have to." I agreed, simply. "I wanted to."
And Lucy looked at me.
Not with her usual nervousness. Not with her stammering panic. But with something quieter. Deeper. Something that shone, damp and vulnerable, at the corners of her brown eyes.
"...Thank you," she whispered. And, for the first time since we'd met in the square, her voice didn't tremble.
...Ah.
That look.
That was the look that frightened me. The look that wasn't superficial admiration, nor passing attraction, nor fascination with a magazine cover.
It was the look of someone seeing me. Not Mirajane Strauss, the model. Not Fairy Tail's sweet barmaid. Not the S-Class mage. Not the demon behind the smile.
Just... me.
...Careful, Mirajane.
Very careful.
"Shall we?" I offered my arm again, with my best smile. "The market awaits."
And Lucy, with the star clip shining in her hair and a smile that could genuinely have lit up the whole of Magnolia, threaded her arm through mine.
"Let's go."
The Magnolia market was, in a word, alive.
Not only in the literal sense, though the stalls overflowed with colours, the vendors shouted their wares with the energy of someone narrating an epic battle, and the smell of fresh food filled every inch of the air, but alive in a way I had always appreciated. It was the beating heart of the town. The place where every layer of Magnolia met: the traders, the travellers, the families, the mages passing through. An organised chaos with its own rhythm, its own music.
And I, I confess, moved through it like someone dancing on familiar ground.
"Mira! My favourite customer!" Old Takeshi, at the fruit stall, held up a red apple as though it were a trophy the moment he saw me approaching. "I've been keeping the best peaches for you for a whole week! You think good fruit just grows on trees?"
"...Technically, Takeshi-san, fruit does grow on trees."
"It's a figure of speech, Mira! A figure of speech!"
I laughed, accepting the peach he practically pressed into my hand, and Lucy, beside me, was watching that exchange with an expression I could only describe as... enchanted.
"You know everyone here," she said, with an admiration that seemed genuinely surprised.
"Magnolia isn't that big a town, Lucy. And I've been doing the guild's shopping for years." I held up the peach, examining it critically before giving Takeshi an approving smile, and he puffed out his chest like a proud peacock. "When you feed a gang of destructive mages every single day, you end up knowing every trader, every grower, and every baker within a ten-kilometre radius."
"Mira's my best customer!" Takeshi confirmed, crossing his arms. "Always pays on time, never complains about the price, and even keeps that demon Natsu in check when he tries to nick my tangerines!"
"He doesn't steal them. He just... forgets to pay. Repeatedly."
"That's called theft, Mira."
"That's called Natsu, Takeshi-san."
Lucy's laugh, open, light, genuine, caught me almost off guard. Not because it was unexpected, but because the sound of it was... lovely. Carefree. The sort of laugh that only happens when someone is, truly, enjoying themself.
...Good.
That was exactly the plan.
Because I had noticed, from the start of our outing, something that subtly bothered me. Not in a bad way. But in a way that made me pay attention.
Lucy was having a good time. That much was clear. But she was also, the entire time, aware. Aware of me. Of my closeness. Of every casual touch, every glance, every smile I directed at her. And that awareness, adorable as it was, was keeping her in a constant state of... alertness.
She was so busy panicking internally that she wasn't, truly, relaxing.
And that... wouldn't do.
I didn't want a nervous Lucy. I mean, nervous Lucy was charming, yes, and I admit part of me enjoyed her reactions more than I probably should. But what I really wanted was the real Lucy. The Lucy who laughed without thinking, who spoke without measuring her words, who shone without noticing.
And the market, with its welcoming chaos, was the perfect place for that.
"Try it." I offered her the peach, holding the fruit out in front of her with a casualness I knew would cause a short circuit.
"Y-Your peach?"
"It's a peach, Lucy. Not an engagement ring." I smiled, tilting the fruit slightly towards her. "Take a bite."
She looked at me. Looked at the peach. Looked at me again. And I could almost, almost see the gears in her brain turning furiously, processing the social, romantic, and existential implications of biting into a fruit I was offering her.
Then, with a determination more suited to a battle than to a piece of fruit, she leant in and bit down.
The juice trickled down the corner of her lip.
...Oh.
A golden trail of juice descending along the corner of her mouth, along the curve of her chin, slow and glistening in the sunlight.
And I, Mirajane Strauss, the woman who had brought several unfamiliar women back to her room without so much as batting an eyelid, felt something catch in my chest for a fraction of a second.
...That was unexpected.
"I-It's good!" Lucy said, smiling, entirely unaware of what she had just caused. "It's really good, actually!"
"It is, indeed." My voice came out perfectly normal. Which was a miracle, considering the circumstances. "You've got a bit of..." I raised my hand and, with my thumb, delicately wiped the trickle of juice from the corner of her lip.
The movement was gentle. Natural. The sort of gesture I would make without thinking.
Except that I did think about it. And Lucy, evidently, thought about it too, because she froze completely under my touch, eyes wide, her face going from pink to red in record time.
"A-All done..." I withdrew my hand, keeping my smile in place. "Better."
"T-Thank you, Mira-san..."
The "san" was back.
...I'd broken her again.
Change of tactic.
"Lucy," I said, pulling her along by the arm with a deliberately lighter, more playful energy. "Come on. There's a stall up ahead that sells the best cured cheese in Magnolia, and I need your honest opinion, because Takeshi swears his is better and I need an impartial witness to settle this dispute once and for all."
"A... cheese dispute?"
"A very serious cheese dispute with potentially devastating consequences for the commercial diplomacy of the Magnolia market."
And there it was. There it was. The corner of her mouth curved, her shoulders relaxed just a little, and the laugh that came out of her was lighter, freer.
"That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard."
"Welcome to Magnolia." I pulled her towards the stall, with a smile. "Where cheese disputes are matters of state."
And it worked.
Little by little, stall by stall, exchange by exchange, Lucy loosened up. The real Lucy.
The one who tried new things with her eyes shining. Who marvelled at spices she'd never seen before. Who haggled with a spice vendor with a surprising ferocity, "Mira, she's charging triple the fair price!", and who, when the vendor finally caved, celebrated with a small punch in the air that was the most Lucy thing possible.
"You're good at that," I observed, genuinely impressed.
"My father was a businessman," she said, with a contained pride I found... lovely. "I grew up hearing about margins and market values. Some things stick."
"Reminder to myself: never try to cheat you in a negotiation."
"You couldn't even if you tried." And she smiled, confident, before realising what she'd said and blushing again. "I-I mean—"
"No, no. I liked that Lucy." And I truly did. "Keep going."
And she, slowly and gradually, kept going. Her posture more relaxed. Her laugh more frequent. Her arm through mine growing, little by little, more natural and less stiff.
Until, at one point, as we were passing a flower stall and I stopped to smell a bunch of lavender, for no particular reason, perhaps because there was a connection to my blouse, and then Lucy, beside me, said something that caught me off guard.
"You know..." she murmured, her voice low, almost thoughtful, watching the market around us with that soft gaze she sometimes had. "I never realised Magnolia could be like this."
"Like what?"
"Like... cosy. Up close." She made a vague gesture with her free hand. "I always just rush through here, you know? Off to the guild, back from missions, running from Natsu..." A smile. "I never really stopped to... look. Thank you for showing me," she said, looking at me. And there was no stammer. No nervous "san." Just Lucy, her brown eyes reflecting the golden afternoon light, and that star clip shining in her hair as though it were part of her.
I didn't answer immediately.
Because something, in that instant, shifted inside me. Something I hadn't expected. Something that wasn't part of the plan, the control, the careful dance I always led.
Lucy wasn't trying to impress me. Wasn't trying to be charming, or seductive, or interesting. She was simply... being grateful. Genuinely. For an outing at the market.
And that, somehow, was more devastating than any flirtation I had ever received.
"...You're welcome, Lucy." And my smile, in that moment, wasn't rehearsed. Wasn't strategic. It wasn't the magazine one, nor the bar one, nor the seductive one.
It was just mine.
"Come on," I said, resuming our walk. "The sweet shop is just up ahead. And if you thought the market was good, wait until you try Mrs. Martha's chocolate cake."
"Chocolate cake?!"
And the way her eyes lit up, as though I'd just announced the discovery of a lost treasure, made me laugh. Genuinely.
...Dangerous.
Very, very dangerous.
Mrs. Martha's sweet shop was, without exaggeration, my favourite place in the whole of Magnolia.
It wasn't big. It wasn't flashy. It sat on a quiet corner, half-hidden behind a florist's, with a cream-painted wooden front and a door that creaked softly every time it opened. The sort of place you'd walk straight past if you didn't know it existed. The sort of place you only found when someone you trusted took you by the hand and said "trust me."
And the interior was exactly how I liked it. Small tables with white tablecloths. Soft light coming in through the windows. The thick, sweet smell of baking dough, melted chocolate, and fresh fruit filling every inch of the air like an edible embrace.
"Oh..." Lucy, beside me, stopped at the entrance, her eyes widening as she took the place in. "Mira, this is..."
"I know."
"It's so..."
"I know." And I couldn't help the smile. Because the expression on her face, that mixture of surprise and pure delight, like a child walking into a sweet shop for the first time, was exactly the reaction I'd hoped for. And, perhaps, the very reason I had chosen this place specifically. Not the most popular café. Not the most famous patisserie. This one. My place.
...I was showing her my place.
That meant something. And I knew it meant something, and I chose, deliberately, not to think too hard about what, exactly, it meant.
"Mira-chan!" Mrs. Martha, a short, round woman with rosy cheeks that looked as though they were made of the same stuff as her cakes, emerged from behind the counter with a smile warm enough to melt butter. "You've brought company today! How lovely!"
"Mrs. Martha, this is Lucy."
"Oh! What a pretty girl!" And Mrs. Martha, with the welcoming efficiency of a professional grandmother, was already guiding us to a table by the window, the best table, I knew, because it caught the afternoon light. "Sit down, sit down, dear. I'll bring you the house special straightaway."
"S-She doesn't need to—" Lucy began.
"Mrs. Martha doesn't take no for an answer," I informed her, pulling out the chair for Lucy and gesturing for her to sit. "It's easier to just surrender."
"But I haven't even seen the menu—"
"Lucy." I sat down in the chair opposite, folding my hands on the table. "Trust me."
And something in my tone, or perhaps in the way I said it, made Lucy pause. Look at me. And, after a second, let out the breath she'd been holding and sit down, with a smile that was half resigned, half enchanted.
"...All right. I trust you."
...Good girl.
Mrs. Martha returned in record time with two slices of chocolate cake with strawberries that were, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, edible works of art. Perfect layers of fluffy sponge, cream that looked like cloud, and fresh strawberries cut with a surgeon's precision. Beside them, two cups of tea giving off a delicate, floral aroma.
Lucy looked at the cake as though it were a divine apparition.
"This..." she whispered, almost reverently. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Wait until you taste it."
She picked up her fork. Cut a piece with a care that made me think she was trying not to offend the cake. Brought it to her mouth.
And closed her eyes.
"...Oh my god."
"I know."
"Mira. Mira, this is—"
"I know."
"This is the best cake I've ever eaten in my entire life." She opened her eyes, and they were, I swear, faintly damp. "I am having a spiritual experience right now. I think I saw the gods."
I laughed. Genuinely, without rehearsal, without control. And the expression of pure and absolute rapture on Lucy's face as she devoured the cake with an almost religious devotion was...
...I had no words. Just the certainty that image was going to stay in my memory for a very, very long time.
"I can't believe this place exists and I didn't know about it," Lucy said, between mouthfuls, with the indignation of someone who has just discovered they've been personally betrayed by the universe. "I've lived in Magnolia for months! MONTHS, Mira! And no one ever brought me here!"
"Now you know." I took a sip of my tea, watching her over the rim of the cup. "My secret. Well, ours now."
And the way the word "ours" settled between us, light, almost casual, but carrying a weight we both felt, made the air, for a fraction of a second, grow denser.
Lucy looked at me. And I saw, again, that glow. That look that wasn't superficial admiration. That was something more.
"...Ours," she repeated, quietly, as though tasting the word. And she smiled.
I held her gaze for a moment. Then, with a deliberate softness, I turned my attention back to my own cake.
...Slowly, Mirajane. Slowly.
We ate in a comfortable silence for a few moments. The sort of silence that doesn't need to be filled. The sort that only happens when two people are simply, well, in each other's presence.
And it was in that silence, with the afternoon light coming softly through the window and tinting everything a warm gold, that Lucy broke it with a muffled laugh.
"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing, I just..." She shook her head, smiling at her empty plate as though it held an amusing secret. "I almost didn't have the courage to ask you out, you know?"
"Almost?" I tilted my head, genuinely curious. "What made you change your mind?"
"I was..." She let out a slightly embarrassed laugh, the sort that comes when someone is confessing something they know is a bit pathetic. "I was rehearsing. In my flat. In front of the mirror. For like... an hour."
"An hour."
"An hour, Mira. I tried at least twenty different approaches. One of them involved a motivational speech about the importance of interpersonal connections between guild members. It was mortifying. Plue was judging me."
"Plue?"
"He has very expressive eyes for a celestial spirit who technically doesn't have pupils."
I rested my chin on my hand, watching her with a smile I wasn't even trying to control. "And what made you finally go over there and talk to me?"
"Ah..." And there. There I saw a subtle shift. Her tone grew a touch softer, a touch warmer, as though the memory were a fond one. "A friend. She, well... she sort of gave me a push."
"A push?"
"Yeah. We were talking at the guild, and I was, I admit, complaining, again, about how I wanted to do something but didn't have the nerve, and she just..." Lucy let out a disbelieving laugh, as though she still couldn't quite believe it. "She looked at me with that face of someone physically suffering from my existence and said: 'Blondie. I need you to understand, with all my compassion and lack of patience, that you are, at this precise moment, the most pathetically cowardly person I have ever had the displeasure of observing. And I live with Happy.'"
I kept my smile perfectly in place.
"And then," Lucy continued, gesturing with her fork in a way that made me mildly fear for the tablecloth's structural integrity, "she said: 'You have been sitting here, complaining, for FORTY MINUTES about something that resolves itself in one short sentence. Forty. I counted. And every minute was more painful than the last.'"
"A short sentence?" I asked, with an innocence I most certainly did not feel.
"'Mira, want to go out with me tomorrow?'" Lucy counted it off on her fingers. "It really does seem quite short. And then she just kept staring at me with that smug little smile and that tail wagging as though she'd just solved every problem in the world."
...The tail wagging.
I took a very, very slow sip of my tea.
"And she didn't stop there," Lucy said, and there was, in that tone, a mixture of indignation and fondness that was almost comical. "She added: 'And, honestly, Blondie, your excuses are of such miserably poor quality that I, as your colleague, feel a moral obligation to inform you that they are the worst I have ever heard. From anyone. In any circumstance. Including that time Gray tried to explain why he was starkers in the middle of the market. Congratulations. That's practically a talent.'"
"...Did she really compare it to Gray being naked?" And I was, I confess, using every ounce of my self-control not to laugh.
"WORD FOR WORD." Lucy threw her hands in the air. "And then she took a bow! A dramatic bow! As though she'd just finished a performance!"
I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.
"And the worst part..." Lucy lowered her voice, as though confessing a crime. "Is that she was completely right. And she knew it. And I knew that she knew it. And she knew that I knew that she knew it."
"This person sounds... quite unique."
"She's impossible." Lucy smiled, with an affection that overflowed despite her complaining tone. "She's sarcastic, and dramatic, and thinks she's the cleverest creature in any room she walks into, and the annoying thing is she's usually right, and she made me realise I'd been so busy being afraid that I'd forgotten..." A pause. Softer. "That some things are worth the risk."
...Some things are worth the risk.
Lucy's gaze, when she said that, met mine. And there was something so sincere in it, so stripped of any defence, that I felt, for a fraction of a second, the ground shift slightly beneath my feet.
Not because of the sentence itself.
But because I was, apparently, the risk Lucy Heartfilia had decided was worth taking.
...Ah.
The other part of my mind, however, the part smiling for an entirely different reason, didn't even need to piece the puzzle together. There was no puzzle. There was a lit-up sign with flashing arrows.
Acid sarcasm. Insults disguised as affection. A dramatic bow.
Lucy, darling. You could not have been less subtle if you had tried.
...Azra'il.
That blasted wolf.
My fingers turned my teacup, slowly.
So that was it. The sudden courage. The unexpected invitation. All of it had the fingerprints of a certain meddlesome she-wolf who, apparently, wasn't content merely causing chaos in her own love life and had to, out of some existential necessity, meddle in everyone else's too.
And I didn't know whether I wanted to thank her or strangle her.
...Perhaps both. In that order.
"Mira?" Lucy looked at me, head tilted. "You're smiling in a different way."
"Am I?"
"You are. Like... more than usual. And your usual is already a lot."
"I'm just..." I set down my cup, with a smile that was, I admit, a touch sharper than usual. "Happy. That you listened to your friend."
"Me too," Lucy said, smiling back, entirely unaware that her attempt to keep the "friend's" identity a secret had been the narrative equivalent of hiding an elephant behind a lamp post. "She's a good person. A bit mad, but good."
...A bit mad.
Generous, Lucy. Extremely generous.
"Lucy."
"Hm?"
"It's getting late." I glanced out the window, where the afternoon gold was slowly giving way to the rosy tones of dusk. "I'll walk you home."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." And the look I gave her ended any argument before it could begin. "Come on."
Lucy didn't argue.
And, as I left the payment on the table with a wave to Mrs. Martha and guided Lucy towards the door, two thoughts occupied my mind.
The first: I didn't want that afternoon to end.
The second: I was, most definitely, going to have a very long and very detailed little chat with a certain meddlesome, sarcastic, and irritatingly effective she-wolf the next time I saw her.
...That could wait.
For now, I had a blonde to walk to her front door.
----------(*)---------
The walk to Lucy's flat wasn't long.
And, in that moment, I loathed that fact with an intensity that caught me off guard.
Magnolia at dusk was, absurdly, beautiful. The sort of beauty that felt almost too deliberate to be accidental, the cobblestone streets bathed in that rosy, golden light, the lamplights along the posts beginning to flicker on one by one like lazy fireflies, the river cutting through the town reflecting the sky in shades of orange and lilac. It was the sort of scene artists tried to capture and never quite managed, because no paint in the world could reproduce that exact temperature of light.
But today, for the first time, I wasn't paying attention to the town.
I was paying attention to the way Lucy walked beside me.
Her arm was looped through mine, a constant that had established itself naturally over the course of the day, without either of us needing to negotiate or comment on it. And at some point, somewhere between the market and the sweet shop, the initial stiffness had disappeared entirely. Her body was relaxed against mine. Close. Comfortable.
...Natural.
As though it had always been that way.
"The sun's so pretty," Lucy murmured, looking at the horizon with that glow in her eyes I was already beginning to catalogue as one of my favourite things about her.
"It is," I agreed.
But I wasn't looking at the sun.
I was looking at the way the evening light touched her hair, turning every golden strand into something that seemed almost unreal. At the way the star clip, my gift, caught the light and cast tiny reflections that danced over the skin of her neck. At the calm smile on her face, so different from the nervousness at the start of the day.
This was the real Lucy. The one I'd wanted to see from the beginning. Relaxed. Present. Happy.
...And achingly beautiful in this light.
"Mira?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you for today." Her voice was soft, almost shy, but without the stammer. Without the panic. Just... sincere. "I had a really lovely time. Truly."
"Me too, Lucy." And it was true. Truer than I'd expected when I left the house that morning with a blouse changed four times and Lisanna's smile chasing after me.
"It's just..." She bit her lip, searching for the words. "I don't usually... do this. Go out like this. Just me and another person. No mission, no team, no Natsu blowing something up. It's... different."
"Different good?"
"Different very good." And she looked at me, with that smile that lit everything up, and I felt, again, that thing in my chest. That warm and inconvenient tightening that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with something I still wasn't ready to name.
We walked on in silence for a while longer. A light silence, without weight, filled only by our footsteps on the cobblestones and the distant sound of the river. And, at some point, Lucy's fingers slipped from my arm... and found my hand.
It wasn't a dramatic gesture. It wasn't deliberate. It was almost... accidental. Her fingers brushing mine, hesitating for a fraction of a second, and then lacing together. Soft. Shy. As though she were testing whether I'd allow it.
I allowed it.
And squeezed back.
Lucy's breath caught. Just slightly. Almost imperceptibly. But I heard it. And her fingers, which had been trembling slightly, steadied against mine.
Neither of us said anything.
There was no need.
Lucy's building appeared sooner than I would have liked.
It was a pretty building, well kept, with a pale brick front and windows with flower boxes. Cosy. The sort of place that suited her.
We stopped at the front door, and Lucy, slowly, turned to face me. And I saw, on her face, something I recognised. The same internal battle I'd seen at the guild bar, two days ago. The urge to say something fighting against the fear of spoiling the moment.
"So..." she began.
"So," I repeated, with a soft smile.
"I'm... I'm here."
"You are."
"At my door."
"Yes."
"And you're here. At my door. Too."
"An accurate observation."
"And..." She let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through her hair in a gesture that dislodged the star clip slightly. "I don't quite know how to... do this part."
...This part.
The goodbye. The moment when two people stand at a doorstep, and the air grows heavy, and everything that wasn't said throughout the entire day suddenly piles up in the space between them like a storm waiting to break.
I knew this moment.
I'd been in it before. Many times. With other people, at other doors, on other nights. And, on those occasions, I knew exactly what to do. A touch. A smile. A tilt of the head. And the door would open, and the night would unfold, and by the next morning I'd leave with a polite smile and without looking back.
But this wasn't another door. And Lucy wasn't another person.
And I, to my own surprise, didn't want that door to open. Not today. Not like this.
Because Lucy deserved more than one night. More than a moment of impulse. More than the version of me that knew every move, but with no reason behind any of them.
Lucy deserved... time. Care. Intention.
So, instead of doing what my hands wanted, instead of doing what the old version of me would have done without a second thought, I took a step forward. Slowly. Close enough to feel her warmth, to see the golden glow in her brown eyes, to notice the way her breath had gone still.
And I raised my hand.
Carefully, with a gentleness I didn't usually allow myself, I brushed away the strand of blonde hair that had fallen across her face. My fingers traced the curve of her ear, brushing her skin with a lightness that was, at the same time, almost nothing and absolutely everything.
And I fixed the star clip back into place.
Lucy didn't move. Didn't breathe. Her eyes, wide, were fixed on mine, and I could see, could practically feel, her heart beating.
I leant in.
Close. Closer than necessary. Close enough for her lips to part slightly by reflex, close enough for the air between us to grow thick and warm and heavy with everything we hadn't said.
And I placed a kiss on her forehead.
Lingering. Soft. Warm.
A silent promise of something I still didn't know how to name, but that already existed, growing somewhere between my ribs.
When I pulled back, Lucy's eyes were closed. Her face flushed. Her lips slightly parted. And an expression that was, at once, the loveliest and most devastating thing I had ever seen.
"Goodnight, Lucy," I said, my voice lower than I'd intended.
She opened her eyes. Slowly. Like someone waking from a dream and not yet certain they're back in reality.
"G-Good... goodnight... Mira..."
I took a step back. Then another. And, with my best smile, I began to walk away.
"Mira!"
I stopped. Turned around.
And Lucy was there, standing in the doorway, the star clip shining in her hair, her face flushed from the sunset, and that smile, that damned, lovely smile that I was already beginning to suspect would be my undoing.
"I..." She swallowed hard. "I want to do this again. Go out with you. If... if you want to."
...If I want to.
"Lucy." I tilted my head slightly, letting my smile open just a little more. "Just ask."
And the smile she gave me, luminous, radiant, incandescent, stayed with me the whole way home.