Fern and Stark's date (or, what Stark should have done in canon bc wtf Stark). (Based on events of Chapter 27)
Maybe Stark had arrived a bit too early.
He sat at the top of the stairs leading down to the market square, watching the vendors drag out their carts and bicker over prime spots. The square was still half-empty. It would probably be another hour before Fern showed up.
At least that would give him time to plan something concrete, right?
Every idea he'd had for the "date" felt stupid the moment he imagined saying it out loud. Would she even enjoy it? What if she thought it was childish? He gripped his knees to stop himself from tugging at his hair again—he'd probably go bald early if he kept that up.
Maybe he should have just asked Frieren for advice.
He'd stood outside her door last night, working up the nerve to ask for help. But before he could knock, he'd heard something through the wood. A small, muffled sound. Almost like a sniffle.
He'd walked away.
He didn't let himself think about what it might have been. Not today. He wouldn't let anything ruin this. Besides, Frieren's advice would've probably been useless anyway—she'd probably tilt her head and murmur something like, "Humans are very complicated," before drifting off into her thoughts.
Stark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe he should've just suggested training instead. At least he knew how to hold an axe.
Footsteps came from the side street.
Fern appeared at the top of the stairs. She was wearing a dress he'd never seen before. She looked... different. Nice. He suddenly felt self-conscious about his usual jacket and rumpled shirt. Was he supposed to be all dressed up for this? Hell, he wasn't even sure if this was a real date!
"You're staring."
Stark shot up too fast, nearly tripping over his own feet. "You're… early."
"You're earlier," she replied, voice even. But her gaze flicked over him—quick, assessing—like she was checking for something.
Stark scratched his cheek, sheepish. "I didn't want to make you wait."
He fidgeted under her stare. He'd known her for how long now, and he still couldn't guess what she was thinking half the time.
"Come on," he said, managing a nervous smile. "Let's walk."
Fern didn't look impressed, but she descended the steps with him anyway.
Hey, he considers that a win.
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They drifted into the market without any particular direction. The stalls were waking up around them—skewers sizzling on grills, strings of candied fruit hanging against wood. Fern moved with her usual quiet purpose, unhurried, and Stark fell into step beside her.
At a jewelry stall, she paused.
It was a modest display — a few chains, some rings, a brooch shaped like a bird. But her eyes settled on a thin silver necklace: a small amethyst pendant, teardrop-shaped.
"Most of the things here are ordinary, huh." Stark glanced down at the necklace; it's craftsmanship was unremarkable, nothing special or useful in anyway.
She shrugged, "I'd be shocked if there were magical items here."
Her gaze lingered anyway.
Stark said nothing. But he remembered.
They kept walking. Fern bought a stick of candied berries—tart-sweet, coated in crisp sugar. Stark watched her out of the corner of his eye, then—on impulse—reached over and tapped the end of the stick.
"Can I try?"
Fern blinked at him. Then, without a word, she held the stick out.
He leaned in and bit the next berry straight off it. Their fingers brushed. Fern's hand didn't pull away immediately.
"Oh," he said, chewing. "That's really good. Kinda sour at first, then sweet."
Fern stared at him as a faint flush crept up her neck. "…You could have just taken the stick."
"Oh. Right." Stark laughed, flustered. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking."
Fern looked down at her hand, the warmth of his hand still lingering. She exhaled slowly and looked away.
Idiot.
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The afternoon slipped by easier than Fern had expected. She wasn't sure what she'd anticipated—there wasn't much to do in a hot-spring town besides soak—but this had been… nice.
By the time they climbed the path to the overlook, the sun was already going low, painting the city in copper and amber. They leaned against the rail side by side.
Stark looked out at the rooftops. "Thanks for coming. I know things have been… heavy lately."
Fern's fingers tightened slightly on the rail, pushing back the thoughts that threatened to surface. "It was your idea. I should be thanking you." She pursed her lips before adding hesitantly, "You know you don't have to stay, right? There are plenty of adventurers in this city. Good ones. They'd want a warrior like you."
Stark frowned, before adding teasingly, "Hey, if you keep saying that, I'll think that you just want to get rid of me."
At Fern's blank stare, he added, panicking, "I-I mean if you want me to leave, I'll leave?! What's with that look? ...Please don't hate me."
The corner of her mouth twitched—almost nothing. But it was there.
Stark sighed in visible relief at the tiny smile. "Don't play with my heart like that. That's cruel, you know…"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He sighed again, exasperated, and turned back to the horizon. When he spoke next, the teasing edge was gone.
"You know, I meant what I said before. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever happens — I'm staying."
Fern's breath caught. The words landed heavier than he probably meant them to. She felt her chest tighten in a way she didn't have a name for.
A beat of silence.
Then Stark leaned toward her, eyes focused, reaching out—
Fern went very still as her mind raced; she felt her eyes start to close.
Instead, she felt his fingers brushed near her temple.
He drew back holding a small white petal between two fingers. It must have caught in her hair from the trees along the path up.
He held it up like evidence. "You had this stuck here."
Her mouth opened. Closed.
"…"
"Why are you so red?" He squinted at her, concerned. "Are you getting sick? It's gotten colder since earlier—your dress isn't warm enough, huh."
He was already shrugging out of his jacket before she could say anything. He draped it over her shoulders. It was worn soft from travel and far too large and immediately, embarrassingly warm.
Fern pulled it closer without meaning to.
Stark had already turned back to the sky. "Oh — look, the stars are coming out. That cluster there; it kinds looks like a frog, right? And that one—" He tilted his head. "No, that's definitely a pancake. See the shape of it?"
Fern continued to stare at him. The blush refused to fade. Her heart was doing something strange tight and fluttery.
She ducked her head. "…Perv."
Stark turned, bewildered. "What? What did I—"
She stood abruptly, clutching the jacket tighter. "I'm going back."
"Fern—hey—wait, what's wrong?!"
She didn't answer. Her steps were quick but not angry — she wasn't sure what they were, actually.
Stark sat there, baffled, scratching his head. "Was it the stars? I thought the pancake one was funny…"
Fern kept walking. The jacket enveloped her like an embrace she hadn't asked for. Warm. Steady. Smelling like him.
What an absolute idiot.
Her hands slipped into the pockets. She blinked in surprise as her fingers brushed something small and cool.
She pulled it out slowly and held it up against the last of the fading light. The necklace from the stall.
Fern stopped.
Then, slowly, the corner of her mouth curved—not the almost-nothing from before. A real one. Small, but real.
She closed her fingers around the pendant and slipped it back into the pocket. Behind her, the city glittered as the last of the sun disappeared, and somewhere up the path, Stark was probably still trying to figure out what he'd done wrong.
It was a bit too warm now, but she didn't take off the jacket.
At least for now, he's my idiot.