Reblogged
Reblogged
🖋️Fic Update: Jerza | “Between the Lines” (Part 1)
“If they couldn’t have anything to themselves before—then they would have something now.”
Quiet, aching, intimate— a Jerza introspective
🔗 Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64751314 ♥️
Reblogged
you have a leaf in your hair.
🌸 pairing: jellal x erza 🌿 genre: canon-accurate soft angst-fluff, subtle yearning, mutual pining 🌙 setting: early morning, quiet garden after a job, just them ✨ warnings: awkwardness, so much unspoken tension, emotional constipation, no confessions yet
the job was simple. barely even a job. no injuries, no casualties, just a merchant’s escort across town and one night at a quiet inn near the forest’s edge.
jellal hadn’t expected her to be awake.
he steps out into the garden at sunrise, hoping to avoid attention—he’s still a wanted man, technically, and his sleep has never been peaceful.
but erza is there.
sitting on a stone bench under a tree, barefoot, her armor set neatly beside her. her hair is down. her gaze is distant. the light touches her like it remembers her.
he hesitates.
“…sorry,” he says, half-turning to leave. “i didn’t mean to—”
“it’s alright,” she says, without looking at him. “you can stay.”
he does.
they sit in silence. it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s full. like there are words pressing up against their teeth that neither of them will say. jellal stares at the grass. he can feel the edge of her presence like a warmth he doesn’t deserve.
he tells himself not to look at her. he looks anyway.
“…you have a leaf in your hair,” he says.
she blinks. reaches up, brushing near her temple, but misses. he hesitates again, then—very carefully—leans forward, plucks it out.
she doesn’t move away. doesn’t speak. her eyes meet his, and he thinks: i don’t know what to do with this moment. i never have.
“thank you,” she says softly.
“you’re welcome.”
she looks away first. he doesn’t.
“…you always wake up early?” she asks, after a long pause.
“not always. only when there’s something on my mind.”
“there’s always something on your mind.”
he huffs something close to a laugh. “then, yes. always.”
she picks at the hem of her cloak. it’s the same one she wore when they met again in the capital. he remembers every fold of it, every glance she gave him, every time she said his name like it hurt.
“i come out here when i don’t want anyone to see me.”
he tilts his head. “see you?”
“like this.”
she doesn’t explain. she doesn’t have to. he understands. armor off. guard down. no fight to win. no mask to wear.
he looks at her again. really looks.
the years have changed her, but not the way she holds herself. still sharp, still strong. but the soft edges have returned too. the girl who smiled through pain. the girl who looked at him with hope, even when he didn’t deserve it.
“…erza.”
she turns, and something flickers between them—old and new, painful and kind.
he doesn’t finish the sentence. he doesn’t need to.
“it’s alright,” she says again, and this time it’s for more than just the leaf.
and for a moment, in the quiet gold of morning, with no witnesses and no war— he lets himself believe it.