Prompt: Opposites attract? Who decided that? The broken take refuge in the broken. The cold likes the cold. Two social exiles find solace in one another.
—
The first thing Asta learned in childhood was that hope didn't come for everyone.
He stopped waiting for it when he turned seven.
No one came to tell him why he had no magic. No one offered answers. They only stared. Avoided. Pushed him to the edge of crowds.
At the church, he was useful. Strong. Quick. Obedient.
That was enough.
He told himself it was enough.
When other kids learned to float leaves with wind magic or boil water with fire, he trained his body until it felt like breaking.
He didn't want to be strong.
He had to be.
If he couldn't be a mage, then he'd be a sword.
And swords didn't cry when they were alone.
—
Noelle never got to grieve.
Grief was a luxury reserved for the living.
When her mother died all those years back, they buried her with Noelle's future.
She didn't cry at her grandmother's funeral either. That would've been a weakness.
She stood still. Back straight. Eyes dry.
Nozel didn't hold her hand. Solid didn't speak to her. Nebra turned away when she entered a room.
They didn't say it aloud, but she could feel the accusation in every glance.
You did this.
You killed her like you did mother.
She was five.
Their father passed away a year later.
She was blamed for that as well.
It was funny—none of them held their father in high regard, let alone felt any affection for the man, yet Noelle, who'd only met him once, was blamed for his death?
It didn't make sense.
But it was reality.
Everything that went wrong in House Silva was pinned on her.
She could be dead when misfortune struck, and still, her siblings would dig up her bones just to tell her it was her fault.
She grew up with walls, mirrors, and silence. And when she tried to fight—to prove herself—her magic betrayed her too.
She stopped trying.
Stopped speaking.
Stopped hoping anyone would ever want her for anything but her name.
—
The Black Bulls were supposed to be punishment.
That's what Nozel told her before sending her off.
"If you're going to be a disgrace, then rot with the rest of them."
She didn't cry.
She felt relieved.
She was finally free.
—
Asta didn't join the Magic Knights for glory.
There were no dreams of being Wizard King. Not anymore.
Things like that were better left to people with the abilities and skills to back it up.
People with the potential to make dreams reality.
Like Yuno.
Asta knew his place in life.
He passed the exam with brute strength and tenacity, yes—but he didn't smile when his name was called.
He thought only of Hage.
The church roof leaked. Sister Lily was tired. Father Orsi was tired. The children were hungry.
Yuno might get himself killed or imprisoned chasing his dream.
So supporting the family was better entrusted to him.
So he would be the one to shoulder the familial duties and obligations.
As things stood the Church might not last another winter.
He could fix it.
That was all that mattered.
—
When he stepped into the Black Bulls' hideout, Asta expected silence.
The worst of the worst were in his mind expected to be the quiet bunch.
Those incapable of anything shouldn't make any noise.
They should remain out of sight and out of mind.
Stay under the radar.
Don't cause anyone more trouble than your existence already brings.
Just like he does.
Asta expected silence.
Asta looked forward to the silence.
Instead he got chaos.
Loud. Overbearing. Crowded chaos.
He hated it.
No one gave him space. They joked, they shouted, they touched.
He didn't want to be touched.
He avoided the common room. Ate meals outside. Took missions no one else wanted.
He got labeled "weird," "broody," "quiet."
He didn't care.
Let them talk.
—
Noelle's relief was very short-lived.
Noelle hated the hideout too—but for different reasons.
It was too open. No walls to retreat behind. No privacy. No control.
People asked questions.
She didn't answer them.
She kept to her quarters. Trained when no one was around. Ate standing up in corners like a feral cat.
They thought she was cold.
She was.
Better that than vulnerable.
—
The first time Asta noticed her, it wasn't because she said anything.
She hadn't spoken a word.
He was in the training yard late at night, swinging a dull blade into a tree stump until his arms went numb.
She stood ten feet away, practicing water orbs with stiff arms and dead eyes.
Neither acknowledged the other.
They trained in silence for an hour.
Then they left—without a word.
—
They kept doing that.
Same space. Same silence.
No connection. No greeting. No interest.
It was a truce.
—
The Black Bulls didn't know what to make of them.
Asta, who didn't yell or smile or flirt.
Noelle, who didn't argue or blush or banter.
Yami gave them space. He knew when not to push.
The others didn't.
"Come drink with us!"
"Noelle, you're royalty, you must know some good tea recipes!"
"C'mon, Asta, you've gotta lighten up!"
Noelle stared them down until they left.
Asta walked away without speaking.
They both became known for it.
—
"Why don't you talk to people?" Magna complained once.
Asta looked at him, blank.
Then walked past.
—
"Do you ever smile?" Vanessa asked Noelle during breakfast.
Noelle didn't respond. She chewed slowly, then left her plate half-full.
—
Eventually, the squad gave up.
People whispered about how the two of them were alike.
But they weren't alike. Not really.
Not then.
Asta wasn't cold.
He was numb.
Noelle wasn't silent.
She was caged.
—
The first real moment they had came two months in.
Asta was in the laundry room. Folding. Mechanically. One shirt after another.
Noelle walked in holding a ruined uniform. Mud-stained. Torn at the seams.
They locked eyes.
He said nothing.
She held the uniform out.
He took it.
They didn't speak.
Next morning, her uniform was folded and clean, left at her door.
She nodded when she saw him later.
He nodded back.
That was the beginning.
—
They weren't friends.
They weren't anything.
But they didn't avoid each other.
That was more than they could say for the rest of the world.
—
He passed her a towel once after a training session.
She accepted it with a grunt.
Another time, she left him some ointment when she saw he'd strained his wrist.
No note.
He applied the lotion.
—
They understood each other in the quiet.
Not because they wanted to.
Because they had to.
Because no one else did.
—
When the squad went out drinking, they stayed behind.
They didn't sit together.
Just existed in the same space.
Alone.
Together.
—
Asta sharpened his blade while Noelle read through spell scrolls.
Sometimes, he'd hand her tea without asking.
Sometimes, she'd set his cloak aside to dry when it rained.
No thanks. No smiles. No eye contact.
Only necessity.
—
It wasn't connection.
It wasn't even comfort.
But it was less lonely.
And that was enough.
—
No one noticed when they started walking back from missions together.
Or when they stood beside each other at squad meetings instead of apart.
They didn't touch. Didn't talk.
But they stood close.
That, for them, was progress.
—
Once, on a mission, Asta took a hit meant for her.
She looked down at his bleeding shoulder and said only, "Tch. Idiot."
He smirked faintly.
And she didn't look away.
—
Another time, she froze mid-spell. Flashback. Panic. A tremble she couldn't suppress.
He didn't say anything.
Just moved to stand in front of her. Sword raised.
She caught her breath behind him.
And when it was over, she didn't say thank you.
She didn't have to.
—
They weren't trying to grow.
Weren't trying to bond.
But life happens, even in silence.
Especially in silence.
—
That was the isolation.
Not just the absence of others—but the fortress they built inside themselves.
One that didn't need to be breached.
Only quietly matched.
And somehow, without a single word exchanged, they had begun to match each other perfectly.
—
It started with a knock.
Not loud. Just enough.
Asta opened the door and stared at Noelle.
She didn't look at him.
She just said, "I need to use the common room. You'll be there too."
Then walked off.
He followed.
—
They sat on opposite ends of the room.
Didn't speak. Didn't look up.
Charmy walked in and stopped mid-step.
"Whoa," she muttered. "You two are hanging out now?"
Neither of them replied.
She blinked, confused, then wandered off.
It worked.
—
That night, the squad whispered.
"I think Noelle and Asta are bonding."
"Really? He actually talks to her?"
"No, but they were in the same room. Voluntarily."
"It's progress!"
Noelle heard it.
Asta did too.
They said nothing.
But the next day, she knocked again.
—
She sat at the window.
He leaned against the wall.
Finral peeked in and grinned. "Astaaaa! Making friends at last, huh?"
Asta didn't look up.
Noelle didn't flinch.
But the lie had already taken root.
—
It became a routine.
One of them would sit somewhere visible.
The other would join.
Asta brought a book once—not to read. Just to hold.
Noelle practiced spells with no real effort.
It wasn't real.
But it was effective.
It kept the Bulls off their backs. And off their cases.
—
The squad stopped pestering.
Vanessa didn't invite Noelle out for drinks.
Gordon stopped writing friendship letters to Asta.
Luck tried to drag him into sparring matches less often.
It was peace.
Faked, but peace nonetheless.
—
Eventually, they started coordinating it.
A nod from across the hall.
A slight shift in schedule.
If Asta was headed to the kitchen, Noelle followed and pretended to want tea.
If Noelle was reading alone, Asta sat nearby and closed his eyes like he was resting.
Neither spoke.
Neither smiled.
But the others believed it.
And that was the point.
—
"I'm glad they're connecting," Magna said one night. "They both looked so damn miserable before."
"They still do," Luck replied.
"No," Vanessa smiled, "this is just their version of bonding."
Asta sat on the roof, overhearing.
Noelle was beside him, arms crossed.
Neither responded.
But they stayed a little longer than usual.
—
One evening, Gordon left a note under Asta's door.
"It's so nice that you've found someone who understands you."
Asta stared at the paper for a long time.
Then burned it.
—
Noelle started showing up earlier than him.
She'd already be seated by the time he arrived.
He never commented.
She never explained.
—
When they went on missions together, Yami paired them up.
"Two ice blocks," he muttered. "Maybe together you'll be tolerable."
They didn't react.
They simply completed the job.
Efficient. Ruthless. Wordless.
—
Once, they returned from a border patrol with blood on their cloaks and grime under their nails.
Grey gasped. "Y-you t-two are i-incredible! I-I didn't even know you could work together like that!"
Noelle looked at Asta.
He looked back.
Still nothing said.
Still perfectly in sync.
—
They never rehearsed anything.
But they'd fall into step naturally.
He'd pass her a potion. She'd hand him a bandage.
He'd draw his sword without a word. She'd cast a shield behind him without asking.
It was choreographed silence.
Everyone saw connection.
But to them, it was strategy.
A tactic to stay unnoticed.
Unbothered.
—
One night, Finral cornered Noelle.
"I just wanted to say... it's nice seeing you with someone. You look less... tense."
She stared at him until he backed away.
Then walked to the training room.
Asta was already there.
They didn't speak about it.
—
Their pretend friendship became habit.
Not something they discussed.
Not something they even thought about.
They just showed up.
Together.
Apart.
Together again.
—
Noelle found herself adjusting her schedule around his without realizing.
Asta caught himself glancing toward hallways she usually took.
They didn't care.
It was just routine.
Like brushing teeth. Or cleaning a blade.
Something you did without thinking.
—
The others believed it.
Believed in this distant, subtle companionship.
They took it as proof the two coldest people in the squad were healing.
They weren't.
But they let them think so.
Because it kept the questions away.
—
Once, during a squad meal, Asta and Noelle both showed up.
Sat side by side.
Didn't talk.
Didn't eat much.
Just sat.
Finral elbowed Magna. "See? I told you. They're tight now."
Magna grinned. "Still think they might kiss someday."
Noelle's eye twitched. Asta clenched his jaw.
Neither responded.
They stayed until the end of the meal.
—
Afterward, as they walked back through the halls, Noelle muttered under her breath, "If they say something like that again, I'm leaving."
Asta glanced sideways. "I can eat outside again."
She nodded.
That was the longest conversation they'd had.
—
The next week, Asta found a chair waiting for him in the library. One next to Noelle.
He sat down.
Opened a book.
Neither said a word.
They were good at this.
—
Pretending to be close was easier than being alone.
Because together, they could keep the world out.
Together, they could trick everyone into leaving them alone.
And slowly, without meaning to, that became their shared purpose.
Not affection.
Not companionship.
Just survival.
—
But survival had a way of twisting.
Becoming comfort.
Becoming routine.
Becoming something else.
They didn't see it yet.
They didn't want to.
But it had already begun.
—
It started with a nod.
Just that.
Yami barked out mission pairings.
Asta looked at Noelle.
She nodded once.
He nodded back.
They moved.
No words exchanged.
Didn't need to.
—
The mission was a simple escort.
Bandits showed up.
Noelle raised her wand before Asta even drew his blade.
Asta charged forward.
She covered his blind spot without being asked.
By the time the fight ended, neither had a scratch.
The merchant stared. "You two work like clockwork."
Noelle didn't reply.
Asta wiped his sword clean.
They walked away without looking back.
—
Word got around.
"Pair them up more."
"They're efficient."
"Creepy quiet, but reliable."
Asta didn't care.
Noelle didn't object.
They kept moving.
—
The cues grew more specific.
A glance at her boot—Noelle slowed down.
A tap of his index finger—Asta switched positions.
No instructions.
No signals.
Just… familiarity.
—
It bled into chores.
Cleaning the courtyard, they moved around each other seamlessly.
A bucket placed without asking.
A broom handed off without a word.
Magna once stood watching, broom dangling. "How the hell do they do that without speaking?"
Yami lit a cigarette. "I don't know. But it's starting to freak me out."
—
They weren't trying to impress anyone.
They just didn't want to talk.
And somehow, that became its own language.
—
In the kitchen, Noelle reached for a kettle.
Asta was already pouring water.
She didn't thank him.
He didn't wait for acknowledgment.
The silence said enough.
—
During a patrol, their horse spooked.
Asta caught the reins.
Noelle steadied the saddle.
Neither looked at the other.
But they both stood still for a moment longer than needed.
Then continued walking.
—
It was subtle.
But undeniable.
They moved like two pieces of one mechanism.
Cold. Calculated. In sync.
—
Noelle never asked where Asta would be.
But she always ended up in the same rooms.
Asta never checked where she went.
But his path always passed hers.
Coincidence, at first.
Then consistency.
—
One morning, she passed him a towel after sparring.
He took it without glancing.
Dried his face.
Folded it once and left it on the bench beside her.
No words.
Just a rhythm.
—
Sometimes, she'd stand beside him during squad meetings.
Not because she wanted to.
But because she knew no one else would try to talk if he was there.
Sometimes, he'd train when she did.
Not because he needed to.
But because her silence was the only kind that didn't grate.
—
Finral once said, "It's like they've got telepathy."
Yami snorted. "It's just the language of two people who hate talking."
Still, he kept pairing them up.
Because it worked.
—
On a stormy evening, the Black Bulls' base creaked with thunder.
Asta sat in the hall, arms crossed.
Noelle stood near the window, watching rain streak down the glass.
Neither moved for hours.
Lightning flashed.
Neither flinched.
Just… breathing.
Together, apart.
—
He started finishing chores she left half-done.
Not because she asked.
Just because he knew she hated folding laundry.
She left his training sword sharpened sometimes.
Not because he asked.
But because she saw the nicks in the blade.
—
One night, during patrol, a fight broke out.
It was fast, ugly.
Noelle got clipped across the ribs.
Asta didn't yell.
Didn't panic.
He dropped the attacker in one strike and stood in front of her without turning around.
"Can you stand?"
"…Yes."
He didn't offer his hand.
She didn't take it.
But she stood anyway.
That was enough.
—
Later, back at the base, he dropped a healing salve on her desk.
She didn't thank him.
She used it.
Then left a replacement vial in his drawer the next day.
It went unspoken.
But the exchange repeated often.
—
One time, Asta was missing at breakfast.
Noelle waited an extra five minutes before eating.
Didn't ask where he was.
Didn't mention it when he arrived late.
He didn't explain.
But he sat near her anyway.
—
Their teammates began to notice.
"How come they never fight?"
"Because they never talk," Luck said.
"That can't be healthy," Vanessa muttered.
"It works," Yami grunted. "Leave it alone."
So they did.
—
In town, they were assigned a mission guarding a noble gala.
Asta wore the uniform.
Noelle wore her mask.
They stayed close.
Didn't speak.
The nobles whispered.
"What a strange pair…"
"Are they even acquaintances?"
They weren't.
Not really.
But when the party was ambushed and magic flared, Noelle turned without thinking.
Asta had already drawn his sword.
He stepped forward.
She covered his flank.
Not a beat missed.
They cleaned the mess in under three minutes.
—
Later, in the moonlit carriage ride back, Noelle stared out the window.
Asta leaned back against the wood.
Neither slept.
Neither said a word.
But when the carriage hit a bump, and their shoulders knocked together—they didn't pull away.
—
The squad started calling it a partnership.
But it wasn't that.
It was a pattern.
A shape they moved in when the world got too loud.
When people asked too much.
When the quiet was the only thing that didn't hurt.
—
It wasn't comfort.
Not yet.
But it wasn't discomfort either.
It was manageable.
And for them, that was rare.
—
It started with a sentence.
A real one.
Not a grunt. Not a nod.
An actual, full sentence.
"You forgot your coat."
Noelle paused at the stairs.
Turned back.
Asta held it out, silent.
She took it.
"…Thanks."
He nodded.
Neither mentioned it again.
But something shifted.
—
They still didn't talk much.
But now and then, a word slipped out.
Asta once muttered, "You're bleeding," after a training accident.
Noelle didn't scold him. Didn't brush it off.
Just wiped it away and said, "I noticed."
That was the whole exchange.
It echoed in both their heads the rest of the day.
—
One morning, Noelle sat in the kitchen before anyone else.
Asta walked in. Didn't pause. Just sat across from her.
They ate in silence.
But halfway through, he pushed the sugar jar toward her.
She didn't need it.
But she took it anyway.
—
Another time, during a storm, the power flickered.
Noelle lit a candle in the common room.
Asta walked in, drenched from a mission.
She slid the candle closer to his side of the table.
He didn't thank her.
But he sat and let the warmth reach his fingers.
—
Their movements around each other softened.
He no longer walked past her like she didn't exist.
She no longer stiffened when he was nearby.
It was small.
But real.
—
Gordon left another note.
"I'm glad you're not so alone anymore."
Asta didn't burn this one.
He folded it.
Put it in a drawer.
Didn't know why.
—
One evening, Noelle found Asta alone in the courtyard.
He didn't hear her footsteps.
Didn't notice her standing behind him for a long time.
Finally, he spoke.
"I like the cold."
She didn't understand at first.
Then said, "So do I."
They stood there, side by side, breathing frost.
—
During a joint mission, a mage tried to sneak attack.
Noelle reacted first—her shield crackled to life in front of Asta's back.
He turned, surprised.
She looked away.
"I had the angle."
"…Thanks."
They didn't look at each other the rest of the mission.
But they stood a little closer.
—
One day, she sneezed while reading in the library.
He walked by and dropped a folded cloth on the table.
Didn't stop walking.
She stared at it for a full minute.
Used it anyway.
—
Asta started remembering things.
How she liked her tea strong. No sugar.
That she got headaches during missions above sea level.
That she clenched her left hand when she was anxious.
He didn't mention any of it.
Just acted accordingly.
—
Noelle began noticing, too.
That he always sat facing doors, like he didn't trust closed spaces.
That he never took the last serving of food.
That he sharpened his sword before bed even when he didn't use it that day.
She started bringing him an extra whetstone without comment.
—
One day, during a squad sparring session, Noelle stepped in.
Blocked a hit headed for Asta.
He blinked at her.
"I was fine," he said.
"I know," she replied.
And walked away.
He watched her longer than usual.
—
They started exchanging glances in crowded rooms.
Brief ones.
Checking in.
Making sure the other wasn't overwhelmed.
They never asked, Are you okay?
But the glances said enough.
—
Asta once muttered something under his breath during a mission briefing.
Noelle snorted. A quiet, startled noise.
He looked at her.
"…Wasn't that funny," she said.
"You laughed."
"No, I didn't."
But she did.
He didn't smile.
But his eyes softened.
—
One morning, she passed by the training yard and stopped.
Asta was doing pull-ups on the beam.
Sweating. Silent.
She stood there.
Didn't say anything.
But when he dropped down and nodded, she nodded back.
Then left.
He stayed there a while longer than usual.
—
They still didn't talk much.
But the quiet wasn't so empty anymore.
It was… shared.
—
The others stopped asking questions.
Stopped teasing.
They saw something shift, even if they didn't understand it.
Vanessa called it tension.
Gordon called it a beautiful lack of barriers.
Luck just shrugged. "They're still boring."
—
They weren't friends.
Not exactly.
But they weren't strangers either.
There was a closeness between them now.
A shape with no name.
Something cold slowly warming in their chests.
—
Sometimes, their hands would brush by accident when passing items.
Neither flinched.
Neither said a word.
But afterward, their fingers would twitch.
Like something electric had passed between them.
—
They never touched on purpose.
Not yet.
But they didn't avoid it anymore.
—
Noelle stopped locking her door at night.
Asta started sitting by the fire even when she was already there.
Neither asked why.
Neither questioned it.
—
On a quiet evening, they stood under the stars outside the base.
Asta broke the silence.
"They look fake sometimes."
Noelle followed his gaze. "The stars?"
He nodded.
"…Yeah. Like someone painted them on."
She tilted her head.
"Maybe they did."
He looked at her.
Just for a second.
Then nodded once, slow.
"…Wouldn't surprise me."
And they stood there, saying nothing else, as the sky spun above them.
—
It happened over breakfast.
No buildup.
No tension.
Just toast. Eggs. Steam rising from two cups of tea.
Noelle set her fork down.
Asta glanced up.
She didn't look at him when she said it.
"I need to marry someone."
He blinked once.
Swallowed his bite.
Sipped his tea.
"…Okay."
—
She didn't explain.
She didn't need to.
They both knew how royals worked.
Expectations. Lineage. Duty.
Love wasn't part of it.
—
She finally looked at him.
"I don't want to marry a stranger."
Asta stared at his plate.
"Okay."
Noelle paused.
"I thought maybe… you'd agree to it."
His eyes lifted slightly.
"To marry you?"
"Yes."
She said it like she was asking him to pass the salt.
He answered the same way.
"…Okay."
—
That was it.
No shock.
No questions.
Just a slow nod from her.
And a quiet, "Good."
—
They finished breakfast.
Did the dishes in silence.
Neither brought it up again until the paperwork arrived.
—
Julius asked if they were sure.
Asta shrugged.
Noelle said, "It's convenient."
That was their explanation.
It was enough.
—
The wedding was small.
Too small for royalty.
Too cold for romance.
Noelle wore her uniform.
So did Asta.
There were no rings.
Just a signature. A binding oath.
Finral cried.
Vanessa drank.
Yami smirked.
Yuno was as impassive as always.
The others watched in silence.
—
Gordon said something heartfelt that no one could hear.
Charmy shoved cake at them.
Grey turned red and passed out.
Asta didn't smile.
Noelle didn't blush.
They just stood there.
Side by side.
Two statues.
—
No honeymoon.
No party.
Just shared documents and a room with two beds.
—
That night, Noelle folded her nightgown and placed it on the dresser.
Asta sat on the floor, doing pushups.
Neither looked at the other.
Before turning off the lamp, she spoke.
"It's not permanent."
"I know."
"If you want out someday, just say it."
"I won't."
She hesitated.
"…Why?"
Asta didn't pause his reps.
"I don't want to see you married to anyone else."
Silence.
Heavy.
Still.
Noelle's hand froze over the light switch.
"…Oh."
Then she turned off the lamp.
And that was the end of it.
—
They told the squad the next morning.
Noelle just said, "Even though we're married now…"
Asta finished her sentence, "We're not doing anything differently."
Everyone blinked.
Then nodded.
Because, really, nothing changed.
Not yet.
—
They started splitting bills.
Noelle took over the finances.
Asta handled maintenance.
She handed him an organized schedule.
He nodded once, approved.
—
They cooked together sometimes.
Not out of preference.
Just because it was efficient.
He washed.
She chopped.
He stirred.
She plated.
They rarely spoke.
But the food was always edible.
Sometimes even good.
—
Sleeping in the same room was less strange than expected.
Noelle was neat. Predictable.
Asta was quiet. Considerate.
They coexisted.
No fights.
No closeness.
Just stillness.
—
One night, she came in soaked from a mission.
Asta laid a towel on the bed without a word.
She dried her hair in silence.
Then handed the towel back, folded.
—
They didn't touch.
Didn't kiss.
Didn't pretend.
Marriage was just another chore.
Another duty checked off the list.
But…
There were moments.
Small ones.
—
He started keeping a second cup warm when brewing tea.
She started placing a spare bandage roll near his sword belt.
He adjusted the window when the draft crept in toward her side of the room.
She lit his candle if she woke before him.
They didn't talk about it.
They never acknowledged it.
But it was there.
—
Noelle found herself glancing at his side of the bed sometimes.
Just to see if he was still breathing.
Not worried.
Just… aware.
Asta sometimes reached for a blanket in the middle of the night and made sure it covered her too.
No thoughts behind it.
Just action.
—
It wasn't romance.
It wasn't intimacy.
But it wasn't loneliness anymore.
—
One morning, while buttoning his coat, Asta asked, "Does this bother you?"
Noelle blinked. "What?"
"This. Us. Being married."
She thought about it.
Then shrugged.
"No. You?"
He tied his headband tighter.
"No."
Then they both left for their separate missions.
—
At a noble event, someone sneered, "How romantic. A peasant tied to royalty."
Noelle didn't reply.
Asta just said, "She chose me."
That shut them up.
—
Later that night, she said, "You didn't have to say that."
"I know."
Pause.
"…But thank you."
He looked at her.
Nodded once.
"You're welcome."
—
She passed him a letter from Hage that afternoon.
He read it twice.
Didn't smile.
But the crease between his brows relaxed.
She said, "Your family's proud of you."
Asta looked at the paper again.
"…I hope so."
—
Noelle brought it up a week later.
Casually.
"I told them you'd have financial support now."
Asta blinked. "You didn't have to."
"I know."
He looked at her.
"…Thanks."
She looked away.
"No need."
—
They still didn't know what this was.
A marriage, yes.
But what kind?
It wasn't cold.
Not anymore.
But it wasn't warm either.
It was quiet.
Stable.
Predictable.
Safe.
—
And for two people who'd grown up drowning in chaos, fear, and judgment…
Safe was enough.
—
They shared a room.
Two beds. One closet. A desk they rarely used.
At first, they barely spoke.
Just moved around each other.
Changed clothes. Brushed teeth. Slept.
No questions. No comments.
The silence stayed.
But it shifted.
—
Noelle started making the bed every morning.
Both sides.
Even his.
Asta didn't say anything.
But he stopped leaving his blanket crumpled.
—
He folded her laundry when she forgot it in the basket.
Sloppy folds.
But the effort was there.
She didn't correct him.
She started folding his shirts the way he liked.
Neat. Flat. Tucked sleeves.
—
They began cooking together regularly.
Not planned.
Just… it kept happening.
He liked meat. She liked broth.
So they made both.
She always set his utensils down on the right side of the plate.
He always poured her water before his own.
—
He noticed her tea was bitter if it steeped past three minutes.
She noticed he hummed when he was focused.
Neither brought it up.
But they both adjusted for it.
—
Noelle started waking up before him.
She'd sit at the window, braid her hair.
Asta would rise quietly, not to disturb her.
Sometimes, she'd braid it slower, just so she didn't have to get up first.
She didn't know why.
—
He kept the lamp on when she read.
Even if he was already lying down.
She started lighting a second candle for him on stormy nights.
He never said he was afraid of thunder.
She never asked.
But the light stayed on until the storm passed.
—
One evening, she found his arm brace torn by the door.
She repaired it.
Took her time.
Didn't mention anything.
The next day, he wore it without a word.
But the next time her cloak tore, it was stitched back before she noticed.
Sloppy thread. But secure.
She wore it anyway.
—
They weren't affectionate.
No kisses. No hand-holding.
But they lingered near each other longer now.
When one stood, the other followed.
When one sat, the other joined.
Not always.
But enough.
—
She started learning the rhythm of his day.
Training in the morning. Quiet meals. Evening maintenance.
He memorized hers too.
Missions. Baths. Late reading.
Sometimes, their paths crossed.
They didn't speak.
Just sat nearby.
Two separate lives, gently intersecting.
—
They weren't in love.
They didn't think so.
Couldn't be.
This wasn't love.
It was duty.
Comfort.
Habit.
But then…
—
One night, he came back injured.
Not serious.
Just scraped and bruised.
He muttered, "It's fine."
She didn't answer.
Just got the salve and sat beside him.
Silently dabbed his arm.
Her fingers were steady.
His jaw clenched.
The room was quiet.
Not tense.
Just… still.
Afterward, he whispered, "Thanks."
She nodded.
Didn't leave his side until he fell asleep.
—
Another night, she woke from a nightmare.
Didn't make a sound.
But Asta sat up in bed across the room.
Didn't look at her.
Just waited.
She didn't say what it was about.
He didn't ask.
They sat in the dark for an hour.
Eventually, she laid back down.
So did he.
Neither slept right away.
But it felt less alone.
—
She once fell asleep on the couch.
Woke up covered in a blanket.
Asta's scent in the fabric.
He was gone—training, probably.
She folded the blanket slowly.
Held it for a second too long.
Then put it back.
—
One evening, she passed him a bowl.
It wasn't breakfast. It wasn't lunch. It wasn't dinner.
He blinked. "What is this?"
"I made it for you."
He stared.
"…Why?"
She shrugged.
"I felt like it."
He ate all of it.
Didn't speak the entire time.
But he washed the bowl after and dried it carefully.
—-
Gordon left a new note under their door.
"You're learning to love."
Asta crumpled it.
But didn't throw it away.
He tucked it into a drawer.
Right beside the old one.
—
Noelle tripped in the hallway one morning.
Asta caught her.
Hands on her arms.
Brief. Steady.
She looked at him.
He looked back.
Neither moved for a second.
Then she stepped away.
"…Thanks."
He nodded.
Didn't say anything.
But she felt his handprint lingering on her sleeve the rest of the day.
—
They still hadn't kissed.
Still hadn't touched outside necessity.
But the air between them wasn't cold anymore.
It was warm.
Almost… safe.
—
He started eating at her pace.
She started waiting to go to bed until he was done brushing his teeth.
He left his sword closer to the door in case she needed help.
She left the light on when she went to sleep, knowing he liked to read for a few minutes longer.
—
Noelle caught herself watching him from across the room one evening.
Just watching.
The way his brow furrowed when he read.
The way his shoulders relaxed when he exhaled.
She looked away quickly.
Didn't understand the feeling in her chest.
Didn't want to.
—
Asta noticed when her hand shook during a letter from her family.
Didn't speak.
Just sat beside her.
Close, but not touching.
She didn't ask him to stay.
He didn't ask to leave.
But he didn't move until she did.
—
They went grocery shopping together.
Not because they wanted to.
Just because they always did.
She picked ingredients.
He carried the bags.
Someone asked if they were newlyweds.
Noelle said, "No."
Asta said, "Kind of."
The stranger laughed.
They didn't.
—
She fell asleep on the window bench one night.
Book half-open on her lap.
Asta saw her.
Didn't wake her.
Just draped a blanket across her shoulders.
Blew out the candle.
And sat nearby, just in case she stirred.
She didn't.
But she slept deeply that night.
—
Noelle never thought marriage would feel like this.
Quiet.
Still.
But full.
Of small things.
Small comforts.
Little threads weaving into something whole.
—
And Asta had never imagined sharing a life with anyone.
But somehow, her presence didn't weigh him down.
It steadied him.
—
They still didn't call it love.
But they didn't need to.
Whatever this was…
It was theirs.
—
They agreed on it over dinner.
Noelle didn't look up from her plate.
"I should probably get pregnant soon."
Asta blinked.
Chewed slower.
Swallowed.
"…Okay."
She nodded once.
And that was it.
—
It wasn't passion.
It wasn't romance.
It was duty.
She was a royal.
Heirs were expected.
She was married now.
So it made sense.
—
They scheduled it like a chore.
Quiet night.
No candles.
No kisses.
Just two people fulfilling an obligation.
—
He asked, just once, before they began.
"You sure?"
She met his eyes.
Voice flat. "Yes."
So he didn't ask again.
—
After, they didn't speak.
She turned on her side.
He pulled the blanket up.
The room was still.
But not awkward.
Just quiet.
Like usual.
—
Weeks passed.
She didn't say anything.
But she bought a new calendar.
Started tracking days.
Marked dates with little dots.
Asta noticed.
Didn't comment.
—
One morning, she vomited.
Twice.
Sank to the floor, cold sweat on her neck.
He was there instantly.
Held her shoulders.
Didn't speak.
Just steadied her.
She didn't push him away.
Didn't thank him either.
But when she stood, she leaned on him just slightly.
—
The healer confirmed it.
"You're with child."
Noelle didn't react.
Just nodded.
Asta looked at her.
She kept her eyes on the floor.
"…Congratulations," the healer added, hesitantly.
Neither replied.
—
Back at home, they sat across from each other in silence.
Then she spoke.
"Everything changes now."
He nodded slowly.
"I know."
—
She didn't cry.
He didn't smile.
But that night, when she lay in bed—back to him, blanket pulled high—he watched her for a long time.
And when she shifted in her sleep, he reached out.
Didn't touch her.
Just left his hand there.
Close.
—
Noelle began to move slower.
Stiffer.
Morning sickness.
Fatigue.
Asta adjusted without being asked.
Took over the laundry.
Handled the meals.
Picked up her books when she dropped them.
Didn't make a show of it.
Didn't speak of it.
Just… did it.
—
She still insisted on going to missions.
Until she passed out mid-spell.
He caught her before she hit the ground.
Took her straight back home.
Didn't scold.
Didn't yell.
But when she woke in bed, bandaged and pale, he sat beside her.
Eyes hard. Voice quiet.
"No more missions."
She didn't argue.
—
He brought her warm towels.
Carried her tea upstairs when her legs ached.
She muttered thanks once or twice.
Other times, just met his gaze.
That was enough.
—
She snapped at him one day.
Tired. Frustrated. Uncomfortable.
"You don't have to hover like a damn nurse."
He didn't flinch.
Didn't leave.
Just crouched down and adjusted the cushion behind her back.
"You looked like you needed it."
She bit her tongue.
Didn't reply.
But she didn't stop him either.
—
They started sleeping closer.
First out of convenience.
Then out of something else.
Not touching.
But barely inches apart.
Some nights, their hands brushed.
Once, she didn't pull hers away.
—
He read books on childbirth.
Quietly, by candlelight.
Didn't tell her.
But she noticed the pamphlets on the desk.
The careful stack of notes.
She flipped through one once.
Didn't say anything.
But left it exactly where she found it.
—
She cried alone in the bathroom one night.
Not from fear.
Just overwhelmed.
He waited outside.
Didn't knock.
Didn't ask.
Just left a glass of water by the door.
She drank it when she came out.
Sat beside him on the couch.
Neither spoke.
But they stayed like that for hours.
—
Her appetite changed.
He learned quickly.
Stopped cooking meat-heavy meals.
Started making broths and rice.
Her tea had to be lukewarm.
She hated the smell of fish.
He adjusted.
Never said a word.
—
One day, she winced when standing.
He offered his arm.
She hesitated.
Then took it.
Just for a moment.
But that was new.
That was different.
—
When she started to show, she avoided mirrors.
He didn't comment.
But he stopped closing the curtains in the morning.
Let the light fall over her face when she sat up.
She noticed.
Didn't say anything.
But stood in front of the mirror longer the next day.
—
He put together the crib himself.
Didn't ask for help.
Didn't even tell her.
Just did it in the corner of their room while she slept.
She woke up and saw it—plain wood, slightly uneven, but sturdy.
She ran her hand along the edge.
Didn't speak.
But that night, she cooked him dinner.
First time in months.
—
When she couldn't sleep, he read to her.
Dry medical books.
She hated them.
But his voice helped.
So she let him read.
Page after page.
Eyes closed.
Listening.
—
She started holding his sleeve when they walked.
Not his hand.
Just the fabric.
He never looked down.
But slowed his pace slightly when she did.
—
He took a hit during a training session one afternoon.
Bruised ribs.
She panicked.
Not outwardly.
Just froze.
Wide eyes. Shaking fingers.
He waved it off.
"It's nothing."
But when they got home, she pressed the ice pack to his side herself.
Didn't speak.
But her touch lingered.
Careful.
Present.
—
Later, she mumbled, "You shouldn't be so reckless."
He smirked faintly.
"I could say the same."
She didn't argue.
Just stared at the floor.
Whispered, "…I don't want the baby to lose their father."
The words hung in the air.
Heavy.
Real.
He didn't know what to say.
So he didn't.
Just reached out.
Held her hand for the first time.
She squeezed it once.
Didn't let go.
—
Neither of them understood what they were feeling.
It wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it wasn't indifference either.
Something had shifted.
Deep. Slow. Unstoppable.
Like the turning of a tide.
—
She dreamed of lullabies.
He dreamed of tiny fingers curling around his own.
Neither said it aloud.
But they both saw the future now.
And it had a place for the three of them.
Together.
—
The contractions started just before dawn.
Noelle gripped the edge of the table.
Didn't scream.
Didn't cry.
Just breathed.
Shallow. Fast.
Asta was at her side before she called.
"I'll get the healer."
She grabbed his wrist.
"No. You stay."
He nodded.
Didn't leave.
—
Time blurred.
Pain came in waves.
The healer arrived.
So did towels. Buckets. Instructions.
Noelle didn't react.
Just endured.
Face pale. Lips bloodless.
Asta held her hand.
She didn't let go.
—
Hours passed.
The room stank of sweat and blood.
She bit her sleeve to keep from yelling.
Tears welled. She blinked them away.
He brushed her bangs from her forehead.
Didn't speak.
Just stayed.
—
At some point, she whispered, "I can't."
He leaned close.
"You can."
Flat voice.
But firm.
True.
She clung to it.
To him.
—
And then—silence shattered.
A sharp cry split the air.
Small. Piercing. Alive.
Her breath caught.
So did his.
—
The healer swaddled the newborn.
Turned to them, voice hushed.
"It's a boy."
Noelle blinked slowly.
Didn't move.
Didn't reach.
Couldn't.
Asta did.
Hands shaking, he took the child.
Held him like something sacred.
Eyes wide.
Disbelieving.
"…He's small."
The baby cried louder.
Noelle laughed.
Bitter.
Raw.
"…He's ours."
—
Asta turned.
Walked to her side.
Lowered the child into her arms.
She didn't cry.
But her lips trembled.
Fingers curled protectively.
She looked down at her son like he was the first warm thing she'd ever seen.
—
They didn't speak for a while.
Just stared.
At him.
At each other.
Then, soft. Quiet. Unsure—
"…He has your eyes," she whispered.
Asta swallowed.
"I thought they were yours."
"No. Yours."
Silence again.
But different.
Full.
—
Noelle leaned her head against Asta's shoulder.
Didn't ask.
Didn't need to.
He let her.
Wrapped an arm around her.
Careful not to jostle the baby.
—
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
They still didn't move.
Didn't want to.
The baby slept.
Curled against Noelle's chest.
One hand peeking from the blanket.
Fist tiny. Perfect.
—
Asta reached out.
Touched the infant's fingers.
They closed around his index.
Tight.
Sure.
He inhaled sharply.
Eyes stinging.
"…I think I love him."
Noelle didn't respond.
Just stared at her son.
Then at Asta.
Voice like ash, but steady.
"…I love you."
—
It felt unreal.
Out of place.
Like it didn't belong in the mouths of people like them.
People broken.
Silent.
Cold.
—
Asta didn't say anything at first.
Then—
"I think I've loved you a long time."
Noelle turned her face.
Pressed her forehead against his.
Eyes closed.
Tears finally falling.
—
Neither knew what came next.
But they knew what they had.
Each other.
Their child.
The silence wasn't empty anymore.
It was full of love.
Of life.
Of all the things they never thought they'd feel again.
—
The past still existed.
But it didn't define them.
This moment did.
This warmth.
This family.
—
And in the quiet—
Not distance.
Not walls.
Not pain.
But peace.
For the first time.
Peace.
—
Asta taught their son to walk.
It wasn't graceful.
He was too small, too wobbly.
But Asta held him up.
Cheered for every shaky step.
"Come on, Nigel, you got it."
Noelle watched from the doorway.
Her heart twisted, tight, then soft.
Her eyes were glassy, but she didn't blink.
She just smiled.
A real smile.
—
The baby wasn't a baby anymore.
He was a toddler now.
Chasing Asta around the house.
Laughter spilled from him in pure, unrestrained joy.
Noelle didn't laugh often.
But she did then.
Her son's giggle, his tiny hand gripping his father's finger.
She couldn't help herself.
She joined them.
Quiet at first.
But as their Nigel stumbled, she gave in.
A breathless chuckle.
—
Asta made a mess at dinner one night.
Spilled soup everywhere.
The boy pointed at the mess and laughed.
Asta dropped his spoon, grinning like an idiot.
"Guess I'm not the only one who's a disaster."
Noelle rolled her eyes.
She didn't respond.
But she was smiling.
No one could see it, but it was there.
—
One night, they were in bed.
Their son between them, sprawled out and asleep.
Asta's hand brushed against hers.
It wasn't planned.
It wasn't anything grand.
But it was soft.
Like the beginning of something new.
Noelle shifted closer.
Her face in his chest.
He didn't pull away.
—
Days passed like this.
Quietly.
But everything had changed.
The ice wasn't just cracked anymore.
It was gone.
—
Asta looked at Noelle one morning, the sun shining through the window.
"Do you think we'll always be this way?" he asked.
She glanced at him, one brow raised.
"Always?"
He smiled faintly. "Together."
She hesitated. Then, with the faintest trace of warmth, "If you keep teaching Nigel to walk like that, maybe."
He chuckled.
And for the first time, it didn't feel like a joke.
It felt like truth.
—
They took their son to the garden.
Asta pointed at the flowers, showing him their names.
Noelle stood behind them, silent, but her hand was in Asta's.
Not hidden away.
Not pulled back.
It was there.
Real.
—
One evening, Asta held their son in his arms, swaying gently to a song he made up on the spot.
Nigel hummed along.
Noelle watched from the doorway.
Her heart ached, but in a way that made her chest feel lighter.
She wasn't cold anymore.
Not when she looked at them.
Not when they were together.
—
When the sun went down, Asta kissed her forehead.
"Goodnight," he whispered.
Noelle turned to him, her voice soft.
"Goodnight."
But the words didn't feel like they were just for him.
They were for them.
For the family they'd become.
—
Their son grew.
And so did they.
Noelle still wasn't a talker.
But she didn't need to be.
Her gestures spoke louder than words ever could.
Asta didn't ask for much.
But the way she reached for his hand at the end of every day was enough.
—
They didn't need to say "I love you" anymore.
Not when they shared everything else.
The silence, once heavy, was now full.
Of life.
Of love.
Of peace.
—
And in the dark, when they lay side by side, Asta turned to her.
"You know," he said, his voice low, "I'm glad it was you."
She looked at him, eyes soft.
"Me too."
And for the first time, she meant it.
—
The past still existed.
The trauma, the scars, the loneliness.
But it didn't define them.
They were more than their brokenness now.
They were whole.
Together.
They had a family.
A life.
And it was enough.
It was more than enough.
And that was all they needed.
—
Author's Note:
And that's it.
Thanks to everyone who supported me through the (admittedly somewhat brief) journey of writing these stories.
Maybe I'll write again—maybe I won't.
Maybe it'll be Black Clover—maybe it won't.
If I do, it could be tomorrow or a decade from now.
Who knows?
I sure don't.
Till next time—if there is one.