Stay With Me
Prompt: An AU where Noelle's magic is too much for her body. Being near others could kill her. So she lives alone.
Until Nozel brings in the only person who can stay.
A boy with no magic at all.
—
The silence in Castle Silva's eastern wing was unnatural.
Not peaceful. Not serene.
Dead.
The air barely stirred. Curtains hung limp from windows that never opened. Even the sunlight, when it slipped through the glass, felt sterile. Like it had forgotten how to be warm.
Noelle Silva sat alone in a room too large for one person.
She didn't cry anymore. There was no point.
She'd learned a long time ago that tears didn't change anything. They only made her weaker. And weakness got people killed.
Or worse—noticed.
A flicker of mana sparked in her chest.
Pain.
Noelle clenched her teeth as a violent tremor rolled through her ribs. Her vision blurred. The teacup in her hand cracked.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her heart to slow down. Breathe. Just breathe.
The cup shattered anyway. Fragments scattered across the floor like broken stars.
Another failure.
Another reminder.
Her own magic was killing her. Not all at once—but slowly. Day by day. Like poison dripping from a silver spoon.
—
She was seven.
Seven years old and already dying from being born too powerful.
It wasn't fair, but that word didn't exist in her vocabulary anymore.
Fair would've meant hugs from her mother. Laughter with siblings. Playing in the garden. Learning magic from a mentor who smiled.
Instead, she had silence. Cold rooms. And walls lined with enchanted barriers, keeping her magic—and her from others.
Even breathing near someone else could set her magic off. Mana clashed. Her control faltered. Then the convulsions started. The nosebleeds. The seizures.
Nozel had been there for one of them.
Just once.
He never forgot.
—
He stood outside her door now, fingers tight around the spine of his grimoire.
He hated coming here.
Not because of her. But because it reminded him of what he couldn't fix.
Inside, Noelle lay curled beneath a canopy bed, small hands wrapped around her pillow.
She hadn't spoken all morning.
He exhaled, then knocked twice.
"...It's open," came her faint reply.
Nozel entered slowly, careful not to let his own mana flare.
He never stayed long. A minute, maybe two. Any longer was dangerous—for her and for him.
But today he didn't bring books or letters or more useless medicines.
He brought something else.
Someone else.
—
Noelle stared at him when he said it.
"A... what?"
"A caretaker," Nozel repeated, keeping his voice steady.
She blinked. "I don't want one."
"I didn't ask if you wanted one."
Her fists clenched the blanket. "Anyone with magic could kill me—you said that."
"I did." He nodded. "That's why I found someone without any."
Noelle frowned. "That's not—people like that don't exist."
"He does."
She didn't respond.
Nozel watched her for a long moment.
Then he softened.
"I'm not doing this to punish you, Noelle."
"Liar."
"I'm not."
"Then why now?" she asked, voice cracking. "Why after years?"
Nozel looked away.
Because today was her birthday.
Because she was starting to give up.
Because he was too much of a coward to face her alone anymore.
—
Asta stood awkwardly in the grand hall of Castle Silva.
His boots were too clean. His shirt too stiff. His hair combed for the first time in months.
He hated it.
But the food was hot, and his belly was full, and his siblings back home would finally get what they needed. That was enough.
Even if the knights here looked at him like he was trash.
Even if they told him not to touch anything, as if he had magic to break it.
A servant guided him down the long marble corridor. They stopped outside a plain wooden door.
"She's inside," the man said, voice low. "Don't... move too fast. Don't raise your voice. Don't get too close."
Asta nodded.
The door creaked open.
—
Noelle didn't look at him.
She sat by the window, her back straight, her eyes blank.
Asta stepped inside, hesitant.
He took in the room—white walls, white sheets, silver everything. It looked like a coffin.
He shuffled forward.
"Hi," he said. "I'm Asta."
No response.
He cleared his throat. "I, uh... I guess I'm your caretaker now?"
Still nothing.
He scratched his cheek, then glanced at the floor.
"I don't really know how to do this," he admitted. "But I'm not gonna let you die or anything, so that's a start, right?"
Noelle turned her head slightly.
Her eyes met his.
They were cold.
"I don't need you."
Asta smiled. "Too bad. I'm staying."
—-\
The first week was a disaster.
Asta knocked over a tray of food. She yelled at him.
He tripped on the carpet. She glared at him.
He sat too close. She told him to get out.
But he kept showing up.
Every morning. Every evening. With that stupid grin and messy hair and too-loud voice.
Noelle hated it.
Except she didn't.
Not really.
Not when she laughed—laughed—the day he tried to teach her how to juggle apples and dropped one on his head.
Not when he sat outside her door reading aloud so she wouldn't feel alone.
Not when he asked questions like, "Do you like the stars?" and "What's your favorite kind of animal?"
She didn't answer, but she thought about it later.
Silver wolves, she decided. Because they don't need anyone.
—
Sometimes, Asta got quiet too.
When he thought she wasn't looking.
She caught him once, staring at the ceiling with this sad look on his face.
"Do you miss your family?" she asked suddenly.
He jumped.
Then smiled. "Yeah. A lot."
"Why'd you leave?"
"They needed food. I needed a job."
"And that was worth being stuck with me?"
He laughed. "Of course."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because you looked even lonelier than I felt."
Noelle looked away quickly.
That night, she didn't cry either.
But it was different this time.
She didn't cry because—for the first time in years—she didn't feel alone.
—
Noelle hated how loud he was.
He laughed like they weren't in a tomb. He talked like she was just another kid. He moved like someone who wasn't made of glass.
She told him to stop. To sit down. To shut up.
He never listened.
—
"I'm not a project," she snapped one morning.
Asta blinked at her, a book in his lap.
"I didn't say you were."
"You're trying to fix me."
"I'm trying to know you."
She stared at him, stunned.
Then turned away.
—
Asta had this awful habit of humming while cleaning.
Off-key. Out of rhythm. Like a bird with a broken beak.
She almost threw a pillow at him once.
Almost.
Instead, she buried her face in the blanket and listened.
He hummed until the entire room didn't feel so cold.
—
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Noelle stopped yelling when he entered the room.
Asta noticed. Didn't say anything.
Just smiled a little wider and swept the floor like usual.
—
He started bringing things with him.
Rocks shaped like hearts.
Leaves that looked like dragons.
A tiny book about a dog that wanted to fly.
"It reminded me of you," he said, holding it out.
Noelle frowned. "Because it's a dog?"
"Because it doesn't give up."
She didn't take the book.
But she read it after he left.
Three times.
—
One evening, she saw him staring at the sky through the window.
"What are you looking at?"
"The moon," he said. "Back home, it always meant storytime."
She sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep her distance.
"Tell me one."
Asta looked surprised.
Then smiled.
"Okay."
—
His stories were simple.
Funny. Weird.
About goats with hats, and sisters who snored louder than thunder.
Noelle covered her mouth to hide the smile.
Asta pretended not to see it.
But he did.
And it made his chest ache in the best way.
—
The next day, she gave him a drawing.
Sloppy. Wobbly lines. A silver wolf with too-big ears.
He held it like treasure.
"I'm framing this."
"It's not even good."
"It's perfect."
She rolled her eyes.
But her hands wouldn't stop shaking for hours.
—
Sometimes she tested herself.
Just a little.
A flick of a finger. A breath of mana.
It hurt.
It always hurt.
But Asta watched her like she was doing something incredible.
"You're amazing," he whispered once.
Noelle flushed.
"I failed."
"You tried. That's what matters."
—
Late at night, she started talking more.
Not much. Just little things.
"I like red apples better than green."
"Summer's too bright."
"I never liked dolls."
Asta never interrupted.
He just nodded. Filed every word away like it mattered.
Because to him—it did.
—
She caught him crying once.
Silently. In the hallway.
She didn't say anything at first.
Just stood there.
Then sat beside him.
"What's wrong?"
He sniffed, rubbing his eyes fast.
"Nothing."
She waited.
He sighed.
"I miss home. But I don't regret being here."
She stared at him.
He smiled.
"For real."
Noelle didn't understand why her chest felt tight.
—
It happened on a quiet afternoon.
Asta tried to juggle oranges again.
He dropped all three.
One smacked him in the face.
He made this ridiculous noise—
—and she laughed.
Sharp. Sudden. Real.
The sound echoed like bells through the quiet room.
Asta froze.
So did she.
Noelle covered her mouth, cheeks red.
"I didn't mean to—"
"Do it again."
"What?"
"Laugh. Please."
She looked away.
But she smiled.
—
That night, Noelle stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
He's a fool.
But... maybe he's my fool.
She didn't dare say it out loud.
Not yet.
But something inside her was changing.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like frost melting in the sun.
—
It started with a question.
"Do you want to try again today?"
Noelle didn't answer right away.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the bedsheet.
The room was too quiet. Her heartbeat was too loud.
Asta waited.
He always did.
"…Fine," she whispered.
—
They began small.
A cup of water.
An empty spoon.
A candle's flame.
Things that wouldn't fight back.
Things that couldn't hurt her if she lost control.
She failed. Again. And again. And again.
Her hands shook. Her eyes burned. Her breath caught in her throat.
But every time she collapsed, Asta was already there—steady, stupid, smiling.
"You're doing great."
"I'm not."
"You're trying. That's more than most people ever do."
—
He sat cross-legged across from her the next day.
"You know," he said, picking at a loose thread on the carpet, "people used to call me cursed."
Noelle looked up.
"I couldn't use magic. Still can't. So everyone figured I was defective."
"…That's not the same."
"It feels the same," he said quietly.
She watched him for a long time.
Then said, "I thought royals had the worst lives."
He snorted. "Nah. That's commoners. And goats. Goats have it rough."
She blinked. "What."
He grinned. "I'll explain later."
—
They practiced in secret.
Asta brought mirrors so she could watch her posture.
He marked a chalk circle on the floor.
"Stay in the middle," he said. "Even if it hurts."
She hated it.
She loved it.
She hated that she loved it.
The pain, the effort, the dizziness—it all reminded her she was alive.
Not a ghost.
Not a burden.
A person.
—
One day, she managed it.
A small sphere of water.
No shaking. No blood. No panic.
It floated in the air for two full seconds before falling.
Asta stared at it like it was magic itself.
Which—it was.
"You did it," he whispered.
Noelle blinked.
Then covered her mouth with her hands.
And cried.
—
After that, something shifted.
She didn't flinch when he sat beside her.
She stopped calling him annoying. Out loud, anyway.
And sometimes—just sometimes—she smiled first.
—
Asta brought her a scarf one morning.
It was ugly. Crooked stitches. Yarn too thick.
"I made it," he said, proud.
"It looks like a mangled snake."
"I know."
She put it on anyway.
And wore it the rest of the day.
—
Training grew harder.
More focus. Longer sessions.
Noelle pushed herself to the edge.
Asta was always there to catch her when she fell.
"You're gonna be stronger than all of them," he told her one night, wiping sweat from her brow.
"No, I won't."
"Yes, you will."
She looked at him.
"…Will you still stay? Even if I get better?"
His eyes softened.
"Of course I will."
—
They built a routine.
Mornings were for reading.
Afternoons for practice.
Evenings for dumb jokes and quiet stories and staring at stars from her window.
Noelle had never felt peace before.
Now it lived in the space between their silences.
—
One evening, she asked him a question she hadn't dared before.
"What do you want to be?"
Asta paused.
Then said, "A Magic Knight."
She stared at him.
"You don't have magic."
"I know."
"You'd be torn apart."
"Maybe."
"Then why?"
He smiled. Not loud. Not goofy.
Quiet.
"Because I want to protect the people who gave me a chance."
She didn't say anything.
But her heart thudded a little louder than usual.
—
They practiced outside her room once.
Just down the hall.
It was a risk. A big one.
But she stepped over the threshold.
Asta holding her hand.
She didn't collapse.
Didn't choke.
She stood.
He lifted her off the floor and spun her around like they'd won a war.
Noelle screamed and punched his shoulder.
Then laughed so hard she cried.
—
Late that night, after Asta had gone to sleep, she sat by the window alone.
She stared at the moon.
And whispered, "Thank you."
To him. To fate. To whoever had sent her this ridiculous, loud, infuriating, irreplaceable boy.
Thank you for bringing him to me.
—
Noelle was improving.
Her magic didn't lash out anymore. Her body held up longer. She didn't cry every time she failed.
Asta noticed it first.
"You're different," he said one morning.
She blinked. "Is that… bad?"
He shook his head, smiling.
"No. You're stronger."
—
But not everyone believed it.
The Silva servants whispered behind her door.
"She's just playing pretend."
"Still cursed. Just quieter about it."
"She'll explode again. Wait and see."
Noelle tried to ignore it.
Tried to believe in her own progress.
But the words clung to her skin like rot.
—
Dinner came in late.
Too cold.
She didn't touch it.
"Not hungry?" Asta asked.
She didn't answer.
Didn't look up.
Just stared at the wall like it had something to say.
—
The next day, Nozel visited.
He stayed at the threshold, as always.
"You've made progress."
His tone was stiff. Distant. Measured.
"Then why do you look disappointed?" she said.
He didn't respond.
Just left a scroll behind and turned away.
Asta picked it up.
It was a report.
Detailed. Clinical.
Like she was a patient. Not a sister.
—
That night, she didn't speak.
Asta tried everything—jokes, stories, even juggling apples again.
Nothing worked.
When he asked if she was okay, she said "I'm tired."
But what she meant was "I don't know who I'm doing this for anymore."
—
Training the next day was rough.
Her mana flared wrong. Too wide. Too fast.
She collapsed, coughing, chest burning.
Asta rushed to her, shouting her name.
"I told you not to push too hard!"
"I didn't—" Her voice cracked. "I didn't mean to—"
"You're going to hurt yourself!"
She flinched.
He never yelled.
—
She didn't speak to him for two days.
Didn't let him in.
Didn't answer his knock.
Didn't even look at the door.
She felt empty.
Like everything had frozen over again.
—
He came anyway.
Sat outside her door.
Talked to her like she could still hear him.
"I know I messed up."
"I was scared. That's all."
"I don't want to lose you."
Silence.
Then: "Noelle?"
Still nothing.
—
On the third day, he didn't come.
And the silence hurt more than his voice ever could.
She curled up on the bed, hugging her knees.
Why does this feel worse than being alone before?
—
The next time she saw him, he was in the garden.
Punching a training post.
His hands were scraped raw.
She watched him from the window.
He looked so small.
—
Later that evening, she went to him.
Not with words. Not at first.
Just stood beside him, arms crossed, eyes down.
He looked up, startled.
Then softened.
"…Hi."
She sighed.
"I'm scared all the time," she whispered.
"I know."
"I don't know what I'm doing."
"You're doing enough."
She clenched her fists.
"I'm not enough."
"You are to me."
—
She burst into tears.
Not quiet ones.
The kind that made her shoulders shake. The kind she couldn't stop.
He stepped forward.
She didn't stop him.
She let him hug her.
And buried her face in his chest.
—
They didn't talk much that night.
They didn't need to.
He stayed beside her until she fell asleep.
Her fingers curled loosely around his sleeve.
Like letting go might mean falling apart again.
—
After that, things were gentler.
She trained at her own pace.
He stopped pushing too hard.
They started leaving notes for each other, even when they were in the same room.
Just in case one of them couldn't say the words out loud.
—
One day, she found a message under her pillow.
"Even if the whole world doubts you… I won't."
She folded it and kept it under her pillow.
Then later, in her closet.
Then later, in her pocket.
She never threw it away.
—
Their bond wasn't perfect.
They still argued.
Still had bad days.
Still clashed sometimes, like fire and wind.
But they always came back.
Because they chose to.
Because the silence wasn't safer anymore.
—
The first time Noelle walked to the main hall, no one noticed.
Asta cheered like she'd won a war.
She only made it twelve steps.
But she stood on her own.
She stood.
—
Her control was better now.
Her magic didn't lash out at every mistake.
She could summon water in shapes. Small. Gentle. Quiet.
She liked making floating orbs. Like little moons that shimmered in her room.
"Pretty," Asta said.
Noelle rolled her eyes.
But she made another one just to see him smile.
—
Time passed.
One year. Then another.
Her world grew wider.
She walked beyond the wing. Then the garden. Then down the halls without collapsing.
Servants stared.
Some bowed.
Some looked away.
She didn't care.
Not when Asta was waiting at the edge of every limit, hand extended, eyes bright.
—
Asta changed too.
He got taller.
His shoulders grew broader. His laugh stayed the same.
He trained every day in the yard. Swinging heavy blades. Doing push-ups in the snow.
Noelle watched from her window, chin resting in her palm.
She didn't know why her chest felt weird when he took off his shirt.
Probably heatstroke.
—
He stopped calling her "Miss Noelle."
One day, it just slipped out—"Noelle, come look at this!"
She almost didn't notice.
But she did.
And she didn't correct him.
—
The scarf he gave her—ugly and old—finally wore out.
She kept it in a box under her bed.
Then made a new one for him.
It was better. Straight stitches. Deep gray with a red stripe.
When she gave it to him, he beamed.
"Now you look like the mangled snake."
She hit his shoulder.
But she smiled the whole time.
—
They talked more openly now.
Asta told her about Sister Lily. The Church. The other orphans.
Noelle listened quietly.
Then told him about her mother.
About how she died after giving birth to her.
About the silence that followed.
About how no one said it, but everyone blamed her.
He didn't speak for a long time.
Then said, "They were wrong."
Just that.
Simple. Certain.
It stuck with her for weeks.
—
Noelle started going outside at dusk.
Just for a few minutes.
The first time, the air burned her lungs.
The mana in the air was heavier than in the castle.
But she didn't faint.
Didn't bleed.
Just held Asta's hand and breathed.
—
Afterward, they sat under a tree.
Asta looked up at the stars.
"I think I'm gonna try for the Magic Knights."
She stiffened.
"Really?"
He nodded. "I want to prove I can do it. Even without magic."
Her hands tightened around her sleeves.
"…You'll leave."
"Not yet."
"But someday."
He turned to her. "I'll come back."
She looked away.
"I didn't ask you to."
—
He trained harder after that.
Jumped higher. Hit harder.
Ran until he collapsed.
Noelle learned some recovery magic and healed the scrapes when no one else was looking.
"I didn't ask you to," he teased.
She hit his arm.
Then lingered a second longer than usual.
—
They didn't talk about their feelings.
Not really.
But they lingered.
In soft glances. In shared meals. In the way Asta fixed her cloak before she stepped outside.
One night, her fingers brushed his when they reached for the same book.
Neither moved.
He looked at her.
She didn't look away.
Her heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it.
—
They sat in silence for a long time.
Then he asked, "Do you ever wonder what it'd be like if things were normal?"
Noelle blinked.
"Like… I could go to school, or eat in a dining hall, or walk around a town?"
He nodded.
She nodded too.
"…Yeah. All the time."
—
One morning, she made it to the front gate.
Her lungs burned. Her knees buckled.
But she stood there.
The sun rising behind her.
Asta watched her like she was glowing.
"Welcome to the world," he said.
She didn't smile.
But she didn't cry either.
—
At fourteen, she left the castle grounds for the first time.
A quiet village on the hill.
The people kept their distance, sensing something heavy in the air.
Noelle felt it too.
But it didn't crush her.
Not with Asta beside her.
She made it ten minutes before needing to turn back.
Asta carried her the last half of the way.
She didn't complain.
—
Winter came.
She got a coat with silver trim.
Asta got a blade that looked too big for him.
They stood in the snow outside the garden.
Breathing clouds into the cold.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
He nodded. "Me too."
Then held out his hand.
She took it.
Without hesitation.
—
Noelle was fifteen.
She looked in the mirror that morning and almost didn't recognize herself.
Not because she looked different.
But because she felt alive.
—
She had walked the market last week without collapsing.
Spoke to a merchant. Paid with coins. Even smiled a little.
A child bumped into her by accident—his mana flared briefly.
Her heart skipped, but nothing happened.
No blood. No screams. No pain.
Just a scared apology.
And a slow breath in.
—
Today was the Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony.
She could go.
Not in secret.
Not hidden behind illusion magic or through a mirror.
She could stand there, shoulder to shoulder with other mages.
A year ago, that would've killed her.
Today, she was going by choice.
—
Asta didn't say anything when he saw her in her new dress.
He just froze.
Eyes wide. Mouth open.
"…What?"
He scratched his neck.
"You, uh… you look like someone who belongs up there."
She raised a brow.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"No! I mean yes! I mean—yes, in a good way—"
She smirked.
"Relax. I know what you meant."
But she still felt a warmth crawl up her neck.
—
Nozel sent a private carriage.
Noelle sat beside Asta.
He watched the trees blur past the window.
She watched him.
His reflection in the glass.
His jaw, sharper now. His eyes, softer.
When did I start looking at you like this?
—
The hall was full of people.
Mana buzzed in the air like static.
Noelle's throat went dry.
Her heart pounded too fast.
I can't do this.
Her hand trembled at her side.
Asta grabbed it.
No words.
Just a firm, steady grip.
Like he knew.
Like he always knew.
—
When her name was called, everything went quiet in her mind.
She stepped forward.
One breath. Then two.
A light appeared above her.
Her grimoire floated down, pages fluttering.
Silver-blue cover. Soft shimmer. It pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
It didn't burn her.
It didn't reject her.
It chose her.
—
Cheers broke out.
She didn't hear them.
Only one voice mattered.
Asta was shouting like a lunatic in the back.
"That's my girl!"
She flushed so hard her knees nearly gave out.
What did you just call me?
—
He caught her outside after the ceremony.
Grinning so wide it hurt to look at.
"You did it!"
She stared at him.
Then at the sky.
Then at the grimoire in her hand.
"…I really did."
He reached out and gently touched her hair.
"Proud of you, Noelle."
Her throat tightened.
"…Thanks, idiot."
—
They didn't go back to the castle right away.
They wandered the hill near the capital.
Quiet. Peaceful.
The sun was setting, casting everything in gold.
Noelle sat in the grass, grimoire resting beside her.
Asta dropped down next to her with a grunt.
—
"I'm leaving soon," he said.
She nodded.
"I figured."
"I want to try out for the Magic Knights."
Another nod.
"You should."
He looked at her.
"I won't be able to see you every day."
"…I know."
Silence.
Just wind and birds and a distant laugh.
—
"I'm scared," he said.
She blinked.
"You are?"
He nodded.
"Not of the Knights. Of leaving you."
Her breath hitched.
"You'll be fine."
"That's not what I meant."
He turned to her.
Really turned.
—
"I don't know when it happened," he said.
"But I think I started liking you. A long time ago."
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
He scratched the back of his neck.
"I wanted to wait until you were ready. Until you could stand outside. Until you didn't need me to carry you anymore."
He glanced at her.
"…But now you don't."
—
Noelle's heart thudded in her ears.
She looked down at her hands.
At the grass. At her shoes. Anywhere but him.
Then she said, so quietly it almost wasn't real:
"Idiot."
A pause.
"…I liked you first."
—
He stared.
Mouth slightly open.
Then he laughed. Loud and real and bright.
Noelle scowled.
"I'm being serious!"
"I know. I'm just—" He wiped his eye. "I'm just really happy."
She rolled her eyes.
Then leaned forward and kissed him.
—
It was short.
Awkward.
Neither of them really knew what they were doing.
But it was warm.
And real.
And tasted like sunlight and breathless hope.
—
They didn't talk much after that.
Just sat.
Leaning into each other.
Hands laced.
Hearts quiet.
Everything else could wait.
—
A few years passed.
Noelle stood before the battlefield in her new armor—silver trim, flowing cape, grimoire hovering at her side.
People whispered "That's the cursed Silva girl."
She didn't flinch.
Didn't lower her head.
She was a Royal Knight now.
And she'd earned every step.
—
Asta landed beside her with a grin.
Same wild smile. Same fire in his eyes.
His sword gleamed on his back.
"Ready?"
She smirked.
"Always."
They moved together.
Two halves of the same storm.
—
And through every battle, every victory, every mistake—
They never forgot where it started.
A sick girl in a locked room.
A loud boy who refused to leave.
And a love that grew in silence, warmth, and light.
—
Epilogue: Several Years Later
The cottage was small.
Tucked between a field of wildflowers and a stream that never froze.
Asta built it himself.
Noelle picked the stones for the fireplace.
—
He still woke up at dawn to train.
Still shouted too loud. Still laughed with his whole chest.
But he moved slower now.
Not old. Just comfortable.
She watched from the doorway.
Hair longer. Eyes softer.
—
He found her in the garden later.
She was kneeling by the herbs. Dirt on her gloves. Hair pinned back.
A single silver strand glinted near her temple.
He kissed her cheek without warning.
She didn't even flinch.
—
"You're filthy," she said.
"You love it."
He sat beside her in the grass, pulling his knees up like a boy.
"I do," she said, quiet.
He turned his head.
"What?"
She smirked.
"Nothing."
But her ears were red.
—
They had a daughter.
And a son.
Years apart.
The girl was loud like Asta. Stubborn like Noelle.
The boy was gentle. Careful. Always watching.
Noelle loved them so much it hurt.
—
Their daughter didn't inherit Noelle's condition.
Neither did their son.
But just in case, Noelle taught them both how to breathe through fear.
And Asta taught them how to punch through it.
—
Sometimes, on clear nights, they sat on the roof.
Noelle leaned into his side, hair brushing his arm.
"Do you miss the capital?"
He thought about it.
"No. I miss the idiots. Not the place."
She smiled.
"I miss our idiot friends too."
"Especially Yuno?"
"No."
—
The stars blinked above them.
Same sky they used to stare at as kids.
Back when they were just a sick girl and a loud boy in a too-big castle.
She reached for his hand.
Their fingers still fit together perfectly.
—
"Thank you," she said.
He looked over.
"For what?"
"For staying."
He squeezed her hand.
"Thank you for fighting."
She tilted her head.
"I didn't have a choice."
He smiled.
"You always had a choice."
—
Their daughter joined the Magic Knights.
Her grimoire was blue. Waves curled across the cover.
Their son became a healer. Specialized in curse reversal.
He carried his mother's strength in his spine. And his father's stubbornness in his heart.
—
Noelle stood in the doorway years later.
Gray in her braid now. Eyes still sharp.
She watched Asta lift a basket like it weighed nothing.
His back a little bent. His smile unchanged.
He turned to her.
"What?"
She shook her head.
"Still too loud."
—
He walked to her. Pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Still too proud."
She rolled her eyes.
But didn't move away.
—
Their love wasn't perfect.
It didn't need to be.
It was strong. Gentle. Forged over years of pain and healing.
They never forgot where they began.
But they didn't live in the past.
They lived here.
In a home they built.
With flowers in the window and laughter in the halls.
Together.
Always.