What was meant to be a normal, tranquil day was interrupted by a loud BAM and then frantic talking as the first customer of the day arrived at the Fashion Frenzy store in Kilika.
"Okay, this is one reason why I don’t go shopping, Yuna," they heard over several repeated ‘I’m sorry’s.
"You’ve hit your head on a doorway before?"
"Actually, now that you mention it… no."
All the employees froze as they saw Yuna leading a slightly bruised Seymour into the shop.
"Yuna, I’m not wearing this," he said.
The employees soon got over their initial shock, and suddenly had the urge to start gossiping, forgetting their jobs and that they were in earshot.
"You’re going to look silly wearing that in Beseid."
"I look silly to everyone, why stop now?"
"You’re going to get sand all over that skirt of yours."
"take there isn’t a place in Beseid hat doesn’t have sand in it."
"Not really," she said.
"Well, Lulu dresses like a guado and lives there."
"She’s a girl," Yuna said. "She can get away with wearing a dress. You can’t."
"Fine, but if anyone insults me, I’m blaming you for how I look," Seymour said and then addressed the rest of the room. "Do you do this to every man his wife drags into here?"
Immediately he room quieted and the employees exchanged glances, embarrassed that they had so obviously been caught.
"That would be another reason I don’t go shopping."
"You get those elaborate robes all the time."
"I wore those for years until I set one on fire!" he said. "Besides, I didn’t buy them."
"That would explain why your clothes are always too big. It’s like your wearing your father’s clothes."
"Only once," he said. "But you and Anzi took all of them and I needed—"
"Excuse me," one of the employees asked, not wanting the conversation to get any worse for either of them. "We encounter this sort of problem all the time."
"Walking into the doorframe?" Seymour asked, rubbing his bruise.
"No, not that—I’ll get some ice for you, sir—I meant….well, it’s kind of universal that men don’t really go shopping."
"See, there’s nothing wrong with me, Yuna… well, not about this."
"Why doesn’t he just sit this out until you need him while I get him some ice and someone else will be over to help you?" she asked, apparently rhetorically, for she ran off before either of them could answer.
Another employee ran up to Yuna and started frantically talking about fashion, styles, sizes, cuts, colors, and seemingly everything else Seymour couldn’t be interested in enough to pay attention to if he were tortured.
"You buy makeup and I’m killing someone."
The entire room went silent and all eyes were on him.
"That was a joke."
* * * * *
"Here," Yuna said proudly, interrupting Seymour from his boredom.
"What do you mean by ‘here?’" he asked, finding a giant pile of clothes dumped in his lap.
"Try them on," she said.
"Why?"
"So we know if hey fit."
"Why?" he asked. "If they’re too big I can just belt them down."
Yuna sighed.
"In case they’re too small, now go in the dressing room."
"Who designed these? Donna?" he asked.
"It’s either these or we borrow a Beseid Auroch’s outfit for you."
"I’ll try them on," he said, getting up.
* * * * *
‘I hate shopping, I hate shopping, I hate shopping,’ Seymour mentally repeated. If he could help it he would never set foot in this or any other shop so long as he lived. "They fit," he said.
"Great, let’s go find some shoes for you."
"I like my current shoes," he said. "They look just like yours. What’s wrong with them?"
"I just thought you’d be awfully hot in those. You need some sandals, just in case."
"Why don’t I just give you my shoes and you can find something in the same size?"
"How do I know you’d like them without you?"
"As long as it’s not pink or decorated with flowers or cute little animals, I trust you to get something."
"You trust me?" she asked.
"Yes, I trust you get everything you think I need," he said, untying the laces of his boots.
‘That’s so sweet,’ Yuna said.
"It is?" he asked.
"Of course it is."
"Good to know… I think. Here, take my shoes."
"Don’t go too far."
"Why would I?" he asked. "Y0ou have my shoes."
She skipped off with them and glee fully went back to shopping.
"Not to mention my wallet."
* * * * *
Seymour had to concede wearing shorts and sandals was a much cooler alternative to his giant robe, thick pants, and boots. He wasn’t about to say that out loud however, lest she take him shopping again.
"Where do you want to eat?" she asked.
"Somewhere that sells food?" he asked. To him, eating was that thing you did so you didn’t start chewing on the furniture in frenzy after a few days. Then he realized if he specified ‘anything at all’ it would mean either several more hours of shopping and ‘Do you like this or this better?’ or he’d be stuck with the worst possible option. "Yuna, to warn you: I consider anything that wasn’t formerly aquatic food."
As Maester, he’d been most anywhere and found that food was food. Some was good, some was better, and some was horrible. He hoped he could trust Yuna not to decide she liked anything that happened to be half sand, or something that stuck to the plate if you turned it upside-down, like a few things he’d found he had to eat when traveling.
"No fish?" she asked.
"No, no fish. At all. In any way, shape or form," he said. "I’m sure Kilika has at least one plant that’s edible."
"I don’t want plants," Yuna complained. "I want to eat meat! Real food."
"I have no problem with that," he said. "I just thought all livestock in Kilika had fins."
"I’m sure there’s something around here," she said. "Ooo, look—"
"Yuna, before you drag me there, let me be clear: if it was in the water, fish or not, I’ve already tried it and I think it tastes disgusting. No."
"Oh, then… um…"
"You can eat it," he said. "I don’t mind."
"But you won’t eat it," she said, pouting slightly.
"I’m not trying to be difficult, Yuna, I’m trying not to vomit overboard later," he said. "Here, you go eat and we’ll find something for me later."
"But I want to eat with you,’ she said.
"Then I’ll go in with you."
"But won’t you be hungry—"
"I’ll manage."
"Wasn’t there a café that sold imported food?"
"I’m not sure, I’ve never been here… I think. My memory’s a bit fuzzy from when I was dead."
* * * * *
It had been cooked in butter. It had been deep fat fried. It was dripping in grease when they got it and had so much fat and flavoring it was beyond identification unless you had a severe aversion to it.
The drinks had to have been sugar with a little liquid added to it..
It was some of the best food either had ever had.
It was so far the highlight of the trip; even with the waitress acting terrified of Seymour.
"If I left her a big tip, would she stop threatening to call the authorities on me?" Seymour asked. Yuna had given him back his wallet. She had taken it so he’d stick around for the shopping trip, using her own money she’d acquired from her thousands of encounters with monsters, who miraculously held onto currency they would never use or even understand. Maybe they liked shiny things.
The waitress hadn’t been the only who knew who they were. In fact, the whole island had known within two hours. Both of them stood out, no matter where they went and those who recognized them more immediately than others began to gossip loudly and exclaim the obvious to their neighbors.
Thankfully, most of enthusiastic talking was about Yuna, not Seymour. He was yesterday’s news and frankly people had become bored with him. No more sin to worry about meant no one wanted to hear about someone who wanted to become it. Besides, as a topic, rock stars beat religion hands down.
"So…" Yuna started. "Anything you wanted to do here before we leave?"
"Yuna, I hate to ruin your flight of fancy, but my idea of a good time is having not pissed anyone off."
"Oh."
"The best time I ever had while I was Maester was meditating. I’m not really used to having my way with more freedoms than restrictions. Being allowed a social life is very new to me…" he said, starting to go red and literally began choking.
"Are you alright?" Yuna asked.
"Yuna…" he whispered.
She just sat there smiling at him.
"Yuna you’re foot is rubbing against my leg…" he whispered.
"It’s called flirting, silly."
"Well, stop it," he whispered. "And don’t be so loud."
"Don’t be so quiet," she countered. "And stop being so uptight."
"I can’t help it. It’s not that I don’t appreciate—get away from there—what you’re doing…it’s just that… no one’s ever done this, let alone in public."
"You’re not exactly getting the concept of ‘flirting.’"
"Yuna, I was a Maester for the last several years of my life. ‘Flirting’ is something I’m having a hard time getting my mind around."
"I know something else hard you’re having trouble with."
"Yuna!" he said. "People are staring!"
"They’re always staring."
"Yes, but this time they’re paying attention."
"Since when do you care?"
"Since you’re foot was on my leg." He said. "Look, Yuna—" he began pointing at her, but she just decided to change tactics in flirting.
"Yuna!" Seymour had gone back to whispering and tore his finger away. "Leave my finger alone and leave with a little bit of dignity!"
"I don’t understand," she said innocently enough.
"Let me explain something to you." He took her shoulders gently and pulled her face close and leaned over the table before whispering in her ear. "I have no fucking idea what to do."
"Just relax," Yuna whispered back.
"I’m not sure I can."
"Close your eyes."
He nodded and closed his eyes, wishing he felt better after doing so.
"Take deep breaths."
Seymour breathed deeply, and a bit too rapidly, but he began to calm down. Yuna brushed a finger over his hair, but stopped when he took an even quicker intake of air. Slowly, he began to calm down. He was still blushing bright red. In fact, from a distance people probably thought he was badly sunburned. But after what she’d tried with his finger, he’d looked like he was going to pass out.
"Just relax… and enjoy yourself."
That was it. That was the key. No one had ever told him to enjoy himself before. He’d been told not to touch, not to look, not to try, not to think and without all the ‘not’s he’d only been told to stand up straight and present himself properly. No one had ever cared about what he ever wanted.
Unfortunately, this concept was so new to him that his brain came to a screeching halt so fast he’d have wondered if anyone heard it, could he think anymore.
He froze at the words and he forgot to breathe when she pressed her lips against his. Thirty seconds later he remembered, gasping and panting, but refusing to fuck up now. He’d never gotten near a chance for this in his last life and he doubted he’d get many in this one. He wasn’t going to ruin it. He wasn’t going to be weak, or useless, or stupid again, at anything. He was determined.
‘Enjoy yourself’ suddenly became much easier than he’d ever expected and then he realized he was getting ahead of himself. He was kissing back.
He didn’t even open his eyes. He knew Yuna wasn’t complaining. In fact, she propped herself up with her elbows and cupped his face, seeing he wasn’t going to faint, run away, or start yelling.
Seymour himself braved to touch her face in return, stroking the side twice before gently and slowly playing with her hair with his long fingers as delicately as he could.
Then, suddenly, there was tongue in his mouth and it wasn’t his.
Everything was awkward for a moment and he nearly fell out of his chair before catching his breath once again and finding out how to reciprocate. How could it be this easy without instructions? How could it be this close and intimate while tasting each other’s saliva? Seymour had never contemplated someone else trying to put their tongue down his throat before, let alone contemplated that it could ever feel so good.
Catching her own breath, Yuna finally broke off, her mouth aching. She pulled away and fell back into her seat.
Then, finally, there was the fainting she’d dreaded.
Except it wasn’t Seymour. It was the waitress.
"Should I tip her, or just leave her alone?" he asked, hoping the question hid his sudden embarrassment. He’d grown up with the mentality before he became Maester. What he was doing shouldn’t be done in public. It shouldn’t be done in private. It just shouldn’t be done. He was a half-breed. A Mix. A Mess. Wrong. Things like him weren’t allowed to do what he’d just done. They weren’t allowed to want it, ask for it, or even fantasize about it.
But he just did.
And he’d liked it.
And Yuna had let him.
And from her expression, she had liked it too.
Seymour stared at the table and wished he’d disappear, or everyone else would. Or at least his headache would disappear.
One part of his mind said he was free. It told him to do as he wanted.
Another part bought up the fact that he really had no idea what he wanted.
A third part started waving its metaphorical arms in the air and ran in metaphorical circles, screaming that this could only end badly.
Then there was the reserved, cynical, over-realistic part of his mind that brought every hope of his crashing down on him. What if Yuna were only playing with him? What if she wanted a baby, not him; then she’d have everything she had ever wanted in the beginning and wouldn’t need him anymore. What if he was just being used to be thrown away? That’d be worse than if Yuna had never tried any of this.
Then there was fear, always present, always advising, but he never admitted to anyone else that he actually listened to it. What if, even if he wasn’t a Maester anymore, this was still wrong. He was still a freakish mixed-breed and he couldn’t escape that. What if things this weren’t meant for things like him? What if all the rejection he’d known before had been for a reason and Yuna’s attempts were completely for another reason?
He wished his mind would make up its mind.