#should i upload this to ao3 idk idk i wasnt even planning on writing tonight aghfgghgfgf

[cremeriie]

small world (or so it seems)

Osvald truly did not care much about the state of his hair, or any other so-called vanities, really. Unless it seriously impeded his work, the way he looked was simply not important.

Agnea thought otherwise.

"Seriously Professor, it can't be comfortable keeping it all knotted up like that."

"Yeah! You hair looks as bad as mine after a chase in the woods!"

Ochette only caught the tail end of Osvald's sharp stare as she bounded out of the Inn, likely to find something to eat. This left only Agnea as the remaining nuisance.

"Just let me brush it out, please? You can still read while I do it, you don't even have to move."

He was about to deny her, for good that time, but he stopped short at the pleading look in her eyes. Suddenly, his chest ached in a painfully familiar way.

He never could say no to such an earnest face. Not when it reminded him so much of life before the fire.

"Fine."

"Really? Oh thank you Osvald, I'll be right back with my brush!"

She almost tripped rushing up the stairs, grasping clumsily at her skirt as she went. She really was so young compared to the rest of their group and Osvald wondered, not for the first time, if letting her join their travels was a good idea. At the very least, she held her own in a fight fairly well, and she seemed to pick up on the basic wind magic he had taught her quite quickly.

"Oops, sorry about that ma'am! Whew. Alright Professor, let's see what we're working with here."

She softly pulled all of the unkempt strands back towards her to get a better look. Agnea had a usually irritable habit of humming when she was concentrating, but Osvald oddly found the sound less troublesome that night. After a while she dropped the hair and made a 'hmph'-ing noise.

"Your diagnosis?"

"Pretty terrible. But nothing I cant fix with a little hard work. Um, it may hurt a bit, though."

He brushed off the concern with a wave of his hand, to which Agnea shrugged as if to say 'alright then,' and began her attack on the knots. she started at the bottom, which was relatively tidy all things considered. When pain never occurred Osvald turned his attention back to his book and began reading once again.

For a short while the room was filled only with the quiet sounds of humming, turning pages, and brushing. It was almost peaceful, until...

Snag. His head quickly whipped back and into place.

He blinked.

Snag. Again, his vision was pulled away from the pages.

Snag!

"Agnea."

"Sorry, sorry! It's just such rat's nest back here. My mother would be furious if she saw this mess."

"Hm. Did she often brush your hair?"

"Oh yes, all the time when I was small,' a sad, faraway smile fell onto her face, "She always said how lucky I was to have thick hair, and lots of it too. I bet she'd say the same about you."

"I would get rid of it all if I could but..." He trailed off.

"But?"

"My wife. She...liked it."

Agnea could tell from the clipped response that it was not a subject to be pushed further. They slipped back into silence. At the thought of her mother, she was reminded of one of the songs she used to sing when brushing her daughter's hair. The words spilled from her lips.

"O, Lady of Grace, bless me with poise/ With which I may charm my sweet love/ O, Lady of Grace, bless me with voice/ With which I may call my sweet love..."

At first, the lyrics breezed past Osvald's ears disinterestedly. Agnea was always singing to herself, he couldn't possibly keep up with every song. However, once the last line hit the air his lungs abruptly seized, wind violently squeezed out out them. Voice croaking, he turned slightly to look at the girl.

"How...how do you know that song?"

"Hm? Oh, it's a silly old love song my mother wrote. Apparently it was very favourable with young ladies in all the places she visited. Do you maybe know it? I bet she was still traveling around the time you were younger."

"Rita, she--I remember her singing it. She said she learned it from a woman visiting town..."

"Wow. I wonder if it was mom she heard that day?"

"Quite possibly."

"Huh...and now, all these years later, here we are, together...it must be fate."

"If one is to believe in such a thing."

Osvald swallowed thickly. His body was stiff, and he was trying desperately to remain composed. It was not the time to fall apart. For Aelfric's sake, he hadn't even had a drink that evening.

Agnea stopped, noticing the shake in his jaw from how hard he was clenching it. Her movements stilled. Hesitantly, she wound her arms around Osvald's neck. She gently squeezed, before murmuring into his hair.

"Whether it's fate or not, I'm happy that we met."

She quickly untangled herself from his body and stepped back, clapping her hands decisively.

"Um, we're all done! I bet it feels a whole lot better, even if you won't admit it. Maybe next time I can convince you to let me braid it."

Osvald let out a shuddering breath and cleared his throat.

"Certainly not."

Her laugh twinkled across the room, "Oh, we'll see! But it'll have to be later, because I am quite tired after all of that hard labour. Goodnight Professor!"

"Goodnight, and...thank you."

Agnea beamed brightly before climbing the stairs to her room.

He ran his fingers through his hair and was surprised at the lack of resistance. Small and witnessed only by himself, he smiled.

Osvald knew that the pain in his chest might never fully go away, but that night he felt it ease, just a little bit.