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12:00 noon. Aymeric sighed, leaning back in his chair as he stretched his sore shoulder muscles, the stiff fabric of his suit jacket restraining him just a little too much for the stretch to be really satisfying. Lunchtime at last.
Out of the corner of his eye, the bright text of a new email in his inbox jumped out, but he ignored it. If there was one thing he had learned over the course of his years in the corporate world, it was that no email was ever worth delaying his lunch.
It had been a lesson hard-won, to be sure – but ever since he had begun to meet with his friend Haurchefant for lunch each day, the accountability had kept him from self-sabotaging. It was one thing to set aside his own needs, but quite another to behave so callously toward a dear friend whose good opinion was of great import to him.
Aymeric locked his computer and took his lunch bag out of the mini-fridge underneath his desk. Blessedly, no one called his name to saddle him with some urgent task as he made his way through the office before finally arriving at the break room.
“Aymeric!” Haurchefant called and waved, a wide smile on his face. Though they had been fast friends from the very first day Aymeric had begun working for the Temple Firm, Haurchefant still managed to sound genuinely excited each time the two of them met.
Aymeric smiled and sat across from him at their chosen table. Next to the large windows that composed nearly an entire wall of the break room, the spot offered a lovely view of the small lake around which the various office buildings in the business park were arranged. It was as close to being in nature as Aymeric could manage most of the time.
“Hello, Haurchefant,” Aymeric greeted his friend, retrieving his sandwich from its paper confinement. “How was your morning?”
“Oh, the same as always. But let's not talk about the job – I see you've brought a turkey sandwich again. You know, you should treat yourself to something fun every once in a while. Perhaps some avocado toast would be to your liking? I hear it's all the rage these days.”
“I would rather keep my mornings simple,” Aymeric said. “And I'm afraid I wouldn't trust myself with a knife before my second cup of tea.”
“Always with the perfect excuse at the ready, you are,” Haurchefant sighed, taking a bite of his own lunch. “One of these days I'll make you realize that you do enjoy having fun, Aymeric – and speaking of, do you have any plans for the weekend? Something exciting, I hope?”
Aymeric’s jaw tightened, and he quickly attempted to smooth it over with a wan, false smile. “Not as such,” he admitted. “I thought I might try to catch up on some reading.”
The statement wasn't entirely false – Aymeric did in fact own a full-length bookshelf, the contents of which he had hardly made a dent in since college – but the lighthearted tone with which he spoke his words was nearly entirely so. He was a natural extrovert, and always had been, but between work calls and managing his elderly parents’ estate, he had hardly been able to find the time to socialize in months.
Haurchefant gave him a look that told Aymeric that his careful affect had not fooled his friend in the slightest. “Aymeric, I should hope that you already know this, but I care about you,” he said. “You are one of my most cherished friendships and I want nothing more than to see you happy and fulfilled in your life.”
“Haurchefant, I–”
“Which is why I've taken it upon myself to make plans for you this Friday night,” Haurchefant continued, a triumphant light shining in his eyes. “It has been far too long since you have been on a date, Aymeric de Borel, and that is a great disservice to all the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes in New Ishgard. Fortunately, I happen to know the perfect match for you. His name is Estinien, and he will be meeting you at Forgotten Knight Brewery at seven o'clock sharp. He's a bit rough around the edges, but I'm sure the two of you will get along like a house on fire.”
For a moment, Aymeric could only sit and blink as his mind processed the words Haurchefant was saying to him. He wasn’t opposed to the idea of finding love, and quite enjoyed a romantic comedy or novel on occasion, but a blind date? On such short notice? Was it even possible for something like this to work out?
“Don’t look at me so, Aymeric,” Haurchefant said, scolding him before he could find his voice. “You do good work, of course, but you shouldn’t live to work – you should be working to live. Estinien will help with that, I’m sure of it.” He was so earnest, so clearly convinced of his own words, that Aymeric felt his own heart being swayed.
“I’m not opposed to the idea, but at least tell me a little of this man before I meet him,” Aymeric managed at last. “I've been to plenty of your get-togethers and met most of the people you know – why haven't I ever heard his name before?”
Haurchefant shook his head. “He doesn't care for parties, and anyway, he tends to be rather busy on the weekends. We met at one of his performances.”
“Performances?”
“He plays in a band.”
Involuntarily, Aymeric’s eyebrows rose. His mind's eye conjured a hazy image of an archetypal rock star, all metal spikes and tattoos. Was that really the impression Haurchefant had of his tastes?
“What sort of band?” he asked.
Haurchefant tsk’ed at him, wagging his index finger. “Now, now, I can't very well tell you everything about him before you've even met, can I? There needs to be something left to the imagination, my friend. Something the two of you can discuss over a nice craft ale.”
“Alright, then, keep your secrets,” Aymeric sighed. “I suppose you are correct that discovering it in the moment would be more satisfying – though I hope I’m not the only one you’re keeping in the dark, while you’ve already told him all about me.”
Haurchefant laughed. “I haven't even shown him a photograph – it will be fun to let him be surprised, I think. Now stop worrying, Aymeric. This will be just what you need, I guarantee it.”
Aymeric smiled and took a bite out of his sandwich. Haurchefant was known to possess a flair for the dramatic, but he had to admit that his friend was right. It had been far too long since he had done anything like this, and though he wasn’t so naive as to think that Haurchefant’s mystery musician would truly be the answer to all his woes, the romantic in him wanted to believe – that maybe, just maybe, this would somehow all work out.
When the lunch hour ended, he found himself returning to his desk with steps that were just a little lighter than before.
Against all odds, and despite the mounting number of overtime hours accumulating in Aymeric's HR account, the week at last yielded to the passage of time. At six o'clock on Friday evening, Aymeric left the office with a spring in his step that he had nearly thought lost. For once, he had somewhere to be with a person without any titles along the lines of “Accounts System Manager” or “Administrative Director”, and he was excited – even if he was still slightly unsure of what, exactly, to expect upon his arrival at the brewery.
Aymeric had, of course, already taken the time during one of his minimal breaks to briefly scroll through the brewery's menu on his cell phone. His preferences tended toward wine over beer, but even he was familiar with the Forgotten Knight. A number of other craft breweries like it had sprung up over the past decade or so, but the Knight had risen above the rest in terms of popularity.
When he pulled into the parking lot, though, it was thankfully less crowded than he had anticipated. He breathed a quick sigh of relief – there was little worse of an atmosphere for getting to know someone than a crowded restaurant that needed to be shouted over to be heard at all.
As if his friend had read his thoughts, Aymeric's phone lit up at that exact moment with a text from Haurchefant. Good luck on your date, Aymeric! the message read, punctuated with a blue heart.
Aymeric smiled. His friend’s questionable motivations aside, he was grateful for the thought. Haurchefant was right – for all that Aymeric loved company, he had allowed himself to grow accustomed to a very lonely existence. If a blind date was what it took to get him out of his house, then so be it, he would put on his most winsome performance for this Estinien.
Briefly, while making his way across the parking lot, Aymeric wondered whether he might have trouble finding the man Haurchefant had all too sparsely described. Then he entered the brewery, and immediately, he saw him.
Estinien was sitting at a small table next to a refrigerator displaying cold cans of the brewery's wares for a la carte purchase. His long white hair – the one identifying feature Haurchefant had deigned to share with Aymeric before the date – was pulled back into a messy ponytail, with loose strands and locks falling over the collar of his muted red-and-blue plaid flannel shirt. A pair of well-worn boots were the only leather items in his ensemble, and there were no spikes to be seen anywhere.
Aymeric rapidly revised his preliminary mental picture of the man. His being a member of a rock or metal band now seemed unlikely – perhaps his date was the country sort? It would certainly pair well with the flannel, if not with their decidedly upscale surroundings.
His prospective date was not yet drinking anything but a glass of water, and appeared to be passing the time by closely inspecting the small dinner menu. No phone, Aymeric noted.
The lack of a cell phone in the man’s hand definitely stood out. Either this Estinien was making some kind of statement, or he had far greater discipline than every other patron of the brewery, most of whom were scrolling through some app or another even when speaking with their dinner companions. Either way, the simplicity was refreshing.
“How many, sir?” came a voice from behind, and Aymeric startled to realize he had been staring. Warmth rushed to his face – he generally had more self-discipline than to act like a teenage boy with his first crush again. His only saving grace was that Estinien hadn't even looked up from his menu yet to notice his state of disarray.
“My apologies, I’m actually meeting someone,” he hurriedly told the middle-aged waitress, who gave a good-natured nod in return. He walked across the room to the table, taking a deep breath to compose himself. First impressions lasted, as he knew all too well, and at the moment he found himself very keen to make a good one.
Estinien, meanwhile, was entirely engrossed in the menu, not looking up even as Aymeric approached the table. He cleared his throat politely. “Hello, would you be Estinien?”
With a jerk, Estinien’s head snapped up from the menu and his eyes – storm-gray and slightly sunken, giving his expression a tinge of tiredness – bored into Aymeric’s own.
For a moment, they looked at one another in silence. Aymeric took in the close view of Estinien's features – narrow chin, slight under-eye circles, thin lips: all perfectly fine features on their own, coming together to form a face that was quite handsome, in a rugged way.
Estinien proffered no answer to Aymeric’s question, redundant though it was – his own eyes were just as fixed upon Aymeric, flicking up and down as he took him in. Aymeric was aware that other people often found him to be conventionally attractive, and he wasn’t immune to a tiny bit of vanity in the matter, but it had been some time since he had struck anyone so speechless. He would feel more self-conscious about it if not for the fact that he found himself equally entranced.
Determined to power through the awkwardness, Aymeric held out his hand. “Glad to meet you. If Haurchefant didn't already tell you, my name is Aymeric de Borel.”
Estinien looked at his hand, then back up at his face. So flummoxed was his expression that Aymeric was just about to play off the handshake as a businessman's reflex, when, finally, he reached out and took it.
“Good to meet you,” he said at last. His voice was surprisingly deep and gravelly, with the slightest hint of an accent that Aymeric couldn't quite place. His grip on Aymeric's hand was firm, his palm rough with calluses, and quite warm to the touch.
Despite only having known Estinien for a few minutes, Aymeric found himself reluctant to let go of his hand. It had been far too long since he had been touched in any kind of romantic context, that was part of it, but there was a looming sense of something larger coalescing behind the impulse. He and Estinien so clearly lived in entirely different worlds, and yet there was something familiar about him to Aymeric, something both comfortable and enticing.
Whatever Haurchefant had seen in the man that had made him think he would be a good match for Aymeric, he had no idea, but now that he had seen him for himself he had to concede that his friend had been entirely correct. If he had a ‘type’ – and Aymeric was certain that his sparse scattering of past romantic experiences displayed no sort of discernable pattern in that sense – Estinien fit it perfectly.
“Forgive me for being overdressed. I had to come straight from the office to make it here on time,” Aymeric said, attempting to steer the conversation back onto solid ground.
Estinien shook his head. “I was the one who feared I was underdressed.”
“No, not at all,” Aymeric assured him, settling into the other chair at the table. “Unfortunately, the firm is still far too conservative to embrace the concept of ‘casual Fridays'.”
Estinien’s brow furrowed. “Where is it that you work? Greystone mentioned nothing of it.”
“I’m a junior human resources manager at the Temple Investment Firm – if you have ever looked upon the city skyline at night, you may have caught a glimpse of my silhouette in the window,” he joked. “Though I promise you I do try not to stay at the office so late very often.”
“Hmm. Very impressive. Comes with an equally impressive salary, I hope?”
“I'm comfortable enough,” Aymeric admitted. “But what about you, Estinien? Haurchefant mentioned that you play in a band, though he offered precious little more detail than that.”
Instantly, the tips of Estinien's ears reddened. “Music is… really more of a hobby. When it comes to my living, I make do with a few odds and ends – none of which will be at all impressive to an investment firm manager, I'm sure.”
“Try me,” Aymeric said, and was surprised to discover that he fully meant it. Despite all the odds being stacked against the efficacy of blind dates, something about Estinien was drawing him in and making him want to learn everything he possibly could about the man.
Before Estinien could answer, the waitress appeared once again to take their orders. Aymeric ordered a plate of fried green tomatoes for the two of them, accompanied by a glass of dry cider, which earned him a raised eyebrow from his dinner companion.
Aymeric smiled at him. “I must confess, I don’t have much of a taste for beer, but the cider here is very good. Have you tried it before?”
Estinien pressed his lips together. “No. I’ve never been here before – I don't typically do much drinking.”
“Oh! Well, there's no need to start on my account,” Aymeric said, abashed. “I won’t think less of you if you don’t wish to partake.”
“It's alright. It’s not a never sort of thing – only occasional.” A sheepish little expression wrinkled Estinien’s nose. Aymeric found himself distracted by it – the way Estinien’s severe features softened was inordinately charming. “Too much will put me straight to sleep, and I’ve plenty of things I’d rather do most nights than snore on the couch.”
“If you’re lookin’ for something lower-proof, we’ve got a light blonde ale you might like,” the waitress said. “Should I put you down for one?”
“Sure,” Estinien said.
The woman left with their orders, and Estinien settled back into his chair, his shoulders marginally less tense than they had been before the waitress’s arrival. “Where were we?” he asked after a moment.
"You were about to tell me about your work," Aymeric prompted. "Odds and ends, you mentioned?"
Estinien shrugged. "Nothing glamorous. I tutor part time at Bale’s Dojo, in the Central district, mostly kickboxing. Alberic and I go a long way back. The rest of the time, I'm doing handyman work wherever I can get it, some landscaping in the summer. Whatever pays well enough and doesn't require me to be indoors all day."
"You prefer working with your hands, then?" Aymeric asked.
"I would lose my mind sitting in a cubicle for one hour, much less eight." Estinien said it without hesitation or apology. "No offense to your line of work, of course, but I need to be moving around, doing something tangible."
Aymeric’s laugh came easier to his lips than it had in weeks. "None taken. I'll be the first to acknowledge that corporate life isn't for everyone. In fact, I'm not entirely certain it's for me, either – but it pays the bills and then some.”
Estinien nodded, his storm-gray eyes fixed on Aymeric's face. It was an intense gaze, but Aymeric accepted it, not feeling the least bit unsettled. Estinien simply seemed to be a person who gave his full attention to whatever was before him, and Aymeric would be lying to himself if he tried to pretend that he wasn't enjoying it.
"Greystone said that you work too much," Estinien said abruptly.
Aymeric felt warmth creep into his cheeks at the admission. "Did he now?" he asked, doing his best to keep his tone light.
"He went on about it for the better part of half an hour. Apparently his dear friend Aymeric ‘needs someone to drag him out of the office before he forgets what sunlight looks like’." The corner of Estinien's mouth curved upward. "He also said you were one of the finest people he had ever met, so I figured his meddling was well-intentioned."
"Haurchefant is a very thoughtful, kind friend," Aymeric said, deflecting the secondhand praise, though it left a deep part of him feeling warm. "How exactly did the two of you become acquainted? You mentioned he attended one of your performances?”
At the mention of performances, Estinien's ears reddened once again, and he coughed once into a closed fist. Aymeric found himself unable to look away, filing away every fidgeting movement into the back of his mind. It seemed that the subject of his music was a touchy one for Estinien – which only made Aymeric more eager to find out more about it.
“Right,” Estinien said. “He showed up at one of our gigs about a year back, then after the show, came up to the whole band afterwards and started talking like we had known each other for years. We’ve been in touch ever since.”
“He does have a way of simply… insinuating himself into a situation,” Aymeric said fondly.
“Right,” Estinien repeated, a hint of a smile reappearing on his face. “Most people would never think to pull a move like that, but I'm sure you already know that Greystone isn't most people.”
Aymeric opened his mouth again to ask a more probing question about Estinien's music, only to be interrupted by the reappearance of the waitress, this time carrying their food and drinks on a large tray. By the time they had settled in with their respective meals, the mood had shifted slightly, and Aymeric mentally retreated to a safer list of discussion topics. He was certain his curiosity about Estinien's music would eventually be satisfied – and he was briefly surprised at his own certainty that there would be more time with Estinien, despite having just met – but he would simply have to be patient until the time came.
In between bites of what turned out to be quite delicious brewery pizza, their conversation naturally flowed from Haurchefant’s eccentricities, to New Ishgard's traffic problems and lack of bike lanes, to the various antics of Aymeric's cat Heloise. As they spoke, Estinien's initial awkwardness began to fade, and his responses grew longer and more animated, all while that intense gaze continued to make Aymeric's heart quicken. He even smiled a few times – quick, fleeting expressions that transformed his severe features into something almost boyish, and Aymeric found himself even more fixated, nearly unwilling to break eye contact long enough to eat his own food.
Of one thing Aymeric could be absolutely certain: he had never been on such a successful first date in his entire life.
"I have to ask," Aymeric ventured as they were finishing their meal. "Do you find Haurchefant's matchmaking efforts as meddlesome as I initially did?"
Estinien drummed his fingers against the side of his empty glass. "Meddlesome, certainly. But I know he means well. Greystone has a good heart. At times I think he cares more about other people's happiness than his own."
"That's certainly true," Aymeric agreed. "I admit I was surprised to be sent on a blind date without forewarning, though I wouldn't say his efforts were entirely unwelcome. Not anymore, at least.”
He smiled at Estinien, who appeared to be struck speechless, and took a long drink of his half-finished blond ale in lieu of a response. The warm lighting of the brewery played in the fine white hair that was escaping his ponytail, and his calloused fingers gripped the glass. Aymeric would have been embarrassed about how much he had already fallen for his blind date if he were not so pleased with how the night had turned out.
They lingered over their drinks for a time, but eventually the date came to a natural close. A crescent moon was rising above the skyscrapers in the distance, and the parking lot had cooled significantly as night had fallen. Aymeric was grateful for the crisp evening air against his flushed cheeks as they walked slowly toward their cars, prolonging the inevitable goodbye.
Estinien stopped in front of what was presumably his own car, a battered old truck that had clearly been put to work with regularity. Aymeric's own car was just a few spaces away, and he paused mid-step.
Estinien faced him. "This was better than I expected."
Aymeric smiled. "Better than you expected? Should I be offended?"
"Blind dates are usually disasters, or so I've heard," Estinien said matter-of-factly. "This was not."
"It was very good," Aymeric agreed softly. "Haurchefant clearly knows us both better than we give him credit for."
"Aye. I'll have to thank him for meddling.”
Another pause lingered for a time, neither of them moving to get into their cars. “You never did tell me what kind of band it is that you play in,” Aymeric said.
“Well…” Estinien started, his hesitancy returning. “It’s not that easy to explain. But… we do have a gig next weekend, not far from here, now that I think of it. The Coerthan Cultural Center. Why don't you just come and see it for yourself?”
“Is this your way of saying you'd like to see me again?” Aymeric said, a surge of confidence swelling within.
Estinien blinked at him. “What?” A furrow appeared between his narrow brows – he was genuinely puzzled.
Aymeric took pity upon the poor man. “I would very much like to – see you again, that is. That is to say, I can certainly attend your show, and I will look forward to it – but I would also like to have another night like this, so we might get to know one another better. I enjoyed the last hour with you very much, Estinien.”
“Oh.” Estinien blinked, then coughed. “The show is on Sunday at eight. If you can't make it…”
“I'll be there,” Aymeric promised.
“Aye, well, we'll see each other again then,” Estinien said.
Aymeric found himself rooted to the spot, watching as Estinien climbed into his truck and pulled out of the parking lot, only shaking himself free and moving to his own car when the taillights finally disappeared around the corner. As he started the engine, he caught sight of his reflection in the rearview mirror. Somehow, without his own conscious awareness of doing so, a smile had crept its way into his lips, and there was a brightness in his eyes that he had never noticed before.
He sent a quick text to Haurchefant before pulling out: Thank you.
No sooner had the message gone through than Haurchefant's typing icon was popping up on the screen, his friend no doubt in the midst of composing a request for details with a large number of capital letters and emojis. Aymeric smiled and set his phone aside, pulling smoothly out of the brewery parking lot and navigating out onto the road, every mundane feature of the city seeming to glow with a light that had been missing from his life for longer than he cared to admit.
The following week seemed to move at a pace best described as glacial. Work demanded the bulk of Aymeric's attention as usual, from the first emails answered before the sun had even risen to the time he finally escaped the office in the evening. Beneath the suffocating mire of mundane corporate life, however, a new feeling of anticipation was welling up, energizing Aymeric enough that even his coworkers commented on his good mood upon seeing him in the morning.
He quickly learned that Estinien wasn't much of a texter, and in fact was possibly the last person in the entirety of New Ishgard to exclusively use a decade-old flip phone, but that didn't stop him from sending a handful of good mornings and expressions of excitement about the upcoming performance. Even a one-word response that arrived hours later carried the power to make his heart soar, he found to his surprise. In fact, Aymeric found that he was even more excited for the day he would be able to have another proper conversation with him.
He was, as Haurchefant would say (and indeed did say during one of their outdoor lunch breaks), horrifically far gone.
Somehow, despite the perception of interminability, the week marched onwards, and at last, the day of the mysterious performance arrived. Aymeric was fully aware that he could just look up the venue’s online schedule, or even Estinien's name, and find the answer to his question in an instant. But now that the identity of the band had been a mystery for so long, it seemed anticlimactic to find out via a cold, impersonal web search. It was much more interesting, much more romantic, to simply attend the show and allow himself to be surprised.
Of course, the downside of Aymeric's approach was that he had absolutely no idea what would be considered appropriate dress for the show. In the end, he settled for a knit turtleneck sweater – blue, of course – and a pair of casual slacks. A cultural center didn't sound like a particularly highbrow venue, so he reasoned he would fall safely within an acceptable range.
When he arrived at the center in question after an uneventful drive that nonetheless left him prickling with anticipation, he immediately discovered that he had been correct in his assessment. The building itself was almost remarkably nondescript, and the other attendees exiting their cars were for the most part older than fifty or sixty, dressed in flannels and sneakers.
Aymeric knew immediately that he would stand out, yet the realization did not shake his confidence as he entered the building to find a folding table labeled Tickets, staffed by a lanky, freckled teenager. It was hardly the first time he had found himself overdressed, and besides, he thought, it would help Estinien find him in the crowd.
After receiving his ticket and program, he took a moment to look around the entrance to the Coerthan Cultural Center, a place he had been vaguely aware existed, but had never visited for himself. There were still many people socializing in the lobby instead of taking their seats, so he made his way to one wall where various art pieces were being displayed. A black-and-white landscape photography series of rolling hills and valleys caught his eye, along with a large watercolor painting of sheep dotting an emerald hill.
As he stood admiring the artwork, the lights flickered, and he followed the crowd into the performance hall, a decidedly modest room by Aymeric's standards (he had a soft spot for the symphony, though he had not found time to attend for a while), yet he could not think of it as anything but cozy and charming. A variety of sound equipment had already been set up, but Estinien was nowhere to be seen.
Shortly after he took his seat, a rotund woman with wild gray curls stepped up to a microphone at the front of the hall. "Good evening, everyone! Welcome to another Coerthan music night. We're so glad to have you all here with us tonight.”
Four people walked out onto the stage behind her. Aymeric's heart leapt when he saw Estinien, dressed as simply as he had been at the brewery with his long hair tied back and carrying a long, thin instrument case. Behind him was a young man whose cropped hair was a strikingly similar white shade, pushing a dolly that carried a large harp. A redheaded woman carried a fiddle, and the final woman held no instrument, but wore a beautiful blue and silver dress.
The woman at the mic was still talking about the cultural center’s upcoming events, but Aymeric's attention was fully fixed upon Estinien as he and his bandmates got ready to perform. He sat forward in his seat as Estinien opened the instrument case to reveal something unexpected: not the clarinet or oboe he had expected from the shape of the case, but an unfamiliar kind of hornpipe with a wide bell at either end.
After a moment of puzzlement, Aymeric belatedly realized that the program he had been holding in his hand for the past twenty minutes would likely hold the answer to his question. The lights in the hall had been dimmed, but Estinien's portrait and bolded name jumped out at him on the first page. Estinien Varlineau: Pibgorn (traditional Eastern Highlands pipe) and pibau cwd (bagpipes).
Before he had time to ponder what he had just learned, the woman at the microphone was raising her voice. “Now it's time for what you've all been waiting for, our resident Eastern Highlands folk ensemble, Hiraeth!” She left the stage to a round of applause, and once the hall had quieted again, the band began to play.
Aymeric was instantly enraptured as the harpist began to play the introduction to the first song, joined soon after by the fiddle. Estinien simply stood still for the first few bars, then when his cue arrived, put the pipe to his mouth and began to play.
The sound that emerged was unlike anything Aymeric had heard before at the symphony: sweeter and more mellow than he had expected from the horn's appearance, with a haunting quality that seemed to reach directly into his chest and wrap around his heart. It was not an overly loud or brash instrument, but it commanded attention all the same, harmonizing with the harp and fiddle in its own distinctive voice.
The vocalist, the willowy woman in the blue dress with startlingly long silver hair, began to provide a lyrical accompaniment to the music, though Aymeric could not understand the words she was singing. Her voice was beautiful, as clear as spring water, yet his attention remained fixed on Estinien and his horn.
To watch Estinien play was a revelation in itself. His talent was made evident by the way his fingers moved gracefully over the body of the horn, producing a distinct sound that struck Aymeric deeply. And, as Aymeric continued to watch, he realized that Estinien looked happy, even peaceful in a way Aymeric hadn't seen during their date, despite how well the evening had gone. Music may have been Estinien's hobby rather than his livelihood, but it was clear that it was one that was deeply fulfilling to him.
At first, Aymeric was confused as to why Estinien had been embarrassed to talk about the band that he so clearly loved, yet as the performance continued and he pondered the matter further, it began to make more sense. Traditional folk music was hardly the flashiest or most impressive genre in many New Ishgardians’ estimation. Even his own first assumptions about the mysterious “date in a band” Haurchefant had mentioned had not been anywhere close to the truth. It wasn't hard to imagine that Estinien might have faced judgment or ridicule in the past, possibly from men very similar to himself.
The thought stirred up a swell of conviction in Aymeric's breast. If Estinien would have him, he would do his utmost to attend every one of his performances in the future, so he would know just how much his talents were appreciated.
When the performance ended some ninety minutes later, Aymeric stood in applause with the rest of the attendees and clapped until his palms stung. He followed the rest of the crowd back out into the cultural center lobby, where the folding tables had been repurposed from ticket booths to refreshment stands. Aymeric accepted a paper cup of coffee from another young volunteer and positioned himself with a clear line of sight toward the hallway from which he suspected Estinien would be exiting.
He didn't have to wait very long, and had hardly touched his coffee by the time Estinien emerged, pipe case in hand and wearing a rather beat-up brown leather jacket over his performance outfit. His eyes landed on Aymeric immediately, and his stern expression brightened just enough for Aymeric to notice.
"You came," Estinien said once he had made his way through the crowd to arrive at Aymeric's side. There was genuine surprise in his voice.
"Of course I came. I said I would, didn't I?" Aymeric said with a smile.
"I thought once you knew what kind of music we played, you might change your mind." Estinien shifted the weight of his instrument case slightly on his shoulder.
"And miss the chance to see you play your pipe? Absolutely not." Aymeric smiled wider. "Though I'll admit, it wasn't what I expected. I'll admit that the venue of choice gave me a hint, but when Haurchefant mentioned your band to me I imagined everything from jazz to country to death metal."
Estinien let out a short, surprised laugh. "Death metal? Do I look like I belong in a death metal band?"
"One should take care not to make assumptions based on appearances." Aymeric took a sip of his coffee, grimacing slightly at the watery, yet burnt taste. "But for what it's worth, it was a wonderful experience. You're very talented, Estinien, and it was clear that you care about your music. I enjoyed it very much.”
They stood in the lobby for a moment in silence. Aymeric finished the coffee and crumpled the paper cup in his hand. The rest of the crowd flowed around them, slowly dispersing through the cultural center’s front doors, and the ambient chatter gradually quieted. Estinien seemed reluctant to leave even though their conversation had lulled, and Aymeric was in no hurry to end the evening either. Even simply existing in proximity to Estinien now seemed like the best possible way for him to spend his time. He bit back a sudden urge to laugh as he imagined what Haurchefant would say about him, if he could have witnessed the current situation. He would never hear the end of it, most likely.
"I should probably help the others pack up the sound equipment," Estinien said eventually, though he made no move to actually disengage.
"Of course,” Aymeric said, not stepping away himself. “I don't want to keep you."
"You’re not keeping me." Estinien's voice was quiet, now that most of the other concertgoers had gone. "It means a lot to me, Aymeric, that you came."
"Wild chocobos couldn't have kept me away," Aymeric said, and meant it.
Estinien smiled at last, a warm, genuine smile that made his whole face transform. "Would you be willing to wait? Just a bit longer? We could talk outside, if you'd like. I could use some air."
"I would like that,” Aymeric promised.
Twenty minutes later, the equipment had all been stowed safely in the trunk of the vocalist's minivan, and Estinien and Aymeric were standing in a mostly-empty parking lot, beneath a full silver moon and a scattering of what stars could pierce through the light pollution of the city. The night air had cooled considerably, and the sweater Aymeric had chosen no longer seemed like such an ill-fitting sartorial choice.
Estinien leaned against the back of his truck, his arms loosely crossed. His pale hair seemed to glow under the moonlight, and his worn jacket was apparently doing an acceptable job of staving off the cold, as he did not appear the least bit uncomfortable.
“If it isn't too much to ask,” Aymeric ventured carefully, “why did you take such pains to avoid telling me about your music?”
Estinien looked him in the eye, a guarded expression still lingering on his face. "I wasn’t sure what you would think. When we met at the brewery, you seemed so… polished. I thought you might find this whole thing ridiculous.”
Aymeric’s eyebrows rose. “Ridiculous? Estinien, you spent this evening creating beautiful music and bringing joy to people who clearly appreciate it. There's nothing ridiculous about that."
Estinien’s brow pinched slightly. "You really mean that."
"I absolutely do." Aymeric assured him. "And I'd very much like to hear you play again. Are there any more performances coming up?"
"We play monthly here, and we also have a few festival bookings over the summer. I could let you know when, if you’re interested." Estinien's voice was still gruff, but there was a flicker of hope on his face that made Aymeric's heart sing.
“Please do,” Aymeric said. He had never felt more hopeful himself.
“You truly are interested?” Estinien said, unable to shake off his incredulity. “You don't have to feel obliged just because you fancy me.”
It seemed that the words had slipped out without Estinien's permission, because his face immediately went dark and he began to cough unconvincingly into a tight fist. Aymeric's heart leapt in his chest as he assembled his answer.
"I do fancy you," he admitted after a moment. "But that doesn't make what I said any less true.”
Estinien lowered his hand, looking in Aymeric's general direction, though he no longer met his eye. “I'm not especially practiced at this, you should know. Dating, that is.”
“That makes two of us,” Aymeric admitted.
Estinien abruptly stared at him, a deep furrow appearing across his brow. “That can't possibly be true.”
Aymeric shook his head, a light warmth playing across his own face. “My career has been my priority for some time now, but I assure you I am not so devoted to bachelorhood as to preclude a shift in priorities.”
“Devoted to bachelorhood. Is that what we're calling it now?” Estinien said, thankfully looking more amused than repulsed.
“It sounds better than workaholic,” Aymeric admitted.
Estinien laughed, a surprisingly warm sound despite his rough voice, and it loosened the knot that had begun to twist in Aymeric's chest.
They fell into a comfortable silence, the last of the performance attendees’ cars slowly leaving the lot behind them, until it was looking rather barren aside from the performers’ own vehicles.
"I should probably let you get home," Estinien said eventually. "It's getting late."
"Probably," Aymeric agreed. Neither of them moved.
There was a different quality to the air between them now, some imperceptible sensation that flickered over Aymeric's skin and tugged at his deepest, most instinctual impulses. Estinien's mouth was slightly open, as if a word had paused at the tip of his tongue, and when Aymeric stepped forward he did not step away.
Estinien's lips were surprisingly warm against his own. Aymeric had intended the kiss to be brief, but they found themselves lingering on one another, a hand coming to rest against a leather-clad shoulder here, against a curve of rib and waist there. Estinien's fine hair was in the process of escaping the tie that had been used to hastily contain it, and a few strands found their way between their pressing mouths, but Aymeric failed to notice until he had already pulled back, the night air all the colder against his lips.
Estinien was staring, and Aymeric cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should have asked…”
The words seemed to rouse Estinien out of his surprise, and he shook his head. “You needn’t apologize.” His voice was somehow even rougher than it had been prior to the kiss. “But if you must get it off your chest, you can say it now.”
“Then, may I kiss you again, Estinien?” Aymeric asked, smiling. Estinien nodded decisively.
Their second kiss was shorter, but no less satisfying. "I really should go," Estinien said afterwards, though he made no move to step away. "I've got an early job tomorrow. Deck repair for a client across town."
"And I have a standing brunch date with Haurchefant that I absolutely cannot miss, or I'll never hear the end of it." Aymeric reluctantly loosened his hold on Estinien's shoulders. "He's going to demand a full accounting of everything we said to one another, to the word."
Estinien scoffed and shook his head, but his eyes were fond. "Tell Greystone I said thanks. For meddling."
"I will." Aymeric paused. "I will certainly attend your performance next month as well, but might I be able to see you again sooner?”
Estinien thought for a moment. "Are you free next Friday?"
"I can be."
"There’s a place down the street from Bale's Dojo. It's nothing fancy, but the food is good. We could have dinner, maybe take a walk after if the weather holds."
Aymeric beamed. "That sounds perfect."
They exchanged another kiss, a quicker one, though Aymeric's pulse still raced all the same. Then before he knew it, Estinien was climbing into his truck, and Aymeric was walking to his own car, and the night was at last coming to a true end.
His phone chimed as he was pulling into his driveway with a text from Haurchefant that simply read: Well???
Aymeric delayed turning off the engine in order to type out a reply. You were right about everything. Thank you for meddling.
The response came within seconds: I KNEW IT!!! Brunch tomorrow, 10am, the usual place. I want DETAILS.
Aymeric smiled and pocketed his phone. It was early days yet, of course; two dates and a handful of kisses hardly constituted a relationship. But there was potential here, real, tangible potential, and for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Aymeric found himself looking forward to what would come next.
An Eastern Highlands folk band, he thought with a smile after he had showered and retired to his bed, staring up at his ceiling in the darkness. Who would have guessed?
But then again, Haurchefant had always had an uncanny knack for seeing possibilities that others missed. Aymeric would have to remember to buy him a drink at their upcoming brunch. It would be a small price to pay for what might just turn out to be the best surprise of his life.