Erza does not concern herself with public opinion.

As a working mage with unchecked boxes on her bucket-list of things she wants to do and monthly invoices to pay, Erza travels often to different towns and the places in between. The bold mark on her left arm and the color of her hair gain her all kinds of civilian attention. By having gained notoriety for their conduct and practically embracing it, the guild she loves has an official presence in the air where rumors tend to circulate the best.

Erza has learned a lot in these places. With the random throes of praise, there are still the provocative bar banters and harming words in the peaceful places. While the war has changed things, it has not erased everything. There are always parts of the country that do not accept her the same way Magnolia does.

But, Erza can't help but think that Fiore looks different now. Her city bustles louder through her windows than before, and her mornings are softer. Her days feel more open and so does her heart. The world has too much to whisper or exclaim about her life, but she does not want the whole world to know the parts of her she only needs few people to remember to begin with.

So, when the middle-aged woman working the cashier line calls Erza forward and purses her lips disparagingly at the sight of her and her husband, Erza says nothing. An older town like Era stands on a foundation of outdated principles and carries their own grudges. The woman's frown matches the other ones they have already received today, brimmed with ugly judgment and secretive prattle. Erza ignores every stare she feels on her back. She only cares for the way her husband looks at her.

"I can't believe they're here."

"So, she did marry him, after all."

"How embarrassing. Look at her stomach."

Erza twists her hair and isolates it to one side of her neck. Their words are like cigarette smoke, toxic to inhale and clingy but at the end of the day, just smoke. They never hover long enough.

It is not them or her she worries about.

As she focuses on the customer display, waiting for the numbers to stop, Erza reaches below for his hand and squeezes it. She does not expect him to do anything but after a pause, Jellal squeezes it back. She pays for the groceries herself and when the woman sighs and tells her, have a nice day, Erza looks her in the eyes, smiles, and replies, you too.

He does not look like himself behind the wheel. She knows that if he could, he would choose the breeze in his hair with magic pouring intensely from his body, unrestricted and unbidden.

When they notice their cottage on the outskirts of Magnolia, peeking out through the wall of foliage that gates their home, the sun has barely set. A red-orange glow coats the driveway and framework of their house and leaves as soon as they come to a stop. The whirring of the MPF descends into a silence as Jellal pulls the plug off his wrist, leans back against the headrest, and breathes. Erza runs her hand down his arm, wondering how long it'll be before his forehead creases again.

When they settle inside, Jellal asks her if she needs help making the curry tonight. From the kitchen counter Erza orders him to take a break and Jellal does not ask twice. He has spent his whole day dealing with Era's special brand of bureaucracy and expending his magic in a vehicle he only drives for her comfort. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him take a step across the open threshold and disappear into their living room. Curiously, her hand stills. The thunk of logs hitting the hearth rouses her ears.

She wishes it was his voice instead.

Since seeing his daily routines up close, filling him on hers, and making new ones together, she thinks she needs his voice now. There's nothing uncommon about greed bred from affection. She wants it every day and everywhere. Things like a tap on the shoulder, a pat on the head, a pull on a strand of her hair, a smile across the room during a party—with these, she knows he loves her. Without these, she still knows.

Her husband is a quiet man; to hear him breathe whatever he thinks about in her ear leaves a deeper impression altogether.

Sometimes, though, he is too quiet for her. Erza can't hear his footsteps creeping back into the kitchen. She gasps and grips her knife tightly when his hand appears over hers and pieces of carrot roll into the sink.

"Be honest with me," Jellal whispers. "Has that happened to you before?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play coy."

"…"

"Erza, please."

"They don't matter, Jellal."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Erza closes her eyes and tries to relax her heart. With the air between them suddenly drawn so taut, she does not think she can meet his eyes and say a word without something breaking.

"I have never hid anything from you," she breathes.

"As have I," Jellal says, his voice strong. "…I don't understand, Erza."

"Is this really just about me?" Erza puts the knife down on the cutting board and sighs loudly. "Why is this so important to you?"

"People have the right to say what they want about me. I don't care about them. You, on the other hand— "

"And you think I should?" She scowls. "Am I perfect, Jellal? It's been this way since I was a teenager. Fairy Tail's reputation doesn't exactly flatter everyone and you've known this."

"Yes, I have. I never thought you were perfect, Erza."

"Then, what's wrong?"

"You deserve more."

"Stop."

Erza thinks she's ready to see his face but the second she turns, her stomach drops. They've had less arguments than she can count with one hand and she hasn't gotten used to a single thing. The softer looks hurt the most. Some days are better than others, and nobody else understands nor feels this as much as she does. She can't force all the words she wants out of him, but she can't handle him closing on her either. He holds himself so still but the beautiful green of his eyes have dulled, and his eyebrows have knitted together like a reflection of her own desperation and insecurities. They aren't very different from each other, and it stings to see the bits of herself she does not want on either of them. As her face falters, she feels the blood rushing to her cheeks and the heat in her eyes.

"They don't know them," she tries. "They don't know me. They don't know us."

"You're missing the point, Erza."

"And you're being a hypocrite," she breathes. "When did I ever want their validation?"

Jellal raises his chin, as if he sees past the lie. She wanted it once, a long time ago. Everything they said about her had mattered because everything he had said mattered too.

"My crimes are my burden to bear and mine alone," he says. "I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you two because I blindly allowed my family to get caught up with them."

His words break her heart so easily. "Jellal—"

Jellal shakes his head and walks away. "I need some air. Call me if you need me."

The slide of the patio door sounds louder when it closes. Now alone in the kitchen, Erza leans back and squeezes the edge of the counter behind her, shaking.

When Erza finds him in their backyard, an hour and a half has passed and Jellal is lying in the middle of the grass lawn, with an arm tucked behind his head and one of his knees bent upwards.

Erza gathers her hair to one side of her neck and watches him. All day he had felt like a lost puzzle piece and now he looks like a part of something complete, losing himself in the breeze and the stars that have never left his side. Freedom comes in varying shades. They don't talk about the past that often but she is aware that this is an environment he has always loved.

Sighing, Erza walks towards him. Jellal does not look at her, though she does not need him to. Even though the wind blows stronger and colder than she expects and she thinks having a cold now would waste months of their efforts playing it safe during pregnancy, Erza makes herself a seat beside him.

"You'll get sick out here," Jellal murmurs. "You should have stayed inside."

She reaches for his free hand. "If I did that, how would you ever find your way back?"

"I was about to."

"Don't lie," Erza says, rubbing his knuckles. "You never do when you're out here."

She thinks she sees him smirk but before she can examine further, he finally glances at her. His eyes, brighter than before, tell her what the stars have soothed and what they haven't.

"Come here," he says.

His cold hand clasps tightly around hers and with his chin, Jellal motions towards his open arm. Blushing, Erza nods and lies where he has invited her. She touches his chest and closes her eyes when she feels his arm drape around her.

A minute in his arms ticks by and Erza wonders why it startles her so much when her eyes widen and begin to sting again.

She feels the blush on her cheeks spread to her ears. Something inside of her blossoms in a way familiar to magic but not quite. Erza can't find a clear reason for her tears but when she thinks about how much they need to work on, where they are and the world around them and the world inside of her, she knows that this pain will always be one of the things to remind her that everything she feels is real and she can't have this anywhere or with anyone else. It's enough. The way his heart moves faster underneath her palm has always been enough.

"I want to ask you something," Jellal says. Erza bites her tongue and caresses his jaw.

"Why did you keep it?"

"Keep... what?"

"Scarlet."

"What?"

"Scarlet," Jellal repeats. "Your last name, before you took mine."

He pulls himself away from wherever he was and shifts until he's on his side and his nose is touching her nose. He takes a second to register the chaos of her appearance, but he doesn't ask her anything else.

Erza realizes, now, as he stares at her with such intent, that she can't count all the ways that she loves him.

"You ask so many stupid questions," she tells him, teary-eyed.

As she combs her fingers through his hair, Jellal has a confused expression. He looks like he wants to ask her another question, but he seems to decide against it and chooses to brush the wet parts of her face with his thumb instead.

"I guess I do," he whispers. His smile is barely there, but she sees it anyways. As her stomach flutters, Erza briefly draws away from him, wraps her arms around his head, and hugs him against her chest. When he buries his face against her front and embraces her back, she starts to cry again. A blanket from her requip space drops over them, and they have nothing more to say.

Notes: I was thinking a lot about Jellal's redemption arc these last few weeks. I have this head-canon that even though Jellal was redeemed, there are still people who refuse to understand him or at least are still like "eh" towards him (i.e. Kagura, Sho, Milliana, etc.) and Erza gets backlash for loving him. This happened to be the product.

I understand that this might have been a confusing and more uneventful read but this one means a lot to me. It started off as an angst-less, cuter prompt meant to comfort those who were thoroughly hurt by the ending of Fairy Tail but as I kept writing, it slowly became something that embodied all the reasons I love Jerza. My goal here was to make things simple while conveying as much as possible. I haven't written a complete prompt in a long time and this was very much a challenge to execute so hopefully anyone who reads this can find it within them to forgive any errors or awkward syntax choices. Nonetheless, it was nice to jump back into writing with this kind of idea.