He trains, every day, every week, and you watch, every day, every week. It’s always easy for you to watch him and not be spotted, seeing as though thousands of other girls crowd around him and watch as well. Well, maybe not thousands, you reason, maybe only, hundreds? Nevertheless, whether there are hundreds or thousands of females surrounding him as he trains, you are always there.
No, it’s not like I’m ghosting his footsteps and following him everywhere! You have had that argument with your good friend Jade many a times, but refuse to admit she’s right when she says ‘it’s a little creepy. You should talk to him!’. After all, one does not simply ‘talk’ to a Strider, let alone Sir Dave.
Besides, after watching him for this long, you know his daily routine off by heart, and that’s good enough for you. Sometime later after a heated argument with Jade, you realise that you’re probably a little bit obsessed with him. Okay, a lot. You can’t be blamed though; Sir Dave is by far the most charming of Knights around and by god, he knows it.
The argument escalates to yelling and then before you know it, you have stormed out of the room and have disappeared outside. Ladies and lords shake their heads at you as you storm past, hair dishelmed and scowl evident. ‘It’s not very ladylike,’ a few tut, but at this point you couldn’t care less.
Not long after stomping through the corridors of the castle, you find yourself near the stables. You lean against the door, dress dirty around the hem and hair falling out of its elegant pin-up. Your (e/c) eyes slip shut as you inhale deeply. Guilt laced your stomach and you knew that you’d apologise by the end of the day.
Soft footsteps alert you of another’s presence, but not quickly enough for you to fix your appearance. The scowl vanishes and you force a small smile onto your face, trying to obtain some lady-likeness back. Looking towards the sound, you are met with piercing red eyes and nearly have a heart attack. Stepping back instinctively, you realise it’s none other than Dave – er, Sir Dave.
Immediately you’re curtseying and mumbling apologies for god knows what, all the while thinking of how horrid you must look. Oh god, what a mess, what will he say? Maybe he’ll just ignore me and walk away, I mean, that’s probably for the best, right? Staring down at your dusty, dirty shoes you begin to shuffle away slightly.
Why is he even here – Oh. It hits you like an oxen-pulled cart once hit King Egbert. Of course, it’s a Sunday evening. He tends to his horse on a Sunday. Apologising once more, you make haste to escape the room, but not before he clears his throat. You stiffen, unable to move. Ever so slowly, you turn back to him, face reddening.
“Y-yes, Sir Dave?” You curse the stuttering and force a cooler composure open yourself. “May I be of assistance?” You pause. You are a lady, not a maid, so what are you doing?
“…You know you can stay, right?” He says, face expressionless and eyes never straying from your face. “… And actually, even though you aren’t a maid, it would be pretty sweet and ironic if you brought me some apple juice.”
“…Apple…juice?” You’re not sure if you heard him correctly. Here you are, talking to the most attractive guy you’ve ever met, and he’s asking for apple juice? What the heck – what does he mean, ‘ironic’? Frowning, you curtsey again, out of politeness. “Of course … Sir Dave…”
He rolls his eyes. “I was kidding, relax.” His posture slumps as he unsheathes his sword and places it on a nearby table. Heading off towards his horses, he nods back towards you. “I’ll be finished in ten minutes; I’ll see you at the training grounds in fifteen.” With that, he has disappeared around the corner.
You nod to the air and slowly, confusedly, leave the stables. It’s not until you walk past the arranged meeting spot that you freeze and blush.
How did he know he would see you here …?