Chapter Text
You know it should be an honour that a Harbinger is keeping their eye on you, but frankly, you’re starting to get fed up.
“Master Tartaglia, I know you’re there.”
“Well, look at that!” He popped out from behind the bush he was hiding behind (poorly), laughing nervously as he brushed leaves off his jacket. “What a coincidence, [Name]. Didn’t see you here while on my very important… er, mushroom inspection.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” you asked exasperatedly, crossing your arms. When you had been assigned to the 11th Harbinger’s command, you never thought you’d end up lecturing him for stalking you. At first, you’d been delighted to have caught his attention. Perhaps a promotion was in sight? But the shadier he acted around you, the more it felt like you were being babysat rather than respected. Maybe he couldn’t trust you to do your missions properly. It was humiliating, in a sense—though you lacked the power to rise to the ranks of the Harbingers as you were right now, you were a damn good agent, and you knew it. Apparently, the Mushroom Inspector did not.
“Not at all! I trust your patrol is going well?”
“Yes, it is. As it always is.” You hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be wise to chew out your boss. But if you kept it to yourself any longer, you’d probably end up exploding in front of an audience. At least here, you could confront him with no witness but the jade moon. “Look, can I ask you something, My Lord?”
“You can, but the answer depends on the question.”
“Why are you following me?”
“Wh—me, following you?” he spluttered. “How could you ever come to such an assumption?”
“Because you keep following me.”
“Pfft… no way. You’re definitely imagining it. I’m not suspicious. What, do you think I’m suspi—”
“Yes.” You stepped forwards pleadingly. “Look. If there’s something I’m doing wrong that can be fixed, please tell me. All I’ve done is my best, so if that’s not good enough for you, then I…”
“Is that what you think?”
This close, you realized that he was taller than you thought he was, and that you might’ve overstepped your boundaries. A cool aura seemed to radiate off of him, electrifying the air, raising the little hairs on your arms. You swallowed thickly as he stared down at you, his blue eyes darkened like they were absorbing the night.
“I-I don’t know what I think. I’m just… um…”
“If you must know,” he sighed, “I try to take care of all my soldiers. But you don’t need my support. You’re a good fighter. I just like watching your style.”
“You… you do?” you stammered, flabbergasted. He smiled.
“Yeah, I do. So maybe, one day, when I’m not busy with the… er… mushrooms, we can spar.”
“I-I’d love to!” you gasped, shocked by the sudden turn of events. Here you were thinking he hated your pathetic guts, and now he was offering a private invitation to spar? “Thank you, milord—!”
“Oh, but one thing,” he interjected, waving you off. “Just call me Childe. I don’t need any of those formalities.”
“Okay,” you replied breathlessly, feeling warm in the face. “Thank you, Childe.”
“That’s more like it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head back to write up my report on… mushrooms.” He shook his head, not even believing his own lie as he walked away. You watched him go, your heart pounding wonderfully in your chest. You even forgave him for his story.
But you should’ve known—lies grow. They get big and ugly and monstrous until you can no longer contain them. Then, who's the real loser? The one who told it, or the one who believed?