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It was quiet. So quiet that it just felt wrong. The silence felt… Deafening. Scaramouche has never felt anxiety like this before. Why would he, anyway? He was made by an Archon. He’s immortal. Powerful. He can destroy a person—or even a whole city in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. He’s not the sixth Fatui Harbinger for nothing.
So, why?
Why is the sound of her angrily gathering materials in order to patch him up make him flinch internally? She has not muttered a single word ever since she opened the door and saw him in his current state. Her eyes went wide and her pink lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but chose not to and just stepped aside so he can get in. The city was quiet—what time was it? Scaramouche had no idea. All he knows is that…
It was quiet.
He wanted to open his mouth and make a snarky comment like he usually does—maybe comment about her purple, starry night gown? Perhaps, tease her about how her let-down hair looks so messy? Ugh, of course, it would be messy. He most likely disturbed her sleep by deciding to show up uninvited and, well, bloody. The indigo-haired boy bounced his left knee up and down, gulping and looking around the interior of her house as if he hasn’t memorized it from its floor up to its ceiling.
What’s taking her so long?
As if on cue, the sound of a metal box hitting the floor made him jump and swing his head towards the sound. In front of him stood the great astrologer, Mona Megistus, in her full glory. Instead of the usual pissed look that she has whenever she sees him (whether it be in the woods or cities), her eyes looked… Different. Scaramouche swallowed again before breaking eye contact. Mona silently knelt in front of him and proceeded to open the box; it contained bandages, some bottles, a scissor, and everything else needed to treat someone with a wound or injury. The girl got out a tweezer and a cotton ball before getting a bottle and dropping a few drops on the cotton ball. Scaramouche watched her carefully and it felt like his heart dropped when she leaned closer to him, grabbing his jaw and starting to dab the damp cotton ball against the cut on the corner of his lip.
It stung.
But who cares about that when her face is as close as this? He could go and kill her right now without alerting anyone, but it seems like she’s the one killing him. Her hair, those stupid eyes that looked like ice, her lips—Scaramouche could go on and on about all her features that make his blood boil.
“Ah,” He finally hisses, “It hurts.”
Instead of getting a “You’re such a whiny child”, or whatever reply he was expecting, he got silence and dead eyes as she continued. It was as if she didn’t even hear anything. Scaramouche’s brows furrowed; is she doing this on purpose? Acting like she’s deaf and all? If she is, then it’s just plain stupid. What is she getting mad about, anyway? The fact that he disturbed her “beauty sleep”?
“What’s with you?” He manages to audibly say even though she was still dabbing his lips with the cotton ball.
Again, silence.
His temper was starting to get to him. What is this woman’s problem? He’s fully aware that she’s petty, but getting mad because he barges in her house in the middle of the night? She was the one who let him in, for her information. She could have told him to go away, but she let him in! So what is she going on about? Scaramouche continued to stare at the mage intensely before she dropped—no, wait—she hurled the tweezer to the floor. The indigo-haired boy was frozen in place.
“Are you stupid?”
“What?”
The nerve of this mage to even ask if he’s stupid. Did she forget that she’s talking to a divine being? Is she too sleepy to even comprehend the things that are leaving her mouth right at this moment? Scaramouche scoffed and opened his mouth to remind her of her place, but Mona was quick to grab his collar and before he knew it, his face was inches away from hers.
Confusion clouded his eyes, “What is wrong with you—”
“You idiot scumbag of a Harbinger,” Mona shoved him away and started laughing that later turned into sobs, “Would it kill you to be careful so I would not have to worry about your safety all the time?!”
Scaramouche has no idea why he’s frozen and speechless. Is it because she’s crying? Or the fact that she’s… Worried about him. Is she? Suddenly, everything was too much for him to handle. His eyes were glued to Mona who had her face buried on one of his knees, sobbing to death while she weakly punched his legs. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair.
“I’m… Sorry.” It was a whisper but Mona heard it crystal clear and it made her cry harder.
She landed a harder punch on his leg this time, “Do you even have any idea how anxious I am every single day—knowing that you can randomly die without me being aware of it? I feel so stupid whenever I have to defend you from my own friends. They keep reminding me of the fact that you’re a Harbinger and you’ll only hurt—or worse, kill me in the end.”
Ah, fuck.
“What am I going to do, Kuzu?” Mona slumped down to the floor, “What am I going to do when I lose you?”
For some reason, Scaramouche feels like somebody filled up a bucket full of water fresh from Dragonspine and dumped it all over him. The sight of Mona being helpless… It broke him. Is a puppet supposed to feel this way? Can a puppet feel this way? He slowly bent down and knelt in front of Mona, not minding the amount of pain and exhaustion that his body was shouldering. The indigo-haired boy cups the mage’s cheeks and presses his forehead against hers, sighing in relief.
“Forgive me for being careless,” He mutters, “I promise I will be more careful next time.”
Mona grumbles, “You better be.”
They spent the night cuddling and being sweet—in your dreams. Five minutes later, the two were trying to pull each other’s hair, fighting on who gets to sleep on the nice, comfy, side of the bed (Spoiler: Mona won because Scaramouche was… Injured). A few hours later and they finally settled down.
Only the sound of the air passing through the window filled the room. Scaramouche watched as Mona face contorted into an irritated one before muttering something about Mora. This time, the silence felt… Comforting. Scaramouche scooted closer and hugged the mage tighter, burying her face on his chest and shutting his eyes. He finally let exhaustion take over his body as the sun rose. It was quiet, but the sound of Mona's breathing felt like a lullaby.