Chapter Text
Huffman wakes up in his own bed to the sound of violence outside his window. At first he thinks it might be a flock of birds causing a ruckus, based on the shrieks and squawks, but he listens closer and realizes that those are people yelling and shouting outside.
He goes to sit up, and pain floods his chest; he rolls to one side and vomits on the floor. His lungs ache, and his skin is clammy where he's leaning on his arm, and it’s just as he remembers what happened yesterday—surely it was yesterday? the sun is shining now—that he sees the glowing Vision on his bedside table.
Even with the curtains drawn, the light from it is dazzling; the whole room is soft with the glow. He picks it up, almost expecting it to be hot, but it's cool and smooth in his hand, and as he turns the orb over, the swirling energy inside settles into the violet symbol of Electro. Something inside him settles as well, as if he's been missing something all this time and now he finally has it.
This thing saved his life—his and Tartaglia's lives, in fact. He steps out of bed on the opposite side from the puddle of vomit and towards the open window, leaning heavily on the sill. He looks out, squinting against the bright sunshine, although it's pleasant and warm on his bare shoulders.
Down in the courtyard, Tartaglia appears to be in a standoff with six knights. He could take them all out easily, but he stands in the center of their uncertain circle with his bow slung across his back and his hands wide open and empty.
"Get off of Favonius territory," one of the guards shouts.
Tartaglia raises his hands above his head. "I don't even care about Favonius state secrets or anything, I just want to know—" He looks up and sees Huffman in the window, and his jaw drops.
Huffman waves down, a slight smile creeping onto his face. "I'm fine," he calls. "I'll be down in five minutes."
Tartaglia beams and gives him a thumbs-up.
Huffman leans back from the window and gets a spare towel to wipe up the puddle of vomit. When he goes over to put it in the laundry pile he's started in the corner, he catches sight of himself in the small mirror on the dresser.
His eyes have dark circles under them, but that's nothing new; the web of scars lining his left arm is. He twists his arm experimentally: it doesn't hurt, but the skin feels oddly tight and numb around the scars. If he had to guess, that was the result of using his new Vision to break the Abyss Mage's bubble. The pale, spidery lines feel strange against the fabric of the shirt he pulls over his head, but it's short-sleeved, so the odd feeling doesn't last long. He buckles on his sword belt and slips his Vision into a pocket, and then—carefully, leaning on the banister—goes down the stairs and outside.
Tartaglia rushes to meet him, stopping a few feet away and looking him over. "Are you alright? I passed out and the next thing I knew I was back in the hotel, and no one would tell me if you were okay, and I—"
Huffman waves a hand to cut him off. "I'm fine," he assures the man, "although I feel a little weak."
"Oh, okay, that makes sense," Tartaglia says, the words rushing to get out. "There's a garden one level down, if you want to sit…?"
Huffman nods and heads for the stairs. "It's a lovely day out," he comments awkwardly.
Once they're out of sight of the rest of the knights, Huffman pauses and turns to Tartaglia, leaning back on the railing. "Alright, why were you making such a ruckus up there? It's not that big of a deal."
Tartaglia frowns. "I… I was worried. I wasn't sure if you were even alive."
Huffman carefully leans his head back against the cool stone. He’s silent for a minutes, thinking. “I wasn’t too sure of it myself, for a few moments. It’s not like I’m incapable of handling myself; that’s why they send me out on patrol. But I’m still just a lower level knight. I’m not integral to the workings of Mondstadt, or anything.”
“Wouldn't someone miss you?” Tartaglia’s voice is quiet, tentative.
Huffman shrugs one shoulder. “I have a sister in Springvale, but we haven't talked in years, and my brother is on the expedition with Grand Master Varka, so. I’m a known face around Mondstadt, but that’s just because there’s so few people here. I’m not all that memorable.”
The wind blows through the city, taking breakneck turns around corners and snapping in the windmills. A leaf skips across the cobblestones.
“I would remember you,” Tartaglia says, his voice nearly a whisper. “Everyone should have someone to remember them.”
“You sound like you know firsthand,” Huffman says carefully. “Have experience with losing someone?”
Tartaglia stares him flat in the face, and he realizes how ridiculous it is to pose that question to a Fatui Harbinger. “You could say that.” He tips his head towards the benches, surrounded by flowers, and takes Huffman’s arm to help him over. They sit down, and dandelion fluff tumbles by, in the air in front of Huffman’s face. A finch with golden wings flutters down to the ground and pecks at the dust, looking up at the two men as if to say where’s the food? before skipping and soaring off.
“I was lost once,” Tartaglia said suddenly. “No one came and found me. I had to find my own way out.” His hands start to tremble in his lap, and Huffman takes one of them in his own ungloved hands. Tartaglia laughs bitterly. “This is silly. You shouldn't be the one comforting me.” He looks up at Huffman, very serious now. “The important thing is, my family had been searching for me while I was gone. It was cold, and snowed every other day, but they still went out and looked for me. They remembered, every day until I came back.” His voice gets wobbly, and he stops talking.
Huffman leans against the back of the bench. He thinks of his Vision, in his pocket, his salvation in tangible form. He thinks about Mondstadt, and all the people in it.
“Yeah,” he says, feeling lame, and squeezes Tartaglia’s hand. “Memories are all we have.”