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“Heeey, comrade!” Someone taps your shoulder with a cheery voice. Not a second later, they turn you around with their hands on your shoulders, pulling you like you weigh nothing.
“Hey, Childe,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at him as he grins back at you. “What do you want now? ”
“My, my ! There’s no need to be so unfriendly,” he teases you, holding out a white envelope. “However, I will consider forgiving you if you deliver this to someone for me?”
“Do I get paid for it?” you joke, taking the envelope out of his hands and studying it. It seems to only have a single sheet of paper in it, sealed tight with a red wax seal. “Looks important. Who is it for?”
Childe doesn’t hesitate one bit before declaring, “It is very important! Top-priority, you could call it. For Scaramouche!”
He still has that same smile on his face, but this time, his eyes change, observing your every reaction. You should’ve known he was up to something. Childe waves his hand in front of you at you stare at him, unblinking. “That shouldn’t be too much of a problem, right ? ”
You’re already thinking of a hundred different ways to get yourself out of this. But you need to answer quick, to make it at least a bit believable. “Oh. Um. I actually need to get lunch soon..”
And just as you expected, Childe isn’t so easy to fool.
He’s like a predator pouncing on innocent prey, jumping at the opportunity of a bit of symbolic bloodshed. “Why the sudden change, comrade? This isn’t about that dinner a few days ago, is it?”
“Er.. what dinner?” You pretend not to remember that dinner.
But, of course, it’s been the only thing on your mind for the past five days. It’s stupid, but it’s true. You just couldn’t stop thinking about it, the scene replaying in your head over and over again.
Childe pushed his plate forward, leaning back contentedly. “You know what? I’m actually happy about losing that bet. Even if it means I have to pay for you guys, too.”
You laughed, slurping your noodles, chopsticks in hand. “Be my guest! Unlike you two, I’m not a bloodthirsty Fatui Harbinger that gets paid a ton, so I have to survive off of these free dinners.”
Your eyes glanced towards Scaramouche, perhaps searching for approval, or maybe even an invitation..
No, that was just wishful thinking. All you were met with were dead eyes, practically boring into your soul. You looked down into your lap, disappointed, but your head snapped back up almost immediately after upon hearing Scaramouche mumble something.
“What was that?” Childe asked before you got the chance.
“Stupid.” Scaramouche’s eyes didn’t move from your own, holding your gaze and practically suffocating it. “You’re so unreasonable.”
It was directed towards you. Why? Why was it directed towards you? Why—He thinks you’re stupid?
You’re pretty sure Scaramouche hates you now.
Which makes your tiny crush on him a bit.. difficult. You know he must not care about that stuff. If you asked him about it, he’d probably go off on a tangent about how he has far more important things like Fatui business to care of. He probably thinks having a partner is a waste of time.
He’s never shown interest in anyone else before, either. Not a single lingering gaze or even a gaze at that. Confessing to him would most definitely end in rejection and nothing else. Not to mention that he seems to get angry at you for no reason.
The almost grieving, faraway look in your eyes tells Childe exactly what you’re thinking, but you speak before he can.
“I’m pretty sure he hates me, Childe,” you say softly, looking at the ground. “Maybe.. get someone else to do it?”
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just like that, sometimes. Trust me, I’ve known him for a while,” Childe says, patting your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”
You open your mouth to say something, probably to thank him and walk away. But you never get the opportunity to do either of these things before Childe shoves the envelope into your hands and dashes away, hurriedly thanking you for the help.
A great, defeated exhale leaves your lips. You are definitely going to make him pay for that later on.
But..
Childe said it’s top-priority .. and if the other Fatui Harbingers find out that Childe didn’t do something that was that important.. damn it. You’re too nice for your own good.
Now you have no choice but to bring it to him. But.. if you’re being honest, it is technically on your way, anyway. Shaking your head at your own tendency to be such a pushover, you begin the short walk to the Fatui’s headquarters.
You aren’t exactly a part of the Fatui, but sometimes, it definitely feels like you are one of their recruits.
Or, rather, you feel like the Harbinger’s personal secretaries.
You’ve lived in Liyue all your life, and ever since the death of Rex Lapis, you’ve trained yourself to excel in both combat and your studies. The latter came quite quickly to you, but the former.. well, let’s just say you aren’t the most violence-loving.
One of your earliest memories is your family explaining to you that there is no longer an Archon overseeing Liyue. They were worried they had to fight for themselves, now that no Archon is protecting them.
To make sure their child—you—were safe, they had you study the ways of combat.. but you’ve never enjoyed solving things with your fists—or a sword, for that matter.
This would one day become the reason for your early death. Well, almost early death.
You fought helplessly against Fatui recruits, crying out as they hit you with unknown substances. You were so sure that it was your last moments, so sure that this time, when you closed your eyes, it would be the last time.
But it just so happens a certain man with purple hair stopped the recruits, another with ginger hair following suit, scolding the recruits for involving civilians. Scaramouche and Childe. If they hadn’t stopped the recruits.. you’d be dead.
They nursed you back to health—well, they paid for you to be nursed back to health—and then that was supposed to be it. Just a once-in-a-lifetime happening. However, that was not the case. At all.
You tracked both of them down, thanking them, and asking the two of them out to dinner, where you’d pay as thanks.
All of that led to today. Now, Childe is one of your closest friends, and Scaramouche? He tolerates you. Somewhat.
Honestly, you aren’t sure what draws you to Scaramouche. Perhaps it’s the extremely rare moments where he’s gentle, his voice soft. Or perhaps it’s the appeal of a challenge, to see him in ways nobody else has. Maybe it’s just simple, unexplained, human attraction.
..But this has been going on for a while. It feels like something much more than physical attraction.
And yet you know you’re setting yourself up for certain failure, for a crushing disappointment. Despite this, you still torture yourself every single day you don’t confess, simply drawing out the inevitable.
You shake yourself out of your thoughts as you trudge up the stairs and finally reach Scaracmouche’s office. Your eyes drift to the golden nameplate that reads The Balladeer , hesitating. Then, taking in a breath, you knock on the wooden door gently.
From inside his office, his voice calls flatly, “Come in.”
You push open the door with your shoulder, the white envelope in hand. Your free hand comes up to wave at Scaramouche, and you could’ve sworn that when he realizes it’s you, his eyes widen ever so slightly. But when you blink once, the expression is gone, replaced with one of indifference.
“Um, hi,” you begin awkwardly. You avoid his eyes, instead staring at his desk. “Childe told me to give this to you. He, uh, said it was important.”
You look up and immediately tilt your head back downwards upon locking eyes with him. There’s something about Scaramouche that is just.. well, you’re not sure. He makes you so incredibly nervous , like a single glance could explode your racing heart.
Scaramouche sighs as he takes it out of your hand, and you immediately pull away at the feeling of his fingers on yours, practically flinching at the contact. You silently curse yourself for doing that— why couldn’t you have kept your hand there?
He rips open the letter as you shrink away from him, his eyes narrowing upon looking inside. Did you wrinkle the letter?
“It’s empty,” he deadpans.
What?
“I’m so sorry, Scara, I swear that Childe—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Scaramouche interrupts you, crumbling up the envelope and throwing it into the trashcan near his desk. All you want is for him to be the least bit happy around you, but right now, he looks as though his time has been wasted.
In all actuality, it has.
You turn to leave, mumbling another quick apology and a goodbye , but before you reach the door, Scaramouche calls after you.
“Wait.” You turn to look at him once more, this time trying your best to make eye contact. One step at a time. You make a mental promise to at least try to eventually get over this nervousness. “Childe has invited us to dinner again tonight. Are you attending?”
“Oh!” you practically squeak. So much for getting over your nerves. Why can’t you function around him? It’s just a stupid crush, really.. this is getting out of hand. “If it’s okay with you?”
He practically snorts at that, shaking his head. You want to disappear so bad—you want to go and hide in your own shadow. “I don’t recall you requiring my permission to go.”
“I’m sorry, sir— ah! Um, I mean, sorry, Scara.”
What is wrong with you.
“I’ll go,” you manage. Great save.
Scaramouche looks at you with an unreadable expression, perhaps one of amusement or just sheer disappointment. At this point, you can’t tell, and no matter what expression he has, it’s probably not a good sign.
You quickly exit the room, running out of the building to find Childe and kill him.
The good thing for you is that he happens to be staying in the inn room right across from you at Wangshu Inn, since he doesn’t originally live in Liyue. You just needed a place to stay, and Verr Goldet was kind enough to let you rent out a room for a while.
As soon as you get back to the inn, you rush up the many stairs—which was definitely a poor choice, but in your angry haze, you thought that maybe running up the stairs would be faster than the elevator. Spoiler alert: It is definitely not.
You know Childe won’t be back for at least twenty minutes, so you go into your room, out of breath and generally angry, trying to calm yourself down. Might as well change for the dinner all of you are attending.
You take an outfit down from a hanger, holding it in front of you while you stare at yourself in the mirror. It has blue accents on the sleeves which do not look good in the slightest. Crossing your arms, you put it back up and repeat the process, until finally , you find an outfit, this time colored white and purple.
Then, you go into your bathroom, running your hands through your hair and making sure every detail is perfect. No stray hairs, no nothing.
With a quick glance at the clock, you realize thirty minutes have gone by like absolutely nothing, so you put on your shoes and stomp outside, feeling confident, yet still having enough residual anger to confront Childe.
You harshly knock on the door right across from your room, demanding, “ Childe! I swear to the Archons above, come to the door or else. ”
There’s quiet footsteps from behind the door before it cracks open slightly, revealing a downright stupid grin resting on an even more stupid face. Childe’s shirt is unbuttoned almost completely, apparently lounging around this entire time.
“What’s up, comrade?” He winks at you.
“Don’t comrade me, Childe. You know exactly what you did.”
“Oh? I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feigns ignorance, tilting his head at you slightly, looking at you as if you were an cute, angry cat. He lets out a small laugh, and you almost want to slap him.
Your eyes narrow, crossing your arms. “The letter was blank.”
Childe holds back barely suppressed laughs as he says, “Oh, I must have given you the wrong envelope! Honest mistake there, really.”
You don’t move at all, staring him in his blue eyes while he leans against the door, a very aggravating carefree look on his face.
“Alright, fine, ” Childe sighs, yet his expression does not change. It’s almost as if he’s making fun of you. “It’s clear to me and pretty much everyone else that you have feelings for him. I’m just playing a bit of cupid. Is that such a crime?”
There’s a long, stunned silence as your eyes widen, your hands falling to your sides idly. You blink once, twice, and then, “ Shut up! He’s in the room below us! He might hear you! ”
Childe actually wheezes at your words, practically doubling over with laugher. “You know what?” he says in between laughs and gasps for air. “Good! I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t figured it out yet. You’re so adorably dressed for dinner tonight, too. It’s quite obvious you’re trying to look nice for someone. Wanna take a guess? I’ll give you a hint: it’s not me.”
You shake your head, cheeks flushing furiously.
But the truth is: he’s right . You had picked out this exact outfit and styled your hair to try and impress Scaramouche. You had imagined what his lingering gaze would feel like whilst you pretend not to notice.
It’s all an imagined reality, though, something you’re still having trouble coming to terms with. He’s obviously not interested in.. anyone , really. He just doesn’t care about that type of stuff. And, well, he certainly doesn’t care about you. You know this. You have known this.
So why is it so hard to just let your feelings die? Why does your heart still ache around him?
“What if he snaps at me again?” you whisper, and if you didn’t sound so sad, so heartbroken, Childe would’ve laughed. “I don’t even know why he hates me..”
With a reassuring pat on your shoulder, Childe’s voice softens. “Scaramouche is.. Scaramouche, you know? I don’t think he hates you, and even if he does.. there’s a fine line between love and hate, right, comrade?”
Childe turns away from you, buttoning up his shirt and opening the door fully, taking your hand and leading you to the elevator of Wangshu Inn. “Now then, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The two of you are sitting in one of the nicest restaurants in Liyue.. alone. Scaramouche hasn’t bothered to show up yet, and you’re left wondering if this was just a set up. A way to humiliate you.
Perhaps he found out about your silly little crush on him. Yes, that must be it. This is his way to show you that your thoughts are simply and truly idiotic.
“What if he doesn’t show up?” you think aloud, looking up at Childe.
Childe only hums, pretending to not have heard you while he looks over the menu. He looks indifferent, much to your annoyance. You begin to say something else, just to get his attention, when a pretty blonde waitress comes to the table.
She almost looks horrified when her eyes find Childe. “Oh no ..” the waitress says under her breath.
Childe almost snaps his neck looking up, his eyes immediately widening and a grin breaking out on his face. “Oh yes! Lumine! Girlie!” he exclaims. “How are you doing on this very fine evening?”
“Seriously?” The waitress—Lumine—crosses her arms, shaking her head with something that looks like disappointment. “You’re on a date and you have the audacity to flirt in front of them?”
“Oh, er.. we’re not on a date,” you explain, and it almost looked like there was a ghost of a smile of relief on Lumine’s face, but as soon as you blinked, it was gone.
“Yep!” Childe agrees, his chin resting on his hand. “They’re waiting for someone else. Don’t worry, girlie! I’m all yours.”
Lumine rolls her eyes and sighs, deciding to focus on you. “Can I get you drinks? Appetizers?”
Childe doesn’t seem to get the hint, and declares with a wink, “Oh, girlie, you’re the only snack I need—”
“ We’re good on appetizers! Um, thank you!” you say awkwardly, shooting an apologetic glance at Lumine, who seems grateful for your interruption. “Just water, for both of us.”
Lumine hurries away, muttering something about “ this is the last time I ever take this type of commission ..” as you turn to Childe incredulously.
“You and the traveler..?” you blink, tilting your head slightly.
“Oh, yeah,” Childe says, nodding proudly and rubbing his hands together. “Don’t worry, she’s definitely into me.”
You open your mouth to say something—probably to voice your doubts about how into him Lumine actually is—but just at that moment, someone joins you at your table, sitting down wordlessly.
Your eyes dart to the side to see familiar, cold violet eyes that quickly avoid you. A similar, eternally irate face nodding towards Childe.
“So you’re paying this time of your own free will, huh?” Scaramouche says almost suspiciously, still avoiding your eyes.
Childe smiles and leans forward in his chair, his hands meeting each other. “Only out of the pure kindness of my heart, comrade!”
Scaramouche doesn’t even hold back his snort. “I’m only here for a free dinner. And I’m sure they are, too.”
“Oh. Um. Yeah.” You realize you had been staring at him for the past couple of minutes as he scowls at you and turns away. You dejectedly glance at Childe, who just shrugs and leans back into his chair.
The table grows awkward with silence, and you find yourself wishing Lumine would get back faster, if only to give you someone to talk to.
When you glance up, Scaramouche is staring at you, and yet you find yourself getting embarrassed. You turn your head away and shut your eyes, trying to block out everything—trying to pretend you’re anywhere but here.
And even when you think you’ve calmed down, when you turn back in an attempt to pretend that everything’s fine, and that you’re definitely not head over heels for this guy who doesn’t even care about you..
He’s still staring at you.
You begin to get fidgety, your hands shaking ever so slightly.
Childe notices, being surprisingly observant, and tips his head to the side. “You look like you’re about to faint, comrade. Why not go outside and try to breathe for a bit?”
You look at him gratefully, nodding quickly and getting up from your seat in an instant. Looking at no one in particular, you mumble, “I’ll.. be right back. Order me whatever.”
Then, you rush out of the restaurant, and lean on the wall just outside the glass door.
How pathetic of you.
This whole situation is just.. unbearable. And oh-so-foolish.
Scaramouche is just.. perfect. You’re not sure when you fell for him. And you’re certainly not sure why you fell for him. Well, actually, that’s a lie. You could go on and on about him.
It’s small and rare instances, like the time you had accepted a few commissions for the next day, and the next day, you found Scaramouche had completed them in your stead, but left the rewards for you.
Of course, when confronted about this, he simply said that he was bored and wanted to fight something. It just happened to be your commission, and he only found out it was because you told him. Not because he wanted to give you a day off, and most definitely not because he cared about you.
But you can’t stop yourself from hoping.
You just get so nervous around him, so restless, as if one wrong step could make him angry at you, as if it could ruin your nonexistent chances with him.
Such a waste of time.
He’d think you’re just utterly incompetent if he knew what you—
The glass door opens right next to you, and Scaramouche steps outside, his eyes darting towards you quickly.
“Scara?” You don’t move from your place at the wall as his eyes narrow and he walks towards you, closer and closer and closer— “ Ah!— ”
He pins you to the wall, one hand balled in a fist next to your head, leaning over you. There’s nowhere to move, and nowhere to look but directly into his angry eyes. He’s so close to you that you worry he might hear your pounding heartbeat.
“What is your problem? ” He practically growls at you, eyes narrowed.
“What—what do you mean?” you say timidly, and he only seems to grow more irritated at your response.
“You act so.. Incompetent around me,” he accuses, his eyes boring deep into your soul. “Around that brat—fucking Tartaglia , of all people, you’re laughing and smiling but when you’re in my presence you act so strange, as though.. you’re afraid of me.
“I don’t—I can’t—I haven’t hurt you. Why must you act so stupid and nervous around me? I thought you were over the fact that I’m a Harbinger. And Tartaglia is one too, as much as he doesn’t like to act like it.”
Scaramouche is seething, electro flicking through the air. “It’s so irrational of you to be afraid of me when I haven’t and wouldn’t ever hurt you.”
“Scara—” you try, but he doesn’t let you say anything.
“You flinch when I touch you, like you’re afraid your life will end right then and there, and—and you even avoid my eyes like you think they’ll murder you. Are you really so foolish to think that I want to inflict harm onto you?”
“Scara—”
“Are you really just that stupid ? Afraid of me for what? I haven’t done a single thing to you. If you seriously believe I’d hurt you, you’re more than wrong.”
“ Scara— ”
“I want to protect you , can’t you see that? Why do you think I do your commissions for you? Because I was bored? ” He laughs a humorless laugh, one of frustration.
“Can’t you see how envious I get when that ginger son of a bitch is all over you? I—I want to protect you from everything , for archon’s sake, and I am more than capable of doing so. It’s so fucking frustrating when you act so goddamn afraid of me. Can’t you see I—I fucking care about you?”
He seems to realize he was practically yelling at you, and he pulls away, out of breath, going silent. Scaramouche pulls his arm back, pulling on his shirt with a cough.
He looks away, angry and something else.. disappointment? Without another word, he turns away from you, walking away down the street.
You’re shocked out of your silence when you realize he’s leaving, calling after him, “ Wait! Wait, Scara—”
He turns harshly, eyes blazing once more. “ What? Do you want to ridicule me for—”
“Scara, I like you. That’s.. why I act so nervous around you. I—I could never be afraid of you. I was just.. afraid that you didn’t care about me. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
He doesn’t move for a moment, then nods slowly, processing the information.
At a loss for words, he doesn’t say anything, not even meeting your gaze. For once in his life, Scaramouche has gone into silence because of someone else.
It’s quite unlike him.
Then, out of nowhere, he grabs your hand, pulling you along as he continues down the street. His grip is firm, but it doesn’t hurt you at all, actually quite careful.
It’s cute, his gentleness.
“Wait, Scara, what about—”
“Tartaglia can suck it. Tonight, I want you to myself.”