Archive of Our Own

Tartaglia stepped into his bedroom quarters after a long day of training new recruits and signing documents. The sun had long since set, the moon hanging high in the sky surrounded by a plethora of stars visible from the large window in his room. A gentle breeze could be felt from the open window, causing the long beige curtains to flow in the wind. 

He shrugged off his outer layers of clothes, leaving his red undershirt and the harness around it on. Then he took off his boots, having a habit of lining them up against the door. Everyone in the Fatui barely got time off. They were always working and when the small portion of time they have in the day where they aren't working they were still supposed to be available if the Tsaritsa or another Harbinger needed them. 

His body ached, sore from the training, as he walked towards his bed. Setting his clothes he took off on the bed he spied a singular letter on his desk. All the previous exhaustion he had disspated the moment he realized who it was from. The envolope was sealed with a wax seal that only his family used. They had written to them.

Tartaglia didn't get many days off and because of that he rarely got to see his family. Even small things like a letter were few and far between so any moment that he got time off he would always go visit them. 

So when the Tsaritsa had given Tartaglia a week off of his duties he decided to spend it with his family which he hadn’t seen in months. He sent a letter to them a week ago detailing his free days and that he was planning on visiting. He didn’t expect a reply so soon. He guessed that they had immediately written a reply the moment they got his letter.

Scarred and calloused hands gingerly opened the letter, making sure that there were no tears in the envelope or paper. He always kept the letters they sent him in a locked box. Hidden in a secret compartment in the drawer of his desk. The only key to it he kept on a necklace around his neck at all times. 

To our dear Ajax,

Everyone is so excited to see you, it feels like it’s been forever since we last spoke. Teucer was practically jumping up and down when mom read your most recent letter out to the family. Mom started furiously cleaning today as if you won’t be here for another week. 

Anyways, I’ll keep it short. Can’t wait to see you again. We have so much to catch up on. 

Love, your family

P.S. You should bring your boyfriend that you mentioned before, everyone is dying to meet him. And Mom won’t take no for an answer. You know how she is.

This particular letter seemed like it was written by his younger sister, Tonia, judging by the handwriting.

Wait…

Boyfriend?

“Ohhh… Fuck,” Tartaglia said aloud. The realization dawning on him that he lied and told his family he had a boyfriend so they’d stop pestering him about getting a partner. And now they want him to bring his “boyfriend” to meet them.

There’s no way he can go back on his lie now. His siblings would never let him live it down. 

But who was he gonna get to pretend to be his boyfriend? And on such short notice?

A person briefly flickered in Tartaglia’s mind. 

Scaramouche. 

It’s not like the Sixth Harbinger had anything better to do. Plus, he was really good at pretending to be nice, and he was the only person that Tartaglia even had a chance at convincing to do it. The only problem would be actually convincing him. 

A few ideas bounced around in his head of things he could do or say that would maybe convince the Balladeer to go with him and keep up the act. He took the nearest clean piece of paper and a quill and got to work writing down a list of all his ideas so he wouldn’t forget them. Once he was done he looked at the rather pitiful small list and sighed. Scaramouche was his only chance at pulling this off. If he wasn’t able to convince him… Tartaglia didn’t even want to think about it. 

He put the letter back in its envelope and folded the paper with the list on it as well. He then pulled out the locked box he kept the letters in, unlocked it with the key around his neck, and stuck both the letter and the list in the box. He couldn't let anyone find the list. Forget his siblings, if any member of the Fatui found out he’d tried to get the infamous Balladeer to be his fake boyfriend his career would be over. (Bit of an exaggeration but to Tartaglia it felt like his life rested in the hastily scribbled out words on that list.) He shut the box, locking it once again and putting it back where it belonged. 

The floor creaked as he sat up from his chair, stretching his arms and back with a small groan and letting his tired legs walk him to his dresser where he pulled out a soft pair of pajamas to wear to bed. He changed his clothes and slipped under the warm covers of his bed. The stress of the day mixed with the letter and all that thinking made Tartaglia even more tired than he was. It wasn’t long before sleep overtook him.

Tartaglia stood outside Scaramouche’s door with a small stack of papers that he had volunteered to deliver to the Balladeer. Everyone had given him a weird look when he volunteered- Scaramouche had a track record of firing anyone that interrupted him- but Tartaglia wasn't phased. He just used this as an excuse to be alone with Scaramouche. He needed to ask him (frankly he’d beg if he had to. He didn't have many options) if he would be his pretend boyfriend for a few days.

His hand hesitated above the mahogany door for a moment before knocking. He heard a scoff behind the door, followed by, “Come in.”

He shifted the papers in his hands so he could hold them with one hand and open the door with the other. Upon opening the door, Scaramouche laid eyes on Tartaglia and scowled. It was one thing for someone to interrupt him in the middle of a busy work day, it was a whole other thing if the person interrupting was the Eleventh Harbinger himself.

“What do you want, Tartaglia?” Scaramouche asked. His voice was cold, annoyance lacing his every word as his periwinkle eyes sent daggers Tartaglia’s way. 

Tartaglia eyed Scaramouche’s desk that was already piled sky high with paperwork “The Tsaritsa needs you to look these over and sign them.”

Scaramouche sighs as he rubs his eyes tiredly. Tartaglia could tell he’d been at it for hours simply due to his demeanor even though his body looked as if it had gotten a full night's rest every single night since the day he was created. It didn’t even look like he made a sizable dent in the work.

“Leave it on the desk.” He vaguely pointed to an empty spot on the desk before getting back to whatever paperwork he was reading and Tartaglia set the papers down on whatever spot he could manage.

Tartaglia stepped back and stood there for an awkward amount of time, bouncing slightly on his feet. When it became obvious that he had other things to say, Scaramouche slightly looked up and locked eyes with Tartaglia, quirking his eyebrow as if to say, “well, get on with it.”

“You might know that I’m going on vacation to see my family in a few days…”

“Okay? And why does that concern me?”

“Well, I was just gonna say that since you’re working so hard that you might need a break.”

Scaramouche exasperatedly set his pen down on the desk. Looking up at him. “What do you really want, Tartaglia?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“To see your family? What makes you so sure I even want to go?”

Tartaglia swallowed. “I just thought that maybe—“

“I don’t have time for this—“

Tartaglia quickly looked around the room for any sign that could help him sway Scaramouche when his eyes landed on the stack of paperwork. “I’ll do your paperwork. All of it.” He blurted out.

Scaramouche raised his eyebrow, obviously intrigued now. “A month.”

Tartaglia stopped in his tracks from his previous incoherent mumbling. “Wait, what?"

“You’re gonna do my paperwork for a month.”

“Why would I—“ Tartaglia cut himself off. Remembering the whole reason as to why he’s even doing this. “Ugh— Fine.”

Scaramouche wore a snide grin, sitting back in his chair. “Oh, you’re mighty desperate aren’t you? I wonder why.”

Tartaglia paused for a moment. Debating if he should really tell Scaramouche his real reason.

“I need you to convince my family you’re my boyfriend.”

Scaramouche’s face showed shock for a few seconds before turning into one of amusement. “ That’s why you’re so desperate? I'll do it only if you do my paperwork for a month and a box of the really fancy chocolates.”

“Seriously? No insults? No physical violence? Just a month of doing your paperwork and a box of chocolates? That’s all you want?”

Scaramouche only smiled.

Tartaglia groaned and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” 

“Good. Now leave my office. I have things to do,” Scaramouche said. Picking his pen back up and refocusing on the work he had in front of him. 

Tartaglia nodded and left the room quickly, afraid that Scaramouche might change his mind. He sighed immediately after he shut the door, slightly leaning up against the doorframe. He felt out of breath even though he hadn’t been running. Tartaglia laughed almost breathlessly, tired from the whole ordeal. The anxiety had been eating him up inside and it was finally done with. 

Tartaglia pushed back up on his feet, straightening out his clothes and making sure his hair was in the right place before walking down the hallway to his own office. 

He had gotten Scaramouche to accept his arguably weird request of being his boyfriend. Now just came the hard part of actually making it believable.

Tartaglia and Scaramouche were sitting on a bench on the train platform, waiting for the train. It was a little after dawn, the morning fog was thick and it had started to snow. 

Small snowflakes fell on the rather odd looking pair. Scaramouche was so wrapped up in clothing you could hardly tell there was a person scowling because of the weather under all those layers. He had on a huge purple fluffy coat with fur lining and a matching hat that covered his ears. One of Tartaglia’s patterned scarfs adorned his neck. Scaramouche had insisted that he didn’t need a scarf (Tartaglia immediately understood this to be that he needed one he just didn’t have one and was too prideful to admit it) and Tartaglia had given him one of his that his mother had knitted for him. He also felt it would sell the whole lie if his family saw Scaramouche wearing something so special of his.

It was a two day trip up to Tartaglia’s family and the majority of it would be spent in a train car. A little over halfway there they’ll get off the train and head to a hotel somewhere in the city for the night before getting on a different train to their destination. 

“If you’re actually okay with doing this then there's some things you should know,” Tartaglia said. He wanted to give Scaramouche an out if he truly didn’t want to do this.

"Like what?"

Tartaglia took this as Scaramouche agreeing to help him so he continued talking.

“Well, for starters my family doesn’t know I’m apart of the Fatui. Let alone one of the Harbingers, so talking about our ‘“job” is a no go.”

“What do they think you do?”

“I told them I’m a toy seller.”

At that Scaramouche burst out laughing. His laugh starting out small and then building up to the point where his body was shaking and he threw his head back in laughter. Tartaglia tilted his head in confusion, his ears burned from embarrassment but for some reason he couldn't stop looking at Scaramouche. From this angle he could better see Scaramouche’s face; his nose and cheeks that were red from the cold, the  prominent mole under his left eye that Scaramouche seemed to hate (Tartaglia loved it but he'd rather die than admit it), the way his eyes crinkled in joy. Scaramouche might’ve been laughing at him but he didn’t care.

At that moment, no matter how embarrassed he was of the current situation, he decided to burn this moment in his brain. To etch out every single minute detail of this moment and commit it to memory.

Tartaglia quickly cleared his throat, desprate to change the topic and get those thoughts out of his head. “And no calling each other by our Harbinger names either, it'll be weird. Call me Ajax."

Scaramouche shrugged, a smile still on his face. “Okay, Ajax the toy seller, what will I be called then?”

Tartaglia looked at Scaramouche incredulously.“Your name, of course.”

“What if I don’t have a name?”

“Everyone has a name.”

“Well not everyone is a five hundred year old puppet, so no, I don’t have a name.”

“What name did your mother give you?”

Scaramouche lunged forward at Tartaglia in the blink of an eye. Grabbing his red scarf and pulling him towards him, slightly choking Tartaglia in the process. If there were any onlookers they would simply think that the two were just so passionate about each other that they would kiss in the middle of a crowded train station because of their close proximity. Something that Scaramouche was counting on so it didn't raise suspicion.

The sound of a train horn was heard before either of them could say anything, indicating that their ride was almost here. Scaramouche let go of Tartaglia, scoffing when he started coughing from lack of air.

“Don’t you ever mention her again,” he growled before picking up his bags and walking onto the train.

Tartaglia barely had time to recuperate before he too was picking up his luggage. Muttering a few curses along with, “this was a terrible idea,” and stepping onto the train. 

He put his luggage up with Scaramouche’s and sat down on the leather seat across from him. 

Scaramocuhe was currently sulking, his body looked small against the seat as he pushed his body towards the outer wall of the train car. Ignoring Tartaglia and choosing instead to look out the window at the bench that they were previously sitting on. 

Tartaglia sighed. They were already on their way. No sense in turning back now. 

“Just make one up then. My family has to call you something,” Tartaglia said. Deciding to end the conversation there and not push Scaramouche too much. 

The train horn was heard again and Tartaglia felt the car lurch forward as the train started moving, jostling the unlikely pair. 

Tartaglia sat back in his seat, preparing himself for a long ride of silence. Assuming that Scaramouche probably wouldn’t be very talkative after what just happened. 

But to his surprise, after a bit of inward debilitation, Scaramouche spoke up. 

“Kunikuzushi.”

“Hmm?” Tartaglia questioned. 

“My name. It’s Kunikuzushi.”

At that Tartaglia smiled brightly at the Balladeer. Delighted that he was able to get his name. 

“Can I call you ‘Kuni’?” He asked.

“Don’t push it.” Scaramouche replied, looking at Tartaglia once before looking back outside at the fast moving landscape.

The train horn sounded after a long twelve hour train ride, startling Tartaglia out of his nap. He jolted up, quickly unsheathing a knife that had been strapped to his thigh and moved into an attack position in a matter of seconds. 

Scaramouche however, who had been awake the entire time, looked at Tartaglia with a bored expression. “Relax. There’s no one here but you and I. And if I was going to kill you I would’ve already done it.”

Tartaglia relaxed at his words, knowing he wasn't in immediate danger. Putting his knife back into its sheath and sitting back down on the seat booth with a sigh, leaning back against the wallpaper on the wall of the train car.

“It seems as if we’re here," Scaramouche said mostly to himself.

“Only halfway,” Tartaglia reminded Scaramouche. “We’ll have to stay the night here and then get on another train tomorrow.” 

Scaramouche said nothing and they fell into a comfortable silence while they got together their things and put on their outer layer of clothes to go outside.

Tartaglia got both of their luggage off the top shelf above where they sat since Scaramouche couldn’t exactly reach up there to get his bags out. Tartaglia wondered how he got them up there in the first place without his help.

They each picked up their own bags after Tartaglia set them down and walked out of the train car onto the platform. 

It wasn’t snowing like when they left but the air was still cold. The wind was moving faster as well. Biting through the multiple layers of clothing they both had on and chilling them to the bone. Snezhnayan winters were frigid and unforgiving. Snowstorms could pop up in the blink of an eye and last for either a couple of days or weeks. And if you were caught out after dark there was a good chance you’d get hypothermia simply due to the drop in temperature. 

Harbingers may have a lot of power, influence, and strength over the people, but mother nature doesn’t care about status. She’ll come for everyone and you’ll all end up buried in the snow the same way. 

Tartaglia looked at the sky and noticed it was getting dark. He may have lived in Snezhnaya all his life but that didn’t make him immune to the severe cold and he knew that Scaramouche would be even more cold than he was simply because Scaramouche hadn’t lived in the country for as long as he did.

"It's about to get dark. I booked a room in a hotel not far from here and rented a carriage that'll take us there, but we better get moving now if we wanna make it before the temperature drops too much,” Tartaglia said. Already weaving his way through the people on the train platform to get to the carriage with Scaramouche close behind him.

Tartaglia said a greeting to the driver, thanking him for keeping quiet about the fact that he would be transporting two Fatui Harbingers and slipping him a small stack of cash to further the incentive to keep quiet. The driver moved around back and loaded their luggage before opening the door for the pair. Making sure it was tightly shut after they got in before he got back up on the carriage. He gave the horses a small pat of encouragement and whipped the reins, getting them to start moving. 

As much as Tartaglia loved traveling there was always something so comforting about his homeland. And he felt that nostalgic tug at his heart every time he looked upon the beautiful landscape as they traveled to their destination.

Soon though, they arrived at the hotel and Tartaglia could feel the fatigue setting in. It was a little after dark when they unloaded their bags and Tartaglia thanked the driver again, giving him the last bit of his money that he was owed. The cold night breeze rustled Tartaglia's hair and bit at his cheeks and nose.

Scaramouche went and sat down by the fireplace, clearly shivering and cold but too proud to say anything while Tartaglia walked over to the front desk to check them in.

Scaramouche surveyed his surroundings while he waited. He might have been cold and tired but that didn’t stop him from being diligent in making sure there were no enemies around that could sneak up on them. He recalled that Tartaglia said he usually goes this route on the way to his family’s and always stays at this hotel. A rookie move, really. At any point someone could trail him and mark down where he goes so they could ambush him on the same path in the future. Scaramouche sighed. He thought Tartaglia knew better than that but he always seems to surprise him.

Tartaglia came back after a few minutes. Standing in front of Scaramouche with a tired grin on his face and a concierge silently trailing behind him, twirling the key to their room on his finger.

“Ready? There’s a fireplace in the room. You can warm up there.” Tartaglia spoke. His voice showcased how tired he was but his tone still kept a cheery lilt.

Scaramouche stood up, going to pick up his bags but the concierge that was previously behind Tartaglia stopped him. Scaramouche had completely forgotten he was even there in the first place.

“Please, sir. I’ll take your bags,” The concierge’s head bowed when he spoke, immediately moving to pick up both of their luggage. Scaramouche fought the urge to roll his eyes. Annoyed that he would have to act friendly even when he was tired from the trip. “Follow me, sirs,” the concierge said before he set off in the direction of their room. 

He led the pair up a few flights of stairs and through a few corridors, only stopping once he was in front of the door to their room, stepping aside so Tartaglia could open the door with his key. 

A soft click!  could be heard and the door was pushed open. The concierge went in first, followed by Scaramouche, then Tartaglia. He set their luggage down and said, “if you two ever need anything just ring the bell,” before bowing and hastily making his way out of the door. Scaramouche guessed the concierge noticed him glaring at him and was intimidated, wanting to get out as quickly as possible.

Tartaglia shut and locked the door. Taking off his shoes and setting them down before walking over to the only bed in the middle of the room and flopping down on it, causing the bed to creak and groan under his weight. “This one’s mine," he joked.

Scaramouche spared an unamused glance towards the former before doing a double take. 

There was only one bed in the room.

"Seriously? One bed?" He questioned.

"This was all they had left," Tartaglia reasoned with him.

"Didn't you say you booked a room for us?"

"Yes, I did. But they didn't seem to get the reservation so this was all they had."

Scaramouche sighed incredulously, “I don’t care where you sleep but I'm sleeping on the bed,” he said, walking towards the fireplace in the room and starting a fire.

Scaramouche took off his hat, scarf, gloves, and coat. Laying them down on a chair before sitting down in the other chair. Putting his hands out to feel the warmth of the fire. 

Tartaglia felt dirty and tired. Trying his best to not let sleep overtake him before he could take a bath. He fought off all of his limbs telling him to stay laying down, and sat up in the bed. “I’m taking a bath,” he announced to Scaramouche but was pretty sure the other ignored him.

He got up and rummaged through his bags for a little bit before finding what he needed and heading to the bathroom. 

Shutting and locking the door, he turned on the faucet of the tub, letting it warm up before he plugged up the water. Turning to face the mirror. His hair was wild from the hat he had on. His face was littered with freckles and scars all over, highlighted by the red on his ears, cheeks, and nose from the cold. 

He took off his clothes and stepped into the tub, immediately relaxing in the warm water. 

He didn't do anything, just sat in the water and let it sooth his aching muscles until the water got too cold for him to stand. Then he finally started washing himself. He took the hotel's complimentary soap and squirted out a little in his palm, rubbing his hands together to make the suds appear before putting it on his hair and massaging it in. Doing the same for the conditioner before taking the washrag that was also provided by the hotel staff and putting soap on it, rubbing it together to get the soap suds and then washing himself with it. 

Once he was done he stepped out of the tub. Wrapping himself in a towel to shield himself from the freezing atmosphere of the bathroom. He dried himself off and put on his pajamas, vigorously drying his hair afterwards. He then brushed his teeth and stepped out of the bathroom. 

It was dark in their room. The only sources of light being the slowly flickering embers of the dying fire and the moon shining through the cracks of the curtains. He couldn't tell where Scaramouche was but he was too tired to set up a place on the floor so he decided to sleep on the bed for the night.

He carefully walked to the bed in the dark. Bumping into something and mumbling a curse under his breath to which he received a snicker coming from the bed.

That fuck. 

In Scaramouche's defense, he did say that he would sleep on the bed. But that didn't change anything for Tartaglia who felt a sense of betrayal. 

Nevertheless, he was too tired to care that he would be sleeping in the same bed as Scaramouche so he just slipped under the covers and scooted to the very edge before letting sleep claim him once again

The next day they were outside Tartaglia’s parent’s house, walking up the concrete walkway. The house wasn’t really extravagant. It was big but when you have a big family like Tartaglia’s you need a big house. 

The yard was neatly cut, and there were no weeds in the flowerbed. It was clear that someone put a lot of time and effort into making the outside of the house nice. 

Tartaglia knocked once and then opened the door, slowly peeking his head through to see if he could see anyone. 

“Hellooo? I’m home.” He announced to the inside of the house before stepping in. Ushering in Scaramouche after him. 

A few seconds after the door closed Tartaglia could hear the familiar footsteps and voices of his siblings running down the stairs to greet him. 

“Ajax!”  His sister, Tonia, yelled as she threw her arms around Tartaglia. Enveloping him in a big hug.

“You’re finally home!” Came the voice of his younger brother, Anthon, as he also took his turn in hugging his brother. 

And finally came Teucer, the youngest of them all. He bounded down the stairs and jumped into Tartaglia’s arms with a, “I missed you so much!”

Tartaglia laughed at his younger siblings’ excitement. “I missed you all too,” He said as he ruffled Teucer’s hair.

His siblings looked almost identical to Tartaglia, with curly ginger hair, freckles all across their face and the brightest blue eyes you could imagine. They crowded around Tartaglia like he was a celebrity. Chatting excitedly to him about everything that he missed while in his time away. 

Scaramouche wasn’t focusing on their conversation though, it seemed as if it went through one ear and out the other. His focus was on Tartaglia himself. Studying him as if he was cramming for a test the next day. He looked just like his siblings but there was something different. Something that only Tartaglia had. 

Scaramouche’s eyes flicked from one thing to the next. His soft, curly hair that had grown past his ears and down his neck, perfectly framing his face. His eyes that felt as if there was an ocean behind them. Making Scaramouche want to be pulled in by the beautiful sea, and taken underwater by the waves where he would toss and turn until he met the darkness of the abyss at the bottom. His lips that were chapped by the harsh winter wind of Snezhnaya and the constant bad habit Tartaglia had of biting them. His nose that made him look absolutely divine. The freckles which were like stars adorning his skin, and his scars which looked almost as if they were connecting the freckles together to form a constellation. 

Tartaglia was in every sense of the word: perfect.

That’s what made him different. 

And Scaramouche hated him for it.

He had a smile on his face the whole time as he intently listened to his siblings ranting. Clearly happy to be home again.

A pang of jealousy struck Scaramouche’s non-existent heart. Why couldn’t he have a family like that? A family that loved him. A family that wanted him. But he quickly pushed the thought away. Jealousy was for humans anyway.

He stood awkwardly by the door. Not knowing what to do before Tartaglia spoke up. 

“I guess I should introduce you three to mY–” Tartaglia’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Obviously not used to referring to Scaramouche as his boyfriend. 

Scaramouche lightly kicked the back of Tartaglia’s leg. It was only the introductions and he was already messing up. They really should’ve practiced this. “I’m Kunikuzushi. Ajax’s boyfriend.” He smiled at the three siblings. 

They all smiled back, exchanging various “hello’s” towards Scaramouche and flashing Tartaglia a knowing look before running to get the other members of his family. 

All Tartaglia could say was a soft, “oh no.” before the sounds of his younger siblings’ shouting could be heard throughout the house.

“Mooooom! Ajax’s home! And he brought his boyfriend! ”

A gasp could be heard from the direction of the shouting followed by, “boyfriend?!”  

Tartaglia gave Scaramouche a pitiful look and uttered, “sorry about this.” 

Scaramouche was about to ask, “what for?” but it seems he got the answer to his question when a lady that looked to be in her forties came half running-half walking towards them. 

“Ajax, my sweet child, you’re home.”  From her appearance, (and how she called Tartaglia her child) Scaramouche rightfully assumed the woman was Tartaglia’s mother. 

“Mom,” Was all Tartaglia said as he enveloped his mother into a hug. His voice was soft and full of love as he hugged his mother tightly. They soon pulled away and Tartaglia’s mother looked Scaramouche’s way. 

“And you must be Ajax’s boyfriend.” She extended her hand to him.

Scaramouche took her hand and shook it, “yes. I’m Kunikuzushi, mrs…?”

“Oh just call me mom, everyone else does.”

Tartaglia could see that Scaramouche got upset and quickly went to diffuse the situation. He didn’t know much about Scaramouche’s family situation but he did know that it was a sore subject for him so having to call his mother ‘mom’ might’ve been a bit much.

“Mom. Let’s wait on that for a minute. I’m sure Kuni is tired from all the excitement of meeting everyone and would like to rest.”

“Yes, yes, of course. We made up your old room for you two. I’m sure you know the way, Ajax?”

“Yes, mom, we’ll be fine. Goodnight.” Tartaglia kissed his mother on the cheek, picked up their bags that had previously been discarded on the floor and told Scaramouche to follow him up the stairs to his room.

Scaramouche walked with him until he was out of Tartaglia’s mom’s sight and then hit him on the arm.

Tartaglia let out a loud yelp of pain, causing his mom to look at them and call up the stairs, “is everything alright?”

Scaramouche quickly wrapped his arm around Tartaglia’s and gave his mom a convincing smile. “Everything’s fine. I just accidentally stepped on Ajax’s foot is all.”

His mom nodded. Saying, “okay then. Goodnight you two," with a wave.

Scaramouche waved back with his free hand, his smile only dropping once Tartaglia’s mom was out of sight again. Quickly letting go of his arm as Tartaglia yell-whispered, “what the hell was that?”

“I thought I told you not to call me Kuni.” Scaramouche said it as a statement but it came out as more of a warning. An underlying threat in his voice that if he called him by the ridiculous nickname again it wouldn’t be good.

“I had to make it believable didn’t I?’ 

“Oh, so I wasn’t believable enough?”

“No! You weren’t! That’s the whole problem!”  

“Yet you had an award winning performance? You couldn’t even call me your boyfriend without your voice cracking!” Scaramouche found himself whisper-yelling back at Tartaglia. 

“That’s not fair. And we shouldn’t even be talking about this here. Let’s go to our room.”

“Fine,” Scaramouche said, following Tartaglia to their room.

Yet when Tartaglia opened the door Scaramouche was speechless. Not only did they have to spend pretty much every waking moment pretending to be dating, but they also had to share a bed... Again.

“What the fuck?”“It’s the only room they have open, unless you’d rather bunk with Teucer. It’s only a couple of nights and then we’ll be back to our respective beds in separate bedrooms.” Tartaglia said as he set down his bags and started looking through them for what he needed. When he found it he straightened up and walked to the bathroom saying, “It’s not like we have much of a choice.”

Tartaglia’s room had changed a lot since he first left home as a new recruit for the Fatui. His room changed into more of a guest room as the years went by but it was still Tartaglia’s room and had some of his old stuff in it like old toys and photos.

Scaramouche started looking at all of the pictures on top of the dresser to pass time while Tartaglia got ready for bed. There was one with a young looking Tartaglia, about ten years old holding up a giant fish. In the background he could see there was a lake that was frozen over. There was another one where it was Tartaglia around seventeen playing with a kid. Scaramouche assumed it was either Anthon or Teucer. 

There was one that particularly struck out to Scaramouche as he picked it up and looked at it. It was one where Tartaglia was sitting down on the floor, hair partially down, the length almost to his shoulder blades as a twelve year old Tonia braided his hair. 

“I remember that.” Tartaglia's voice came from behind Scaramouche, his finger pointing to the picture in Scaramouche’s hand. It didn’t startle him but it did make him more aware of his presence. 

His face was still fresh in Scaramouche's mind along with all of the thoughts he had thought about him so Tartaglia standing so close was too much. Ajax was too much. 

Scaramouche set the picture down and quickly turned out of Tartaglia’s presence. Mumbling something about having to take a bath before shutting the bathroom door. Practically slamming it due to his haste.

Tartaglia stared at the door confused before shrugging to himself. He didn't know what set Scaramouche off but he decided it could wait until tomorrow.

The sun shone in the kitchen of Tartaglia’s family’s home. Casting a blinding light on the three individuals making pancakes. Tartaglia was teaching the recipe to Tonia and Teucer. He had on a bright pink, frilly apron that said, ‘Kiss the cook’, in embroidered letters, claiming that it was the only one left after the other two chose theirs and that he was wearing it ironically. 

When Scaramouche first came down the stairs and saw the sight of him wearing the apron and covered in flour, Teucer bounced Scaramouche’s way with the excitement of a child and the naivety to not care about the phrase, ‘stranger danger’. 

“Isn’t Ajax’s apron funny? Me and Tonia specifically chose the other ones so that he would have to wear that one.”

Scaramouche had laughed with the child but his eyes never left Tartaglia. Once again studying every aspect of his fake boyfriend. He still had on his pajamas from last night except the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his forearms, showcasing the plethora of freckles and scars on his muscles and his fluffy pajama pants were covered in flour, making the light blue of the pants look almost white.

It wasn’t until Teucer had noticed Scaramouche’s obvious staring that he scrunched up his nose in fake disgust and said, “I hope I never fall in love if it makes me look this stupid.” 

Scaramouche stared in disbelief as the boy immediately ran back to the kitchen to help his older brother with cooking. Only children could say those types of things to him. If a rookie in the Fatui told him the same thing, Scaramouche wouldn’t even think twice about ending their life.

But Teucer’s a kid. And he’s Tartaglia’s brother. So he gets a pass to make those kinds of jokes.

So now Scaramouche found himself sitting at the bar in the kitchen and watching them make pancakes. The pain in his heart rising up again at the sight of their perfect family. He longed to have those moments of peace where everything was alright, where he had a family and people that loved him.

And he hated it. He hated the feeling of longing the most, and he hated Tartaglia for making him long to be loved.

A plate of pancakes were set in front of him, the syrup already on it and soaking into the pancakes. Tartaglia leaned on the other side of the bar with a grin on his face. Scaramouche briefly thought that Tartaglia never stopped smiling and it was yet another thing on the long list of reasons why he hated him.

“Are you gonna try the pancakes and tell me how they are or are you just gonna continue staring at me like you’ve done all morning?” Tartaglia’s voice had a teasing tone to it. Leaning in and invading Scaramouche’s personal space, he whispered, “you’re not actually falling for me, are you Balladeer?”

“As if,” Scaramouche scoffed. Pushing Tartaglia’s head back with his hand as he used the other one to fork a bite of pancakes into his mouth. 

“How is it?” Tartaglia excitedly asked. 

“Like a pancake,” Scaramouche deadpanned. 

“Yeah I know that.” Tartaglia rolled his eyes.

“Do you like it?” Tonia said as both her and Teucer came up to the bar. 

“Since you’re the first one down here you get to be the first to try our pancakes!” Teucer added.

“It’s really good. You two are masters at making pancakes,” Scaramouche replied, ruffling Teucer's hair and earning a pout from Tartaglia.

“I made them too ya know!” He said, slouching over the marble countertop. Scaramouche had to hand it to him, he was good at pretending to be sad. 

He laughed Tartaglia's antics. “You did good too, Jax.”

Tartaglia immediately perked his head up at the nickname. “Jax, huh? I thought we said no nicknames.” He said it mockingly but Scaramouche caught the way his eyes twinkled when he heard it. He loved the nickname. 

“Uh, no. I said no nicknames for me. I never said I’d never give you a nickname.” 

“But now I have to give you a nickname… Kuni,” Tartaglia said his nickname again, testing the waters to see if Scaramouche would knock him back into the cabinets.

“You don’t have to do anything… And don’t call me that.”

“Baby? Love? Honey?”

Scaramocuhe didn’t even give Tartaglia the satisfaction of a response. 

“Snookums? Pumpkin? Babygirl? Boo Bear? They’re only gonna get more embarrassing until you tell me one you like.”

Scaramouche crossed his arms, an amused look gracing his face. Almost as if it was a challenge.

“Dorogaya? Zolotse? Kotik? Damn Loverboy, you’ve got me running out of ideas.” 

Scaramouche’s facade fell for half a second but it was enough for Tartaglia to catch it, a shit eating grin finding Tartaglia's face. 

“Which one was it? Zolotse? Dorogaya? Kotik?” When he didn’t get a reaction out of any of them Tartaglia knew he found his answer, his smile widening more. “No… surely you don’t mean you like Loverboy the most, do you?” It was fun to Tartaglia to watch Scaramouche’s resolve crumble in a matter of seconds all because of a stupid nickname. 

Before Scaramouche could respond Teucer yelled out, “guys, look! It’s snowing!”

Tartaglia had completely forgotten about his two siblings that were standing by him as he flirted with his fake boyfriend. 

The previous conversation discarded— but not forgotten— Tartaglia practically ran to put his shoes on. Yelling to Scaramouche that he needed to go outside with him as he quickly put on a coat and then ran outside to play in the snow. 

"Don't go out there with just a coat! You'll get a cold!" Scaramouche yelled after Tartaglia but he sighed when he realized that Tartaglia ignored him. Scaramouche sighed again but still moved to put on his coat, scarf, gloves and shoes.

“C’mon Loverboy! You’re gonna miss it!” Tartaglia’s voice loudly reverberated off the walls. Scaramouche winced at the nickname but went outside nonetheless. 

Winters in Snezhnaya could be cold, and it could also be beautiful, but to Tartaglia nothing was more beautiful than the sight of Scaramouche in the snow. His breath caught when he saw Scaramouche, bundled up in warm clothes, his face scrunched up like a cat as the snow gently fell onto his violet hair and melted onto his warm cheeks. 

Scaramouche found himself closing his eyes to take everything in. He felt the warmth of the sun, and the coolness of the snow as it fell on his face to melt onto his warm cheeks. 

It wasn’t the first time he had experienced snow, but it certainly was the most memorable. 

A snowball hit him on his arm followed by the childish giggling of Tartaglia. He opened his eyes to a picture that would put the most beautiful work of art to shame. 

Tartaglia was standing in the snow, the makings of a snowball in his hand, poised to throw it at Scaramouche. He had a stupid smile on his face, snowflakes dusted his ginger hair making him look old, his eyes shined, Scaramouche recognized the look as the same ones he'd have when he was fighting someone. 

Scaramouche shook his head with a smile. Giving in to Tartaglia's taunt and bending down, scooping up some snow and making a crude snowball before throwing it towards Tartaglia.

It exploded on impact, leaving bits of snow on Tartaglia's chest where it hit.

He immediately retaliated, throwing the snowball that he already had prepared at Scaramouche but he dodged it easily, throwing another snowball back.

Tartaglia dodged and ran for cover behind a tree. Immediately getting to work making as many snowballs as he could in the limited amount of time he had.

Scaramouche also used this time to make snowballs then going on the offense, sneaking around to the tree and pelting Tartaglia with snowballs. 

Tartaglia was caught off guard but quickly recovered, standing up and retreating while throwing his own snowballs at him. But that didn't stop Scaramouche. He followed Tartaglia. Continuing his assault on him with the last few snowballs he had in his hands.

Tartaglia found a different place to hide, making more snowballs and then watching Scaramouche from his hiding spot. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, his competitiveness wanting him to take it all the way and win. He wasn't sure exactly how he was gonna win because he was positive Scaramouche would never back down or concede but he still felt that thrum of excitement in his body. 

When he saw his moment he jumped out from his hiding place. But it seemed Scaramouche was much closer than Tartaglia anticipated. He slammed into him, sending them both to the snowy ground.

All of the snowballs were smashed in the collision and Tartaglia felt a dull throb on his chest from the impact. He pushed himself up a little from Scaramouche, now looking down at him with his hands on either side of his face. They were both covered in snow from head to toe and heavily breathing from the snowball fight. 

His eyes darted back and forth from Scaramouche's eyes to his lips. He didn't know what led him to leaning in. Maybe he had hit his head and wasn't thinking, or the leftover excitement and adrenaline was making him feel things he didn't really feel, or perhaps it was the actual truth; that Tartaglia was deeply in love with Scaramouche and having him so close in such a vulnerable state made him want to confess his true feelings through a kiss.

The moment was short lived, however. Before Tartaglia could press his lips against Scaramouche's he felt the cold, wet, sensation of snow on the side of his face. Scaramouche had won the snowball fight. 

Tartaglia rolled off of Scaramouche and pretended as if he didn't have the sudden urge to kiss Scaramouche a few seconds ago, laughing breathlessly as he got up from laying down to a sitting position on the snow. Now that the fight was over he became acutely aware of just how much snow had gotten on him and his clothes, feeling it start to melt on his warm skin and shivering. 

"You win," he had said to him before getting up with a groan and walking inside to warm up. Leaving Scaramouche on the ground breathing heavily. His mind reeling with what had just happened.

"He almost kissed me," Scaramouche said in disbelief. No one was around but he still felt the need to whisper it. His fingers ghosted over his lips. "Tartaglia almost kissed me."

Tartaglia woke up cold, with his head pounding and his throat hurting when he swallowed. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, startled to see that Scaramouche was sitting on the bed in front of him. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Scaramouche said, holding out a glass of water for Tartaglia to take. “Here. Drink this.”

“What are you doing?” Tartaglia’s voice was rough and scratchy. He was cautious as Scaramouche leaned over to him and put the back of his hand on Tartaglia’s forehead.

“Just as I thought. You’ve got a fever.” Scaramouche sighed. “I told you not to go out yesterday in just a coat and boots. But you just couldn't listen, could you?” He scolded, shaking his head.

Tartaglia shrinked in on himself, obviously embarrassed. “Sorry…”

“It’s fine. Just–” he sighed again. “Just get some rest. I’ll tell your family you’re not feeling well.”

“Thank you, Scaramouche.”

“Call me Kunikuzushi," he said as he got up from the bed and walked to the door. "I hate the name Scaramouche.”

“Okay, Kuni.” 

Scaramouche muttered, “don’t call me Kuni,” as he walked out of the room. Tartaglia didn't think he imagined seeing a small smile on his face as he left.

He coughed and laid back down, covering himself with the covers and letting his tired body sleep.

When Tartaglia woke up again he was still feeling bad so he stayed in bed. Scaramouche came in through the door, a bowl of soup and medicine in his hand. He sat down on the bed and put the back of his hand against Tartaglia's forehead again clicking his tongue when he realized he still had a fever. “Sit up,” he told Tartaglia.

Tartaglia sat up as best as he could, leaning back on the pillows. Scaramouche gave him the medicine first for him to take and then gave him his bowl of soup. “Your mom told me this was your favorite soup so I made it for you.”

Tartaglia scrunched up his nose at the disgusting taste of the medicine but smiled at the smell of the soup. Flashing a smile at Scaramouche, he said, “you made this for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ajax.”

Tartaglia spooned a bite into his mouth, not really thinking when he said, “I love it when you say my real name.”

Scaramouche's mask broke for a second. He averted his eyes, clearly not expecting Tartaglia to say something like that. Getting up from the bed he said, "Eat. I'll come back to check on you later." He started walking away but Tartaglia grabbed his wrist.

"Please stay." Tartaglia said.

"Okay," Scaramouche said. Moving to sit beside Tartaglia on the bed. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

"Thank you," Tartaglia said, laying his head on Scaramouche's shoulder and eating another bite of soup.

"Don't thank me just for staying." 

"Then thank you for everything else."

Scaramouche hummed in response, leaning his head on top of Tartaglia's. Silently watching him finish eating and set the bowl on the nightstand. Tartaglia shuffled his body down the bed so he could lay down better and took Scaramouche with him, covering them both up with the covers. 

"Kunikuzushi?"

"Yeah?"

Tartaglia held out his arms almost in a hug, and asked, “can you cuddle me so I can go to sleep?”

“You’ve already been sleeping,” Scaramouche huffed but laid down beside him nonetheless. 

“Sorry I got sick and wasn’t able to visit much,” Tartaglia said to his family, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. It was the next day and Tartaglia was already feeling much better. Him and Scaramouche were at the door with their bags in their hands telling his family bye. 

"Oh don't worry about it, Ajax. Kunikuzushi is great company." Tartaglia's mother said as she hugged her son goodbye.

"Wait, what did you two talk about?" Tartaglia asked.

"Just all of your embarrassing moments from when you were a kid," Scaramouche smirked.

Tartaglia shrinked into himself, embarrassed at what kind of stories his family would've told him.

Scaramouche playfully bumped into Tartaglia. "Don't worry. It wasn't anything too embarrassing."

Tartaglia's family gave them both a big hug before sending them off, exchanging goodbyes and a few tears. The pair made their way to their carriage, putting their luggage in the luggage compartment and getting in. They waved goodbye to his family until they were out of sight then the carriage fell silent.

Tartaglia replayed the events of their trip over and over in his mind until he felt physically sick. He had realized the feelings that he felt for Scaramouche was love. And he didn't know how to process it. Being around Scaramouche was too much. He was too overwhelming. There was so much that they had left unsaid Tartaglia didn't know if it would be better to say anything or not. If he says something it could ruin their rivalry/friendship/whatever it was that they had going on, but if he doesn't say anything he'll be haunted with questions of what could be. 

Scaramouche was as beautiful and mysterious as the moon. He kept to himself and never let anyone get too close. No one knows the true Scaramouche. Tartaglia wondered if Scaramouche himself even knew. But there was always something about Scaramouche that pulled Tartaglia towards him. Something that he never knew what was. He didn’t care what it was that pulled them together. All he knows is that he doesn’t want them to pull apart. 

There was an awkward silence that befell the two of them for the entire way to their hotel and even past then to the moment when they were about to check out. 

Tartaglia was too focused on his inward deliberation. Everything else that he did was simply autopilot.

Scaramouche had noticed, of course. And he hated it. He hated Tartaglia for toying with his feelings and then avoiding him like the plague the moment that they didn't have to pretend to be together anymore.

On the presumably last day of their trip they went to check out and the lady at the front desk said, "Where are you two lovebirds going?" Trying to make small talk as she checked them out of their room.

They both looked at each other quickly before looking away but they didn't bother to correct her. 

"We're just going home," Tartaglia said. 

"Oh! Well if you’re planning on taking the train then you probably shouldn't go anywhere. It seems like the snowstorm outside isn’t going to let up for at least a day."

Tartaglia looked out one of the windows and sure enough, there was a snowstorm out there. He sighed, he was too caught up in himself that he didn't even notice a full on snowstorm outside.

"If that's the case then we might as well stay here one more night," Tartaglia said, reaching for his wallet. "Is that okay, Scara?" He asked. 

He noticed that Scaramouche had been uncharacteristically quiet. He was always kind of quiet before but this was like he was giving Tartaglia the silent treatment. 

They went back to their room and sat down on different sides of the room. Tartaglia wanted nothing more than to fix whatever it was that was inbetween them. He anxiously drummed his fingers on his legs, looking around for something to make conversation with.

He tried multiple different times to get Scaramouche to talk to him but he said nothing, his fury only growing the more Tartaglia tried to fix things.

After hours of trying to get Scaramouche to not hate him again Tartaglia finally gave up. Plopping down on the chair next to Scaramouche and silently watching the fire dance in the fireplace with him. 

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" Tartaglia asked. His voice wasn't accusatory or mean, just confused. 

"Because you're what's wrong." Scaramouche's voice was quiet. It was easy to tell that he was exhausted emotionally.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Well I obviously did something. So what was it?"

"It's not something you did. It's you as a whole."

"What specifically? I want to fix it."

"God, Ajax- it's nothing you should fix!" Scaramouche yelled. Fed up with Tartaglia wanting to fix everything and make everything better. 

"So then what the fuck do you want me to do?!" Now Tartaglia was yelling. 

"Nothing! You do nothing! Stop trying to save everyone! Stop trying to save me!"

"I'm not trying to save you I'm trying to figure out what the hell is up with you!"

Scaramouche frustratedly stood up. Pacing around the room. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."

"Then why did you?!" Tartaglia yelled. "Why would you even come on this trip if you hated me?"

“I never hated you, Tartaglia! I only agreed to it because it was you!” Scaramouche yelled.

For a brief moment it had felt as if the world had stopped for both Tartaglia and Scaramouche. Tartaglia stared at Scaramouche, confusion clearly painted on his face, as the other reverted his eyes. Afraid that if he made eye contact he'd get lost in the sea that was Tartaglia and drown in his loving gaze.

“Tell me you’re lying, Scara. Please– please say this is just another one of your lies and that what you said doesn't mean what I think it means,” Tartaglia begged. He didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be. He both wanted Scaramouche to be lying and wanted him to be telling the truth.

“God, I wish I was lying, Ajax.” Scaramouche had stopped yelling. The atmosphere turning into something more calm, more vulnerable.

Scaramouche hated feeling vulnerable. It was yet another reminder that he was, at his core, a human. 

"So that means you..." Tartaglia trailed off. Scared that if he uttered the words that they would be too good to be true.

"I love you, Ajax. I love you so much that I hate it. You make me feel things I never wanted to feel."

If Tartaglia was the ocean, with it’s dangerous waves that coaxed it’s victims to an untimely death, then Scaramouche guessed he was the moon, living in tandem with the ocean and working together with it to form the tides. 

Tartaglia was stunned. He was scared that he'd fuck it up if he talked so he decided to show Scaramouche how much he loved him. It took all of his confidence to stride over to Scaramouche and place his hand on his cheek before leaning down and kissing him.

The first kiss was short, just enough to show Scaramouche that he liked him. But after the first one Tartaglia found himself leaning in again almost immediately. Wrapping his other hand around Scaramouche's waist as Scaramouche put his hands on either side of Tartaglia's face. 

Scaramouche inhaled through his nose, smelling Tartaglia's soap that he uses, hinting at a bit of a floral scent. Tartaglia's cracked and chapped lips were the direct opposite of Scaramouche's soft ones but he didn't care. Nothing else in the world mattered except for this moment. They pulled each other closer as the kiss got more passionate before breaking away. Tartaglia rested his forehead against Scaramouche's. His brain jumbled as he tried to find the correct words for how he was feeling.

He decided to leave the big declaration of love for later and just say, "I love you too, Kuni." As he hugged him tight, burrying his head between his collar and jaw.

Scaramouche hugged him back before dragging Tartaglia over to the bed so they could lay down and cuddle. 

Eventually they got themselves situated comfortably with Scaramouche laying on his back and Tartaglia laying on his stomach on top of him. Tartaglia couldn't help himself from kissing every inch of Scaramouche's exposed skin. Normally Scaramouche would've stopped him, still not used to being shown love, but he decided that it was okay for one night so he just carded his fingers through Tartaglia's hair and for the fourth time in his life, Scaramouche let himself be loved.