Work Text:
The night was young, or at least, it was what you thought upon stretching your back after a long day of revising the blueprint of the project your client gave you. By the time you looked out the window, the moon was no longer visible to your eyes, apparently hanging high by the sky directly above you.
You let out a sigh, mumbling to yourself as you retreated from your cluttered desk, filled with papers and more crumpled papers. The scent of ink eventually left your senses the closer you go to the window. It was yet to be opened, but the scent of blooming dandelions was already thick in the air, filling a quarter of your room with a subtle whisper of bitter-sweet and citrusy scent.
The moment you opened the large, twin windows, you were greeted with a gust of strong wind. Mondstadt was always known as a windy city, but it always surprised you whenever you were greeted by its winds. Most of the times, it was kind of chilly; you had no choice but to wear thicker clothes to avoid getting sick. Jackets were out of question, though. While the winds were cold, the sun was shining all too amazingly that you had never truly opted to add another layer to your outfit.
You savored the scent the Mondstadt wind carried as you took a deep breath by the balcony. Cold night’s air was refreshing, but Mondstad’t midnight air was akin to a healing. It was magical; how it filled your lungs with crisp night air that could alleviate your sleepiness, the light scent of the dandelions that subtly relax the mind, and also the calming and gentle lullabies that the winds carried all over the nation, almost as if its purpose was to make sure its citizen had a restful night.
Simply, Mondstadt nights were the most relaxing. It wasn’t as green as Sumeru nor it was as grand as Liyue, but you knew Mondstadt had its own distinctive charm.
Mondstadt felt like home .
It was funny since you grew up in Liyue and had only started journeying through the numerous lands of Teyvat once you were old enough to cross the borders. Sumeru became your next home then, where you soon bloomed to become a renowned engineer, and had the chance to travel all over Teyvat.
Never you had thought you’d find another home in Mondstadt, and feeling like it was the most homey place you had ever visited.
You smiled to yourself as you recalled how different the air of Liyue and Sumeru was compared to Mondstadt. Liyue smelled of food—as you used to live near the food district—and never had you encountered a Liyue district that wasn’t filled with chattering even during the darkest of nights. Sumeru, on the other hand, had a relatively quieter ambiance in the housing district, and it always smelled of morning dew and blooming flowers; with the fragrance of the latter becoming too much for your sharp senses. You were always greeted by a burst of scents whenever you stepped out from your abode after a long, restful night—something that you disliked initially.
Your hound-like nose was something to blame, it seemed. You heard that you had a blood of a beast-kin, but it was not a dominant gene. It was something that your classmates and playmates pulled out from their asses because of your scent-sampling habit, but after a long night of bonding sessions with your parents, it was shocking to know that it did have some degrees of truth in it.
Shocker. But then again, your ultra-sensitive nose wasn’t humanely possible. You ought to inherit it from someone.
Because no matter how subtle, how small of a change it was, just one sniff—and you could find it.
Like for example, at this exact point of time.
The strong current of wind had somehow changed. It was gradual, subtle; but unnatural. The sole calming scent that made you occasionally yawn in a few seconds of stepping outside onto the balcony had been accompanied by something crisp , more fragrant, and sharper. It was a new arrival of scent that didn’t truly belong in Mondstadt. The new scent was just fleeting in the air, barely there; you doubt that ordinary people could sense the changes that was no more than a wisp.
But you weren’t just ordinary people.
You straightened your back, your tiredness washed away.
“I know you’re somewhere in there,” you whispered to the wind, leaning your body more toward the railing in front of you. “Come on out, little kitty~”
Silence.
The corners of your lips quirked up.
“Silly me,” a brief chuckle escaped your throat, “I forgot the little kitty has a name. Here, here, Scaramouchie~ I know you’re in there somewhere~”
There was a brief silence that followed your little teasing sing-song, but your smirk only grew wider. Again, you repeated the name; over and over as if in a nursery rhyme.
Then, after the nth repeat, you could hear low grumbling noises from above you, from the roof to be exact. You looked over your back at the sound, smirk growing wider to form a full-blown grin at the sight of a familiar silhouette standing on the roof.
It was quite a beautiful sight. The full moon was directly behind the figure, hanging so mightily above the clouds and blessing the dark sky with its light. The winds of Mondstadt were also adding to the dramatic, almost art-like view;
“Why hello there, Scaramouchie~” you purred out, deliberately putting out your most teasing voice as you called out the figure. You gave him a little wave.
‘Scaramouchie’ glared at you—you could tell by his gleaming purple eyes despite not being able to see his full face, being obscured by the shadows. “Stop calling me that.”
You leaned your back against the railing this time. It didn’t help on giving you a better view of his face, but it surely was more comfortable to look at him this way. “Then, come down here.”
His answer came quickly, sharply, and full of emphasis. “No.”
“Fine.” You grinned wider. “ Scaramouchie .”
“Fine, fine!”
You blinked, and then the owner of the boyish, grumbling voice appeared before you, floating so easily outside the balcony with his skill. He still had his arms crossed above his chest, an annoyed expression on his beautiful and handsome face. “Nothing can escape your pretty button nose, huh?”
“I take that as a compliment,” you sing-sang, giggling as you beckoned the floating guy to come closer to your balcony. “I don’t know you’d be here, tonight.”
Scaramouche harrumphed, but obediently flew closer to you; eventually resting his butt against the railings you were leaning against. “I only knew you were here just a few moments ago.”
You knew Scaramouche wasn’t someone who could lie easily, so you just nodded your head, still with a smile on your lips. “So, what’s the occasion?”
“Am I not allowed to visit my beloved mortal every few weeks?”
He sounded so defensive that it was suspicious. You instantly knew he was here for a purpose rather than just a pathetic “I miss you and I want to meet you” excuse.
You raised an eyebrow, mirroring how Scaramouche raised his eyebrow. Usually, this was how you were able to fish out the truth of his mouth, but it didn’t look like he was going to spill so easily tonight.
You changed tactics then. You knitted your eyebrows together, pushing your lips forward, and eyed him with clear suspicion. His only response was a snort, and he moved his gaze away to the windmill.
Feeling more annoyed this time, you prepared some strings of insults and phrases that you always used to make Scaramouche spill the beans. But as you opened your mouth, what came out was a long, persistent yawn instead.
At your yawn, Scaramouche’s gaze went back to you. He had a look of amusement, almost to the point of fascination on his face. He looked back to your now dark room, his gaze settling on the pile of papers on your desk.
He let out an amused chuckle. “Mondstadters gave you a hard time, huh?”
“None of my clients are easy,” You answered in a hiss, glaring when Scaramouche gathered the wind on his palm to deliberately mess up your hair. Huffing and puffing as you fixed your messy hair back to its proper shape, you continued, “But, I have to admit I have an easier time here compared to my previous projects. But yes, life is still hard and my head hurts; what’s new about that?”
You expected this purple-haired man to bark out laughing, poking fun at you following your statement. Or blasted an Anemo to your face like what he always used to do to tease you. Then you’d retaliate by freezing up his hat. It had always been that way since he started warming up to you and listening to your never-ending complaints of constant headaches.
However, some things were bound to change once in a while.
Like how his mischievous smile slowly changed to that of a neutral line, but eyes that showed no longer that of tease, but that of consideration. You felt your heart skip a beat at the changes.
“It seems that you’re once again storing too many things inside your little pretty head,” Scaramouche said, snorting. “Very well, feel free to speak what’s in your mind,” he continued coolly. “I’m always willing to listen to you, remember that.”
Warmth spread on your cheeks the moment that Scaramouche continued to look at you deeply in your eyes. You had always known Scaramouche was someone who was especially kind to people he treasured, but to receive his affection and kindness for you had always felt new; flustering, deeply affecting you and shaking your core.
Maybe it was because of his pretty purple eyes seemed to sparkle as they looked at you. Maybe it was because how he looked at you as if you were real (“The sky is a lie,” he once said in bitter tone, “everything I know must be a lie, but I want you to be real .”), as if you were the most valuable treasure in the whole world. Maybe it was because of his gentle tone instead of his usually sassy tone. Maybe it was because of how his hand reached out to you, gently smoothing down your untamed hair down your crown.
Maybe. Maybe it was all of those combined altogether.
Or,
Maybe it was just him.
That blasted Scaramouche-effect.
“I’m grateful for that,” you sheepishly let out after a beat of silence, relieved that your words didn’t come out in a stutter. You cleared your throat. “But no offense, my good sir, it’s just my job. No piece of trash needed to pick, or asses you need to kick; just the same old scribbles. Everything is reaaally fine. This big brain and strong heart of mine can handle it just fine. Thank you, though.”
You looked away when Scaramouche's only response was a nod, and a small, gentle smile. While it wasn’t rare to see him looking at you like this, you still felt very self-conscious seeing that kind of gaze being directed at you.
“Of course, of course,” he said, chuckling again. “Never expect something less from my little independent woman.”
Was it hot or cold? It felt like both, definitely. Your face was warm but your fingertips were cold, almost to the point of frostbite. No, not because of your Cryo Vision, no.
You turned your gaze back to Scara, who was still eyeing you softly with the same small smile. The small smile was flatter this time around, but his eyes still held the gentleness of a thousand silk flowers as they looked at you (“I hate that phrase,” Scaramouche said loudly one time, “Silk flowers aren’t soft . Silk is .”). Again, you suppressed your stutter before you speak. “Don’t you think it’s getting colder out here? I can make you a hot chocolate or something.”
“I have no need.” Scara’s voice was equally soft, but a ghost of realization passed by his face and his expression went back to being the usual neutral one. He looked away, choosing to turn his gaze to the slowly-rotating windmill near the place again. “But perhaps it’s necessary for you to pick something to warm you up. My winds can only do so much.”
It was then you realized the wind tonight wasn’t as strong, wasn’t as cold as prior nights. It wasn’t just his arrival that created the change, but it was his action. That explained why there were no scent of flowers wrapping your senses, but rather a scent that was unique to this man sitting on the narrow railings, barely swaying and seemingly very comfortable with his position. A refreshing and gentle scent of fresh, damp grass; and also minty leaves with a hint of some mixture of assortments of flowers.
It wasn’t a wonder how Scaramouche possessed such a combination of scents. He was a Wanderer, much like how Traveler was; but while Traveler walked, Scaramouche used his ability to fly while he traveled all over.
However, despite him spending his time mostly outside on the plains, sometimes your sharp nose identified the scent of old books and ink on him. This was because if he wasn’t wandering around, he would be in the region’s library, devouring any tomes he could find and making a review of everything he was interested in just to make the Vahumana’s Sage to stop pestering him to join the school.
All in all, the scent was uniquely Scaramouche .
It smelled good, to be honest; sometimes you wished you could cuddle and spend some affectionate time with him just so you could bask in his scent. And maybe, tucking your nose on his jugular and let yourself lost in his somehow warm embrace.
No , you quickly stopped yourself, heaving a deep breath when you felt that your cheeks had grown significantly warmer compared to normal. You cursed under your breath, deciding that it was best for you to seek something that could distract the image out of your mind.
Still with cheeks tinted pink, you retreated back, Scaramouche’s scent still lingering on your senses.
Every time you worked overseas, your clients had always been gracious on giving you your accommodation. In Fontaine, you were rented a cozy and large cottage that was close to your base. In Inazuma, you spent your nights in a modest but undeniably charming house that was owned by the Kanjou Commission. In Natlan and Snezhnaya, you were given a room in one of the best hotels the clients could find.
However, out of those regions you visited, you preferred the view this hotel offered. It wasn’t so high up, but you could see the landscape of this region from the balcony, and the view of rotating windmills was sometimes a welcome distraction whenever you tire your eyes from glaring at the papers and construction works all day. For you, it was the most comfortable, most homey accommodation you had ever received.
But that came with a price.
You were a clumsy and rather messy person. Once you got comfortable with something, your tolerance to mess in your abode increased; and that led you to frequently lost your less-important things under the pile of your clothes or just clutters of things in general. This was partly the reason why you hired cleaning services to clean your house, despite that it cost quite a fortune for you. Whenever possible, you always hired one and left the cleanliness of your accommodations to their hands.
However, this hotel you were currently staying, did not offer such privilege. Perhaps it was due to the reason that this place used to be monopolized by the Snezhnayan delegates. Mondstadt people abhorred them after what happened in Liyue, when the Fatui’s crime was blatantly revealed to the world.
Of course, this place was no longer their base camp. It had long since transformed to function as a regular hotel, but the cleaning service was only offered for those who stayed for a short while. Someone like you, who would stay for another two months, was not one of them.
Other than your rather unkept nature, there was also one more problem.
Mondstadt was windy, but it wasn’t as cold as Snezhnaya or Fontaine. You also possessed a Cryo vision that also helped with your cold tolerance. Thus, during the sunny days, you rarely wear any warming clothes whenever it got cold, as the cold never truly bothered you anyway.
So you hoped Scaramouche would forgive you for taking too long; it was quite difficult finding a piece of clothing that you never really used and a blanket that served no purpose stocked in the depths of your wardrobe.
You caught his curious glances at you, perhaps wondering why you took so long before shrugging his shoulders and letting you do whatever you needed to do. You felt grateful for his decision, as this was a good time to not think about how good Scaramouche’s scent was.
Eventually, after a long ten minutes of flipping your room upside down, you found your jacket.
And slipping out from its pocket, was a brand-new pack of cigarettes.
You watched in slow motion as the box fell down the floor, creating a dull thud as it landed against the carpeted wooden floor. Your pupils dilated, and your breath quickened as your thoughts went in a spiral.
When was the last time you smoke? It was supposed to be not too long ago, when you went to Snezhnaya for a small project, just a few months ago. The land was unforgivingly cold, the people were stressful to deal with; thus, you let yourself slip and ended up going back to your old bad habits.
Habits that Scaramouche told you to stop, almost to the point of ultimatum.
But right after the Snezhnayan project was done, you quitted smoking again. It was a lot harder to stop this time, but you remembered his words, his ultimatum—and you prevailed.
This package was the last one you bought before you boarded the carriage to Fontaine. You bought it with the resolve to not touch it again. You did spend sleepless nights the following days after the project had finished and you were back inside your cold, lonely place; the thoughts of returning to your bad habits kept you awake and punishing your conscience every time you spent your morning not puffing out smoke. Several times you went close to your rarely-used jacket by your door, thinking of picking the pack and filling your lungs with nicotine.
However, eventually, you grew out of it, rather spontaneously after Scaramouche visited you suddenly after hearing about your arrival to Sumeru. The incident was similar to this night, just a lot more personal, and more affectionate, and it was the most vulnerable time for both of you. Tears were shared that night—as well as kisses and gentle caresses. You didn’t tell him anything regarding your relapse as the Snezhnayan nicotine product was eventually stored in the back of your mind the moment he appeared before your very eyes.
The fact that this current commission arrived at you also helped in distracting you. Mondstadt was a windy region, but it was far from cold. Your client for this commission was also cooperative and let you do whatever you needed to do. It was sufficiently healing that you could happily drown yourself in the work you love doing and indulge in festives that came every few weeks.
However, that didn’t erase the fact that you had this pack of cigarettes with you. It was brand new and fairly untouched, but what if Scaramouche assumed the worst of it? What if you thought that it was something that you just recently bought, and not long time ago?
Despite your worries, you still traced your fingers along the edges of the item, eventually picking it up the moment Scaramouche called out to you.
With fingers still fiddling with the box, you walked to where he was, anxiety once again building up within you.
“Took you long enough,” he remarked, eyeing you with a teasing look on his face. “What are you looking for? The truth of this world?”
“Well, since I’m sure as hell not going to have Heavenly Principles gunning for my head—my jacket, obviously…” you trailed off, unsure as you walked toward where he was, finally revealing your whole figure as you stepped out from the darkness of your room. “...though,” you added, “I did find something.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Something interesting, I assume?”
You chuckled awkwardly as you walked closer, still with the pack of cigarettes hidden in your palms. You leaned your body against the railing the moment you were close enough to him, and took a deep sigh.
You felt Scaramouche’s sharp gaze drill into the back of your head. Then, after a moment of silence, you could feel that he was frowning, it didn’t really matter if it was a curiosity-filled frown or a disappointed-filled frown. All you knew is that Scaramouche probably had realized the distinctive box within the confines of your fingers.
But, even after five minutes of total silence, he didn’t say anything.
He was just sitting there, silently enjoying the scenery Mondstadt City offered.
But you realized the air had slightly warmed up, and this purple-haired man had scooted closer to you. So close that your shoulder and his arm almost touched.
He took a deep breath, and you unconsciously held back your own breath, bracing for whatever it was Scaramouche was about to say.
“Well,” he began, voice oddly soft, “there’s a saying that—healing takes courage.” You saw his dangling feet start to sway as the wind around you started blowing slightly harder. “I know you have the courage to heal yourself. Mortals have always been stupidly courageous in life, as if they had all the time in the world to fix anything that could be fixed.”
He took another deep breath, and you listened closely.
“But—I suppose that even the most courageous mortal could feel afraid, and ended up stepping back from their bumpy path to seek the comfort of their worn-out bed.”
Your jaws clenched, but said nothing as he continued.
“But,” he continued, “I suppose that’s what makes them mortals . They can become tired and have a change of heart. Those are the things that make them human —and I think it’s… endearing .”
You looked over your shoulder, your gaze meeting his own. He was looking straight at you, still expressionless—but his eyes were… warm , encouraging. It encouraged you to turn around, at least, so you did; dark, bottomless pit clashing with brilliant indigo orbs.
“I don’t blame you,” Scaramouche said, his gentle voice was loud and clear to your ears.
He reached his hand to you, cupping your cheek and caressing your skin gently with his thumb. You shivered as his cold, synthetic fingers touched your skin—but you didn’t find it unpleasant at all.
While you found his hand was as cold as Snezhnayan winters, the feeling was strangely warming. It was a pleasant feeling, if not a bit contradictory; because how could something so cold could provide a feeling of warmth?
Unconsciously, you closed your eyes as you leaned more against his palm. Maybe you were imagining it, but you could feel something warm pulsed underneath his artificial skin—almost as if Scaramouche was never a doll, but a human being; having veins pumped with warm blood underneath his skin and not wires pretending to be veins.
When you opened your eyes and looked up, something in your heart dropped the moment you saw sadness filling his indigo-colored eyes. His eyes had always looked soft whenever he was with you (when he wasn’t being an annoying ass), but it was the first time for you to see him looking this vulnerable.
“It’s human nature to change—and to change again, and again; be it for the better or for worse, it has always been the same, endless loop. While beings such as myself—aren’t so easy to change.” He closed his eyes momentarily before taking another deep sigh. “I suppose it’s both a blessing and a curse,” he finished, trailing off and ending it in no louder than a whisper.
Ah, there it was again.
The topic that was almost always inevitably brought up whenever the night grew too late
The distant sound lyre traveled through the Mondstadt wind. It wasn’t a lullaby that was played, but a gentle song of comfort and encouragement. Maybe you were hearing things, maybe you weren’t. Nevertheless, you felt renewed strength seeping through your veins.
Scaramouche broke the eye contact before you could say something. He let out a gasp as he did so, almost as if he just remembered something important. You couldn’t bring yourself to be upset or discouraged by the loss of moment, not when a bag of what seemed to be a pouch appeared on Scaramouche’s palm. You didn’t really know what it contained of, but it smelled sweet.
So, candy?
“You know, the last time I visited you,” Scaramouche began, clearing his throat, “I could smell the scent of cigarette on you.”
“So you knew…” You clenched your jaw at the confession. “But you never told me…?”
Honestly, you didn’t really know if you should be relieved or feel betrayed that you knew that Scaramouche knew the whole time. Part of you felt relieved since you didn’t really need to explain whatever circumstance that drove you to relapse into your bad habits or how you had an unopened pack of cigarettes with you, but another part of you felt betrayed that Scaramouche hid the fact that he knew.
But you were also unsure.
Do I really want my reunion with him to be filled with arguments?
Scaramouche shook his head. He looked away, but his hand was still outstretched, as if offering the bag of candy(?) to you. “I didn’t think it was necessary. I was there because I miss your company, not because I want to act as if I’m a condescending mother.”
“You do sound like a nagging mother most of the time, though,” you remarked under your breath, intending for Scaramouche not to hear that.
But of course, Scaramouche heard that. Pretty well, in fact, considering how his eyes were narrowed in annoyance and how he dropped his hand to his lap. “Half of it was because of you, obviously. You’re as stubborn as a mule.”
You giggled at the insult. His face softened.
“So,” he began again, “the reason why I went here… ugh!” he ruffled his own hair suddenly, and you were hit by the realization that he wasn’t wearing his hat since he went down to sit on the railings. “Long story short, after we parted ways a few months ago, I commissioned Traveler to make something… to help you remedy that problem.”
You cocked your eyebrow up. “Oh? The great Scaramouchie asked his rival for help? That’s quite a twist.”
His eye twitched at your comment. Knowing better than to annoy him further, you quickly mimed on zipping your lips. “Will you focus on the story here?” You nod, raising your thumbs up. “Thank you. So, the remedy to that problem… It finished several weeks ago, but since you never told me where you’d go next, I spent a few weeks just looking around for you.”
He offered the pouch his hand to you before you could say anything. “Here,” he said, “Traveler and I consulted the green-haired doctor about nicotine addiction remedy. He recommended a potion, but Traveler was able to turn it to be a… candy, I think.”
You didn’t know why your hands were shaking. Or how the pack of cigarettes was suddenly on Scaramouche’s hands instead of your hands. You were silent as you took in the weight of the pouch on your open palms, your nose catching a trail of mint and violetgrass wafting out of the pouch.
It smelled sweet, refreshing, and bitter at the same time.
It… smelled familiar , but you couldn’t really tell what it reminded you of.
Scaramouche didn’t stop there either, leaving you no room to dwell on the familiar scent.
He somehow took your silence as apprehension, the frown on your face as rejection. You could tell since he suddenly took a candy out of the pouch and placed it just in front of your mouth, the smooth surface barely grazing your lips.
You looked up to look at him, and he slightly pushed the candy closer, so now you can clearly feel the candy pressing up your lips.
“Whenever you feel the urge to smoke, please, pop this inside your mouth instead.” Another push. You could almost taste the candy, now. “Try it. If you dislike it, I can always force Traveler to make a better concoction.”
Well, it’s not like you had a choice to begin with. You’ve lost the moment to tell Scaramouche that you’ve quitted smoking, but were only reminded by the relapse incident from months ago.
So you opened your mouth, and let him fully push the candy inside the cavern of your mouth.
The moment your tongue traced the outline of the round-shaped candy in your mouth, a burst of flavor engulfed your senses. It was also the moment you realized that the familiar thing was—
“Well?” Scaramouche impatiently said. He looked rather anxious rather than annoyed. As if he wasn’t so sure you’d bear with the candy-shaped concoction. “Do you—find it bearable, at least?”
You didn’t say anything. Instead, after you put the pouch on the table near you, you pulled him by his clothes, until his lips crashed into yours, and you finally received the confirmation you needed.
Scaramouche let out a surprised gasp the moment your lips met his own, but eventually melted into the kiss, fluttering his eyes close and just enjoying the moment.
Your hands moved to snake around his neck, and Scaramouche obediently followed your movements—stepping down from the railings and onto the balcony, so both of you could enjoy the moment better.
It was romantic, to say the least. How the both of you shared a long, passionate kiss under the moonlight; the warm yet refreshing wind of Mondstadt carrying the tunes of a lyre playing something that somehow set the mood just right .
You lost yourself in his kiss, his warmth that seemed to pour out from his sturdy, puppet body. He embraced you warmly, tight yet loose; as if afraid you’d crumble under his strength.
After a while, your lungs started to burn in extortion. You caressed Scaramouche’s cheeks as a signal, and he parted his lips away from you at your request, but looked extremely reluctant as he did so. His cheek was warm to your touch, and you wondered if yours were just as warm as his.
The silence following the session was pleasant, as you were just as lost as him in each other’s warmth.
But as usual, it was Scaramouche who broke the silence. In his usual, calmly grumbling, tone of voice. “You—taste like medicine.”
You couldn’t help but to laugh in his arms as you tuck your head to his neck. “And I was right, the candy tasted familiar. It turns out, you taste just exactly like that so-called candy.”
“Is that an insult?”
“I thought you like bitter stuff?”
“But you like sweet things,” he pouted like a petulant child as both of you parted away. “Hearing from you that I taste bitter… is a hard blow.”
“I do prefer some bitter stuff from time to time,” you said, grinning widely at his sudden childishness. “And—I have to confess, I actually haven’t been smoking any cigarette since I arrived from Snezhnaya. Earlier, I just wanted to say that I had a relapse on Snezhnaya, and that’s why I have that unopened pack with me.”
Silence. Utter, complete, silence following your confession. Just the whizzing of winds and the lyre melodies that sounded somehow suspenseful.
Scaramouche slapped a palm to his face. You flinched at the sound it made.
He suddenly stumbled back dramatically, his back bumping against the railings of the balcony. Then, a defeated laughter escaped his hand-covered mouth.
“No wonder I didn’t smell none of that nasty, nicotine stuff on you!" He groaned loudly again. "I can't believe I had to tolerate Traveler for nothing!”
As much as you wanted to laugh at him, you knew better than wanting to have him suddenly take you up flying.
“There, there,” you said, as comfortingly as possible as you moved closer to pat his shoulder. He only groaned louder, cursing under his breath at the unfortunate things he did that all went for nothing .
“At least this candy-medicine will constantly remind me of you…?” You whispered to him with a small, amused smile; your words drowning under another string of sorrowful groans being released from the Wanderer's throat.