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He’s perfect, from the moment he wakes to the moment he drifts into an endless, serene little slumber.
Childe looks at him, his first encounter with the Balladeer that of pure admiration. How could he not have stared in awe, watching from afar as the wide-eyed recruit he’d once been?
The Harbingers rarely gathered together, he’d heard- but for this, their presence was required. They were to greet the newly accepted recruits, offering a welcome as warm as Snezhnaya could ever become.
That is to say, a few degrees away from freezing.
But he was there, little Ajax in his wool coat and furry earmuffs, feeling like he’d been lit aflame, for his eyes fell upon the most beautiful boy he ever did see.
The Balladeer was his name. He’d memorized it, carved it into the very back of his skull for years to come.
And in those years, he only caught a brief sight of the Balladeer every now and then. When he passed by the training grounds, Ajax made sure to kick it up a notch. When he barked orders into the fresh wave of recruits, Ajax made sure to go above and beyond. When those eyes cast down on them, scrutinizing and lethal… Ajax made sure to stand tall and proud.
Eventually, his efforts proved to not be in vain. For the briefest of seconds, on one particularly long and grueling day, the Balladeer’s eyes would focus only on Ajax.
They were training, pushed and worked like never before under the burning chill of Snezhnaya’s more merciful days. Here, per the request of their instructor, Ajax had been surrounded by the peers he’d so casually rolled in with.
Yet, with a dagger in hand and blood in his eyes, Ajax jumped into the fray like a fish yearning for water.
The entirety of that match was a blur of flying limbs and molten heartbeats. Each move he’d made served to disarm, each slash he made served to harm. Had it been a true case of life and death, the only puff of warm breath would have been his own.
Yet it was not. That show had only been a training exercise- a drill meant to test his strength, for he was far too confident for a mere recruit.
Ajax had been victorious, nothing but a thrill having made its way onto his body.
He had never forgotten that moment, for in between the hunger for blood and calamity of victory, he’d caught sight of the Balladeer.
Their eyes had met for the first time ever that very evening. Not a quick once over, not a curt acknowledgment- but a distant look of recognition.
From several stories below, Ajax remembered the Balladeer’s face all the same.
A cute purse of the lips. An adorable narrow of the eyes.
And then, the Balladeer disappeared from the window, not to be seen until a few weeks later.
Ajax held on to that interaction for as long as he possibly could, for nothing of substance came from it.
The true excitement, however, began only a few years after that.
At the time, the Tsaritsa had most graciously commended Ajax for his ferocious and dexterous work amid the Fatui. He’d caught her eye, no doubt- what with him being the bloodthirsty recruit he was.
Somehow, he’d proven himself. The Tsaritsa gifted him a Delusion, as well as a place among her Harbingers.
From that point onwards, he was no longer Ajax. The title of Tartaglia had been bestowed upon him– The Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers.
He began his duties immediately- running errands after errands for the other Harbingers. At times, they were pointless tasks, but other times… they were far more thrilling than combat practice could ever be.
But despite it all, his greatest achievement would always be befriending the elusive Sixth.
It started in meetings. Tartaglia, known also as Childe, would sit where his gaze perfectly fell upon the Balladeer. Throughout the incessant sessions, he’d stare at nothing other than the Sixth Harbinger. He’d think, look this way. Just for a moment, he wished the Balladeer would look.
Eventually, after a number of meetings, he was able to corner the Balladeer.
Through charisma he’d suddenly fumbled and grins he flashed to the max, Childe spoke to the Balladeer for the very first time.
It earned him a very menacing threat, but nevertheless, Childe’s interest had peaked.
Their little moments turned into banter, their banter turned into conversations away from prying eyes and nosy coworkers. Suddenly, Childe found the Balladeer engaging in more than empty threats and biteless talk.
One day, when he stumbled upon the Balladeer gazing into Snezhnaya’s sunset, Childe learned his name.
Scaramouche.
He’d made a comment afterward, which earned him a fiery glare- but on the inside, Childe’s heart nearly beat out of his chest.
Childe thought of that moment for weeks after, drifting off and replaying such an evening over and over again.
Through it all, Scaramouche showed not even the briefest of hints of wanting something more. Childe had come to crave it, lust for it- but Scaramouche, he only spared Childe the same murderous eyes as before.
Whatever it was.
He remembered standing beside Scaramouche, overseeing the training of a fresh batch of recruits. Scaramouche did most of the talking, commanding these new faces with an air of confidence and grace.
Sounding, looking, being… as beautiful as ever.
Childe couldn’t take his eyes off him. He had been distracted, watching Scaramouche alongside the dozens of new recruits.
Somewhere through the entire thing, Childe wondered- would Scaramouche grow curious if, for the first time since they’ve met, Childe took his eyes off him?
Did he even notice Childe’s eyes on him, after all those years?
The answer had, surprisingly, been yes.
Another night engrained into Childe’s memory- the night he proposed something for the two of them, something done between twisted sheets and close quarters.
Scaramouche agreed, an insanely adorable blush staining his round, puffed-up cheeks.
So their nightly routines began, their dance among the sheets growing into something passionate and frequent. On Childe’s part, he simply couldn’t get over the moans and mewls pulled from Scaramouche- the chokes and sobs and complete submission Scaramouche presented him.
He’d bite and lick and kiss at every part of Scaramouche, unwrap him from his robes like a gift given to him by Celestia itself.
Even outside of their shared nights, Childe would approach Scaramouche with smirks and grins. He’d tease and poke, sticking to Scaramouche’s side like a Hydro slime to the freshest of waters.
That– they did all of it under the agreement of nothing serious.
Still, Childe couldn’t help but wonder… would Scaramouche ever cry for him, should their situation become serious?
It was a doubt that lingered on Childe’s mind for months. They separated, assigned different assignments every now and then. They met again once they completed said assignments, sneaking off into Childe’s room for a number of rather sleepless nights.
And throughout those months, things changed.
Scaramouche was by no doubt, a very strong and capable person. He was feared by many, but greatly admired by Childe. Known only for his cold personality and immense strength, the Balladeer showed no weakness.
But one night, a knock on his door arose Childe. It had been… late, to say the least. Childe, nevertheless, got up and answered the call.
It had been Scaramouche, broken and collapsed at his door.
Childe had carried him inside, heart pounding viciously behind his ears. What happened? Who did this? Are you okay?
And so, Scaramouche explained. He poured it all out, from his creation as the Electro Archon’s puppet, to the incident involving the Tatarasuna furnace, to the child who died before him… all to The Doctor and his cruel experiments.
That night had been long and painful. He remembered it so clearly- wiping Scaramouche’s tears, brushing his hair out of his face, holding him impossibly close, just as requested…
Only after did he realize that encounter answered Childe’s questions- a few he’d formed so long ago he’d practically forgotten all about them.
Do you ever get weak? Do you ever want it to end? Do you ever get tired- like ropes and wires?
Because despite being perfect in every sense of that word- Scaramouche was only human.
He is human, despite the doubts he’d shared so long ago. He is perfect, despite the words he muttered into the dead of the night.
To Ajax, Scaramouche was perfect.
Now, holding Scaramouche to his chest, running his hand down the expanse of that lovely back… Childe could think of no other word to describe the boy in his arms.
He smiled, staring up at the ceiling they’d grown so accustomed to. Childe ran his fingers up Scaramouche’s spine, coming to rest at the Electro insignia he knew was right at the base of Scaramocuhe’s neck.
Childe brushed the hair away from it, snickering at the way Scaramouche’s shoulders twitched.
He enjoyed every little bit of Scaramomuche, for he was to leave for Inazuma the very next morning.
But once he returned, they’d take the next step in their relationship. For that night, they’d uttered those special words for the very first time.
Words that Childe had come to accept in all the time he’s known Scaramouche.
I love you.