Archive of Our Own

The grand gates of the Zapolyarny Palace creak open, and the First of the Fatui Harbingers Il Capitano steps out, the frigid air welcoming him to the outside world. 

He breathes in the smell of frost, tastes the relief on his tongue. His latest mission brought him to the southern nations of Teyvat, and he found the midsummer heat there to be much less tolerable than the endless Snezhnayan winter, especially with the heavy black coat of his that he simply refuses to remove. After that sweltering heat, the cold breeze against his face is refreshing. 

The moment he arrived in Snezhnaya he headed straight to the Palace and gave Pierro his report in person. After learning the details of a mission well-executed, Pierro seemed satisfied, and assured him that the next mission he's assigned to will be in Snezhnayan borders. 

Capitano doesn't mind running from one mission to another, seeks it out even. Idleness brings stagnation, and he prefers to keep himself busy and sharp. However, he also knows when to take a break and let himself rest. 

He goes down the Palace stairs and heads towards the Tsaritsa’s winter garden. A stroll through the evergreen plants covered in snow and frost, glittering in the cool sunlight will do wonders to replenish his spirit. 

When he arrives at the iron gates of the garden, however, an odd sight welcomes him. 

Pierro and Arlecchino, alongside a palace maid, standing in front of an ornamental juniper bush. They all seem to be looking at something on the ground. 

The peculiarity of the situation piques Capitano’s interest. What could they be doing there? 

He walks through the gate and approaches them. Once he's near, the others notice his presence and turn to him. 

“Good afternoon,” he greets them, coming to a stop next to the small group. “Is something the matter?”

Pierro looks more than ever like he's suffering from a stress headache, Arlecchino seems unbothered, and the palace maid, whom Capitano recognizes as Sonya, looks like she might drop dead from mortification any moment. 

“It’s… It's Lord Tartaglia,” she replies, despair making her voice tremble. 

Capitano’s mind stops in his tracks. Tartaglia? Did he do something? Or has something happened to him? Given Tartaglia's penchant for violence and his lack of self-preservation, it could be either, or both. Where is he, anyway? If Tartaglia had noticed his arrival, he would without a doubt have greeted Capitano. 

“...Tartaglia? What's wrong with him?” 

“He’s…” Sonya bites her lips, “We’re trying to get him out.”

Capitano stares. “Is he in the bushes?” he asks, incredulous. 

Tartaglia can be unpredictable, true, but he doesn't do things without reason. What in Tsaritsa’s name could he be doing in the bushes? 

At that moment, a high pitched whine comes from under the shrub. An inhuman noise. 

What. 

What? 

"Is that..?" He can’t manage to finish his sentence.

"It’s my fault," says Sonya, face full of guilt. "I needed to clean Lord Dottore's personal room, but there was a weird odor coming from behind the door. Lord Tartaglia stumbled upon me and seeing my hesitation, he entered the room himself to see what was wrong. And then he... He turned into…”

Capitano crouches down to peer at the underside of the bush, and is met with the blue eyes of an animal. 

Another whine, and an orange figure blurred with speed dashes out of the bush, curling on top of Capitano’s boots and looking around warily. 

Capitano stands back up on instinct. It's a fox. No, not a fox. Tartaglia. 

Capitano is speechless. On the one hand, Tartaglia is, incomprehensively, mind-bogglingly, a fox. On the other hand, he is scared. All the times they have worked together on dangerous missions, Capitano has never seen Tartaglia afraid. He's fearless to a fault, always charging into danger recklessly. Compared to that, the sight of him timidly taking cover is jarring. 

"He seems to trust you," Arlecchino comments, a touch of amusement in her voice.

Capitano doesn't know what to think. Why him? He takes a few steps back, but Tartaglia follows him, standing behind his legs.

Pierro finally speaks. "Turning him back will be difficult since Dottore's segment himself is missing with only a heap of clothes where he once was. While we search for him, someone needs to ensure Tartaglia's safety and care for him."

He looks at Capitano. "Seeing that you are the only one he trusts, you are the most suitable one to look after him." It’s not a request. 

Cap finds himself nodding. "I will do my utmost."

Pierro nods and walks away, looking like his headache turned into a full-on migraine. 

The remaining women look at him, Sonya with remorse, Arlecchino with amused expectation.

Capitano is at a loss. What is he even supposed to do with him?

"Tartaglia," he says, "do you understand what I say? Bark twice for yes, once for no."

Tartaglia looks up at him and immediately barks twice. 

Capitano sighs with relief. This should make the situation a lot easier. 

“Are you scared, Childe?” Arlecchino asks with faux-concern, clearly having fun. 

Tartaglia turns his face the other way, then to Capitano’s surprise, whines quietly twice. 

Capitano’s concern makes a return. 

“Something is wrong. Tartaglia would never admit to being scared willingly.”

Arlecchino hums. “Most animals don't concern themselves with complex human emotions and behaviors. It seems our dear Tartaglia doesn't have access to concepts such as shame, hiding feelings, and keeping secrets.”

"It’s my fault,” Sonya says ruefully. "If only–"

"Don’t blame yourself, Sonya," Arlecchino cuts her off calmly, almost gently. "It’s his fault for being reckless."

Reckless or not, Tartaglia doesn't deserve to be ogled like a zoo animal. Capitano decides to take him to his room to give him some privacy and decide what to do after that.

"Let's go, follow me," he says to Tartaglia, then takes a few experimental steps towards the palace. Tartaglia follows him quickly, so he gives a nod to the women to excuse himself and exits the winter garden, with Tartaglia in pursuit. 

They pass the courtyard, climb up the marble steps of the palace, walk through long corridors, all the while the palace workers gawk at Il Capitano and the fox trotting behind him with hurried little steps, head down and tail between its legs. 

When they reach Capitano’s private room, the moment he unlocks the door Tartaglia bolts inside and hides under Capitano’s bed. 

Capitano steps inside and closes the door, then crouches down to look at Tartaglia's cowering form. He tries to school his voice into a calming tone. “There is no need to be scared. You're safe here.”

Tartaglia whines softly, ears leaned back, eyes darting around warily. He looks so small, so helpless. 

Capitano wishes he knew the reason why he's afraid in the first place. Did someone scare him, or is it caused by the confusion of being turned into an animal? Considering he got transformed in the Harbinger wing of the palace and ran all the way to the winter garden, he may also have been spooked further while on the run. Capitano feels a pang of sympathy for Tartaglia. True, he pesters Capitano with sparring requests at every opportunity, but he doesn't deserve to go through something like this. 

His mind circles back to Arlecchino’s words. 

He seems to trust you. 

Why? Why not Arlecchino, Pierro, or anyone else? Why him? He's ashamed to admit it, but Capitano now realizes that he did little for Tartaglia other than declining his requests for a fight. He never tried to talk to Tartaglia more, or learn more about him. He never lent him aid in hard times, never was beside him in happy moments either. He let his annoyance at Tartaglia's stubborn fixation on violence keep him from actually forming a proper relationship with Tartaglia, his colleague who only ever approached him with eagerness. 

He hasn't done anything to actually earn Tartaglia's trust. A bitter feeling spreads in his chest, alleviated only by a desire to make amends. 

He slowly extends his hand towards Tartaglia, offering his open palm. “I won't let anything happen to you, I swear it. I will do my utmost to be worthy of your trust,” he says softly. 

Tartaglia's eyes fix on Capitano’s hand. He seems to hesitate a moment, then slowly comes forward, step by little step, ears flattened against his head and body close to the ground, until he's right in front of Capitano’s hand. 

Capitano holds his breath. Tartaglia's nose is almost touching his fingers as he starts sniffing his hand, then–

A knock from the door. “Lord Capitano?” Sonya calls out, voice muffled. 

In the blink of an eye Tartaglia has scurried back under the bed. 

Capitano lets out a breath, then stands up. “Enter.”

Sonya comes in with a big, full basket in her arm and a couple plates on the other hand. “Apologies for intruding, Sir. I brought a few things for Lord Tartaglia.”

“Thank you, Sonya. I’m grateful,” Capitano says sincerely. 

Sonya blushes a little as she sets the basket down. “Just doing my duty, Sir.”

She takes out old newspapers from the basket and lays them on the ground next to the big commode, then puts the basket on top of them. From the basket she retrieves a litterbox that she places it to the farthest edge of the newspapers and a change of clothes that she leaves on a chair close to the door, then she lines the inside of the now empty basket with a tiny blanket. 

“There,” she says as she places a plate of food and a bowl of water next to the basket. “He can sleep in this basket. I also brought him some boiled chicken from the kitchens.”

Capitano inclines his head. “I appreciate it. It will make the situation easier.”

Sonya stands up, folding her hands in front of her. “It’s the least I could do, Sir. Where is Lord Tartaglia now?” She looks around the room. 

Capitano points to the bed. “Under there.”

Sonya’s face falls. “Ah. He's… still hiding?”

Capitano nods. 

Sonya bites her lip, looking down. “It's just that… It’s my fault it happened at all. I would like to help more, but I'm going on leave to visit my family in the countryside for a few days, so I won't be able to stay to help take care of Lord Tartaglia.”

“You have done enough,” Capitano tries to reassure her. “No need for you to take on the responsibility yourself.”

Sonya’s eyes dart away in shame. “I– To be honest, Sir, I think the opposite. It was my fault Lord Tartaglia got turned into an… animal in the first place. I could have alerted the authorities about the suspicious condition of Lord Dottore’s room, but I was worried about the process taking too long and making me miss my train this evening. So, when Lord Tartaglia offered to inspect the room, I couldn't– I didn't refuse him. I should have.”

“What’s done is done. Blaming yourself will do no good,” Capitano says, voice serious yet sincere. “I will take care of Tartaglia and ensure his well-being. Go visit your family with a clear conscience, and know that he is in good hands.”

Sonya looks like she is a second away from weeping with emotion. “I– I can't thank you enough, Sir.”

Capitano merely nods, then Sonya has left and he is once again alone with Tartaglia. 

He looks at the plate of chicken on the floor. Some food should help coax Tartaglia out of his hiding place. 

“She's gone now,” he says, crouching down to look at Tartaglia again. “You can come out and eat.”

A small whine, then Tartaglia carefully steps into view, looking around the room to check for any danger, then he approaches the plate and starts eating. 

Capitano simply watches and tries once again to come to terms with reality. Yes, this fox in front of him is his colleague, Tartaglia. Whom he is tasked with taking care of. If someone had told him this would be how the rest of his day goes this morning, he would think they had too much firewater, yet here they are now. 

What is he supposed to do with him anyway? He has never had any pets, so he has no experience with taking care of an animal. He doesn't know whether he should treat him as a fox or as Tartaglia. Well, Tartaglia does understand him to some extent, but his situation has rendered him incapable of behaving true to himself. 

He pauses as Arlecchino’s words echo in his head once again. 

Most animals don't concern themselves with complex human emotions and behaviors. It seems our dear Tartaglia doesn't have access to concepts such as shame, hiding feelings, and keeping secrets. 

If Arlecchino’s interpretation of the situation is true, then this could even be Tartaglia at his truest self, without any mental hindrance on his wants and actions. Then again, isn't that hindrance a part of human dignity, therefore part of a person? 

He stops this train of thought before it gets too philosophical. He has a job to do. He needs to figure out what to do with Tartaglia. 

Tartaglia finishes his chicken and starts licking his mouth. If he wasn't preoccupied with finding a course of action for the rest of the day, Capitano would even call the sight cute. 

It then occurs to him. He can just ask Tartaglia, right? 

“Was your meal to your liking, Tartaglia?” he asks, to test if he still remembers their mode of communication. 

Tartaglia responds with two little squeaks of contentment, sitting down and looking up at Capitano, looking more like a trained dog than a skittish wild animal. 

The clear answer relieves Capitano. Things would be a lot harder without this line of communication between them. Now, what can Tartaglia possibly want next? The usual Tartaglia almost never sits still, maybe he would like an opportunity to stretch his legs? 

“Would you like to go outside?” he asks him. 

Tartaglia thinks for a moment, then declines with a single squeak. 

Capitano is surprised. “No? Are you alright with staying in the room?”

Tartaglia squeaks twice, then gets up and heads for the commode, sniffing the corner of the drawers. After a while he seems to be satisfied, then he goes to the wardrobe and starts to sniff it too. Capitano has no clue why he's doing that. Maybe he's trying to familiarize himself with the place in his fox way? In any case, he doesn't seem to need Capitano’s attention for now. Capitano thinks of the reports he needs to write and the proposals he needs to sign. 

“You seem fine on your own, Tartaglia. Do you mind if I catch up on some paperwork?”

Tartaglia squeaks once distractedly, not even looking away from the wooden door of the wardrobe that he’s sniffing oh so intently. 

Having gotten permission, Capitano sits at his desk and brings out the documents. Some of the proposals he needs to sign are in his office, so he starts with writing his own reports instead. He brings out a blank sheet of paper, his black ink and his favorite quill, then gets to work. 

He works in silence for a few minutes, then he is startled by Tartaglia leaping onto his desk, almost upending his inkwell and making his quill drag across the paper, leaving behind an unseemly black line. 

His initial shock turns swiftly into exasperation. He looks at Tartaglia's foxy little face head-on. “Are you proud of what you've done?”

Tartaglia squeaks a single time, but doesn't seem particularly apologetic, sitting all proper on the desk, his long snout and sharp eyes granting him a perpetually mischievous visage. 

Capitano tries to swallow his irritation down. Tartaglia probably isn't able to feel remorse right now, he tries to reason, but the Eleventh stirring up annoyance in him isn't a new occurrence caused by him being a fox. That's just the main reaction Tartaglia evokes in him. 

He takes a deep breath, then takes out a new sheet of paper. 

He starts to write the date, but Tartaglia seems to have other plans. He fixes his blue eyes on the crimson quill in Capitano’s hand and makes an attempt at capturing the colorful moving target in front of him. 

Capitano’s strong reflexes save the quill at the last moment from Tartaglia's teeth. 

Capitano holds the quill away in his other hand, fighting the urge to drag his palm through his face. 

He turns to Tartaglia slowly. “You. Are not. Allowed to eat my quill,” he spells out. “Are we clear?”

Tartaglia whines playfully as a response, and Capitano knows he will not stop. 

He grumbles as he puts the quill and inkwell away and takes out a Fatui issued fountain pen that he dislikes. Tartaglia's interest seems to wane after that, and he hops down the desk to drink some water, leaving Capitano alone. 

As it turns out, Tartaglia doesn't make much noise or bother him as he grooms his fur, so Capitano is able to write his main report without any issues. Halfway through his second report, however, Tartaglia's chronic restlessness resurfaces. 

Capitano almost messes up the word he's writing when Tartaglia jumps at his foot, biting it. Capitano puts down his pen and looks down. “What are you doing?”

Tartaglia growls softly as he keeps biting his boot, switching to his ankle, to wherever he can get his teeth onto. 

Capitano is reminded of little puppies play fighting amongst each other. Is that what it is? Or is it just Tartaglia's addiction to violence making an appearance? In any case, he’s clearly not biting to hurt, and it doesn't bother Capitano or his boot clad feet, so he simply gets back to writing. 

A short while later dinner time comes, and Capitano has it brought to his room –the maid is an unfamiliar one, Sonya almost certainly already on her way home on the train– and orders some extra roast beef to be brought for Tartaglia. After dinner, Tartaglia seems to be full of even more energy, and he goes back to biting Capitano’s boots under the dining table, but this time he doesn't stop there. 

Capitano has stood up to head to his writing desk again, but is startled when Tartaglia puts his paws on his legs and whines, looking right up at him as if trying to tell him something. 

“What is it?” Capitano asks. Tartaglia presses both paws to his legs a couple times, as if trying to push him back. Capitano obliges and sits down at his bed, waiting for whatever it is that Tartaglia will do. 

Tartaglia immediately jumps on the bed next to him and goes straight for his arm. Capitano watches with a confused sort of curiosity as Tartaglia starts biting all over his arm, not hard enough to hurt someone like him, but not gently either. 

Capitano breathes out a small chuckle. “You want to play, Tartaglia?” 

And that's when it hits him. Tartaglia always looking for a spar, pestering him for it at every opportunity… That's Tartaglia's idea of fun. He has always thought Tartaglia self-centered for forcing his violent ways onto people, but it never occurred to him that that wasn't Tartaglia trying to boast his skills or humiliate someone, but rather him trying to connect with people and have fun together. Guilt seeps into his chest. He has misjudged Tartaglia all along. 

He huffs silently. “You are a strange little one, aren't you?”

Tartaglia looks at him dumbly, his gloved wrist in his open mouth, and Capitano feels himself smile. 

For the rest of the evening, as he works at his desk, he allows Tartaglia to chew idly on his free arm. 

After the third time Tartaglia yawns, Capitano notices how late it's gotten, so he calls it a night. It's interesting that Tartaglia is sleepy at this hour, since foxes are mostly nocturnal, but he chalks it up to Tartaglia himself having a human sleep schedule. 

After gathering his reports, Capitano takes a change of clothes and goes to the en-suite bathroom to go through his nightly routine of taking a shower and tending to his hair. After he dries his hair, he puts on his sleeping pants and a long sleeved shirt. His mask will have to stay on as he sleeps, but it shouldn't be too much of a problem. The actual problem is, well, Tartaglia seeing his blackened hands. They're not as repulsive as his face, though, so it shouldn't be too bad. 

When he exits the bathroom, Tartaglia approaches him quietly, leans on his leg to stand up and smells his hands. Capitano steps away before he can do anything else, bitterness making a home for himself in his chest. 

“Time to sleep. Goodnight, Tartaglia,” he says quietly, and gets into his bed. 

Tartaglia also gets into bed with him. 

“No,” Capitano says sternly, holding him from his armpits and carrying him to his basket. “You will sleep here. Understood?”

Tartaglia whines a little at first, but doesn't get out of his basket, yawning again and making himself comfortable on his soft blanket. 

Appeased, Capitano gets back into bed and turns off the light. It has been an unusual day, and he needs to rest well to rise up to the challenges he will have to face tomorrow. 

***

The next morning, the first thought that crosses Capitano’s mind as he wakes up is the mask on his face. Did he forget to take it off last night, he wonders groggily. Then it hits him. Ah, right. Tartaglia. 

He thinks of the events of yesterday as he lies there, staring at the ceiling. Tartaglia hiding under his bed, playing with his arm, sniffing his blackened, ruined hands… Capitano didn't give him a chance to react, but Tartaglia didn't seem spooked by his hands. He even tried to sleep with him in the bed afterwards. Capitano doesn't know what to make of it. Could he not sense the corruption that has taken over his body? Or perhaps, he could and he simply wasn't repulsed? 

He scoffs internally. As if that is even possible. 

Speaking of, where is Tartaglia? Still sleeping in his basket? 

He straightens up a bit, and is met with the sight of Tartaglia between his legs at the foot of his bed, lying in ambush with his body low and taut, eyes fixed on Capitano. 

Before Capitano has a chance to react, he pounces on him, leaping high into the air and landing right on Capitano’s chest paws first. A pained oof escapes Capitano as the breath gets knocked out of him. 

He stares at Tartaglia's face right in front of him, the act of looking at his long snout head on making him look extra silly. 

“Why are you like this?” Capitano grumbles. 

Tartaglia makes delighted sounds that resemble high pitched giggling, rolling on Capitano’s chest, looking up at him upside down with mouth open and tongue out. 

The cute sight in front of him makes Capitano chuckle softly to himself, his annoyance forgotten. 

He grabs Tartaglia, gets off the bed and puts him back on the floor. “Let's have some breakfast, shall we?”

Tartaglia eagerly barks twice. 

It's a good thing foxes have such a varied diet, Capitano thinks as he watches Tartaglia scarf down some bacon, unseasoned eggs and a few cherry plums. After breakfast, they continue their previous routine where Capitano works and Tartaglia treats his free limbs as chew toys, but after a while Tartaglia seems to get bored, jumping down the desk and standing in front of the door with eyes on Capitano, whining sadly. 

Capitano turns to him, putting down his pen. “Do you want to go outside?”

Tartaglia barks twice, scratching the ground with his front paws eagerly. 

“Alright then,” Capitano puts away his work and puts on his heavy black coat. “But no running off on your own, understood?”

Tartaglia barks twice, thrice, many times as he stands up on his two feet and claws at the door. 

Capitano opens the door and they go out together. Tartaglia is at the front, leading them through the palace corridors expertly. The workers they pass by give him weird looks, but the moment they spot Capitano following him they quickly return to their duties. 

Once they are in the open air, Tartaglia leads Capitano towards the winter garden, and the moment they arrive he promptly goes crazy; playing in the snow, sprinting around lightning fast, doing sharp turns, running up to Capitano and standing against his legs then running away once again, all the while making those high pitched giggling sounds of excitement. Capitano can't help the small smile spreading on his face. He won't deny that this fox situation has helped him appreciate Tartaglia's unusual qualities that used to bother him. How is he supposed to be mad at him for not knowing how to sit still when he's right in front of him, happily rolling in the snow? 

After a while, Tartaglia seems to have spent most of his excess energy and finally calms down, but something else seems to catch his attention. He's contentedly lying down on the snow when his ear twitches, and he looks to the side, towards the ground in front of the ornamental spruce trees. His whole body goes rigid, then he slowly sits up, tilting his head to one side and the other, as if trying to figure something out. 

“Is something the matter?” Capitano asks. 

Tartaglia doesn't respond. His body locks in, he brings himself close to the ground as if lying in ambush, then in an exact replica of the stunt he pulled this morning, leaps into the air and dives headfirst into the snowy ground. He gets buried waist deep in the thick snow, and the sight of his legs flailing in the air as he tries to wriggle loose makes Capitano wheeze out a silent laugh through his nose. 

When Tartaglia gets out of the hole he made, his snout is covered in clumps of snow, which he attempts to shake loose with partial success. Then he repeats the motions, gets ready, and leaps again. This time when he emerges from the snow, he has a tundra shrew in his mouth, which he wolfs down with delight. Capitano is impressed. They have only been out for an hour or so, yet he already caught his first prey. It's clear you wouldn't be able to erase the hunter in Tartaglia even if you turned him into a sheep. 

Tartaglia keeps hunting well into the afternoon, at some point getting too full to eat his prey and bringing them to Capitano instead. He deposits them at his feet, looking up at him with pride and expectation, and Capitano doesn't have it in him to deny him praise. He would normally be against senseless killing, but shrews are widespread pests in this area and he knows the gardeners already kill them to protect the gardens, so he allows it this once. 

When Tartaglia finally gets tired of hunting, he makes his way to a firethorn bush, eyeing the tantalizing red berries. 

“Wait,” Capitano approaches him. “The thorns are poisonous, they will hurt you. Let me do it.”

He carefully gathers some berries with his gloved, protected hands, then crouches down and offers them to Tartaglia in his palm. Tartaglia eagerly eats them, then when they're finished he starts licking Capitano’s palm. Capitano resists the urge to pet his ears. Tartaglia is his colleague, not a pet. 

After eating his dessert, Tartaglia yawns, then lays down and closes his eyes. 

“Are you finally tired?” Capitano asks. 

Tartaglia squeaks twice, then yawns again. 

“Alright, let's go back then.”

Tartaglia doesn't respond, head slowly falling forward. He's practically asleep already. 

Capitano sighs, then leans down to grab him and holds him against his chest. Tartaglia puts his head against his shoulder and dozes off while Capitano carries him back to his room. 

Once inside, Capitano gently deposits him in his sleep basket, then spends the rest of the evening doing paperwork while Tartaglia sleeps. Around midnight he calls it a night, sleeping with his mask yet again. He can get used to this. He shouldn't. 

***

Whispers. 

Dark, insidious words. Calling. Calling him. 

He has returned here. He never managed to escape in the first place. Never forgot. 

Cries. Deep, sobbing wails. 

The innocent burns along with the damned. 

A poisonous gas. He takes a lungful, and his chest cracks open. 

Laughing, cackling, jeering. 

Life is a joke for the one who cuts the thread of fate. 

His hands melt, white bones laid bare as if picked clean by vultures. 

Distant screams. Closer now. 

His skin is aflame, eating at his flesh until it's black and lumpy like charred carrion. 

Closer now. Calling him. Let us in. 

The fire spreads, climbing up his neck. 

Let. Us. In. 

The pain spreads until let us in the nerve ends burn into nothing and the flames Let Us In climb up until his face turns into Let Us In Let Us In Let Us In until his face is completely LET ME IN NOW–

Capitano wakes up with a gasp. It's the middle of the night, he's in his room, laying down in his bed, it wasn't real, it was just a nightmare, his breaths are fast and shallow, his heart pounds in his chest, and on top of him there's something, it's–

Tartaglia. Whining desperately, making panicked digging motions against his chest, trying to wake him up from his nightmare. 

“I’m– I'm fine,” Capitano tries to calm him down, then tries to get him off his chest so he can breathe easily. 

Tartaglia gets even more agitated. He pushes back against Capitano’s hands and tries to get closer to him, wriggling out of his grasp. His snout pushes against the underside of his chin in an upwards motion. 

Capitano’s mask gets knocked off his face, clattering against the floor. 

A deafening silence. 

His blood howls in his ears as Capitano sees red. 

He seizes Tartaglia by his armpits roughly and sits up, bringing him close to his face. 

“Do you have any idea what you're doing?” he snarls through his teeth, absolutely livid. 

Is this what the little fool wanted to see? This twisted flesh and bone? This damnable face that no creature of virtue would ever look upon without trembling? These pallid eyes that would be enough to take a life if seen shining in the night like a horrid phantasm? This mouth, unable to hide its teeth like a dried up skull in a coffin? A hole that once held a nose; dried up, charred skin stretched around his bones like a sheet over a lifeless body? This is the face of a ghoul, a corpse, this is– 

Tartaglia lets out a heartrending little whine as he flattens his ears against his head in submission, tucking his tail between his legs. 

Capitano comes to his senses at once, realization making his stomach drop. 

He scared him. 

He scared this innocent little creature whose only fault was trying to help him. 

Dread spreads in his chest like fresh poison. He is the most horrendous, most despicable creature in the world. He brings ruin to everything he touches. 

“I– forgive me,” he manages to whisper, mortified. 

He betrayed Tartaglia's trust. Tomorrow he should find another person to take care of him. 

He lets out a breath, defeated. He gets up and puts Tartaglia on the ground. He can't see where his mask fell, he doesn't have the will to look for it either. He simply lies back down in bed and closes his eyes. 

A weight on the bed. Something soft brushes up against his hand. 

Capitano sighs. “Tartaglia. No.”

He gets up and carries Tartaglia to his basket, then goes back to bed. 

Not even fifteen seconds later Tartaglia is back, huddled next to his leg with his snout pressed against his hand. 

Capitano is tired. Disgusted with himself. Resigned. He doesn't have the energy to chase Tartaglia away. 

He absentmindedly moves his fingers, stroking the soft fur on Tartaglia's head. Tartaglia makes a small noise and lets him. 

It provides little comfort. Still, it's enough to help Capitano fall asleep. 

***

The next morning, Capitano wakes up with a weight on his chest. 

He opens his eyes and is met with Tartaglia's small fox face right in front of him. 

Tartaglia is sitting on his chest, front paws invisible under his body like a cat, looking straight at Capitano’s unmasked face as he growls softly. Wait, not a growl, Capitano realizes. He's purring. 

It's beyond Capitano’s comprehension. 

“Why?” he asks quietly. “Why don't you run away?”

Tartaglia makes a little squeak, then leans forward and starts to lick Capitano’s chin. Capitano almost sputters in shock. 

“Now you're being ridiculous,” he grumbles, getting Tartaglia off his chest and standing up. He finds his mask halfway under the nightstand and puts it on, feeling a bit more human. 

Tartaglia jumps down the bed and sits in front of him, looking up at him and wagging his tail like an excited dog. 

It doesn't make Capitano smile. It just makes him feel worse. Undeserving. 

“Last night proved that I'm incapable of taking care of you properly,” he tells Tartaglia without any further preamble. “I will try to find a better caretaker for you today. Someone you will like better.”

Tartaglia's joyful demeanor disappears in an instant. He stands up, tail puffed up aggressively, and growls at him like a dog. He barks once, then again and again, as if repeatedly shouting no, no, no! Then he scurries under the bed and hides, growling. 

Capitano sighs in exasperation. He kneels before the bed. “I’m not good at this, Tartaglia. I just want to make sure I don't hurt you any further. You deserve better than that.”

The growling stops, then a sad whine comes. 

Capitano doesn't know how to convince him, doesn't have the energy either. 

“Fine,” he relents reluctantly. “I won't give you away. I just… I can't promise I will be better. I don't know if I can ever be.”

A moment of silence, then Tartaglia comes out of his hiding spot and throws himself to Capitano’s chest, chin resting on his shoulder. Capitano is startled. He still can't understand the reason for Tartaglia's stubborn attachment to him, why he refuses to let go even after seeing his face. 

He grabs Tartaglia and holds him in front of him. “You are utterly incomprehensible,” he declares. 

Tartaglia merely squeaks innocently. 

Capitano moves to put him down, but Tartaglia yelps sadly, wriggling in Capitano’s hold, trying to get close to his chest again. Capitano allows him for a moment, standing up while holding Tartaglia against his chest, then depositing him on the bed. “Let me get dressed, then we will take a stroll together. Is that alright?”

Tartaglia barks twice, sitting down all proper. Capitano appreciates the well-behaved manner. 

Once Capitano comes out of the bathroom ready to go out, he approaches the door, but Tartaglia jumps up at him, leaning on his legs with his paws, whining. 

Capitano looks down at him, confused. “Do you want to stay inside?”

A single bark. No. 

“Then what do you want?” 

Tartaglia keeps jumping up at him, so he kneels down to face him. The moment he does, Tartaglia steps on his knee on the ground, trying to get on his lap. Capitano sighs wearily as he scoops him up and carries him in his arms. “You are getting far too spoiled,” he reprimands half-heartedly. 

Tartaglia squeaks happily, finally content and still, so Capitano accepts the turn of events and exits the room. 

The palace workers don't seem to get tired of giving Capitano and his new furry companion bewildered stares. He ignores them and makes his way to the kitchens. He politely asks a worker there for some food for his fox friend, who complies with a bemused stare at the sight of the First Harbinger carrying a fox in his arms. After Tartaglia eats his breakfast, they make way for the main gates to go outside, but a familiar voice stops Capitano in his tracks. 

“Morning, Captain,” says a serene voice. 

Capitano turns and is greeted with the sight of the Third Harbinger, bundled up in her white Fatui overcoat. 

“Good morning, Miss Columbina,” Capitano greets her. “I trust you've been well?”

Columbina simply hums, as if the question flew over her head. “I see you have a little friend with you.”

Capitano still doesn't know how she manages to ‘see’ with her eyes closed. More importantly, should he tell her it's actually Tartaglia? He quickly decides against it. Tartaglia would certainly disapprove of his unfortunate condition being common knowledge amongst other Harbingers. 

As if supporting Capitano’s decision, Tartaglia starts to growl softly, looking away from Columbina uncomfortably. Columbina, however, doesn't seem to have noticed his discomfort, or simply doesn't care, for she reaches out to pet Tartaglia on the head. Before Capitano can warn her, Tartaglia bites her hand with a growl, not hard enough to draw blood, but certainly not gently either. 

Capitano manages to hold his tongue and refrains from calling out Tartaglia's name in a chastising manner at the last moment. 

Columbina hums, unbothered, and pulls back her reddened hand. “A feisty one.” 

“That, he certainly is,” Capitano sighs. “I apologize in his stead.”

“Does he have a name?”

Capitano pauses. “...No.”

Columbina smiles. “He seems to like you.”

The words make Capitano stand on guard. “... So it seems,” he says cautiously. 

“Will you take care of him from now on?”

“No, he will–” Capitano stops himself from revealing the truth once again. “This arrangement is temporary.”

“Hm. Shame. I would love to see you and your fox friend attend meetings together. I wonder what the other Harbingers would say.”

Capitano is reluctant to even entertain the idea. “I don't think he would sit still in a meeting,” he replies curtly. 

“True,” Columbina says, and turns to Tartaglia. “All creatures deserve a good name. From now on, I shall call you Foxtaglia.”

Then without a proper goodbye, she floats away. 

Capitano is frozen where he stands as mortification sets in. Was she aware it was Tartaglia the whole time? Was she merely toying with him? Or was the name just a coincidence? 

Tartaglia shuffles in his arms, looking up at him with a small whine, as if sensing his soured mood. 

“Let's go to the gardens,” Capitano says to him, to which Tartaglia responds with a delighted squeak. 

They finally exit the palace building and make their way to the gardens. The weather is as mild as a frozen Snezhnayan summer can be, the breeze soft and mellow, light grey clouds gathering snow. It reminds Capitano of past summers, a long time ago. 

“I remember when they first built this garden,” he finds himself muttering with nostalgia. 

Tartaglia squeaks, as if intrigued, and Capitano tells him the tale as they wander the garden; passing by evergreen ornamental bushes pruned in decorative shapes, pink tulips standing tall and proud and white snowdrops hanging their heads in humility, spruce trees planted in equal distance lining the walls like guardsmen, firethorn bushes whose berries are fed to Tartaglia carefully every time they pass one. He talks about how botanists, landscape designers and craftsmen all came together to build this icy haven of elegance and peace for Her Majesty the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers, cultivated by generations of gardeners for hundreds of years. As he tells the tale, Capitano marvels at his own enjoyment of regaling the history of it to someone. He hasn't talked this much in such a long time, it's an unfamiliar feeling, but not an unwelcome one. Tartaglia himself quietly listens, calmer than Capitano has ever seen him. What a divergence from their usual dynamic, he thinks, but it's good, good enough to lift his spirits somewhat. 

After he finishes his tale, they sit down at a bench, looking at the serene view of the garden before them and the palace building behind it. For the first time since last night, Capitano feels content. 

He is distracted by Tartaglia suddenly moving on his lap. He jumps down and tries to catch something in the air. It's then that Capitano notices it has started snowing, big clumps of snowflakes drifting down lazily, while Tartaglia jumps up to catch them in his mouth. Capitano smiles at the sight, heart fond. 

After a while, the snowfall gets heavier and the wind gets sharper, signaling the end of their stroll outside. 

“Come, let's go inside,” Capitano calls Tartaglia as he stands up. Tartaglia runs up to him and leans on his legs, so Capitano scoops him up and swiftly heads for the garden gates. The wind gets fiercer, howling around them as the weather quickly brings the beginnings of a storm, so Capitano wraps his coat around Tartaglia to protect him from the worst of it as they head for the main gates. 

When they reach Capitano’s room, he quickly lights the fireplace, which Tartaglia swiftly curls in front of in delight, drying his fur. They spend the evening in the room, Capitano tending to his reed calligraphy pens by cutting their dull tips and fashioning them new ones with a knife, while Tartaglia grooms himself at his feet at first, then hops up to the desk to watch him work quietly. 

Capitano has their meals delivered to the room, and watches Tartaglia devour his salmon while idly picking at his own plate, his head full of thoughts. It has already been three days of cohabiting with Tartaglia. How much longer will he be stuck as a fox? No news from Pierro has reached him, so they must still be on the lookout for Dottore’s segment, who became a victim of his irresponsible invention as well. Who knows what kind of animal Dottore turned into; a crow perhaps, or something much more sinister? In any case, he’s the only one who knows how to turn Tartaglia back, unless the other segments help reverse-engineer a cure. Knowing how fickle they can be, however, Capitano knows better than to trust them. Still, three days without news is a long time. Tomorrow he should visit Pierro and ask for updates himself.

After a maid takes away their meal trays, Capitano steps into the shower, and when he emerges in his night clothes ready to sleep, he finds Tartaglia fast asleep in the middle of his bed, curled on top of the covers. 

“Tartaglia,” Capitano calls out to him softly. “You should sleep in your own place.”

Tartaglia doesn't wake up. His chest rises and falls slowly, his breath rustling the fur of his tail wrapped around him. Capitano drags his knuckles over his soft furry head gently, but no response. He spent the whole day in his arms getting carried around like a prized lapdog, how did he tire himself out to sleep that deeply? 

Capitano sighs. His body doesn't require sleep every night anyway. He can catch up on paperwork instead while Tartaglia takes the bed. 

He takes out a spare blanket from his wardrobe and covers Tartaglia's sleeping form with it, then sits at his writing desk and gets to work. With nothing else to distract him, he works through the night, the thought of rest only occurring to him once the early rays of sunrise light up the room. 

Capitano leans back in his chair, stretching his neck muscles and rubbing his overworked hand. He should have taken a break or two, he belatedly realizes. He has a furry responsibility to take care of that requires his full attention and energy. Speaking of, is Tartaglia still asleep? 

He shifts in his chair until he's sitting sideways and looks back at the bed and–

Every muscle in his body locks up instantly upon the sight that greets him. 

Tartaglia. Human once again. Fast asleep in Capitano’s bed. Seemingly naked, the lower half of his body under the blanket Capitano covered him up with. 

Capitano looks at him, completely stunned. Before this, he hadn't even seen Tartaglia without his gloves. Now he sees his bare torso marked with battle scars, his broad shoulders covered in freckles, his strong, calloused hands with slender fingers, an uncharted territory for Capitano’s eyes. Then there is the familiar face Capitano has seen countless times, his boyishly tousled hair casting shadow over his closed, ginger eyelashes, his freckled nose and cheeks, slightly parted pink lips, features softened by sleep. He looks a lot younger without his eerie blue eyes betraying his excellence in danger and experience in battle. 

The moment he realizes what he's doing, Capitano sharply turns his head away, decidedly feeling like a creep for ogling Tartaglia as he sleeps. Well, didn't Tartaglia also watch him sleep the other night, perched on his chest? Now they're even, Capitano tries to argue, but still feels guilty. He still doesn't know for certain if the things Tartaglia did as a fox were truly him. He doesn't know if Tartaglia really liked spending that much time with Capitano, if he truly wasn't scared of his face, if he genuinely wanted to comfort him by sleeping beside him, by licking his corrupted face. 

The other side of the coin, however, is equally as confusing. It was one thing to feel fond of Tartaglia when he was an adorable little woodland creature. Now, after he has turned back to his normal self, does Capitano still feel fondness for him? He tries to conjure up his past annoyance of Tartaglia, but struggles to even remember why he was annoyed by him in the first place. Right, he had misjudged his character and assumed his fixation on violence was nothing more than a tool for selfish bragging, not a way he's been trying to connect with people like he now knows it is. With his prejudice out of the way, how does he truly feel about Tartaglia? Whether he wanted to or not, these past three days have built in Capitano a tolerance for Tartaglia's antics, a desire to indulge him, and a sense of responsibility for his well-being. Weren't these feelings supposed to disappear when he no longer has to take care of Tartaglia? Why does he still feel… affection for him? 

In that moment, Tartaglia shifts in his sleep, yawning and rubbing his eyes. 

His bleary gaze finds Capitano, his eyes widen like saucers immediately and he yelps in panic as he jumps back on the bed. He gets tangled up in the blanket covering him in the process and manages to tumble down the bed and onto the hardwood floor with a booming thud. 

There is a moment of silence as Capitano looks at where he fell, the bed keeping Tartaglia out of sight, his only visible part being his bare feet on the floor. 

“...Captain?” Tartaglia asks, bewilderment making his voice shake a little. 

“...Yes?” 

“Why was I sleeping in your bed naked?”

If it were possible, Capitano's face would have become tomato red from mortification. “It’s– It's not like that.”

“Could you… Could you turn around while I get– Shit, where are my clothes, please tell me I have clothes around here.”

Capitano turns his back to him. “They’re on the chair by the door.”

A shuffling noise, bare feet crossing the floor, the rustling of clothes for a while, then silence. “Alright, you can turn around.”

Capitano gets up from his chair and turns to Tartaglia, now wearing brown pants and a burgundy shirt that's buttoned up properly for once. 

“I owe you an explanation,” Capitano begins, leaning back onto his desk and folding his arms. 

“With all due respect, yeah, no shit,” Tartaglia quips without a smile, obviously rattled. 

The disrespectful response might have annoyed Capitano three days ago. Right now, it doesn't. Tartaglia obviously doesn't have a grasp of what happened in his fox form, and must be scared and disoriented. It's Capitano’s responsibility to calm him down and explain the situation. 

“Do you remember aiding the palace maid Sonya with a problem in Dottore’s room?”

Tartaglia furrows his brows, looking down. “I… I think so. There was a smell, wasn't there?”

“Correct. When you entered the room, the chemical substance inside… Well, it turned you into a fox.”

Tartaglia looks at Capitano dumbly for a couple seconds, then realization dawns on his features. “Wait– You mean that was real? It wasn't a weird dream?”

“It was real. You spent three days as a fox under my care,” Capitano says, unable to resist the urge to scratch his nape in embarrassment. 

Tartaglia's gaze is fixed on a random point as if the forgotten memories come back to him like scenes from a movie playing in front of his eyes. “So that means I actually did all those–”

Tartaglia flushes bright pink, eyes wide with dread. 

“I– I should leave,” he stammers, heading towards the door, “I mean, you wouldn't mind, right? Because–”

“Of course, whenever you want,” Capitano replies, equally awkward. 

“Right? Because I really gotta, I mean I need to– well, yeah. Bye!” He opens the door and all but escapes. 

Capitano takes in the now empty room and lets out a deep breath, trying to digest what just happened. It's understandable that Tartaglia was embarrassed about the things he did in fox form. Maybe even regrets them. Capitano wouldn't blame him. No one would want to be that close to him willingly anyway. 

He looks around his room. It seems a lot emptier now that Tartaglia is gone. It's likely he will never have a reason to come here again. His eyes find the sleeping basket, and he feels a tinge of sadness. 

Which he crushes the moment he recognizes its existence. 

He scoffs at himself, walking over to the blanket on the ground and folding it neatly. He spent three days with Tartaglia and started to miss him already? The moment he left the room? Ridiculous. He should pull himself together. It's probably because he didn't sleep last night that he's thinking all sorts of nonsense right now, like how Tartaglia's human form isn't any less cute than his fox form. Yeah, this is definitely a sign of sleep deprivation. Why else in the world would he ever think Tartaglia is cute? 

He shakes his head at himself, then gets into bed to catch up on some sleep. 

When he wakes up, everything will have turned back to normal. 

***

He wakes up around noon, then pays Pierro a visit to receive updates. Pierro informs him that both Tartaglia and Dottore’s segment have turned back to their usual form without any health problems or permanent effects, and that the segment will be tried for unlawful keeping of dangerous substances in a place where it can harm people. Suits him right, Capitano thinks, then asks about Tartaglia. 

Pierro shuffles the papers on his desk, eyes cast down. “After a medical examination, he confirmed that he remembers the happenings of the last three days fairly accurately. He also stated that while he was in control of his actions, he was in an unusual state of mind throughout his time as an animal.”

This confirms Capitano’s suspicions. 

Pierro finally looks up at Capitano. “When asked, he said he had no complaints about your custody.”

Capitano goes rigid. When he manages to speak, the words come out forced. “He’s too kind.”

Pierro studies him for a moment, then lowers his gaze to the papers again. “If you have any remaining doubts, it would be wise to take them to the Eleventh soon. He has been advised to rest, so he is in his private room, I've been told.”

Capitano is taken aback by having been given this advice by Pierro. Out of all the Harbingers, he is no doubt the closest one to the Director, and this is not the first time they have talked about personal matters, yet it still feels strange that Pierro could read him so easily. 

“Perhaps I should,” he says, thoughtful. “You have my thanks.”

When he's out of Pierro’s office, he has decided. He's going to visit Tartaglia and apologize for his behavior. The fact that Tartaglia didn't mind it in his fox form doesn't change the fact that Capitano let him down and acted shamefully. 

While he practices what he's going to say in his head, he hears a faint conversation that stops him in his tracks. 

“Thank you, Sonya, I appreciate it, but there really was no need,” Tartaglia's voice reaches him, and his heartbeat speeds up instantly. 

“It’s no trouble at all, Sir,” Sonya’s voice replies. “It was the least I could do to apologize for causing that mess in the first place.”

As they talk in quiet tones, Capitano waits awkwardly around the corner for them to finish. When the conversation is over, he silently turns the corner. 

There Tartaglia is, still at the door with his simple brown slacks and burgundy shirt, watching Sonya leave. He looks down at the glass bowl he's holding in his hands, full of what Capitano recognizes as small tea cakes, probably a thoughtful apology gift from Sonya. Tartaglia takes a bite out of one and turns to get back into his room, but his eyes find Capitano on the other side of the corridor. His eyes widen as he chokes on his bite and starts coughing into his hand violently. 

Capitano quickly approaches him with concern and hits his upper back a few times to help him. “Are you alright?”

Tartaglia coughs a couple more times, then clears his throat. “I’m– I'm fine, just, give me a second.”

Capitano waits for him to catch his breath, feeling an additional pang of guilt for scaring him like that and almost making him choke. 

“Whew,” Tartaglia says with exaggerated relief. “Forgot how much I love breathing. Thank you for the reminder, Captain.”

Tartaglia says it with an embarrassed sort of humor, but it just makes Capitano feel bad. He is about to voice that when he notices his hand is still on Tartaglia's back. He takes it away, flustered. He has spent decidedly too much time being physically close to Tartaglia in fox form. He can't believe he got used to it in such little time. 

Since Capitano fails to respond to Tartaglia's little quip, a moment passes in awkward silence. 

“Well,” Tartaglia flounders, then offers the cookie bowl to Capitano. 

“Thank you, I'll pass,” Capitano declines. “I came here because I had something to discuss with you.”

Nervousness crosses Tartaglia's features. “Alright, I'm listening,” he says, and for some reason looks like he dreads what’s coming. 

Capitano takes a deep breath. “I came here to apologize.”

Tartaglia's anxiety turns into bafflement. “Huh?”

“During your second night under my custody, you knocked off my mask by accident while trying to wake me from a nightmare, and instead of appreciating your good intent and ignoring the mistake, I lost my composure and scared you with my rage. It was an inexcusable offense on my part to hurt you while you were in an incapacitated state, and in my care no less. I can't apologize enough.”

Tartaglia seems surprised. “That's it? I mean– No, I'm not offended by that at all, and it was my mistake to knock off your mask, I know how important it is for you. Also, I wasn't that scared anyway, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Capitano looks at him with disbelief. “Are you sure you remember it correctly? I grabbed you roughly, I could have hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, you didn't though, did you? You didn't even yell at me. I know you wouldn't hurt anyone without a good reason, Captain.” Tartaglia leans on the doorframe with his shoulder, eyes fixed on Capitano as he smiles softly. 

Capitano is unable to respond, for mainly two reasons. 

One: He is touched by Tartaglia's confidence in him, even after letting him down. 

And two: He is too distracted by Tartaglia's smile and how pretty it makes him look. 

What. 

Where did this thought come from, wasn't this supposed to be the effect of sleep deprivation? Why does he still find Tartaglia… well, he's not going to say attractive, but– oh, who is he kidding, he just said it in his mind, what is wrong with him? 

Meanwhile, Tartaglia keeps talking, unaware of the mind glitch Capitano is going through. 

“By the way, I wanted to thank you for taking care of me in my time of need. It wasn't your responsibility, yet you still took time out of your busy schedule and spent so much time with me and indulged my whims. Sorry about biting you too. I mean, it was fun, but, yeah, no more biting, I promise.” An awkward laugh. 

Capitano is gritting his teeth. Why was that little laugh so cute. Why was it so cute?! Does his brain still think Tartaglia is a cute little animal? Did he get his wires crossed somehow? How does he fix it? Should he hit his head against a wall? He wants to hit his head against a wall. Right now. Well, not right now, no need to traumatize Tartaglia, he can do it in his room. Which of the four walls of his room is the most likely to receive a headbutt from him and withstand the impact? 

“Also, sorry for watching you sleep sitting on your chest, and making you carry me everywhere, and licking your face, and– well, you get the idea. For getting close to you just because I wanted to. I–I mean– don't think too much about that one. There's no deeper reason as to why I did that, haha, nope, none whatsoever. Yeah.” Tartaglia averts his eyes sheepishly, cheeks blushing pink. 

Capitano wants to touch his flushed cheek affectionately. What is he, a pervert? He should not be permitted within Tartaglia's general vicinity until he pulls himself together. Starting from now. No, not right now, Tartaglia is speaking to him. Oh no, Tartaglia has been speaking to him this whole time. What is he saying again? 

“–I had a great time with you, so don't feel guilty. Although… if you really want to make it up to me, maybe you can, I don't know, buy me a drink sometime?”

“No,” Capitano blurts out. 

Absolutely not. He shouldn't subject Tartaglia to his depraved thoughts about how beautiful his eyes are or how he would like to hold his hand in his. 

“N-No?” Tartaglia's hopeful expression falls as disappointment takes its place. “I mean– It's fine if you don't want to, I just, I just thought–”

Dread spreads in Capitano’s chest. Seeing the strained, heartbroken expression on Tartaglia's face makes him feel like he just kicked a newborn puppy. He can't bear to see him sad, much less be the one who upset him. First a pervert, now a monster, will his crimes ever reach an end? 

“No! I mean, yes!” he flounders. “That's what I meant when I said no.”

Tartaglia frowns at him, confused. “So, you would like to grab a drink with me sometime?” 

“Yes,” Capitano confirms. He would like to spend more time with Tartaglia, these inappropriate thoughts be damned. 

A giddy, radiant grin graces Tartaglia's features. The beauty of the sight almost makes Capitano blind. 

“Great! Are you free this saturday evening?”

Capitano simply nods, not trusting his voice. 

“Then it's decided! I'll pick you up around six. In the meantime, you know where to find me,” Tartaglia says playfully with a wink, then hands Capitano a tea cake from the bowl and goes back to his room. 

Capitano stands there for a moment, stunned. When he manages to move, his legs take him to his room with rigid steps, and his strayed brain cells gradually return to their place as he reaches his room and closes the door. He puts the tea cake on his table and takes off his mask, his hands first pressing against his face, then sliding up to clutch his hair. 

What was that? 

He has never been more stupefied in his life, nor has he acted more embarrassingly. What even happened during that conversation–

Oh, right. He realized that he thinks Tartaglia is pretty. 

And Tartaglia asked him on a… date?

And he said yes. 

Alright, Capitano thinks as he starts to pace, trying not to panic. He can still back out before Tartaglia notices what a big mistake he has made, before he realizes Capitano is… 

He stops. 

There is nothing for him to discover. Tartaglia has already seen Capitano at his worst. 

And he still asked him out. He was heartbroken when he was rejected, and was overjoyed when Capitano accepted his offer. Why? 

Capitano sighs, then his eyes find the tea cake on the table. He walks up to it and picks it up, inspecting it as he thinks. 

He didn't say yes only to make Tartaglia happy. He did it because he wanted to spend more time with Tartaglia, to try to get to know him better before work inevitably seperates them, before a layer of dust is draped over their time together these past three days. He wants there to be something more, in whatever shape or form it comes in. 

Besides, it's just one evening out. If nothing, he can ask Tartaglia why he won't run away from him. 

He thinks of the first time he asked Tartaglia that, just yesterday morning, when he was sitting on his chest as a fox. He had licked his uncovered face as a response. 

Capitano smiles to himself, and takes a bite out of the tea cake. 

Hopefully this time Tartaglia won't answer the question by licking his mask.