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“I met someone interesting today.”
It had been casual when Mona said it. And Wanderer raises his head just to see that she wasn't even looking at him, but is still busy tweaking her scryglass. She wasn’t wearing her hat tonight, so Wanderer can clearly see her expression without any obstructions. Her seafoam-green eyes were shining particularly brilliant as she worked, and he would've loved nothing more than to stare at her pretty face, if not for his gaze dropping towards her scryglass.
The constellation in the middle is a rabbit—or is it a hare? Nonetheless, Wanderer did not know why he didn't like it.
“He reminds me of you, a little.” Mona continues, humming a soft tune he'd grown familiar with, helping herself to the fontainian chocolates he totally didn't buy for her. “So good,” she sighed contentedly, popping another one in her mouth, doing a little wiggle as she did so. Normally, seeing her like this made his mood lighter, made everything in his vision just a little bit brighter, made his insides tingle with such an intense fondness that made him want to burn everything down to ashes.
Tonight, however, didn’t make him feel such things. All he knows is that he’s feeling intensely, inexplicably, unpleasant.
“He said he was—err, what was the term? Ah yes—he said he was something of a sadist,” she put a finger on her chin thoughtfully, as if she had forgotten something, “a masochist too, how contradictory—it was definitely the weirdest introduction I’ve ever heard. He was very straightforward with it, too.”
His expression sours, and Wanderer cocks his head to the side with a scoff, “What? How is that similar to me?” there was something ugly churning up in his gut, and his frown deepens when Mona doesn't immediately respond. She was teasing him, based on the way her lips twitched in amusement.
Bratty witch.
“I was reminded of your stories during your fatui days, based on what you told me, you also seem to—uh, find pleasure when tormenting others,” she bit her lip, clearly trying to suppress her giggles. "Nevermind the masochist part.”
“I’m not a fucking sadist—stop wording it like that, it makes me look like a creep,” he argued, a deep scowl ruining that pretty face of his. “Where'd you even meet this guy? He sounds dangerous, Mona,” he adds seriously, a hint of worry in his tone.
She twists her body towards him, leaning on her arm for support so she wouldn't fall down, “My intuition told me that he isn't. Besides, he's part of the Knights of Favonius—the vice captain of the fifth company, if I’m remembering correctly—I came across him earlier this morning,” there was a smile on her lips that Wanderer certainly wasn’t pleased with, “he was supposedly ‘training’ his subordinates—though it certainly didn’t seem that way,” she laughs lightly, amused by whatever it is she remembered.
He, on the other hand, is not amused at all.
“He was actively terrorizing them,” she muses, “they’d been target shooting and he’s just—just standing there like a maniac, holding the target itself, his poor subordinates were shaking so much.” Mona reaches for another piece of chocolate, but Wanderer snatches the box from her lap before she’s able to.
“Hey! That’s mine!” Mona whines like the entitled brat she is, her scryglass dissipating as she stretches out her free hand in an attempt to retrieve the sweets, struggling as she did so because the scumbag kept on moving it out of her reach.
“Give it back—”
“Funny, I don’t seem to recall you paying for it,” Wanderer replies, voice thick with sarcasm, “why don’t you finish that little story of yours and maybe I’ll change my mind.”
“You’re being childish,” she points out, irritated, still trying to reach the chocolate from her companion’s hand. “Give me—” she was pouting, but Wanderer did not budge. He does not indulge her, as he often tends to; too annoyed to entertain her whims, rage simmering in his belly at the thought that another man made his girl laugh.
It was agonizing to think about.
Mona must've noticed his dissatisfaction, “I watched them for a time and then he approached me,” she glares at him, finally giving up and settling back down, crossing her arms across her chest; petulant. “We just talked for a while, and then we went our separate ways,” she sharpens her glare—or at least she tries to—but it did little to intimidate Wanderer, especially because he knows that her anger is nothing more than a childish tantrum over some treats.
“There, happy now?”
Instead of answering, Wanderer’s eyebrow arches, “Talked?” he echoes, lips curling into a scowl. “What did you talk about?”
“Archons,” Mona rolls her eyes, exasperated, “why are you suddenly like this—he introduced himself to me like a normal person—well, not entirely, he certainly had an introduction that's by any means not normal at all if we're going by societal norms—” Mona catches herself mid-sentence, clearing her throat before continuing. “But that's besides the point. He didn't do anything suspicious and we continued talking like civilized people. I fail to understand why you’re so insistent on—”
She blinks, and Wanderer could practically see the gears turning inside that brilliant mind of hers. For an erudite scholar who can divine the fate of others with a single glance, she sure took her time figuring out why her companion had been so irritable.
“You’re jealous,” she points out carefully.
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, “I wonder what gave it away,” he responds flatly, setting down the box of chocolates between them once more. He falls silent after that, and Mona just sits there, weaving her fingers together, then untangling them; restless and awkward, unable to find her voice. Wanderer does nothing, just stares at her expectantly, his gaze the color of the ocean, deep and breathtaking and intense—he’s sulking, like a child who had the attention of his mother taken from him.
She… feels the slightest twinge of guilt in her chest.
Which was absurd. Why would she feel guilty when she'd done nothing wrong? She would never even think about cheating, it’s immoral, it's wrong, and would basically go against everything she stood for. Her friends know this. Wanderer knows this. Hell, even that wrinkled, decrepit old hag knows this.
If anything, he was the one in the wrong for feeling jealousy when he has absolutely no reason to.
“Do you really have such little trust in me?” she could not help the hurt that seeped into her tone, “Do you really think that I’d—”
“No!” he was quick to cut her off, frustration evident in his features. “No, that’s not what I meant. Of course I trust you. It’s those bastards out there that I don’t. Just the thought of them getting close to you—” Wanderer ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath—“fuck, what if you got hurt, Mona?”
“You do know that you're getting yourself worked up over nothing, right?” Similar to him, Mona was also getting more annoyed by the minute, she didn’t like the implications behind those words, “I can take care of myself just fine, you know. I’m not some damsel that needs saving.”
“I know that. Believe me, I do. But clearly, this isn't just ‘nothing’ to me,” he retorts quickly, his frown deepening. “You think I like feeling this way?” he added, quietly this time, almost as if he didn’t want her to hear, refusing to show her even a glimpse of his fragility; scared, even now, of being vulnerable to others.
“Three,” he’d blurted out suddenly as he was laying on her lap, on the brand new couch he’d bought her, eyes closed as she weaved her fingers through his hair.
“Hm?” Mona hums, her eyes leaving the latest Steambird article to look down at her companion, “What’s that? Your lucky number or something?” she jokes, and watches as his eyelids flutter open; revealing that deep indigo that always seems to pull her in.
“No,” the melancholic ring of his tone catches her off guard and her hand freezes, still tangled in his hair. There’s a weariness in his irises that she isn’t familiar with; a somberness in his gaze that doesn’t fit those arrogant features. “It’s the number of times that I’ve been betrayed by those I had deemed precious to me,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid that even the slightest raise of volume would equate to a scream.
“One was a God,” his voice turns bitter at the memory, almost angry, like one would when recalling a relative they hate. “One was a human,” the crease in his eyebrows softens a bit, “and one was merely a child.” He does not provide further details, and Mona does not probe any further, opting instead to put down her newspaper and resume playing with his hair.
“I joined the Fatui afterwards, with nothing but hatred in my being; even got myself the Sixth seat—in just a few months, too—aren’t you proud of me?” he snorts, followed by a light chuckle; like he isn’t basically narrating his tragic backstory to her. Mona responds with a roll of her eyes and a firm tug of his hair, making Wanderer wince in pain; even though she’s a hundred percent sure that it does not hurt at all.
“Violent woman.”
“Just continue, scumbag.”
“Fine,” he had the audacity to mimic her and give a much exaggerated eyeroll, “I managed to get the electro gnosis and was on my merry way to becoming a god.”
“Now you’re just lying,” Mona was quick to voice out her disagreement; shaking her head and laughing at the absurdity of the sentence that just came out of his mouth. The electro archon is a fearsome deity, based on all the Inazuman literature she’d consumed in her lifetime, there’s no way that she’d let the semblance of her godhood be taken just like that.
Displeased, Wanderer lifted a hand to pinch her cheek, “I’m not lying, witch. I even visited you to gloat before journeying to Sumeru.” Now that, she can believe; it definitely seemed like something he would do. But he must’ve been greatly offended, if the deep scowl on his face was anything to go by, “You even warned me about it; said that I’d lose everything in the end—which was totally untrue, by the way.”
Now it was her turn to be offended—even if she’d forgotten, there’s absolutely no way that her reading was wrong. “How dare you say that? My hydromancy has never been inaccurate, I tell nothing but the truth in every divination, no matter how—how cruel or unappealing they may be. You, sir, are definitely lying.”
To his credit, Wanderer did seem to backtrack a bit—emphasis on ‘a bit’, “My bad, I actually meant to say ‘half-true’.”
It did not make her feel any better.
“I told you already, I don't like people who lie to me.”
“Who said I was lying?”
Mona is gripping his hair now, hard enough to actually hurt this time, and yet her companion's face remains unchanged—an arrogant smirk on his lips, a direct challenge to her pride as an astrologist—it was infuriating.
To her absolute annoyance, he continued to talk. “I later learned the truth about my betrayals, and foolishly tried to erase my existence from this cursed world, hoping that it might actually fix things,” his prideful tone has morphed into frustration now; the way his emotions seem to change at the drop of a hat is so heartbreakingly human that Mona often forgets that he is an artificial being.
“Did it work?” She could not stop herself from asking, even if she already knew his answer.
“No. It was stupid of me to even think that it would, I didn't help anyone,” he drapes an arm over his eyes, a sigh escaping him, clearly disappointed by the memory. “In the end, what you said did come true, the world forgot me—I lost everything.”
Seafoam-green eyes soften, “But you gained freedom, didn't you?” she says softly, “fate has given you a chance to do things right, this time around—a fresh start.”
“Someone like me—a person who's done nothing but hurt and take from others doesn't deserve that. I don't—”
“Shush,” she uses her free hand to flick his forehead, “the fact that you don't think you deserve forgiveness tells me that you are not truly as evil as you make yourself out to be. To me, you are a person who is aware of his sins and is desperately looking for a way to atone for them. So shut up and just agree with me, scumbag.”
Wanderer does not move from her lap, nor does he say anything, so Mona continues; her haughtiness returning as she harrumphs brattily, “Besides, liars don't get to argue against me. You told me that my divination was wrong when it wasn't—you did lose everything as the Great Astrologist Mona Megistus had predicted."
“Hm. I stand by what I said,” he moves his arm upwards, peeking up at her. The look in his eyes is the softest she's ever seen and there's an uncharacteristically fond smile on his face—Mona actually had to avert her gaze, lest she be blinded by his beauty.
She scrunches her nose, displeased, “What?”
Wanderer shrugs, “Well,” his tone is casual, like he’s discussing something that is an undeniable fact, “You're here right now, aren't you?”
Goddamn it, why is she remembering that conversation right now of all times?
Still, the memory tugs at her heartstrings and Mona purses her lips, relenting, “Fine.” She opens her arms, red-faced, “Come here.”
She usually dislikes showing physical affection. Years of living with her master did nothing to break down the towering walls around her heart—if anything, the old hag only made it higher, regarding romance as nothing but a childish endeavor that serves nothing in the grand scheme of things; a hindrance towards the goal they work so hard to reach. She'd never really done romance before.
Sure, she may have had a tiny little crush on Albedo, but really, who wouldn't? The golden child of the Hexenzirkel, acknowledged by her master even when she herself is looked down upon like dust on a shelf.
Albedo, who is good at everything he attempts to do. Albedo, who earned his place in the nation of freedom shortly after he arrived. Albedo, who made the people of Mondstadt revere alchemy while astrology remains something to be avoided; her divinations labeled as falsehood when the truth becomes just a little bit ugly to hear.
Albedo, who is a gentleman, handsome and soft-spoken; the epitome of perfection, made specifically to prove that flawlessness could exist in the world. How can she not admire him?
(How can she not loathe him?)
“…What are you doing?”
Enter Wanderer, the mysterious, enigmatic man from Sumeru—dark hair, dark eyes, and an even darker past—he went by another name, once, when he was still a Harbinger. The Sixth, Scaramouche, as he told her; Mona herself can't remember much from that time, but she was certain that there was something between them. Maybe it was hate, based on the endless arguments and drawn blades that existed somewhere in the blurry space of her memories. Or maybe it was something entirely different, if the hazy memories of intertwined hands and entangled bodies were anything to go by.
But that was neither here nor there. What matters is that he'd finally freed himself from that horrible, horrible path. He is now a student of the Vahumana Darshan at the akademiya, the right-hand man of the dendro archon herself—Mona couldn’t be more proud.
“I’m offering you a hug, scumbag.”
Something in his gaze shifts then, “Why?” There was a small smirk on his lips, the bastard. Mona's cheeks redden, her stretched out arms drooping slightly as she bites her inner cheek out of embarrassment.
“…Because I want to?”
“You don't sound very sure.”
Mona's eyebrow twitches in annoyance, why is he being so difficult? “Fine then, have it your way,” Mona crosses her arms with a hmph, nose upturned and her mood souring. Here she is, trying to make him feel better and lowering her pride so the night isn't ruined and he dares to—
Her vision spins, and Mona suddenly finds herself enclosed within strong arms, her back against his chest, the sleeves of his kimono draping over her body like a blanket as Wanderer rests his chin on the top of her head. His mood has visibly improved, which was unexpected—it usually took longer for her to console him in the past.
Then again, this is the first time she tried this method. Huh, if it’s this effective, then she’d do good to use this tactic again in the future.
“I'm kidding. After all, who would dare to refuse a hug from the genius astrologist Mona Megistus?” She couldn't see his face, but the amusement in his tone was enough to irritate her some more. “Heh, so even you can act cute once in a while,” he adds, quieter this time, a bit dazed, like he just woke up and was still half-dreaming.
It’s moments like these where Mona finds herself at her weakest—reduced to a blushing mess like a teenager experiencing their first crush. It’s truly unbearable.
Gone is the prideful scholar that hides behind her sharp tongue and deliberate arrogance. Gone is Mona Megistus, the enigmatic fortuneteller; always keeping everyone at arm’s length. Too afraid to get close to others, too focused on her pursuit of the truth, never looking anywhere but upwards—always upwards; swearing her loyalty to the stars and the stars alone.
And yet, and yet, and yet—
“What should I do, Megistus? You make me want to burn everything down to ashes.”
—she unravels for the man with the enchanting indigo eyes.
A hand rose to pinch softly at her cheek, and Mona leans into his touch like a moth chasing a flame. Wanderer has always had a way of getting past her thick walls, of knowing exactly what to do to open up her steeled heart and bringing out the moony-eyed girl that craves to have everything her master had forbidden from her.
“That's bad,” it was out of her mouth before she could even think. Mona cursed at herself, her face positively glowing crimson once she realized how childish she sounded. She buried her face in her palms, shame gripping her chest like a vice—and it didn't help that she could hear the laughter of the insensitive, insufferable man above her.
Archons above, do me a favor and strike me down where I stand.
“That's bad,” Wanderer's tone was nothing short of infuriating, exaggeratingly copying her tone and chuckling as he did so. “Fine then, I guess I have no choice but to remain the good guy,” and then he was laughing again. Mona wanted to tear his face off.
“You absolute scumbag, how dare you—”
“However,” he cuts her off, a shit-eating grin on his face, this can't be good, “I do expect you to take responsibility."
Brows furrowing and eyes narrowed, Mona craned her head backwards, trying her best to look at him; which proved to be rather difficult since she was not an owl who can twist its head all the way around—still, she persists, opting to twist her body as well. “What are you up to now?” There was a thunderous scowl on her face that only seemed to further fuel Wanderer’s amusement, much to Mona’s dismay.
If anything, that infuriating grin he wore widens some more, as he leans his head on his knee to meet her gaze, “Being a hero can be a very taxing job, you know? The mental fortitude needed just to not fall back on my villainous ways alone is already exhausting me out everyday,” his voice comes out in that overly dramatic tone that never fails to make her roll her eyes. “Don't you think that I deserve a reward?”
Still, she couldn't help the grin that tugged at her lips.
“Oh?” Mona decides to match his dramatics, raises an eyebrow to challenge him; after all, Wanderer's playfulness is something that he very rarely allows to surface—surely, she could indulge him just this once. “And what kind of reward could possibly be worthy of your valiant self? I’m afraid I do not have much to offer, good sir.”
“A hero doesn’t ask for much,” he gives her a charming grin and just like that, Mona is gone, “a kiss will do.”
Of course, she already knew that that’s what he’ll ask for. Wanderer always, always manages to come up with the most ridiculous ideas just to kiss her, whether it’s an excuse he'd just pulled right out of his ass, or a convoluted plan that took him hours to win her over—Wanderer always found a way. It's the former this time around, and Mona has half a mind to reject him, a bit offended by the lack of effort.
But then those dark irises of his lights up, and Mona finds herself too entranced, unable to look away. Unable to deny him.
“Well, I suppose I can—”
She hadn't even finished speaking when Wanderer—ever the impatient man—leans forward to capture her lips in a sweet, indulgent kiss. It was a rare show of gentleness from him—he’d normally kiss her with the ferocity of a man dying of hunger, greedy and rough, unrelenting in a way that rendered her breathless within seconds. His earlier jealousy suggested the same—that he’d just be his usual, rough self.
But this time, there was none of that; Wanderer took his time with her, slow and gentle, like he's savoring every moment and burning it into his memory. And just as he is uncharacteristically gentle, Wanderer surprises her yet again by being the first to pull away.
“Y-You—” Mona starts, unconsciously leaning forward in an attempt to chase his lips, dazed— “why did you—” she looked frustrated, then confused— “did I—did I do something wrong?”
Gods, why does she sound so pathetic?
“Oh?” Indigo eyes twinkle with mischief.
Under Wanderer’s amused gaze, Mona visibly shrinks from embarrassment, her face positively glowing crimson as she tries to save face. “No! T-That’s not what I—Wanderer,” her tone is desperate as she glares at him, “I wasn’t—stop looking at me like that you scumbag—”
“I mean,” she can hear the smirk in his voice, “if it’s another kiss you want, you can just ask.”
“No!” Mona was quick to reject him this time, using her hands to cover that big, lying mouth of his, how dare he humiliate her like this? “Don’t make up stories—I never said that! I don’t want any of your—your stupid kisses! I just—”
Try as she might, Mona couldn’t find the proper words to explain herself. Maybe because she had no idea why she said what she said in the first place.
That, or maybe because she keeps getting distracted by certain…things. Things that definitely do not involve a certain idiot that’s trying a bit too hard to contain his fit of giggles. In any case, Mona was totally at a loss as to why she keeps on stumbling over her sentences.
It’s his fault. She concludes, looks up at the grinning Wanderer disapprovingly. I hate him.
“So, what will it be then, Astrologist?”
He drew closer, still smirking, annoyingly smug, eyelashes fluttering—and those deep, enchanting eyes. Mona wanted to look away and yet she physically couldn’t, too transfixed by his otherworldly beauty; surely, surely, it would be the most gravest of sins to look away.
“...Fine,” Mona didn’t miss the flicker of triumph that flashed through his eyes, “let’s go home.”
No sooner had she finished speaking did Wanderer pick her up (how did he stand up so fast?) and suddenly took off. Mona let out a scream as she desperately clung to him, the world getting smaller below them as Wanderer soared through the sky like a madman. Her heart raced in her ribcage, pounding so loudly at the suddenness of it all. And like a frightened child, she buried her face in his shoulder, refusing to look down.
There was a rumbling in his chest, it took her a few moments to realize that he was laughing.
“You—You—!” Mona wanted to scold him, scream in his ear about how reckless he was being, demand for him to let her down and that she had changed her mind. But she felt his hands slip for a moment, and then she was scrambling to steady herself; closing her eyes shut and tightening her hold on his neck, hanging onto him like a baby koala.
“Scared, Megistus?” His laughter grew louder, but he still adjusted his hold, his grip growing firmer to reassure her. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he whispered near her ear, “stop hiding, look,” he urged gently, stopping in his tracks and waiting for her response.
Against her better judgement, Mona slowly opens her eyes, lifts her head—and gasps.
“It’s so pretty,” ten-year-old Mona held her face on the glass, her cheeks squished adorably as she marveled at the astrolabe in front of her. Shiny, golden, small yet intricate. It was everything she could ever want.
Elated, Mona bounds up to her master, her twin tails bouncing as she tugged at Barbeloth’s skirt.
“What is it now, child?” Her master’s tone is indifferent, icy blue eyes locking down on her like a hawk, her towering figure casting shadows over Mona’s own small stature. If it was any other child, they would have bolted by now, but Mona is clearly different, her seafoam eyes shining with joy as she pointed towards the antique shop.
“I want that! Can I have it? Buy it for me!” Mona wastes no time dragging Barbeloth towards the display, pointing persistently at the astrolabe and insisting that her master buy it for her.
“Hmm,” Mona watched intently as Barbeloth studied the astrolabe, her eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in displeasure. Minutes continued to pass by, and slowly, Mona’s heart began to sink; she was losing hope. Why did she even bother to—
“A fine choice, dear student.”
Mona whips her head upwards, stares at her master in disbelief. Barbeloth is smiling, an extremely rare phenomenon, the blue of her eyes warming—and was that pride just now?
No, this must be the wrong person.
“Come, Mona.”
She hesitates, but follows inside, convinced that she must be dreaming.
When Mona is handed the astrolabe, she clutches it close to her chest, thinks back to the smile her master has given her, and says nothing.
“See?” It is Wanderer’s voice that brings her back to the present, his smooth baritone that reminds her not to dwell on the past, not to cling to bygone memories of her childhood.
Barbeloth is her master. Her master and nothing more.
Mona doesn’t respond, her earlier fears forgotten as her hand reaches upwards, “I feel like I can touch them, I want to—can I?” Mona had already thought that the view from Starsnatch cliff was already enough, that nothing can surpass the clarity of the stars from there. But now, up in the sky, it felt almost surreal, like she could simply reach out and starlight would dance at her fingertips.
She looks towards him, eyes twinkling like a child—was it from her own excitement, or the reflection of the stars around them? She catches sight of Wanderer’s face, the look of utter amazement on his features, the undeniable look of worship in his eyes—it was as if he was seeing a goddess descend right in front of him.
“Thank you,” she says earnestly, rewarding him with a peck on his cheek. “Thank you for showing me this,” even though you don’t believe in the stars.
She kisses him on the cheek again, but this time, Wanderer turns his head so that his lips meet hers instead. His earlier softness is gone, and he reverts back onto his familiar, unrelenting rhythm; devouring her lips so desperately like he wanted to become part of her.
For a moment, she is deathly afraid of falling again, but Wanderer’s grip remains resolute, his embrace tightening as he pulls her closer. Terrified of letting her go, even for a moment.
Mona is panting when they break apart, her lips swollen. Wanderer is still dazed, still looking at her with eyes that shone with reverence that Mona almost feels embarrassed. Does she really deserve it? She, who still has nothing to prove herself with? She, who has nothing to offer him?
But then he leans his forehead against her; soft, a stark contrast to his earlier roughness. And Mona decides that it doesn’t matter right now. Wanderer has chosen her, no matter how flawed she is, no matter how many times she pushed him away—he still remained by her side.
And that is something that the world couldn’t take from her. No, she simply would not allow it.
“You’re beautiful,” Wanderer is breathless, even though he didn’t even need to breathe. Then, with those indigo blue eyes overflowing with sincerity—
“Marry me, Mona.”