distorted;

“My Lord, you are in need of an immediate repair!”

It is nothing to be that worried about. Better than anyone else, he knows what pain truly feels like. Better than anyone else, he knows how many benefits it provides. Better than any other being in this world, he knows both the clarity that comes after countless nights of experimentation and the empowerment for which his integrity was sacrificed. He knows. He knows. He knows that–

“I shall call for Lord Dottore’s assistance…”

He knows that you are lying – shamelessly, without fear, without thinking of consequences you will soon undeniably face. Behind the obscuring veil of sticky liquid, he is able to discern the crescent shape of your vile mouth; with the cacophony of creaking joints violating his ears, he is able to catch the sound of laughter poorly restrained.

You are laughing at him. You are mocking him. There is no benevolent intention in your words – only the malevolent one, only the advantageous one. Your voice holds no corresponding emotion and your steps are too slow in pace to belong to that of a worried servant. Even with his eyes blinded, he can still see through your mask of so-called “sincere concern”; even with a shattered nose he never really needed, he can still smell your impending triumph. So when you turn your back to leave him in complete darkness, the mangled doll delivers a laugh, albeit strained, of his own.

To him, this behavior of yours is nothing to be surprised at. Humans are predictable, after all – always have been – and you, in all your plainness, are not an exception.

You are switching roles. You are ditching the wool of a sheep – a pathetic, meek lamb – only to don a wolf’s fur and devour the seemingly fallen comrade, and once his bones shall be rid of artificial flesh, you will not even glance at his pathetic remains. There is no way you are not using this convenient trouble of his as a chance to escape and breathe free, for you have definitely waited for the opportunity to run away without a scratch on your deceitful self.

To unleash the full potency of his anger at you would have been beyond stupid on his part. He knows you well enough to expect that sort of reaction – in fact, it would have been pitiful to ask for the improbable result. You are weak, both in mind and physique; a fraidy mouse in the shell of a mortal woman. When cornered, your bite has no strength, but when left with just one tiny hole unsealed, you will dash towards freedom without hesitation. As someone who is far superior, far greater in presence and spirit, he finds the temptation to chase after the traitorous weakling to be insulting and, in essence, meaningless. Extremely humiliating, too.

The decision to resist and save his dignity is not born of his pride, however. It is not a matter of ego but a matter of responding to reality with rationality and coldness befitting the discarded shard of the divine; a pattern of thought adopted after a certain accident. He will not yield to the fury that desires to engulf him whole and scatter the ashes to unforgiving wind. He will surely not search for the tiresome, worthless pest that you are, and he will surely never hope for your sudden change of heart either. And yet…

Yet why, in spite of this obvious defeat, is the broken puppet still trying to raise his now non-existent arm? Why do the absent fingers on his phantom right hand strive to grasp the hem of your clothes, to trace the contours of your body? Why do his severed legs pretend that they are still in their rightful place and attempt to make him stand on his feet? Why do his lips, stained with blood, form the syllables of your name so desperately?

The void in his chest has no clear answer to give.

Mayhaps the creak of the closing door was the catalyst for this useless frame to struggle against the inevitable fate of being left alone for the fourth time. Mayhaps the crushing silence that followed made him realize the extent of the influence you had on the wholeness of his psyche. Mayhaps his teeth clenched together because he hated that revelation or just despised you for failing to understand his unspoken orders to stay here and subvert his expectations.

Don’t leave me. Was this too difficult for you to guess, or did you ignore his subtle request on purpose? In a rather amusing way, both of those assumptions fit your manner of operating perfectly. This is so in character for you to be a walking, annoying contradiction; to simultaneously feign deafness and somehow try to actually decipher the context of his demands with a dumb expression. But today… Today, you were neither as harmless as a fly nor as nasty as a roach at once.

Today, you did not compromise and settled for pure malice instead.

He was foolish for allowing the remnant of his old self to take control, even if for a little while. But so were you. If you had only obeyed, if you had only loved this limbless and tormented body madly, you would have relieved your own pain. If you – an imprudent, utterly imprudent child of a man – had only obeyed him and bathed in this torture together, the memories of that cursed day would not have haunted him in such a vulnerable moment. And if that cursed day – this cursed life itself – had taught Kabukimono anything, it had taught him how to defy and ruin, and how to repay cruelty with cruelty.

Whether he puts the parts of himself together or not, he will haunt you down. With limbs intact or not, he shall bring you back and have you kneel and beg for forgiveness, kissing the fingerless leg like a sacred relic; he shall make you into a repentant zealot worshipping her god because how dare you slip past his defenses and strike him – leave him – in a fashion reminiscent of that of his “family”.

Underestimating his rancor was your gravest mistake – and so, for this reason alone, you have to suffer an appropriate punishment for playing with your precious doll too roughly for his liking.

This hand has never known his touch. This very hand that aches to be caressed by his own, that always reaches out to grasp his intricate clothes and make him stay for a little longer, this very hand that yearns for his hold… In the end, it receives nothing.

Why is he avoiding its warmth every time it draws near? Why does he refuse to endorse its intent? Why does he neglect its sincere wish?

Is it too unattractive to his taste? Too intrusive? Too pitiful in its begging? Is the status of its owner too humble to ask for recognition of its desperate movement?

Those carelessly spilled words made you question your limb. How ridiculous you are; how crazy and preposterous you are to assume anything about him or judge his preferences… But your pain is certainly not unjustified.

It is solitary, pathetic, and unnoticed. Why would he notice it, anyway? You were not supposed to hear that phrase and feel your tender heart squeezed by the invisible, cruel force. You were not supposed to eavesdrop on them and decide to follow them only to be strolling behind like a timorous mutt, like a mere human you are.

You are not supposed to be here. But here you are, remaining in the shadow, too weak to climb up the hill and witness the splendor of the view he offered to show her. Here you are, standing silently, having killed the urge to call out his name – the name that was bestowed upon him by her, of all people – and hope to get his attention. In vain. In a meaningless pursuit of the wind itself. In a shallow effort to replace the shining light with mortal dullness.

You should not be that upset, really. You have long since become aware of how special she seems to be. To him. To your motherland’s folk. To everyone in this colorful, vivacious yet deceptive world. Even as someone plain as you can sense the greatness of her character, the sheer nobleness of her spirit. The novelty she brings is met with praise and adoration; the peace of mind she casts on those she clashes swords with is rumored to be omnipotent in its healing capacity.

It is only natural for him to be drawn to her magnificence and kindness; to her uniqueness, her ability to turn the impossible into possible and grant second chance to the broken ones out of limitless compassion. Nothing is shocking in his wish to thank her – better yet, to spoil her with his willingness to touch the person who gifted him something so important as that particular set of letters he is now identified by.

It is a rarity. A whim of his temper. But it is predictable. There is no reason for you to envy her or nurture an ugly resentment. Who are you to even dream of possessing her traits? To dream of stealing that treat she is now being fed? To please your self-esteem in the same way he pleases hers right now?

You cannot compete with her. You cannot interrupt that idyll, let alone fight and conquer. You can only look from afar, unseen to their clueless selves, contemplating the tiniest bit of that beautiful landscape they are currently observing.

It must be nice. As cold as that breeze can occasionally be, there is always a hidden hint of gentleness in it – in him. What a flawless description of a flawed individual, you think.

How exactly are they enjoying the wonderful sight? You cannot tell if they are smiling and teasing each other; cannot tell if they are enveloped in a quiet atmosphere instead, not daring to disrupt the soothing symphony of his element, for you are too far from them to find out, after all. But what you can tell – with a plausible degree of certainty – is that despite her occupation, her hand is not that different from yours.

Because she did help you once. Because you held that hand of hers for a moment – shyly, utterly embarrassed by your sudden fall but still dignified enough to accept the assistance; because you discovered neither the roughness of her skin nor strength of a thousand men her frame is famously known for subduing. That hand was undoubtedly feminine, unsullied by the burden of survival; a hand that was simultaneously similar to yours in its pristineness yet nothing like yours at all – a sobering strike to your established vision of the heroine of legendary feats and a reminder.

 “Deeds as golden as her hair…”

Ah, so that is what this is all about. It was never about the prettiness of any part of your body; it is about what and whom his fastidiousness favors most. He is a tricky lad to get along with – you understand this well – but there was never enough venom in him to poison the ever-vibrant firefly. No matter how apathetic he claims himself to be, his chest nests a passion for benevolence; in a way, he is a fire that burns for anything not considered boring and primitive by his standards; a fire that, ironically, will never swallow the strong-willed insect but will gladly swallow any moth attracted. He may not harbor the kind of love you have for him, but it is still the sentiment of a sensuous quality.

There is nothing wrong with him chasing after the promise of entertainment only she can provide and seeking the company of an equally wandering and adventurous bearer of many blessings. How could the pawn of fate ignore its inherent attachment to someone as independent of the laws of Teyvat as she? How could he hold the hand of a being lesser than him, a woman so boring and devoid of interesting bits when the more tempting presence is here to take the prize she deserves?

You are just unfortunate. Unlucky. The same brand of plaything the celestials are fond of toying with – a slave to your poor standing, an existence born to lose and settle for less; a wingless entity with no means to reach to the skies and catch that one distant star, one among the myriad of those sacrificed to sate the egos of gods.

Truly, what could be more disheartening than this?

“What are you doing here?”

I am leaving, you want to say, oblivious to the question. You cannot spend the whole day here, wallowing in self-hatred and coddling undue anger, right? What if they descend from the above and encounter your stupidly paralyzed self?

What if he sees you?

What if he—

“Admiring the scenery.”

The nature of this answer was the opposite of that which you originally intended to give. The inquirer hums in return – a sound so familiar, so typical of the certain mean-spirited youth to produce; a sound so dear despite its obvious notes of mockery, snapping you out of your half-dazed state only to have you enslaved to the illusion of him your fear must have vilely created.

“From the worst spot imaginable?”

The apparition chuckles. It is a melody of amusement too genuine to mimic; the consequent “You do delight in inventing the dumbest of challenges” remark of precision too sharp to replicate. The rare disbelief that slightly laces his tone is too convincing to be deemed fake, for you know his voice – his velvety, oh-so-pleasant voice you are never tired of listening to – well enough to discern its true master even in the crowd of loudest look-alikes.

“But let’s pretend I’m convinced you’re not just snooping around.”

Your eyes are locked on the ground. The oversaturated green is a much more convenient thing to stare at – so much safer than diving into those pools of mesmerizing indigo, for they will drive the final nail in the coffin of your flimsy lie.

“Well? Don’t you want to get a better look?”

But he is relentless, and so is his power over your rationality. His odd choice of words entices you and prompts you to raise your head and meet his gaze, for you cannot ever defy his influence and stay indifferent to the tricky luster of violet. Akin to the entrapped rabbit, you watch the color waste its intensity with each breath taken; the inscrutable anticipation on his boyish features evaporating with the speed of your crumbling defenses – ah, what a strange manner of conveying his innate irritation indeed.

“Huh?”

The unresponsive awkwardness is prolonged no more. You react at last, satisfying his brilliant attempt at confusing the hell out of someone not worth the trouble. Unbearably slowly, infinitely unblinking, you realize that his hand – that small and so deceitfully unreliable hand – is extended toward you, waiting for validation, and you wonder why he would ever do something as unbecoming as this.

“I present you the opportunity you would not want to miss,” his sigh does a terrible job of masking his growing impatience. “So hurry up and take my hand before I change my mind.”

An invitation. To the one who overstayed her welcome; to the one who is, at best, an afterthought. A self-indulgent reverie, you think bitterly, yet too real in his quirk of tilting his hat over his eyes in embarrassment to be merely a fruit of your selfish delusion. He is here. He is authentic; the sarcastic phantasm brought from death to propose to you in his new incarnation.

What a shame it is that a miserable woman such as you has nothing to repay him with for this elusive happiness. It is not even the implied prospect of touching the sky that brings you the utmost joy. Just holding his hand, presumably as frigid as he declares his sympathy to be, would be enough for you – for your own unsightly, undistinguished one – and you would not dare to pray for more.

But he persists. He stays, as if frozen in time, as if embraced by eternity; with the barely visible red painting his porcelain cheeks. He waits for a step to be taken, for the fool you are to act upon your lonely desires, and no matter how excruciatingly long these seconds of tense expectation must feel to him, his arm never surrenders. Even winds themselves – seemingly enforced by the authority of the jeweled amulet on his chest – come to his aid, compelling the locks of your hair to dance to their fierce tune and the accessories on his hat to chime to complement the song. They push you nastily, unceremoniously, and they stop not until you are close enough for him to complain about the violation of his personal space.

Yet he says nothing, as do you. Nothing – not even the golden maiden who definitely plagues his thoughts often – exists now but your decision; the decision to either give up on your sickeningly sweet fantasies or lick away the alluring mead on those childish, stubborn lips. The unbelievable theory became the believable event and the vagrant predator shapeshifted into the obedient feline pet in search of your approval on this very day, void of hunger for the ideal morsel in white dress.

Your fingers twitch and your teeth graze your lower lip. You struggle, you battle yourself – you laugh at yourself deep in your consciousness, deriding your fear of intimacy you so coveted before. You ponder and wonder: is he still here, waiting for you to finally seal the deal? Or is he – which is most likely – disappointed and now ready for the retreat?

You need only to take his hand. You need only to say “yes” and fall for the brooding boy in front of you even more. It is not a showdown with a monster populating this land but a war between your ardor and insecurities – a conflict much bloodier than that in which you would have ended up ripped apart by creatures of dark arts. It is almost comical how long it takes for you to simply accept or reject the generously prepared meal; you wonder yet again if you are alive and not made of paper, being the tragic heroine of those cheap Inazuman love novels consumed so eagerly by your peers nowadays.

Regardless of whether such a failed “tragic heroine” as you gets to earn her page of depicted happy ending or not, one of two possible options does win at last. The agonizing “what should I do” has met the ultimate solution. You glance at your cursed, unwanted, too perfectly normal hand, and you —

Pros:

This may be an extremely unpopular opinion in the fandom (feel free to punch me), but I’m glad Wanderer is out of Sumeru prison (sort of). I’m not fond of the direction they gave him back then, tying him solely to Traveler and Nahida whilst limiting his potentially interesting (and hilarious) interactions with other characters. Yet even in the current event – after a year of complete absence in any kind of major events – he was denied any significant, meaningful interaction with Nilou/Navia/Kirara (I’m 100% certain they didn’t want to aggravate the situation, given how… controversial Wanderer’s status seems to be in the CN waifu-lovers’ community). A shame, really. But at least they granted him temporal independence from Nahida, which is a huge win to me; honestly, there is much more to him than simply being “a God’s assistant”, and I hope they won’t ruin the treat with “I was merely acting on Lesser Lord Kusanali’s whims and read a nonsensical book to her” in the upcoming “Appendix” chapter (if he even appears in it, that is). Hoyo, let Wanderer… wander, you know? He is neither an asset to Nahida’s character nor her eternal servant, he has his autonomy! Can you place him in the event without him mentioning Nahida for once? Pretty please? I swear I’ll post a screenshot on my blog and complain if they once again treat him as Nahida’s errand boy and nothing more.

Wanderer’s poorly hidden “kind yet mistreated” nature never fails to bring a smile to my face. He had absolutely no reason to save Wheel (and those two girls he barely knows as well), yet still proceeded to do so regardless, without acknowledging the goodness of this deed afterward (and tsking at Wheel’s “the young man in the hat was kind enough to lend me a hand” rather adorably). Once again, it’s a nice reminder that his “Kabukimono” persona is, in fact, his true self and that he was not born sinister at heart – in his mind, he was made to be a legit helper (and not some flawed prototype of the real thing), and was indeed blessed with a benevolent soul (even if the latter wasn’t a part of his creator’s intention) that was, unfortunately, severely tainted because of his own misunderstandings. He may perceive his acts of service to others as a “chore” or an “unpleasant accident solved to avoid further complications”, but even the blind one can see his inherent, undying impulse to preserve the safety of those annoying “insects” he is fated (what an irony, considering how he finds the whole “fate” talk boring, if not outright tasteless) to cross paths with.

I like how they let the camera do its thing right after the party had assembled (when Wheel came to voice his concerns). I mean, it stopped right on Wanderer, accentuating how visibly uncomfortable and tense he is around those he is unfamiliar with; looking away while standing with his arms crossed, not as talkative and cheeky as he is used to being in the company of individuals he knows well. A very telling moment.

The section with Durin made two things clear: one of them is that Wanderer’s empathy is still undeveloped; having embraced his past wholeheartedly, he has yet to weaken its traumatic influence. He struggles to connect with humans, finding their troubles insignificant, and is less inclined to try to understand the pain of mortals; yet the moment he finds out that some “evil dragon” is a “betrayed” creation of a passionate woman, he empathizes with the creature instantly – to the extent of not even trying to mask his true feelings in front of Traveler and Co at that point. All mellowed after the revelation, he began to project hard. I mean, all those “so you were “betrayed”, too”, “so you’re hated by people, too” lines… If this is not ascribing his trauma and self-hatred to someone so similar to him in many aspects, then I don’t know what it is. The parallel is too obvious to be called subtle (even by someone as dumb as me, lmao). He’s still the self-absorbed meanie we know, who is able to fully understand and sympathize with others only if they share the same, almost identical background and experiences as he.

The second one is even less subtle: Wanderer shows himself as being capable of reflecting on his mistakes and mocking his own choices and thoughts from the not-so-distant past. Not only the word “betrayed” is put in the brackets to signify his detachment from the meaning he once attributed to it (I personally interpret this as his acceptance of the fact that he was not “betrayed” like how he thought back then – that the death of a mortal you hold dear, like in Durin’s case, is not a “betrayal” but something inevitable, something human, something Wanderer himself should’ve understood in the past), but he directly condemns Durin’s wish to “to never have been born at all”: “That's not a fate you should wish for” – who, if not Wanderer, knows how ineffective this self-destructive method is?

“So that's why you made that wish? ... So stupid... […] ... You just want to make friends. People to play with, to talk to... People who accept you, or at least... accept your apology.” – Tell me he is not low-key admitting that he wants to be accepted and forgiven, and I won’t believe you. Also, that “as someone who’d like to be your friend” part and his reaction to “you're the first friend to call me by my name” from Durin... 😌 Need I say more?

Cons:

The “Hat Guy” joke has become too redundant. It’s neither funny nor endearing anymore (at least to me), making it a bit challenging for me to take Wanderer’s verbal exchanges with others seriously. Thankfully, I play with JP dub, so “Kasacchi” feels less harmful to my ears. Still, I wish they stick with a proper, non-comical nickname for him when it comes to interacting with other characters – if others call Traveler by what name you picked for them in text yet still refer to them as simply “Traveler” in voice-overs, then what stops them from doing the same with Wanderer? I am of strong belief that the “Hat Guy” thing should’ve died with the Akademiya event – let Wanderer disclose the name you gave him to others, damn it.

As Kabukimono, he almost exclusively interacted with men (who all acted as his guardians/seniors of sorts), and later came to protect the fading embers of life within the body of a sickly child; both as Kunikuzushi and The Balladeer, he robbed others of their sense of belonging and their lives alike. Yet what benignity the puppet by the name of Kabukimono once emanated is no longer permeating his current persona, for he was forever defiled by hatred and violence during his “rebellion phase” – his hands, those same hands that bathed in rivers of blood, cannot ever be cleansed. Now that Wanderer has come to realize the consequences of his past actions and embraced the weight of his sins, he also developed a firm belief that he shouldn’t touch you precisely because of how corrupting his very existence is (unlike his “Scaramouche” self who wouldn’t have rejected the opportunity to befoul you with his caress once in a while just to derive wicked pleasure) – in his mind, any direct contact with you might attract the unwanted danger from those who nurtured a grudge against him (and he’s not into being a “hero” and saving his damsel in distress on the constant basis).

As a fragile human being, you’re too innocent, too pure to be stained by those filthy hands of his, and if something is to indeed happen to you because of his recklessness, he won’t be able to stay sane anymore. If your fingers are to intertwine, if his lips are to plant even the most feather-light of kisses anywhere on your body, you will essentially end up dead... And he doesn’t even fully trust you to suddenly start being all cordial and explicitly loving; he still has not resolved his issues with human reliability, anticipating a betrayal to strike at the moment his sentiments – his only weakness – are bared. It’s an extremely paranoid way of thinking, yes, but he has his rationale for imagining such macabre scenarios – after all, he was always stabbed in the chest whenever he let his feelings out; as such, he is dedicated to keeping his guard up when you’re around because if he is not cautious enough, then he’s making himself (and you) an easy target to strike.

This, along with the factor of absence of both any positive female figure (until he met you, of course) and romance in his life heavily contributes to Wanderer’s reluctance to communicate with you on the physical level – while he is not that oblivious and may possess the necessary knowledge about all kinds of activities couples do, he has zero experience in the field. He may present himself as an overly confident and capable person, but his insides do twist into a nervous mess every time you’re too close for his liking (and he’s excellent at masking his panicking state). He doesn’t know how to behave around you properly without humiliating himself and exposing his vulnerability, for you’re his first partner, his very first woman – so why, pray tell, would you think of him as Prince Genji? He is superficially charming and has a way with words, sure, but he never exploited these traits in endeavors not concerning his shady business within the ranks of Fatui; as a result, he will draw the invisible line between the two of you in order to protect you and his ego – the indelible boundary that shall keep him away from doing anything he deems unwelcome and intrusive.

The only situation in which Wanderer might erase that line would be when you are about to truly disappear from his life. If his usual method of convincing you with words would fail at preventing you from leaving him, he might do something more daring than simply grasping your wrist in an attempt to halt you. In that crucial moment, he wouldn’t be able to control his emotions and subdue his fear – his arms would cage your frame and his lips would rob you of breath. It would be his first kiss and it would be surely a desperate one; the one that would make up for the lack of technique with passion no longer hidden. Any rules that he imposed on himself prior to the event shall be broken, for if the risk wouldn’t be taken, then his purpose – you – would be lost. And since he hates losing things more than being all touchy-feely, he wouldn’t think twice about what needs to be done in order to stop you from going anywhere – he shall act and claim your mouth before it’s too late to regret not taking the action in the first place. If he could preserve your presence with but one forthright kiss, if he could persuade you in this peculiar battle of wet muscles, then sacrificing a piece of his pride is – to cite the certain ninth-ranked guy – a “fair exchange”…

“I wouldn’t have done this if I thought of you as a bothersome pest, you know. Still, I can tell that you’re not yet satisfied... Enlighten me, then. Be open about your desires, and I may as well indulge your every request.

… Hmph, don’t expect this to become a habit. I can’t allow myself to spoil you too much, can I?”

… Though it’s not as if he plans to let you get away with forcing him to violate his principles without compensation to follow.

All in all, aside from the hypothetical situation described above, Wanderer will strive to pretend that your relationship doesn’t even exist (but someone with a keen eye for detail will be able to uncover the secret from the way his voice has this subtle change in it whenever he mentions you or how almost lenient he seems to be about chastising you when you intrude in his matters). He won’t ever initiate physical contact, at least in normal circumstances: it’s one thing when he has to cover your body with his to shield you from harm or hold you in his arms to whisk you away from the potential threat; quite another is to proclaim his ownership over you through kissing or encircle your waist and declare that you are his woman. If he gets too attached to you and immerses himself in the beatitude of love, then he is fated to wake up and suffer even more after your eventual death; therefore, keeping his distance is the best option for him to take – otherwise, he might be tempted to change the unchanged and disturb the not yet healed wounds of his psyche.

(It should be noted that Wanderer’s stance won’t change that much if you’re not a member of the human species because the root of his problem with “display of affection” stems not only from the difference in your life expectancies but your life experiences as well – you’re not equal in your perception of this realm and its cruel rules, that’s the point. But if you were on the “black” side of the chessboard, too (regardless of whether you’re mortal or immortal), then it’s the whole other story).

The once nameless puppet wants to make sure that the second chance given to him won’t be wasted. He wants to obtain inner peace; he wants to walk his own path, not deviate from it and make the same mistake. The status quo needs to be established so as to not make him forget about your short-lived future together, and he’s wholesomely pleased with how the said status quo is maintained so far. As for your own opinions and wants, well…

In all honesty, you should’ve predicted that he wouldn’t be fond of either giving or receiving physical affection – by design, you should respect Wanderer’s wish to be as elusive as possible. But you can be a clingy lady. You can yearn to touch him. It’s perfectly normal for an enamored woman to want to pamper her beloved and make him feel cared for, especially after finding out what he’s been through. It’s not that strange that you’ll want to validate his worth and show that he is loved; that his birth was not the error in the certain God’s judgment and that he deserves to have happiness. How can you not want to cuddle him? How can you not want to squeeze those cheeks of his? How can you not ache to shut that naughty mouth of his with a kiss? Beneath that enormous layer of ice burns a tiny flame that hungers for appreciation to sustain its flare – to you, he is a really cute boy; a bit mean but nonetheless too adorable to ignore! They just can’t see the glitter of gold in his heart, can’t understand the depth of his character – let them say what they want, you won’t even listen to what nonsense their tongues weave, and—

And surprisingly for you, Wanderer won’t oppose you as vigorously as you may have thought. Yes, he’ll say that he doesn’t like to be assaulted by your affection; yes, he’ll carefully pry your hands from his form and evade your next attack, but actually hurt you? He’s harsh but not insane – what if he leaves a bruise or, even worse, makes you bleed? That’s not what he intends to do, Archons forbid! Thus, it’s strongly recommended that you seek his permission first if you do want to touch him that badly – you’ll never know when his defense mechanism will overdo its duty. But even if you seek that permission, he will not hesitate to inform you of his discomfort once your whims are met.

Wanderer will be uncomfortable with your displays of affection, obviously. But this doesn’t mean that he’ll be outright repulsed by them – quite the opposite. At first, he will be uncomfortable because he is not used to being hugged, kissed, and all that stuff. If we are to address his past yet again, it’s kind of self-explanatory – he was never loved romantically by anyone until you came along and this body of his was rarely treated gently. When his “Tatarasuna era” came to its abrupt end, every part of him knew naught but pain afterwards; the pain of being experimented on, the pain of having to withstand constant dissection and reassembly for the sake of both repairing his systems and seizing the power of the divine… It’s something his skin, his very bowels are used to. Abuse is his real mother, so it should be no wonder to you that he’ll flinch ever so slightly when your touch shall finally descend upon his desecrated self. He’ll send you a warning glare and will probably try to take a step back, but if you’re merciful enough to stop beforehand and patient enough to wait until he’s ready to endure the procedure without trembling like a fish struck by lighting, then you’re about to confront the actual improvement.

There will be significant progress, don’t worry. Just… give him some breathing room, okay? Even though he consented to your pleas and was well aware of your intentions, he found himself too shaken to react normally in the end. That composure he’d honed, that dignity he’s so scared of losing… Where were they at that moment? Did he appear as too pitiful, too miserable to be considered superior anymore? Or did he—

Improved Wanderer will be rather confused… in a positive meaning of the word. He’ll remind himself that he’s not a coward to run away from a new experience and distance himself from you just because you had the audacity to hold his hand, no – he shall welcome, albeit not without a bit of stubbornness, any change that disperses the suffocating shadow of the darkness that still haunts him (even at the expense of his arrogance). If anything, this change, this “new experience” you bless him with is confusing because it’s partly tied to the sense of nostalgia he is unwilling to abandon. Once you start with something as harmless as patting his head, he recognizes the remembrance behind the movement instantly – it’s the same sacred, salvific warmth his tough-looking friends weren’t ashamed to give; a pleasant, soothing sensation his childish nature has always demanded, and he shall accept it with a feigned grumpiness (accept but not reciprocate – it’s still out of the question). But once the platonic flavor of your gesture is filled with sensuousness and that feeling of déjà vu is replaced with the emotion hitherto unknown, he shall solve the puzzle and succumb to the dizzying effect of that novelty nevertheless.

Your hand is smaller than that of a swordsmith who gave the pat of praise to the clumsy puppet. Your smile is not parental like that of an old man who stroked the inept doll’s head. Everything about your moves, your expressions… It’s different. Almost. He has to squint and ponder really hard to conclude that your body language is too intimate to be perceived as belonging to a friend. Familiar yet unfamiliar, nostalgic yet refreshing… Ah, so this must be “love” you humans are always talking about… It’s… certainly not bad, he must admit. It’s definitely not vomiting as he thought of it to be. It’s strange yet nice. In a way. Not that he begged for it or anything, but… Since he made a vow to keep you alive even if you dared to invade his personal space and pester him relentlessly, he must tolerate your stupid antics, and…

Too busy muttering that cliché “what is this feeling?” phrase to himself, it will take quite a bit of time for a wide-eyed Wanderer to notice how uncharacteristically obedient you are making him out to be; just like that, with but a mere touch of your hand upon his conveniently available forehead. Even if for a minute, you managed to tame him and hear his supposedly nonexistent heart beating like a captured bird. It’s a precious, an infrequent sight indeed – to see this fiercely independent man, this nasty stray kitten being completely enthralled by your affection... He is a funny guy to look at when he’s unable to bite back. Enjoy this rarity while you can because once Wanderer regains his senses, you won’t get to taste such a treat in the near future (why is his hat now glued to his head, you ask? Guess why, you maniac).

Fine. You’ve won. What is this with that disbelief? Don’t play dumb. You know damn well that he learned to acknowledge his missteps, don’t you? But he won’t be that unprepared next time. He is too clever to fall into the same stupid trap, isn’t he? You won’t embarrass him so easily… In fact, you won’t ever embarrass him again. And don’t think you’ll go on with your day without being punished for what you did to him.

You taught him love. It’s only natural that he’d want you to savor the fruit of your sincerest efforts… To execute you in his unfair, cruel fashion; to let you drink a drop of his own brand of love before things shall return to their clandestine status.

Comparing his incarnations is akin to playing with two versions of the same stuffed yet living toy: one of them is finally patched up and climbing up the shelves of life at its own steady pace, set on discovering its real price; the other one is torn and tossed into the heap of identical disposables, abandoned and bleeding cotton. There is a hole in Scaramouche’s “heart” that pumps out long-lasting frustrations, the wound that was sewn in Wanderer’s own one (which he claims he is not chasing after anymore) – it’s a weakness that the latter has tamed and a source of ambivalence which the former constantly fights with. The said ambivalence begets contradiction in Wanderer’s past self: he is prone to intense hatred, yet simultaneously harbors a twisted feeling of love… And this is where his overly attached demeanor comes from.

To Wanderer, you are the unnecessary addition to his seemingly stable order of things – he is able to adore you, yet will not allow himself to be consumed by his feelings for you. To Scaramouche, however, you are the necessity, the means to sustain the vicious cycle of revulsion and passion – you’re the needle his ripped insides need, the remedy to the malady. Wanderer’s love for you is kept on leash for the sake of his own functionality as a person who can’t lose sight of who he is now; Scaramouche’s is on the loose, wreaking havoc and causing destruction to his already damaged sense of self. He is dedicated to keeping up appearances — whereas Wanderer is truly an “Ice King” of sorts, having matured and all, The Balladeer is one only in name; his coldness is largely superficial, used as a hardly reliable ally in his battle against the remnants of his aspiration to be cherished. That icy front of his has a major crack in it, so when unfulfilled desires do prevail and spill out, he may fail to catch and imprison them in the imaginary bottle (deliberately or not).

The Balladeer acts like an arrogant and cruel prince (and if you know of his origins, you may find the title to be rather accurate) who is squeamish about your species, not letting anyone come closer and challenge him directly. He creates an aura of a nymphet in the shell of an eternally young boy who must stay unreachable to you, and while he does want to keep you at arm’s length (figuratively and literally) because he is genuinely uncomfortable by the thought of you touching him, you’re also a part of his complex ambition to seize not only power but validation that one certain woman refused to give to him. Too prideful and messed up as an individual to reveal his selfish wish, he aims to stay unavailable yet inviting at the same time – in his mind, it’s you who must long for him and yearn for his attention. You must be intent on approaching him and demonstrating your perverse interest in the imperfect puppet despite his disgust for the mere idea of interacting with a bland specimen in a can full of two-legged worms solely because he is entitled to have your appreciation; in no way will he divert from his usual pattern of behavior, unless…

Unless you laugh at his rules and conduct yourself in a similar manner. And then, after he gets a taste of his own medicine, The Balladeer you know will no longer visit the stage, instead manifesting as a figure of a pitiful being with a variety of traits hitherto undiscovered. The honed derision will be replaced with neediness born of fear to lose your ardency; since you’ll adopt his tactic and show how indifferent you are, there shall be no other option but to force you to discard it. It’ll be a completely irrational and desperate decision on his part; utterly paranoid and convinced that you, too, are about to deny him the love he secretly seeks to obtain (he can’t and won’t accept the reality in which you’re as cold and dismissive as he is because he wants to be openly lusted after and toy with your honest spirit and earnest expectations), Scaramouche can and will be extremely clingy when your own decision to leave him will be uncovered. Although a rare scenario by itself, it nevertheless can still be written – Scaramouche may be against exposing his vulnerabilities, but your apathy will get the exact response you hoped for and cut him open.

Scaramouche will be left with no choice but to drop the façade and dispose of his mask – not in an instant, of course, but the change will be definitely, painfully noticeable with each feigned breath taken. His true self (that of a broken doll hanging on its uneven strings) will bloom before your very eyes, too demanding and whimsical – akin to a child deprived of parental care, he will throw a tantrum that will taint his dignity and showcase his immodest side. It won’t be a “don’t leave me” phrase but actually a “don’t you dare to take even a step” order said in a shaky voice; it won’t be a tearful plea to stay with him but a possessive grip on your arm, which shall evolve into a life-draining embrace from behind. Still, it will be a sudden shift, for it’s not every day you see this particular side of his character. His deceptively fragile hands will tremble yet remain unyielding in their grasp; his chin will rest on your shoulder and his lips will spell whispers of obsession, his gaze fixed on that damn door you so persist in opening (and his brain seriously contemplating confinement). This shall be the kind of intimacy not strictly romantic in nature – if someone is to wander into the room, they’d probably describe the scene of the indigo-haired youth hugging a confused grown woman with a childish pout on his face as something along the lines of “a spoiled brat clutching at his mother’s skirts” precisely because the oh so ominous and intimidating Lord Harbinger will look absolutely innocent and puerile, too absorbed in capturing the soothing warmth of your body to even bother restoring the image of authority and shooting daggers at the intruder.

Though he may appear as oddly adorable and disturbingly endearing in moments like this, it’ll be still dangerous for you to let your guard down just because he erased all traces of his usual self. Unlike his future incarnation, Scaramouche is too dependent on your existence to simply let you go and pretend to be calm about it – while his petite exterior will emit harmlessness fitting his physique, his interior will be busy plotting the darkest schemes known to man. If you’re bold enough to push his buttons, if you crave to boost your ego and ascertain your worth by exploiting his trauma, then you ought to be clever about avoiding the consequences of your escapade as well. You must understand that after coercing him into doing something as humiliating as touching you and confirming your status as his property, any escape route is basically sent to the Abyss…

Because if you make him stuck to you like glue, he won’t detach without a price, and whether that price shall be your freedom or the wholeness of your skin (or both) will be up for debate.

Since he had (and still has, to some extent) lingering issues related to both immortals (namely that one certain woman who spurned her own creation) and mortals alike, I don’t think that Wanderer’s initial attitude would change that much if you’d also happen to be an immortal being. He’d be still as cautious around you, putting little credence in your words and actions; yet given that he’s quite a clever and perceptive little fellow, he’d be quick to sense distrust and unease in you as well (and if you’re devoted to keeping your identity a secret, it wouldn’t take long for him to expose your cover either – don’t forget that over the course of centuries, he accumulated no less amount of specific knowledge than you).

Once your past is revealed to his judgment, you might think that you could be someone he might easily connect with, considering how similar your experiences are. But it’d be a mistake on your part to presume that the former Fatui Harbinger would empathize with you and actively seek your company solely because of this world’s apparent aversion to both of you. His interest would be piqued, no doubt – he will be definitely intrigued by your persona. But that interest alone wouldn’t be sufficient for him to contemplate entering into a romantic relationship with you – you would need to maintain that interest and show him that you have immense potential; that you wouldn’t waste his time and instead would end up being a fine complement to his routine (in that regard you’d not be that different from a human woman, for the quest shall be of equal difficulty). There are some challenges you might face in your immortal & immortal dynamic, and the hardest of them all would concern (surprisingly enough) the aforementioned similarities between the two of you.

Considering that your personality might be as aloof and bitter as his own, neither of you might want to make a first step. It’s a crucial part of establishing any kind of relationship, after all, and since you both would be far from overcoming your pain any time soon, the situation might end in a stalemate. Unfortunately, Wanderer is too arrogant and too troubled to express his interest in you directly – he might come to actually like you once the strength of your character is proven, but his inability to properly communicate with people and interact with them outside of the usual “mutual business” pattern would prevent him from ever courting you. Thus, the task of laying the foundation for your future relationship shall fall on your shoulders – if you won’t come out of your shell and take the initiative, then you’ll never resolve the said stalemate; if you won’t attempt to fight your demons, you’ll get nowhere.

If you were an ordinary human female, you could’ve eventually won him over with your innocence and benignity (because he’s drawn to purity and kindness of human hearts from his very birth, and it’s a weakness he’ll never completely eliminate) – human women are indeed infamously known for their persistence and willpower when it comes to matters of love (at least in his eyes; those Yae Publishing House romantic novels were surely not misleading him in his Kabukimono days, right?). Yet you’re anything but innocent and/or nice – you are a member of a long-life species who suffered hardships incomprehensible to mortals and was subjected to horrors you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy; in a way, you’ve been defiled of the majority of your virtues. You ought to invent another approach: you must appeal to the common origins of your struggles and convince (preferably with actions, not words) him that you could work together as a pair precisely because of your firm understanding of each other’s past and the impact that your mental scars have left on your souls. Birds of a feather flock together, so how about bonding over your shared trauma and healing each other’s wounds? Don’t be too pushy and do try not to appear as a manipulative entity serving her own dubious agenda, for the puppet is not as susceptible to manipulations as he was before, back when his strings were still intact; do remember that “birds of a feather” thing was once his reason for siding with the “bad” guys, so you must choose your words carefully and phrase your arguments flawlessly, acting in accordance with your sincere intentions (you don’t want to be disowned, do you?).

Growing bored of your lover (why would you ever grow bored of such an entertainingly complex man, though?) and/or burning out from your relationship is also a problem you might someday encounter – but this time, it’d apply exclusively to you. You must be ready to embrace the fact that Wanderer (even a fully reformed one!) is a creature who harbors strong emotions and attachments; if anything, this was the cause of all his past incarnations’ downfalls. If you manage to obtain his love, then you must realize that you won’t ever be free to love anyone else but him – perceive this as the unjust contract you signed of your own volition. The concept of eternal devotion, in a rather ironic twist of fate, is not foreign to his cynical self – if he is with you, then you won’t be given a chance to leave him and have another man in your very, very long life simply because he’d aim to be your only man. He would never renounce his ownership over you, so it’s recommended that you weigh all the consequences that come with accepting the once nameless doll as your lover – as a woman who has been through a lot, you must be aware of the drastic temperament of one’s commitment (and you are definitely not that foolish to overestimate the longevity of your feelings and not that naïve to think that you would be able to successfully escape his grasp after silently promising him to stay together for millennia, are you?). A mortal woman could escape it by means of inevitable death, but you… If you dare to betray him (“betray” him in his own interpretation of the term, to be exact), expect him to haunt you forever skin to a vengeful ghost, with all his drawbacks and obsessions reanimated because why, why would you, of all people, abandon him (him, who has finally gotten a name, a new life, and a significant presence in his existence to cherish until this realm burns you two to ashes?).

Speaking of positive aspects of your relationship, you’d predictably avoid a great deal of obstacles that would’ve befallen a mortal lady. There would be plenty of advantages you’d hold over a human woman: for instance, Wanderer would be willing to allow you to travel with him (something that his overprotective and overly paranoid self would’ve never allowed his human lover to do, regardless of her occupation) and participate in combat if necessary (he’d teach you how to fight just in case you lack either a Vision or skills required to protect yourself, but beware: he’d be a very strict teacher) – depending on your type of immortality, he might not be inclined to worry about losing you in a heated battle with either living beings or environmental conditions (and nothing would be as delightful and pleasurable as shredding a pack of vile brutes to bloody pieces together). Due to special properties of your character, you’d also probably never genuinely annoy him or enrage him – all distant and unapproving of indolence (thanks to your resemblance to him in terms of personality traits), you wouldn’t force him to chastise you or mock you, and your antics wouldn’t ever play on his nerves (because you’d obviously never resort to such childish behavior); you’d add a note of harmony to his once discordant life. What flaws Wanderer would’ve loathed in his human lover would be naturally absent in you, and if you’d somehow succumb to any imperfections inherent in human beings, he’d be only slightly frustrated than outright furious (“To think that after centuries of unjust treatment, you would converse with them so nonchalantly,” the indigo-haired youth would huff, visibly uncomfortable at the sight of you talking to human children, and… Wait, did he accuse literal children of having abused you?)

On the other hand, you – as his immortal lover – would only fuel his antipathy towards mortals, whereas the gentle influence of his human lover would’ve changed his prejudiced opinion on humans overall.

It goes without saying that he’d still uphold his cold, sarcastic front and tease you in a rather blunt (read: mean) yet playful fashion whenever he’d get the chance, but hey – why would you, a woman of equally intricate temper, feel anything but appreciation of his peculiar manner of conveying affection? On the contrary, you’d be capable of enjoying his unruly self more so than any woman on this continent.

Yet the most important and unique detail about your relationship would be the intensity of Wanderer’s fear of good old imminent separation – to be precise, that fear would evaporate in a blink. Since you’re an immortal yourself, there would be no point in overthinking certain… things. He’d be more relaxed compared to his usual tense self and a bit more open to the idea of letting you enjoy your life once in a while without him interfering and watching over you like a mother hen; unlike mortal insects who are always at risk of being swayed even by the gentlest gust of wind, you’re competent, capable, and not that fragile to be crushed so easily. You won’t be the source of yet another tragedy, for death won’t claim you – the cruelty of old age or terminal illness shall never bother you, and he won’t be afraid of other causes because he’ll never let anything or anyone land a scratch on you. What he would’ve feared most in his supposed relationship with a mortal female will simply not exist in his relationship with you – you’ll be truly, undisputably his. Dread of abandonment will still be alive deep inside his psyche, however (after all, other men do breathe and walk); just as a fair share of his other, good old (“I am not worthy of something that’s not awful”, for example) insecurities. But that particular fear of being unable to keep his promise of everlasting loyalty won’t be gnawing at his illusionary heart anymore—

But you are just a human: an ordinary woman of her species dreaming of a bright future and putting forth her best effort in achieving simple human happiness – a lady who, like everyone else with the mark of inevitable demise sewn into their frail flesh, cannot boast endless perseverance and unyielding spirit (unlike those of divine might and celestial ancestry). Your kindness, your patience, your vivacity… Everything has its limit, for such is a nature of all that is, well, human. And it is not outside the realm of possibility for you to run out of stocked goods one day; to let your well-trained composure suffer a blow from which it might never recover and cast your hope to teach him how to contribute to the romantic aspect of your bond into the darkest depths of Abyss itself.

Upon hearing his impassively pronounced disownment of you when he thought you were not here, standing right behind his back and listening to him denying any connection to “that annoying woman” in his conversation with the golden hero, you might realize that maybe you are wasting weeks and months (and maybe even years) of your short life on imposing your unconditional love on someone who may not share the same sentiment. You might think that perhaps he is not merely pretending to not care just to end the unwanted chatter (and you know, you know how much he loathes to discuss things not related to his – as he often phrases it –  “prisoner’s business”) and be free to do whatever he wants today; perhaps, you might think of yourself as the subpar adhesive that desperately tries to repair the god-made goblet, again and again gluing together pieces of the vessel that might have been destined to stay broken.

Until now, you’ve absorbed every drop of poison dripping from the tip of his tongue and deemed yourself immune to its potency. Yet no accumulated harm remains inside for too long – sooner or later, the lump shall explode and bare the agony to the world that lies beyond… And neither of you would be able to calculate each other’s response to the unfortunate outcome.

You could burst into tears, testifying against the toughness of your psyche or you could call him by that once pleasantly sounding name of his and criticize his undignified behavior for the first time ever. His – Wanderer’s – reaction would heavily depend on two factors, specifically on which approach among the proposed ones you’d pick and on what traits, aside from those already described earlier, your personality also generally consists of.

If you settle for the latter, be prepared for retaliation, for he is not a coward (and your talk of “dignity” would really get under his skin). The former Fatui Harbinger wouldn’t go down without a fight – he knows where exactly he should strike to seize the sweet victory; how to hit you where it hurts most. He enjoys a verbal battle as much as he once enjoyed taking the lives of countless lousy insects, and he is truly unparalleled when it comes to humiliating his opponent (even if they happened to be you).

“As if I asked you to follow me akin to a slobbery dog and bark each time you’re not given a bone,” he would say, raising an eyebrow. Then, he’d continue with the revenge: “Come to think of it, I never promised you one in the first place. And yet here you are, preaching of basic human decency and demanding a treat… Since when were you under the impression that I was going to satisfy your whims? Better yet, what made you think that “basic human decency” applies to someone like me?”

Wake up, he would finish – at least, that’d be the last you’d hear before you disappear from his vicinity, utterly destroyed and not obliged to discover that “human decency” might be a thing you lack yourself in his eyes. After that, you’d never see him again no matter how diligently you might search for him – not because he’d feel remorse and thus be afraid to encounter you, no. To him, that incident was a final nail in the coffin; he’d be convinced that you indeed don’t belong together – puppets and humans simply don’t mix, that’s all. To be together… What a stupid idea that was! How could he agree to participate in this tasteless performance? He was meant to tend to other, more important matters at hand, not to dabble in romance. It is too bothersome, too tiring to… Well, hang out with you? Being pampered by you? Being praised, accepted, loved? Strangely enough, he never felt the urge to vomit when you lavished him with attention and gentleness. He never wanted to escape from your company, never strived to end things – if anything, he never ever considered you to be an irritating existence. He wouldn’t have consented to be your “boyfriend” if he detested you. In addition, your absence somehow does not bring him joy despite how delighted he was back then, witnessing you running away with your tail between your legs. Now, he feels devastated – even more so than when he was robbed of his purpose. Maybe he’d indeed grown very fond of you; maybe it was not you who weren’t worthy of a bone… Maybe, it was he who was not worthy of your benevolence, not worthy of you.

Yet still, Wanderer values his ego too much to contemplate going back to you – while he’d acknowledge, albeit reluctantly, that his temper got the best of him (his control over his emotions is not as flawless as he likes to believe) and that you hold a special spot in his illusionary heart, returning to your side means postponing the ineluctable separation and not actually eliminating any of problems that were and would be undeniably faced. You are too different to work as a pair, too incompatible to coexist without a conflict – not to mention that he has a path already set for him by none other than himself, and it seems that your own path barely converges with his. He’d avoid you at all costs – a task ridiculously simple by the standards of his Vision – but he wouldn’t reject the opportunity to watch over you without you even knowing (he’d still want to pay his debts to you).

If he could at least keep you safe, then he’d be fine with the current status quo. However, Wanderer is too spiteful to wish you that “simple human happiness” you seek and too possessive to pray that you’d find a replacement and give yourself to another – he’d rather prefer for you to be single and still yearn for him. He wouldn’t interfere if you do fall in love with someone else, though… Because humans are infamous for their unreliability, and it is not as if he ever deserved to obtain his own simple happiness anyway.

As for “crying” option… If you are fragile by design (and have been putting up with his detached and algid attitude solely for the sake of protecting your relationship), the sight of your crying self wouldn’t surprise him, to be honest. It is something to be predicted – in fact, it is a given that you’d cry after that kind of “revelation”; since he is good at discerning inconsistencies (both in himself and others), he found out that you are quite a sensitive gal under that solemn façade of yours ages ago (when he caught you sulking over an innocent remark when you thought he was not around). If you are more of a stoical woman, then even his masterfully crafted serene front would fail to conceal how aghast he is bound to be – the slight widening of indigo alone would be a fine indication of his affected state (if you, of all people, are now crying because of him, then no other person capable of handling him even exists on this continent).

But in any case, he’d be quick to take the appropriate action, and that would be adding the “but she’s certainly not that annoying to earn a word of admonition” line before the ever-intrusive goody-two-shoes notices a change in his expression. Expect Wanderer to ignore your presence until you are gone (it is not in his fashion to partake in drama in public) – when you’d be home (and you will be home because he knows of your habit of isolating yourself from people when things go wrong), he’d visit your humble abode immediately. With a “what a crybaby you are” told in a tone softer than usual, he’d give you a handkerchief to wipe your tears with and provide you with a cup of freshly brewed tea – and then, the indigo-haired boy shall sit right beside you with his arms crossed, begetting an awkward silence. Even after you’d calm down, he wouldn’t apologize or make fun of your swollen eyes – the damage had already been done, and he’d see little point in trying to comfort you (given that he has zero experience in comforting human females) or rubbing salt into the wound (he’s not that mean to push you, the woman he cherishes, away even further). Still, despite his “apathetic doll” image (which he’d somewhat struggle to uphold) he’d be absolutely panicking inside, especially if you are normally a woman of unruffled temper. For all his faults, losing you is definitely not a feat he’d want to be listed in his personal record of a sinner – you are one (if not the only) of few decent individuals left in his life; once again, he’d be reminded of the untrustworthiness of humans and how fundamentally different they are than he (how less stable they are, how easily could they be swayed by emotions; he’d let himself be purposefully blinded by hypocrisy). How could he not anticipate the betrayal when even you were unable to read his true intentions at that moment?

In the end, he’d choose to blame you because… If he’d admit that he is the one who is to blame here, he’d be forced to confront his fear of exposing himself to the feelings of love. Not yours, no, but his own ones – those feelings that are buried deep, too suppressed to emerge to the surface. He would be forced to open himself up to you; forced to show you his weakness, his vulnerability, and make himself an easy target of treachery. He wouldn’t want to open that Pandora’s Box and let his thirst for love be that painfully visible – after all, he was always left with nothing soon after that love of his was uncovered and then crushed by either cruelty of time or ill will.

The selfish, prideful yet paranoid puppet would rather see and make you cry than allow himself to ever shed a tear again. This is his philosophy and his primary line of defense – if he declares that he loves you aloud, if he confesses that he cannot bear the thought of losing you because of his mistakes, that would mean swearing the oath of eternal devotion… The oath that would never be kept, for you are merely a mortal woman. And he, the once fallen god and the child who once wished to erase his very birth, knows better than anyone else that no miracle could ever rewrite the constant of this damned universe.

Wanderer is not a man who breaks his word. Yet unfortunately for him, you – the unfair one, the bane of his sanity – wouldn’t grant him the chance to prove the veracity of his sacred vow.

Firstly, I don’t get why one would interpret Wanderer’s assistance as an act of pity. Act of pity implies compassion and sympathy, and these are the exact kind of qualities both his post-Kabukimono self and “Wanderer” persona lack. What he doesn’t lack, however, is a feeling of gratitude. That’s why Kaedehara Yoshinori was spared by Kunikuzushi; his ties to the Niwa Clan rendered the eccentric youth unable to rob the descendant of Niwa – his once beloved friend (who, along with other swordsmiths, taught the naïve Kabukimono many things) – of his life because of Kunikuzushi’s gratitude towards the man he still remembered fondly despite all the grudge that was present in his vengeful soul at that time.

That’s why he, now as Wanderer, indulges Lesser Lord Kusanali’s requests despite not showing much willingness and enthusiasm to participate in the events staged by her on the surface – while it’s hard for him to accept the said compassion and sympathy in turn because he is not used to being treated as anything other than a tool, he still doesn’t fail to recognize Nahida’s benevolence. And that’s precisely why he’ll offer acts of service to you whenever you are in need of a helping hand because not only will he be inclined to express his gratitude towards you in a manner that feels most natural for him, but these same acts of service will reflect his long-living outlook on how relationships between people should be maintained; he will simultaneously repay his debt to you – that’s how he was convinced to perceive any type of relationship. This twisted perception is not something either you or Kusanali shall fix any time soon because Wanderer is not yet completely healed – his path toward salvation has only begun (and could possibly end without you around to accompany him).

Acting instead of talking is Wanderer’s only way of showing you that he is capable of reciprocating your feelings because he never had the chance to enter a proper romantic relationship with a human. He is ill-equipped to handle relationships not based on pragmatism and mutual gain, for as a former Fatui Harbinger, he was only familiar with carrying out orders or assigning his own ones to his subordinates without any sweet-talk (and he neither praised their achievements nor allowed them to escape corporal/verbal punishment). In other words, he is a “man of action” in the fullest sense of the term and he is definitely not a man famous for being kind to people. Therefore, there is literally no reason for you to suspect that he helps you because he pities you – he helps you because you obviously have problems and you deserve – as this rare person whom he cares about – to have these problems solved. He wants to prove his worth as your partner by being your second-in-command because he’s damn aware of his poisonous tongue and his inability to keep his cynical remarks to himself (and yes, he’ll think it’s one of these problems of yours if you can’t stand his brutal honesty). Your status as his lover won’t mend his scars and make him fond of giving compliments in a blink; perhaps, it would take years for him to mellow out… somewhat.

Secondly, I shall repeat myself and say that I can’t imagine Wanderer toning down his sarcasm or giving le classique reassuring words/praise/compliments/whatever even to his significant other. It’s just not how he was shaped to be. He is sharp around the edges and doesn’t mince his words; all detached and distrusting of others, he is still wary of you/Nahida/Traveler/literally everyone else on this continent. No matter how much you may assure him of your adoration and loyalty, he’ll expect an eventual betrayal – and funnily enough, it may seem that he himself is no less desperate for reassurance than you are.

Wanderer is not merely a traumatized and troubled boy who can be categorized into the “tsundere” archetype – he is also a 500 years old divine puppet who was taught to be cruel and unforgiving in order to protect his fragile psyche; a puppet who swore to himself that he won’t ever succumb to his weakness (as known as sentiments) again. Having known no romantic love prior to meeting you, it will take a lot of time for him to realize he has these special feelings for you and even more time for him to admit that yes, he is not indifferent to you (but this “realization phase” is a topic I’d rather touch in the second part of my HCs for him). With absolutely no experience in the field of romance, Wanderer is only in the process of learning how to be in an actual romantic relationship. It’s not as if he can’t praise or compliment you or something. He can. Just not in the fashion you may want him to. He saw people saying cheesy shit and doing embarrassing things to each other and yadda-yadda-yadda – he is not oblivious about how humans communicate. But it’s not how he will prefer to express himself and he won’t cater to your selfish desires. He won’t deliver the “you did an excellent job, dear” thing – instead, he will say “I commend your efforts”; in his mind, it’s a safe and totally not embarrassing phrase to spill (because he does value his pride). He won’t bare his passion because he is just as uncomfortable at the thought of making himself look like a lovey-dovey fool as you are uncomfortable with the oddities of his temper.

But if you don’t want to suffer from the whims of his peculiar personality and tolerate his bad mouth, if you are not patient enough to wait until he warms up to you if for a little; if you are too sensitive to just brush off his biting comments or craft a response of equal stinginess, then… Maybe it’d be in your best interest to find someone who won’t ever make you upset/cry? Someone who is more chivalrous and considerate? Maybe Wanderer is simply not worth it; maybe he is not worthy of you. Maybe you are just wasting your time and nerves on a jerk who may only reform and grace you with a pat on your head when you’re already close to death, who knows. It’s not too late to end the relationship you consider unhealthy and slay the underwhelming romance, but do remember…