woahh!!

ruggie’s been in fights before. 

too many to count, really. it’s a given, considering his tendency to take anything that seems like it can be repurposed or sold. old habits die hard, he supposes. even if he’s living way better off than how he was a couple years ago, he still feels that itch in his fingers whenever he sees something he can take. it’s never ending, that constant want in his gut for more. it’s a good thing that most of the students on campus are so easily duped. 

most of them, at least. 

ruggie knows he’s agile enough to outrun any spell cast at him. scratch that, ruggie knows he can outrun anything if he tries hard enough. he’s got stamina and determination for days, and simple humans could never outpace a beastman. especially not a hyena beastman. even if ruggie gets caught pickpocketing, it’s just too easy to escape from the scene of the crime. after all, some kids never grew up needing to run like he did.  

but nobody’s perfect, and even ruggie messes up sometimes. really, he’s gotta hand it to those prissy heartslabyul kids with nothing bouncing around in their empty heads besides tea and biscuits, they know how to aim their spells. 

thankfully, the magical properties of the school uniform nullified most of the effects of the spells that hit him. it’s just a shame his face isn’t quite as immune. as luck would have it, one of the fire spells just barely managed to hit him, leaving him with a minor burn on the side of his face. he’s lucky he got away with his life, really. who knows what would’ve happened if it hit him dead on. 

as he sprints through corridors, desperately holding onto the heartslabyul students’ wallets, he briefly considers playing goody-goody later in the year so he can recruit them. it’s really too bad they were aiming their spells at him rather than at a spelldrive disc. their talents would be better utilized on the field. 

leona would probably be pissed he brought along heartslabyul students, but in the end he would begrudgingly acknowledge their potential. and when he realizes what great players ruggie brought, he’ll toss some of his princely dollar bills ruggie’s way as a thank you, and ruggie can treat himself to a hard-earned meal. 

yet even as the prospect of securing a dinner lies tantalizing before him, the throbbing pain of the burn on his face snaps him out of it.

maybe he should be getting used to burns by now, considering all the times he’s accidentally been blasted with a fireball in the countless spelldrive training matches in savanaclaw, but what can he say? he’s a sensitive hyena.  

ruggie takes a moment to glance behind him. the corridor is empty. those heartslabyul kids seem to have given up on trying to trail him. 

he takes a moment to slow down and catch his breath. 

he’s not dumb. now is no time for rest. ruggie knows that at this very moment, he should go to the infirmary as soon as possible. or maybe his dorm instead, to ensure that those heartslabyul kids won’t find him and try to start something again. who cares if the sweltering heat of savanaclaw irritates his injury? at least he’d be safe.  

yet as he begins his trek to the hall of mirrors, he hesitates. stops again. glances around. and decides to make a detour to your place instead. 

stupid, he knows. but his feet seem to have a mind of its own, dragging him to you rather than back to his room. 

nobody would go looking for him at your place, he rationalizes, it’s safe. it wouldn’t aggravate his burns like savanaclaw would. 

most importantly though, there’s you there. and ruggie, the greedy hyena he is, would endure any pain if it meant a singular second longer with you. your presence is, admittedly, compensation enough for the troubles he has to face.

but the rational part of him doesn’t want to drag you into his problems. what if they do come looking for him at yours? you’re a stupid bleeding heart, and considering your track record for playing savior, he doesn’t doubt that you’d immediately try to help him. if he makes you take care of him, makes you deal with his own situations, then he owes you one. and if there’s anything he wants to avoid most, it’s owing people. 

and he absolutely cannot owe you, of all people, anything, lest he fall into madness trying to figure out the unsolvable problem of how to pay back someone who deserves something far more than what he can provide. what can ruggie bucchi offer you that matches anything you’ve done for him? honestly, he shivers to think about what sort of repentance would be enough for you. 

you’d probably tell him that you don’t need some sort of thank-you gift, and that’d make him go crazy. usually, he’d praise those people to heaven and back, grateful to keep his money and his time. but with you, he feels like he’s tearing his own hair out in frustration. just take his damn gifts of gratitude! 

but even as his brain tells him to turn right back around and go back to the hall of mirrors, he finds himself at your doorstep. he hesitates a little before pocketing the wallets and knocking. 

...now that he thinks about it, do you even have proper first aid equipment?

“ruggie?” you say as you open the door, interrupting his thoughts. your expression morphs from being confused to being worried. he feels like an insect under a microscope when your eyes flick to the rather prominent burn on his face.

“had a little run-in,” he laughs. the sound isn’t as smooth as he thought it’d be, and it only seems to make you frown even more. “can i, uh, y’know, crash on your couch real quick?”

he probably looks like a stray dog, begging for scraps at your doorstep. do you think he’s pitiful? is he someone to be pitied?

your eyes soften. “like i’d say no. come in.”

you step aside, allowing him access into your home. it’s funny, the way the outside is so rundown, but the inside is perfectly cozy. for some reason, you personally put in the effort into transforming an old house clearly falling apart at the seams into something somewhat decent looking. 

ruggie doesn’t really understand why you bothered. it isn’t your responsibility to take on the burden. if it were him, he would’ve just let someone else do it.

doesn’t mean he’s not a fan of your furniture choices though. you suggest he go sit on the couch and he practically collapses onto it. his ears pick up the sound of you running water and opening cabinets. probably looking for first aid. good to know you do, in fact, possess medical supplies. 

you scurry over to where he’s sprawled on your couch and hand him a cool, wet cloth.

“thanks,” he grins, sighing with relief as he presses it against the burn, “you’re too good to me, you know that? you okay with having me in your house like this?”

(are you okay with having me at all? are you okay with me?)

“of course i am,” you say with a huff, placing the kit on a nearby table, “why wouldn’t i be?” 

ruggie blinks. he can think of a multitude of reasons why you wouldn’t want him in your space.

“if someone who stole from me came up to me asking for help, i wouldn’t just, y’know, let them in with a smile and be like, ‘sure, why don’t you put your feet up on my couch, even!’” he says. with a more rueful sigh, adds on, “man, you’re just too nice for this school. ya gotta learn that not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

you roll your eyes playfully. clearly, it’s not the first time someone’s told you to be more alert. it surely isn’t ruggie’s first time telling you to watch your back. at this point, he’s pretty sure the information just goes in one ear and out the other.

why do you care so much? actually, scratch that, why don’t you care at all?

“you didn’t steal from me, you stole from grim,” you quip back, popping open the lid of the first aid kit, “so technically, you haven’t wronged me just yet. at least not enough to warrant me shutting the door in your face. anyways, i’ll let you know, i’ve been extremely, super-duper careful. haven’t gotten into a sticky situation in a week now.”

“...hate to be the one to break it to you, but most people don’t get into ‘sticky situations’ like overblots ever.”

you burst out into laughter, and the sound is just as soothing as the cool press of the cloth against his raw skin. maybe you do possess some sort of magical prowess after all, the way you make all aches dissipate into thin air. 

no, that’s not it. no amount of healing magic could hold a candle to how your smile heals his soul.

“ya know what,” he says with a smile, sitting up as you grab ointment, “i won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. if you’re offering oh-so politely to give me medical care for free, well, just who am i to refuse?”

“honest as always, huh?” you smile back. you gently pull ruggie’s hand away to apply ointment to the burn, and ruggie’s heart rate spikes. when you grip his chin so you can be more precise, he’s almost certain that you can feel the way his face heats up. 

he could’ve done it himself. but you just took it upon yourself to do it for him like the goody-two-shoes you are. what a savior. 

ruggie’s learned that in the real world, the only person he can rely on is himself. when he got hurt and scraped up, the only person that could help was him and him alone. but with you, he’s reminded of how his grammy used to kneel in front of him and kiss the cuts on his hands better. he’s reminded of that feeling of having somebody else take care of him for once. 

it’s nice. being here with you. letting you take care of him. really nice. 

you’re nice. 

ruggie can’t help but stare at your concentrated expression as you carefully dab at the raw skin. can’t help but stare at the furrow of your brow, the way your eyes squint slightly, the way you bite the bottom of your lip. how would you react if he told you the reason why he got burned was because he nabbed the wallets off some poor heartslabyul kids? how would you react if he told you, yet again, that he’s stolen something?

you probably wouldn’t care. you probably already know the reason why he got hurt was because of some nefarious act of greed. the thought that that’s what you think of him, someone who perpetually lies and steals, is a heavy one, but nonetheless true. 

but you still sit here and treat his wounds. you, who is possibly the very definition of an angel, treat the wounds of a thief without a moment’s hesitation. you and your stupid bleeding heart.

why?

“does it hurt?” you ask softly, pulling away. ruggie can’t help but try to chase after your touch like the greedy hyena he is. begging for more than what he’s allowed like he always does.

“‘course not,” he snickers, “who do you think i am? it’s gonna take a lot more than a little cream to get my hair standing on end.”

“of course,” you roll your eyes again with a smile, procuring gauze from your first aid kit, “shouldn’t have asked. you’re the most resilient student i’ve ever met.”

ruggie’s shoulders shake as he laughs, a hand coming to his mouth to partially hide the ever-familiar grin on his face.

“resilient, huh?” he says, “that’s definitely one way to put it.”

you reach out once more, cradling his face and covering the burn with gauze. you treat him like some sort of precious object. what a stark contrast to him being thrown against the floor only hours prior.  

does he deserve this genuine kindness from you? maybe not. but when has the concept of “deserving something” ever stopped ruggie? 

“and… there,” you breathe a sigh of relief, a proud smile working its way to your face as you gaze upon your incredible work of medical genius, “good as new!”

ruggie’s fingers reach up to gently brush against the gauze. he feels like he’s just cheated you of your time, medical supplies, and energy. 

…he hopes you can forgive him, because he doesn’t feel a lick of regret. 

(what can he say? he never said he was ashamed of being a thief.)

“thanks,” he says, “you’re surprisingly good with first aid. must’ve had to open up the kit a lot recently, huh?”

“you know it,” you sigh dramatically, closing the kit with a click! “you’d think after the third time, something would change! but nope, i’m still getting thrown around like a ragdoll left and right.”

you seem to realize something, and inquisitively tilt your head towards him. “now that i think about it, why’d you come here instead of the nurse? they could’ve healed you up in a second of what it took for me to bandage you.”

“you’re asking that now?” ruggie asks, “man, you really are too trusting. i could almost mistake you for kalim.”

“very funny. so?”

ruggie hums, pretending to be lost in thought.

“...i’m used to doing it this way,” is what he settles on. kicking up the dramatics, he sighs and places a hand on his heart. “back home, there weren’t many people who could do fancy-schmancy healing magic, y’know? so this is more familiar.”

“liar,” you accuse immediately, “you could’ve just done it yourself then.”

“i wasn’t lying! and anyways, fine, i guess i just wanted to leech off you, then.”

“hey!”

ruggie laughs again, leaning back on the couch as you giggle along with him. 

“okay, okay,” he relents, “you want an honest answer from lil’ ol’ me? i like being doted on. y’know, i’m always being run so ragged by leona all the time, i can’t do all the work myself. why should i when i could come here and get you to take care of me and serve me delicious snacks?”

you gasp in mock offense. “is that all i am to you? free help and food?”

“and free couches!”

okay, yeah. maybe he’s not being entirely honest. even though it is true he likes being doted on. having grandmas serve you biscuits whenever you feign sickness was always pretty nice. but when you dote on him, it’s just… well.. 

you make him feel like he’s worth more than he actually is.

but when you laugh with him and swat at his shoulder, he thinks that you probably don’t need to know all that. 

“...thanks again,” he smiles, “is it okay if i stay a little longer? i don’t feel like walking all the way back to my dorm.”

“duh!” you say immediately. the way you don’t even hesitate, the way you don’t think twice about having ruggie in your home, in the space you so carefully curated, it makes him feel butterflies in his stomach. 

you don’t mind if he stays. you don’t mind letting someone so obviously beneath you take up space in your home and use up your supplies. you don’t mind keeping a lowly thief. 

…you really are too trusting.

“wait,” you tell him, “let me go get you a drink or something.”

“there’s the free food part. been waiting for you to pull that out!”

“hey, don’t test me! or i’m gonna feed you grim’s cat food!”

when he was created, love built him fiber by fiber. love constructed his eyes, love blessed him with sight and touch, love allowed him to perceive. because in this world, perception is the basis of love, and when wanderer was allowed to perceive, he was allowed to love.

he had love. lots of it, even. there was so much love in his being that it spilled from his eyes, dancing across the oasis of his irises and manifesting into stars. when the wanderer was created, he was ready to be loved, he was ready to love.

and then he was discarded—with all his love—because he was not enough.

(he wonders what it would take for him to be kept. for someone to cherish him despite his artificial limbs, his heartless chest.)

(he wonders what it would be like if he were cherished, even for just a little bit, by you.)

from across the lecture hall, wanderer stares at your figure. his eyes, which once manifested stars and dripped with love, trace over the bridge of your nose and the curl of your lips. wanderer stares at you, basking in the mundane, romanticizing the ordinary because for some reason, under the lights, you look ethereal.

(he would rather die than admit that outloud.)

he stares and stares, oblivious to the fact that stars have reappeared, that they begin to scatter across his irises like a mosaic of love. because the wanderer is unlike himself when it comes to you—he's enamored, he's taken, he's smitten.

when you blink, his chest throbs, and the nothingness in between his ribs becomes something—something akin to a heart, maybe—because you turn nothingness into everything, and all of a sudden wanderer feels a buzz in his chest. if he stares at you long enough, the buzz begins to sound like this: thump-thump, thump-thump.

suddenly, you turn to look at him.

his breath hitches.

you smile, and his heart aches.

then you look away. as if none of it mattered to you, as if your smile were a simple little thing, as if your eyes and your attention were meaningless.

but none of it is ever meaningless, because when he's in your presence, and when he has just a mere wisp of your existence, the wanderer breathes. he does not need to breathe (like humans do)—but when you look at him, your gaze sweeping over him like a golden light, he becomes human.

his humanity manifests in the form of a stolen breath, stagnating in his synthetic lungs in order to catch you for just a second. to adore you, within him, for but a moment.

when you meet up with him after class, wanderer feels his stomach churn (like humans feel). he feels something crawl up his throat—disgust, probably—when you look at him with those oh-so pretty eyes of yours, and when you talk to him with that oh-so pretty voice of yours.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"sorry to make you do this, wanderer!" you exclaim, bashful. "you really don't have to help me talk to him! just let me know if you don't want to, okay?"

earlier, you had asked him to help set you up with some nobody. something along the lines of, "i need my thesis project approved" or whatever, but wanderer knows mortals.

he knows that they have ulterior motives in everything they do, and the way your gaze averted from his and the way you fiddled nervously with your fingers when asking him for help was enough for him to deduce: you liked the person you were meeting up with.

"i mean—" you suddenly add, trying to fill in the awkward silence that's caused by wanderer's frustration, "he's a really scary guy, so i get it!"

"hah," he replies bitterly. "scary? yeah, right."

because what could be scarier than him? a puppet whose previous incarnations committed deeds of mass destruction, a puppet whose previous incarnations still exist with him in the present.

wanderer's past incarnations come in the form of hatred, and hatred festers all across his bones and makes its way onto his expression as he stares at you with longing. because wanderer wants you—and what would it take for you to want him back? what would he have to do, to have a mere fraction of your existence?

(but the hatred within his being grows larger. it takes over his ribs and his skin, because wanderer is a disgusting product of his previous incarnations, and his previous incarnations would never be satisfied with a mere fraction of you. his previous incarnations—and him—want all of you.)

"he really is, though! everyone in the akademiya fears him 'cause he always rejects their thesis projects—i mean, i'm scared too, but if you're there then maybe it won't be so bad!" you explain, waving your hands around for emphasis. the wanderer latches onto the fact that you need him there, that you want him to be there for the sake of comfort.

he thinks bitterly to himself: you're the only one who'd find comfort in me. and there you go again, your attention leaping beyond him, traveling towards greater heights that he will never, ever be able to catch up with. because one thing about mortals is that they are fickle, they are fleeting and they are dangerous, not to him—never him—but to each other.

one thing about mortals is that, in the face of love, they will do anything. they will look back for a brief second and lose it all, just for a glimpse of what could've been. one thing about mortals is that they'll do anything, everything for the person they love, all because it makes them happy.

as he trails after you, observing the back of your head with all the bitterness he can muster—none, when it comes to you—wanderer sighs.

(what has he been reduced to?)

you lead him towards a large door, and wanderer's chest stutters. he realizes that you're headed straight towards the grand sage's office, where many akademiya students loathe to be. but there are some outliers who want to enter that office, who want to exist inside of it because of the sage himself.

(something along the lines of the grand sage being attractive or whatnot. wanderer doesn't know, and frankly, he doesn't care. unless it comes to you, of course.)

what was his name again? wanderer thinks. but he doesn't have time to mull over the details because he just can't let you go there—wanderer doesn't want you to leave him behind those grand oak doors, left to exist with himself when you're just across from him.

he's always been star-far from you, perpetually longing to reach out and catch even a wisp of your light. and now that opportunity irrevocably close.

wanderer is going to seize a star; he's going to grasp your radiating atmosphere, let himself get pulled in by your gravity, and he's going to rest there forever and ever.

his hand reaches for your wrist, stopping you just before you reach the doors of doom.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"don't go," wanderer states. although his tone is stern, there's an unmistakable softness to his voice, his fingers clasped around yours as if he's afraid you'll be whisked away by the world, leaving him alone and betraying him once again.

"but my thesis project—"

"don't go," he repeats, "stay here." with me, his mind adds.

something crawls up his throat, his gaze suddenly averting yours as his free hand comes to tilt his hat down, masking his expression with its golden rim.

he holds his breath.

"alright," you respond. "is everything okay, wanderer?"

he doesn't respond. he tugs at your arm and pulls you close to him—so, so close—and chooses to exist in the silence. with you.

after a couple minutes, you hear wanderer mutter quietly to himself: "who even needs a thesis project?"

"uh, everyone who wants to graduate," you reply. wanderer rolls his eyes.

"who would even want to graduate?"

"me?" you respond, confused. wanderer looks away.

"whatever."

"eventually, i have to talk to him anyway—" you start, but wanderer quickly cuts you off.

"no, you don't."

"what?"

"nevermind. you wouldn't get it."

(what has he been reduced to?)

(a human.)

"what?" wriothesley says, almost incredulously. ''you want to know what clorinde's favorite flower is?"

"yeah," you reply. "i'm thinking of mailing it to her soon because i'll be too busy in the underworld to go out."

wriothesley briefly considers dispatching you on a deep sea expedition before realizing that if you're far from clorinde—underground—then you'll also be far from him, and he's not sure if he can handle that.

"well, you know, i don't really know her all that well..." he trails off, lacing his fingers together professionally. "it's a shame, really. maybe you can give her something else?"

"oh, like a box of chocolates?"

he blinks, his mind venturing to the worst scenarios. are you confessing to her? are you trying to court her? what's with all these romantic gifts?

it's unmistakable, the way his heart aches and squirms within his ribs. it's unmistakable, the way he feels something sutter one-too-many times within his chest, the tempo of his heart becoming slower and slower when, in your presence, it typically races.

but wriothesley swallows his envy and opts to relish under your gaze, feigning ignorance to the way his heart constricts a little, his ribs beginning to close in on themselves.

"well, clorinde is fond of anything that comes from your heart," wriothesley says, trying to ease the strain of his voice. "so anything you give her will definitely convey your feelings for her."

you chuckle to yourself, amused at the thought. "yeah, my feelings."

wriothesley doesn't quite know how to explain it, but the way you speak of your feelings for clorinde makes him want to give into the world and forget everything. because your expression is so lighthearted, so cheery, it makes him hate himself for wishing that it belonged to him. for wishing that you would ever, could ever, feel about him the same way you feel about clorinde.

he's selfish. too selfish. and maybe that's why you don't like him, and maybe that's why he doesn't deserve you, not now and not ever.

damn this heart of his.

"so, how long have you been planning this for?" wriothesley asks, forcing his signature grin. but the way his lips twitch a little, and the way his leg bounces up and down gives away everything.

you like someone else. for how long? wriothesley wonders, chuckling bitterly to himself. for how long have you liked clorinde?

how long has he spent, pining helplessly after you, only to realize that it was never going to work out? how could he even begin to perceive the thought of loving you, to even contemplate a time beyond what you've already given him?

he's such a fool.

"a couple of months," you say, fiddling with your fingers. wriothesley's such a fool, because the way he notices your tiny habits and the way he ogles at your embarrassed expression makes him want to continue falling hopelessly in love with you. even though you like someone else. even though you're discussing "someone else" right in front of him—he wants to love you anyway.

because that's just the kind of lovesick, hopeless fool he is.

"oh? a long time, huh?" he replies, hoping you don't notice the way he struggles to speak, the way words fail to leave his mouth the way he should.

wriothesley loves you—but no, love is not enough. he loves you the same way the birds love the sky, reaching into the limitless void, yearning and wanting. he loves you the same way tide loves the shore, ebbing and flowing, wishing for more.

wriothesley loves you in unimaginable ways, but they are not so galactic or as grand as the stars, because the love he has is rooted here on teyvat, within reach, and most fervently, within himself.

"yeah. i've been needing to apologize to her for a while now, actually," you explain, averting your eyes from his. "'cause a while back, i accidentally dropped a whole cake on her. it was a mess. literally and metaphorically."

"what?" wriothesley blinks.

"huh?" you tilt your head.

"apologize? so those gifts are for an apology?"

"yeah," you state, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"oh."

the grin he wears is no longer forced, and when you exit his office, wriothesley buries his face into his hands, unable to contain his smile.

so i have a chance, is all he thinks.

angel's tavern is unusually quiet today.

"is kaeya single?" you suddenly ask.

the glass in diluc's hand nearly shatters, his gaze focused wholly on you as his jaw clenches.

angel's tavern is unusually tense today.

"what?"

you smile awkwardly. "is kaeya single?"

"i heard you the first time."

silence ensues.

"so is he single?"

he looks away.

"i'm not sure."

diluc wonders where it all went wrong; since when were you interested in kaeya, of all people? he doesn't know what's worse: the fact that you don't like him, or the fact that you'd like kaeya over him.

he decides to ignore the way his heart constricts a little, suffocating in between the ribs that are supposed to protect it. but even when his heart gets pierced, skewered onto his bones, he feels warm. so, so warm.

he looks at you.

"you like him?"

"he's okay," you respond nonchalantly, swirling your glass of water as if it were a decadent wine. "i don't know him all that well."

"and you still want to know if he's single?"

"we all start from somewhere."

well, you're starting from the wrong brother, is all diluc thinks.

"huh," he says unenthusiastically, "so you like unreliable men?"

"what?"

"nothing."

diluc doesn't know what to make of himself—he doesn't know where to look or what to do. should he keep polishing this wine glass, or should he confront you right now and tell you about how he's loved you for so, so long?

should he tell you about how he's willing to do anything for you, how he returned to mondstadt all those years ago with only you in mind? should he tell you about how he was ready to leave this life as a ragnvindr behind, to travel teyvat and never look back, but he was more faithful to you than he could've ever imagined? he remembered you, so fervently, that he returned. he returned and he stayed.

there's no point, diluc tells himself. i will wait. he's waited and wanted you for so long, he can withstand this newfound infatuation you have. so what if you like kaeya now? diluc latches onto a slip of hope, a minute chance that maybe, just maybe, you'll notice that it's been him all along.

he's always been here. waiting. (for you.)

you glance at him, your irises enveloping him in a tender embrace, and diluc wonders what it'd be like if you were in love. with him. he wonders how much lovelier that look would be, how warm it'd make him feel, if your pupils would dilate a little, if your expression would soften and your lips would curl into a smile when you did so much as recognize him.

would you notice him then? would you be able to discern the look in his eyes—that look of love—if you felt that way too? would you be able to tell that your existence is sown into his skin, growing and blossoming like a wildflower, persisting 'till the ends of time itself?

your existence blooms all across his being until there is nothing left of him, and everything left of you.

"what do you like about him?" diluc asks, trying to ignore the way his chest throbs. he readjusts his collar, feeling strangely stuffy.

"well, he's attractive. but i don't like him like that."

diluc steals a glance at his reflection in the wine glass. people usually tell him that he's attractive. more than kaeya, though? they haven't specified.

"beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder," he affirms.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"anyway,"—diluc feigns ignorance to your flabbergasted expression—"i wish you luck on your endeavors." he crosses his fingers.

"thanks?"

"and if anything ever happens, i will be here." as i've always been, he thinks.

"right."

"and if he does anything weird, say 'ragnvindr' three times."

"what?"

there's no trace of mirth in diluc's expression, and everything he's stated thus far has been said with a straight face. you shiver a little.

"we are also closing, by the way."

"i thought you guys were open all hours of the day—"

"nope. goodbye, dear customer." diluc pauses a little when saying "dear," for he relishes in the sound, wondering when he'll be able to drop the "customer" part and call you only that. only "dear" and nothing else—with no strings attached, except for a red knot around both of your pinkies.

he cringes at the cheesy thoughts he's having.

"uh, diluc?" you call, getting ushered out of the tavern by his glare alone. "you do realize i'm not trying to get with kaeya, right? i feel like you're misunderstanding things."

"what?" this time, it's diluc's turn to be flabbergasted.

"i'm just asking for a friend. you know donna?"

he wonders if it's possible to disappear off the face of teyvat (again).

(but even then, he'd return to mondstadt for the sake of being with you. for the sake of existing in your presence.)

(because that's just the kind of man diluc is. the kind of man he becomes at the mere thought of you.)

"oh," is all he says.

"did you think i was interested in kaeya?"

"angel's share is open all twenty-four hours of the day," diluc states, ignoring your question.

floyd leech is your friend. 

or at least, you think he is. he clings to you like you’re his life support, always leaning on you like you’re his personal armrest. you’ve grown accustomed to the loud call of “shrimpy!” whenever he sees you, always mentally preparing yourself for when he starts dragging you away to be part of whatever new hobby he’s picked up. you’re also no stranger to his bone-crushing hugs, the ones that lift you slightly off the ground and quite literally take your breath away.  

you thought that eventually he’d get bored of your presence and find someone else to pick on. he’s pretty open about the fact that he’d drop azul if he got boring. but it’s been a while now, and he still won’t leave you alone. in fact, you’re pretty sure he’s gotten clingier, if that’s even possible. 

you used to try and run, but you quickly found out that you cannot escape from floyd leech. a terrifying concept, but, well, he doesn’t seem to mean harm. most of the time, that is.  

nonetheless, floyd leech is still your friend. ignoring his occasional sadistic nature, he’s nice enough. he cheers you up whenever you’re sad, even if his methods are a little unorthodox. he’ll drag you away from classes, proclaiming that he can always go through the material with you later, and make you help him practice his basketball skills or recount the time he squeezed someone so hard their eyes were almost bulging out of their skull. and he’ll back you up in an argument, glaring down the person slighting you and telling them off with only a few words.  

(but he’ll make fun of you all he wants. you’ll excitedly tell him something new you learned and then he’ll laugh at you for not knowing basic twisted wonderland history even though you are from a completely different dimension.) 

you’re pretty sure you and floyd leech are friends. so, it was really no surprise when you did what any good friend does, and you gave him a gift that reminded you of him. 

it was this cheap matching set of phone charms that you picked up while buying your groceries at sam’s. his charm consisted of small, glimmering beads mimicking gold and ivory pearls leading to a shiny off-white seashell that dangled at the end of the charm. your charm was similar in design, but the gold beads were replaced with baby blue ones, and the beads led up to a seastar.  

you thought it was cute. you thought floyd might find it cute. so why... why is he just staring at it? 

“do you, like, not like it?” you laugh nervously, watching as floyd, for the first time ever, remains completely and utterly still. you don’t get it. did you offend him in some way with the charm? do eels not like phone charms? does he not like the seashell? does he not like the color gold??? 

suddenly, he breaks out into a fit of laughter. it does nothing to ease your anxiousness, or your confusion. 

“oh, man. you’re so funny shrimpy!” he grins, revealing his horrifyingly sharp teeth, “you have no idea what this means, right? man, i forget how dense you are sometimes!” 

okay. ouch. you take time and money out of your day to give him a gift and he calls you dense. 

“well, what’s wrong with it?” you ask, offended, “did i accidentally curse out your entire bloodline in eel language or something?” 

“nah,” he says brightly, picking up the charm to examine it closer. the beads gleam in the sunlight, making their pearl act look much more convincing. you still don’t get it.  

“look at it shrimpy,” he continues, “it’s shiny, pretty, and it’s part of a matching set!... still don’t get it? i’ll spell it out for you, ‘kay? listen closely... it would check all the boxes... for a love confession in the coral sea!” 

oh. 

oh. 

“so i’m asking you out,” you say dumbly. 

“so you’re asking me out!” he affirms happily, “awhh, you’re so cute shrimpy, asking me out in such a traditional way! i accept!” 

“wait-” you sputter out, “wait! it’s not a love confession- why did you say yes so easily?! it’s a friendship gift! because we’re friends! it’s not part of a courting ritual!” 

floyd laughs in your face again. you suddenly have the urge to either punch floyd leech or take away the phone charm and burn it. but you don’t. thank the sevens for your great impulse control. 

“it’s okay, shrimpy! no need to be embarrassed!” he teases between giggles, swinging the charm in front of your face, “c’mere! i’m gonna give you the biggest squeeze of your life!” 

“wait-” 

but floyd leech does not wait. he immediately tackles you with the force of a truck. you feel your feet lift off the floor as floyd hugs you so tight you feel your bones struggle to stay intact.  

“ow! owowow!” you squeak out, writhing hopelessly in his grasp. you try to form coherent words, but all you can make out are gasps of pain. 

just as suddenly as he grabbed you, he drops you on the ground and makes a bolt for the door. 

“wha- where are you going?!” you yell out. he grins at you from over his shoulder, swinging the door open and prancing through. 

“what does it look like? i’m gonna show off to everyone!” he yells back, turning the corner. you hear his cackling gradually getting quieter as he runs off. 

“wait- floyd! floyd!” 

you scramble to your feet, wincing at the ache in your ribs. you try to rush out the door after him, but it’s too late. floyd leech is gone with the wind. 

sevens save you. your reputation is going to take a nosedive straight into the mud. 

you’re so done for. 

you’ve been on edge the whole day. 

you’ve gotten wind that yes, floyd did attach the charm to his phone, and yes, he did flaunt it to everyone. and while he didn’t outright say it was from you, he did say it was from “shrimpy” and everyone put two and two together pretty quickly. of course, nobody thought anything of it at first, you gave him a charm, so what? while it is unusual giving a gift to someone like floyd, it’s not really a big deal in the end. 

that is, until floyd had apparently offhandedly said that such a charm, shiny, beautiful, part of a matching set... would totally be considered a love confession in the coral sea. 

and then everything went to hell. 

every few minutes some student runs up to you and starts yelling at you, telling you that you’re insane for asking floyd out. and then you must correct them, telling them you meant it as a friendship gift. of course, nobody believes you.  

to put it simply, it’s been a rough few hours. 

“you!”  

you jolt, thoughts suddenly interrupted as you see ace sprinting towards you, and you have half a mind to start sprinting yourself back where you came from. 

he skids to a stop in front of you, hands on his knees as he breathes in and out heavily. 

“you asked out floyd leech?!” he yells between heaves. you wince.  

“no, i didn’t,” you insist, crossing your arms, “it was a friendship gift. a friendship gift! great sevens, how many times do i have to say it?!” 

“that’s not what floyd said.” 

“you’d believe floyd over me?!” 

“listen,” ace takes in a huge breath of air, straightening himself, “i didn’t think it was possible, i mean floyd? getting a partner before me? no way. so i asked him who it was from, and he was like, ‘shrimpy gave it to me!’ i didn’t even register it at first, like, who the hell was shrimpy? but then i realized, great sevens, it’s you.” 

you groan in embarrassment. you’ve gone through this scenario multiple times today, but it’s even more humiliating going through it with someone you’re close with.  

“look, it was a friendship gift,” you try explaining, “how was i supposed to know it meant a love confession where he was from? i didn’t even know what beanfest was!” 

“yeah, yeah,” ace waves off, “i’m surprised i even found you. thought you’d hole yourself up in your room or something.” 

“you were looking for me?” 

“duh! bet some other people are too. i wouldn’t put it past some of the octavinelle students to try and get the scoop,” ace sighs in exasperation, “sevens, i keep telling you to leave him alone and you just don’t listen, do you?” 

“to be fair, he’s the one that’s been following me.” 

“well, why do you encourage him to keep following you?!” 

you don’t really have an answer to that so you clamp your mouth shut. why do you keep encouraging him? 

“you’re such an idiot,” ace groans, “forget it. i’m leaving. i don’t want to get caught up in whatever mess you’re dealing with.” 

“weren’t you the one looking for me first?” 

too late again. ace walks away, and you still want to curl up in a hole and die.  

no! you can’t think like this! you’re mentally stronger than this, you’ve gotten past multiple overblots and lived and you’re not going to let one scandal ruin you! let’s see, your next class is... 

oh. it’s the one with floyd. 

so much for being mentally strong.

you walk into the classroom, and immediately all eyes turn towards you. you scan the free spaces, and... 

...great sevens. the only free one is near floyd. 

“shrimpy!” floyd says loudly, gaining the attention of the entire room. you see a scarabia student share knowing looks with the heartslabyul student next to him. great. floyd beckons you over, and you groan internally. 

the sevens hate you. it’s the only logical explanation. you slowly slide into the seat next to him, and he quickly takes out his phone. the charm is attached, just as you had feared.  

“i still have the charm you got me!” he exclaims, showing you that seven-forsaken charm. it glimmers in the sunlight. you really wish it didn’t. 

“yeah,” you respond back awkwardly, not sure where to look, “uhm. just by the way...” 

“hm?” 

“...you know it wasn’t meant to be a love confession, right? it really is just a friendship gift.” 

“huh?” he says, “yeah. i know.” 

...? 

“wait,” you sputter out, “but you’ve been telling everyone-” 

“yeah! that you got me something totally snazzy!” his gaze shifts to the phone charm, and he plays with the seashell at the end, sporting a goofy grin. “it’s like, totally cool! i’m gonna treasure it for life!”  

“no- why did you tell everyone it was a love confession?!” 

“wha?” he looks at you, clearly shocked. you gape at him. why is he the one who’s shocked?! you should be the one who’s more surprised! in fact, he should be groveling for your forgiveness right now! 

 “i never said that,” he denies, pouting, “you makin’ up lies about me, shrimpy?” 

“you-” you bury your head in your hands, groaning, “didn’t you tell them it was a love confession?” 

“i didn’t,” he insists, “all i said that it was funny how you didn’t know this charm could be considered a love confession! never said it was one. not my fault people assume, shrimpy!” 

you can feel everyone staring at you and floyd. you look up and make eye contact with the heartslabyul student who you saw before, and he hurriedly looks away. 

“dammit...” you whine, “this is all your fault!” 

“huh?!” floyd cries out, “how is it mine?!” 

“silence!” professor trein interrupts loudly. he must’ve come in while you were busy dealing with floyd. the class’s attention is diverted towards the front of the board, and you have never been gladder for professor trein’s presence. 

you open your textbook, breathing out a much-needed sigh of relief. thank the sevens that you’ll have a few moments of peace! 

...that is, until floyd waves his phone in front of your face, the charm swinging back and forth. the nerve! he’s making fun of you! you shoot a glare at him, and he meets your gaze with a smirk. 

“leech. phone away,” professor trein demands.  

“awhh. okay.” 

floyd leech is your friend. 

or at least, you think he is. he clings to you like you’re his life support, always leaning on you like you’re his personal armrest. you’ve grown accustomed to the loud call of “shrimpy!” whenever he sees you, always mentally preparing yourself for when he starts dragging you away to be part of whatever new hobby he’s picked up. you’re also no stranger to his bone-crushing hugs, the ones that lift you slightly off the ground and quite literally take your breath away.  

you thought that eventually he’d get bored of your presence and find someone else to pick on. he’s pretty open about the fact that he’d drop azul if he got boring. but it’s been a while now, and he still won’t leave you alone. in fact, you’re pretty sure he’s gotten clingier, if that’s even possible. 

you used to try and run, but you quickly found out that you cannot escape from floyd leech. a terrifying concept, but, well, he doesn’t seem to mean harm. most of the time, that is.  

nonetheless, floyd leech is still your friend. ignoring his occasional sadistic nature, he’s nice enough. he cheers you up whenever you’re sad, even if his methods are a little unorthodox. he’ll drag you away from classes, proclaiming that he can always go through the material with you later, and make you help him practice his basketball skills or recount the time he squeezed someone so hard their eyes were almost bulging out of their skull. and he’ll back you up in an argument, glaring down the person slighting you and telling them off with only a few words.  

(but he’ll make fun of you all he wants. you’ll excitedly tell him something new you learned and then he’ll laugh at you for not knowing basic twisted wonderland history even though you are from a completely different dimension.) 

you’re pretty sure you and floyd leech are friends. so, it was really no surprise when you did what any good friend does, and you gave him a gift that reminded you of him. 

it was this cheap matching set of phone charms that you picked up while buying your groceries at sam’s. his charm consisted of small, glimmering beads mimicking gold and ivory pearls leading to a shiny off-white seashell that dangled at the end of the charm. your charm was similar in design, but the gold beads were replaced with baby blue ones, and the beads led up to a seastar.  

you thought it was cute. you thought floyd might find it cute. so why... why is he just staring at it? 

“do you, like, not like it?” you laugh nervously, watching as floyd, for the first time ever, remains completely and utterly still. you don’t get it. did you offend him in some way with the charm? do eels not like phone charms? does he not like the seashell? does he not like the color gold??? 

suddenly, he breaks out into a fit of laughter. it does nothing to ease your anxiousness, or your confusion. 

“oh, man. you’re so funny shrimpy!” he grins, revealing his horrifyingly sharp teeth, “you have no idea what this means, right? man, i forget how dense you are sometimes!” 

okay. ouch. you take time and money out of your day to give him a gift and he calls you dense. 

“well, what’s wrong with it?” you ask, offended, “did i accidentally curse out your entire bloodline in eel language or something?” 

“nah,” he says brightly, picking up the charm to examine it closer. the beads gleam in the sunlight, making their pearl act look much more convincing. you still don’t get it.  

“look at it shrimpy,” he continues, “it’s shiny, pretty, and it’s part of a matching set!... still don’t get it? i’ll spell it out for you, ‘kay? listen closely... it would check all the boxes... for a love confession in the coral sea!” 

oh. 

oh. 

“so i’m asking you out,” you say dumbly. 

“so you’re asking me out!” he affirms happily, “awhh, you’re so cute shrimpy, asking me out in such a traditional way! i accept!” 

“wait-” you sputter out, “wait! it’s not a love confession- why did you say yes so easily?! it’s a friendship gift! because we’re friends! it’s not part of a courting ritual!” 

floyd laughs in your face again. you suddenly have the urge to either punch floyd leech or take away the phone charm and burn it. but you don’t. thank the sevens for your great impulse control. 

“it’s okay, shrimpy! no need to be embarrassed!” he teases between giggles, swinging the charm in front of your face, “c’mere! i’m gonna give you the biggest squeeze of your life!” 

“wait-” 

but floyd leech does not wait. he immediately tackles you with the force of a truck. you feel your feet lift off the floor as floyd hugs you so tight you feel your bones struggle to stay intact.  

“ow! owowow!” you squeak out, writhing hopelessly in his grasp. you try to form coherent words, but all you can make out are gasps of pain. 

just as suddenly as he grabbed you, he drops you on the ground and makes a bolt for the door. 

“wha- where are you going?!” you yell out. he grins at you from over his shoulder, swinging the door open and prancing through. 

“what does it look like? i’m gonna show off to everyone!” he yells back, turning the corner. you hear his cackling gradually getting quieter as he runs off. 

“wait- floyd! floyd!” 

you scramble to your feet, wincing at the ache in your ribs. you try to rush out the door after him, but it’s too late. floyd leech is gone with the wind. 

sevens save you. your reputation is going to take a nosedive straight into the mud. 

you’re so done for. 

you’ve been on edge the whole day. 

you’ve gotten wind that yes, floyd did attach the charm to his phone, and yes, he did flaunt it to everyone. and while he didn’t outright say it was from you, he did say it was from “shrimpy” and everyone put two and two together pretty quickly. of course, nobody thought anything of it at first, you gave him a charm, so what? while it is unusual giving a gift to someone like floyd, it’s not really a big deal in the end. 

that is, until floyd had apparently offhandedly said that such a charm, shiny, beautiful, part of a matching set... would totally be considered a love confession in the coral sea. 

and then everything went to hell. 

every few minutes some student runs up to you and starts yelling at you, telling you that you’re insane for asking floyd out. and then you must correct them, telling them you meant it as a friendship gift. of course, nobody believes you.  

to put it simply, it’s been a rough few hours. 

“you!”  

you jolt, thoughts suddenly interrupted as you see ace sprinting towards you, and you have half a mind to start sprinting yourself back where you came from. 

he skids to a stop in front of you, hands on his knees as he breathes in and out heavily. 

“you asked out floyd leech?!” he yells between heaves. you wince.  

“no, i didn’t,” you insist, crossing your arms, “it was a friendship gift. a friendship gift! great sevens, how many times do i have to say it?!” 

“that’s not what floyd said.” 

“you’d believe floyd over me?!” 

“listen,” ace takes in a huge breath of air, straightening himself, “i didn’t think it was possible, i mean floyd? getting a partner before me? no way. so i asked him who it was from, and he was like, ‘shrimpy gave it to me!’ i didn’t even register it at first, like, who the hell was shrimpy? but then i realized, great sevens, it’s you.” 

you groan in embarrassment. you’ve gone through this scenario multiple times today, but it’s even more humiliating going through it with someone you’re close with.  

“look, it was a friendship gift,” you try explaining, “how was i supposed to know it meant a love confession where he was from? i didn’t even know what beanfest was!” 

“yeah, yeah,” ace waves off, “i’m surprised i even found you. thought you’d hole yourself up in your room or something.” 

“you were looking for me?” 

“duh! bet some other people are too. i wouldn’t put it past some of the octavinelle students to try and get the scoop,” ace sighs in exasperation, “sevens, i keep telling you to leave him alone and you just don’t listen, do you?” 

“to be fair, he’s the one that’s been following me.” 

“well, why do you encourage him to keep following you?!” 

you don’t really have an answer to that so you clamp your mouth shut. why do you keep encouraging him? 

“you’re such an idiot,” ace groans, “forget it. i’m leaving. i don’t want to get caught up in whatever mess you’re dealing with.” 

“weren’t you the one looking for me first?” 

too late again. ace walks away, and you still want to curl up in a hole and die.  

no! you can’t think like this! you’re mentally stronger than this, you’ve gotten past multiple overblots and lived and you’re not going to let one scandal ruin you! let’s see, your next class is... 

oh. it’s the one with floyd. 

so much for being mentally strong.

you walk into the classroom, and immediately all eyes turn towards you. you scan the free spaces, and... 

...great sevens. the only free one is near floyd. 

“shrimpy!” floyd says loudly, gaining the attention of the entire room. you see a scarabia student share knowing looks with the heartslabyul student next to him. great. floyd beckons you over, and you groan internally. 

the sevens hate you. it’s the only logical explanation. you slowly slide into the seat next to him, and he quickly takes out his phone. the charm is attached, just as you had feared.  

“i still have the charm you got me!” he exclaims, showing you that seven-forsaken charm. it glimmers in the sunlight. you really wish it didn’t. 

“yeah,” you respond back awkwardly, not sure where to look, “uhm. just by the way...” 

“hm?” 

“...you know it wasn’t meant to be a love confession, right? it really is just a friendship gift.” 

“huh?” he says, “yeah. i know.” 

...? 

“wait,” you sputter out, “but you’ve been telling everyone-” 

“yeah! that you got me something totally snazzy!” his gaze shifts to the phone charm, and he plays with the seashell at the end, sporting a goofy grin. “it’s like, totally cool! i’m gonna treasure it for life!”  

“no- why did you tell everyone it was a love confession?!” 

“wha?” he looks at you, clearly shocked. you gape at him. why is he the one who’s shocked?! you should be the one who’s more surprised! in fact, he should be groveling for your forgiveness right now! 

 “i never said that,” he denies, pouting, “you makin’ up lies about me, shrimpy?” 

“you-” you bury your head in your hands, groaning, “didn’t you tell them it was a love confession?” 

“i didn’t,” he insists, “all i said that it was funny how you didn’t know this charm could be considered a love confession! never said it was one. not my fault people assume, shrimpy!” 

you can feel everyone staring at you and floyd. you look up and make eye contact with the heartslabyul student who you saw before, and he hurriedly looks away. 

“dammit...” you whine, “this is all your fault!” 

“huh?!” floyd cries out, “how is it mine?!” 

“silence!” professor trein interrupts loudly. he must’ve come in while you were busy dealing with floyd. the class’s attention is diverted towards the front of the board, and you have never been gladder for professor trein’s presence. 

you open your textbook, breathing out a much-needed sigh of relief. thank the sevens that you’ll have a few moments of peace! 

...that is, until floyd waves his phone in front of your face, the charm swinging back and forth. the nerve! he’s making fun of you! you shoot a glare at him, and he meets your gaze with a smirk. 

“leech. phone away,” professor trein demands.  

“awhh. okay.” 

floyd leech is your friend. 

or at least, you think he is. he clings to you like you’re his life support, always leaning on you like you’re his personal armrest. you’ve grown accustomed to the loud call of “shrimpy!” whenever he sees you, always mentally preparing yourself for when he starts dragging you away to be part of whatever new hobby he’s picked up. you’re also no stranger to his bone-crushing hugs, the ones that lift you slightly off the ground and quite literally take your breath away.  

you thought that eventually he’d get bored of your presence and find someone else to pick on. he’s pretty open about the fact that he’d drop azul if he got boring. but it’s been a while now, and he still won’t leave you alone. in fact, you’re pretty sure he’s gotten clingier, if that’s even possible. 

you used to try and run, but you quickly found out that you cannot escape from floyd leech. a terrifying concept, but, well, he doesn’t seem to mean harm. most of the time, that is.  

nonetheless, floyd leech is still your friend. ignoring his occasional sadistic nature, he’s nice enough. he cheers you up whenever you’re sad, even if his methods are a little unorthodox. he’ll drag you away from classes, proclaiming that he can always go through the material with you later, and make you help him practice his basketball skills or recount the time he squeezed someone so hard their eyes were almost bulging out of their skull. and he’ll back you up in an argument, glaring down the person slighting you and telling them off with only a few words.  

(but he’ll make fun of you all he wants. you’ll excitedly tell him something new you learned and then he’ll laugh at you for not knowing basic twisted wonderland history even though you are from a completely different dimension.) 

you’re pretty sure you and floyd leech are friends. so, it was really no surprise when you did what any good friend does, and you gave him a gift that reminded you of him. 

it was this cheap matching set of phone charms that you picked up while buying your groceries at sam’s. his charm consisted of small, glimmering beads mimicking gold and ivory pearls leading to a shiny off-white seashell that dangled at the end of the charm. your charm was similar in design, but the gold beads were replaced with baby blue ones, and the beads led up to a seastar.  

you thought it was cute. you thought floyd might find it cute. so why... why is he just staring at it? 

“do you, like, not like it?” you laugh nervously, watching as floyd, for the first time ever, remains completely and utterly still. you don’t get it. did you offend him in some way with the charm? do eels not like phone charms? does he not like the seashell? does he not like the color gold??? 

suddenly, he breaks out into a fit of laughter. it does nothing to ease your anxiousness, or your confusion. 

“oh, man. you’re so funny shrimpy!” he grins, revealing his horrifyingly sharp teeth, “you have no idea what this means, right? man, i forget how dense you are sometimes!” 

okay. ouch. you take time and money out of your day to give him a gift and he calls you dense. 

“well, what’s wrong with it?” you ask, offended, “did i accidentally curse out your entire bloodline in eel language or something?” 

“nah,” he says brightly, picking up the charm to examine it closer. the beads gleam in the sunlight, making their pearl act look much more convincing. you still don’t get it.  

“look at it shrimpy,” he continues, “it’s shiny, pretty, and it’s part of a matching set!... still don’t get it? i’ll spell it out for you, ‘kay? listen closely... it would check all the boxes... for a love confession in the coral sea!” 

oh. 

oh. 

“so i’m asking you out,” you say dumbly. 

“so you’re asking me out!” he affirms happily, “awhh, you’re so cute shrimpy, asking me out in such a traditional way! i accept!” 

“wait-” you sputter out, “wait! it’s not a love confession- why did you say yes so easily?! it’s a friendship gift! because we’re friends! it’s not part of a courting ritual!” 

floyd laughs in your face again. you suddenly have the urge to either punch floyd leech or take away the phone charm and burn it. but you don’t. thank the sevens for your great impulse control. 

“it’s okay, shrimpy! no need to be embarrassed!” he teases between giggles, swinging the charm in front of your face, “c’mere! i’m gonna give you the biggest squeeze of your life!” 

“wait-” 

but floyd leech does not wait. he immediately tackles you with the force of a truck. you feel your feet lift off the floor as floyd hugs you so tight you feel your bones struggle to stay intact.  

“ow! owowow!” you squeak out, writhing hopelessly in his grasp. you try to form coherent words, but all you can make out are gasps of pain. 

just as suddenly as he grabbed you, he drops you on the ground and makes a bolt for the door. 

“wha- where are you going?!” you yell out. he grins at you from over his shoulder, swinging the door open and prancing through. 

“what does it look like? i’m gonna show off to everyone!” he yells back, turning the corner. you hear his cackling gradually getting quieter as he runs off. 

“wait- floyd! floyd!” 

you scramble to your feet, wincing at the ache in your ribs. you try to rush out the door after him, but it’s too late. floyd leech is gone with the wind. 

sevens save you. your reputation is going to take a nosedive straight into the mud. 

you’re so done for. 

you’ve been on edge the whole day. 

you’ve gotten wind that yes, floyd did attach the charm to his phone, and yes, he did flaunt it to everyone. and while he didn’t outright say it was from you, he did say it was from “shrimpy” and everyone put two and two together pretty quickly. of course, nobody thought anything of it at first, you gave him a charm, so what? while it is unusual giving a gift to someone like floyd, it’s not really a big deal in the end. 

that is, until floyd had apparently offhandedly said that such a charm, shiny, beautiful, part of a matching set... would totally be considered a love confession in the coral sea. 

and then everything went to hell. 

every few minutes some student runs up to you and starts yelling at you, telling you that you’re insane for asking floyd out. and then you must correct them, telling them you meant it as a friendship gift. of course, nobody believes you.  

to put it simply, it’s been a rough few hours. 

“you!”  

you jolt, thoughts suddenly interrupted as you see ace sprinting towards you, and you have half a mind to start sprinting yourself back where you came from. 

he skids to a stop in front of you, hands on his knees as he breathes in and out heavily. 

“you asked out floyd leech?!” he yells between heaves. you wince.  

“no, i didn’t,” you insist, crossing your arms, “it was a friendship gift. a friendship gift! great sevens, how many times do i have to say it?!” 

“that’s not what floyd said.” 

“you’d believe floyd over me?!” 

“listen,” ace takes in a huge breath of air, straightening himself, “i didn’t think it was possible, i mean floyd? getting a partner before me? no way. so i asked him who it was from, and he was like, ‘shrimpy gave it to me!’ i didn’t even register it at first, like, who the hell was shrimpy? but then i realized, great sevens, it’s you.” 

you groan in embarrassment. you’ve gone through this scenario multiple times today, but it’s even more humiliating going through it with someone you’re close with.  

“look, it was a friendship gift,” you try explaining, “how was i supposed to know it meant a love confession where he was from? i didn’t even know what beanfest was!” 

“yeah, yeah,” ace waves off, “i’m surprised i even found you. thought you’d hole yourself up in your room or something.” 

“you were looking for me?” 

“duh! bet some other people are too. i wouldn’t put it past some of the octavinelle students to try and get the scoop,” ace sighs in exasperation, “sevens, i keep telling you to leave him alone and you just don’t listen, do you?” 

“to be fair, he’s the one that’s been following me.” 

“well, why do you encourage him to keep following you?!” 

you don’t really have an answer to that so you clamp your mouth shut. why do you keep encouraging him? 

“you’re such an idiot,” ace groans, “forget it. i’m leaving. i don’t want to get caught up in whatever mess you’re dealing with.” 

“weren’t you the one looking for me first?” 

too late again. ace walks away, and you still want to curl up in a hole and die.  

no! you can’t think like this! you’re mentally stronger than this, you’ve gotten past multiple overblots and lived and you’re not going to let one scandal ruin you! let’s see, your next class is... 

oh. it’s the one with floyd. 

so much for being mentally strong.

you walk into the classroom, and immediately all eyes turn towards you. you scan the free spaces, and... 

...great sevens. the only free one is near floyd. 

“shrimpy!” floyd says loudly, gaining the attention of the entire room. you see a scarabia student share knowing looks with the heartslabyul student next to him. great. floyd beckons you over, and you groan internally. 

the sevens hate you. it’s the only logical explanation. you slowly slide into the seat next to him, and he quickly takes out his phone. the charm is attached, just as you had feared.  

“i still have the charm you got me!” he exclaims, showing you that seven-forsaken charm. it glimmers in the sunlight. you really wish it didn’t. 

“yeah,” you respond back awkwardly, not sure where to look, “uhm. just by the way...” 

“hm?” 

“...you know it wasn’t meant to be a love confession, right? it really is just a friendship gift.” 

“huh?” he says, “yeah. i know.” 

...? 

“wait,” you sputter out, “but you’ve been telling everyone-” 

“yeah! that you got me something totally snazzy!” his gaze shifts to the phone charm, and he plays with the seashell at the end, sporting a goofy grin. “it’s like, totally cool! i’m gonna treasure it for life!”  

“no- why did you tell everyone it was a love confession?!” 

“wha?” he looks at you, clearly shocked. you gape at him. why is he the one who’s shocked?! you should be the one who’s more surprised! in fact, he should be groveling for your forgiveness right now! 

 “i never said that,” he denies, pouting, “you makin’ up lies about me, shrimpy?” 

“you-” you bury your head in your hands, groaning, “didn’t you tell them it was a love confession?” 

“i didn’t,” he insists, “all i said that it was funny how you didn’t know this charm could be considered a love confession! never said it was one. not my fault people assume, shrimpy!” 

you can feel everyone staring at you and floyd. you look up and make eye contact with the heartslabyul student who you saw before, and he hurriedly looks away. 

“dammit...” you whine, “this is all your fault!” 

“huh?!” floyd cries out, “how is it mine?!” 

“silence!” professor trein interrupts loudly. he must’ve come in while you were busy dealing with floyd. the class’s attention is diverted towards the front of the board, and you have never been gladder for professor trein’s presence. 

you open your textbook, breathing out a much-needed sigh of relief. thank the sevens that you’ll have a few moments of peace! 

...that is, until floyd waves his phone in front of your face, the charm swinging back and forth. the nerve! he’s making fun of you! you shoot a glare at him, and he meets your gaze with a smirk. 

“leech. phone away,” professor trein demands.  

“awhh. okay.”