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Tonight, you were at Angel's Share for the Knights of Favonius' welcome-home celebration. The event was just about as you'd expect; as usual, the knights were getting quite drunk and chatting aimlessly, spouting nonsense. So, it was no surprise when Lohen suddenly gestured for both of you to leave—and you already knew the reason why.

Lohen grabbed your wrist firmly and dragged you out of the tavern; his grip wasn't strong enough to hurt you, but firm enough to mean he was serious.

”You little–! Now, of all times?!” You whisper-yelled, but complied with his whims anyway—letting him lead you to god-knows-where. 

“What’s the problem, Captain?” Lohen taunted, leaning in. “I could just tell you were getting bored with that lame party. You don’t drink, I don’t drink, what’s the point?”

He closed in—his breath warm against the back of your ear—whispering, “Wouldn’t you much rather have fun with me? Instead of those… bumbling—sorry, I mean, drunk knights who keep, y’know, hitting on you.”

You grumbled. You didn’t like Lohen—not one bit. Sure, he’s devilishly handsome, but he always threw a goddamn wrench into your plans. Every meeting, formation, or protocol, he’d publicly challenge you and deviate from your instructions!

He’s the one unpredictable variable you just cannot control, and you despise it—despise him. It doesn’t matter that when you leave him to his devices, he always yields excellent results; his blatant disobedience always gets you livid. 

Though, this loathing… only made your little excursions with him all the more passionate.

You let out a resigned sigh—as much as you hated giving him what he wanted, who are you to refuse a good time with your least-favorite Vice Captain? He was right, you were bored, after all.

“Fine.” 

He grinned, giving you a glimpse of his sharp canines, “Wise choice, Captain,” and pinned you against the back entrance of Angel’s Share, knocking over a few empty barrels in the process. 

“Ow–!” you yelped, but then he immediately shoved his gloved fingers into your mouth to silence you. “Suck,” he challenged.

You glared up through your eyelashes. That tone, as if he was demeaning you—even though you were his Captain… it made you oh-so-furious. In retaliation, you bit down hard on his fingers.

“Ngh–!” Lohen let out a low grunt at the pain and pulled his fingers out of your mouth, but his shock only lasted momentarily before a manic grin split his face in half. “Captain, you—ahaha, you seriously…! Oh, you wanna go there, huh?”

In a split second, he lunged at the exposed skin near your collarbone, biting down hard enough to break it; blood trickled down your chest and seeped into your clothes.

“Lohen!” You gasped, “What in Barbatos’ good name do you think you’re—!” 

Your shocked cry fell on deaf ears. He was too engrossed in drawing blood from your skin—your neck, shoulders, chin. Every exposed inch, he didn’t let a single one escape his claim. After each bite, he licked the blood clean, savoring the rich iron flavor as though it were the finest of wine.

You could’ve stopped him—this was a bad idea, you couldn’t bear to face the rest of the Knights of Favonius with such blatant evidence all over you! Logically, you should’ve told him to stop, but… 

He chuckled against your skin, sending vibrations through you, pleased by your reaction. “You like it, huh? Captain… I can tell, I know your body so well, after all.” He sucked at the final unblemished patch, the junction between your jaw and neck.

Once he was done, he detached his lips from your skin with a ‘pop!’ sound, letting out a pleased hum.

Finally, stepping back, he took a moment to admire his stunning masterpiece… the trails of blood, teeth marks, and the bruised hickeys all popping out against the backdrop of your body.

“Ah, one last thing!” He grinned, taking your hand in his.

“You still aren’t satisfied? I don’t recall you ever being this greedy before.” You sighed, ignoring the way the butterflies in your stomach fluttered at the physical contact.

“Mm, no. Not until I…” Lohen trailed off teasingly, taking your ring finger into his mouth. He pushed it in deep, such that the tip grazed the sensitive uvula at the back of his throat. The opening of his mouth, where his teeth lay, lined up perfectly with the base of your finger. 

Without giving you time to process what was happening, he bit down harder than he ever had that night—biting until blood began to spurt out at all angles. The iron liquid started to curve around your finger.

You screeched, “What was that for?!” and instinctively pulled your finger out of his stupid mouth. 

You watched in horror as blood oozed out of the base of your finger, slowly shaping the form of a ring. When you held it up, gravity pulled the thick red liquid downward, creating elongated drips that cascaded along your palm.

Lohen flashed you his signature shit-eating grin, “After tonight, those bumbling drunkards will know you’re…” He paused before saying, finally, “…with me.” 

Now you know why Lohen doesn’t take your position seriously—you keep letting him get away with whatever he wants, don’t you?

His colleagues earnt shrivelled up expressions of disgust, a violent shudder would pounce on his spine whenever he saw how relaxed they were, drinking their hearts out 'til midnight and puking out on the streets.

(If getting wasted was so necessary, at least remain somewhat competent—Lohen counted twelve opportunities for Gunther to get killed as he stumbled away from the Angel's Share the other night; he should've been grateful it was Lohen judging him, and not a member of the Fatui.)

Human life was fragile, it expired early and death pounced on the nearest person without mercy, and never took breaks, thus, neither should humans. 

Today, was no exception to Lohen's discomfort.

He arrived to work late—as always, greeting Mika on his way to the Grandmaster's Office with a lazy wave before slouching into his seat, where an obscene stack of paperwork awaited him. The quill between his fingers was abnormally heavy, and Varka's gaze wouldn't leave him.

"Y'know. You don't have to stare me down that hard."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Brat. Who's the one who shortened your confinement?"

For once, Lohen kept his mouth shut, deciding the Grandmaster deserved his best behaviour. It was the least he could do

Solitary confinement, you managed to make tolerable. He wrote of everything to you, from details of his Nod Krai expedition to Adorno's passing and his punishment, scrawling away to process what happened, and to pass the time. Though his solitude remained true, writing to you was essentially the same as company. Day melted into night when he thought of you. He had to regularly call for more paper, only when his words to you reached a length rivaling the novellas of the Favonius Library, Varka convinced Jean to mitigate his punishment. On the basis of his good behaviour, he argued that he deserved the privacy to mourn Adorno, and mail his letter to you. Lohen was free to return home and live normally, at the expense of strict supervision and paperwork during his hours.

(You remained to be a blessing. First, giving Lohen the best childhood and teenage years, and now you were bailing him out of punishment, without even being in the nation.)

Lohen missed you, a lot. Absurdly so. Mountains and oceans apart, you were in Inazuma, where he hoped you felt the same.

Six years was too long. In the first year, he went strong, told himself that you'd be back in no time and that letters were sufficient. By the second, he was going even more insane than he already was, actively searching out ruin guards to bully at Stormbearer Mountains in the dead of night as stress relief.

He wanted to touch you, feel your skin against his and to listen to you rant and laugh—a melody that no choir could ever recreate. He wanted to pinch your cheeks again and watch them redden. He missed how you'd cling onto him whenever you got scared, and he wished he was there for every adversity you were facing over there. He wished he could watch how much happier you were becoming with his open two eyes, instead of reading it with months delayed.

Lohen wanted you. Not your letters. Those wouldn't come sleep over when the nightmares became too much, nor bandage his injuries when they were placed so awkwardly. They capture only your handwriting and nothing else. He would’ve forgotten your voice long ago, had he not thought about you constantly, reciting memories like prayer.

Confinement to letters wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to wait months for mail to arrive. Letters only satiated so much. And they were volatile—who knows if the mailman would drop either one of your letters, or if storm strikes down the ship it sails on. Only Barbatos himself would know of what happens to them.

(With every victory, you came to mind first. Varka and Jean read of it first through paperwork, then word of mouth would inform the rest of the knights. Sometimes it reached the citizens of Mondstadt.

The best Lohen could do was write it for you first, and pretend it was the same as finding you in your favourite spot at the library, or knocking on your window to demand your attention. In his head, you were the first to know because he wanted you to be. It was far better than agreeing with reality.)

After hearing of his complaints, you opted to mailing him a diary, a collection of thoughts and stories you wanted to share with him, organised by date. Inside, you sandwiched a response to the letter he'd send, alongside folded papercraft (known as 'origami', you said). Lohen built a small bookshelf for these, adorning his empty bedroom with your days.

His gaze wandered to the window, surely he could keep his mind preoccupied. There should've been something remotely interesting to watch—the statue of Barbatos stood proud, as always, welcoming all to the open arms of Mondstadt. Towards the bottom was Barbara, serenading a group of people. That stupid, green bard was nearby, and Lohen rolled his eyes and decided it was time to stop looking outside.

His quill hauled itself across the page, leaving the mere date in its trail.

You can do it, I'll wait for you!

Lohen sculpted every drifting thought into an illusion of you, imagining you were there with him, seated on the couch across the room, waiting for him to finish so the two of you could go skip rocks at Cider Lake.

(Back in the day, Adorno would give you guys 'homework', insisting that puzzles were good for your brain. Your logic flowed as seamlessly as your hands, finishing his tasks with ease; Lohen couldn't say the same for himself. Adorno had to give you guys separate worksheets, since you'd simply give the answers to Lohen.)

The room was drained of its sunlight, fading into a soft pink. Every scratch of his quill against the parchment whittled time away. Varka didn't need to snap at him, and

He finds himself connecting his letters. You wrote in cursive ever since you were little, and still did—

Fuck, his concentration was breaking. What he haphazardly glued together were falling apart, shattering into even smaller bits and pieces.

He tried to fall back on his initial tactic, but all he could think of was how different you must've looked by now. You mentioned getting much more exercise. Did you bulk up, or were you the kind to slim down? Maybe you managed to grow a few centimetres, or perhaps you had a tan now? He had no idea what the weather was like over there.

He was unable to conjure an image of you, only wonder and curiosity, and a desperation to see you once more. Questions blurred his vision and hypotheticals presented possibilities without rest. His energy and attention slipped away, leaving him to soak in his pathetic longing.

"Fuuuuuck offff." Lohen slouched onto the table, cheek resting against the cold, polished wood. He entertained the thought of smashing his head into the table until he was out cold, that way, he wouldn't have to do paperwork, nor be forced to cope with the fact that he couldn't see you.

The stupid pile of paperwork was just as prominent, and infuriating, as his inability to focus. Why couldn't you leave him alone?

(Stupid fucking Barbatos. If the god of freedom out of all beings out there couldn't bring you back, he could've at least freed him of this constant craving of you. This was exactly why Lohen hated gods and refused to partake in anything religious)

Then there was the Sakoku Decree too. You insisted the Vision Hunt Decree only targeted Vision wielders, that you were safe and he had nothing to worry about, but Lohen did the exact opposite. A dictator was never honest, a leader that would approve of such policy would not be one fit to protect its people. Those stuck in Inazuma, including you, requested the help of the Knights to return home, though they were fruitless.

Any resemblance of concentration was long gone. It abandoned him the moment he thought of you again, leaving him to spiral.

Varka's heavy footsteps approached him, his large hands sifting through the paperwork Lohen had (somehow) managed to complete successfully. "...not bad. I've never seen you do so much. And your handwriting's neat." Lohen peeled himself off the desk with disheveled hair, and hollow eyes begging Varka for freedom. "You've done enough, I don't like paperwork too. Good improvement."

For a brute that drank like a fish, he was surprisingly thoughtful.

"I'm gonna kill myself."

The Grandmaster chuckled, ruffling the Vice Captain's hair and patting him on the shoulder. "Paperwork does that, kid."

Dusk stained Mondstadt pink. Remains of day bled everywhere, as Lohen walked across stone pavement alongside Varka, watching over children that chased each other by the fountain. The Good Hunter kept many company, its patrons howling with laughter and cheersing obscenely large tankards. His fingers twitched at his sides, missing their skinship with his dagger and lance, while the wind caressed his face.

Doing paperwork was so awful, that Lohen considered getting drunk, calculating whether the vulnerability would be worth the mindless bliss of being wasted—there had to be a reason why everyone in Mondstadt loved beer, and why even the Grandmaster himself had no problem with drinking to his very limits.

"So." He drawled, itching to leave the city and head to Wolvendom to fight something. "Why am I here again?"

"Because you're under supervision. And I need a beer." The man groaned, stretching an arm and scratching his back. "You look like you need a drink."

"A fight, you mean."

Varka slapped him on the back, enough force to almost make him fall over. "Be grateful I didn't make you do my paperwork too, hm? Maybe it's a good thing you didn't become captain. You wouldn't last a day." Before Lohen could retort, something else grabbed Varka's attention. "Be right back—someone looks lost." A finger pointed forwards, Lohen's halflidded eyes didn't bother tracking them as he let out a wordless grunt.

Maybe now was a good chance to run off. And if Varka tried to get him into trouble again, he'd snitch on Varka to Jean for drinking.

He took an analytical glance at Varka, only for his heart to freeze on the spot.

The sun had already set, yet you managed to glow in its absence.

Lohen's feet didn't move, they couldn't—all that went through his head was relief, leaving him in a stupor.

The world went silent, all that was nonessential melted into nothingness. What remained was you, with wide eyes marveled by your home city again.

You. Here. In Mondstadt. Where Lohen was.

You didn't look so different, contrary to all the different theories he had conjured in his curious boredom. You must've lost a bit of weight from travelling so much, but you looked stronger overall. Your smile was bright, as always, only this time it made Lohen choke on his own spit, and question if he had really lost it.

The Vice Captain of the Fifth Company does not cry. However, he'd make an exception for you.

His body finally awoke, and he took a step towards you. And another. Until he could hear you.

You were looking up at Varka, a bit unsettled by the height difference, but friendly nonetheless. "Oh—I'm from here, it's just been a long time. I haven't spoken the language in a while too. I might be lost..."

Lohen didn't even get to say hi, before you pounced on him.

"Oh my god—" Your voice hitched, on the brink of crumbling into tears. "I missed you so much."

Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and he squirmed—the closest to hugging he ever did was wrestling new recruits, who could never lay a hand on him.

(But his arms reciprocated, carefully feeling your back as he held onto you. It felt harder than before, your working out must've paid off. The muscle was warm, even through your clothes and his gloves.)

He still couldn't speak. No words would come out, immobilised by his shock. All he did was nuzzle his chin into your shoulder and rediscover your warmth.

"Ahem." Varka cleared his throat, immediately pulling you out of your hug. You scrambled to stand straight, glowing a furious red while muttering out apologies. Varka mirrored your words, saying that he hates to ruin your moment.

(Stupid old man. Lohen wasn't nearly as big as enough to throw him into the fountain, unfortunately. He was going to up his dosage of poison next time. He'll spit in his next beer while he's at it, too.)

As if he wasn't going through every emotion he yearned for, Lohen deadpanned, droning at his boss. "Yeah?"

"You guys...friends?"

You answered first. "Yup! I haven't seen him since before I left."

Lohen thought that was sufficient for his question. "You're back...how—? The decree—you never said anything about returning."

Joy scrunched your face. "It ended a while back. I wanted to surprise you, so I didn't write about it."

(Lohen was young, and very much in great shape, but he thought shock was going to force his heartbeat to a halt. He now owes Barbatos for every time he cussed him out bitterly in his head.)

"You're back..." He repeated.

"I am!"

Besides you, Varka cocked a brow. "Decree? You mean Inazuma?"

You nodded. And Varka went pale. He took a step closer to you.

"You must've been scared. Being trapped in the country. I heard about everything that happened over there." Varka was solemn, regret clouded his face and his voice went dry.

You shook your head. "Things have gotten better over there. It feels normal again." There wasn't a sign of dishonesty, but Varka sank down to a knee regardless, hand over his chest.

"I'm sorry we couldn't do anything. Even though it's our role as knights to protect the people of Mondstadt, we couldn't save you guys. As Grandmaster, I failed you all."

He must've been referring to all the letters that were sent, from merchants to separated family members, asking for help and some sort of intervention.

(Lohen used to press his ear against Varka’s door, picking up bits and pieces of his discussions with Jean on what to do, though now wasn't the time to admit that.)

You were flustered at the chivalrous act, frantically glancing around at the stares you were receiving. "It's not your fault—the shogun and her people aren't fond of foreigners. Please don't kneel—"

Lohen rolled his eyes and tapped Varka's calf, bordering on a kick. "You heard 'em. You're embarrassing us."

Now flustered, Varka stood, rubbing the back of his head. "I still feel bad. Adorno was upset when he found out what happened. He even considered sailing all the way there to negotiate on our behalf."

(Lohen remembers that. When he came running to Adorno to lament about the news, the man was equally as heartbroken. While Lohen panicked, Adorno was already planning to use his retirement funds for an expedition there.)

Your eyes lit up. "Speaking of Adorno—how has he been?"

Lohen's throat closed up, before glancing at Varka.

Adorno's grave was still clean from last time he stopped by. That was good.

The cecilia was beginning to wilt, a light brown began permeating its white petals. He's surprised the wind hadn't blown it away—maybe Barbatos was good for something after all.

The two of you were behind the Cathedral, Adorno's final resting place where many lay peacefully. Daylight was no more, and the cold bit at his face.

His gaze trailed over to you, where you were frozen in the evening, staring at the stone cross. "I wrote about it to you. You just got here before it could arrive."

You said nothing in response, blinking slower than usual.

He sucked in a sharp breath of air. "Do not stand by my grave and cry. My life, I gave to wipe tears dry." Lohen recited Adorno's final words, the last wish he made before his passing. He took a step closer, too apprehensive to dare touch you yet. "There's no need to be sad. It was painless, and peaceful. He was gettin' old, too."

Adorno, in bed, life and colour long gone from his face. Despite tethering on the borders of life and death, his wrinkled hands were abnormally warm, far more than the campsites of their expedition. Lohen's eyes burnt and his nose felt funny, but he subsided it for the sake of his last wish.

"But. If you need to cry, go ahead. I won't tell him." Lohen's hand rested on the small of your back. "We can go around the corner for a bit. And come back. O–Or I can give you some time alone if you need—?"

"—no. I'll stay." You scrunched your nose and blinked hard, but you didn't cry. "It's been too long."

So you sat down, and Lohen joined you.

"It was his health, wasn't it? You said he was getting worse a while back. 'm surprised he lived for that long." You murmured, squinting at the date of birth and death. "He only passed recently."

Lohen prepared himself to tell the whole story. His gloves felt uncomfortably stuffy before he told you everything.

By the end of it, your eyes were wide as saucers, bewildered at it all.

"Yeah." He wasn't proud of it, but it felt worse admitting it to you, out of all people. Had you been there at the time, you would've told someone immediately, out of pure concern for everyone's wellbeing. "I wrote it all down for you during my solitary confinement. Haven't even seen Theodore since then. He probably got longer than me."

(He should pay a visit, he thought to himself. Though Theodore was the main instigator, without Lohen, he wouldn't have made it that far. He wonders how he's been doing.)

You, were still processing everything. "So you and Theodore...injected Adorno with Ursa's flesh...the same stuff that we were supposed to be experimented on for?”

Lohen nodded.

"And you were the test subject?"

"Yeah."

"Are you stupid? Why would you willingly do that to yourself?"

You hit him in the shoulder, with a new kind of strength you didn't have last time he met you. "I know—I don't feel good about it either. I was desperate, and y'know, I thought it'd make me stronger, since Ursa's a dragon and all, and whatever. But yeah. It was stupid. I don't really regret it, though. Got to talk to Adorno for a bit longer, and the whole thing helped me accept I was weak.”

He stared at his outstretched palm, where he had pierced with his dagger. Ursa's screams echoed in his skull, and he squeezed his eyelids tight to ignore it. She was dormant, but his fears weren't. At the end of the day, he was nothing more than a mortal.

You nudged him. "I don't think you're weak. Acknowledging it makes you stronger than most people. And I don't think you were wrong for wanting Adorno to live longer."

Lohen shrugged. "I'm only strong among the weak. I'm nothing compared to the people I've met." Racher of Solnari. The Honorary Knight. Even Varka, the Grandmaster—those who belonged in fairytales and legends to be passed down from generation to generation. They all existed in a realm separate to Lohen's, a random boy who almost fell victim to a harbinger. "I'll get there. Someday. Just not today. I won't do anything like that again, old man."

(Of course, the grave did not respond. But he imagines Adorno ruffling his hair and telling him he was proud of Lohen.)

As long as he didn't lose sight of his goals, nor himself. Lohen had no need for power he couldn't control, for it wouldn't be known as power anymore—only poison.

You agreed with a hum. "You better not. You can't get stronger if you're dead."

Lohen let out a dry chuckle, then silence spoke next.

The wind got colder, though gentle, the grass danced alongside it. Fireflies paid a visit, some fascinated by the gravestones that stood tall, others preferred the flowers gifted to them. Day was no longer, aside from the dainty lights of streetlamps standing guard and the lantern sitting nearby, there was no light.

"Your turn." Lohen nudged you.

"What?"

"Tell him all about Inazuma. He wants to know how you've been doing. This time from you, and not the letters you sent over."

(Lohen never shut up about you, Adorno was the closest thing to a father for him, so naturally, he endured the most of his rambling. You'd write him something as simple as "I love sashimi" and Lohen managed to turn it into an essay's worth of conversation, pondering to Adorno on how he could prepare some as a gift to your return, or marveling at how the people of Inazuma ate fish raw, commending their bravery and immune systems.

Adorno often joked that you wouldn't be able to tell him anything about your time away, since he'd have already heard it from Lohen too.)

"You don't have to say it out loud. I just say it in my head if I don't want someone else to hear." He clarified. "Or you can pay another visit next time, if y'know, you need time to process?"

You shook your head. "I'm alright—I just don't know where to start."

"Wherever you want."

You took a deep breath, Lohen noticed the ever so slight tremble. "Hi Adorno. Long time no see." He leaned back on his palms, watching you tell your story. "I've gotten a lot better. Like really better, the psychologist I was seeing was actually a youkai. It's a kind of spirit from Inazuma and..."

...you told Adorno of Yumemizuki Mizuki, the dream eating tapir, and your psychologist, whom you held a world of gratitude for. You shared your progress, from learning to open up about your past to no longer having nightmares.

The story trailed to your job. It started as Mizuki providing you work at her bathhouse, a role where you prepared their snacks and meals for her clients. It was life-changing, as you described it. You let Adorno know that he didn't have to worry for your future, the job had given you the confidence to pursue culinary school, and you'd been financially stable by yourself ever since. Your career had given you a sense of direction, and you finally felt you belonged in the world.

"Having money's a lot of fun, to be honest. I'm glad I could finally do something for my parents with it."

Your words were soft, yet it strangled Lohen violently.

It was a long time ago, but there was a time where you cried more often than you smiled. Regrettably, you had argued over it. Multiple times.

I hate being so useless. I wish I wasn't a burden to everyone.

The fuck are you talking about? Lohen usually snapped, a tone he wished remained foreign to you. If you need money I'll give it to you. Stop beating yourself up over a stupid job. It wasn't worth your time if everyone there picked on you, was it? Your boss was a piece of shit anyways.

Nausea hit him in a violent wave. He always apologised without fail and you talked things out properly, but he knows he shouldn't lose control. Not towards the people he loves.

"...now that the Sakoku Decree's lifted, I'm back here." You concluded, look back at Adorno with a smile. "I'm probably going to...Lohen? Are you crying?"

Only then, did Lohen notice the wetness on his cheeks.

"No—" He lifted his half cape to conceal his face, recompose himself, and blame it on his dandelion allergy that he'd killed off years ago, but you were faster, prying his wrists away.

Your eyelids fluttered, as if you were the one crying instead. "Is it Adorno...?" You let his wrists go and crawled closer, soft thumbs wiping his tears away.

He shook his head, vision blurring with more tears. "It's yo—you, you're so happy now. And I dunno—I just feel relieved." His sinuses began to clog. "I thought of every time you cried and talked badly about yourself. And then I thought about whenever I lost my temper at you. And now I feel like shit. " His voice crumbled to nothing but weak sobbing. Lohen aggressively rubbed his eyes, as if he could rid of his tears that way.

Your last night in Mondstadt, six years ago, flashed in his head. Your posture was slumped, a contrast to how you stood tall today. He didn’t have to work for a full smile from you, it replaced the half-assed one you donned to cover up your feelings.

(Lohen wasn't sure what was fluttering in his stomach. Pride? Relief? A hybrid of both? He knew you were far more capable than you deemed yourself to be, so he wasn't sure why he was getting so emotional.)

His tears died down, and you wiped each and every one of them, until they were no more. Your hands remained on his cheeks, holding them, before giving them a gentle pinch.

"Nmmph?"

"Your skin's so soft!" You pinched again, this time tugging on his cheeks. "You really haven't changed. You're just a bigger version of your little self."

(Lohen would've smited anyone else who tried to touch him like this, or made such a patronising comment about him. And although you were the sole exception, he'd also never admit he likes being coddled like this.)

"You're sooo cute." You let go of his cheeks, leaving him feeling bare. Your skin was no longer on his, but his face remained warm. "It's okay though. I told you, I'd be back as a happier person."

He nodded, sick of how he sounded when he spoke. The quiver in his voice was nothing short of embarrassing and pathetic. He watched you shiver, hugging your knees tighter for any sort of comfort.

Lohen sniffled. "You're cold. Sorry, not tryna change the topic or anything. But you're shaking."

The moment you became aware of it, it seemed to intensify. "A bit. It rained a lot on the way here."

He sighed, huddling closer to wrap his cloak around you. "You should've rested first then, before doing anything."

"Probably." You coughed a couple times, pressing closer to him. "I got too excited though. I'll just eat a bunch of ginger."

Lohen huffed, guiding you to stand up. "I'm not going anywhere, neither is Adorno. Let's get you home."

You didn't resist, dusting off your knees. "Alright, alright—see you Adorno." You gave the grave one last stare. "And thank you for everything. Without you, today wouldn't have existed for me. For us."

A solemn nod from Lohen, and he silently agreed.

As you walked into the night, you gasped, peering down at the city before walking down the cobblestone stairs. “It’s so pretty. Look at all the lights from everyone’s house—oooh, and the stars!”

Lohen watched you smile. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. Very.”

“I missed Mondstadt.” You declared, jumping down each step one at a time.

(And Lohen missed you. Dearly so.)

“Mondstadt missed you too.” He murmured, a gloved hand reaching out for you, just in case you tripped or hurt yourself.

Together, you walked down the empty streets of Mondstadt City. The working week hadn't ended yet, leaving the city quiet and desolate, Lohen preferred this over seeing drunk men cheer and trip over their own feet.

"Where are you staying?"

(Though he appreciates your surprise return, he wishes you would've told him. Not only he thought he was having a heart attack, but he wanted to let you stay at his place—show off the fruits of his efforts and be the best host he could.

His shock died down, and now all he could think of was his confession to you. The moment he sends you back to your place, he was going to launch into frenzied brainstorming.)

"I'm renting a place at the moment."

His paranoia flared, questioning whose property it was. Shady landlords always targeted foreigners. Obviously, you weren’t one, but anyone could easily treat you as one after how long you were gone for.

But he didn't want to intrude. You’re smart enough to be cautious of scammers. "You could've stayed in my place. I moved into a bigger house since you left." He says, as if he hadn't told you this over parchment and ink already.

You chuckled, a tune he was addicted to. "I know, but I told you, I wanted this to be a surprise. The rent isn't too bad."

Maybe it was better that you weren't staying at his place. It gave Lohen better opportunity to figure out how he wanted to declare his love. It'd be awful if you walked into his preparations.

"Whatever you say."

Past the Good Hunter you turned, and there it was. You pointed to a building, it wasn't anything grand, but felt excessive for only one person to live in.

"We're here. Thanks again for walking me home." You grinned before sneezing, immediately covering your nose with your palm. The other hand fumbled through a pocket for a tissue.

"Geez—I thought you said your cold wasn't that bad?"

Before Lohen could speak, another voice reached for you.

The door to your house was open, and out came a man. He was tall, short, blond hair propped up by a black hairband. He donned a red jacket, over a tight, black shirt decorated by a silver dog tag.

Down the stairs he hurried, to check up on you and nag about your health.

Who the fuck is this?

After blowing your nose properly, you recomposed yourself, standing straight. "Sorry—I didn't think I'd be out this late." You looked back at Lohen. "Right. Lohen, this is Thoma." You gestured to the man besides you, who waved politely at Lohen, resembling a carefree dog. "Thoma, this is Lohen."

What the fuck is Thoma?

Despite being a man of quick decisions and logic, Lohen had little coherency in his thoughts.

"Nice to meet you, Lohen!" Thoma reached a hand out, and Lohen took far too long to reciprocate with his own. "Thanks for walking y/n home."

Were you seeing someone? This guy?

"Uh—yeah, no worries. Anytime."

No, he's jumping to conclusions. Friends travel and live together—

An aggressive shade of red dusted over your cheeks, reaching even your ears. "I'll see you soon. Thanks again." You quickly turned away from Lohen, ushering Thoma inside, muttering something about being cold.

With a final wave, you were inside. Through the window, he could see your blurry figures talk, and muffled laughter slipped out.

Lohen's expertise was vast, but was not applicable to romance in the slightest. However, everyone knows that a blush that deep had to indicate something, a crush, possibly even love, considering how far you had traveled together.

Paralysed and cold, he stood there, a storm of frantic thought brewing in his head. There's no way you guys were dating, right? You would've told him if someone had asked you out, or if you had a crush in the works. But what if this was another surprise?

For a brief moment, he pictured you guys on a date, and was met with immediate nausea.

(He was going to kill "Thoma", or whatever his name was, if it was the last thing he'd do.)

Since then, he was oddly provoked by Thoma, despite his polite demeanour and warmth.

When he returned home, he laid in bed and tried to rationalise the situation.

You. "Thoma". Dating?

Oh my god—what if you were married? Lohen didn't notice any rings on you, but you guys were reaching that age. You could've been intending on it, or maybe you packed your engagement ring away, all that’s valuable doesn’t belong in the open.

He buried his face into a nearby pillow, 

It's not like you've ever loved him back that way, nor did you vow to remain single forever (not that it'd even matter—you're allowed to change your mind whenever), but he felt a sliver of betrayal. If he was going to get rejected, he at least wanted to stand a good chance, rather than being nations away.

Lohen dismissed the thought, reminding himself to simply ask next time he saw you before preparing to go to sleep.

The next morning at work, he earned nothing short of concern and judgement.

"What even happened to you?" Eula commented, poking Lohen's head. His cheek was pressed up against the wooden table, neglected paperwork somewhere off to the side and his quill laid just as dead.

He heard Amber come over, too. "Dunno. He looked awful when he got here, then he kinda just gave up after the Grandmaster went out for lunch. Lohennn, are you alright?"

"Is traveling from nation to nation and living with each other a couple's thing to do?"

The two women paused. Amber spoke first. "I guess so...?"

Lohen's fist pounded the table. "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

With a worried, 'let's give him some time', Eula guided Amber away.

He finally sat up, eyelids fighting for their life to remain open. All he did was spiral instead of sleep, conjuring up all sorts of wacky possibilities. It tortured him until morning, and skipping work wasn't a luxury either, considering how he was already in trouble.

He slouched again, this time his chin resting on his forearms. He closed his eyes, hoping for a quick power nap before Varka could yell at him.

Eula came into the room again, heavy boots stomping and interrupting his attempted nap. He didn't react, until she knocked aggressively on the table.

"Fuck…I was trying to slee—"

From behind Eula you peered at him, an awkward smile plastered on your face.

'You have a visitor.' She said, then she turned to you. "Sorry about him. He hates paperwork."

He was tempted to interject, insisting that he wasn't that bad with paperwork, it was stupid Thoma's fault. All he did was tiredly squint, and burn with shame.

"Should I...come back another time? Work seems hectic."

He shook his head, excessively, leaving his bangs in his face. "No—what's up?" Frantic, he adjusted them,  

"I just...wanted to see you. And I have something I need to show you."

(It wasn't an engagement ring, was it?)

Lohen's gaze flitted around before returning to you. If he concentrated hard enough and made the most of his desperation, he'd get all this paperwork done. Hopefully soon. "Okay. Yeah that's fine. Just give me a bit more time, I'll be done soon."

The throbbing in his temples disagreed with him.

"Your library's so nice, I had a fun time talking to Lisa."

Lohen himself was impressed with his own performance. He powered through paperwork, a perfect balance of speed, and care, as to avoid being scolded and ordered to redo it all from scratch.

The fresh air helped out a bit, it woke him up and forced his eyes to stay alert. Being so openly weak was stressing him out, even with the confines of Mondstadt City and its walls, he couldn't help but worry about whether he'd be able to defend the two of you if anything happened.

"Lisa? Yeah she's alright..." He rubbed his eye, fervently.

Your hand clasped around his wrist. "You'll hurt your eye if you do that...did you not sleep enough?"

Not at all, actually. "Somethin' like that." His eye begged to be scratched again, but he held back for your sake. "Had...things on my mind."

You released him and nodded slowly. "Is being a knight that hard?"

(Being a knight was fine. Possibly having an unrequited love was far worse and nothing in comparison.)

He made an incoherent noise, before changing the topic. "Where are we going?"

"Back to mine." You smiled, and the exhaustion clinging onto his eyelid was beginning to fade. "I have stuff for you."

Lohen's face soured. Not at the thought of you, nor whatever you wanted to show him, but at Thoma. Lohen thinks he's going to throw up if he has to think about you two again.

"Wouldn't...Thoma be upset? Isn't he staying there as well? Don’t wanna intrude on you guys."

You shook your head. "He's visiting his mother today. Plus, he's a really sweet person, I'm sure you'd like him too.”

Lohen thinks not. "Are you guys like...friends?"

A pause filled the air. "I guess you could call it that. We met at culinary school."

(So are you dating or not? What kind of answer was that?)

Lohen nodded. He decided to take what he could get, and appreciate that he wouldn't have to see you and Thoma together, whatever your relationship was. He can worry about Thoma when he’s not sleep deprived and barely holding himself up. As you walked the familiar route from yesterday together, he found himself wincing whenever sunlight came too close for his liking, another predicament, alongside his brooding.

‘Oh yeah. I forgot to ask, but how are your parents doing?”

Lohen shrugged.

“Still not talking to them?”

“Yup.” He had no need for them or their ways. The most he did was pay a visit on their birthdays, dropping off a gift and a letter. He popped by on holidays, too, limiting conversation to basic greetings. You questioned it no further, just the way Lohen liked it—it was refreshing for someone to accept the way he lived, rather than yapping on about the importance of family and blood. “Yours?”

“They’re good. Turns out they prefer Inazuma far more than here.”

Lohen liked your parents, it was a shame they didn’t come with you. You inherited your kindness from your mother, who’d always encourage Lohen to come over for a meal whenever, and you had the same understanding as your father. Lohen never confided to him with his familial issues, yet he provided more insight on his situations than anyone else. He wished he could say hi again.

“What about you?” You haven’t told him exactly what you were doing here. “Are you just visiting?”

“Kind of? I’m planning to stay here for a bit. I don’t have a concrete plan.” You hummed, as the wind fluffed up your hair. “Might travel around, now that I’m not in the middle of nowhere.”

Good. That granted him a decent amount of time to confess to you.

 “Well, let me know when you figure it out. I want to hear all about it.”

The house you were staying in came into view, but the sound of crying snapped your neck towards it. “What happened?”

Lohen scanned the vicinity, nearby was a child, a young boy, wailing and clutching at his bloodied knee. You wasted no time, rushing to his side. 

“Are you okay?”

The kid cried some more.

Lohen joined you two. “Can you walk, kid?”

His tears didn’t stop, but he planted his small hands against your shoulders and pushed himself with a heave, biting his lip and gluing his eyes shut.

The kid turned to Lohen and nodded.

You inspected the graze. It appeared fine, with no visible dirt, and it was relatively shallow. “Well done. That must’ve hurt a lot, hm?”

He nodded. “It still does…”

With a subtle frown, you dug through your pockets, bringing out a small bag. “Want some candy? It’ll make you feel better.”

(Lohen wanted to ask for one too, but he refrained.)

As you tugged the pouch open, the kid deadpanned. “Mummy said I shouldn’t accept candy from strangers.”

Lohen couldn’t help but snicker, turning his face away to hide his amusement. “Smart kid—” He placed a hand on his back. “Mummy and Daddy are raising you right, hm?”

The kid stared back with judgement. Now it was your turn to laugh.

(Who knew kids were so unfiltered? Lohen knew kids were difficult, but looking back, he must’ve been a nightmare for every adult in the vicinity.)  

“Sage—I told you not to run.”

The woman’s voice almost echoed across the city, frantic and booming. The boy reacted immediately, hobbling into her arms and resuming his crying. You both stood up as well.

“C’mon, what do you say to the nice couple?” She urged him to say thank you, and the boy reluctantly turned around, hands still clinging onto her clothes. “Thank you for looking out for him…oh, you must be a knight?”

She looked Lohen up and down, he saluted in response. “Yes. Your son should be fine, as long as you clean and bandage it. It doesn’t appear to be serious.” It felt wrong, performing his formalities in front of you. He reserved this tone for diplomatic meetings, where pissing off an official could ruin an entire agreement, not the gentle streets of Mondstadt City, where you could speak to anyone as if they were close friends.

The woman sighed, and thanked you as well. “You guys would make wonderful parents.”

Your eyes grew wide. “P–parents?”

“Yeah.” She repeated, as if it were common sense. “Aren’t you a couple?” 

(See? Even the citizens of Mondstadt knew you two would be a great pair. Fuck you, Thoma.)

You corrected her with a stutter and flustered cheeks. “N–no ma’am.”

She was unbothered by it, and seemingly unconvinced as well. “Oh. What a shame, you seem to be close to each other.” With a final goodbye, she walked away with her son, excusing herself with needing to prepare dinner early tonight.

Together, you watched them return home. “Aw. I wanted him to taste test my candy.” The pouch laid in your hands and you frowned. “I didn’t know kids were so…sassy, nowadays.”

Giddy from the woman’s assumption, Lohen leaned closer. “I’m always here. I’ll eat anything and everything.” A random kid wouldn’t appreciate it as much as him, anyways. Those would eat anything as long as there’s enough colour and sugar.

You smiled. “Of course you will. You can try some after I show you what I planned out for you.”

A grin crept onto his lips. With anticipation akin to a child’s, Lohen followed you into your house like a puppy, overflowing with joy. 

When he reached your living room, you stopped him, slipping behind the knight before encasing his eyes with your hands. They were soft, and warm, nothing in comparison to the calluses that inhabited his palms. “You’ll keep it a surprise, right?”

He despised the unpredictable and unknown, but he nodded and his eyelids shut willingly. “Of course.” 

By his hand, you led him through the place, until coming to a stop. 

 “Open.” You requested. Then he obeyed.

Lohen blinked. It was just a living room. A bit bare, but it was a normal living room. There were crates stacked in a corner, presumably the belongings you and Thoma brought to Mondstadt.

He began sweating, wondering if he was just being incredibly dense. “Am I…?

You pointed to the corner, scurrying towards it and grabbing the closest one. “Souvenirs. For you. I probably should’ve considered how you were going to bring it home…”

Souvenirs? Those crates could probably carry every possession to his name.

“Come here—” You ushered him closer, placing the crate on the floor and prying off the lid. 

He crouched beside you. “A crate is a lot for souvenirs, isn’t it?”

“Is it too much? These are all for you.”

(Lohen has infiltrated illegal auctions. Embarked on trecherous journey to the lawless nation of Nod Krai. Even went face to face with a sinner of Khaenri’ah. But he’s never felt more lost than right now, at this moment.)

“W—How’s there so much? I thought these were all your things.”

You blinked. “Nope. They’re for you.” You shrugged, beckoning him to look through his gifts by himself. “If something made me think of you, I bought it.”

Inside were an assortment of weapons, alongside bottles of what he assumed to be poison.

“Ah—this stuff’s for work and your training.” You beamed. “A friend of mine, his family specialised in bladesmithing. You said the more weapons you have, the safer you feel.”

“Y–yeah I did but—” He gestured to the stack of crates nearby. “But this is insane—this would’ve cost a fortune.” He remembered your family being middle class, neither struggling nor subjugating financially, but this was an absurd amount for anything.

“It’s over six years! I promise I’ve been working hard, I stayed with family majority of the time anyways.” Your eyes sparkled with promise. “Plus, I wanted to do something nice for you. You never buy yourself anything. I bet you still hardly treat yourself.”

(You were right. Unless it was a necessity or gift for another person, Lohen seldom spent money. It was a waste, considering the Knights funded all equipment, which included most of Lohen’s collection, and he preferred to have a great sum saved up, just in case something ever happened to him.)

“I guess not?” He scratched at his nape. Protecting himself and guaranteeing safety was a good enough “treat” for him. “Dunno what I’m supposed to get for myself, anyways.” He craved the things money couldn’t purchase. Getting Varka off his back, never running out of stamina, you—

“Then let me do it for you. You’ve always worked hard, Mr Captain.”

The title made him stutter and blush. “Vice. I told you, I didn’t get the promotion after what happened.”

But you didn’t care. “Well, Adorno and I think you’re worthy of it. And it’s basically yours since it’s vacant, no?”

(God, he’s getting way too far ahead of himself, but Lohen really wants to propose to you on the spot.)

“I—” For a moment, Lohen thinks to hug you, thank you in his own special way, with affection and his entire being—

“y/n! Do you have someone over?”

Great.

“Yeah—it’s Lohen.”

Thoma’s head popped into the doorway, and he grinned from ear to ear. “Hey. Hi again.” He greeted Lohen, who responded curtly. “What are you guys up to? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

(Yes, yes you are Thoma. Read the fucking room.)

You patted the crate. “Souvenirs.”

Despite his irritation, Lohen wore a smile as he got up. “Hello again. How’s your mother doing?”

Thoma was caught off guard, glancing towards you. “She’s good, it’s been forever since I got to see her. Thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t expect you to remember that.” You mumbled, pushing off the crate to stand up. “He’s really attentive, isn’t he?”

His smile grew into something genuine in the praise. Thoma nodded along, hardly meeting Lohen’s gaze. “Yeah. Do you have any dinner plans?”

(Fuck. Lohen should’ve asked you to dinner before Thoma could.)

You shook your head, turning to Lohen. “Do you?”

He shook his head back, and internally, he was brimming with pride, celebrating the fact that you immediately turned to him.

Thoma readjusted his jacket. “Then since we’re all together, wanna go for a drink? It’ll be on me. I’ve hardly spoken to your friend yet.”

You immediately shook your head. “Lohen doesn’t dri—”

He lied, insisting otherwise. “It's alright. I couldn't possibly decline the kind offer."

And so, Lohen was seated in the Tavern besides you. Conversation of its patrons blended into one big mess, the noise infuriated Lohen, not nearly as much as his drink did.

Alcohol was fucking disgusting, Lohen thought, as he gulped down another ungodly mouthful. He glued his eyelids shut and swallowed, careful not to choke and spill any.

On the way to the Tavern, he watched you two carefully. So far, his theory of you two dating appeared false. There was hardly any physical contact between you two, nor did Thoma seem protective of you (and if Lohen’s assumption was correct, then Thoma was an awful boyfriend—who knows what could happen at night, near a bar where many drunk people were).

Logically, Lohen still stood a chance. However, getting you to like someone like him back, was an entirely new challenge he had to tackle.

Unlike Lohen, you and Thoma were fine, casually sipping without even a flinch. Conversation bounced between you with ease.

“I forgot how different Mondstadt’s beer was.”

“I wasn’t even old enough to drink, last time I was here.” Thoma finished the last of his drink, peering into the glass with an eye. “To be honest, I still prefer sake.”

With your glass to your lips, you chuckled. “Me too. This isn’t too bad, though.”

Lohen picked up his pace, you were finishing up too, he couldn’t fall behind. To find drinking alcohol enjoyable was weird, Varka, or anyone of the knights, had no right to call him insane when they could drink beer as if it were water, and derived pleasure from it.

(His stomach complained and groaned for help, but he kept going. He’ll make himself puke it out his system if needed. Lohen refused to appear weak in front of Thoma, out of all people.)

Another round of beers paid a visit, and Lohen already felt sick at the sight of a full glass.

“So Lohen, I had no idea you were Vice Captain! That’s really impressive.”

(What was that supposed to mean? That he didn’t appear worthy of his position?)

He played it off with a chuckle, thankful that speaking meant he didn’t have to drink. “It was nothing. Just took a few years of work.”

You butted in, protesting. “Liar—what do you mean Vice Captain isn’t a big deal?”

Lohen shrugged. “It’s not like I had to fight for my life for it.”

You huffed, taking another swig. “You still deserve credit.”

“You’re doing much better than me. If anything, hard work should be rewarded.” You were a cook because you dedicated your blood, sweat, and tears to it. Lohen was vice captain because he liked killing shit.

A smirk creased his lips, high off your praise, as he leaned forward to speak to Thoma. ‘What about you, Thoma? What do you do for a living?”

His face was hot and the insides of his mouth didn’t feel like his anymore, but he had to check what sort of guy you were possibly with. He took another large gulp, concealing his disgust with a sigh. 

Despite it all, Thoma was unbothered by him. “I’m the housekeeper and Chief Retainer of the Yashiro Commission.” He clarified, proud and bright. “Nothin’ special.”

Damn right. But that was too impolite to say. Lohen kept to himself and nodded. “I see. Any good in a fight?”

You answered before Thoma could. “He actually is—he faced the shogun.”

Lohen choked on his own spit. “What?”

Thoma aggressively shook his head, pink blooming on his cheekbones. “All I did was throw a spear.”

“Oh shut up—you threw it at her and somehow survived.”

“Stop bringing it up already.” But he laughed alongside you, the two of you happily bickered and drank beer. 

Lohen doesn’t get what you see in this guy. He took another swig, already adapting to the ugly taste.

Sure, Thoma did have a vision. And he was decently built, his muscles peeked out a bit from his tight top. And he was tall, really tall, but not in the same obnoxious, oversized way as Varka. He had blond, well kept hair and bright, green eyes that resembled green apples and ripe limes sold in the markets of Dornman Po—

Fuck. Now he was just listing all the good things about him. And there were plenty. Lohen himself couldn’t account for all the memories and feelings only you two shared and knew of. Thoma got to be there for you. Lohen was in a completely different continent.

Being blond wasn’t that important, was it? Varka’s blond and he wasn’t even close to marriage, neither was Jean. And it’s not like being short was a bad thing—a super tall partner would be unsettling anyways, wouldn’t it? Lohen had a vision too, and he’d say his physique wasn’t too shabby as well—

“...en? Lohen? Are you okay?”

(Just like how Lohen had to come to terms with his own mortality, he had to come to terms that maybe you weren’t meant to be. He should appreciate he gets to see you, and be within your presence, much like how he needs to acknowledge his human limits.

There was no point in brooding and complaining about Thoma, he’ll probably remain a bit bitter for the rest of time, but he should at least accept that you wanted someone else.)

It hurt, so Lohen drank some more.

His head spun and his face was warm and fuzzy. He rubbed his cheek with his own hand, despite the glove in the way. Even though it acted as a barrier, it felt abnormally warm. 

“Lohen?”

He blinked. “I’m fine. I can handle my liquor juuuust fine.” He slurred a bit, but he knew what he was doing, and where he was. He took another gulp. He’ll just get tipsy enough to forget about you and Thoma for a bit. This is why people drank, right? “Something happen? Need me to fight anything?”

Through half lidded eyes, he watched you shake your head. “You seem a bit…drunk?”

He gulped down some more to compensate. “I’m not. You have nothing to worry about.”

You acknowledged it with a hum, and went back to staring at your drink. Lohen wondered why you stopped talking to Thoma—maybe he went to the washroom, or something.

“You never told me you started drinking. I could’ve brought you back some sake.”

Thoma’s absence tempted him. He slouched over, resting his cheek on your shoulder. It was wrong, to snuggle so close with someone else’s lover, but he wanted to do it one last time. 

“It’s fine. It tastes like shit, anyways.” He reached for his drink, but you pushed it out of his grasp, and he gave you an indignant look, pale cheeks pouting, round and soft. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re very drunk. Drink water first. You need to flush it out your system.” You turned around, finding someone to call for water, but Lohen refused. With an immature whine, his arms wrapped around you, chin nestled into your shoulder. 

He could easily kiss you. All he had to do was move forward.

You smelled nice. A scent he couldn’t name, but it was far more pleasant than the colognes and perfumes he’s ever encountered. Something that didn’t fit into existing definition. His eyelids relaxed, and he embraced your proximity. 

“Y–you’re drunk—”

“And you’re pretty.”

Lohen pressed even closer, his nose brushing against his neck. He wanted to press a kiss on the flesh, bite a bit, even. He thought to himself, about how badly he wanted to kiss you all over, spoil you with all the affection he could possibly conjure. Maybe leave even a mark or two, bruising you with his love for the rest of the world to see.

(But he held back. It was audacious enough to cling onto someone taken. He needs to pull himself together and apologise before Thoma returns.)

Despite his effrontery, your hand made its way to his head, caressing his hair before patting his back. “Are you alright?”

(He wanted to throw up. Not because of the alcohol.)

“It’s not fair.” Lohen slurred, now burying his face into your shoulder. “You were gone for so long, how was I meant to stand a chance?”

He should’ve scraped up the money and joined you on that boat, and travelled across treacherous seas while by your side. That way, he wouldn’t have to swim in all his desire. Now, he found himself drowning, with no way of reaching the surface again. Lohen’s love filled him up to the brink, from his heart to his lungs, dragging him down to the depths of nothingness.

(Lohen charged at any sort of peril of ease, even back then with six years less of experience. A simple love confession may appear pathetic in comparison to the dangers he faced, but wounds heal and flesh grows back, while a rejection would leave a scar uglier than the ones his skin donned.)

His hand squeezed you even tighter. “I love you—I should’ve told you before you left. Maybe then I would’ve stood a chance against…Thoma.” His words were punctuated by a violent hiccup, it tasted of beer and misery at the back of his throat. “And got to be there for you. All I could do was write letters.” Lohen’s voice broke, almost crumbling into tears. “Do you know how scared I was? What if I somehow forgot your voice, or how you looked…”

Lohen’s face peeled off your shoulder, and his lips daringly inched closer to your ear, though he didn’t go any further. "I know I can't make you love me—” He whined, a pathetic noise, one that not even children could make. “—but I should've found a real dandelion."

He shouldn't have torn his letter apart. "Maybe fate wouldn’t have taken you away from me.”

(Pull away, do it now, Lohen told himself. It grew into insistent commands, echoing in his skull. You’re not his. What he was doing was wrong and was only going to make things harder for everyone, especially you. He could barely excuse himself spewing his emotions like this, now was the time to let go. And throw up.) 

You weren’t replying. Of course you weren’t. He’ll have to apologise tomorrow, when his head wasn’t spinning and bile wasn’t growing at the back of his throat. 

The world faded to black.

For the first time in his entire life, Lohen was mortified at himself.

He carried not an ounce of shame when poisoning Varka’s oversized beers, nor when hunting down and blackmailing Kaeya for a forged signature. Rumours did nothing to him, he did not care for the opinions of others, only freedom reigned his actions and philosophy.

His eyes hadn’t even opened yet, and behind the darkness of his eyelids, all he saw was disgrace. He’d be impressed by how self conscious he was, if it weren’t for the fact that it was you he embarrassed himself in front of—he probably tarnished your reputation too, the one you barely got to rebuild after your return.

But he was remorseful as he was humiliated. You deserved an apology, and so did Thoma, even if he was envious of him. He’d let you beat him to a pulp if needed, if that was what it took to earn a chance of redemption.

“Fuck…” He groaned, pushing himself up. “Everything hurts.”

The sunlight oozing into the windows was blinding, despite being gentle and soft, all it did was make his head throb uncontrollably. His muscles screeched for help, soreness seized his body hostage. Lohen’s head felt too heavy, as if he could collapse at any moment.

He thought about last night, and everything beyond his body began to hurt.

It really wasn't a nightmare. You being in love with someone else.

Lohen cackled to himself, all alone in his bed. He's a fucking idiot, and loser, and should never be in the proximity of alcohol again. 

Why was he even surprised? You were perfection and sunlight personified, it was no wonder whenever someone asked you out. If anything, it was Lohen’s fault not considering that during his last goodbye.

But instead, he tore his confession into pieces, for a wish that came true far too late.

“I'm an idiot, aren't I…?” Lohen whispered, to no one in particular.

“I don't think so.”

“What the fuck—?”

You had just walked in with a glass of water. “Sorry. I heard you laughing and realised you were awake.” You approached his bed with a glass of water. “Feeling okay?”

Lohen accepted wordlessly. He wasn't sure what to be embarrassed for, from his unrequited feelings to whatever the hell he was doing earlier, it felt as though he’d done everything possible to make a fool of himself.

‘Good job.” You praised, taking the glass from his hands.

(You were attractive, even when talking to him like a child. Being praised for drinking water seemed absurd, but he wasn't allowed to say that when he was relishing every word.)

Now wasn't the time—he watched you place the glass on his bedside table, as you settled onto his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.”

Come to think of it, he hardly had any recollection of last night, aside from his shameless antics. It felt worse, not knowing the full extent of his predicament.

He glanced around his house. “How did I get back home?”

“I carried you.”

Lohen didn't remember that.

“Th–thanks. You didn't have to.”

“I didn't have a choice. You were clinging onto me and saying I had to come over.”

He didn't remember that either.

“It was pretty cute, actually. You were really excited to show me your new place. For good reason, too—”

‘I’m so sorry. I–I–I can slit my stomach open for you—that's how they do it in Inazuma, isn’t it?”

(He enjoyed being called cute far too much. Now was not the time for it.)

“No—I mean yes, they do—that's not the point.” Your hand held his, reassuring him with the rhythmic stroke of your thumb. “No one’s mad at you, Lohen. I’m definitely not.”

God, even now, you managed to be kind. Lohen would go insane if someone behaved as ridiculously as he did.

“Yeah but I bet Thoma is—”

“Why would Thoma be mad at you?”

He waved his hands around frantically. “I was hitting on you—I’d be pissed if a guy was all over my lover like that.”

You blinked once. Then twice.

“Thoma and I aren't dating.”

He was so shocked, that relief didn't even pay him a visit. In fact, nothing went through his head.

“Did you think we were together?”

“Y–yeah?”

You were stunned too, mouth hanging open as you processed his words. “Is that why you were one-upping him?”

“I was doing what?” A sharp pang throbs in his head for speaking too loud.

“While you were drunk—you were rambling about how Thoma. You said stuff about tall men being difficult to date and blond people being insanely overrated—”

Lohen snapped, unintentionally. “Stop. I'm gonna die if I hear the rest of that.” 

First, his one and only love didn't want him back, then he got wasted over a conclusion he jumped too, and now he was hungover in front of you.

He swallowed. “I still owe you two.” If anything, he’d prefer you to slit his stomach open, or beat him ‘til you were satisfied. Anything over how calm and understanding you were being. “You must’ve been embarrassed.”

You shrugged. “I told you, it was cute. I've never seen you so clingy.”

Another hot, uncomfortable wave of embarrassment washed over him.

He should bring up his feelings now, shouldn't he? Apologise for confessing in such an inappropriate, dramatic way in a public setting. Then he should walk you home and apologise to Thoma while he was at it.

Where should Lohen start? He drafted an apology in his head; about last night, sorry for—

“—I love you too, by the way.”

“The fuck?” 

A hand clasped over his mouth and he felt another urge to profusely apologise.

“Last night. You said you loved me.” 

He watched you inch closer, his heart racing even more when he felt your warmth in his proximity. “I did say that.”

“Why are you so surprised then?” Your hand holds onto his, abnormally warm compared to his body temperature. “I'm giving you an answer.”

“Wh—are you sure?” Since when were you this ballsy? You used to be so timid and shy, now you were essentially climbing onto him. “I must be going insane.”

“I had six years to think about you while I was gone. Yes, I’m very sure.” You pinched his cheek, gently tugging at the flesh. “See? You're not dreaming.”

Lohen’s mouth hung open, yet no sound came out. He stared at you, and at your thighs that were on top of his, and the pink permeating the apples of your cheek.

(Words were never his thing. Paperwork was pointless when all the information was in his head and made perfect sense to him. He even had a hard time adapting to writing letters, it didn’t sound nearly as nice when it was in ink instead of speech.)

So Lohen pulled you closer. You landed on his chest, his arms clamped around you like a vice.

You yelped, peering back up at him. “Lohen?”

His fingertips played with the back of your shirt. “May I?”

“Sure but what are you—” A shaky gasp interrupted your question, and the noise drove Lohen insane. “Cold—your hands are so cold—what are you doing?”

"Need to feel you more—" His hands massaged the soft flesh, he was right, you’d gained quite a bit of muscle since you left. His hands paused and his hollow eyes held something akin to sorrow. “Fuck. Do you know how upset I was? I–I–I was worried you were engaged.

You snorted, pinching his cheek again. “Engaged? Why would I be engaged with Thoma, when all I wanted was here in Mondstadt?”

Lohen’s gaze drifted away. “You were blushing.”

“Hm?”

“You were blushing around him. When I dropped you off. So I thought you had a thing going on.”  

This time, you burst into laughter. Normally, he’d enjoy how it sounds, but right now, all it did was fuel his embarrassment. He withdrew his hands from your back and rubbed his eyes as you composed yourself. “Sorry—that was mean. Did it not occur to you that I was flustered because of you?” 

Lohen frowned and scoffed. “You didn’t even look at me when I dropped you off.”

You rolled over, settling next to him. “Really? I probably got embarrassed. I told Thoma all about you, y’know? Since like...the beginning of our friendship? He kept telling me to confess to you during the trip here. He even made a whole gameplan for me. Y’know he only invited us to dinner to try to get us alone. He slipped away after you got tipsy.”

(Huh. Maybe Thoma was a good guy, after all. Not only does he owe him an apology, but a massive thank you, as well.)

“So. There’s no doubt that you’re the one I want, okay? It was like that long before I left Mondstadt.”

Weakly, he nodded, finally able to feel relief. “Okay.”

You liked him back, no, loved him back. For over six years, too. 

Lohen's heartbeat raced, to the point he began to worry about it bursting out of his chest. Unable to cope with all the emotions eating away at it and his pounding headache, he flopped back into bed. He’ll deal with it when he’s not hungover. For now, knowing of your feelings was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.

He turned away from you, burying his face into his hands, wincing at the aftermath of his drinking. "Ugh. My head fucking hurts...'m gonna die for a bit. Wake me if it's an emergency."

You sat up instead, already heading to the kitchen. "Oh. I just started preparing a hangover soup but—"

Lohen shot up, posture pin straight.  "I'll eat."

“You just said your head was hurting. You should rest first.”

But he stood up, throwing his blanket somewhere on the floor. “Soup. I want soup.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but you gave up. “Sure. Whatever you want. Let’s go to the kitchen, then.”

“I love you.” Lohen said, a plea for you to say that you loved him again. Even with evidence, everything still felt like a dream. He wondered if this was another pleasant dream, and he’d wake up, forehead to the desk in Varka’s office with groggy eyes, accompanied by paperwork instead of you. 

He begged for it not to.

You took his hand, pulling him along. “I love you too, Lohen.”

“So. Now we’re together.”

Lohen’s quill was nowhere to be seen, and his feet were propped up onto the table, as Varka groaned, arms crossed at his own desk.

“I get that young love is beautiful and whatnot. But might I remind you, that you’re still under strict supervision and you didn’t come in at all yesterday.”

Lohen rolled his eyes, his cheery mood undeterred by Varka’s disappointment. He had spent the entire morning rambling about you, celebrating your new status as lovers and verbally brainstorming his plans for the future. He told Varka of all the souvenirs you brought him (if it could even be called that—there were crates upon crates) and boasted about how lucky he was to be in love. He even went as far as mocking Varka, boasting about how you made him a special hangover soup, all from scratch, while Varka had to tough out his hangovers.

(He even ventured towards the topic of marriage, debating where to get an engagement ring commissioned someday and reminding himself to figure out your favourite gemstone. Varka scoffed when Lohen asked where he got his, rubbing in the fact that the Grandmaster was very much single. The closest thing Varka was married to was duty and responsibility—maybe even alcohol, too.)

A gloved hand rested over his chest. “To be fair, you did pull me out of solitary confinement for them.” He stared at the roof, unbothered by the chandelier’s glare as he swooned. He’ll pick up a nice bouquet of lovers on his way home for you. “Six years have never been more worth it. Barbatos, I'm sorry for cussing you out. You're not so bad.” He said to no one in particular.

The Grandmaster stood up, approaching the young man. He grabbed his quill and tossed it in front of him. “Was your lover worth getting wasted in front of everyone?”

Lohen’s heart sank to his stomach. His neck snapped straight and he looked Varka dead in the eye.

“Oh hey. You’re turning red now. You’re starting to remind me of Diluc’s hair.”

“How’d you even know about that?” Suddenly, his feet were off the table, heels planted to the floor and his body tensed up, as if preparing to escape or attack Varka at any moment.

“I was there? Had a drink with Kaeya and caught up with Thoma. His mother and I go way back” A slight smirk creased his lips. “You don’t seem very fond of him.”

You failed to mention that, all you told him was that he was being clingy and confessed, before begging you to come over. How much did you leave out? You were the type to omit details for the sake of another’s dignity, and the only things Lohen could recall by himself was his slurred speech and whining. 

Varka didn’t relent in his teasing. “Huh. You don’t seem so bad when you’re shy. I can see why you’ve finally found yourself a lover. Well done, by the way. Good thing Thoma wasn’t interested in them.” 

“I’ll do the paperwork, okay?” He snatched the quill, grip tightening to the point his knuckles faded to white. At this rate, he was going to do things worse than poisoning his beer. He’ll rush through this paperwork before running off to go see you again.

But apparently, his current state wasn’t amusing enough. “I can see why you don’t drink. You’re worse than me. You even threw mora at Thoma to prove you were richer. Kind of cute seeing you jump to conclusions and get all whiny—”

“Shut up.” He really will up his dose of poison. And throw out the antidote while he’s at it.

“in what way?” you quirk a brow in confusion. “i hardly believe being choked by a fabric no less can be described as comfortable.”

“i like to be a little breathless!” he chirps.

“masochistic thing you are.”

lohen laughs delightfully, now pushing himself to his height and approaching your desk with a pep to his step. a voice at the back of your mind screams at you; this was the consequences of speaking out loud! maybe you should've kept your mouth shut if you wanted to get your piled up work done by the end of the day, but it's too late for regrets–for the biggest regret of your life now sits his pretty little butt at the corner of your desk with an eager (evil) smile.

“you can feel around it if you want!”

what a freak, you thought.

although wrapping your dextrous fingers around his throat to shut him up does sound… appealing, for the lack of better words. there's probably a lot of better words for it, you just prefer to describe it that way, really.

and lohen has a lot of appealing traits, sadomasochism aside not included.

“just say you want me to choke the life out of you.”

“don't tease me with a good time, my captain!”

his pale complexion flushes at the thought and you shudder at what kind of imagery his mind is capable of creating. surely, his deadly creative brain can come up with a lot. his collection of poison will tell you so.

“you're a freak.”

“you like me freaky, admit it. my freaky brings color to your boring reality.” he lowers his upper body to your height, resting all his weight on an arm. “come on, you can give it a tug. i won't bite.”

he will, in every way possible, you're sure of it.

something comes to your mind, an idea that sounds so inappropriate for someone like the two of you, the acting captain and vice captain of the fifth company. before you can even stop yourself, your eyes glimpse at the offending fabric for a millisecond,. a mistake, for you suddenly feel the room become chilly. you immediately tear your gaze away, praying to the sevens that he wasn't paying attention and caught the way your eyes dilated for just a tiny bit.

you knew better though, he definitely saw through it.

“who is the world of fashion even thought of tailoring something that constricts normal human functions?” the hand you use to write resumes its work in an effort to ignore his intense stare. sharp eyes piercing the paper with stellar focus the same way your spear impaled the monster you fought a thousand times before.

but it was meaningless to try and divert your attention, when this menace literally thrives on whatever you give him.

a finger appears in your vision–the lack of urge to smack it away disappointed you, how weak have you become?–lifting your chin up so you are forced to look straight into mischievous teal-crimson eyes, twinkling with too much mirth.

lohen's not gonna let you get away with this at all, isn't he?

“i insist, my dear captain.”

the sound of a thread snapping broke your composure.

try as you might, you knew you wouldn't back down in a fight when it comes to lohen. perhaps he had forgotten that you were as conniving as he is? and possibly more than he is? there was no one who could match his energy other than you, despite the obvious difference in your attitudes. you wouldn't let your vice captain get the upper hand, when you are the one in charge of things. it has been a while since you've reminded him who has the authority between your ranks.

perhaps, you can treat this as a warrant for discipline.

“since you're giving me your utmost permission, vice captain lohen.”

lohen felt the frisson course through his nerves when your voice toned deeper. he's over the moon when your wonderful hand raises itself to his neck, thrilled to the bone he can feel his whole body shake with anticipation.

it's hot, too hot, just the sight of your hand near his skin got him excited. it rivals the adrenaline he gets when he's about to engage in a fight. it shows in the way his cheeks flushed uncontrollably and a small gasp involuntarily escaped from the back of his throat when your skin touched his–almost sounding like a whimper.

except, you didn't just tug at the fabric around his neck.

lohen jolted when he felt your fingers wrap around his neck, pushing the palm against the bulge of his adam's apple and applying pressure around the base of his neck. when you're certain you've got a good grip around him, you tug him lower with no restraint, never mind the strength you were currently applying around his neck. your lips are near touching, and he swears the only oxygen he needs is the one coming out from your mouth.

he can handle a little squeeze, won't he?

“fuck.”

the word slipped out like honey from his curved lips, eyes blown wide.

“i think you could handle something more, hm, tighter, yes?”

he's feeling light headed and it wasn't even just from the way you squeezed your lovely fingers around his neck. you were staring at him like a predator, sharp eyes filled with so much more than you've ever expressed before. you've never been this carefree (sexy) and, archons, he is loving every second of it. he can stay like this all day. after all, every breath he breathes is for you.

“we should include underwater training in our program next, yes? you're breathless, a little too soon for my liking.”

you sound too casual in such an untimely position, like you don't have your fingers wrapped around him like a tool. lohen struggles to nod against your grip when your fingers press against a particular spot at the side of his neck. a loud whimper echoed across the office. he couldn't care less for underwater training, when he can just have your hand just like this.

“yes, captain.”

the sound was throaty, rough, and all that is not his usual confident voice.

“good, we will discuss it further once i'm done with you.”

“huh?”

Yes, tens of thousands- the view count climbing as he goes stupider and stupider, his eyes twitching closed above the field the camera offers to the strangers watching him get off. Sometimes they send in donations, begging for him to edge himself just a little longer or pinch his nipples. He’s surprised you didn’t think he had a side gig going, considering how many little trinkets and gifts he buys for you.

And he’s worked up enough already over your recent post; god, he tries so so hard not to look because he feels awful, but when he catches a glimpse of your thighs in a bikini on his feed he’s so gone he can’t help but mewl into his palm as the other slicks his cock. This week, you’ve posted a cutely curated set of your recent outings- and Megumi finds himself scrolling through the snaps of stray cats, foamy coffees, and study sessions to a selfie.

In the picture, you’re wearing a cute little tank top- and all Megumi can think about is how soft the sliver of your tits the photo affords him looks; how he wants to stuff his face between them and drool (he’s doing that already, saliva pooling in his mouth) while you pet his hair from above.

And so he finds himself setting up his camera to face the chair he’s slumped on, cock straining and leaking impatiently against his boxers as he wrangles his sweats to the floor; all it takes is a few taps of his keyboard, and he’s live.

His hand palms over the bulge in his underwear, watching the way pre dampens the cotton as the first donations already start flowing in. But he doesn’t care about that, not right now, as he has your post pulled up on his monitor and zoomed in pervertedly to the dip of cleavage in your tank top.

If Megumi was happy to let you stay at your dorm, you’re practically thrilled. Honestly, getting yourself off wasn’t part of your intended plan, but the seam of your underwear caught just right as you slipped into bed and now your fingers are carding messily through your own slick.

Your other hand, the one not circling your clit, is scrolling lazily on your phone through a live camboy website of all things. You can’t even find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when you’re being offered such a glorious array of whining men jerking into their hands.

“Nope,” you breathe, flicking past somebody in too-clear, pristine, professional lighting. “No…” you grimace again, ignoring the advert at the bottom of your screen telling you to ‘meet hot singles now!’

God, is there anything good on here?

Actually, you think surprisedly, landing on a slightly gritty livestream of somebody cracking out breathy moans through the occasional whine, maybe there is. It's like audio porn, but even better, because you know he's actually getting himself off, thick globules of pre snaking over his clenched knuckles while his other hand runs teasingly over his chest and pectorals.

Your index finger presses down onto your clit, applying enough pressure to make your hips lift a little off the bed as your thighs twitch restlessly. “Oh,” you moan to yourself, “mhm-“

On screen, the faceless camboy is repeatedly drawing his hand away from his poor, sensitive tip to watch the way his cock spurts out pre and soaks the messy happy trail crawling across his abs. “Hah, fuck-“ he whimpers, hips fucking into the air, “fuuccckk, feels good, hck-“

Oh, you think hazily, two fingers fucking into yourself, he’s gone totally stupid.

Nice!

He keeps rambling, the microphone picking it up. “Ohhhhmygod,” he slurs, “miss you. You’re so pretty, miss you s’bad…”

You pause, fingers buried knuckle-deep into your own cunt. Hold on- you recognise that voice. It sounds eerily similar. Your brows pinch in concentration as you rake through the people you know; nobody from your lectures, nobody you’ve spoken to in passing, nobody. You’ve been through everybody- well, not everybody.

Megumi.

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, grabbing your phone and sitting upright, “no fucking way.”

The camboy has a catalogue of previous livestreams pinned on his profile, ranging in length from hours-long edging sessions to quick bursts of videos he must’ve spontaneously recorded in a bathroom or another public space that you really shouldn’t be camboying from.

The phone is obviously slung in his hand, his other set of fingers stroking across his abs before pinching the tip of his cock. The noise he lets out hits the microphone sexily, so sexily it makes your thighs snap together.

The first full video you click on is a landscape view. The bedroom is dark and fuzzy, grainy footage showing his whole, naked body (but not his face) as he spreads himself out rather prettily on top of his sheets. The man’s back is arched slightly as he humps into a pillow, his eyes no doubt rolling back in his skull if you go by the noises he’s making.

“Hnngh-“ he whimpers, cock buried within the plush cotton of the pillowcase, “oh fuck, it still smells like y-you-“ he’s rambling, “smells so good, so gooood, fuck, feel so bad-“ your cheeks are hot. That’s definitely Megumi’s bedroom, you’d recognise that neat pile of veterinary textbooks on the shelf anywhere; but, that isn’t his pillow.

It’s yours.

“Can’t help myself, feels too good-“ he pants, mouth muffled against the bed as he desperately grinds his pelvis down. “Wish it was you,” he moans as he cums, hips stuttering against the soft material.

It’s definitely yours, the one you accidentally left at his dorm a few weeks ago after you slept on his couch with freshly-washed hair and the smell of your shampoo seeped into the pillow. “Holy shit.” You mutter to yourself, entranced with the way Megumi’s moaning stupidly about how good it smells on camera to thousands of strangers.

Thousands of horny strangers, as evidenced by the comments.

> Oh my god his whines

> I’m so wet rnnnn ughhghgh

> THE RAMBLING FUCKKKK

You know it’s him, definitely- but you can never have enough proof. At least, that’s the excuse you use to justify why you’re salivating over a lewd video of him wrapping his shaky fingers around his base and tugging. “I wish it was you-“ he breathes, “wish you were here.”

Surely he isn’t talking about you, is he? At least, that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself as you turn up your volume and your brightness simultaneously. “Fuck, you looked so good earlier,” he rambles to himself, occasionally cutting off his own train of thought as his fingers pull harshly. “I wanted you to fuck me so badly it hurt.”

He moans loudly, cracking at the end. “So badly, ngh-“

You’re shocked, honestly, sitting in bed as your best friend whimpers himself to an orgasm. You don’t realise he’s cumming until you hear him whine and his back practically arches away from the chair he’s in, shoving his slick tip towards the camera, and oh, he looks so pretty. His abs get a firm splattering, dripping messily across the sweaty skin, before he shakily drags a hand through the white. Then, the video ends, and you’re left to stunned silence and your own soaked gusset. And, of course, the comments.

> WHOOO is he talking about

> He’s so messy

> nghh his happy trail is sosoooso hot

You can barely face speaking to him the next day, nervously curled up on the opposite side of his couch and anxiously worrying your lip between your teeth. Lest you blurt out something along the lines of “I saw the video of you whimpering and humping my pillow and I had to take a cold shower afterwards”, you take a shaky sip of your water instead.

Now you’re back at Megumi’s place, you’re really registering how much money he must make from camboying. There’s nothing broken, not even little things like the window latches that, at your dorm, have a nasty habit of getting stuck closed in summer. And his clothes are nice too, in a subtle way- casual, but definitely made from a comfy blend of materials that polyester is nowhere near.

Your one saving grace is, dizzingly, that now you know he wants you too- and it’s maybe that (or the lack of sleep) that carries your next words out of your mouth.

“You know you can speak to me about anything, right, Megs?”

“Yeah?” He side eyes you, running a pale hand through his spiky hair. You squint. “Like, anything.”

He nods slowly. “Uh, yeah?”

“Oh, okay,” you say, “so when were you gonna tell me you make your money from being a camboy?”

Megumi freezes. His whole body tenses up on the couch and he looks rather nauseous.

“What?”

You shift into your hands and knees in front of him on the couch, slowly crawling towards his stilled body. “Don’t pretend,” you say, voice dropping into something a little breathy and very evil. Your fingers lightly drift across his thigh, and Megumi jolts. “I saw. That was my pillow, wasn’t it?”

His cheeks go redder than you think you’ve ever seen them- but he’s still silent, processing the fact that you know he fucks his hand every night on camera while whimpering your name. “I’m sorry,” he manages finally, voice thick, “I’m so, so sorry, I just- fuck-“

He dares a glance up, and almost chokes on his own spit. You look sorry for him, a little sad at how panicked he is; your eyes are big and round and, most of all, trusting, and it makes him feel hot. Mortification washes over him when he feels the blood previously flooding his face rush southwards, his sweats filling out the longer you pity him.

Honestly, he thinks he just wants you to take care of him. Maybe that’s why he’s spent so long begging on livestreams, cock buried in your scent or the fingers he wishes were yours.

“Admit it,” you whisper suddenly with a fresh burst of confidence at his blushing, your mouth hovering dangerously close to his. “You like this. Me pitying you.”

Megumi’s breath shudders loudly, his eyes screwed up as he gulps. Say it, Megumi! Something hisses at himself, you know you do. “Yeah. I really do.”

The initial press of your mouth against his is curved upwards as you smile into his tongue. You were expecting him to be just as tentative, but instead Megumi is messy- like he needs you to breathe, gripping you through your clothes with grabby hands.

“Mmpfh!” You squeak against his lips when he nips down- hard- on your bottom lip. He’s breathing heavily now, eyes shut lucidly as he leans into the gentle touch of your palms on his face. The kiss is sloppy; you keep pulling away for air, glossy strings of spit clashing in midair, only for Megumi to gasp and pull your mouth back closer.

It’s not close enough, though.

His hands are fisting in the shirt at your back, clinging to your waist to drag you atop his lap. Megumi doesn’t even realise what he’s done until you gasp, pulling back just long enough to gaze down at his face. All flustered and dazed, lips kiss bitten as he instinctually chases after your lips- how pretty.

You feel bad for the viewers, the ones on his livestreams who don’t get to see the face he makes when he’s all worked up. Your lap is splayed across his bulge, and when your hips lift up to awkwardly wriggle out of your jeans Megumi drops his forehead to your collarbone and whines at the loss.

And it’s that thought about those livestreams that brings your hand down his chest, feeling the fluttering beat of his heart, before playing with his waistband. He physically lurches when your hand, so soft and warm and loving, gently coaxes his cock out.

It slaps obscenely against his stomach, tip a pretty pink and dripping big beads of shining pre. There’s a significant vein striping down the side of the pale skin, curving around the length as it twitches hopelessly in the air under your watchful gaze. Megumi’s fingers are curling into the couch on either side, digging hollow dents into the throw pillows like he isn’t ready to allow himself to touch you.

Your other hand travels up his body towards his face, tilting his chin up towards you so you can take in his blown pupils and the haze already seeping over them like ink. His mouth is clamped shut, lips drawn into a thin line to keep his needy noises locked behind his teeth; so, logically, you have to open him up.

Two of your fingers slide tentatively into the warm, small space of his mouth, and Megumi accepts them like a ship going to the sea, waves battering at his sides. He feels a little like he's drowning inside his own head, being so vulnerable and pathetic under you, but the feeling of your digits gently probing at his tongue keeps him steady.

You’re still across his lap, scooted backwards to allow his cock to rest in the heated space between you as you gently take it in your hand. He moans immediately and his hips buck up. “Sorry.” He apologises thickly around your fingers as you ease them out, warm face dropping against your clothed chest. And yet, his hips don’t stop.

They splatter your hand with pre, almost erratically bucking up into your awaiting fist as you curl it into a tighter hole for him to thrust his length through. You use your other hand to pull at his hair just hard enough for him to turn and look at you, his cheek still pressed up hard against the outline of your tits visible through your shirt. You grin.

“Do you want me to take it off?” Your fingers are already curling into the hem. When you take your hand from his cock to wriggle out of the fabric, Megumi chokes on his own whine and desperately lurches forwards- but while your edging was cruel, the sight of your tits in front of him makes it worth it.

“Wait, slow down-“ You’re only just fumbling with the clasp and giggling when Megumi decides that it’s been long enough and he needs his mouth on you now. He trails sloppy, open-mouthed kisses from your throat to your sternum and soaks the lace of your bra with his spit before you rip the garment away and he connects his lips to your nipple.

At the same time as you gasp softly and arch further into his mouth, your fingers reconnect with his aching cock and resume their prior movements, only this time Megumi’s whimpers are muffled around your chest.

“Never want to think again,” he slurs suddenly against you, glossy spit trickling down the valley between your breasts as he pops back long enough to shove his tongue greedily into your mouth again. “Just… just- fuck, I’m so needy,” he cracks out, your lips parting loudly to welcome his own.

“You are,” you agree, gently bringing his face away from yours so you can look at him. His eyes are heavy and glassy, his mouth hanging open slightly as though their purpose is to await the next lick of your tongue between them. “But that’s okay,” you continue, stroking his head as his mouth attaches itself to your chest again. “You’re allowed to be needy.”

Your hand feels warmer, suddenly, as Megumi cums from your allowance. Maybe he’s been waiting for it, secretly, the permission from you to let go; his release drips hot and sticky across your knuckles, and there’s just so much of it. His cock is still spurting when you push him back against the couch, still messing the sliver of happy trail on his stomach you want to mouth at and ruining his shirt that’s covering the rest of the hair.

He has a forearm thrown across his eyes as his hips continue bucking, little whines and gasps hidden behind the skin. Your fingers trace the hem of his shirt and he shivers. “Off?” You question quietly. When he nods jerkily, you peel it away and oh, it’s even better than the livestream.

You always knew Megumi went to the gym and ate reasonably well, but the refined ridges of his abdomen, splattered with a trail of hair from his navel downwards, makes your mouth salivate. He’s embarrassed by you looking, you can tell, but it really isn’t your fault!

“I see why you have so many viewers now.” You giggle, standing up to unhook your panties and toss them to the side. Megumi watches in nothing less than total awe as your bare body is revealed to him in his living room. It’s an invitation, the way you look at him, he knows that, but he can’t figure out what he wants to do with it.

Bend you over the glass coffee table? He wouldn’t be able to see your tits. Doggy? Same problem as the coffee table, and he doesn't think he could handle seeing your ass move. If you got on top he thinks he’d cum embarrassingly quickly and then pass out, too much for your first time together, really-

He settles on missionary.

Which was probably a gigantic fucking mistake, he thinks as soon as you’re lying beneath him, because his brain immediately blanks when faced with you spread out like this. He’s kneeling in front of you, cock still dripping, but he’s unable to move from shock. “Fuck,” he swallows eventually, shaky hands landing on your soft, bare thighs.

“You’re… so pretty.” Instinctually, you blush; your cheeks are pinker at his sweet little praise than they were when you’d laid back on the carpet, rug cushioning the feeling of your bare spine and sinking comfily into your feet as you drew your knees up. “You too.”

It sort of just slipped out, a casual response to what Megumi said, but it makes him freeze. A slow, slightly malicious smile paints its way across your face as you sit up on your elbows, unintentionally pushing your chest towards him as your legs fall open. “You’re just sooo pretty, Megumi, the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, it just makes me want to-“

A palm clasps itself over your mouth and you make a muffled, indignant sound of protest. “Stop.” Megumi’s head is hung low as his chest reverberates outwards in his plea, his other hand tightly squeezing his cock; he must be sensitive if this is what a teeny bit of praise does to him, you think, letting your thighs spread further for him to shuffle between.

Your hand reaches up to peel his palm away from your lips. “Megumi,” you whisper, “you can fuck me. You’re allowed to.” His next breath escapes shakily, as his eyes fixate on the way his tip is lined up glimmeringly with the entrance to your pussy.

Somehow, the overwhelming need to bury himself inside you overrides the sense of terror within his bloodstream, and Megumi finds himself slowly pushing himself into you. “Oh,” you moan, hands coming up to splay across his shoulders, “fuck, Megs. That's so good, baby.”

The nickname unlocks something new in him, the feeling of your walls stretching out for him (and only ever him from now on, he decides hazily) while you gasp his name quietly makes his thrusts turn harder, seeking a new level of release he fears- no, knows- he’ll now only be able to reach from this.

The stretch is mean at first, his flushed length scraping past your sweet spots like he’s teasing them for later. Your chest heaves as you breathe through it and let him in, legs wrapping loosely around his lean waist while your hands come up to cup his cheeks and drag him down into another sloppy kiss.

This kiss is messy beyond comparison, spit and teeth and tongue more than lips as the pace of Megumi’s cock thrusting into you picks up. There’s a rushing of blood in your ears when your hand drifts down to rub your clit wonkily, a noise that subsides quick enough and lets you listen to Megumi instead.

And oh, what a thing to listen to!

“Fuck,” he’s moaning, voice cracking on the syllables, “you’re so warm, so tight, wanna- hnngh- stay here forever, god-“

He’s whining and crying, sobbing uncontrollably about how good you feel, how warm and wet you are wrapped tightly around him, and it sends a fresh wave of slick from you that decorates and splashes against his pelvis.

As hard as he tries to hold back and be a goody boy for you, Megumi cums first. The feeling of him spilling into you, thick and wet, makes you gasp brokenly as your nails dig into his shoulders. “Sorry-“ he heaves, pulling out, “I’ll make it up to you-“

He presses himself flat between your thighs, and you’re too dazed and throbbing to do anything but watch the way he’s staring pussydrunkenly at the sight between your legs. It’s almost nasty, just how much is dripping from your cunt down to the floor, in one thick droplet he’s lurching forwards and licking up with his mouth.

“Oh my god-“ you mewl, back arching up as he eats his own cum out of your pussy. Your hands reach down to grip at his spiky hair, more as an anchor than anything else- you don’t need to guide him, he’s good enough, although you don’t think Megumi would pull away if you wanted him to.

He’s completely lost in it, groaning and whining into your pussy with his eyes half-closed while his big hands wrap around your thighs and dig into the flesh until it dimples beneath his touch. You’re whimpering by the time he pushes you into an orgasm, lips suctioned tightly over your sensitive clit, but he doesn’t stop.

“Hah- wanted to do this f’so long,” he’s mumbling against your cunt, shoving his mouth open to lick a flat stripe across the full space you offer him. “So good, so good…”

Your pussy flutters needily around his tongue, his tastebuds coated and lacquered with your slick and his own cum. The concept should be off-putting to him, he knows that, but he can't be ashamed when your hits jerk into his face and he raises his hands to grip onto your plush thighs even more. Megumi barely realises what he's doing before you call him out on it.

"You- you want me to clamp them?" You gasp, watching the way he's smothering himself with your skin. Megumi moans in agreement, in admission. And you oblige.

Your thighs tighten around his head harshly, applying the maximum amount of pressure you can manage; his dark hair gets messed even more, his skull compressed, and yet Megumi thinks this feels like heaven.

Eventually, what little coherence he had left devolves into something close to devotion. He can’t do anything but lie there and gently grind his overstimulated cock into the soft carpet, his mouth smushed against your cunt as he unintentionally drags you into a second orgasm and you sob.

In fact, you’re both sobbing a little. There’s tears brimming in his eyes, saline drops threatening to streak Megumi’s already bright cheeks, while the water collecting at your waterline has already begun slipping down your temples. “S’too much.” You hear yourself slurring. Your voice sounds underwater, like it’s a recording of yourself you’re listening to.

As shaky and weak as you are, your hand manages to fist in Megumi’s hair and pull him back. His long eyelashes flutter a segment open, like he’s checking you’re real and here, before he draws himself up blindly to collapse beside you on the rug as you catch your breath.

A little like a tired puppy, Megumi drops his forehead against your shoulder and buries his face into the damp skin. Your arm curls around his back loosely, heat prickling your skin, and you clear your hoarse throat to speak coherently for the first time since he pushed himself inside you.

“You did really good.” You mumble, eyes closed and head tilted back. “So good.”

If a fresh sheen of tears starts to leak out onto your skin where Megumi is buried, you don’t comment on it. He wouldn’t say it out loud to you, not in a million years, but he feels safe. In an odd way, considering he’s naked and spent next to you in his living room with your taste still coating his tongue.

“Maybe…” you giggle, eyes still lazily shut as your fingers trace shapes across his bare back. “You should livestream it next time.”

He groans and tightens his arms around you. “Absolutely not.”

masterlist

a/n: thank you all so, so, so much again!! + this post was mainly inspired by @lipstainedgemini ‘s lovely posts about camboy megumi! <33

tags: (join in pinned!!)

‘I’ll say the little guy was fussy and kept wanting to see her, if she asks,’ he thinks.

Three measured rings of the doorbell, all met with no response, deepen his worries. He maneuvers his hold so that the kitten is being carried only in one arm, and uses his free hand to rapidly type in your passcode.

“[Name?]” He calls out as he makes his way into your living room. Scaramouche doesn’t really fancy intruding in rooms with closed doors, so he searches for you in your open areas first. 

Not in the living room, not in the kitchen either. In your studio, perhaps. The last remaining room in your unit not barred by a door, having merely an archway.

There, he sees you facing a canvas resting on an easel, your silhouette embraced by the warm rays of an early sunset. Beside you stands a wooden cart, its contents in disarray — some brushes in and some out of the jar, unused palettes scattered haphazardly, paint tubes strewn about. Some even rolled onto the floor.

He sees you making a light stroke somewhere, then hears you sighing deeply after. He then watches as heavy strokes follow, evidently fueled by frustration.

“Meow.”

Only at that sound do you stop.

No words escape Scaramouche even when you stand to greet him and Grayie. With your figure no longer blocking the canvas, he can see everything now.

Impressionist strokes in varying deep shades of blue consumed the canvas, going in all places, yet going nowhere all the same. As if grasping for countless things, yet achieving nothing.

Is this a fucking silent outcry?

“Hey, are you okay?” He says softly as he steps closer. 

You laugh. “You’re the second person to ever ask me that after seeing something I made.”

“Who’s the first?”

“Albedo, an artist friend.” You mumble. “You know, I’ve had countless exhibitions ever since I graduated, but can you believe you’re only the second person to ask that? None of the crowds present at my exhibitions bothered to do that. They asked a lot of things, but never that.”

Scaramouche frowns at your sarcastic smile. “What do you hear from them?”

“‘How much is this?’ ‘What would look good in my mansion?’” You laugh again, albeit without humor. “Someone even asked me, ‘Will the price of this piece appreciate in two years?’”

You scoff. “Like heck I would know?”

You drop your brush, the clacking of wood against wood being a sharp noise across the silent space. “Okay, enough of the sad stuff. Why are you actually here?”

“Nothing.” He says as he sits down on the rug, legs crossed, serving as a very comfortable bed for the kitten who started snoozing due to the singer’s light rubs. The fake excuse he came up with is now all forgotten.

“Did you want some company?” You hummed, looking down at him.

You were now seated back on your decently high stool, with him on the floor. And suddenly, you start to realize that he wasn’t really as big as you thought he was. Big in a sense that he was this untouchable, invincible being. 

No, he wasn’t all that.

It’s moments like these that make you realize how beautifully small and human he could be. Him having his brows slightly lifted into an ease, his still expressionless face that usually expresses indifference but is now the epitome of calmness, his slender fingers softly playing with cat fur the same way he lightly strums the strings of his guitar when he’s deep in thought. 

And his eyes.

His eyes that for some reason, take your breath away more now than they ever did before — despite the lack of stage production, of carefully planned outfits, of intricate camera angles. Which is really weird, you think. Because why does your heart grow more out of control when seeing him with his hair unkempt, his clothes loose and casual, his posture laid back?

“Am I that pretty in your eyes, miss painter?”

You blink fast. ‘No way I’m outright admitting straight up to that smug face of his that I was admiring him.’

In a desperate attempt for an excuse, you unconsciously blurt out a portion of your inner thoughts.

“You’re blue,” you say.

“What?” His brows furrow. “You mean the color? Or my mood?” He also remembers your canvas. Aren’t you the blue one here?

“Both. You’re blue because you’re blue.”

“What?”

You merely smile sheepishly before looking down, proceeding to fiddle with your fingers. Perhaps, you think you’re talking weird and nonsense. But to him, you aren’t. A part of him suddenly wants to do better, better in a sense that you can find comfort and solace in him. He wants to be someone you wouldn’t feel the need to hide yourself from when divulging your own quirks.

“You see, I sometimes see colors in people. Well, not really see, but — yeah. I don’t know. I can’t explain it either. I’m not good with words. They are not my strong suit.”

They are his.

“For example, my friend Venti is green. Albedo is gold. Don’t ask me why. They just are.”

“Yet you can explain why I’m blue?”

“Maybe you’re just lucky because blue is also an emotion.”

“So you think I’m gloomy and sad? I’m starting to think you dislike me.”

“What? No!” Defensive, you fix your posture and look sternly into his eyes. “Blue is not just straight up gloomy. Sometimes it can be melancholic. Sometimes calm. At times, distant.”

Unbeknownst to you, in his point of view, you look lost. 

In him. 

You’re staring into his eyes as if you were seeing something different entirely as you were talking. Until he can’t take it anymore and turns his head away. And you finally realize, then mimic his actions.

“Besides,” you say, tone light to change the mood. “How can you think I dislike you just because I gave you the color blue? You should feel honored, actually. Blue is one of the colors I tend to gravitate towards. I feel personally connected with it.”

At this revelation, he suddenly starts to get what you mean. He realizes you probably resonate with blue too, all because that’s what you are, and that’s what you ever feel. 

He recalls every single moment. When you’re sad, your eyes are bleeding blue behind the mask of composure you’ve learned to master. Even when you’re happy, he feels that nostalgic and sentimental blue seeping through. 

Scaramouche wants to say a lot of things. But he doesn’t. And instead, he says —

“You don’t dislike me?”

“No!” You respond in a flash. “Oh my god, did I ever do something to give you that impression?!”

“So you like me then?”

I CAN SEE YOU — scara x reader smau

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flins proposes btw... heh