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A pinch to his skin, like a thorn embedded within him.

Having a soulmate was more of a curse than anything. The chances of ever coming across your soulmate was almost impossibly slim, with no information to go off of. Most people go their whole lives without ever meeting the one on the opposite end of the bond. And those who do, sometimes they get unlucky. Sometimes it’s someone impossible to get along with. Sometimes it’s someone who stands against everything you believe in. And for whatever poor sap was at the end of his bond, got a Fatui Harbinger as their soulmate.

Celestia certainly had an interesting humor. Not only was it impossible to recognize someone as your soulmate until they said your name, or you said theirs, but you also felt every bit of pain they felt, albeit only mildly. Though that was something he had eventually learned to tune out.

Dottore was not one to find any interest in those around him, let alone a soulmate he’d never lay eyes upon. There was once a time when he’d held the smallest interest to try experimenting on their connection, to push the boundaries, to see if there was some small hint, a mercy Celestia might reward, to finding one’s soulmate. But of course, ever careless the gods were, nothing came about those experiments. And he felt it wise to cease harming himself to such degrees once he awoke to being tended by one of his segments.

Some days, when he was reminded of their connection, he wondered what the point to him of all people having a soulmate truly was. Was there even a point at all? He knew Celestia somehow recognized his age; he’d spent hundreds of years free from the curse that apparently afflicted everyone else, thinking he must’ve been too great a monster to even deserve that. Or rather, his potential soulmate had been spared from being connected with him. But that had been proven wrong when the pain started.

Small aches here and there, like he had sat in one position for too long, and his joints stiffened up. Originally, that really had been what he thought was the cause. But they became frequent, and happened in times when they shouldn’t have. Then the sharp pains started. All along his arms, even as high as his collarbone, small, sharp pinches that could be equated to a rose’s thorn pricking his skin. Even though it was mild, it drove him mad enough to show whoever it was on the other side that they were not the only one that could feel that pain now, which he did in a grand show of driving a knife through his hand. Multiple times. He did end up coming to regret that once his hand took over a month to heal.

Once he realized he had gained a soulmate, Dottore went out of his way to learn every passing person’s name, making sure to repeat it himself. He had to wonder if the whole point was simply to make a mockery of him, for Celestia to bestow upon him a divine connection, only to spit on him because of the obvious disadvantage he was when it came to finding his soulmate. After all, very few people knew his real name. His name had faded away with the passing of history, and while most people had an idea of his identity, knowing that he was an outcast, a heretic, his true name had been forgotten with time. Most of his traces up till his expulsion from the Akademiya were wiped from the history books.

It also didn’t help that apparently, none of his other segments had the connection. They never felt the prickles of pain, never once noticed anything amiss. He was the only one. So that meant he couldn’t have them search as well, testing their names. He was alone on this, much to his annoyance.

But it wasn’t something that could truly hold his attention, he had much bigger things to think about than something as trivial as a bond to a person he’d likely never meet. So, a year passed, then another, and another. And over time, he learned to tune out the aches and prickles, never noticing them. He only ever remembered the connection when he’d feel a larger spike of pain than usual, but was quick to dismiss it. It mattered little what happened on the other side. In fact, it’d greatly benefit him if they would just die.

Rays of warmth and light cast upon the skin of his face, save for his eyes that were hidden beneath his mask. Shadows of leaves and trees danced in the soft breeze, giving slight respite to the heat. While it really was no surprise given his line of work, Dottore had never intended on returning to his home nation, let alone reach out to the very same Akademiya that had turned their backs on him so many years ago. It was almost ironic how things had turned out like this.

Always the same, yet he always took the same amusement with the way people reacted when he simply walked in their general vicinity. It probably didn’t help that he was followed by more than a couple personal guards, always pushed upon him by his higher ups. Yet still, the gasps that mothers would emit, ushering their children inside, the whispers hanging in the air, all eyes on him as he strolled through, it always had his lips curling upward. It never grew old.

The dry dirt path beneath his boots crunched as he made his way forward, towards Sumeru City, the population slowly growing more dense. Face after face, yet none truly stuck with him, forgotten as quickly as he laid eyes on them. But in his peripheral, something had caught his eye, something vibrant, a myriad of color.

A soft, almost inaudible hum vibrated in Dottore’s chest, peering over the low wooden fence, technically barring entry, though it wouldn’t truly stop anyone. Even a child could step over if they tipped their toes enough. However, it wasn’t truly the fence keeping people out, no. It seemed the fence’s true purpose was to contain the garden inside, protected by the thorny shrubbery lining the inner fence. Gloved fingers brushed over a petal, before plucking the flower from its stem. A familiar prick to the tip of his finger, though it went unregistered. Pink, almost white roses. Basic, but given Sumeru’s general climate, still an achievement. Sumeru, namely its forested half, was home to countless types of flora and fauna, and yet, here someone was, growing knockout roses.

His eyes drifted further into the garden, bouncing from plant to plant, curious at how someone could cultivate so many various different plants in such a small space, before a particular plant caught his eye. A tall plant with thin stems, clusters of white flowers blooming on top. Cicuta maculata, water hemlock. Incredibly easy to grow, seeing as how close they live to the docks. Perhaps the owner was right to grow such thorny plants around their property, keeping naive children out of their garden for their own safety. It was certainly an interesting choice to grow in a flower garden.

“Can I help you?”

Dottore’s attention snapped from the strange choice of flowers, to the new face standing near his side, though making sure to keep plenty of space between the two. Dottore gave them a smirk, holding the plucked rose up to his nose.

“Just admiring the roses,” he spoke, the new face quirking their eyebrow with a frown. But before they could muster some kind of response, he continued. “You know, it is an odd choice to grow water hemlock in your garden. Surely you must be aware of its effects when ingested?”

Their frown seemed to sink even lower, crossing their arms. “It’s impolite to comment on other people’s gardens, you know. I am well aware of the effects. I don’t shy away from such things.”

Dottore’s smile grew the more their lips curled in distaste. He took a large step forward, crossing into their space, into their bubble, towering over them. His voice was low as he spoke, his words meant only for their ears. “It wasn’t intended to be rude, I was simply curious what your intentions might be with such a plant.”

Their face paled, as if caught red handed. Dottore let out a chuckle at that, stepping back from their space and giving them room to breathe. He held the rose up to the tip of his nose once more, taking in its fragrant scent. Something in the back of his mind tugged at his consciousness, as if reminding him to do something. It was years ago that he quit worrying so much about names, but suddenly the interest reared its head, like his focus would be completely lost for days if he didn’t get their name right now.

“Tell me, what is your name?”

They looked up at him skeptically, brows furrowed, as if the mere idea of even giving him their name was wrong, a crime. A beat of silence passed, hanging over their head like a guillotine, before a soft mutter passed their lips.

A sound that brushed Dottore’s ears, but ultimately never reached them. With a quiet scoff, Dottore spoke with a firm voice. “Speak up.”

They looked up to him with a glare, letting out a huff, before repeating their name loud enough not just for Dottore to hear, but the guards behind him, and the nearby onlookers who hadn’t even needed to try to hear them. Their name settled heavily inside him, on his tongue. It certainly wasn’t a bad name, he quite liked the sound of it. Letting it roll off his tongue, Dottore tested the name for himself, curious to know what it sounded like in his voice.

His voice suddenly died in his throat as the last syllable left his lips. The world came to a stop, no, stopped spinning entirely. A wave of nausea crashed into him, tugging and pulling, lapping like the ocean, threatening to split him by the seams. It felt as though he had ascended all the way to Celestia, and was spit out and sent crashing into the earth below. The ground no longer existed, it was simply an ocean he stood upon, waiting for the waves to swallow him whole. And all that time, there you were. No doubt experiencing the same drastic shift as well.

Most people never found their soulmates, going their whole lives without so much as laying eyes on each other. Some got unlucky, finding themselves connected to people they could never love in any capacity. So where did Dottore’s luck fall on this scale? And what was he to do with the information?

He was ripped out of his thoughts as you took a hesitant step back, eyes wide, filled not with wonderment or curiosity at finding your soulmate, no. They were filled with fear. Fear at the discovery that you were connected in fate to a Fatui Harbinger, to The Doctor. What was he to do with you? Take you with him, understand how much deeper their bond might have gone? His gaze shifted to the flower in his fingers, its petals holding on with the little energy it had left. It would soon wither away.

“I am glad I found you,” Dottore said, before stepping around you. You stood frozen, not daring to turn around, to face the discovery that had just been forced upon you. “I will be back soon.”

As your name fell from his lips, you flinched at the sound, at the way it felt like he had both never said it, and spoken it countless times. It sounded so eerily natural. And that only made it worse coming from him of all people. You should’ve just minded your own business and lingered down the street when you spotted a Harbinger admiring your garden.

Your garden. Sumeru was home to many kinds of flowers, and yet, your garden shone like a star in the night, like the moon’s reflection across the waves. Many kinds of flowers, most not native to Sumeru, made your garden sparkle, setting itself apart from the dreary, empty neighborhood. It was your pride and joy. It was your life. Surrounded in a kaleidoscope of colors, swallowed whole till you felt like nothing but a concept, a simple shade in an assortment of flowers.

Phlox divaricata, solidago, verbena hastata, your little space was home to many different kinds of flora, all that you knew like the divots in the back of your hand. They were your world. You took care of them like you would your own child. You gave life to them, cultivated them. If you could have it your way, you’d sink into the bottom of their petals, disappearing.

But that was not your fate.

Dottore couldn’t say he enjoyed being back in the land that had twice cast him away. This project of his certainly was interesting, but not enough for him to fully enjoy the work. Not to mention, a certain variable had cropped up- you. Il Dottore’s soulmate, a gardener living on the poor outskirts of Sumeru City. What to do with you? It would be nothing at all to simply end your life, and he’d never have to think about you again. But then again, Dottore was not one to waste any kind of opportunity, even for the smallest experiments. If there was anything of interest that he could dig up through the bond, through their shared connection through Celestia, it could change things. Maybe not much, but he wasn’t going to ignore such a chance.

A smirk tugged on Dottore’s lips as he cast his gaze upon the work of machinery he had forged with his own hands. Despite being the blasphemous god-hating heretic that he was, it seemed Celestia wanted to test just how far his ambitions went, handing over to him not just the Electro Gnosis, but the string of fate that kept him tied to Celestia like a puppet. But he’d show that it wasn’t like that, it was the other way around, they were the puppet. And he, the puppeteer.

When the sun had dipped beyond the mountains that crowned the horizon, and stars sprinkled the sky above, surrounding the moon like a halo, your attention was dragged from the flower that rested in the palm of your hand. The clearing of a throat made your body jolt, blood freezing in your veins. Had your time come already? You looked down to the soft purple flower in your hand, scissors at the ready to cut it off, to behead it. What a delicate, defenseless creature, it was. What was the point to flowers, if not to remind of the fragility of life?

Finally giving in and glancing back, you were more surprised to find not your soulmate, but a single Fatuus, one of the personal guards that had been with the Harbinger earlier. In his hand, an envelope, sealed with the insignia of the Fatui. His hand was silently outstretched to you, no words necessary. You couldn’t decline.

Taking the letter from the Fatuus, you gently broke the seal, pulling out a single sheet of paper. Unfolding it, written in messy ink, were three simple words. “Come see me.”

Once again, there was no room for denial. Flipping the paper over to scan the other side just in case, you found it blank. A waste of paper, but you supposed it lined up with how these types acted. You almost wondered why he didn’t just have the Fatuus speak the message himself, since by the looks of things and how he silently waited, he was your escort.

Pulling your gloves off, you set them and the large scissors aside. It wasn’t that you were so silly not to think of keeping them on you as self defense, rather, you had a feeling gardening scissors wouldn’t fare well against a Harbinger. Not to mention, your escort likely wouldn’t allow you to so blatantly have something like that on you, even if they didn’t pose much harm in the end.

Each step you took away from your garden, closer to what you could only surmise as your end, felt like a weight pushing heavier on your shoulders. Each step sealed your fate, each step thundered in your ears. All so loud, yet the city was quiet, not a single soul haunting the streets. They knew. It was never good news to have so many Fatui in their home city, so they locked themselves inside their homes. Perhaps you should’ve had the foresight to do the same. But you couldn’t bear being in that house. It was no home.

You had never ventured beyond the lower levels of Sumeru City. There was no need to. You had been to the Treasure Street for the occasional grocery that you could not find from the locals on the outskirts, and you had bought many a flower seeds from the Grand Bazaar. But no more than that. You could hardly call yourself a local of the city.

You were escorted into the city, through the streets, up the slopes. You could only imagine one place you were being brought to that was viewed as worthy enough to house a Fatui Harbinger. The Akademiya. You had never been close to it, let alone inside. You were never interested. You had only ever heard bad things about it. That thought only made the anxiety in your gut churn more, your heart thumping against the confines of your chest. You couldn’t imagine what his intentions with you would be. To kill you? It made the most sense. What use for someone like The Doctor was a soulmate?

You felt your feet hesitating at the grand doors of the Akademiya. Was it really okay for someone like… you to be stepping inside such a place? It didn’t feel right for you to be stepping into such a grand place, regardless of the opinions you held of it. But the Fatuus waited, holding the door open for you to follow. You reminded yourself you didn’t have a choice, stepping foot through the large doorway.

You didn’t have much time to admire the grand architecture of the entrance, your attention swept away by the rushing fountain in the center, a chandelier in the shape of leaves turning the water into an array of greens. But before you could truly admire the almost otherworldly serenity of the entrance, you were led out another door. Tiled stone floor changed into wood, as if the path ahead had been carved from the very tree itself. You knew the upper echelons of Sumeru were something else entirely, but this was even greater than you had imagined. It almost distracted you from the fact that you were walking straight into the lion’s den. You were offering your neck to the wolf.

You were quickly dragged back down to reality as you climbed higher and higher up the pathway, weaving through itself, until finally, you had arrived at your destination. Death’s door.

Hidden beneath the overlapping slopes and paths that led higher into the tree, while small, stood three grand gazebos. Each housed a flower unlike anything you had ever laid your eyes upon, glowing ethereally in the night. It felt as though you had stepped into a completely separate world, tucked away into such a small nook. It would have felt magical, unreal, if not for the very real threat that stood before you.

You didn’t know much when it came to folktales, but you had heard whispers over the years of ravens, of how they were bad omens. How, if you saw one, it meant death was going to follow. They were harbingers of death. You supposed it was fitting how much the man before you resembled one, how he struck the very same fear in you. Where there were ravens, there was only death and decay.

“It’s good to see you,” he spoke with a grin, as if you were old friends, turning to cast his masked gaze onto you. Instinctively, you took a step back, your mind screaming at you to keep space between the two of you, but that’s when you noticed the escort was gone. You were alone with him. Not that having the escort there to witness your murder would have made you feel any better.

“Now, now, no need to be shy! I only wish to speak to you, to get to know you better,” he said as slowly paced around, but made no effort to come any closer to you, thankfully for you. His voice was incredibly smooth, clear and concise, yet silky all the same. It was certainly an interesting voice for a character such as himself, but you couldn’t imagine any other voice that would suit him. Everything, even down to the finest detail, spoke to you about exactly who you were speaking to. Even though his actual defining characteristics were hidden beneath cloak and mask.

“What would you like to know?” You spoke up. Your voice was the exact opposite of his, quiet, gone in the breeze if you didn’t listen close enough. Thankfully, it seemed the man before you caught that right away when you gave him your name, finely tuned in to the sound of your voice.

He paused his pacing for a moment, standing just a couple feet away from you. You could only assume he had turned to look at you, it was hard to tell with his eyes hidden beneath that mask. “The prickling in my skin. I take it, it's from the thorns of your rose bushes?”

Your hands flinched, squeezing them together as you held them in front of you. So he had felt that. You wondered what else he had felt. “It was. I don’t always wear my gloves.”

Though you couldn’t see it, his eyes lingered on your hands, on your fingers. On the many scars that littered the skin of your hands, how they disappeared beneath the sleeves of your shirt. He let out a small hum, on a train of thought. Though he had tuned out the mild prickles years ago, he had not forgotten where he felt them. All the way up to his collarbone. Certainly strange for just trimming rose bushes. Perhaps at some point, you had taller thorned plants? His thoughts were distracted by a particularly big scar in the center of your left hand.

“May I see your left hand?” He asked, offering you an outstretched hand, standing just close enough to inspect your hand. You hesitated, fingers tense. Once again, you were left unable to deny his request. Your throat squeezed, wondering just how much longer this would go on.

Your hand slowly, shaking, stretched out to meet his, his fingers brushing against your palm with a surprising level of tenderness, like you were a fragile porcelain. He ran a gloved hand over yours, humming. It was the same exact spot that he had stabbed his hand in. He didn’t realize you would feel it so much that it would leave a scar.

“My… apologies. This one was my fault,” he spoke softly, his voice losing that penetrating tone to it, leaving only its silky softness behind. Though it had certainly piqued his curiosity to see how much of his pain you could feel, he wasn’t in the mind to needlessly harm either of you. It wouldn’t warrant any worthwhile results.

You could only furrow your brows in confusion. Wasn’t it completely normal for someone in his position to get injured every now and then? Why blame himself? Not to mention, wasn’t it completely not normal for a Harbinger to apologize for accidentally hurting someone? It felt strange for someone as high up as him to be apologizing to someone as lowly as you.

“It’s no matter, I’m used to such things,” you said, pulling your hand from his. He could only let out another contemplative hum, something you were quickly noticing about him, he was very vocal, even when only in his thoughts.

“So you’re a florist then? Do you sell your flowers?” He asked, turning back to face the single flower beneath the gazebo. And even though you knew it wasn’t smart to follow, you stepped closer as well, admiring the flower up close. Its fragrance was faint, but unlike anything you had ever smelled. You wondered if you could perhaps sneak a seed or cutting for your garden.

“I don’t sell. They’re just a personal hobby.” Your gaze was glued to the petals of the angelic flower, your fingers running across its surface without a second thought. It felt like silk, much similar to his voice. “I never caught your name.”

You knew his name, or at least what he was referred to as. The Doctor. Second Harbinger. But you didn’t know much beyond that. You were barely clued in to the world around you, you were lucky enough to recognize who he even was when he stood before your little garden. And at the very least, you were interested in trying out your soulmate’s name yourself.

“For now, you may refer to me as Dottore,” he said. It sounded familiar enough to you, though you doubted it was his real name from the way he said it. “And, you should consider selling! I’m sure some people would be very interested in them. In fact, I was curious about a specific flower I saw.”

Your fingers tensed on the petal beneath them. He had mentioned it when he saw it before, but you didn’t think he would care to bring it back up. You should’ve known better. “What about it?”

“It’s meant for someone, isn’t it?” Dottore’s lips curled into a grin, stepping into your bubble. You could already tell he loved violating people’s boundaries. “Let me guess. Are they a secret buyer? They must’ve offered quite a bit to request such a thing of you. Or perhaps, they’re not willingly taking it.”

You didn’t dare look up to him, the petal between your fingers the only thing keeping you grounded. When you didn’t speak to clarify, you heard him chuckle. “Ah, that must be it, you have that look of guilt written all over your face. So, who is it for? Someone who offended you, who wronged you in some way? Someone who has something you want? Do tell, I’m quite curious to know what could cause my soulmate to do such a thing.”

Soulmates. They were a curse. You were cursed to have a soulmate like Dottore. Perhaps Celestia thought its bonds out more thoroughly than you gave them credit for though. You let out a small sigh, your hand dropping to your side. You stepped away from Dottore, freeing your space of his intrusion. When you looked up to face him, the ethereal light from the flower cast upon his face, your eyes landed on his lips. It was hard not to look there, to notice the subtle movements, given you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“You’re right, it is meant for someone.” You could almost see his face lighting up, like an excited child, though he kept it under wraps. “Since you’re already aware, you know what would happen when consuming water hemlock. The most toxic part is the root. Within thirty to sixty minutes of consumption, the human body will begin to experience nausea, projectile vomiting, and tremors, followed by severe cramps and convulsions. Most cases end in death. There are even cases of it being as quick as fifteen minutes.”

“My, my, you’re unexpectedly well versed in this. Now I’m even more curious to whom you’d give such a painful death to,” Dottore spoke with more interest than you cared to acknowledge.

Murder was wrong. This was instilled into you since the day you were born, it was a fact that was built into most as deeply as converting oxygen to carbon dioxide was. But, you couldn’t help the idea that, perhaps this rule wasn’t entirely right. There had to be exceptions, the rule had to bend sometimes, right? Take the man across from you for example, did he deserve to live? But it wasn’t for you to judge. The only person you could judge was yourself.

“It’s for me.”

That seemed to stop the train of thought going through his mind completely. His stare fell onto yours, meeting half way. He should’ve known. Now that he was truly looking at you instead of through you, like he did with all the other faces, he could see it in your eyes. The empty gaze, eyes that should have held life but had none to be found, the eerie silence that followed you. Perhaps you were more like him than he realized.

“I see. So you plan to… end your own life? When?” Dottore tilted his head, a curious inflection in his tone, though he couldn’t ignore the twinges of anxiety creeping up from within.

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly, turning to look out into the stars beyond. You weren’t quite sure why you were telling him either. Perhaps it was because you knew he wouldn’t stop you. Why would he? This was a man who had no qualms with taking the lives of those who caused him minor inconveniences, without consequence. Not to mention, if he did truly kill you like you were suspecting, then it wouldn’t matter. Either way, your life was soon to end. “I haven’t planned a date yet. Preferably I’d do it when I’m far away from home, where no one will find me. I don’t want to burden them with handling my body. Though I feel a little guilt about it now that I’ve found my soulmate, it doesn’t change my plans. I’m going to die soon.”

That was certainly a twist Dottore wasn’t expecting. While the thought to just kill you and be done with it had crossed his mind, he ultimately decided it would be more interesting to push the limits to your bond. And if nothing ever came of it, perhaps then he’d reconsider. But that was based on the idea that you wanted to live. Even in his line of work, it was rare for him to come across those who so willingly forfeit their chance at life, those who took their fate into their own hands. Normally, he wouldn’t have been interested, and he knew that he shouldn’t be interested now either, yet his curiosity for his soulmate couldn’t help to beg the question- “Is there any reason in particular? Or have you simply grown tired of this dreary world?”

He couldn’t say he blamed you if that was the reason. This world, for all of its boundless mysteries and information to offer, still was not truly worth living for. Not in its current state. And with the way your brow twitched, your gaze falling from the stars back down to reality, he could tell he had struck close with his words.

“That’s basically the reason. I…” You paused, finally looking back up to him once more. This was your soulmate, the one Celestia deemed fit for you to spend your life with. But why? As far as you could tell, there was absolutely no correlation between you, nothing to spark a connection. You were exact opposites. You didn’t know much about him or the Harbingers, but you knew there was one big thing separating you two. “I’m not sure how well you’d understand. You’re so full of ambition, despite your… line of work. You’d never let anything stop you from reaching your goal. That’s why I don’t understand why we’re soulmates. I don’t have any ambition. No motivation, no drive to achieve anything, I don’t strive for anything in this world. The only thing I have are my flowers. But flowers won’t get you anywhere. They’re worthless.”

You stopped yourself before you could continue any longer, before you could spill your heart out so easily to the last person you should, turning away from him once more. He couldn’t see how pathetically weak you were. How worthless you were. Worthless as the flowers you needlessly grew, worthless as the vibrant colors you drowned your vision in day in and day out.

“I can’t say I see the interest behind growing flowers,” Dottore began, holding a finger up to his chin, as if in thought. As if thinking of the words to say. “But there is knowledge to be found in it. You’ve already discovered that for yourself with the water hemlock. No doubt it was tricky going out of your way to acquire seeds, then grow them outside of their natural environment, yes?”

Despite the mask, you could feel his gaze cast down upon you, your own eyes lifting to meet his stare. It was strange. Strange how easy it was to hold this conversation with him, how easy it was to show him things you had never spoken about before. Stranger so how you didn’t mind talking to him. You nodded in agreement, Dottore humming as he crossed his arms.

“I think with a nudge in the right direction, you could find this ambition you look for in your flowers. Have you ever considered becoming an apothecary? You could look past the skin deep level of the flowers and their beauty, and discover different uses for them, different effects they might have. It could be a very interesting line of work.” His lips cracked into a smirk, making you tense. “I would be interested to see the kinds of poisons you might develop.”

You couldn’t help the way your brows scrunched in distaste. Of course that was where his mind went. But you couldn’t deny that his idea had you intrigued. You never thought about testing out the effects the plants you grew might have. You could try growing medicinal herbs, or even as he had suggested, try making more potent things. Though it was already a well explored field, it still wouldn’t hurt to at least give it a try. Your fate was in your own hands, for the most part. If it didn’t work out, nothing would change.

“I suppose I could try… but if it doesn’t go anywhere, I’ll likely still…” you trailed off. Why now, was it so hard to say? You didn’t like the feeling it gave you, creeping up into your heart, taking hold and squeezing. It hurt. More than what you were used to.

“Of course, I won’t stop you if that’s what you wish,” Dottore spoke, taking a step forward, standing before you. “But if you’d like, I’d be happy to give you a hand. I am nothing if not a scholar, and if my soulmate wishes to pursue knowledge, I will gladly offer them the resources necessary.”

Your hands squeezed into tight fists, forcing your face to stay as neutral as possible, though you were sure he noticed the excitement suddenly bubbling within you. Was this truly the same man they said had no morals, was willing to try anything in the pursuit of knowledge, even so much as experimenting on people? The comment he made before no doubt confirmed that, but you still had a hard time believing he was being so… kind to you. Did the bond have some kind of effect on his mind, making him unwillingly show you kindness? You had never heard of such a thing. Some soulmates had no qualms about outright killing each other, even though it would cause them great pain. Perhaps he was only interested in the knowledge he could potentially gain through you, if you were to somehow make a breakthrough in that field. Perhaps he was only interested in finding subtle weapons to use, though he could easily make those himself. Either way, you wouldn’t look too deep into it. He was offering you resources to expand your garden, and he didn’t say growing more flowers was against the rules. The only rule was testing them for potential effects.

But at the same time… This was a Fatui Harbinger you were dealing with. Even just standing here, talking with him, could damage your reputation. It could send unwanted attention, dangerous attention your way. Anyone associated with him likely had to face a lot of trouble, and you weren’t exactly strong by any means. You weren’t really sure what you were signing up for.

“I’ll… have to think about it,” you said. Dottore’s smile thinned for a moment, before he stepped back, his hands behind his back.

“Very well. I’ll give you time. I’ll be in Sumeru for a project for a few days, but you’re welcome to visit any time. My guard will be stationed just outside the Akademiya, you can speak to him if you wish to see me.” He paused for a moment, as if thinking, before he stretched a hand out to you. “Shall I walk you back?”

Your gaze dropped to his hand. Your train of thought before had made its round back into your mind, wondering if he was normally this kind to everyone he worked with. Unlike before, you didn’t hesitate so much giving him your hand. Your eyes widened, heart giving an especially hard thump as his hand trailed past your palm, over your wrist and up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. His arm wrapped around yours, interlocking them together loosely like a link. And with that, he gently pulled you along, leading you back the way you came.

As you left the serene garden of silence, you turned to look up to Dottore’s face, the moon shining beyond his visage. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. Just when you were on the brink of ending your own life, toeing over the edge, your soulmate stepped into your life, stopping to smell the roses. And though you certainly weren’t expecting someone like him, you couldn’t say you were very deterred in getting to know him.

“If you were a flower, I’d say you would be a Cerastium Tomentosum, or a snow-in-summer,” you spoke, catching his attention as he looked down at you from beyond the mask, and for a moment, you swore you saw red. A vibrant, deep, uncommon red.

“I’ve never seen it.”

You weren’t surprised. If he spent most of his time in Snezhnaya, he would have never laid eyes on them, not even here in Sumeru. It was just too humid for them to grow here, much to your disappointment.

“I’ll try to grow them for you so you can see them,” you said. A moment of silence passed, before Dottore’s voice brushed against your ear, more quiet than you were used to.

“I look forward to it then.”

A smile tugged at your lips, looking down at the path beneath your feet. This wasn’t so bad, you supposed.

Once he had led you through the Akademiya’s entrance and back out onto the large platform, slopes leading back down into the quiet city, he stopped. Looking up to him curiously, disappointment bloomed in your chest as you lost the warmth wrapped around your arm, brushing at your side as he stepped away. “I’m afraid this is as far as I can go. It’s not wise for someone like me to be seen skulking around the city at this hour.”

You didn’t let your disappointment become apparent, instead giving him a small smile. “That’s okay. Thank you for walking me this far. And… thank you, for the offer. I will genuinely consider it.”

Your voice faded, hesitating, the words tingling on the tip of your tongue. “I’m… glad I got to meet you. You’re certainly not the one I was expecting, but… talking with you was a lot more pleasant than I thought it would be. I would like to see you again.”

His smile was quickly growing on you, sweet like honey, addictive like sugar. You were sure it was a manipulation tactic he had simply integrated into his being, unconscious of it, but you couldn’t deny how seeing his lips quirk up at your words made your chest bloom with heat. His hands reached out for yours, requesting it once more, and when you offered it to him, you found yourself surprised as he bent, leaning down. His lips, like a gentle breeze passing in the night, brushed against your skin, against the scar he had unknowingly left.

“I would like that as well.” Your name slipped past his lips like it was completely natural, like you weren’t complete strangers, but instead deeply woven into each other’s lives. You could say that you might be.

You couldn’t help the beat in your step as you made your way back home. What did this mean for you? If you were to agree? Would you see him more? Would he travel to visit you, bringing with him resources he gathered from all over the world just for you? Or would you go with him? You couldn’t imagine there being many places in Snezhnaya to grow a garden, not unless it was in a green house with a well maintained temperature. But with his knowledge, perhaps that was as simple as gardening was to you. Ideas overflowed like a well, like your heart had already accepted the deal and was just waiting on your mind to catch up, so much so that you barely noticed the disarray that you were walking up to.

The well of ideas and ambitions dried, leaving only an aching emptiness in your heart, an emptiness so vast, so deep, like sinking into the bottom of the ocean, swallowed whole by darkness. The colors, the kaleidoscope of vividry you had spent all your time cultivating was now nothing but a dull, muddied puddle. A single shaky hand reached for the wilted roses, trampled into the wet mud, plucking a single rose off. A small prick dug into your finger, maroon pooling at the tip, staining the petal.

A hand gripped your wrist, squeezing, twisting. A voice in your ear, words passing through, demanding to know where you had been, but you couldn’t hear it. Their voice was distant, muffled, as if underwater. Or perhaps you were the one sinking, held under the ocean’s crushing weight by their hand. With a yank of your wrist, the wilted flower tumbled weakly from your hands, your eyes following it as you were tugged inside. And then the door closed.

Fingers began to mildly ache, stretching them out before curling them back around the pen in his hand. The metallic tip of the pen tapped against the clipboard, humming in thought, though those thoughts weren’t about the notes he was writing. Dottore clearly remembered telling you he was only going to be in Sumeru for a few days. Yet, three days had passed and he still had no word from you. You had not once come to see him. But he didn’t want to rush, so he waited. But then, another day passed, then another. And now, his patience for you had him falling behind schedule. Perhaps this was your way of turning down the offer. He truly hoped that wasn’t the case, not only because it was downright rude, but also because he did have an interest in maintaining a pleasant relationship with you. It wasn’t often soulmates worked out so amicably, and he thought you had been rather delightful to hold conversation with.

But he couldn’t wait any longer. It wouldn’t be long before his plans take effect, and he’d rather get things sorted out with you before everything is set in stone. And that led him down to the outskirts of Sumeru City once again, standing in the very same place where he had first met you. Only, instead of finding your little piece of the world that you had filled with the color and life you yourself seemed to lack, he was met with a soulless husk devoid of color. All of your flowers were gone, wilted into the dirt, puddles of mud drowning what were once vibrant roses. It was as if you’d doused the entire garden in water, trampling the flowers until they were nothing but dirt.

One thing immediately stood out though. The water hemlock, the flower you had grown solely for taking your own life, was gone. Not stomped into a pulp of mud, but dug up. Gone.

What could have caused such a drastic shift in action? You had seemed fine for the most part the day you spoke, not happy, but you certainly spoke as if you still had time, more than five days. Was it his offer? Perhaps you’d realized what you were walking to, what it would be like having a Fatui Harbinger as your soulmate, especially one like him. The thought caused a subtle, but sharp pang deep within his chest. It was a shame. He didn’t mind your presence.

Lifting a hand, his knuckles gently rapped against the wood of the door, at least making sure no one was present in your home before intruding. He remembered you saying you would do it far away from home, but on the off chance that you had gone through with it here, he had to check, had to find your body. It was strange though, with the way you described the symptoms of consuming the plant’s root, it sounded as though it’d be quite painful. Surely he would have felt similar symptoms, and yet, there was nothing. He did vaguely recall an unusually painful ache a few days ago, but he thought it was because being hunched over in your garden for too long would cause such pains. If you were here, and not dead, he’d have to tell you to refrain from being in such a position for too long.

The door suddenly swung open, derailing Dottore’s train of thought as his eyes fell on the smaller woman before him. Though it wasn’t you, he could spot similarities between the two of you, perhaps a relative?

“Who are you?” She spoke, her voice shaky with age, but it certainly didn’t mellow out the attitude with which she spoke. It seemed she didn’t recognize him. Dottore wanted to chuckle at the thought, wondering how she would react upon learning who she was speaking to, but he didn’t have time for that.

Questioning your whereabouts, the woman furrowed her brows at him, eyeing him up and down, before huffing. “Oh, it must have been you. That worthless child took off in the middle of the night, I thought they were going to see you. I guess not.”

No, he supposed not. It seemed you were going forward with your plan, disappearing in the night and taking the water hemlock with you. While he did say he wouldn’t stop you, he at the very least wanted to see you, to find out what had been your final push over the edge. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?”

“They like to explore around the cliffs outside the city. If you see them, tell them to hurry back home, there’s things to be done,” the woman said, before unceremoniously slamming the door in Dottore’s face. That certainly was an interesting interaction, one that he would push to the back of his mind and never think about again.

The cliffs outside the city. It was more like a ravine that cut around Sumeru City, separating it from the smaller half of Sumeru. And while it wasn’t particularly deep, one wrong step would most certainly be their last. It also wasn’t very far away from your abode, less than a half an hour walk before he found himself standing just before its edges. And sitting on its edge, he found you.

Guilt nipped at your heart, tugging, as if trying to bring you away from the brink you had been pushed to. You had just met your soulmate, and he had offered you an unimaginable deal, and yet… you still couldn’t stop yourself. If anything, you wanted him to magically appear, to finally address the strange pains you knew he felt, and whisk you away into a better life. Or as much better as it could get, going from this to being associated with a Harbinger. But you knew that wouldn’t be the case. He wouldn’t appear, he wouldn’t save you from this fate. Why you even expected him to, you weren’t sure. He was, by all accounts, an evil man. He had even said he wouldn’t stop you. So why did you want him to?

You glanced down to the root in your hand. Just a single whiff could make you violently nauseous. A taste was testing fate, and asking for a horrid stomach ache. But to downright consume it… was to sign your name over to death. You saw it a fitting death, letting the only thing you’ve ever loved in this world consume you. You’d give your very life over to the only thing that couldn’t judge you. Flowers didn’t see flaws. But despite that, your mind kept drifting back to your soulmate, to Dottore. Against your expectations, he was rather kind to you. Much more so than those who you called kin. It was strange that a Harbinger could afford you kindness, but the same could not be said for the people who were supposed to give you kindness as a bare minimum. Perhaps that was why you so wished for him to appear, to take away that which should have never existed in the first place. Because he was the closest to kindness you had ever been. Even now, days later, you could still feel his gloved fingers on you, brushing up your arm. If only he had lifted your sleeve up, maybe he would have seen more, would have seen it fit to keep you at his side instead of letting you return home.

But that wasn’t the case. That wasn’t your fate. Your fate was here. This was the end of the line, this was the end of your—

“There you are.”

The blood in your veins froze. Your thoughts fell quiet for what felt like the first time in years, perhaps in your whole life. And all you could hear was the slow thump of your heart, beating against the cage that was your ribs and lungs. Looking back, you met the masked gaze of your soulmate, who stood alone just behind you.

“D-Dottore? What are you doing here?” You looked up to him in confusion, brows furrowed. Why was he out here, in the middle of nowhere? He was supposed to be in the city, busy with his work. He was supposed to be too busy to notice your disappearance.

“You never returned to tell me whether or not you agreed,” he spoke. His gaze landed on the root in your palm, your fingers wrapped tight around it. “I suppose this means no then.”

Your gaze fell from him to the grass that gently waved with the breeze, brows knotted tightly in a crease. It wasn’t meant to be a no, it was meant to be a… potential future that was unable to be met. Your demise was meant to seem untimely. He wasn’t supposed to find you here, as much as you had wished for it deep within your heart.

“It’s not… a no. I actually didn’t even need time to think about it, I already knew I wanted it. But…” Your fingers squeezed tighter around the root, staring down below the edge you sat upon. “Something happened, and I just… couldn’t take it anymore.”

Your eyes snapped from the ravine your legs dangled over to the movement beside you, spotting his dark boots as he stood on the very edge. “Your garden, what happened to it?”

He must have seen it then. He must have visited your home, and seen the destruction. A lump in your throat had you struggling to pull your voice from within.

“It, um… was a punishment. My parents don’t really like when I leave without permission…” You barely muttered the words out. You were ashamed. You were a fully grown adult, yet obeyed to the whims of your parents. But what else could you do? They kept you shielded inside your whole life, you barely knew how the world worked. You barely knew how to function as a human outside of your garden, and it had been ripped away from you.

“I see. Yes, I believe I met your mother, she was rather unpleasant,” Dottore spoke, and you couldn’t help the humiliation that crawled up from the pit of your stomach. You wanted to ask what she said, you wanted to apologize, but he didn’t stop there. “Why not just kill them? You’re fully capable of it.”

The blood drained from your face, staring up at him with wide eyes. That was what set you two apart, you were in completely different worlds. He was completely indifferent to murder, while you…

“I can’t kill my parents, that’s insane! Regardless of anything they’ve done, I still love them,” you said, rising to stand up, to meet his eye. Dottore clicked his tongue, grabbing your wrist, yanking you towards him.

“You continue to love them despite the fact that they offer you nothing in return?” Dottore spoke, and before he could continue, you cut in.

“They offer me shelter, they make sure I don’t go hungry!” You exclaimed. But your words fell on deaf ears as he went on, his hand squeezing, though not tight enough to cause you any pain.

“And yet you’d rather take your own life than live with them a day longer. You’ve already made the decision that someone’s life needs to end, but why choose your own? If you’re capable of taking your own life, surely you’re capable of taking the lives of those who would do you harm? They haven’t offered you a single drop of love, yet you stand here and claim to love them? I think perhaps you’re just a coward—”

“That’s enough!” You shouted, your free hand moving of its own will, striking him across the face. The mask that he wore, the mask that kept his secrets wrapped in a neat bow, was ripped from his face, falling to the dirt with a silent clatter. And what was left behind in its place were vibrant, brilliant, unusually red eyes. Such a vivid color, so uncommon in nature, it reminded you of your garden, of the colors you had grown with your bare hands, such a color you could let yourself sink into, disappearing in its waves. But just as soon as you met his gaze unshielded, reality came crashing back down on you, realizing what you had just done. “Oh, no, I-I didn’t mean to, I’m s-sorry—”

“You’re willing to strike someone like me, someone of my stature, but you can’t find it in yourself to stand up to the ones who are supposed to treat you only with love…” His empty gloved hand came to fall on your cheek, brushing against the skin so softly you would’ve thought it was the wind if you couldn’t see him. “You are a strange one.”

He was one to talk. You would have been more confused about why he was treating you so gently even after you had struck him, but you were much more distracted with absorbing his unrelenting gaze. So deep and vibrant, like staring into a blood moon, like staring into a sea of red roses. Perhaps he was less like the snow-in-summer you imagined, and more like roses of the reddest shade. Not quite original, but your mind couldn’t help drawing the connection.

“If you are so unwilling to end their lives, why not just come with me? It would be a waste for your life to end like this,” Dottore spoke. You sighed, finally dropping his gaze as you looked to the ground beneath you, pulling your wrist from his grip. Though you didn’t step away from the hand that rested against your cheek.

“I don’t just want to leave them. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain,” you mumbled. It felt different just leaving them than to take your own life. “I want them to finally… notice, to care. Even if that means ending my life. If I just ran away from them, it would only make them more upset with me.”

“It is not worth wasting your life hoping to get the attention and love of people who will never care. They caused you pain…” Dottore spoke softly, unnaturally so for someone like him. But as his voice trailed off, drifting into his thoughts, he realized something. Those aches and pains he had felt, they weren’t you. They weren’t poor posture, they weren’t for lack of caring for yourself. They were hurting you. And the sharp pains, like rose thorns prickling him all the way up to his collarbone…

Dottore suddenly grabbed your wrist once again, pulling a startled yelp from you as you dropped the root, his gloved hand running across your wrist. He let out a contemplative hum, before pushing the sleeve of your shirt up your arm.

“W-Wait, that’s—!”

“Did they do this to you too?” Dottore asked, blood red eyes on the many scars that were littered up and down your arms. Unlike the scars on your hands, they ran much deeper, bled much heavier. They were intentional.

“No, no, that wasn’t them, they wouldn’t do that!” You exclaimed, yanking on your arm, trying to pull yourself free from his iron grip.

“Then who? You?” Dottore pressed, and with that, you hesitated, and that was all he needed to answer his question. So that was it then. All those times, all those prickles of pain running up and down his arms, for all those years, it was you. It was yourself, it was intentional. “You were cutting yourself.”

A humiliation unlike anything you had ever felt flooded through your veins, screaming at you to run away, to never be perceived by this man again. You turned away from him, squeezing your eyes shut, unable to meet his eye. He must have thought you were so weak, so pathetic. He must have thought it was a joke, that he received you as a soulmate. And you thought it a cruel torture. Someone as powerful, as unstoppable as him, stuck with someone as worthless as you…

Gloved fingers brushed over the skin of your arm, grazing over scars both old and new. It wasn’t a concept that was new to him, taking out internal pain externally on yourself, whether out of immediate frustration and wanting to focus on a different kind of pain, or wanting to write your flaws across your skin as a reminder of what you were. He could equate it very literally to wearing your emotions on your sleeve, something he held a strong disdain for, but he also couldn’t deny that he was very familiar with it.

Dottore ignored the way you jumped in your skin as his thumb brushed over your chin, turning your head to look at him, to meet his eye once more. “Are you… ashamed?”

Your eyes jumped away, not wanting to close them, but too scared to look him in the eye. Nobody had ever seen so much of you, so much of your vulnerabilities. They weren’t supposed to.

Once again, your silence answered his question, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “There are no such words that could take away the urge humans have to harm themselves when they feel less than adequate, when they feel they don’t deserve to exist. I am familiar with the concept of hating one’s self, of causing harm to yourself.”

This took you by surprise, finally looking up to meet his eyes, so vivid, so red, so bright under the sun hanging above. Each and every little thing about him was defying your expectations. How could he possibly hate himself when he had so much power, when he could live life however he chose, with no one to stand in his way?

“But in your case, you’re judging your worth based on what people who will never care think. You’ve been unable to flourish, trapped in a cage, following the whims of people who think nothing of you. ” His other hand dropped from your chin, sliding down to squeeze your shoulders, where he had undoubtedly felt your pain for all those years. “You carved a special place for your pain, so it came back to hurt you every night, reminding you of all the flaws that had been driven into your brain by blind people. People who can’t see the invaluable worth in you.”

Not once, not once in your whole life, did it feel like anybody ever saw you. All the faces in your life, all of their gazes, they went straight through you, never once seeing beyond the surface. They never cared, not your parents, nobody. Nobody would have bat an eye if you had gone missing any sooner, because they had never seen you in the first place. And yet, the second you had met your soulmate, regardless of the kind of person he was, he still saw you. He could see every little flaw of yours, the flaws you wore on your skin, and even still he treated you with a kindness far greater than anything you had received from those who were supposed to care, from those who were supposed to give you kindness as a bare minimum. It was almost laughable, the Il Dottore, being a kind person. It brought to life a flutter deep within your chest, taking hold and blooming within your heart.

A streak of warmth running down your cheek snapped you out of your stupor, finally able to pull yourself free of his hands, turning your head away to hide your teary eyes. Wiping away the warmth that had welled up in your eyes with a sniffle, you stepped away from Dottore, bending over to grab the forgotten mask on the ground. But just as you turned back to Dottore, your eyes widened to find his heel crushing the root you had dropped before.

“Oh, I didn’t see that there,” Dottore spoke with a grin, sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. “I suppose you’ll just have to grow another one if you intend to continue with your plan.”

Your heart thumped against the confines of your chest, lips curling into a smile. “It could take me months to grow another one like that again.”

“Then I suppose we’d better get to work. I still have to spend some time in Sumeru, but after that, I’ll take you to Snezhnaya with me, and you can grow a proper garden there,” Dottore spoke, coming to stand before you. You let out a small chuckle, glancing down to the mask in your hands. You still couldn’t believe someone like him was your soulmate. Everything about him contradicted each other. He held himself with pride, yet apparently held disdain for himself. He was amoral, if not totally evil, yet he still managed to give you the kindness that had been deprived from you.

For most people, having a soulmate could be considered a curse. It was hard to find the one on the other side, and even then, some of those who did found themselves with people they could never love in any capacity. Where did you fall on that scale? If you gave it time and nurtured it like a flower, you could see this blossoming into something much more. And the thought only made you more excited to pursue this new opportunity, to open a new door and never look back.

Holding his mask out to him, you gave him a smile, burning the image of his ruby red eyes into your brain. “Then, shall we go?”

Taking the mask and slipping it back on, Dottore offered you his arm, to which you happily accepted. He returned your smile in full, your heart fluttering at the sight.

“Let’s.”

Dottore (The Doctor)

You should have known better than to wander into his lab alone.

The air smells of antiseptic and ozone, machines humming like they’re breathing. You’re halfway through cataloging data when the door locks behind you with a soft click.

“How fortunate,” Dottore’s voice echoes. Amused. Curious.

He emerges from behind a partition, mask tilted slightly, eyes alight with interest that has nothing to do with kindness. He circles you the way a scholar circles a hypothesis.

“You show no fear,” he notes. “Or perhaps you simply hide it well.”

You tell him you trust him.

That makes him laugh.

“Trust is an inefficient survival strategy,” he says, stepping closer. He lifts your wrist, examining your pulse like it’s a fascinating malfunction. “But I do admire your consistency.”

Dottore does not love in any way that resembles safety. His affection is attention — invasive, consuming, relentless. He remembers everything about you: your reactions, your habits, the way your breathing changes when he stands too close.

“You are not replaceable,” he says casually, as if discussing spare parts. “I’ve tested the theory.”

When you ask what that means, he only smiles.

Later, when an experiment goes wrong — violently wrong — you’re pulled behind him without warning, his body shielding yours from debris and flame.

He doesn’t comment on it afterward.

But the next day, your name is etched into a restricted-access file, red-stamped DO NOT TOUCH.

No one else ever dares.

Sandrone (The Marionette)

The workshop is her sanctuary — and now, somehow, yours.

Clockwork limbs hang from the ceiling like suspended thoughts, metal shells half-assembled across long tables. Sandrone sits among them, small compared to her creations, eyes distant as her automaton looms behind her like a silent guardian.

She doesn’t look up when you enter.

“You’re late,” she says.

You apologize. She hums softly, adjusting a gear with delicate precision. You watch her hands — steady, confident, capable of building things that could crush cities.

“You don’t fidget,” she notes suddenly. “Most people do.”

You shrug. Say you like being here.

That makes her pause.

Sandrone’s affection is quiet. Observational. She shows it by making space for you — by allowing you to sit beside her, by handing you tools she doesn’t trust to anyone else. Sometimes she asks you to hold a piece steady, your fingers brushing hers, sparks jumping not from machines but something far more fragile.

One evening, you find a small automaton on your desk. Crude compared to her others, but unmistakably personal.

“It watches,” she says, not meeting your eyes. “If you’re harmed, it will alert me.”

You ask if that’s concern.

She hesitates. Just a fraction.

“It’s… efficient.”

But later, when you’re tired and resting against a worktable, you feel something gently draped over your shoulders — her coat, still warm.

She never takes it back.

Pantalone (Regrator)

Power follows money, and money follows him.

Pantalone’s office overlooks the city like he owns it — because, in many ways, he does. Ledgers are stacked like fortresses, contracts signed in ink that might as well be blood.

You stand beside him as he negotiates, watching opponents fold under his smile.

Afterward, he offers you a seat. Wine. Time.

“You see the world clearly,” he says, studying you over the rim of his glass. “That is a rare talent.”

Pantalone’s affection is indulgent. Calculated generosity. He buys you things not to impress you, but because he likes seeing his influence reflected in your life. Every gift is a reminder: I can provide. I can protect.

When threats arise — political, economic, personal — they vanish quietly. Debts forgiven. Names erased.

“You are an investment,” he tells you one night, fingers brushing yours as he passes a document. “And I never allow my assets to depreciate.”

But in rare moments, when the masks drop, he lets you see the exhaustion behind the ambition. The fear of losing control.

And when you reassure him — genuinely — he holds onto that far tighter than any coin.

Childe (Tartaglia)

With Childe, everything is loud.

The sea crashes. Laughter rings. Fights break out and end just as quickly. He drags you into his world with a grin and doesn’t let go.

“C’mon,” he says, grabbing your hand. “Just one spar. I’ll go easy.”

He doesn’t.

But afterward, bruised and breathless, he’s laughing like it was the best day of his life. Like you are.

Childe loves fiercely and without strategy. He worries about you even when he pretends not to. Checks your injuries. Brags about you to people who definitely shouldn’t know you exist.

When danger comes — real danger — the shift is immediate. Playfulness gone. Eyes sharp.

“No one touches you,” he says, stepping in front of you, voice low. “That’s not negotiable.”

Later, when the adrenaline fades, he’s quieter. Sitting beside you, shoulder pressed to yours.

“I don’t know how to be careful,” he admits. “But I’ll try. For you.”

With Childe, love is chaos — but it’s honest.