daisy ❅

Chapter Three

Ever since that intimate exchange you had with Scaramouche, you hadn’t seen him since. Although you offered to tutor him until his ‘big day’, he never showed up. Not in the cafe, not by the typical areas he usually hung around, not even by his own unit.

It had been four days. 

Four. Whole. Days.

The first two days were bearable; you thought he needed to focus on his studies alone to prevent himself from getting distracted. You had no issue with him not contacting you whatsoever because it should rightfully be his first priority. Academics are important, after all.

However, he was still nowhere in sight even after his supposed ‘exam day’. 

You tried knocking on his door at one point, trying to check up on him, but there was no response. You even tried pressing your ear against the wooden barrier, trying to hear if there was any sound that you could make up with, but there was nothing.

Just silence.

Utterly maddening and deafening silence.

You began to think that he was avoiding you, and it made you feel so helpless. The weight—that was already lingering—in your heart doubled as you felt instant regret wash over you. He must have really felt bad for ‘forcing’ himself on you the other day, or so you thought. If you had just allowed him to keep going, to further his relationship with you, maybe he wouldn’t have avoided you in the first place.

This feels so shitty.

You hate this.

You hate feeling like this so, so much.

It does make sense for him to feel the need to somewhat distance himself, but come on, he was the one who hoped for nothing to change between the two of you even after you both got so lost in the moment with each other. He was the one who waltzed in your life and ruined your inner peace by making you feel things you’ve never felt before. He was the one who was bold enough to make a mess out of you, both mentally and physically.

So how come it’s like you’re the one chasing after him? How come you’re the one who seemed to feel like a portion of your life got dimmer whenever he wasn’t around? How come you’re the one who keeps stealing glances at the place he usually frequents like a hopeless-romantic who just broke up with her ‘the-one-that-got-away’-ex-boyfriend?

This didn’t sit right with you. Not one bit. 

You’ve never had a crush on anyone before—not that you had the time to. Now isn’t any different, but it’s just so different with that man. He was a new character that was introduced in your life, but it’s almost as if he’d always been there since the very beginning; like he knew you. Like he knew everything about you. Like he knew all the words to say. 

Never in your life had you ever met someone as confident and as bold as him, and like a songbird hearing its own melody echoed back for the first time, you were enchanted—hooked on the idea that maybe, just maybe, he saw something in you no one else ever had.

Back when your parents were still alive, they taught you—through the quiet strength of their love—that affection didn’t need luxury to feel like abundance. Even when money was tight and the world felt cruel, they held each other with the kind of warmth that made everything else fade. You remember them telling you, just before their passing, that someday, you’d find someone who’d love you just as fiercely—someone who’d make you feel like you were the very reason the world kept turning. You never really understood what they meant. Not until you met Scaramouche.

You’d hate to admit, but you really do like him.

In his absence, you found yourself growing fonder of him, though you couldn’t quite explain why. The silence he left behind felt heavier than it should have, and with each passing day, your mind became a maze of ‘what ifs’ you couldn’t escape. Strangely enough, it began to take a toll on you. Your focus slipped, your motivation dwindled, and the work that once grounded you now felt like sand slipping through your fingers. You’d never been like this before—so distracted, so restless. It was as if the space he once filled had left a quiet ache in its place.

To make things worse, you didn’t even have his phone number. You forgot to ask for it. No, you’ve always been around each other so you didn’t feel the need to, but shit. There’s no other way for you to reach out to him other than wait for his return.

"If this is what having a crush feels like, then maybe I don’t want to feel at all," you groaned internally, dragging your feet along the pavement like they weighed a hundred pounds each. The walk to the cafe was supposed to clear your mind, but instead, it only made it worse—quieter streets left too much room for your thoughts, and every corner of your brain was already overrun by him.

It was unbearable. Every time you tried to focus on something else—the weather, your to-do list, literally anything; his face would barge in like an uninvited guest. His smug grin. The low lilt of his voice when he called you “princess.” It didn’t matter whether the memories were real or just figments of your aching imagination; they all felt real now. 

You couldn’t tell where reality ended and fantasy began anymore. Had he actually looked at you like that, eyes hooded and hungry? Or was it something you conjured out of desire and desperation? Did his fingers really linger that long on your wrist during tutoring, or had your hopeless longing stretched seconds into eternities?

Your mind played it all back without mercy; the kiss, the grip of his hands on your waist, the way he spoke your name like it tasted sweet in his mouth. And then the scenes evolved, twisted, bloomed into moments that never happened but you could see so clearly: him backing you against a wall, whispering confessions between stolen kisses; his breath hot on your neck as he murmured things no one else would ever hear.

You shook your head violently, as if motion alone could erase him. You even slapped your cheeks lightly, trying to ground yourself, but it only made your skin burn more. Whether from shame or the memory of his touch, you couldn’t say. Your chest tightened, your heart thudding so fast it nearly hurt.

Archons, you think you’re ovulating at this point.

Today was another start to an all-too-familiar routine. Another dull day without a glimpse of that dark-indigo-haired devil you couldn’t stop thinking about. The ache of his absence nestled itself in your chest like a stone, turning the world a little grayer, a little less alive. You sighed quietly and clocked in, mustering a small “Good evening” for Thoma, who greeted you back with his usual chipper smile.

He was the new guy—Kazuha’s replacement. Kind, warm, and dependable. Since his arrival, you didn’t have to open anymore, which meant your shift had been moved to late afternoons until closing. It wasn’t so bad; it fit neatly into your schedule, but today… today you almost wished you had come earlier. As if showing up at a different time might somehow summon him back into your orbit.

You made your way to the back, the echo of your footsteps accompanying the soft clatter of plates and Thoma’s distant humming. Reaching your locker, you jingled your keys absentmindedly, the familiar sound oddly comforting. The lock clicked open with a metallic creak, and as you reached in to retrieve your neatly folded uniform, something stopped you.

There, placed delicately on top of your clothes, was a small envelope. It had a soft pink color, its edges crisp, and a tiny heart-shaped sticker sealing it shut. You blinked. Your fingers brushed against it gently, then picked it up. It felt light, but there was definitely something inside; something that bulged from within.

Your brows furrowed. No one but you and Diluc has the key to this locker.

You flipped the envelope over, inspecting it for any name, any sign. Nothing. Just the clean pastel surface and the single heart staring back at you. You glanced around the room—empty. No sign of the man in question.

“Thoma?” You called, stepping closer to the kitchen pass-through window. “Did you see the boss around earlier?”

He looked up from the sink, hands deep in soapy water. “Diluc? Why?”

You held up the envelope slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse. “I found this in my locker. Thought maybe you saw someone put it there.”

“Oh, that?” Thoma’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. “Yeah, I saw the boss slip it in earlier this morning. Said something about it being important, but that was all. I think he’s over at the bar now for a negotiation.”

Your heart skipped. Boss put this here…? But… why? What kind of “important” letter gets sealed with a heart sticker and slipped into your locker without a word? If anything, it looked like a love letter.

Your eyes squint. Did Diluc put this in there to confess to you? Diluc, your boss. Diluc, the stoic and indifferent man who looked like he cared little about anything else other than his craft?

Impossible. 

There wasn’t a single heart-racing memory that had you and Diluc all tangled up with each other. Your relationship was strictly professional. If anything, he was like your big brother.

Perhaps it was from Kazuha? 

No, Kazuha was in the province. His hands were too full to deliver such a thing. Heck, you bet he didn’t even have feelings for you. So what in the world could this letter possibly be…?

“…Thanks,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him, still staring at the envelope like it might unfold itself and spill out all its secrets.

Thoma gave you a thumbs-up before heading back to the counter just as new customers arrived, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and the mysterious letter. Although you were curious to see the contents inside, you decided to open it later instead when you get home from work. You had to help around in the cafe after all. The letter can wait. 

A few hours slipped past, and before you even realized it, your shift was over. The cozy din of clinking plates and warm lights faded into the closing silence of the restaurant. Time seemed to pass faster thanks to Thoma’s ever-cheerful energy; his sunny presence almost contagious, like a brief vacation from your constantly spiraling thoughts.

“Go on ahead,” he grinned, waving you off with a damp towel still in his hand. “It’s getting late, and I know you walk home. I’ve got this covered.”

You’d offered to stay behind, but he insisted. And with Diluc still nowhere to be found, someone had to wipe the counters and lock up. Thoma seemed more than capable. You nodded with a grateful smile before heading out the back entrance, your bag slung over your shoulder, the night breeze instantly brushing past your skin.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Thoma really did leave a good impression. He was dependable and warm, with that soft, honey-blonde hair and a smile that made even the grumpiest customer melt. It wasn’t surprising that some of the regulars had already started flirting with him; they’d practically swoon at the sight of his rolled-up sleeves and determined focus.

Still… he wasn’t him.

“Ugh. What the hell are you thinking, Y/n?!” you hissed, mentally slapping yourself as your thoughts once again veered off toward a certain indigo-haired menace. Seriously? Now?

You shook your head, almost irritated. You’d promised yourself tonight would be different. That you’d go home, unwind, maybe read a few chapters of your book and not daydream about a man who practically haunted your every waking thought.

But then your pace quickened instinctively.

You remembered the letter.

Tucked carefully into your bag, its pink envelope burned a hole in your curiosity. You hadn’t opened it yet. It was strange enough to receive something so delicate, almost juvenile, and stranger still that Diluc was the one who left it. Maybe he’d just run out of standard envelopes and borrowed his younger sister’s—Klee’s—stationery. That had to be it. It had to be, right?

Your fingers absentmindedly brushed the edge of the envelope through your bag as you turned the street corner, footsteps tapping lightly against the pavement. The moon was half-hidden behind clouds, casting only a faint glow across the dim alleyways. Every so often, a crow would call in the distance, its harsh caw echoing in the empty stillness of night.

However, your thoughts were cut off; sharp and sudden like a snapped string.

Your ears strained and your lungs stilled.

You frantically looked back, your senses heightened.

Nothing.

Just the dim sidewalk behind you, cracked pavement, power lines hanging low. A pair of crows cawed in the distance, loud and ugly in the otherwise dead quiet. The wind blew past, cold and sharp, snaking around your legs and lifting your skirt slightly, almost tauntingly.

But no one was there.

So why couldn’t you breathe?

You gulped, the familiar feeling of paranoia sinking back in. That old, ugly dread started to crawl it’s way back to you. The same one that haunted you weeks ago. The one you thought you finally escaped. It slithered up your spine, coiled in your throat, and squeezed.

You didn’t dare to utter a “Hello?” to reach through the void; you’ve watched too many horror movies to know what happens next after staying too long in one spot.

Your thoughts—once clear—were now unraveling like threads being tugged loose one by one. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, trying to shake it off.

It was happening again.

Archons, it was happening again.

But why?! Everything was going so well…?!

No. No, I’m overthinking. I’m just tired. I’m not being watched. I’m not being watched. I’m not being—

But your body didn’t believe it.

Before you could think, your legs jolted into motion. A surge of adrenaline shot through your veins, overtaking logic. You ran as fast as you could, your footsteps frantic against the ground, your heart pounding against your ribs like it was trying to escape your chest.

You didn’t even care how you looked. You couldn’t. Panic was a noose, and it was tightening.

Your bag thumped against your side with every step, your shoes slapping the pavement uncomfortably. You cursed to yourself as you completely wore the wrong pair for this situation. You could already feel the sting of skin tearing at your heels, the sharp pinch at your toes. But none of that mattered.

Because suddenly…you heard it.

Footsteps.

Quick and heavy matching your rhythm, step for step. It was too fast to be casual.

Your stomach twisted violently, nausea and terror clashing as you made a sharp turn down the nearest alley, lungs burning. You didn’t even think; your body just moved, desperate to escape the pounding echo following you.

You didn’t dare look back.

Tears stung your eyes, your vision blurring. Your thoughts were slamming against each other, colliding and collapsing in rapid succession.

Why is this happening again?

Everything was going so well.... Why tonight? Why now?

Who is it? Is it him?

Is it someone else?

Am I going to die here?

You clutched your bag tighter, arms trembling as you made another sharp turn down another dimly lit street, shoes scraping against the pavement as you sprinted. The sound of those relentless footsteps behind you hadn’t stopped. They were gaining on you—no, taunting you. Mimicking your every move like some twisted game.

Your lip bled from how hard you were biting down on it. You didn’t even notice. Your thoughts were too loud, overlapping, shrieking in your ears. You scanned your surroundings; the windows were shut, the lights were out, there were no cars passing, and no one peeking out to help. Not a single soul on the street. Just you… and them.

Archons… Archons, I’m alone.

I’m really all alone.

You cursed under your breath. This was your fault. You chose to take this stupid shortcut again. You wanted a change of pace, a different view, something to distract yourself from the thoughts of him. And now? You were paying for it.

You told yourself it was over. You told yourself they had stopped. You naively believed the silence was peace, not just the eye of the storm. Because ever since Scaramouche appeared, they vanished. For once, you felt safe. For once, it was quiet. But now… now that he was gone… they were back.

They were only gone because he was around.

They knew he was protecting you.

They knew you weren’t alone anymore. And now?

Now you are.

Your breath hitched, a sob clawing its way up your throat. Your flight response took full control, legs kicking into overdrive as your vision swam. You stumbled down the stairs—the same flight where you’d collided into Scaramouche just days ago. The memory flashed like a cruel joke. That brief moment of clumsy peace. Of eye contact and shy glances.

And now here you were. Running again.

You nearly tripped. Your knee scraped against the edge of the bottom step, but you pushed through the pain, barely staying upright. Everything hurt; your chest, your legs, your head. But the ache in your heart was worse.

Because suddenly, a new thought sliced through all the others.

What if they got to him first?

You felt your stomach drop violently, breath catching in your throat.

What if they hurt Scaramouche?

What if they did something unforgivable to keep him away from you?

Tears finally broke free, trailing down your cheeks like rain. You were spiraling, unraveling at the seams, every beat of your heart screaming his name.

Please be okay… please, please be okay…

Your head was a tangled mess, every thought feeding the panic clawing at your throat. You took another sharp turn yet again, heart pounding so hard it rattled your bones, hoping to lose them. Your lungs screamed for air. Your hands were clammy. You could feel your body fraying at the edges, every step fueled by sheer fear.

They were close. You felt it like a shadow breathing down your neck. 

Your chest tightened as the dread surged up your spine like a cold wave. And just when you thought you might actually escape, might finally shake them off—

A hand grabbed your arm.

You screamed.

“No- PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T KILL ME- I DON’T—!”

You thrashed violently, shutting your eyes as you struck blindly with your bag, adrenaline guiding your every move. You kicked, swung, and even but nothing worked. They didn’t budge.

“YOU BRAT…! Calm down!” The words hit you like a jolt to the system. That voice.... It sounded rough and irritated, but familiar.

Your eyes blinked open, wild and teary, your vision swimming as the dark figure slowly came into focus.

“Why did you have to run so bloody fast… Archons… that was a whole damn marathon.” The man cursed, his voice gravelly and laced with exhaustion. His fingers finally slackened around your arm, letting you go as he bent slightly to catch his breath, scowling all the while.

You stumbled back a step, your knees still shaky, breath still ragged. “Xiao…?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper as your eyes locked with his.

The dim streetlight overhead flickered, casting his features into harsh contrast; disheveled dark hair, piercing golden eyes, that ever-present scowl. It really was him.

The son of the man your family owed everything to. The same boy—now man—you hadn’t seen in five years. The last memory of him was etched in the low hum of a foreign car and the sound of polished shoes on the gravel as he followed Zhongli into your home, quiet and watchful.

“What… what are you doing here?” your voice trembled, breath catching again. This time not from fear, but confusion. Your heart hadn’t quite stopped its erratic thumping, but the adrenaline was beginning to thin.

He rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “Seriously? That’s your first question you ask after making me go through that wild goose chase?!”

“If it’s about the money,” you quickly blurted, your words stumbling over each other in a rush to fill the silence, “I’m not even close to the deadline yet- I’m still racking up some side jobs but I’m going to pay—”

“For fuck’s sake, shut up and let me talk!” Xiao snapped, frustration crackling in his voice like static. You flinched. It wasn’t just the volume; it was the sharpness, like his tone had teeth. But it wasn’t new. Xiao had always been rough around the edges, short-tempered, even as a teenager. 

Still, his words made your heart squeeze in your chest, leftover fear mixing with the old, lingering wariness you'd always felt around him. He was someone who held the weight of your family’s survival in his hands once… and now he was here, in the middle of the night, unannounced.

But just as your nerves began to fray again, Xiao let out a sigh—long and tired—and you caught the briefest flicker of something else behind his eyes.

Something that wasn’t anger. Maybe even... concern?

Your breath slowed again, just a little.

The tension hung thick between you, but one thing was clear: you weren’t in danger. Not immediate danger, anyway.

“Father told me to look for you,” Xiao muttered, finally steadying his breath as his sharp eyes pierced into yours. “Said you didn’t need to pay us back anymore.”

You blinked. “…What?”

“Your debt’s been settled,” he repeated, as if the words were routine. “You worked hard enough to give us enough, and he had a change of heart.” He crossed his arms with a scoff, clearly uninterested in explaining further—but the way your jaw practically dropped made it impossible for him not to notice. Honestly, you looked like you just got smacked in the face with a dictionary.

“You mean… I’m… free?” you said slowly, the syllables tasting foreign on your tongue.

“Must I repeat myself?” he grumbled with an annoyed glare.

You quickly shook your head, and without thinking, your body moved on its own, immediately bowing low with trembling hands and blurry eyes. “Thank you… Thank you so much.”

The weight you’d been carrying for years suddenly felt like it cracked and fell off your shoulders in one clean break. It didn’t even feel real.

No more constantly juggling jobs. No more late-night shifts and missed meals. No more fear of men in suits showing up at your door asking for money your parents left behind. You could finally breathe.

Your chest tightened as tears began slipping down your cheeks again, but this time they didn’t fall from panic. They fell from sheer, overwhelming relief.

“T-there’s no catch, is there?” you sniffled, hastily wiping your tears on your sleeves, though they kept spilling.

Xiao looked mildly uncomfortable, glancing off to the side like he couldn’t handle seeing you cry. “No catch,” he said flatly, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, wet laugh, your smile wobbly but genuine. “Please extend my gratitude to your father…”

Xiao didn’t reply with words. He just gave you a quick, sidelong look. Then, he turned on his heel, hands in his pockets, and walked off into the night.

You watched him until his figure vanished from the street corner.

Then, almost without realizing, you exhaled a shaky breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. The sky felt more open, the air a little warmer. The sickening paranoia that had plagued your walk home? Gone. It dissipated like mist under sunlight.

You tilted your head up to the stars, a thousand emotions rushing through your heart.

“Mom… Dad…” your voice trembled, cracking under the weight of it all, “I did it… I finally paid our debt off…”

You wiped the tears gently from your cheeks, but this time without panic, without fear as you began walking home under a sky that suddenly didn’t seem so dark anymore.

Upon returning home, you quickly changed into your pajamas before settling into the wooden chair propped under your study desk. The only light in the room came from the desk lamp, casting a dim glow that made the shadows in the corners of your room seem to stretch. You could feel the heavy weight of the envelope in your hands, and you couldn’t shake the strange knot of unease tightening in your stomach.

You stared at the heart-shaped sticker on the envelope. It seemed harmless enough. You peeled the sticker off, the paper crinkling as it came away. Inside, your fingers brushed the edge of something folded.

You didn’t look closely at first, your attention caught by the unmistakable, sour scent; almost chemically pungent—like Chlorox. Your nose wrinkled in confusion.

Curiosity gnawed at you, urging you to inspect further. Hesitant, you blindly reached into the envelope. Your fingers closed around something small and cool. You pulled it out, your eyes still adjusting to the dim light. As you brought it closer, a chill swept through you, the foul odor hitting you with full force.

Goosebumps prickled along your skin. The texture was thick, clumpy, and disturbingly stringy, as if the contents had been sitting there far too long. 

“What the…?” You whispered, barely able to comprehend what you were seeing, your breath shaky. 

Why the fuck was there cum inside this letter?!

You fought the rising wave of nausea, fighting to keep it together. “Yeah, no. You’re going straight to the trash.” Your voice trembled with disgust as you gripped the vial by its neck, barely able to look at it as you dropped it into the trash can beside you. Your skin crawled with the feeling of having touched it, your mind struggling to process what you had just uncovered.

You didn’t understand why Diluc dropped this in your locker. Could it have been a mistake? Was he actually a pervert all along???

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you turned your attention back to the envelope. As you inspected it, your stomach lurched. The unmistakable fluid had leaked from the vial, seeping out and dampening the paper. You recoiled, feeling bile rise in your throat. And then, the horrifying realization hit you:

you had touched it with your bare hands.

Heart pounding, you bolted for the bathroom, scrubbing your hands as if they were contaminated. The water splashed against your skin, but it did nothing to erase the feeling of sickness creeping up on you.

Yet, the nagging thought lingered. You still had a letter to read. There had to be some kind of explanation for this.

With a shaky breath, you returned to your seat, hands still damp. You unfolded the piece of paper, but as you scanned the neat handwriting, you noticed something strange. Drops of sweat clung to the surface of the paper, it reeked of ejaculation.

But then, as you read the words, your breath caught in your throat, and your stomach sank.

“You always look so tired when you work. I hate that. I hate that the world gets to see you unravel before I do."

What. The. Fuck.

You shot up from your chair, your heart pounding so loudly you could swear it was echoing in your ears. Your skin felt like it was crawling as your eyes remained fixed on the cryptic message laid out on your desk, horror seeping through every inch of your body.

Your skin prickled. Your arms, your neck, your back—it felt like something was crawling just beneath the surface. The tiny vial beside the paper caught the light, and your stomach twisted. You didn’t want to believe it was what you thought it was. You didn’t even want to touch it.

Was it Diluc all this time?....Could it really be him..?

But it didn’t make sense…!

You gasped, struggling to breathe properly, your chest rising too fast. You pressed your palm to your sternum, as if that could calm your racing heart. The walls of your apartment felt like they were inching closer. The air felt thin and suffocating.

You used to think the fear was just a symptom of exhaustion. A byproduct of too many shifts stacked one after another, of walking home alone in the dark with sore feet and heavy eyes.

You thought maybe your mind was playing tricks on you; whispering shadows where there when there were none, convincing you that someone was always watching when in reality, no one even cared enough to look.

And then, just an hour ago, you had finally felt actual relief. Your debt had been wiped clean like some invisible hand had taken mercy on you. For a moment, you believed maybe things were finally turning around. Maybe you'd get to breathe again.

But now? Staring at the letter spread open on your desk like an open wound, you felt that tiny ember of hope extinguish. Every strange glance. Every lingering silence. Every chill that crawled up your spine when no one was behind you… it had all been real.

Something was wrong. It had always been wrong.

You’d already decided to let go of your other jobs and told yourself you’d keep the café, just one last thread of routine to hold onto. But even that felt rotten now—tainted, even. You felt unsafe.

The thought of stepping back into that place turned your stomach. The idea of being seen again—of him seeing you—made your skin crawl.

Whatever this was, whoever he was… he’d already taken too much. You weren’t giving him anything else.

You weren’t going back.

Not ever.

You didn’t know who to turn to. Or where to go. The world felt too big and too narrow all at once, and you were trapped somewhere in between.

You didn’t have many friends. Kazuha was buried in family matters, unreachable. Scaramouche was gone; just like that. You still haven’t heard from him since.

And Diluc... Diluc was the last person you ever expected to fear and yet, he was the one your mind kept circling back to. He was your boss. The man you once respected, trusted even. He was the only one, besides you, who had access to your locker. The envelope was left there. Thoma saw him. The math wasn't hard.

You didn’t want it to be him. But it had to be him. Right? Why else would he put that disgusting thing in there for you to receive?

Despite the fear clawing at your insides, despite the gnawing doubt, you gathered what little courage you had left and went to the police. Your hands trembled, but your steps carried weight.

You thought, maybe this is where it ends. Maybe they’d take one look at the letter, hear your voice, see how shaken you were, and realize this wasn’t some overblown panic.

You explained everything. The envelope. The message. The vial. Diluc’s access to your locker. Thoma’s testimony. Even the fearful nights you’ve experienced of being stalked; you laid it out like evidence at trial, waiting for their faces to change—for someone to say, “You’re safe now. We’ll handle this.”

But the room never shifted the way you needed it to.

Instead, they looked at each other, and then at you. And then came the questions, the gentle doubt laced with polite disbelief.

“Are you certain you’re not mistaken?”

“We know Mr. Ragnvindr. He’s an upstanding man. Runs charity work with his business funds. Clean record.”

They said the handwriting didn’t match. As if that was supposed to make you feel better. As if people like him couldn’t mask their shadows in someone else’s pen.

They didn’t say he was innocent. But they didn’t think he was guilty either. The police wasn’t able to help you at all. You were at a loss.

And just like that, you were left unheard in the cold again. Your last thread of hope unravelled quietly at your feet. 

All you were left to do was to go home, and so you did. You locked your door and then shut the world out.

The passing days were blurred; you stopped counting them. You survived on cheap takeout and cold leftovers, using the money that was once meant for your debt—the debt that vanished like a trick of the light, as if your suffering had been bought off.

You couldn’t leave. You wouldn’t. The thought of stepping outside made your skin prickle. You no longer feared just him.

You feared everyone.

You had nobody. You were completely alone, isolated.

And in the stillness of your apartment, surrounded by silence and shadows, you began to wonder: if the world loved a man like that so easily…

What would it take for them to believe you?

But what if the police was right? What if Diluc was really innocent?

You had every lock imaginable shipped to your door.

Window latches, deadbolts, chain guards, motion alarms—anything that made you feel like the walls could hold him out, even if just for a little while. You spent hours drilling them in yourself, fingers trembling, heart hammering at every creak in your apartment.

You didn’t trust a locksmith. You didn’t trust anyone.

Every night, you whispered shaky prayers to the Archons, begging them to keep you safe, begging them to make it stop. You weren’t sure how long it had been since you first read that letter. Time had become shapeless; no dates, no hours, just before-the-letter and after.

After.

After you told Thoma you were resigning, he'd passed the message along to Diluc. Thoma asked if you were okay, but of course you lied, saying you were. He didn’t pry further. According to him, Diluc didn’t protest. He had no questions nor concerns, he just agreed. 

And that silence echoed louder than any accusation ever could.

You tried to tell yourself that it made sense, that the man behind this had to be him. Who else had the access? Who else was close enough to know where your locker was, yet distant enough to never raise suspicion? You clung to that theory like it was oxygen.

Because if it wasn’t him… then who was it?

You cried yourself to sleep every night, a knife hidden under your pillow, the metal cold and comforting against your fingertips. Some nights, you couldn’t even shut your eyes. The second you did, the message burned against your vision. “I hate that the world gets to see you unravel before I do.”

Your mind wouldn’t stop. It spiraled and it was too restless and cruel.

What if Kazuha stopped replying because something happened to him too?

What if you were next?

You tossed and turned under your sheets, sweat clinging to your skin. The air in your unit felt thin, too quiet, too still as if something was waiting.

It was well past midnight, and the hours kept dragging.

And yet your eyes never left the window. You couldn’t either way because some part of you was sure that if you blinked for too long, someone would be standing there.

Watching. Waiting.

Truthfully, your room felt no safer than the streets. The locks on your door, the extra bolts on your windows; they were meant to protect, but they did little to ease the crawling sensation that someone was always watching. That something had already slipped through the cracks. That you weren’t alone.

But where else could you go? You had no one. Nowhere.

And then—

Knock, knock.

You immediately stood upright from your bed. Your mind, which had been spiraling moments before, suddenly emptied, like a radio gone static. Only silence now, pressing heavy against your skull.

“Did I just hear someone knock on my door…?”

You didn’t move. You barely breathed. Your eyes stayed fixed on the door, dread blooming cold in your chest. You waited, convinced that you imagined it—sleep-deprived and all.

Until you heard it again.

Knock, Knock, Knock.

Your heart dropped. This time, there was no mistaking it. A slow panic crept through your veins as you reached beneath your pillow, fingers wrapping around cold handle of your knife. You gripped it tight, your knuckles white.

You rose to your feet, careful not to make a sound. Step by step, you approached the door, weapon raised, every nerve in your body screaming.

But by the time you got there…

Silence.

Not a breath.

Not a sound.

Your adrenaline spiked. Why would someone knock on your door at this ungodly hour unless it was the very same person who drove you to your breaking point?

You crept closer. Every breath was shallow. The silence between knocks stretched, thick and suffocating, wrapping itself around your throat. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Your gut screamed at you to stop, to run, to lock yourself in the bathroom and hide—but your feet moved anyway.

You couldn’t sit still. Not now. Not after everything.

If it really was him… if he had the audacity to show up here after ruining your life, maybe he deserved it. Maybe he deserved to feel even a fraction of what you felt. Maybe he deserved the knife you held clenched in your hand.

You blinked. No. No.

You shook your head, trying to exorcise the images clawing their way in. You weren’t a killer. You weren’t crazy. You just wanted this nightmare to stop.

With trembling fingers, you reached for the door. One breath. Just one.

You turned the knob.

And as the door creaked open, you braced yourself—prayers to the Archons looping desperately in your mind—and lunged forward, a scream stuck in your throat, blade raised and ready to strike-

But before you could even react, a hand caught your wrist.

The knife clattered to the floor and your eyes snapped wide.

“S-scaramouche…?” His name left you in a whisper. Disbelief softened your voice, fragile like glass. Your heart, which had been pounding so violently just seconds before, now stumbled into an uneven rhythm—slowing, calming, grounding.

All sense of danger had dulled into silence, like a siren that finally stopped screaming. Your nerves, raw and frayed for days, slowly began to loosen their grip. The tremble in your spine faded. Your heartbeat, once erratic and desperate, now beat steady; though still hollow with disbelief.

You stared up at him, tears blurring the edges of his figure, but even then you could tell that he was exactly as you remembered him. Not a single bruise or wound. Not even the faintest sign of hardship.

Relief crashed over you in waves. You clung to him like a lifeline, burying your face deeper into the soft cotton of his shirt, dampening the fabric with every sob, every breathless stammer of his name.

Scaramouche didn’t recoil. In fact, he barely flinched. A crooked smile slid across his lips as he cradled your trembling form, his expression playing at sympathy—but something about it didn’t sit right. It was too smooth. Too knowing. But you were too preoccupied to notice his guise.

“Wh-where have you been…” you asked, voice broken by hiccups and choked-back cries. The words spilled into the space between you, muffled by the warmth of his chest.

He looked down at you with an almost affectionate glint, tilting his head slightly. “Princess…” he murmured, the pet name falling off his tongue like honey. His tone was sickeningly sweet; a careful balance of comfort and something else that lingered just beneath the surface.

Then, like he belonged there, he stepped into your unit, still holding you. He kicked the door shut behind him with ease, his fingers twisting the lock without missing a beat almost as if it was muscle memory. As though this wasn’t the first time.

He leaned against the wall by the entrance, arms still secure around you. “I had to stay at my sister’s place for a while,” he said casually, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Did you miss me?”

Another lie. But it sounded so natural; it was laced with just the right touch of warmth, the kind that dulled your suspicions rather than sharpening them.

You nodded without thinking. Almost desperately. The thought of him vanishing again made your chest ache. You clung to him harder, eyes still wet and unblinking, terrified that if you looked away, he’d disappear again.

His expression softened as he placed a hand on your head, gently stroking it in slow, repetitive motions. His touch was tender, familiar. It soothed the ragged edges of your fear, even if, somewhere deep down, a quiet voice whispered that something wasn’t quite right.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” he asked, the concern in his voice almost believable.

You looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and lips trembling, unable to form words. Your throat was tight. Your body too spent. The emotions you’d locked away had flooded out all at once, leaving you breathless, helpless, even.

Scaramouche seemed to notice.

Without letting go of you, he moved effortlessly and fluidly, as if your weight was nothing. He walked over to the fridge, still cradling you, and opened it with one hand. From inside, he pulled out a pitcher of cold water, pouring it into a glass with casual precision.

And all the while, you remained wrapped around him like a fragile little thing, clutching him like a child afraid of being left behind again.

He handed you the glass, in which you took it with shaky fingers, blinking up at him like he was the only thing tethering you to reality.

To you, he was comfort. The greatest.

But in this moment, there was only silence and the illusion of safety.

“Drink this up first,” he whispered, his voice smooth as silk, every syllable coaxing you to obey. The glass in his hand caught the dim light like crystal, his fingers curled delicately around it. “It’ll help you calm down.”

His face was close, too close, and your breath hitched slightly, but your body didn’t resist. He brought the glass to your lips, his knuckles brushing your chin in the process. The water felt cool, soothing your throat, and you drank slowly, just as he wanted. He watched you the entire time; eyes half-lidded, lips curled in a knowing smirk, as if he were watching something far more intimate than it was.

A small trickle escaped the corner of your mouth and slid down your chin. Without hesitation, he caught it with his finger, dragging it lightly across your skin before brushing it away. His gaze didn’t leave yours. The motion was slow but intentional.

Finally, your breathing began to steady. Your heart, though still wary, settled into a calmer rhythm. You felt safe. Or at least you thought you did.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s going on now?” he asked, voice dipping just slightly. They were warm on the surface, but something colder lurked beneath.

You nodded, timidly at first, then with more resolve. A breath left your lips as you finally began to speak. Everything you had bottled up came pouring out; the sleepless nights, the panic attacks, the sense of being hunted and utterly alone. You told him how it all unraveled while he was gone.

He listened in silence, only moving to guide you toward the bed. He sat behind you, arms coiled around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. The position was intimate; he was spooning you but while you were sitting down if that made sense.

“I see…” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek. His brows drew together, expression etched with tender sorrow. “You’ve been dealing with this all alone, haven’t you?” His voice trembled just slightly, or maybe you imagined it. “Nobody believed you, didn’t they…? Nobody was there for you, hmm?” His words pierced through you like needles.

You nodded slowly, your eyes stinging again. You couldn’t speak. You didn’t need to. He already knew the answers.

“Oh, Y/n…” he sighed deeply, and before you could respond, he slipped his arms under your knees and behind your back. In one fluid motion, he lifted you up, bridal style. The action startled you. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, but he handled you so carefully, so gently, that your tension quickly melted.

He carried you to the center of your bed like you were made of glass, laying you down with almost reverent hands. The sheets rustled softly as he pulled the covers over your body, tucking them around you like you were some precious, wounded thing.

Then, without a word, he reached out and began stroking your hair. The touch was comforting, almost hypnotic.

“You’ve done so well,” he murmured, his eyes drinking in every tear-streaked inch of you. “Holding up these past few days… I’m so proud of you.”

Your lip quivered. A fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. No one had said that to you. Not once. And coming from him—the only person who felt real in this mess—it shattered something inside you.

Your voice was gone, your body too weak to do anything but stare at him in wide-eyed awe. He was so tender. So kind.

However, there was something in his eyes. Something dark, nestled behind the softness. Not malevolent, exactly, but possessive. As if your pain belonged to him. As if every tear you shed proved something to him that you didn’t yet understand.

“You were right not to trust anybody else…” he whispered, his tone barely above a hush, like a secret meant only for you. “And you shouldn’t.”

His fingers moved through your hair with unsettling precision with not just affection, but also intention. Every stroke was slow and deliberate. Soothing in rhythm, but oddly methodical, like someone petting a beloved pet they didn’t want to break… yet.

Your body, drained from stress and fear, softened into the bed. The warmth of his hand and the gentle drag of his nails across your scalp melted the tension you’d carried for days. You blinked slowly, eyelids heavier than they’d felt in weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, the shadows in your chest loosened their grip.

“If I’d known sooner,” he said, the velvet of his voice tinged with something unreadable, “I would’ve dropped everything… anything. Just to be by your side.”

There was a weight in those words; like they weren’t just to comfort, but a quiet accusation. As if the fault for his delay rested somewhere, with someone. Just not him.

The room offered no clarity. Dim and quiet, the darkness softened his face, cloaking his expression in ambiguity. You tried to search his eyes, but the shadows swallowed them whole. All you could see was the faint outline of his lips, curved into a smile that felt almost too calm. 

Still, you didn’t question him. You didn’t want to nor feel the need to.

You trusted him because he was Scaramouche. And somehow, even in the middle of your spirals, he made you feel whole. Sure, you do admit that you like him, but you don’t want to confess to him just yet. Not when your life is still a mess.

Your cheeks grew warm. Embarrassed by the affection swelling in your chest, you ducked your head into the blanket, clutching its edge as if to hide your face from him. He chuckled, low and pleased, like he was enjoying your reaction more than he should.

“I’m sorry for taking so long, princess…” he murmured, his voice curling around you like deceiving smoke. “But I’m here now, alright?”

He leaned close enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not until you feel strong enough to face the outside world again.” A pause, a wicked smile holding back his laughter that you couldn't see. “Take as long as you need… I’ll take care of you.”

There was something final in his tone. Something that didn’t feel like a suggestion; it was more like a decision already made.

Heat formed on your cheeks again, you looked up to the man with loving eyes as your hands gripped on the lining of your blanket, bringing them to your face. He chuckled at your shy demeanor.

Your eyes widened slightly. “A-are you sure? What about your university?” Your voice cracked with exhaustion; a soft echo of your usual self.

Scaramouche tilted his head. “Just like yours, we’ve got a two-week break.” 

The air turned still.

How did he know your schedule?

But sleep was pulling you under too fast to hold that thought. It slipped from your mind like sand through tired fingers.

“…Thank you, Scara…” you mumbled as a yawn overtook you. Your body curled naturally toward him, drawn to the warmth, the quiet protection he offered.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he murmured.

He bent down and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering a moment too long. His fingers returned to your hair, brushing and smoothing over and over like a lulling rhythm that dragged you into sleep.

You never saw the way his smile faltered into something unreadable. Or how his eyes never blinked. How they never wavered. How he stood still as you slept peacefully, watching you, studying every twitch of your body, every vulnerable breath that escaped your lips. He didn’t move even after your breaths grew deep and even. He simply stayed and kept still, like a looming sleep-paralysis demon that haunted the corners of your room.

Now that you were asleep, he can finally break that ‘prince charming’ facade of his. 

He took a deep breath of your scent, his spine tingling in excitement as he plays with the soft strands of your loose ends. The wait was worth it. He had disappeared for what seemed like weeks on purpose, but he never took his eyes off you, not once. 

He’d been anticipating your breakdown; to see the fear build up in your system, to see you struggle to differentiate the blurred lines of reality from fantasy, to have you struggle to open up nor trust anybody else except for him. 

Scaring you off on the streets was way too easy, almost child’s play. He knew just where to hide whenever he followed you on the way home. Even in the own comfort’s of your home, his gaze never leaves your cautious figure. He may have been far, but he was close to you this entire time. Watching you with his ego overflowing as you realized soon enough that he was truly the only person you could rely on. 

Even now, in the supposed safety of your own home, you were never alone. You never were.

His eyes followed you through windows, reflections, and even cracks in the walls your mind couldn’t even register. He was far enough to keep suspicion away, but close enough to drink you in. Close enough to breathe in your every fearful whimper. And oh, how sweet it was, watching you unravel slowly until the only person left you could turn to was him. Just him.

He didn’t have to lift a finger to make you squirm and grow wary of the world. No threats. No direct contact. All he did was move the chess pieces exactly where they belonged. Diluc was only a pawn; a misled knight marching into the game without knowing the true strategy. Delivering the cryptic message he had no relation to whatsoever, nothing more. The queen—being you—unable to confront him out of fear, only assumed the worse before descending into madness.

Only then was Scaramouche able to move forward and make your skin crawl by backing you into the corner like this with nobody—not even the police—to rely on.

“Checkmate, my little dove…” He grabbed your hand, lifting it up and placing it on his lips in a gentle kiss. His eyes never left your soundless form. Your breathing was music to his ears and he can’t believe that you let him in your unit just like that even though he showed up late at night.

Truthfully, he thought he would witness you throwing a fit; possibly even pushing him away out of caution—but no, you were more docile than he ever imagined. So frightened over nothing. 

The fact that you confided in him about your qualms even though he was the real root cause of them exhilirated the cerulean-orbed man. Scaramouche leaned over your sleeping figure, getting a closer look at your features; how your long lashes fluttered with the heave-ho of your breathing, how your cheeks were still rosy from crying, and how your lips slightly parted for every breath you took.

Nothing could compare to seeing you up close in real-life. Seeing you from behind his screen wasn’t enough, but those measures had to be done to drive you to a corner.

His eyes trailed lower as he abruptly removed your blanket off of you to drown in your tempting body. You groaned as your soft layer of comfort got stripped away from you, but you were still in deep slumber. 

“Pfft…” Scaramouche tittered, his eyes squinting from joy. He hovered over you on all fours until you were right under him. His arms fully planted on your soft mattress as he trails his nose from your face, until it reaches your neck. He takes another deep breath of your scent, his eyes rolling back from pleasure as he hooks the ring of his shorts down to reveal his hard member. 

He let out a soft huff as he freed it from it’s garments. It stood long, proud, and veiny, but it was slightly curved to the side. His tip was a lovely shade of pink, but it was angry; it was in need of friction. With one free hand, he softly caressed his shaft, teasing it ever so slightly as he plants soft kisses all around your collar bone. 

You were in deep sleep; nothing could wake you up.

Of course nothing could, he slipped in a hard-dosaged sleeping pill in the water he made you drink earlier while you weren’t looking, and here he is right now, about to take advantage of you like the twisted bastard that he is.

“Ah..” A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips, and Scaramouche’s cock twitched from the sound alone. He started slowly cupping his tip with his palm, playing with the small gap in the middle with his index finger. Precum started to leak; and with the same finger, he lifted your shirt up to reveal your gorgeous breasts.

“Archons, thank you for blessing me with this meal…” He whispered, eyeing your two bossoms intently with a clouded gaze. To him, you were like a feast waiting—no, aching—to be devoured.

He scooped up his seminal liquid and smeared it on your hardened left nipple before gently massaging one of your soft mounds. He grunted, an unstable whimper fleeing from his throat. He grew hungrier by each second; so he sucked on your other breast, lapping his tongue around as he looked up to observe the contractions on your face. Your mouth was gaping just big enough to let out soft mews and whimpers as he pleasures you during your sleep. 

Scaramouch pried your legs open with his other hand, his slender fingers ghosting around your inner thighs before taunting your clothed pussy. Compared to his last ‘visit’, your garments were relatively thinner, and he could have a better feel of just how wet you were for him as he caresses the outline of your needy folds through the fabric. Your body slightly arched, shuddering from his feather-like touches. 

“So sensitive…” He growled, his eyes tainted with nothing but his overwhelming desire to ruin you, to have you writhing under him. He stopped sucking to move downwards to your stomach, his lips never leaving your skin. Scaramouche had both of his hands rested on the waistband of your pajamas and your panties combined, but before he could skillfully pull them down to get a glimpse of your crying sex, your voice froze him in place.

“Noooo…~” You whimpered, squirming as you roll and turn over with your back faced against him. Scaramouche had no choice but to get off of you. He almost felt his heart drop from surprise.

“Shit...for a second there, I thought you woke up…” He sighed in relief, his eyes remain fixated on your back as he sits upright by the edge of your bed.

Good things happen to those who wait. That stupid mantra that he kept forgetting to abide by whenever he has you this close to him.

Scaramouche threw his head back, his dick growing impatient as it calls out for your name. He laughs darkly, his gaze shifting down to his aching member. 

You had just given him blue balls. What a laugh. You didn’t even know the effect you had on him.

He stroked his cock, closing his eyes due to pleasure. “Y/n…ugh….” Your name left his lips as if it was his oxygen. He clung onto the thought of you desperately as he pumped his cock with vigor, venting his sexual frustrations on his already-agitated dick.

Your slicks had a wet and sticky residue on his fingers, to which he brought it up to his nose, sniffing it like his life depended on it before sucking on his own to taste you. 

And Archons, you tasted heavenly. 

He’d strip you off your clothing at this very moment to get a full experience of your sweet and intoxicating cunt, but with the pacing that your relationship was going, he figured he’d have it anytime soon. And oh, he just knows it’d taste sweeter if he waited just long enough to get rewarded.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…!” His eyes rolled back, fingers still in his mouth as he imagined a whole sex tape featuring you and him in his mind. His tongue lolled out; his pleasure hightening with the fear of you catching sight of him pathetically jerking off to your body. 

He was about to cum. 

Fuck, Y/n, he needed to cum.

You’d let him cum in you, won’t you?

You like him anyway, so it should be fine, right?

He can put it in, can’t he? Even if it was just the tip? 

No. He shouldn’t. Not yet. Your face should do. 

Yes…he’ll just paint your face white instead.

Scaramouche flipped you so that your back was laid flat on the mattress. He was so out of it. He needed your warmth to fully release his load, otherwise he can’t chase his high.

“Y/n…” He whimpered. With one hand pumping his strained cock dry, he climbed on top of you with his knees on either side of your head. He gazed at your sound expression, his hips bucking foward as he feels his semen ready to shoot at any moment now.

With one last and firm pump, he finally came. His body twitched. Gushes of string released from his pink-ish tip, and they all fell flat on your face. He came so much that it even went pass your hairline. “The next time I cum, I won’t allow a single drop wasted.” He breathed out, admiring your smeared face before leaning in. “I’ll fuck it back in your mouth, even that naughty pussy of yours until you learn to swallow it all.” He growled, taking a good look of your face.

He felt so proud of himself like he had just achieved an award-winning feat for painting you in one of the images he’d always fantasized seeing.

Your face scrunched from the warmth of his semen, but you were still sound asleep.  

Scaramouche stood up, wiping his dick clean with tissue before sliding his shorts back up. He couldn’t just leave you like that either even if he wanted to. If you woke up now and saw the state that you’re in, no doubt, it would ruin his plans. 

He had just accomplished phase two, he can’t risk losing his progress.

He quickly made his way to your bathroom, moving with ease as if the layout of your unit was already ingrained in his memory. He retrieved a pack of wet wipes from the drawer without hesitation, like he’d done it countless times before. Returning to your side, he kneeled down and began to gently clean your face, his motions slow and careful. Almost reverent.

A small smile crept onto his lips, unbidden. This one wasn’t twisted or prideful like before. No, this was soft. Tender. His violet eyes studied your features quietly, gaze now devoid of the earlier hunger, replaced instead by something quieter. Fonder.

He truly does adore you, you know. With every flaw, every moment of clumsiness, every emotion you wore so earnestly on your face; he cherished all of it. You were imperfect, but to him, you were nothing short of divine.

It hurt, a little, that you didn’t recognize him. Not even a flicker of memory when your eyes met his weeksago. But he didn’t blame you. Not at all. Life had been cruel to you, and he knew how easy it was to forget the people who stayed in the shadows.

Besides, a blank slate wasn’t so bad. In fact, he thought it was poetic. It was his chance to start again.

Years ago, when you were still a beginner at doing housekeeping, one particular job stood out: a wealthy Japanese family with a sprawling estate that required your care every Tuesday. You remembered the endless halls, the polished marble, the thick scent of incense clinging to the air. The matriarch was demanding, but always handed you generous tips after each day of work.

And that’s when he first saw you.

Scaramouche was eighteen at the time. Just a shadow lurking behind the grand staircase, the quiet son of the mistress you never made direct eye contact with. You didn’t even know he existed. But he knew you. Not by name—not at first—but by sound. The faint echo of your humming trailing down the hallway. The rhythm of your feet padding across the polished floors. The way you sang under your breath when you thought nobody could hear.

He’d pass by on purpose. Just to get a glimpse of the girl who lit up dead rooms with nothing but her voice.

Even then, you were already crawling under his skin.

At first, he thought you were annoying.

He had no idea why his mother thought it was a good idea to hire someone as young and green as you to manage the upkeep of their massive home. Too trusting, he remembered thinking. Too naive. From the moment you walked in, he watched you with suspicion. For all he knew, you were a petty thief; another desperate girl who’d sneak valuables into her apron when no one was looking.

And so, he made it his mission to keep an eye on. Quietly. Thoroughly. Diligently.

Every Tuesday without fail, he kept track of your every movement. When you arrived, how long you stayed in each room, how you folded the curtains, what items you lingered on for too long. At first, it was routine surveillance. Waiting for a crack to appear, for a flaw in your performance or character to expose itself.

But it never came.

No matter how long he watched, he saw no falsehood in you. Not in your smile. Not in your tone. Even after he tapped into his family’s resources to investigate your background—the debts, the loss of your parents, the low-income grind—you remained untouched. Despite your circumstances, you never faltered. You never slipped.

And that’s when it started to change.

His reason for watching you… shifted.

You weren’t just clean, you made everything clean. With your presence alone, it was like you washed the dust off the air. You moved through the halls humming your strange tunes, bringing light into every dull corner of their pristine but lifeless mansion. You didn’t just clean a house. You filled it. Saturated it with something warm. Something dangerous.

You were too bright. So bright that he found it harder and harder to look away.

But even then, he didn’t dare approach you. What would he say? What could he possibly offer to someone like you who shined so easily in a world that kept dimming his own light? He knew his sharp tongue, knew the things that lingered in his chest weren’t normal. So, he stayed hidden. Watching. Studying. Waiting.

And when you were let go a year later—laid off after his family relocated back to Japan—he didn’t stop.

No, that’s when it all truly began.

Scaramouche spent the next years sculpting himself into someone worthy. Or, at least, someone you wouldn’t be repulsed by. He worked hard to erase the rough edges, to become the type of man he thought you'd accept. All while running routine background checks to keep tabs on your life.

Where you worked. Where you lived. The classes you took. The clothes you wore when you thought no one was watching. He monitored your debt balance down to the last cent, tracking it like it was his own.

Because to him, it was.

He had mapped everything out from the very beginning, and once he was finally able to come up with a concrete plan to make you as his own, he went back and took care of all the annoying insects that prevented him from setting his plan in motion.

Itto was an easy kill. Scaramouche didn’t even need to get his hands dirty this time. That dumb brute fell for the bait like it was made for him—and in truth, it was. A fabricated opportunity dressed as a dream: a fully furnished house in a better neighborhood, a lifetime membership at an elite gym allegedly owned by his cousin, and the promise of stability that a man like him couldn’t resist. It was all too simple. His men handled the rest. Itto disappeared without a trace; just another missing person in a long list the city forgot to care about.

But Kazuha… he was a different story.

Kazuha was a threat. Too perceptive, too calm, too close to you. Scaramouche couldn’t take chances with someone like that lingering around you. He saw it clearly; the way Kazuha looked at you, the way he spoke to you with warmth and understanding, as if he could see straight into your soul. It infuriated him. The idea of you being drawn to a gentle breeze like him was unacceptable.

So this one, Scaramouche handled himself.

He broke into Kazuha’s apartment during one of those silent nights where the world slept too deeply. He didn’t expect Kazuha to fight back the way he did—fists clenched, heart full of resolve—but it didn’t matter. It took an hour. An hour of noise, chaos, and blood before Scaramouche finally drove the knife straight into the man's heart. And as Kazuha gasped for breath one last time, Scaramouche looked into his eyes and saw it: his defiance. Even in death, Kazuha never feared him. He even had the balls to say “Once she finds out, she’ll never love you…” as his final words.

That pissed him off the most. 

He burned the body. Burned his trace. Burned everything Kazuha was. And through his connections, the boy was erased from every system, every file, every life, every digital ghost he may have left behind. Like he never existed at all. Everyone who came to know and love Kazuha was led to believe that he moved to the province to live a quiet life.

And as for Diluc…

Scaramouche didn’t even need to touch him. He was a background character, barely relevant to the script. A man like him—distant, aloof, too occupied to care—was predictable. So all Scaramouche had to do was plant the letter. A vague, unnerving note slipped to a hired hand posing as a delivery man. Diluc received it just before your shift. Of course, he wouldn’t open it. He’d do what most disinterested coworkers would; toss it into your locker and move on. And just as expected, Thoma, the new hire, would witness it. 

Every piece had a role. Even the irrelevant ones. Pawns, rooks, bishops—they served their purpose, moved how he needed them to, and fell when the time came. In his world, no one was ever more than a tool on the board. Because to Scaramouche, that's all they were—pieces.

And he? He was the king.

Not the figure who waits behind the chaos. No—his crown was earned through control, through precision, through sacrifice. The king doesn’t charge blindly across the board. He waits. He watches. He clears the path with deliberate patience, removing obstacles one by one until the game bends to his will.

Because victory doesn’t come from brute force. It comes from strategy. From obsession. And in the end, it wasn’t just a win.It was checkmate.

The queen—you—had been cornered perfectly. Not by accident. Not by fate. But by design. He had played every piece just right, set every trap just so.

And now, the queen belonged to him.

You awoke, your head pounding.

Each throb in your skull pulsed in time with the ringing in your ears. A dull ache settled behind your eyes, thick and heavy, like you were just dragged out of a too-deep slumber. You blinked a few times, your vision hazy, your body oddly sticky with sweat. It felt… strange. Like you had just woken from a dream you couldn’t recall—only bits and pieces clinging to your consciousness.

Scaramouche.

You remembered his voice. His touch. Something…warm? Like his…semen-?

No, no…it couldn’t be. It must’ve been a wet dream. You shook your head quickly, your fingers clutching at the sheets. 

You sat up groggily and grabbed your phone from the side table. “Huh... it’s just four in the morning…”

Only a few hours had passed since you knocked out on the bed earlier. You didn’t feel exactly well-rested. If anything, your body felt heavier. You wanted to go back to sleep, but your ears wouldn’t stop that high-pitched whine, as if warning you; prodding you to stay alert.

Then it hit you.

Scaramouche.. where… was he?

You turned your head, scanning the space of your small studio unit. There was no sign of him. The spot beside you on the bed was empty. Your brows furrowed. He promised to stay. He said he’d guard you for the night.

Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on the only source of light—the soft, flickering glow coming from the small kitchen by your entrance. The overhead bulb twitched and blinked like it was on the verge of burning out.

And then you noticed it.

The door.

It was slightly ajar.

You blinked. That wasn’t how you left it. That definitely wasn’t how he would’ve left it either… right?

Panic crept into your chest, slow and suffocating. Maybe he just stepped out to take a call? Maybe he went to smoke?

Does he even smoke…?

But something else tugged at your thoughts. Something you hadn’t considered until now.

Why was Scaramouche staying here?

This apartment complex was falling apart, with creaky floors and mold creeping up the walls. You could barely afford your rent and still had to fight off rats near the stairwell. Yet here he was; someone who wore a Rolex, the kind that looked like a limited-edition custom model, someone who casually mentioned his Versace Eros cologne like it was nothing, someone with porcelain skin that spoke of monthly facials and the kind of tailored fashion you only ever saw online.

You remembered crying into his shirt earlier, and how the fabric felt like something out of a designer boutique. His presence screamed money.

So why the hell was he living in the apartment right next to yours?

It didn’t add up. None of it made sense.

If you were him, you’d be in some penthouse overlooking the skyline—not in this cracked shoebox of a building where the water pressure could be a hit or miss.

You slowly swung your legs over the bed, a creeping sense of unease tightening around your throat like a noose.

You tried to make sense of it all, but it still didn’t.

Your thoughts were scrambled, all foggy, restless, and knotted up in a way you couldn’t untangle. Despite your headache, despite your ringing ears, one thing remained crystal clear: your front door was unlocked. Carelessly left open in a building like this? That alone was unsettling. And so you moved toward it, intending to shut it and twist the lock, but you eventually stopped.

Your hand hovered over the knob.

Something in the back of your mind… urged you to look for him. Urged to look for Scaramouche.

The thought of going back to sleep without him nearby; it made your stomach twist with unease. It was irrational, you told yourself. You barely even knew for that long him. But tonight, for some reason, his presence felt like a comfort you desperately needed. Especially with how he comforted you earlier.

You tried to brush off your hesitation. You two were neighbors, after all. It wasn’t like you’d be intruding too much just by checking in on him, right? Maybe… maybe you’d ask if he could sleep over? But just to sleep though. No funny business at all.

The idea of asking such a thing made your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but the dread clawing at your chest made you more desperate than shy.

You inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Steeling yourself. And then, you opened your door.

The night air kissed your skin with a chilling breath. It was silent, too silent. The kind of silence that pressed on your eardrums like a weight, making each creak of the floorboards sound like a scream.

You hugged your arms around yourself for warmth, tiptoeing the few short steps to his unit. You raised your hand and gave a soft knock on the wooden door.

“Scara…?” you whispered, barely audible. No answer.

He’s probably sleeping, you told yourself, biting your lip. That made sense, didn’t it?

Still… you lifted your hand again. You didn’t say his name this time, but your knuckles rapped gently on the surface.

However, the third time, your knock was halted.

Click.

The door creaked open.

You froze.

It hadn’t been locked. Not even closed properly. The gap widened slowly, an unnatural stillness lingering behind the threshold—as if it had been waiting for you.

You gulped, your pulse stammering in your throat. You knew you shouldn’t go in. You knew it wasn’t right. But your body moved before your brain could catch up.

“Scaramouche…?” you called out again, softer this time, your voice swallowed whole by the darkness. You stepped inside.

The air shifted.

It was heavier. Warmer. Thicker. It clung to your skin like static, and the moment you shut the door behind you, the apartment felt like it exhaled, swallowing you in.

You smelled a familiar scent the moment you stepped in—one strikingly similar to yours. Lest be it, you thought it was your own. Maybe it clung to your shirt or your hair, and maybe you were just imagining things.

But the more you walked in, the more it surrounded you.

This wasn’t a studio-type unit like yours. It had rooms. Hallways. Doors.It was larger than you'd imagined; larger than what a run-down building like this should even allow. You had to walk through one door, then another, just to even see where each space led to. Still, the scent didn’t fade.

If anything, it got stronger.

And yet, you chalked it up to fatigue. To your spinning head and the sleep you’d been torn from. You tried to shake off the unease crawling under your skin like ants.

It was too dark to make out anything properly, so your fingers fumbled for the switch by the doorway. You turned on the lights, and immediately blinked in surprise.

His unit… was big.

Much bigger than yours, and yet… strangely empty.

The floors were clean. The corners were bare. The furniture—what little there was—looked like it had never been touched. A single table. One chair. A shelf without books. No pictures, no knick-knacks. No warmth. 

It was barely furnished at all.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to come out light, trying to mask the tightening of your chest.

“Scaramouche? Are you home? I’m sorry to intrude—” you called out gently, glancing around as you wandered deeper into the unit.

You reached the first room you saw and gently pushed the door open.

A bathroom.

It looked like a typical one, at least at first glance. The tiles were spotless, the mirror gleamed, and everything was neatly arranged on the sink counter. But then, something caught your eye.

You stepped in closer, squinting.

Your shampoo.

No, not just your shampoo. The exact brand. Same scent. Same bottle, slightly squeezed at the middle. The conditioner, too. Your favorite hair mask. Your exact skincare routine lined up in pristine order. Even the body wash you only used on weekends.

Your brows knitted together.

"Odd… does he live with a girl or something?" you murmured, half to yourself. But you were quick to debunk this theory because if he really did, then his place would at least look more lively than it did.

It was the most reasonable explanation your mind could grasp, and so you clung to it. That made sense, right? A girlfriend. A sister, maybe. You weren’t about to jump to conclusions over products that anyone could easily buy at a store.

However, these products were common, so it could just be a coincidence. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You didn’t overthink it. You didn’t want to.

But something shifted, like a cold hand grazing your spine.

A sudden, inexplicable wave of dread crashed into you, it was sharp and immediate, like a static jolt to your nerves. Your instincts screamed at you to leave. To get out while you still could. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your curiosity got the best of you so instead… you pressed on.

You hadn’t been to his place before, and curiosity tugged at you the moment you stepped in. You told yourself you just wanted to see the space he slept in, nothing more.

His bedroom was unremarkable at first glance. Neat, tidy, and strangely empty. There was a bed with two pillows, the sheets tucked in with surgical precision, and a plain computer desk pushed against one wall with a full PC setup; tower, keyboard, mouse, and a wide monitor still faintly glowing in the dark.

That was it. No personal touches. No books or clothes lying around. No signs of someone actually living here.

It didn’t feel like a home. It felt… staged.

Your attention shifted back to the computer. The monitor was still on, the screen locked behind a password prompt. The hint read:

“an important date.”

You tried the first thing that came to mind—his birthday. No luck. Hmm… what about your own? Your heart thumped fast as you typed your birthday, ayour suspicions rising, but luckily, it was still nothing. You racked your brain for other possibilities: the day you two first met? The day you moved in? None of them worked. You didn’t know why, but for some unexplainable reason, you feel as though it’s connected to you. 

Frustrated, you glanced down at the corner of the screen where the date blinked back at you. May 4.

You hesitated, then typed it in.

05/04.

Access granted.

Your breath hitched slightly. That worked?

You wondered if today meant something to him. Maybe it was the death anniversary of a loved one—someone he never talked about. That would explain why he wasn’t here tonight.

Still, that didn’t explain why you felt like you were intruding on something you weren’t supposed to see.

You clicked into his files, expecting to find the schoolwork he always claimed to be working on; group projects, research papers, something. Anything. But nothing was there.

His Word application opened to a blank slate. No recent documents. No assignments. No folders labeled for school. It was all empty.

Your brows knit in confusion. “What…?” you muttered, leaning closer to double-check.

He always said he was submitting things digitally. Said he had a ton of coursework. He even bailed on hanging out with you a few times because of it.

But there was no trace of any academic work here. Not even a draft. Not even a folder named after a class.

The pit in your stomach grew heavier.

He had lied to you, repeatedly. But why?? You don’t see him benefitting from this at all?!

You moved the mouse with trembling fingers, pulling up a new tab as you tried searching for the university Scaramouche said he was attending. Your heart thudded louder with every second of loading time. Maybe you were just being paranoid. Maybe he was enrolled under a different name. Maybe—

No. Nothing came up. No match for the institution. Not even a school website.

Confused, you tried the next logical step: accessing his student portal. You searched for any trace of a university-linked Google account, hoping there might’ve been a mistake. You clicked the account tab on Chrome, hoping to find something like an educational domain, maybe a .edu email.

But there was nothing. Just two emails: one personal, and one labeled under a string of numbers and letters, something that didn’t resemble any school ID or professional account. There wasn’t even a trace of a school server or drive linked to it.

And then it hit you like a brick to the chest.

He wasn’t a university student. He never was.

The school he told you that he went to didn’t even exist for Archons’ sake?!

The realization made your stomach drop, your mouth suddenly dry. You took a step back, staring at the glowing monitor like it had just spat out something foul.

Why would he lie?

He had always talked about group projects, about studying late at night, about submitting coursework digitally. He even compared classes with you, made jokes about professors, and talked about “finals week stress” like it was his own.

But it had all been fabricated. Every word. Every detail.

You swallowed hard. “No… no, that can’t be right…”

But the truth stared back at you.

The name of the school he gave you didn’t even exist.

Your pulse was erratic now, your thoughts tangled with panic and disbelief. Something wasn’t right. You could feel it in your gut, heavy and coiled like a warning.

Despite the frantic beat of your heart telling you to get out, your hands moved on their own, guided by some twisted need to understand. To find proof. To know why.

You clicked open the file explorer.

Nothing seemed unusual at first—just standard folders: Downloads, Pictures, Documents. But tucked away beneath the main list was one out-of-place item, barely visible unless you scrolled with purpose.

A hidden folder.

It wasn’t even named. Just a string of characters that looked like gibberish.

Your mouth went dry.

You hovered the mouse over it, your body tense and hesitant. You could almost hear your instincts screaming at you to shut the computer off and leave, but your fingers clicked anyway.

Inside were multiple files. The first thing you noticed was that none of them had thumbnails. No previews. Just dates and strings of numbers. Video files.

Dozens of them.

There was also an application sitting at the top, it was some kind of viewing software. Not anything you recognized though. With your breath caught in your throat, you opened the application first, hoping it would explain what you were looking at.

The program booted up with a cold, sterile interface—timestamped footage, file names, camera IDs.

CCTV software.

Your body went rigid.

With a trembling hand, you double-clicked one of the CCTV feeds.

It loaded instantly and to your horror, it was your room. Captured in full, invasive clarity.

The footage played in eerie silence. Your bathroom. Your bed. The camera angle was fixed at just the right height to watch you sleep. Another angle was from the top corner of your room—watching you sit at your desk, legs tucked under, right where the light caught your face. There was one by your nightstand. Another—deeper—shot from beneath your desk, pointed upward at your clothed sex, and lastly…

Your teddy bear…

You gasped, your heart plummeting to your stomach, bile crawling up your throat. You needed to puke. You felt absolutely sick. You hovered over the camera, seeing that it was different from the rest. Once you found out that it could zoom-in on you, you paused to look away from the screen to process everything that you had just learned.

“This… this is all just a dream…right? I-I must be dreaming… t-this isn’t…” you croaked, the words catching at the edge of a sob. Your fingers flew to your mouth to stifle the sound, your body beginning to shake as the weight of what you were seeing began to crash down over you like a tidal wave.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

You scrambled to exit the application, trying to convince yourself it was a mistake—that somehow, this wasn’t real. But curiosity turned to dread as you opened the subfolder labeled “RECORDINGS.”

You sat there, paralyzed, forcing yourself to go through them one by one. Every file was worse than the last. Footage of you waking up. Cooking. Brushing your hair. Singing softly to yourself while doing chores. Tiredly slumping over your desk after work.

Moments of your life that you thought were yours.

He had watched them all. Labeled them. Archived them.

Little notes appeared in adjacent text files beside the videos. Details of your habits, what you ate that day, what time you came home, how long you showered, whether or not you looked happy.

And then—

You saw that recording.

You didn’t want to click it. Your hand hovered. But you did.

You watched yourself, your ass up high as you moaned for Scaramouche’s name with so much longing. Shame growing with every passing second. You thought you were alone, but he was looking at you the entire time as you were vulnerable, even though you were under the impression no one would ever see you this way.

But he did. He recorded you. He watched you.

No wonder he left abruptly after kissing you…he knew this would happen… 

You couldn’t look away. You were frozen. Like prey realizing the predator was always in the room.

You clicked out, barely holding down the wave of nausea rising in your chest, only to find another folder sitting below the recordings.

“CANDIDS.”

It was worse. Inside, there were photos, hundreds of them. Of you.

In uniform. At your jobs. Eating lunch. Waiting for the bus. Walking home at night. Even ones taken through your window—your silhouette lit by the glow of your laptop.

They were dated. Some of them went back years, long before you ever officially met him.

Your head was spinning.

The very thing you didn’t want to confirm… that you wanted to deny can’t be denied anymore.

Reality finally sets in.

Scaramouche was your stalker all along.

He was never your friend, he never approached you with great intentions in the first place. He had orchestrated every meeting. Every “coincidence.” Every moment he made you feel safe.

But the question persists, why you?! WHY, for the love of Archons, IS HE DOING THIS TO YOU??!

You backed away from the desk with your knees weak, as if the truth was physically weighing you down. You gripped the edge of his desk to steady yourself, but nothing could anchor you now. Your lungs were tight. Your chest hurt. And you felt nothing but filthy, raw, and violated.

Worse of all, you had fallen in love with the very person you should’ve feared the most.

He made you believe the world was cruel and dangerous. He made you think he was your sanctuary. But all this time, he was the monster waiting at the end of the maze, and you had walked straight into his den.

You cursed at yourself again and again, your voice cracking under the weight of betrayal.

“Idiot… stupid, stupid!!! How could I be so blind?” You sobbed through clenched teeth, fists trembling at your sides.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as the adrenaline surged. Your thoughts spiraled in chaotic circles, and your breath became sharp and patchy. You couldn’t ground yourself. Your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape your body, the pressure in your chest rising until it felt unbearable.

And then—snap.

You bolted upright too quickly, the dizziness knocking your balance off. You collapsed, hard.

Your knees gave out beneath you as your body smacked against the carpeted floor with a loud thud. Pain bloomed along your shoulder and hip from the fall, but it barely registered. Not when your cheek pressed against something wrong.

The carpet was damp. And cold. But more than that—it reeked. It awfully smelled something akin to bleach. Like the Chlorox-smelling vile that Diluc gave you the other day.

Hold on…I don’t think Diluc knew about the vile….

However, that harsh, unmistakable sting of bleach filled your nose, making you pull out from your thoughts as your eyes sting while you winced. But it wasn’t just the smell. Your skin prickled as you noticed something off about the texture. The spot your face had landed on wasn’t soft like the rest of the carpet. It was dry and stiff, almost sticky.

You recoiled in disgust, scrambling back with shaky limbs, trying to rub the feeling off your cheek. You barely caught your breath before your gaze snagged on something under the bed.

A box.

It was barely visible—shoved deep into the shadows—but your rattled instincts dragged you toward it. You reached out with hesitant fingers, pulled it out with a soft scrape, and flipped the lid open. What you found inside made your blood run cold.

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t move.

Inside, packed neatly as if they were sacred treasures, were your things.

The pair of underwear you swore went missing after laundry day. Your favorite pen—the one you thought you’d left at work. The worn bandaid you slapped on your finger last month after a kitchen accident. Your work apron. A crumpled napkin with your lipstick stain. The towel you used to wipe sweat from your neck after one of your longer shifts. Hair strands… ticket stubs… a used tissue.

And more.

So much more.

Things you had thrown away.

Things you had forgotten about.

Things that should’ve never ended up here.

He kept them.

He kept them all.

You could barely breathe. The bile in your throat threatened to rise again, and your hands started trembling so violently that the box nearly slipped from your grip.

And then it clicked.

The apron. The one you just saw hanging by the supply rack at work the day before you quit. How did he—?

Your eyes widened. Your heart plummeted.

He was there.

Not just here. Not just outside your window or across the hall.

He’d been at your job.

He had infiltrated every corner of your life. Nothing had been a coincidence.

Shit.

Shit.

Your mind reeled as puzzle pieces snapped together in grotesque, twisted shapes.

He was the one who made Diluc plant that creepy letter in your locker. He probably threatened him or paid him. Fuck, at this point, you don’t know anymore.

Seeing how he miraculously got this place all to himself too out of the blue, you assumed that he was the one who manipulated Itto into moving out of the apartment complex.

And… Kazuha.

Your heart clenched so tightly it physically hurt. You hadn’t heard from Kazuha in weeks.

Your breath hitched.

What did he do to Kazuha?

You were in danger.

Real danger.

The kind that made your skin crawl and your instincts scream at you to run.

Your hands trembled violently as you clutched the edge of the box, your legs stiff and unwilling to move, as if your body hadn’t caught up with your brain yet. But your mind was racing, spiraling into full panic mode.

You had to go. Now.

The police. You needed to call the police.

You couldn’t stay another second in this twisted hellhole disguised as a home. You had seen enough. More than enough. The truth was laid bare before you, raw and horrifying, and it left a sour, metallic taste in your mouth almost as if you’d bitten into something rotten.

You solved the puzzle. Every piece, every breadcrumb, led you to the grotesque truth. And it shattered something inside you. Not just heartbreak. No, this was worse.

It was betrayal on a scale so personal, so invasive, that your entire understanding of safety, of reality, cracked beneath its weight. You were nothing more than a puppet in his carefully crafted fantasy. A pet he groomed. A prize he hunted.

He had built a false haven for you to fall into; something warm and comforting, familiar even. He made you trust him. Need him. Every act of kindness was laced with poison. Every moment you felt safe was just another chain tightening around your throat.

Your interest in him—the warmth you once felt—it all curdled into revulsion.

How could he? How dare he?

He had never even gone to university. That whole story—his course, his professors, the deadlines he stressed over—they were all fabrications. A paper-thin mask tailored to reflect your world so he could fit seamlessly into it. So he could be close to you.

So he could watch you. Why else would he act as a troubled student? He probably already knew you work part-time as a tutor…?

If that’s the case then it was no wonder he was a fast learner… he already knew everything, he just pretended that he didn’t.

But then… why?

Why was today’s date his password?

Your stomach churned as the question festered in your brain like rot. Was it because he knew? Did he plan this far ahead? Did he know you’d get curious enough to snoop? That you’d dare to cross the line?

Was this the final act?

Shit.

Shit, shit!

You made a huge mistake.

He planned for this day.

He wanted you to find everything. To realize there was no escape. That you were his and always had been. That your terror, your despair… all of it was part of the plan.

Run.

Run.

You needed to-

You needed to leave. You needed to get out now before—

Click.

Your heart stopped.

That sound—It was unmistakable.

The front door has been locked.

The air left your lungs as you slowly turned toward the door, your ears ringing with sheer panic. You weren’t alone anymore. He was here.

You looked around frantically, your breath stuttering in sheer panic.

The closet? No, too obvious.

Under the bed? No good either. That’s always the first place they look in horror films. And right now, you were living one.

This wasn’t just any apartment either, it was his apartment. And it was empty. Barren. Sterile, like it had only ever been a stage. A trap. There were no cabinets, no shelves, not even a coat rack to hide behind. Just four cold walls and a man drawing closer with every passing second.

You were trapped.

You were completely fucking trapped.

Your heart pounded so loudly you swore it was echoing against the drywall. Just as you were about to dive under his bed as if it was your last resolve, your worse nightmare came true.

"You just had to feed your curiosity now, didn’t you?"

His voice slithered through the silence like a knife through flesh; mocking and deliberate. It wasn’t the sweet, patient tone you had grown used to. No, this was lower. Darker. It didn’t ask for trust.

It expected obedience.

You didn’t dare turn around. You were still kneeling on the floor, surrounded by your own belongings—your underwear, your pen, your bandaid—your life dissected and collected like trophies. You clutched them like they could somehow shield you.

“You weren’t supposed to learn so much… tsk.” His voice sliced through the silence like a knife dipped in venom. It was measured, unbothered, and laced with an eerie calm. The kind of tone someone uses when they’ve already made up their mind about something grim.

You could feel him behind you. A shift in the air. A weight. It was heavy. Inevitable. Suffocatingly haunting.

Your instincts screamed louder than your thoughts. You scrambled to grab anything—anything at all—but your fingers barely grazed the corner of the desk before he was on you.

He yanked you by the collar with frightening ease and threw you onto the bed. The impact knocked the breath out of you.

“This ruins Phase Three altogether,” He sighed, running his fingers back through his hair. “Ah, but I suppose it was bound to happen. You always were a little too curious for your own good.” He tilted his head, a mockery of pity in his tone. “Still... you came here. Just like I knew you would.” The smile he wore didn’t reach his eyes.

It never had.

"You...YOU DISGUSTING, HORRIBLE, LIAR!!! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!" You shrieked with everything you had left. Your throat burned. Your limbs flailed in a panic, kicking out blindly, desperate to reach the door, the window, anywhere but here.

But his expression didn’t falter. Not even once. The mask was off, and what sat underneath was colder than you could’ve imagined.

The polite, soft-spoken neighbor—the one who offered his full company when you were troubled, who laughed shyly when you complimented his handwriting—was gone. That Scaramouche was never real to begin with.

Instead, a stranger crawled towards you, slow and calculated. Like a predator toying with prey already caught in its trap.

Your foot connected with his jaw, he paused for a moment, blinking as he tries to remain patient.

His head snapped to the side from the force, but the moment he turned back, he simply popped it back into place with a grim click, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “That was cute,” he muttered, his lips forming a frown.

He then grabbed your ankles. Hard.

"LET GO OF ME!! IM GOING TO REPORT YOU TO THE POLICE!!" You screamed, pushing at him with your knees, clawing, thrashing—anything to keep him off—but he didn’t even budge. His strength was unreal. You would have never imagined that he could be this strong despite not looking like it.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he murmured, his voice dragging each word out like a quiet sentence. Slowly. Mockingly. He dragged your body closer with one firm pull, like it was a game. “You can’t report me. You won’t.”

There was something so off about the way he said it. It was casual yet… final. You were shaking and confused as your mind scrambles to find a way out, to find anything that could give you leverage. But there was no plan forming. No sudden stroke of luck. Just the weight of his voice and the dread it buried you under.

Then he laughed. Not the nervous, quiet chuckle you had once thought was endearing. This laugh was something else—raw and unhinged. You flinched at the sound, your blood running cold.

“After today’s events,” He said, plucking a small pill from his pocket and tossing it into his mouth, “you won’t be able to do anything of the sort, darling.” His gaze never left you as he lunges himself forward to clash your lips with his.

You turned your face away instantly, jaw clenched shut, body coiled in refusal. Every instinct in you screamed for self-preservation. You refused to open your mouth, and he tried to be patient with you, he really did. But you just wouldn’t budge. 

He thought if he bit your lower lip harshly, you’d eventually give in, but you didn’t. The metallic taste lingered on your tongue as tears pricked your eyes, but not just from pain, but from betrayal. You were still in disbelief.

You were also unreasonably stubborn, and just like Kazuha, you put up a fight. Your defiance and resemblance alone was enough to frustrate him further.

His patience snapped.

He started choking your neck harshly, making you gasp in pain. This gave him enough space to transfer the pill in yours as he pushed it down your throat with his tongue. You coughed violently, feeling a lump in your throat as you struggle to swallow the pill.

“Of course,” he whispered more to himself than you, voice thick with venom. “You’re just like him. Always pushing back. Always running. Always thinking you have a choice.”

‘Him’...?…Is he talking about…Kazuha? Your eyes widened and he noticed.

He smilled bitterly, “That fire in your eyes,” he said, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek mockingly. “I’ve seen it before. It didn’t save him. It won’t save you either.”

“W-What did you…” you tried to ask, but the words barely left your lips. They cracked and faltered, swallowed by the burn crawling up your throat. Your limbs refused to listen. You could feel your strength slipping away like water through cupped hands.

You blinked once. Then twice. The world blurred, tilting and warping around the edge of your vision.

“Shh,” Scaramouche cooed, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your damp forehead. “Not to worry… you won’t end up like he did.”

Your heart lurched violently in your chest, even as your body betrayed you. You couldn’t even run anymore. You felt numb. What’s worse was that he confirmed being involved in Kazuha’s disappearance. There were so many things you wanted to ask, but you felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion wash over you.

“I’ve waited long enough for this moment to happen, Y/n.” His tone was low and quiet, but simmering with obsession. His fingers dug into your cheek as he yanked your face toward him. You finally locked eyes with him. They looked sharp and maddening, you don’t even think he had been blinking. 

“I can’t bear to wait any longer.” He purred into your ear before continuing,  “You’ll understand, won’t you?” he whispered, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Your lips quivered. Your jaw ached. But you forced the words out anyway, trembling against the weight of your fading consciousness.

“I will…never…forgive…you…” You managed to mutter, but he scoffed at your naivety as if your defiance was nothing but a child's tantrum.

“So will I,” he murmured coldly. “But that doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Your head lolled slightly as he pulled you in, lowering his face to your neck. “If you’re not obedient when you wake up…” You could feel his breath; it was hot and filled with the deep desire to possess you as he inhaled the scent of your skin like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“I’ll just have to break you until you are.”

That was the last thing you heard before you completely fainted.

a.n. Woohooo! Stalker's Tango has finally come to an end! I hope you all had a blast reading this little mini-series I wanted to work on.

Again, this is all purely fictional! I don't romanticize their situation at all, I genuinely just wanted to try and explore the more... 'grotesque' depths of Scaramouche's ideals when it came to love, even in the modern world. He seemed like an individual incapable of giving something so pure, so I hc that he offers something twisted in return, deluding himself into thinking that it's the only right way to keep a relationship going, especially if it's based on rewards and punishments.

I plan on writing a bonus chapter that showcases the aftermath of this 'kidnapping'. but only if you all want to read it! ^^ Let me know in the comments hehe. (I plan to write the full-blown smut there, LOL)

++ Anyyyhooow! If you want to see me write other things, don't be shy! Leave a prompt on my 'love notes' section located on my profile! I'll tend to them when I can <3

Thank you for reading Stalker's Tango, beautiful people. Until next time!

Chapter Two

You weren’t looking for him.

Or maybe you were, but just a little. Just enough to let your gaze wander from the stack of receipts you were organizing at the café register, eyes skimming past the window. Just enough to hope he'd appear like he always did lately, as if summoned by the thought alone.

But the sidewalk stayed empty.

The night Scaramouche brought you home—the very same night you found out you were neighbors—kept looping in your mind like a cursed lullaby, relentless and haunting. You could still feel his fingertips feathering over your skin, phantom touches lingering on your arms like smoke. His breath had ghosted past your ear, warm and teasing, and you remembered, far too vividly, how you’d leaned into it. How your own body would betray you.

He was intoxicating.

The past few days blurred with thoughts of him; fleeting, aching flashes that struck at random intervals. Leaving your unit became a ritual of stolen glances; your eyes always landing on his door, as if hoping he'd be there, just on the other side.

Is this what people meant when they talked about having a crush? Surely not. You were just... intrigued. That was all. Pure curiosity.

You were totally not hoping to run into him again. Pshh. Why would you anyway?

It had been three days since you last saw him. Strangely, despite being neighbors, your paths never crossed. You hadn’t even known he lived so close until that night. From what you remembered, there was a gym rat who used to live in his unit. You made a mental note to ask him about it the next time you saw him. 

You found yourself waiting for glimpses, for echoes of footsteps down the hall. For a flicker of dark indigo hair behind his door.

Pathetic, wasn’t it? You barely knew him... but Archons, you wanted to.

Maybe he was just busy with academics. He seemed like he was around your age; maybe older? You never really knew.

“Wipe that frown off your face, Y/n. Stick to our policy.” Diluc’s voice pulled you from your reverie, sharp and grounding. He tilted his head toward the poster taped beside the register.

“Keep smiling…” You mumbled, reading the message aloud, there was a smiling yellow emoji above the text, which you found quite humorous especially since it was Diluc who implemented the policy, and yet he rarely smiled himself. 

“Sorry, boss,” you said with a sheepish grin, quickly plastering on the mandated cheer.

“I don’t know what you’re dealing with, but you’re at work. With Kazuha gone, you’ll be the face of the cafe until we find a replacement.” He slid a matcha latte onto the counter and rang the bell. “Order 18!”

Ayaka, a regular, glided over to collect her drink. With a warm smile and a gracious fifty-dollar tip, she waved goodbye and exited, the bell chiming in her wake.

“I understand. Don’t worry boss!” You do a military salute in front of Diluc, a silly but earnest and lighthearted gesture to make him feel more relaxed. He rolled his eyes at your childish behavior.

“Get back to work.”

Diluc may be a bit of a meanie, but you’re sure he had his reasons. Deep inside, he’s just a big softie. Or at least, you’d like to believe he is.

Since Kazuha left, you’ve been taking over his shifts until five in the afternoon for the past three days. Luckily, your other jobs didn’t intercept nor raise any conflict with your current schedule.

It’s been tiring, but out of all the jobs you had, you found solace in this the most. Despite having an intimidating boss, he pays you quite handsomely and he has great work ethics. His cafe was surely one of the most sought-out for in this city, and although the food and drinks were one of the major reasons being, you’d like to beg to differ that it’s due to the ambiance that Diluc can create for his customers.

A couple of hours passed, and for once, Scaramouche didn’t dominate your thoughts. You were a woman on a mission, laser-focused. There was definitely something about him that made him stand out from the rest of the people you’ve met, but no matter! You’ve got work to do! You must focus!

You were able to cater to multiple customers over a short amount of time, and your productivity was off the charts. Anyone in the cafe could see just how hard you were working, and everyone inside was pleasantly satisfied with the attitude that you constantly displayed. You’ve earned a couple of tips from various regulars; you didn’t want to accept them at first but they all insisted.

“Y/n.” Diluc’s voice snapped you back again, this time with a note of warning. You glanced up, and your heart immediately seized.

There he was.

“Hey.” That smooth, low voice poured into your ears like honey, dangerously close to a purr.

Scaramouche found his way to a table to which he occupied. His figure was like a vision conjured by obsession. His lips curled into a smile, eyes soft and catlike as they met yours.

“Sir Scaramouche, w-welcome back!”

You internally cursed. Why the hell are you stuttering?! You were perfectly capable of speech five seconds ago. Now you sounded like an idiot.

He raised a brow, eyeing you with a smirk. “Ah. Right. You’re at work.” He chuckled before placing the menu down on the table, his gaze fully observing yours. You could feel him trying to claw through your soul from all this staring, and if you could, you would’ve looked away, but wouldn’t that be too obvious?

What are you talking about? Too obvious about what? It’s not like you have a crush on him.

Do you..?

“I was about to scold you for calling me ‘Sir’ again, but I’ll let it slide since you’re at work.” Gosh. That low chuckle; the way his adams apple bobs up and down with every sweet sound that escapes those alluring lips of his. You gulp, blinking profusely as you drown in his scent.

"Fuck, what the hell was his perfume?!"

“Hello? Earth to Y/n? I’d like to order now.” You blinked back to reality as he waved a hand in front of your face.

“Apologies! I was just... trying to figure out what perfume you were wearing. It smells really good!” Oh Archons.

Did you seriously just say that out loud?!

Scaramouche’s eyes lit up with something unreadable. “It’s ‘Eros’ by Versace. You like it?”

You laughed awkwardly, fumbling with your notepad like it was a lifeline. “Right, um, what may I get you today?”

Truthfully, you had little-to-no-awareness when it came to luxury brands given that you’ve been struggling financially, so you tried to change the topic instead. 

Scaramouche was able to subtly pick this up though, but he stayed silent.

“Another cappuccino. Dark. No sugar,” he said, voice silky. “And one of those cream puffs you sell. The strawberry cheesecake kind.” You nodded before placing the pen behind your ear. While doing so, you tried your best to keep yourself from freaking out as you could feel his orbs glued to your figure.

His eyes... God, they were consuming. You could feel them rake over your figure, unapologetically slow.

The air felt thick as if it knew something you didn’t. There was a brief silence that cascaded between you two, but with his scent filling your nostrils and his eyes devouring the smallest details there is to see about you, it made your head all fuzzy and…excited.

From your peripheral vision, you could see him lightly biting on his lower lip, but despite that, you still can’t seem to get a good read of him. He probably knew what he was doing to you, but then you started to question: why you out of all people? 

But then again, you might just be getting ahead of yourself. There’s no way a man like him would be interested in you.

“Your order will be ready in ten to fifteen minutes.” You cleared your throat, bowing politely as courtesy before walking back to the bar to prepare his food. 

Scaramouche hummed in response, an unreadable expression on his face as he sees you go back all flustered and shy, just for him.

Diluc had been watching from afar, his brows furrowing in disapproval. He then walked pass by you as you prepared Scaramouche’s order. He squinted his eyes, muttering, “Get a room, you two. Your hormones are all over the place.” 

You widen your eyes in horror, mouth gaping from his remark. “B-boss?? What are you talking about?!” You exclaim in shock. Your voice was louder than it ought to be, and you immediately felt heat rush to your cheeks from embarrassment. You whisper a “sorry” to everyone who was disturbed by the noise.

He only sighed, not bothering to talk back to you. You were left a blushing mess, but you quickly shook your head and tried to focus back to work. Your face was as red as a tomato, and Scaramouche was thrilled to see you in such a state. You looked so helpless and lost, he could feel his ‘friend’ down there getting strained just by that look alone.

By the time you returned to serve Scaramouche’s order, he had his glasses on, a notebook open, and a pen twirling between his fingers. You hadn’t known he wore glasses, but now that you did, it felt unfair how good he looked in them.

There were fewer people in the cafe now. You had nothing else to do but steal glances at him occasionally.

He looked... frustrated.

His brows were furrowed, lip caught between his teeth. From the looks of it, you had the impression that he was doing homework or some sort. You then had the brazen idea of walking up to him to check up on him. 

“You alright?” You tilted forward, just enough to see his page.. He turned to you, his lips parting as his eyes meet yours. For a second, he looked surprised that you came forward to talk to him. His eyes attentively locked with yours and he blinked a couple of times before clearing his throat.

“Yeah. Just…cracking some numbers.” He oddly paused before continuing his work. His gaze shifted downwards to the notebook he’d been writing on for the past thirty minutes. You peeked over and saw how diligently he was answering a set of equations, but your brows furrowed  as you analyzed his solution.

“You used the wrong symbol. It’s supposed to be a plus sign. Otherwise, it’ll affect the rest of the sequence. Hence, your final answer is wrong.” You instinctively pointed out, tucking the loose strand of hair on your ear as you lean forward, pointing out his mistakes.

Scaramouche’s breath hitches at your proximity. You were so close, too close, in fact. Your scent, your warmth, your voice; he drank it all like fine aged wine.

He did his best to remain calm, seeming that it wasn’t the time to act yet. He believed that good things come to those who waits.

And so he waits. And he will continue to keep waiting.

“Hmm, is that so?” He mused, leaning back slowly, angling his face so it hovered just inches from yours. Your eyes widen at the lack of distance you both shared, so you took a step back in a panic, obviously flustered.

“My apologies, dear Sir!! I acted on impulse. You see, I also work as a tutor so I-”

You were interrupted by a hearty chuckle from the male. His laughter seemed so full of…life. It  filled the emptiness of the cafe, and his voice was sickly sweet; contrast to his taste in coffee. It caught you off guard as you looked at him endearingly with a confused expression on your face.

“Oh Y/n. What am I to do with you?” His eyes flutter open as he relieves himself from his high. You still had that dumbfounded look on your face, and Scaramouche couldn't help but adore you despite that. 

“Pardon?”

“Stop apologizing. I appreciate you pointing that out. I really do.” Scaramouche softly smiled before letting out a defeated sigh.

“To be honest, I’m not so good with numbers. I’ve always struggled with them as a child. But my exams are up soon, and I want to do well.” He started flipping through the pages of his notebook while spinning his pencil on his slender fingers skillfully with a free hand.

Now that you get a good look at them—he had really pretty hands. Was that weird to say? You’re just admiring beauty, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, right? You were listening to Scaramouche talk about his troubles, indeed. But guess where your eyes were glued on?

His fingers. 

Oh how you wished you were that pencil right now.

Oh how you wished he’d use those same exact fingers to trail feather-like touches on your ski-

“Regardless of how hard I study or try out these practice exercises, I just can’t seem to get it right. I’m doomed.” Scaramouche’s expression sullened. He let out another sigh, but you could sense the mental exhaustion he felt from his actions. 

You suddenly felt ashamed of yourself. How could you have such lewd thoughts about him while he was right in front of you, clearly struggling with his academics?! You felt like a horny teenager. Heck, maybe ‘sinner’ was the more appropriate term for you, given by how you let your mind explore unholy exploits of the man who sat before you. 

You needed to make it up to him somehow. You did owe him for helping you get home safe the other night.

“What if I tutor you?”

The words were out before you could second guess them. They were casual and simple, but the effect it had was anything but. 

Scaramouche’s head whipped in your direction as though he had been waiting an eternity to hear them. A peculiar light flashed in his indigo eyes, catching the cafe’s glow like a polished gem, one that shimmered with something unnameable.

“Would you?!” he asked, voice laced with sudden hope. His hands found yours with startling ease, enclosing them with his own as he straightened in his seat. He looked at you with a gaze so wide and eager, so innocent it was almost childlike if not for the feverish gleam swimming in his irises.

You hoped, prayed even, that he did not notice the faint blush that crept up your cheeks like ivy scaling a wall.

He did, though.

And he relished it. He drank in the sight like a parched man discovering water, letting the soft red blooming on your skin carve its mark deep into his mind.

You pulled out a chair and settled beside him, the legs scraping lightly against the floor. “Today isn’t a busy day, so I can help you now if you’d like.”

You offered him a soft smile, expecting a quick reply. But none came.

His attention was on you—so deeply on you, in fact, it sent a chill down your spine. And yet... you felt as if he wasn’t really there.

His gaze moved slowly and deliberately, trailing from your left eye down to your lips before lifting to your right eye again. The air grew heavy; too hot, too still. You felt frozen under that stare, as if his eyes had turned into hands and were now grazing over your skin.

Then, before you could say his name—before you could remind him of the task at hand—he moved.

His hand slithered onto yours, snaking up your arm like silk. He caressed your fingers with an intimacy that made your breath catch, then let his elbow rest lazily on the table. He leaned in, chin propped on one curled knuckle, a picture of ease and control.

“I’d love that, Y/N,” he said, voice low, nearly a whisper; like smoke curling from a lit match.

You cleared your throat, gently prying his hand away from yours as to set a boundary of some sort so that you two don’t get carried away, especially since you’re in public. 

He did not say a word in response, but his eye twitched. Just for a second though as it was barely noticeable. But it was there; a flicker of something sour beneath the surface. He forced a smile so convincingly gentle that you nearly believed it.

He was good at that—performing. And you? You were so good at falling for it. He keeps repeating the same mantra in his head, “Good things come to those who wait.” almost like a vice just to keep him sane.

He thought you were naive, foolish even. But it made you all the more precious. He had no issue with that. Not at all. If anything, it was adorable. What does bother him though is your attempt to deny him of his ‘rightful’ access to you, but he brushes that to the side for now. You had so much to learn, and he was just getting started with you.

You spent the next couple of hours tutoring him. To your surprise, he picked things up incredibly fast. You wondered how someone who once claimed to struggle with even the basics now solved problems like second nature.

Maybe you were just really good at teaching? You suddenly felt proud of yourself.

That couldn't be far from the truth, though.

Scaramouche said that his exams were in a week, so you generously offered to tutor him until his big day. He expressed his thanks by treating you to meals—always casual, always under the guise of study sessions. You were not strict with him, though you made sure he remained focused. There were several learning methods that you tried experimenting on together to see what works for him best, and you found out that he’s more of a visual learner. 

Good thing you were forbearing and kind enough to solve the equations with him. 

So, you adapted.

You made notes for him using different colors to emphasize key points. You added tiny doodles beside each step to help him visualize the process. You even made flashcards—numbers, equations, tricks. You went the extra mile. And he noticed.

Oh, how he noticed.

Your ‘star student’ was in awe with how much effort you’re putting up for him. It’d be an understatement to say that it…riled him up in a way that excited him to a degree.

Scaramouche grew addicted to your company. He dropped by the cafe daily, always ordering his usual, always staying just a bit longer than necessary. While you taught, his gaze lingered—unrelenting, hungry. You never quite understood the weight of his stares. You chalked it up to appreciation. Gratitude? perhaps.

But it was neither of those things at all.

With the exam date nearing, you and Scaramouche studied together but in an overtime fashion. He had two days left. Fortunately, he didn’t try anything funny with you. He hadn’t been flirting with you nor had he been overly touchy with you. He was well-behaved and you admired his sincerity in putting his all towards his studies.  

That is, until your curiosity got the best of you and you asked—

“Ah, right… how old are you again?” You broke the silence.

He answered without hesitation, eyes glued to the worksheet. “Twenty-two.”

“Oh… I see.” You didn’t expect that all. He looked a tad bit younger than that.

“Why ask?” He finally set his pen down, cerulean orbs locking with yours.

“Nothing, just curious,” you shrugged, twirling your pen between your fingers.

“Well then, how about you?” he pressed, watching you now.

“Nineteen! Turning twenty soon,” you replied brightly, holding up a peace sign.

He scoffed softly, something fond and amused in the sound. He knew that already, of course. But asking played into the illusion.

“You’re a baby,” he teased, reaching out to pinch your cheek between his fingers.

“Wha- stop that! I’m not!” you pouted, gently slapping his hand away. “We’re only two years apart!”

“Sure, baby. Whatever floats your boat.” He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. You, however, weren’t having any of this at all. Sure, you quite liked being teased by him like this, but now’s not the time.

“You’re insufferable,” you grumbled, punching his arm lightly.

He leaned toward you again, mischief dancing in his gaze. “I’m kidding~ Loosen up, won’t you, baby?” That does it. You stood up, snatching your bag with a huff.

“Hey- where are you going?” His eyes widen as he sees you stand up and grab your bag. Before you could turn your heel to leave, he desperately reached out for your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. “I’ll stop, alright?” Scaramouche pulled you gently back to your chair. He looked like a lost puppy. You eyed him cautiously before he spoke again.

“The expressions you make are adorable. I couldn’t help it.” He gently pulled you back into your seat, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in soft, repetitive strokes. Your ears flushed a deep red. 

Your face was too easy for him to read.

“Was he like this with everyone?” You wondered, quietly, if he touched all his friends this way. If they all received this kind of affection. If he meant anything by it at all. Your mind began to waver as you felt disheartened by the possibility that all of this might just be a casual thing for him.

You tried telling yourself over and over that you shouldn’t be deluded into thinking that he’s trying to imply anything. Some people are just naturally flirty, and maybe he fits that category.

“Please forgive this poor academic victim,” he said with a dramatic pout, lifting your hand to his lips. His breath brushed your skin, and then—barely—a kiss. Your eyes widen and you immediately pull away in a flustered daze.

Alas, how could you not feel anything when he acts like this?! That face of his isn’t helping either.

“Yeah, yeah. Stop being so touchy!! Geez…” 

“Ahem.” A voice interrupted, cold and firm. Both your heads snapped toward the source. You recognized that voice from anywhere. It was Diluc.

He stood behind the counter, arms crossed. “I hate to break it to you both, but there’s a storm coming. We’re almost at closing time.” Diluc spoke, his tone monotonous yet holding authority.

“Shit,” you muttered, glancing at the wall clock. Nine o’clock already?! You apologized quickly, bowing to your boss before hurrying to pack your things.

“It’s fine,” Diluc sighed. “There wasn’t much to do today anyway.” Scaramouche sent him a blank, disapproving look; he was mainly upset that the red-head ruined the moment Scaramouche shared with you, but Diluc didn’t care. He was too tired to play games.

“Just go home, you two. Be safe.” He waved as he turned his back on both of you, heading to the door. You quickly grab your bag and urge Scaramouche to follow right after you. Shortly enough, you headed out the cafe in which Diluc followed after. He made sure to lock the door before heading home.

As he turned toward the back to lock up, you called out, “Thanks boss! Stay safe!” He waved a hand in acknowledgment without turning around.

The air outside was thick with impending rain. You could smell it—humid and electric. Luckily, the rain hasn’t started pouring yet, so you better get moving.

“A storm’s coming, huh…” Scaramouche muttered. You quickly shift your attention to him, coming up with a solution. “We could go back to our place to continue the study session? We’re practically neighbors so it won’t be much of a hassle.” 

His eyes light up with a wide smile forming on his lips. “That sounds like a great idea.” 

As you both began your journey home, you couldn’t help but notice how great things have been for you lately.  Ever since you offered to tutor Scaramouche with his studies, he’d been accompanying you on the way home consistently. With him around, you don’t feel a lingering presence from afar eyeing you like death-row meal waiting to be devoured. You feel safe around him, and although his company gets overwhelming from time-to-time due to his advances, you can’t help but feel a warm, tingling sensation in your chest. 

Perhaps your stalker got intimidated by Scaramouche so they decided to fuck off?

You’d like to think so. Otherwise, why else would they stop?

With this man by your side, you felt the weight on your shoulders get lifted. Conversation with him doesn’t feel forced nor difficult either; it just comes naturally. 

It was indeed peculiar how he practically showed up out of nowhere. Speaking of which, that reminded you of the mental note you made to yourself a couple of days ago.

“Oh, by the way. Since when did Itto move out of your unit?” Scaramouche’s expressions blanked out.

“Itto?” He asked, confused.

Strange…it’s almost as if he doesn’t know him. Maybe Itto moved out long ago and they never crossed paths at all.

But this was so odd. You weren’t really close with that blockhead, but he was friendly. So friendly that he’d say goodbye if he needed to leave or move out. He was a very bright and energetic man; some tenants who live in your complex would even say that he’s a big himbo. 

You would’ve loved to be friends with him if given the chance, but you only spoke casually to each other whenever you catch each other by the hallway.

“Itto…? The guy who lived in your unit before you? The renowned gym rat in our apartment complex?” You explained, your eyes furrowing. Scaramouche paused for a moment, a soft “tsk” escaping his lips.

“So that was his name…” He whispered, but not audible enough for you to hear.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch what you said.” You prompted, looking at him expectantly. 

“Oh… I don’t really know him. The unit was emptied out and was up for grabs when I checked it out.” Scaramouche said, eyeing the expression on your face carefully.

“I see. What a shame…” You sighed, putting your hands to the front pockets of your high-waisted jeans. 

“How so?” His voice was low, unreadable. You answered him with no hesitation though.

“Nothing. It’s just I wasn’t able to properly befriend him. It’s unlike him to just leave like that too.” You huffed before continuing. “Oh well. People are fickle.” You smiled softly.

“I wonder how Kazuha’s doing right now…” You mumbled, barely above a whisper. Your mind starts wandering to the autumn-loving freak that you considered your friend. It was also unlike him to leave abruptly too, but you trust that he’ll come back once things die down.

Despite your soft murmurs, the dark indigo-haired man heard everything. He shortly freezes as he hears that putrid name escape your delicate, plump lips. His eye twitches, hating how that ‘Kazuha’ bastard still manages to slip in your mind despite his efforts to keep you distracted.

They’re insects—all of them. They’re nothing but lowly bugs destined to be squashed. The light you embody in your soul was so luminous; the sun would be envious of how you could effortly outshine it’s being. It’s no wonder these pathetic moths flock to you like undeserving dogs in heat. You may not realize it yet, but the world is full of horrible hypocrites. It’s been so harsh to you yet you still stand so tall and proud, still so optimistic about life.

Scaramouche detested life to it’s very core, yet you were the epitome of living. Being around you is like breathing fresh air with morning dew, and he just can’t get enough of you.

He refuses to keep sharing you with the world.

“We’re here.” You speak out, breaking his train of thought. “You okay buddy? You got quiet all of a sudden earlier.” Your voice was laced with worry as your eyebrows slant in concern. Scaramouche’s body felt an electric jolt shock through his body seeing how worried you were for him. He felt shivers run down his spine with perversion.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Just thinking about my exam due in two days.” He lied. An obvious lie. But you wouldn’t know that.

“Hey, you’ve been working real hard! I’m sure you’ll do great!” You reassure the man, patting him a few times on his shoulder while raising a thumbs up. He tittered at your gesture. 

“Anyhow, my place or yours?” You asked, looking both at your doors. 

“Yours.” That was fast.

“Oh, alright then. Let me just grab my keys…” Scaramouche eyed you intently as you rummaged through your bag. His eyes were dead set on the keys you were holding, which you used to unlock the door.

You flicked the light switch on as the door closed behind you with a soft click, your fingers instinctively turning the lock into place. The quiet hum of your modest apartment welcomed the two of you in, along with the familiar scent of fabric softener and faint traces of vanilla air freshener that lingered in the air.

Scaramouche took a deep breath while you weren't looking, trying to engulf your scent as much as he could.

“Welcome to my humble abode!” you chirped, trying to mask your nervousness with enthusiasm. You shrugged off your bag and set it down on the kitchen counter, toes wiggling out of your sneakers with practiced ease. You slid into your house slippers, glancing apologetically at your guest. “I don’t have an extra pair, sorry…”

Scaramouche offered a gentle smile, brushing it off. “It’s fine. I can manage with socks,” he said, giving your back a comforting pat as he slipped off his shoes and stepped in. His gaze scanned the space, cataloguing every little detail like he was trying to memorize it. Your space. Where you lived. Where you slept. Where you were most…vulnerable.

He watched, intrigued, as you scurried about the apartment. You moved quickly, fluffing up two floor cushions by the small wooden coffee table before darting to the fridge to retrieve a cold pitcher of water. Two mismatched mugs followed, their ceramic clinks echoing softly in the silence. You looked adorably frantic, like a little hostess trying her best to impress.

“Wow. Look at you being all hospitable,” he teased, an amused lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes. “Just sit already,” you quipped, plopping yourself down on one of the cushions with a soft puff of air. “Didn’t see the point in buying dining chairs since it’s just me here. I’d offer you the study desk, but it’s kinda cramped.” You looked away shyly, fiddling with your fingers.

Scaramouche’s hand reached over and tousled your hair, surprisingly gentle. “You’re overthinking it. This is fine. Really,” he reassured you. The brief interaction sent a whaft of his scent to your nose. He smelled so good, and it made your heart race.

You nodded and gestured for him to lay out his notes. “Well, anyway. Where were we?”

He began unpacking the materials he brought, but something above caught his eye. His gaze shifted, locking onto a familiar pack of Oreos that sat tauntingly atop your fridge. It was a subtle glance, but you caught it.

“You want some?” you offered casually.

His head whipped back toward you, eyes wide and almost childlike. “Can I? I haven’t had those in forever.” There was a gleam of innocent excitement in his eyes, and it made you laugh.

“Of course,” you said, getting up with a grin. You grabbed the pack and set it down between you two, sinking back into your cushion with a soft bounce.

“Thanks…” he murmured, cheeks dusted with a faint pink hue. His fingers hovered momentarily over the pack before he selected one. You watched him with a small smile. He looked oddly peaceful, like all the sharp edges in his personality had been filed down for the moment. That sweet image was quickly interrupted.

“I can feel you staring,” he muttered, eyes flicking toward yours mischievously.

You flinched. “I was NOT doing such a thing!”

He smirked, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, grabbing an Oreo of your own. “Let’s focus, yeah?”

As you flipped through his workbook with your left hand, you nibbled on the cookie in your right. But that’s when you felt it again—that stare. Heavy and all-consuming, like it was peeling layers off you. You tried not to look at him, but his gaze lingered, trailing the movement of your lips with every bite you took. It felt ravenous; starved, even.

But you brushed it off. Maybe he was just hungry.

“So, where were we…” You scanned the pages, humming as your index finger dabbed at your tongue before flicking to the next sheet. A casual, unconscious motion—one that made Scaramouche’s breath hitch in his throat. Scaramouche gulped, eyes now glued to your lips. You had no reason to do whatever you just did, and even if you did, Archons, that was so hot. 

He could hardly breathe.

Your lips. Your tongue. The way your teeth sank into the cookie. Everything was tormenting him. You weren’t doing it on purpose, but that only made it worse. You were oblivious to how tightly strung his nerves were, how hard it was to stay composed.

He doesn’t even think he can focus on studying at this point, but for your sake, he’ll try to.

You leaned closer, brushing shoulders with him. “Looks like you finished the worksheets I gave you earlier. Impressive,” you said, taking the last bite of your Oreo. There were crumbs that clung to your fingertips, and without thinking, you brought them to your mouth, licking and sucking them clean before grabbing a red pen to mark his papers.

Scaramouche stared. Not a word escaped his lips.

He sat still as stone, letting you check over his work with a red pen while his mind reeled. His gaze wandered to your room as a means to try and distract himself;  your personal things and the faint scent of your shampoo wafting toward him. He could picture you in every corner, curling up in that blanket on your soft bed, brushing your hair in front of the vanity, stepping out of the shower, skin dewy and damp-

His eyes trailed back to you. He noticed everything, from the way you smiled quietly when you were pleased, to the way your chest rose and fell with steady breath, and to the way your hair framed your face so carelessly.

His jaw clenched. He was here. Here, in your space, alone with you. With just a thin layer of self-control which separated his desire from a disaster.

He waited so long for this moment. But he had to make sure the timing was right.

“Good things come to those who wait…”

He repeated it in his head like a mantra, trying to bury the heat simmering in his gut.

Right. He needed to wait longer to bear good fruit. If he does anything rash, he’d soil his plan of marking you as his completely. He musn’t act irrationally.

Although you were both technically preoccupied with the facade of studying, that paper-thin excuse was crumbling under the weight of his real intentions. He was supposed to be the ‘student’. Supposed to be learning something—anything—but the only thing echoing in his head was the shape of your mouth and the heat that pooled low in his gut.

He couldn’t keep still when you of all people acted as his tutor. His sweet, oblivious, tempting tutor. You were so close, too close.

Your lips were parted slightly as you read his work aloud, stained faintly with cookie crumbs that clung to the corners of your smile. His gaze locked onto it, the desire to wipe them off with his thumb, or better—with his tongue, almost consuming him. And then, as if sensing his gaze, you licked your lips absentmindedly. Innocently. It sent electric jolts down his hard member. “Shit.”

He swallowed hard. Something primal cracked through his composure like lightning across a pitch-black sky.

“Good things come to those who wait…” he reminded himself once more, clinging to it as if it was his vice; but it was breaking apart under pressure, syllable by syllable.

Scaramouche clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white. It’s taking him all his remaining sanity left to not pounce on you. You weren’t openly seducing him—heck, he was sure you weren’t trying to, but that drove him mad all the more. You had no idea how bad he wishes to corrupt that feeble and naive little mind of yours right then and now. To defile you. Rip the clothing off your skin regardless of your pleas. Have you down and under his mercy, completely writhing in protest as he has his way with you. Your body eventually succumbing to both pain and pleasure while he lathers your soft skin with bruises and marks of his territorial claim over you.

Something dangerous flickers in his eyes, and his heart starts thumping loud enough for him to hear. His adrenaline spikes up, eyes trailing lower down your physique. His eyes… they weren’t his own anymore. They were consumed, flooded with a thick fog of lust that dulled everything else.

“Good things come to those who wait…” he muttered under his breath, trying to convince himself. But the tremble in his voice betrayed him.

“Fuck, I can’t take this.”

His mental state snapped.

“And~ done! Wow!” You smile to yourself, holding up his works and flipping through the pages. He managed to garner a perfect score.

“Scaramouche, good job!! You aced it!” You beamed at him like the sun, eyes finally landing on the man of honor. He locked eyes with you, but you immediately notice that something’s off.

“Is that so?” His voice came out low, rough. It scraped the air like a growl.

...Something was definitely wrong.

His entire demeanor had shifted. Sure, he was flirty in nature, but this felt different. He wasn’t the same boy you were tutoring minutes ago. His arm rested lazily on the edge of your bed, but there was nothing casual about it. The way he leaned in felt deliberate, caging. His posture dripped with purpose.

“Do you think…” he said slowly, watching every twitch of your reaction, “I can get rewarded for my hard work?”

Your eyes widened. “Um… s-sure?” you replied, hesitant, confused.

That was all the permission he needed.

A wicked grin tugged at his lips—sharp, amused, almost feral—as he plucked an Oreo from the open pack beside him. You watched, puzzled, until he pressed half of it between his teeth and gave a small, taunting wiggle. You watch his movements, a bit lost as to where this was going.

Your brain short-circuited.

He wasn’t saying anything. He was just waiting. Watching you. Daring you.

You blinked at him in disbelief, your body locked in place as heat rushed to your cheeks. The tension thickened. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. Everything he wanted was written all over his expression like a needy predator.

“I’m not sure what you want me to do…” you murmured, eyes flicking away. He leaned in closer, closing the distance. His eyes trailed down your lips, then back to your eyes. That damn triangle method that he pulled off earlier.

He was saying nothing, but he was begging—almost, from his expression alone. You weren’t that oblivious, you knew what he was trying to pull. This was like that pocky game that went viral years ago, except instead of pocky, there was an oreo patiently waiting for you to take a bite on.

You hesitate. Heart hammering through your chest as your breathing slowly becomes erratic. It didn’t seem like he’d back off any time soon.

“Let’s just get this over with…”

Your breath stuttered. You hesitated for a heartbeat, and your fingers twitched slightly on your lap before you leaned in with slow and cautious movements. Your lashes dipped, casting soft shadows beneath your eyes, and for a second, he thought time itself stilled.

He watched you like a predator in its final moments before pouncing; shoulders still, eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with anticipation. The soft rustle of fabric accompanied your subtle shift forward, the faintest hitch in your breath betraying your nerves. You were trying to be delicate, trying to avoid what you both knew was inevitable; his lips.

You just needed to bite half of the Oreo. Nothing more. It’s just a game.

But Scaramouche? He had already thrown the rulebook out the window. To hell with the pocky game or oreo game. This is all just a trick to kiss you anyway.

The moment your lips hovered close enough—so close he could feel the warm puff of your breath against his skin—he tilted his head forwards. And then it happened. It finally happened. Your lips faintly brushed against each other, just a whisper of contact, yet enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes flew wide and you were stunned in place, you were about to pull away when his brows furrowed; he gripped your waist tightly with both hands and pulled you closer, enveloping your mouth with his as he leaned in for an actual kiss.

You melt under his touch as he steals your first, and as much as you’d like to rip away from his rather forceful grip, you revel under him submissively. He kissed you fervently as if he’d been a doomed wanderer finally granted water after tiring days of traversing through the sahara desert. 

His hand snaked down your ass, circling around it’s plumpness before giving it a big slap. You gasp from the pain as your cheeks recoil, but you could feel him smirking against your lips as he plunges his tongue in your mouth, exploring it’s warmth as he entangles it with your own. 

The kiss was sloppy and full of need. It was evident that you’ve never been intimate with anybody in your life, and you were ashamed because you felt like you couldn’t perform up to his expectations.

But Scaramouch could care less, he could be your tutor now. Teach you all about sex for all he cares. Or he could just fuck you senseless to train you into his own personal cum dumpster; his obedient slut that needs nothing but his cock. Yeah, that sounds way better.

You could still faintly taste the oreo in your mouth. Fortunately, you didn’t choke on it as you had to immediately consume it while he made out with you. 

But you were running out of air.

He tasted so sweet. And so did you. You couldn’t get enough of each other. Scaramouche sucked on your tongue, a moan escaping from your lips. He gave your ass another sharp slap before consoling it with soft caresses. He loved hearing your voice, your moans. He wanted to hear more out of you. No, he needed to hear more. 

Scaramouche lifts you up to have you straddle his lap as he trails his lips down to your neck. He nips and sucks on your nape, making you squirm as he forms hickeys on multiple spots. He growls as you unknowingly writhe against his clothed cock, grinding on it. You felt a large bulge directly in contact with your heated sex, and he could feel how wet you are even through the denim.

“Scara…mnngh…” You breathed out a whiny moan as your body betrayed you. Your hips buckled and grinded further, causing the whipped man to bury his head on your skin.

“You drive me fucking crazy, do you know that?” His mind was spiraling into the depths of a hunger that he could barely restrain. A hunger you had unknowingly fed. A hunger that begged to ruin. To devour.

You knew you shouldn’t be doing this. It felt all too foreign, but it felt so good. At this rate, something might happen between the two of you, but you haven’t fully prepared yourself for this kind of situation yet. You had to snap him out of it.

“Wait…S-stop…” You pleaded, your hands finding it’s way on his chest to pull away from his embrace. Scaramouche looked painfully displeased, his fingers threateningly tracing the outline of your pussy from the fabric. “Don’t wanna..” He whined in a low growl, shaking his head childishly.

“I’m not ready yet, Scara. Please…” You looked directly in his eyes, a frown forming on his lips. Despite the dominant display he portrayed earlier, he seemed to be considering your words. He was whimpering like a hurt puppy who had his favorite toy taken away from him, and for some reason, even though he instigated this, you felt bad for him.

However, your words eventually reached him and it grounded him back to his senses. His eyes, previously glassy with the aftershock of lust, flickered with something else now: Restraint. His brows creased as he cursed himself internally, arms pulling you in for a hug that felt a little too tight, too urgent. As if he was clinging to the last strand of control he had left.

“I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” His voice trembled, raw with guilt. Or at least, it sounded like guilt.

You couldn’t see his face. You only felt the weight of his embrace and the pounding of your heart as you shakily returned it, offering a soft pat on his back for reassurance.

“I-it’s okay… I’m just inexperienced, that’s all.” You murmured. “And… well, that was all too sudden—” your voice quieted, almost a whisper, “you stole my first kiss…” You trailed off, your eyes fixated on your floorboards.

The silence was heavy before Scaramouche gasped, recoiling as if you’d struck him. “Really?! Ugh… I’m such an idiot- I am so sorry!!” he blurted, voice frantic and in distraught. You moved to soothe him, cooing softly, trying to reassure him that it wasn’t the end of the world.

But behind that shaken voice, his face was blank, dare I say cold. It was all a rehearsed act; he wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t see you, but was studying you; every twitch of your brow, the way your mouth tilted when you tried to comfort him, the exact shade of red that bloomed across your cheeks.

You fell for it, too. Pity welled in your chest. You forgave him without a second thought, even when you remembered how rough he’d just been. His hands were firm and unyielding. His kiss was greedy and invasive. It should’ve frightened you, and it did. But instead, your knees had nearly buckled. It was scary… yet shamefully thrilling.

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you. Your mind starts replaying the steamy makeout session that you two shared just a few minutes ago. You could feel your underwear, soaked. 

“N-no, it’s okay… I…” Your voice trembled as the words caught in your throat. You hesitated, thoughts tangled and heavy on your tongue. You were this close to admitting how you felt; how much you actually wanted it. However, fear and doubt swallowed your ability to speak whole. So instead, you sealed your lips shut.

Scaramouche slowly pulled away from the embrace. His arms, once tight and trembling with some kind of conflicted energy, now fell limp at his sides. His expression shifted into something soft; regretful, even. “That was truly a dick move,” he muttered. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.” His eyes finally met yours, filled with a sorrow that felt real enough to stir something in your chest.

You swallowed hard and gave him a faint nod. But inside, your mind was in chaos.

Shit… Your gaze helplessly dropped to his lips—those same lips that had just been on yours. The memory of the kiss came rushing back in vivid, dizzying detail. How he moved against you, how his hands confidently explored what you never thought you'd offer to anyone so soon. He kissed you like he knew your body better than you did. Like he owned it. Like you wanted him to.

And, may Archons help you, maybe you did.

How pathetic it was of you to stop him from continuing when in reality, you wanted more?

Would it be too late to ask him for anoth-

“I should go back to my unit,” Scaramouche said suddenly, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. He was already packing his things, movements quick and detached.

Thunder rumbled outside. It was loud, deep, and ominous. The storm had finally arrived.

“A-ah, right. Y-you should,” you stuttered, jumping to your feet in a hurry… only to trip over your own anxiety and nearly faceplant. You flailed but caught yourself just in time.

When you looked up, he was expressionless. Totally unbothered. His face didn’t betray anything—no embarrassment, no nervousness, no tension. It was as if the kiss had meant nothing to him, and that made your chest ache.

“Was I really that bad at it?” You couldn’t even kiss him back properly. What did you know about French kissing, anyway? That was your first… everything.

He rose, quiet as ever, and headed for the door. Leaning against the wall, he slipped his loafers on with casual indifference. You scanned his face for any clue; any redness, a twitch, a hint of tension in his jaw—but no. Nothing.

He looked fine. Normal. Calm. And it lowkey ticked you off.

Why were you the only one who seemed to be unraveling?

“Um…” you called out softly, your voice barely rising over the sound of the wind outside. His hand was already on the doorknob, but he froze in place. The soft clink of metal stopped abruptly as he turned his head over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he responded, voice low, casual—far too casual for someone who had just kissed you breathless minutes ago. His sharp gaze locked onto yours, and your stomach did a somersault. Your breath hitched. Heat bloomed in your cheeks and crept down your neck, warming your chest like a flickering flame.

Your heart was thundering. Louder and even more desparate, comparable to the actual thunder ringing through the storm.

“Uh-oh… maybe I do have a crush on him…” The realization struck you as if you were hit by lightning.

He tilted his head slightly, waiting. The seconds stretched thin. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“If you have nothing to say, then I’ll go ahead,” he said plainly. His tone was unreadable, almost like a mask. Then, as if sealing the end of your interaction, he dipped into a light bow and turned back toward the door, holding back his unbearable grin.

No. This couldn’t be how it ended. Not with this weird tension in the air, not when your chest felt like it was going to cave in from everything unsaid!

“W-wait!” you blurted, stumbling forward and grabbing his hand before he could twist the knob. The warmth of his skin sent a jolt through your arm. His eyes flicked down to your grip, then slowly met yours.

“Why did you kiss me?” you whispered and stared up at him, eyes wide and searching, genuine confusion and longing dripping from your expression.

For a moment, the hallway went silent. Scaramouche’s breath went to a halt, his expression twitching slightly. You didn’t notice it, but his jaw clenched in restraint. Beneath the surface, his desire for you simmered like a tightly coiled spring.

Archons, you looked so pure. So soft. So ready to be his. Your innocence was enough to make his cock twitch with interest, a shameful ache building in his gut that he didn’t bother hiding from himself. He had secretly hoped that you could see the tent forming on his trousers; a guilty pleasure of his that he’d love to indulge you with.

He bit his lower lip.

Should he come clean? Or should he come up with a petty excuse to deflect the question? Scaramouche took a deep breath before answering you head-on.

“Because I like you,” he admitted flatly, the honesty in his tone making your stomach drop. “And I wanted to kiss you. Just because.”

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in disbelief.

He… liked you?

The words echoed in your head like a broken record. Your heartbeat slammed in your ears, drowning out the sound of the thunder outside. You could barely register the way your cheeks flared with heat or how your knees locked in place.

He liked you. Scaramouche. Liked. You.

Meanwhile, the man in front of you was silently memorizing every twitch of your expression. You looked like you’d been hit by a truck, and he loved that. Loved how cute you looked when you were caught off guard. Loved that he could evoke that reaction from you and you alone. Loved how defenseless you were right now in front of him.

You opened your mouth, stammering, “You like me? But how? Why-?”

“Listen, princess…” he murmured, voice lower than before, soft and deliberate. The nickname hit you like a pebble to still water, it was subtle but it was rippling all the way through your chest. Your breath caught in your throat, unable to evoke any words. You’d never heard him call you that before. 

“I didn’t want to confess yet,” he continued, his tone steady but laced with tension. “It felt too soon. But… you deserved to know why I did what I did earlier.” He cast his eyes downward for a brief second, lips pressing into a thin line before he looked back up at you.

“And I’m sorry,” he added, voice quieter now, “for imposing myself on you. That wasn’t fair to you. I need you to know that I respect you, Y/n. Truly.” He exhaled deeply, as if the weight of those words had been sitting on his chest for hours.

Your mouth opened slightly as if you were ready to respond, to say something, anything—but your thoughts were still a storm of tangled threads. You just stood there with your heart hammering as if you’d just sprinted a mile barefoot.

You didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” he continued, his voice losing a bit of its edge, softening into something more melancholic. “In fact… I’d rather you didn’t.”

There was something heavy in the way he said it, as though he was bracing himself. “I just hope this doesn’t change everything. That we can still talk… still be us.”

Still be us. The idea alone made your pulse jump.

You wanted to speak. You wanted to stop him. But your tongue was glued to the roof of your mouth, locked in place by the overwhelming truth that had just dropped on you like a piano from a rooftop.

“Scaramouche likes me…?” The words looped in your head like a broken radio broadcast, playing on repeat until they almost lost their meaning. How was that possible? How did that happen?

"Say something... come on!!"

You remained frozen, lips parted in stunned silence, as Scaramouche took in your reaction. Or rather—your lack of one. He smirked to himself, a flicker of satisfaction dancing in his eyes. This was exactly as he predicted. You were like a deer caught in the headlights of his affection; too overwhelmed to move, too stunned to speak. It amused him more than he let on, knowing that even without a response, he already had you spiraling.

And he loved having that effect on you like a madman.

A sharp gust of wind cut through the open doorway, rustling the curtains and carrying the scent of the storm now in full swing. Thunder rumbled distantly, low and threatening, and droplets of rain had started to tap against the doorframe like impatient fingers.

He didn’t want the wind to sneak rainwater into your apartment, that would be an inconvenient mess he'd rather not leave behind. With a final glance over his shoulder, he offered you a soft, closed-lip smile. One that almost felt too gentle for someone who had just turned your entire world upside down.

“I’ll see you around, Y/n,” he said, voice calm but final. “Thanks for tutoring me, by the way. Wish me luck.”

He stepped out into the hallway, and before you could even think to stop him, the door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

For a moment, all you could hear was the storm howling outside and your own heartbeat thrashing against your ribcage.

Then your knees buckled.

You collapsed to the floor with a soft thump, your hands flying up to cover your mouth as your whole body trembled with disbelief. Your heartbeat wasn't just loud, it was deafening.

“He… He likes me back… oh my gosh…” you whispered breathlessly, as if saying it out loud would help ground you. It didn’t. It made it worse.

Your face flushed red hot as heat crawled up your neck, ears, and cheeks. You slapped both your cheeks with your palms, trying to snap yourself out of the daze, but all it did was make you squeal like a giddy teenager in the middle of a high school romcom. And then, with zero hesitation, you scrambled up from the floor and ran to your bed.

You dove in face-first and let out a high-pitched squeal into your pillow before rolling onto your back and kicking your feet in the air. Your arms flailed, fists punching the empty space around you in a chaotic blur of adrenaline and emotion.

You were smiling so hard that it started to hurt.

“I can’t believe this,” you muttered, breathless from your own excitement. “He likes me. Scaramouche likes me.”

You were practically vibrating. You didn’t know where to begin.

Part of you wanted to run out into the hall and drag him back just to scream “ME TOO!” in his face, but… the other part of you—the more logical, terrified part—knew that would be way too fast.

You had only just admitted your feelings to yourself. Confessing right now, in that exact moment, would've felt impulsive and reckless, and you didn’t even understand what he saw in you yet. What if it wasn’t real? What if he changed his mind?

What if this was all a dream? 

You pinched yourself.

It hurt.

Archons, you were not dreaming... Y/n! Get a grip!

Your thoughts spun wildly in every direction, crashing into each other like bumper cars with no brakes. Every time you tried to grab hold of one coherent idea, three more would slip through your fingers. You were mentally short-circuiting yet again, trying to make sense of it all.

No matter how tightly you curled beneath your sheets or how many times you tried to shake him from your thoughts, Scaramouche kept slipping back in, uninvited, yet entirely welcome. He lingered in your mind like a perfume on a collar, impossible to ignore. Every blink, every breath, every stuttering heartbeat drew you back to that moment.

Your eyes drifted again to the coffee table. The same spot where his hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize you—map you out, inch by inch, breath by breath. And just like a dam breaking, the entire scene replayed with vivid clarity. His lips, warm and firm, claiming yours with such desperate hunger. His fingertips, barely grazing your skin yet leaving trails of fire wherever they touched. His body, pressing you into the cushions like the space between you two was unbearable.

You squirmed on your bed, feeling uncomfortable as you rub your thighs to cast some sort of friction. You were left all hot and bothered, and all the more confused. The guy you like just made out with you, after all. And it didn’t seem like a normal makeout session, no. Archons, he was starving for you.

The way he held you like he’d never get the chance again, like you were the only supply of air in a drowning world. You weren’t just a simple ‘crush’ to him in that moment.

You were his salvation. You felt it in his kiss, in the way he gripped your waist, in the way his voice dropped just slightly when he tethered your name like it was his last prayer.

Deep down, you know you could have been fucking each others’ brains out had you not hesitated. And you hated yourself for being your own cockblocker, but it had to be done. You needed to set boundaries, you didn’t want to rush into things.

Your breath grows ragged as you undo your jeans, pulling them down before caressing your wet folds. Thoughts of earlier’s events made your pussy cry out for his name, and it ached for him terribly. You remembered how his fingers softly danced around your vagina from the fabric, how it’s ghostly touch seemed to have had a major effect towards you. 

You shouldn't be doing this but he was just so hot. You couldn't sit still.

“Scaramouche…hah…” You mew out his name as you tease your clit with your middle finger. You reimagined the steamy makeout session with him by closing your eyes and lifting your shirt up, cupping your mounds with a free hand.

Another moan escapes your lips as you slip the same finger in through your slicks. The sloshing sounds your greedy cunt made echoed in your room. Eventually, there were beads of sweat forming on your forehead due the heat your body produced.

While you were busy touching yourself to your new-found crush, your new-found crush had also been touching himself to you from the room next to yours—except he was sitting down by his desk, his eyes intently glued towards his computer’s monitor with his headphones on.

His trousers rested on the ground, he was pumping his shaft like an animal as he clicks the left button on his mouse feverently to switch to various angles of the live CCTV footages he had in your room. Scaramouche can see you pathetically touching yourself to him as if you didn't just dump him a while ago.

However, he was more than elated to have you all sprawled on the bed with your ass up, moaning for his touch. You were so good for him. So needy. So horny for him. He couldn’t be happier.

He had previously set up hidden cameras around your room while you were at work; they were small enough for you to hardly notice they were ever installed.

There was one on your ceiling just right above your bed, another neatly placed by the flower vase facing your direction on the night stand, there was also one inside your shower, and another underneath your study desk to see a full view of your legs and your clothed sex, and last but not least, his favorite angle; the camera he placed inside of your childhood teddy bear. He managed to switch out the eyes and tweaked the device to have a unique feature which the other cameras didn’t have: the zoom-in feature.

He knew he scored the jackpot when he found you touching yourself right in front of the teddy bear that he tweaked, and he relished the sight. His pumps grew sporadic as he zoomed in on your glistening cunt, wishing that it was his fingers plunging deep inside of you instead of your own. He could hear you moaning his name like a hypnotic chant of some sort, and it drove him feral.

“Y/n…fuck…ah…” He swallowed thickly, feeling a knot form in his stomach. “Mmngh…” He muffled his moan by stuffing his face with the lacy black panties that he stole from you during his previous “regular visits” inside your unit while you weren’t home. He found them in your laundry basket and took it with no hesitation after getting a whaft of your scent like the pervert he is.

“I’m gonna cum… Scara..!~ Aah…~” Scaramouche had his computer volume maxed at a hundred, so your voice managed to bleed out even though he was wearing headphones.

“That’s right… cum for me you slut…” He said in between pants, his voice rather jagged as he stroked his cock faster to match the pace of your fingers. “Such a good little slut for me…so needy for my dick aren’t ‘cha…” Scaramouche growled to himself, his head high up in the clouds as he daydreamed of feeling the insides of your pussy. He couldn’t help but imagine just how tight you’d be around him—how eager you’d be to suck him in further.

“I’m cumming…! I’m cumming~!!” He threw his head back, chasing the high with you.

“You look so good.. Want to put you in my mouth…want to lick you clean and have you begging f'more…” He was practically whimpering, feeling helpless just by thinking of you. You had him wrapped around your finger, and it was taking him all his strength to not break through your door and have his way with you right then and there.

But no, Good things happen to those who wait.

“Nngh..!~”

“Can’t... Ah… gonna fill you up with my seed… make you pregnant…” After five more angry and harsh strokes, he finally climaxed to his ‘lewd pornography’, shooting strings of his cum all over the carpet. He was too fucked out to aim it to his trash can. 

With a worn out expression on his face, he scooped a small load of his cum from the ground and drew a heart on the monitor; it was big enough to have your face in the center as he stares at your twitching body lovingly, his hands still softly caressing his hardened shaft.

You ended up passing out from exhaustion, but Scaramouche didn’t stop touching himself to you.

He muttered incoherent words of insults thrown at you, even going as far as using a pocket pussy closest to your skin color. He spent the whole night monitoring you, stroking his cock over and over as he ejaculates to your sleeping form. 

This was his nightly routine, after all.

Tonight was special though. He was finally able to get a taste of you, and it made him all the more eccentric than ever.

His ‘cool boy-next-door’ facade shattered as he was all by himself. Deep down, Scaramouche was nothing but a pathetic loser preying on the one good thing in life that he had, or rather considered to have. You may not have recognized him, but he’d known you for the past year. You didn’t even need to introduce yourself, he knew everything about you, and I mean everything.

But of course, he needed to put on a performance. He had staged everything you came to know about himself to get closer to you bit by bit.

He was sure you hadn’t even noticed it yet too, but those scrawny loan sharks that kept chasing you down have been taken care of long ago. He paid them triple the amount that you had to pay left to leave you alone for good. He was loaded; money isn’t a problem for him. 

Scaramouche may be peculiar, but he’s not an impatient man. He’s calculative and goal-driven. He believes every good deed is deserving of a reward, and a refusal to comply should always be subjected to a disciplined punishment. He didn’t just appear ‘out of the blue’. He only appeared because he made sure the timing was right for him to fully set his plan in motion. You seemed to be already smitten by him, and he was finally able to rile you up in some way—which was earlier than he expected to happen. 

However, this just speeds up the process for him. And who is he to complain when things are finally falling into place?

Chapter One

It was tiring. This repetitive lifestyle that you oh-so wanted to escape from was tedious enough with your spine breaking for almost every job you hopped onto just to make ends meet. Well, not literally of course, but you get the point.

You were a hardworking individual who already racked up a good amount of money to pay for your parents’ debt to those ruffians who called themselves loan sharks. Lucky for you though, they were generous enough to extend your deadline for six more unsolicited months. They weren’t violent with you, but they have threatened you on several occasions. It was a good thing you knew how to deal with people like that without getting yourself in trouble. You even call it an orphan’s luck to humor yourself. 

There were times when you broke down in the middle of your low-salary jobs due to the extensive pressure that your late birth-givers gave you. Indeed, you weren’t born with a golden spoon nor were you even fed with a wooden one. The only reason why your parents borrowed money from these shady people was so that they could provide for you and your school’s tuition fee even though you’ve told them many times that you were more than willing to temporarily drop out of school to help them make a living. They didn’t approve of your “genius” plan. Heck, they called you stupid for even imagining such a thing. Even still, the weight of having to deal with all of this alone for seven whole consecutive years was excruciatingly difficult, but you managed no matter what and it was all thanks to your positive outlook towards life. 

This isn’t the time for you to give up, you were born for a reason with a purpose. All you had to do right now was clear this unreasonably long hurdle before you could finally breathe and bask in the freedom that was taken from you when you were a child. You were in no position to deny the life your parents have given you as they too, worked hard to provide for you despite leaving you with a heavy burden.

You’ve come so far already though, so you just can’t give up.

You’re currently nineteen, juggling multiple part-time jobs while facing your freshman year at an Ivy League university where you recently just got a scholarship. You have no idea how you landed such a neat deal; free tuition, free food, monthly allowances, and scholar devices only to be used for school purposes. The only reason why you were able to speed up the process of paying those filthy loan sharks back was because you combined the money that you earned from working with the monthly allowance that you got from university. Because of this, you’ll be able to pay your debt back in no less than two months, which was four months earlier than the deadline given to you. 

You’ve been doing this shit for seven years after all, so you were more than relieved knowing that this was going to be over soon.

Nothing was going to stop your ongoing streak of productivity. Despite always having a jam-packed schedule, you knew how to manage your time efficiently. You dealt with it all: from being a librarian, to being a private tutor, to being a barista, to being a waitress at a local cafe, to being a dishwasher at a Chinese restaurant, to being a housekeeper, and many more. You juggled with all of these tiring works of labor but your smile and determined spirit never once faltered.

There was one thing that’s been bothering you lately though. Oftentimes, it would even keep you up at night. You couldn’t recall when it specifically started to happen, but you could remember the feeling of uneasiness and restlessness washing over you again and again as you go about your life outside your apartment. 

You don’t know how to fully describe the feeling, but wherever you went, you felt like there were prying eyes glaring at you from afar; watching, waiting. You had no idea if this was due to the migraines you got from simply working too much as you deluded yourself into thinking that this was all due to paranoia because even as you tried looking around to see if anyone was ever looking at back at you, you were only met by a wave line of people just minding their own businesses. 

You thought to yourself that maybe taking a nap at home would take your mind off of things, but even as you walked back to your apartment, there was this unsettling feeling that crept onto your shoulder; it felt as if you were exposed for walking nude on the streets with many people watching. The only difference is that you were fully clothed and that there wasn’t anyone around you.

Or so you thought.

You were able to get home safely, but your gut paired up with your paranoia and yelled at you for double-locking the door tonight. You watched way too many psychological thrillers to know that you should trust your gut especially when you start getting goosebumps over pressing matters like this, delusion or not.

And so you slept the night away, hoping that this was all due to exhaustion. 

You woke up the next day, it was a weekend. Most people call it a weekend because they usually spend their time doing leisure activities or simply just resting. You, on the other hand, can’t indulge in this privilege as you have two jobs to attend to today. You hated waking up so early for this reason, but hey, at least you didn’t have a migraine anymore!

Now that was all cleared up, you determinedly left your house, feeling pumped up and energized as ever. With the migraine gone, you assumed that you wouldn’t have what happened to you yesterday happen again. You had ample enough time to sleep, after all, so that means you will no longer suffer from being paranoid, right?

Well, that’s where you’re wrong.

You arrived at a local cafe shop where you worked as a waitress. You clocked in at seven in the morning, serving customers from left to right as they ordered either coffee or breakfast meals. You did your job diligently, but that was until you felt your inner peace being threatened yet again as you felt a shiver run down your spine. 

Today was different. It didn’t merely feel like eyes watching over you, rather it felt as if someone was in close proximity to you but you couldn’t tell from which direction, let alone who it could possibly be.

Something was telling you that whoever was boring holes into you with their eye sockets yesterday was here in this very establishment that you were in, and you were dead set on finding that prick to knock some sense into them for distracting and scaring you. But even as you prance around and try to act normal while doing your job and figuring out a possible suspect, oddly enough, there wasn’t anyone in this room for you to shift your accusations.

The only ones present were the elderly customers who frequently had their breakfast there. None of them posed a threat, they were rather harmless.

You were supposed to ignore it like you normally do, but you were really getting bothered by this. You couldn’t sit still. That’s why during your fifteen-minute break, you decided to tell your co-worker about your troubles.

“Kazuha, I’m telling you right now, someone out there has been keeping an eye on me, and it’s been making me feel paranoid lately.” You say to the barista who was brewing an iced americano as you rant to him. His gaze was fully focused on filling the cup he held with the caffeine that ran through a coffee machine, but his body was facing yours as if to say that he was listening to your rambles.

“Are you sure you’re not just overthinking this?” He says intuitively, pulling down the lever of the machine to stop it as he had the right measurement he needed before placing the cup on the side to add some finishing touches. “Yes, I’m sure!” You protested, following him as he moved from one place to another.

“This is what you get for spending your free time watching horrors and thrillers you dummy.” Kazuha lightly chuckled and smiled to himself as he finished the iced americano with full mastery. “Order 14? Your iced americano is ready.” He announced briefly over the counter, ringing the bell beside him two times to catch the customers’ attention. 

A young woman with pink hair that went past her hips bowed down politely at Kazuha before taking what she ordered back to where she sat with a purple-haired lover.

“First of all, it’s called psychological thriller! It’s different.” You pouted, earning a playful scoff from the male as he leaned on the counter with one hand, his other hand placed on his hip. He looked at you with an arched brow as he said, “Mhm. Sure. But has it ever occurred to you that maybe you just needed to let loose and let yourself breathe for a bit?” 

“What?” You looked at him questioningly before continuing, “I’ve been doing this for years, only now has this ever happened to me. I just want to be sure, you know…” You trail off, lightly rubbing your arm with your free hand in anxiousness, feeling your thoughts corrode you as you feel embarrassed for showing your vulnerability to him. Kazuha’s eyes keenly observed you as he noticed your body language, which made him let out a sigh. The platinum-blonde male walked over to you before placing one hand on your shoulder and the other on your back, patting it as a form of comfort.

“Hey… everything is going to be okay, alright?” He cooed as he tried to relax your tense muscles.

“What if the loan sharks are behind this? What if they got impatient?? What if they kidnap me and make me do hard labor to pay them back??” Your mouth blabbered on and on as you cited the possibilities that could elicit from your assumption. Kazuha was quick to shut you up though. 

“Ah-ah, we’re not going to do this today.” He hushed you by placing his index finger on your lips, amber eyes locking with yours.

“Listen, you’ve been paying them with the amount you’ve mustered over the past few years annually. You always stayed true to your deadline. And besides, they offered to give you six more months to pay it all back once and for all; there’s no reason for them to be stalking you, nor do I think there’s anyone who’d ever do such a thing to you.” He reassured you, hands not leaving your back as he gently pats it.

“You’ve lived a low profile all these years, but you’re a well-respected individual at the very least, so don’t think about it too much, yeah?” He smiled gently at you, eyes still not leaving yours.

“You’re…you’re right.” You sighed in defeat. “Thank you, I needed to hear that.” You smiled warmly at Kazuha, looking up slightly as he was a few inches taller than you.

“Don’t mention it, dummy.” He ruffled your hair which made you whine. “Stop!!” you said as you tried to take his hands off your hair. “Now it’s all ruined.” You pouted as you tried to flatten your hair out again, earning a light laugh from the male. 

“Give me your phone.” The platinum-blonde male prompts, extending his empty hand as if he was expecting something.

“What? Why should I?” You looked at him cautiously before he rolled his eyes. “Just give it to me, I won’t steal it or anything.” You rolled your eyes before unlocking the device and handing it over to him. He shuffled through a few clicks and swipes before typing something. 

“If ever anything comes up, or if you merely need a second voice to ease your worries, you’re free to call me with this number.” He says as he hands you back your phone. You retrieve it dumbfoundedly as you look at what he put on your contacts.

“Kazu with a maple leaf emoji huh…” You read aloud, giggling lightly seeing as how he put his own number on your contacts.

“What? Do you have a problem with the emoji I put?”

“No, no. I just found it cute, that’s all” You smiled at the man, to which he turned away to hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks. “If you say so.” He mumbles.

Thanks to his reassurance, you were able to resume your work with fewer worries. It was a good thing Kazuha was there to keep you in check. Had he not been there, you would’ve spiraled and broken down, but all’s well ends well.

You went back to deal with your mundane job until twelve in the afternoon before heading to your next job as a housekeeper, bidding farewell to the warmhearted man who stayed behind to tend to more customers.

It was a Saturday, and your weekends were usually spent serving as a waitress at the cafe in the mornings whereas you do housekeeping in the afternoon. You left the establishment in a hurry since you didn’t want to be late, unbeknownst to the looming figure no longer focusing his attention on you.

He watched from afar, glaring at the platinum-blonde male, whispering incoherent words to himself as his rage furthered when he saw the man who cunningly made advances towards you through the windows of the cafe flash that ridiculous smile—the same smile he flashed at you—at a customer.

His blood boiled with rage; he was threatened by this consistent character in your life. He wanted him out of your sight and his.

Luckily enough, you arrived just in time for your next work. Your current customer was an old lady who hired you as she couldn’t clean her own abode due to her age. You kindly accommodate her and clean every spot in her house. It took you about five hours to finish though as there were a lot of dirty spots that needed critical attention, but you didn’t mind it because she paid you a hefty sum once you were done. 

It was currently 6 pm. You bid farewell to your endearing client before heading off to the narrow streets on the way back to your apartment complex. The sun had already set, and the sky transitioned to a darker hue as night fell. It was a silent walk on the way home, and the cold whispers of the wind made you shiver slightly while the hooting of the owls could be evidently heard throughout the empty and erie streets. 

The only thing that kept you safe right now was the lamp posts on the side of each block, providing you warmth and guidance as to where you’re going. 

To your delight though, you no longer felt like you were being watched. Your gut wasn’t yelling at you with full-blown intensity that an unknown anomaly was preying on you like a defenseless lab rat being exposed to a venomous snake. 

“Maybe it was all thanks to Kazuha’s reassurance…” You thought out loud, a smile unconsciously forming on your lips as you recall the way he reassured you earlier.

You took out your phone from the pocket of your jeans and opened your contacts. Sure enough, Kazuha’s number was there. 

You: hey, it’s y/n. im almost home. i just wanted to thank you for earlier, it helped me a lot ^__^

You: you were right btw HAHAHA i was just overthinking it :p

You waited for him to reply as you watched where you were going. You had to take two more turns before arriving at your destination. As far as you know, Kazuha’s time out was at five in the afternoon, so he should be done with his work by now. Perhaps he was preoccupied with doing something?

With that in mind, you finally got home and inserted your key before unlocking the door and entering the studio-type room you lived in. You set your belongings on the table before grabbing some pajamas in your drawer so that you can change your clothes in the bathroom after taking a shower. 

Just as you got in though, the screen of your phone vibrated as it lit up, showing a new notification from your message application.

Kazu 🍁: told you so HAHAHA no need to thank me! its the least i can do for you :].  see you at work tomorrqssdfrur3wrwgvq324oi89t

After thirty minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom with a towel twisted on your hair. You were in your cat pajamas. 

You grabbed your phone from the table before heading to your room where you plopped yourself on the bed. You turn your phone on again to see the notification that Kazuha has replied, but his reply makes you furrow your brows in confusion.

Kazu 🍁 unsent a message at 7:49 pm.

You slide your phone downwards to check the time. It was 7:52 pm. It was odd enough that he sent those messages just as you got in the shower but deleted them as soon as you got out. 

“Huh… he deleted his message…” You mumbled in confusion. After staring at your chat for a short while, you finally decided to message him again.

You: what did you delete omg i just got out of the shower T__T

You stared blankly at your screen, waiting for his reply. You saw a chat bubble appear from his side. He was typing something, but the bubble kept disappearing and reappearing. This went on for five more minutes.

You: helLOooOo earth to kazu?

You sighed, seeing that he still hadn’t replied. You were about to turn your phone off again as you grew impatient, but he finally said something.

Kazu 🍁: Sorry about that, it was my cat. It got to my phone and sent random keyboard smashes hahaha.

Kazu 🍁: Anyhow, did you get home safely?

“But Kazuha doesn’t like cats…” You whispered to yourself, brows furrowing further in confusion.

You: I did actually! also, I thought you didn’t like cats, kazu? what's with the change of heart? :o

There it was again. There was a long pause before he replied. 

Kazu 🍁: I decided to conquer my fears and adopt one. They aren’t so bad after all. :)

Kazu 🍁 sent a nyancat sticker.

You giggled at his text, believing his words.

You: that's good to hear then! what breed did you get? 

Kazu 🍁: Ah, I got a calico cat. Anyhow, sorry. I gtg. Take care ^^

You: oh alright, see you at work tomorrow! :D 

And with that, the conversation ended.

Kazuha did mention how he usually got busy around this time at night to focus on university stuff as he, too, was a working student; so you just shrugged it off, thinking that he probably had to cut the conversation short because of that reason.

You stood back up from bed and did your nightly routine. Just like Kazuha, you accomplished your pending homework for university. It was a productive night filled with studying and presentation-making. 

Time zoomed by as you had your nose in the books. Before you knew it, midnight had struck, which triggered the alarm clock you set to ring annoyingly to remind you that it'd bed time. You got in your covers and turned off the lamp on your bedside table before tucking yourself in and falling asleep.

The sun hit your face and you woke up, feeling refreshed as ever.

You were kind of looking forward to this day because you were going to see Kazuha once again. It wasn’t because you liked him romantically or anything, it was merely because he was the closest thing you had as a “friend”.

Nothing from today can stop you from smiling!

“Kazuha? He didn’t show up today.” Diluc bluntly said, tying his hair up into a ponytail before wrapping an apron on his waist to fill in for Kazuha’s spot.

Your smile immediately fell. 

“What? Maybe he’s just late.” You reasoned with the owner.

“He was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago but he didn’t show up. You understand our protocol now, don’t you?” Diluc sighed, his gaze sending imaginary knives towards your direction.

“Yes, sir…” You mumbled, avoiding his gaze. 

“Good. Now get back to work. We have new faces around here. Try to hook them and turn them into regulars, yeah?” He asked briefly before setting up the needed equipment. 

“Yes, sir.” You replied curtly as you grabbed your phone from your pocket to message Kazuha once again.

You: i didn’t know you weren’t coming today, hope you’re doing okay!!

“Y/n. I thought I made myself clear?” He sighed and rubbed his temples. 

“Get. Back. To. Work. Enough stalling with your phone. Today’s a busy day.” The red-head said in frustration, which made you yelp at his tone and salute to him before responding, “Sir yes sir!!”

You understood why Diluc was stressed. He was supposed to tend to the bar to work on his new wine experiment, but right now, he was stuck with coffee making to fill in for Kazuha’s spot since he was nowhere to be seen. 

You hurriedly put on your apron and grabbed a small notebook and pen before walking over to a few tables to take down their orders. Everything was going smoothly. You’ve worked with Diluc before and your synchronization was rather great so you were able to get things done efficiently. 

Some time has passed, and the small bell placed by the entrance of the cafe’s door lightly jingled. You didn’t see who entered since you were preoccupied with taking the order of a regular named Barbara, but you did sense that the new customer sat on the table across hers.

From your peripheral vision, you saw him raising his hand as a signal to call you over as he scanned the menu.

After punching her order on the counter, you quickly head towards his way, his back facing yours. He had dark indigo hair styled in a neat jellyfish cut. He wore a black sleeveless turtleneck that compressed his figure with a white mesh cardigan that hung on one side of his shoulder while the other draped over his arm. 

“Welcome! What may I get you, sir?” You beamed at the man with your usual ecstatic tone, pen and paper in hand, waiting for his response. He didn’t spare you a glance as you talked since he was still scanning the menu. 

“Yeah. Can I get an eggs benedict?” He says, finally turning his head towards yours. You stare at him in awe before jotting down his order. 

He was awfully pretty. His voice wasn’t exactly deep either, but for some reason, you felt as though it held authority. It was soothing to hear nonetheless

He had piercings on his ear, and one had a dangling earring of a black cross. You noticed that he also wore a few rings on his fingers. 

“Ahem...” He chuckled lightly, snapping you out of your trance. Your quickly ground yourself back to reality, “O-one eggs benedict, got that.” You stuttered as you avoided eye contact with him, quickly writing down his order. You could've sworn you saw a smirk curl onto those pretty lips of his.

Wait, what?

“I’d like to get a cappuccino as well. Make it dark, no sugar.” He says while putting down the menu, resting his hand on his chin as he places his elbow on the elbow, eyes focused on yours.

“Noted.” You say while writing down his extra order. You refused to look at him in the eye becausee you felt embarrassed since he noticed you oggling him earlier. You swore you didn’t mean to, you were just checking out his fashion sense, that's all. Haha. Hahaha..

“Could you repeat my order?” The man mused, trying to get your attention. 

“Very well. One eggs benedict and one cappuccino. Dark, no sugar.” You repeated his order as requested, and he hummed in approval.

“Great. Thanks,” He paused, his gaze lowering to the name tag proudly placed on your chest. “Y/n.” He rolled your name out in a subtle but sultry tone, sending shivers down your spine. His voice sounded oddly attractive and it suited him to an extent. You began to wonder if he was a celebrity or a streamer of some sort.

“Your order will be ready in less that fifteen minutes. Please don’t hesitate to raise your hand when you need anything else.” You say politely, bowing in 45 degrees. 

You didn’t notice your cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as you returned to the counter to punch in that pretty customer’s order. Diluc picked up on the smile that unconsciously formed on your lips.

His eyes trailed to the dark-haired man that was looking rather longingly at you, but he quickly averted his gaze as soon as they locked eyes.

“Hey, do you know him?” Diluc asked, cutting through your train of thought as you prepped a cappuccino behind the bar.

“Who?” you asked, your focus still on the espresso machine hissing away. Diluc tilted his head slightly to gesture in the man’s direction.

You turned your head and saw him; still sitting at the same spot, still breathtaking. He was staring out the window now, hands folded politely on the table. He looked composed. Too composed, but you couldn’t get a good reading on his facial expression at all.

“Ah…no,I don’t…” You murmured, your gaze lingering on him longer than it should.

“Is that so?” Diluc mused, putting his hands into his pockets. “He’s been looking at you for a while now. Thought he was like your lover or something.”

“I don’t have a lover. I’m single.” The words slipped out before you realized how quickly you'd said them.

“Hey, watch it, you’re gonna overspill the-!”

“MY APOLOGIES!!” You yelped as you dart your focus back to the frothing milk. 

“Ms. Y/n! It’s not like you to get so distracted!” Diluc scolded, clearly agitated. You could only throw your weight into a whirlwind of apologies and frantic 45-degree bows. Your back was starting to protest from how often you were doing it today.

Eventually, eggs benedict and cappuccino in hand on a tray, you approached the man.

“Here you go, sir. Apologies for taking a while.” 

“Scaramouche.” He leaned his body forward, placing both his elbows on the table as he rested his chin gently on his knuckles. 

“Pardon?” You blinked a couple of times.

“It’s my name. Scaramouche.” His lips curled into a small, pleasant smile; but his eyes didn’t reflect it. There was no light in them, only something eerie and bottomless. You swallowed the unease creeping up your throat and brushed it off.

“Well… enjoy your meal, Sir Scaramouche!” You smiled politely, retreating to your station before your eyes could linger again.

You tried to focus on the rest of your shift without trying to get drawn-into Scaramouche’s visuals, but every so often, your gaze drifted to him and each time, he was still there, like a portrait painted in real time, sipping his cappuccino with unnatural stillness. To say that you liked his face was an understatement; he was your type and it’s been a while since you’ve felt this way. You’re sure that Diluc sensed this too.

A few more hours have passed, and your shift has ended. Scaramouche was still in the cafe, but he seemed to be focusing on his work. The cappuccino you served him earlier was still alive and breathing. He only took a few sips every ten minutes or so.

As you clocked out the cafe and left in a rush to head over to your next job, Scaramouche’s eyes discretely followed your figure but it lingered on the door. It seemed like he was waiting for someone.

That was when a delivery man enters the cafe with an envelope in hand. 

“Hey. Are you the boss of this place?” The delivery man asked, looking directly at Diluc from over the counter.

“Indeed. Is there something wrong?” The lean man crossed his arms and eyed him with a guarded expression. 

“This is from Kazuha. Said he used to work here?” the man asked, handing over the envelope. Diluc opened it, skimming the contents with a quiet frown.

“I see. A family emergency, huh? Tell him to take care of himself. He’s welcome back anytime.” Diluc puts the paper back in the envelope before sending the boy away.

Scaramouche may not have been openly watching this scene unravel, but he was close enough to overhear it. His lips curled ever so slightly as he let out a low hum; he was pleased.

That night, you received a message from Diluc explaining that Kazuha had to return home urgently and would be difficult to contact. You immediately pulled out his number from your phone and shot him a message anyway, even if it might never deliver.

You: Hey kazu, i heard about your situation. I hope you’re doing ok!! I’m just here if u need anything :[[ 

You didn’t expect a reply. You just wanted to reach out, to send something into the silence.

As you stepped out into the cool night air, the walk home felt… heavier than usual.

That familiar, suffocating feeling returned. And so you glanced over your shoulder to see if there was anybody there.

Nothing.

But it felt like something or someone was peeling your skin back with their stare, undressing your sense of safety layer by layer. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing. That you were just tired and you needed rest.

As soon as you tried reassuring yourself, you heard a soft rustling noise echo behind you. It sounded too close for your liking. You felt your stomach drop and before you could even think, your flight response was triggered and you ran immediately as fast as you can.

You didn’t dare look back. Your instincts screamed at you to move, so you did; feet slamming against the pavement, lungs burning. You were terrified. You didn’t know what or who was out there, you just wanted to get home. 

Your panic only intensified as you darted down a narrow stairway, and that’s when it happened.

You collided into someone and both of you tumbled to the ground. You scrambled upright, breathing hard.

“I am so, so, sorry!! I wasn’t really looking at where I was going and-” 

“Ah…” The man groaned, rubbing the back of his head before slowly sitting up. “Oh… it’s you, Y/n.” The sound of your name on his tongue made your stomach twist, and your eyes widened when you realized who you bumped into.

“Sir Scaramouche!! I am incredibly sorry-” you blurted, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you offered your hand to help him up. He stared at you for a moment before chuckling softly, accepting your hand.

“It’s alright. Nothing too serious.” he said, but his eyes were already scanning the space behind you. It was subtle, but his entire posture was on alert. You thought you were taller than him judging by his figure, but it was the contrary.

“What’s gotten into you anyway? Are you alright?” There was concern laced in his tone. He placed a hand on your shoulder, gently caressing it with his thumb as he locks his eyes with yours.

You were still trying to catch your breath all from that running, but you couldn’t tell if your heart was erratically beating because of the marathon you pulled, or if it was because of the man standing right before you.

“I think I’m being followed. I don’t know. I just- I keep feeling it, over and over. And tonight, I heard something, and I just… I ran.” You looked around again, feeling sick to your stomach. “I know it sounds crazy-”

“I believe you,” Scaramouche said immediately, his voice low and certain. He stepped closer to you. “How long has this been going on?” He started scanning the area with you, his hand still on your shoulder. If this was his way of calming you down, it for sure was working.

“Maybe weeks..a month? Months…? Fuck- I’m not so sure anymore.. Sometimes I feel like there’s somebody watching me, but they’d disappear for a long time. But then that feeling comes back and it’d feel worse than before. I had to run earlier because I could’ve sworn there was actually on my tail and I didn’t want to risk it so I-”

“Hey. Breathe...” He gently placed his palm on your head, stroking it in a calm and gentle movement. You didn’t even notice that you were having a panic attack but he managed to handle it so well. He guided you through slow, deep breaths and it worked. You felt yourself grounding.

“Atta girl…” He smiled in relief once he sees your breath stabalizing.

“It’s dangerous for a woman to be out this late alone,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. Your eyes flicked down.

“Oh…a rolex. He must be rich.” You thought to yourself.

“Tell you what,” he said, slipping his hands into his coat pockets, “how about I bring you home tonight?” His gaze never left yours, and you felt your heart thumping louder than before.

You hesitated. Every survival instinct you had screamed stranger danger. But… the streets felt colder than usual. And you didn’t want to be alone, especially with your paranoia going haywire as of late.

“…I’d appreciate that. Thank you. I’m sorry to trouble you.” You bowed again, but he raised his hand in front of your face to stop you.

“No more bows. You’re not at work anymore.” His tone was stern but teasing. “Also, drop the ‘sir’ and the honorifics. Just Scaramouche is fine.” Your eyes softened at the enigma in front of you. 

“Alright… I’m sorry…I just don’t want to burden you with such things, given that we barely know each other and all.” You fumble on your words, but Scaramouche finds this endearing.

“It’s nothing, really. Think of this as my thanks for the cappuccino earlier, it was delicious.” He licked his lips as if he had the taste of it lingering. You weren’t sure why that made your pulse jump.

Scaramouche then stepped behind you, his hands landing lightly on your shoulders. He leaned down to your ear, the proximity too intimate for comfort.

“Lead the way, Y/n.” 

Your whole body tensed from his boldness. You immediately broke from his touch and covered your ear with your hand.

“N-not too close!” You scold him, pointing a finger at him to which he chuckled with delight. He raised both his hands up in the air as a sign of defeat.

“My bad.” He stuck his tongue out to tease you further.

The walk home wasn’t awkward. Surprisingly, he kept the conversation going with charming little comments and jokes that had you giggling here and there. You’d almost forgotten the fear you felt earlier. Almost.

You felt grateful that he took the time to bring you home, but you also felt bad that he had to do all of this. 

“Would you like to come inside? I can brew you another cup of cappuccino. On the house, of course.” You shyly offer, playing with the hem of your blouse. You could see something sinister flicker in Scaramouche’s eyes; it’s almost as if he’d been given a death-row meal on a silver platter after being starved for years—hungry, dark, voracious. You rub your eyes almost instantly to see if you saw it right, but it seems like you were just seeing things.

Scaramouche leaned over your door frame, crossing his arms as he eyed you with an amused look on his face.

“I don’t think it would be very wise of you to invite a man, let alone a stranger, into your house, Y/n.” His voice was low, almost alluring. You could feel the air shift and the temperature seemed to rise as it was evident from the heat that formed on your cheeks.

“Ah! No! I didn’t mean anything weird by it!” you panicked. “I just… you did a lot for me tonight.” He chuckled at your reaction.

“I’d love to, but perhaps on another night, hmm?” He smirked. “Like I said, it’s not very wise to invite a man into your house.”

He leaned into your ear before continuing, “especially if it’ll just be you and him inside.” his breath was hot and you could feel the warmth evenly distributing to your body. 

Before you could say anything else, Scaramouche pulled away, chuckling as he sees you stunned in place.

He ruffled your hair, “Take care, Y/n. If anything else happens, you can call me. I’ll just be next door.” Scaramouche waved before walking to the apartment unit that was quite literally next to yours.

“Wait- next door?-” You blinked, unsure if you heard it right.

being a traveler was no joke. you had to venture into multiple regions and chew on any information you could get from the archons—most of them couldn’t even give you a concrete answer as to where your twin sibling was, even though you knew that they were connected to your blood kin somehow. one of the archons was a drunk bard who couldn’t be taken seriously in a nutshell; another was a man who had his lips sealed due to a contract; then followed a woman who made puppets to rule her kingdom so she could isolate herself from the world; then there was a small flower girl that shrank and had amnesia; and then there was this archon who hosted jury trials in the opera house as a form of entertainment.

you’d think that most of them could at least help you gain intel since they’re considered as highly ranked entities that serve their people through systems, but ironically enough, the only person who was really able to help was the flower girl who changed lives.

no, literally, she changed lives. look at the wanderer, for example—she took him under her wing, and now he’s a changed man. well, not really, but at least he was friendlier.

you met a lot of people who have helped you along the way, but in order to make a living, you took up commissions and went on various adventures. it was a routine;  you enter a new region, you meet the archon, you help them solve their issues, and then they tell you to skidaddle and move on to the next region. 

you’ve been going at it for what seemed like years. you’re burned out, and your mind needs a break from the constant demands that people keep weighing on your shoulders.

paimon said it herself. you needed a break. you were so much of a people-pleaser and a workaholic that you didn’t even notice your own mental health declining.

“this can’t keep going on, traveler! paimon knows how badly you want to be reunited with your sibling, but paimon is worried that you might end up collapsing due to exhaustion!!” the emergency food says worriedly as she tugs on your sleeve. the pitch of her voice went up a bit higher, which indicated the intensity of her tone. she was really concerned about you.

“paimon, i can’t stop now. the sooner we move, the faster we can find them.” you say adamantly as you gently remove her hand from your sleeve before flattening it out so that it doesn’t wrinkle, “i’ll be fine.” you say in an attempt to reassure you with a solemn look on your face, but paimon responds by stomping her feet mid-air. “paimon can’t stand seeing you like this traveler!! please, just take a break!” 

you sigh at her stubbornness, which is ironic because you were being stubborn too.

“alright, i’ll take a break-” you got cut off mid-sentence as paimon squeals in excitement, “YOU WILL?? HOORAY! paimon thinks we should stop by at the tavern so we could reple-” “paimon.” “oh…ehe. sorry, continue...” she says sheepishly with an apologetic smile after realizing that she was getting ahead of herself once again.

“as i was saying, i’ll take a break, but only once we set foot in fontaine. two weeks should be enough.” you finally continued, to which paimon responded with bright, gleaming eyes. “really??? do you promise that?” paimon asks eagerly as she holds up her pinky, indicating that a pinky promise should be made to seal the deal. you couldn’t help but laugh at her childishness.

“pinky promise.” 

true to your word, you did plan to take a break once you arrived in the hydro archons’ kingdom. you were aware that your presence would cause an uproar among the masses since word has gone out that a blonde traveler fought with heaven and earth just to do justice to the people on land, and apparently, a publishing company called the steambird was the one that made that silly headline.

because of that, you were forced to keep a low profile for the time being to avoid everyone’s attention shifting onto you.

and that is why, as of now, you were wearing a hood that covered your distinct, blonde hair as you got boarded off at the romaritime harbor. the deep waterfalls that extended through the horizon made a lightly deafening sound as you could vividly hear the impact of the water crashing down onto the ocean repeatedly in a continuous cycle. 

ignoring that unbearable rhythm, you hummed to yourself in contentment as you looked around—there were dogs adorned with jewelry and articles of clothing, transportation vehicles that followed specific currents, and mechanical guards with human-like forms wandering around the harbor—it was a sight to behold. the rumors were true after all. fontaine is way ahead of its time.

“this seems like a curious place to reside in…” you mumble to yourself while looking around you as you walk up to what seems like an elevator, unbeknownst to the ash-blonde male who was about to collide with you.

“ouch!!” “gah-!”

you were quite a high-alert person, but you got so distracted with sight-seeing that you ended up bumping into the stranger before falling to the ground. 

“archons…” you winced in pain as the impact of the fall made its way to your bum. you were too focused on making sure that you fell unscathed to see the man in front of you. 

“oh heavens!! ma chérie, are you alright?” he spoke with a hint of concern. you still didn’t look up at him. judging by the way he talks alone, you could tell that he was a lively person who could achieve anything he set his mind to. his intonation was enough for you to decipher what kind of person he could possibly be. but alas, it appears that you were the only one who fell from the impact, though, which explains why he lowered himself as he offered to lend you a hand to stand up. 

“yes, i’m alright.” you say politely as you take his hand to stabilize yourself as you stand up. once your feet were finally placed back on the ground, your eyes met his mischievous violet orbs. “I apologize for bumping into you, mr. …” you trailed off, realizing that you don’t really know who this man is. he wore interesting clothes—that of a magician. you didn’t really want to assume what he does for a living though, so you chose to call him the first thing that came to mind. “mr… hat?” you say awkwardly as you bow lightly to avoid his eyes due to embarrassment, which earned a hearty chuckle from his delicate figure.

“mr. hat, you say?” he chuckles once again before continuing. “ah! where are my manners? allow me to introduce myself. my name is lyney, and i am a renowned magician here in fontaine.” he places one hand to his chest and the other behind his back as he bows down in almost a curtsey as a form of greeting.’ so he IS a magician…’ you thought to yourself. you were about to let your mind wander once more until he continued.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he paused for a moment and grabbed your hand gently before continuing,  “oh legendary traveler.” he locked eye contact with you as he kissed your hand lightly. as if the kiss wasn’t enough to fluster you, he even found out your true identity. you got taken aback by his direct nature, but you paid little-to-no mind to his formality. “how did you know???” you leaned into him and whispered as fear was written all over your face. you started to panic as you looked around to see if anyone had heard him.

‘is this man always this…brazen?’ you thought to yourself.

“well…” he trailed off smiling as his eyes shifted his focus onto something else. your gaze followed his, which made you realize that the hood that hid your face neatly from unwanted gazes had fallen to your shoulders.

so much for keeping a low profile.

you widen your eyes and internally curse yourself for being so careless. you’re so out of it today. paimon was right, you really needed to get some rest.

just as that realization crept onto you, you heard a snap! illicit from the magician’s fingers and before you knew it, your hood went back into place, hiding your golden locks as if he performed a magic trick.

you witnessed all kinds of bizarre phenomena; harnessing visions was one thing, but sincere gestures and instances like this felt surreal to you. it was as if the inner child in you slowly crawled their way out of hiding as you reminisced about the magic shows you watched as a child with your twin during previous expeditions.

the nostalgic but fleeting feeling left a bittersweet taste on your lips.

you looked at him in awe, to which he replied with a smirk. “what? cat got your tongue?” he teases you with an amusing look on his face. “very funny.” you dryly laughed at his pun as you tugged on the hem of your hoodie to attempt to hide your face even more.

lyney noticed your odd behavior and asked, “are you hiding from someone, by any chance?” you stared at him blankly for a couple of seconds before replying, “im not really hiding from someone per se, im just trying to avoid getting too much attention.” you then briefly explained what you were going through and that you wanted to rest for a while in this new environment before going back to your daily routine.

“i see. so you’re not a fugitive that’s on the loose right now, correct?” he jokingly says as he traces the brim of his top hat. your gaze unconsciously followed where his fingertips landed, which gave you the opportunity to appreciate the feline crest that was embroidered on his clothing with delicate detail. “hey, im just trying to take it easy.” you said in defense as you pouted lightly since you didn’t like what he just accused you of, finally tearing your eyes away from the mischievous magician who stood before you.

meanwhile, lyney over here finds you intriguingly adorable. it made him want to tease you more.

“im just making sure. you now stand on sacred grounds of justice under the hydro archon herself. it wouldn’t be a favorable place for you to be in had you done something illegal, no?” he smirks, violet orbs still staring straight through your soul as he slightly tips his head forward—almost like a playful form of provocation. 

“you must be mistaken, monsieur lyney. i wouldn’t do something as disgraceful as that, so rest assured.” you say in a matter-of-a-fact tone. it was a good thing katheryn taught you a few french words before you headed to the hydro archons’ region. It’s just like what she said: when in fontaine, do what the fontainians do. 

lyney’s eyebrows perked up in surprise as he heard you call him by a formal honorific in his native language. see, normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal because the word monsieur was commonly thrown around for formality and respect. but for some reason, hearing that eight-lettered word roll out from those lovely lips of yours made his heart do a summersault. the fact that you also said it in their thick accent made him all the more amused.

“but of course, i was only teasing you, mademoiselle!” He laughs it off which makes you sigh in relief. you broke eye contact with him as you shifted and ruffled your clothing for a bit as you felt the cold wind slip through the gaps of your cloak. it was getting cold, you should get going soon.

you were about to bid farewell to the fiery-spirited magician, but when you looked back up, he was no longer there. 

“huh…” in a confused state, you tiptoe yourself upwards to see if he had walked far, only for you to be startled by a voice behind you.

“looking for me?” lyney whispered cheekily in your ear. you yelled shortly after he did this out of surprise before hitting him lightly on the shoulder. “don’t do that next time, you scared me!! why are you even there anyways??” lyney only smiles as you look at him with widened eyes. “how’d you like my disappearing act?” he avoids your question. 

“i wouldn’t really call that a disappearing act. i bet you just took the opportunity to silently sneak behind me while i wasn’t looking.” you rebutted with a scoff. “oh but ma chérie, magic is all about the art of deception. it wasn’t a real magic trick, i admit, but the gesture was simple enough to have you on your tiptoes just to catch sight of me once more.” his words almost felt as if it had different meanings, but you shrugged it off. “in your dreams, magic man..” you tease him by sticking your tongue out childishly, finally going along with his flow. 

“haha. you really are an adorable little one, now aren’t you?” He says amusingly as he lifts up your chin with his index finger. “who are you calling litt-” he hushes your lips with the same finger before winking. “ah-ah-ah.” he says with a smug look in his eyes. 

honestly, you were about to throw hands at this man because he was being so touchy with you despite just meeting, but then you felt the sharp coldness melting on your skin as a comfortable warmth enveloped you. 

“how did you do that…” you look at lyney in a bewildered state as he only chuckled at your innocent reaction. “i only used my vision to balance your body temperature, ma chérie. im pretty sure you of all people know what visions are.” he says humbly as his touch breaks contact with your skin. you felt a burning sensation in the spots where he lingered, and you didn’t mean this literally.

“no but the control you have over your vision, it's… it’s amazing. thank you.” only then did you let out a heart-warming close-eyed smile that lyney ever-so loved as he witnessed the sight. the atmosphere was just right. night has fallen but the moon did not fail to illuminate your skin as it gave you a radiant glow; you were as clear as day. the animosity of the cold season lingered through all parts of the romaritime harbor—he could warm up the place easily if he wished to with his pyro vision—and yet your smile was enough to denoise the unseasonably cold weather. 

lyney determinedly thought to himself as he pondered with his thumb and index finger cupping his chin. that’s it. you have to be there. you just have to be. 

as if on cue, lyney snaps his fingers in realization once he musters up the courage to be bold. “traveler, you have something on your hair.” he points innocently at your hidden locks. you could’ve sworn that nothing was there before but you felt a light-weight object cling to the strands of your hair. you looked at him cautiously before slowly taking it out of your hair. 

you thought this was an insect or a prank of some sort, but to your surprise, it was a beautiful flower that had hues of yellows and blues mixed in with the soft petals of pink romantics. the night sky gave it justice as it lightly twinkled with the stars.

you really didn’t know what to expect from this man, he was unpredictable. “is this…” you trailed off, not knowing what to say. you were too busy adoring what the magician presented for you to realize just how much he was savoring the sight of you being absolutely starstruck by his favorite flower. “it’s a rainbow rose. i’m giving it to you as a token of our camaraderie tonight.” 

“that’s too kind of you.” you say shyly to which he responds by nodding his head. “nonsense. here, let me just…” lyney gently takes the rose away from you as he places it inside of the open pocket of your attire. “there. it looks beautiful on you.” the man says with sincerity as he takes a step back and basks under the sight of you; a delicate rose, with his delicate rose. 

you feel warmth creeping up to your cheeks and think that maybe it’s just lyney’s vision trying to balance your temperature, but in reality, you were actually just starting to get really flustered by the man who stood before you. 

“cut it out.” you giggled as you rolled your eyes playfully. he chuckled in response and took a bow before taking off his top hat and placing it to his chest while the other hand rested behind his back. “traveler, that rainbow rose is of significance to me as it symbolizes love and passion in its’ purest form.” he starts off, eyes glimmering with curiosity as he warmly gives you a smile. “with that being said, i would like to invite you to tomorrow night’s show. i will be performing at the opera epiclese. your presence would truly honor my night.” 

the tension in the atmosphere almost made you believe that he was asking you out on a date, except you had to throw away those scandalous thoughts because you knew that none of those delusions were true. there was no way this was a date, he was going to perform in front of a huge wave of people after all. he just asked you to attend if you could. it’s not like he has an alternative motive anyway.

upon pondering seriously about his invitation, you signaled him a light nod that you’ll be able to make it, and this made his face light up. you were here to unwind for a bit, so why not enjoy a magic show by an attractive- uh, you mean, by a renowned magician? and besides, you were curious to see what he can do on stage. by the looks of it, he seems to know what he’s doing most of the time.

“so you’ll come??” stars have formed on his irises as the pitch of his voice goes slightly higher due to excitement. you find yourself giggling at his eagerness, to which he realizes that he was losing face so he clears his throat before smiling shyly. “yeah, sure. i’ll be there.”  your confirmation made him see stars that night indeed. he knew it was the right decision to give you the rainbow rose before asking you to attend his show. 

“just make sure you don’t perform a lousy disappearing act again.” you jokingly said while nudging his arm, which made him hum in response as he repositioned his top hat back on his head. 

“i’ll do something greater than that, ma chérie. just wait and see.” he says ecstasticly. “if you say so, magic man.” you laughed at his response. you thought little of his statements here, but who knew they would bear so much meaning as you connected the dots in the future?

“anyhow, as much as i hate to leave, i sadly have to disentangle myself from you tonight as i still have some preparations to make for tomorrow’s show. i’ll see you there at 8 pm sharp, traveller.” he says as he kisses your hand. “haha.  see you too, lyney.” you say in response.

And with that, the magician disappeared into the severance of the night as you stood still, star-struck by what just transpired before you.

“lyney huh…” paimon appeared out of nowhere and teased with a smug look on her face. you only gave her a deadpanned stare in response. “no.”

“but traveler!! he said it himself! the rainbow rose symbolizes love and passion!! what if he’d fallen for you?” paimon whined as she ushered the idea of lyney possibly developing an interest in you. “he also said that he mastered the art of deception or something. maybe he did that for lip service. you know, like how magicians put on a false mask to put on a show.” you rebutted as you rolled your eyes. “It’s not like he’s interested in me.”

“but what if he is?”

“...”

“traveler?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...OH MY GOD WAIT IS IT THAT MAYBE YOU’RE THE ONE INTER-”

you laugh bitterly to yourself as you recall your first encounter with lyney. you remember it as clear as day—paimon teased you all night; from the walk to the elevator, to the ride on the aquabus, and to even your way towards hotel debora. she did not shut up at all. at first, she insisted that lyney had a crush on you, but after picking up on your reluctant responses to her questions in regards to the enigmatic ash-blonde, she ended up assuming that maybe it was you who got smitten by the young magician, not the other way around.

you denied every accusation she threw at you. you were just speechless, that was all. nothing more, nothing less. it was your first time ever to have been treated the way lyney treated you. you didn’t even know if you could call it flirting since he probably does this often.

but if he does it often, then that wouldn’t make you special.

no, this doesn’t bother you at all. he could give another girl a rainbow flower for all you care. 

“you are soooo in denial!~” paimon cooed. you had enough.

“JUST SHUT UP AND LET ME SLEEP FOR ARCHONS’ SAKE.” you yelled in annoyance as you stared at the pitch-black ceiling of the room you booked for the night. instead of feeling intimidated by your tone, paimon only giggled at your reaction.

you are not in denial. there’s no way the celestial gods would allow an outsider like you to fall in love with her children. you had set your priority straight; it’s to find your sibling and get them back—but then again, it’s been years. you’ve wandered endlessly on wide expansions of land, and have traversed multiple regions. you’ve helped people in their kingdom in hopes that your sibling would make themself known sooner or later, but only disappointment cascades over you as you gain little-to-no intel about where they could possibly be. 

you take a deep breath before letting out an exasperated sigh. 

‘get it together, snap out of it.’ you say to yourself as you try to rid traces of him from your mind. 

your mind then wanders to the night of the designated show. you arrived five minutes just before his performance started and to your pleasant surprise, the guard stated that your seat was to be found in the front row since you were one of the esteemed VIP guests, as requested by the great Lyney himself. you were touched by this gesture and thanked the guard for his hospitality. 

upon finding your seat, a series of spotlights have been angled to the center as the curtains slowly unveil a familiar silhouette who had a welcoming stance. he bowed to the audience as he introduced himself to the crowd. “welcome one, and all, to the opera epiclese! i am the star of today’s show, lyney!” he says with a proud stance as he enters the spotlight with open arms. “and over here is my sister, lynette, who will be working as my wonderful assistant. please, let’s give her a warm welcome!” lynette looked at the crowd with a blank but endearing stare. she bowed as her twin introduced her to the audience. they had strikingly similar features; had they swapped clothes, one could easily be fooled that one was the other. 

“now, some of you may be thinking: two vision holders who can freely manipulate elemental powers performing magic is not true magic at all.” he begins by catching the audience’s attention by using his pyro vision to mimic a fire-embued bow as lynette uses her anemo vision to mimic a bullseye. the arrow scorches through several wind currents before it hits the center of the target. the crowd clapped harmoniously in response. 

“so, i would like to take a moment to assure you that elemental powers will have nothing to do with what you will witness on the stage today.” he continues. as if on cue, one of their assistants came up to them to retrieve their visions. 

the lights grew dim as lynette was nowhere to be seen. 

“a magician’s greatest skill is making things disappear or appear; the possibilities are endless.” he starts as he takes off his top hat to bow courteously to the audience before throwing it up in mid-air and then catching it. he flipped over the hat to show everyone that there was nothing in it. he hums in contentment as he notices that all eyes are indeed, now on him. he now steps back and puts his hands off the hat. the people around you gasp in astonishment upon seeing the hat float by itself without any form of support to keep it still.

lyney lightly tapped it and sure enough, a few playing cards fell to the ground. there was a mixture of “ooh’s” and “ahh” in the crowd as he did this two more times. he chuckled to himself before pulling a new set of playing cards out of nowhere; making it disappear, then reappear, then disappear again. 

he then grabbed hold of his hat and attempted to put it back on his head, but for some reason, there was a stem firmly placed vertically inside the tophat. lyney acted clueless as to what was blocking his headway, only for him to pull out a rainbow rose.

you feel your breath hitch as he scans the trial room for a brief moment only for his gaze to be locked onto yours. a smile creeps onto his lips as he finally sees those captivating eyes of yours. 

with a snap of a finger, lyney shows the audience the rainbow rose he pulled out of his hat before making it vanish completely into thin air. the audience was too amazed to comprehend where the rose could possibly be until the spotlight shuns upon you as lyney gestured you to stand up which then revealed that the flower we thought, had disappeared—had reappeared tucked in between your hair as it rested on the outer lobe of your ear. 

the crowd squealed in excitement; others had already started spewing rumors about lyney conjuring up this show only so that he could express his adoration for you with that flower, but this could only be far from the truth. 

you could’ve sworn that this rose wasn’t there at all. you hadn’t picked any up on the way to the opera epiclese, nor have you brought with you the rainbow rose that he gave you last night.

how was he able to execute this? you wondered as your heart started beating. since you were flustered with all the attention garnering your way, you decided to sit down shyly. lyney was able to catch onto your body language which caused him to internally chuckle to himself due to the way you were acting.

you were so cute and shy, just for him.

“these little tricks? you’ve seen them all before.” he started as he segued to a different stance, “so it’s time for something truly extraordinary, don’t you think?” he asked the audience and everyone in the trial court seemed to be fully participating.

you were too, it’s just you’re too occupied with the unwavering beating of your chest.

the night went smoothly as he performed a truly extraordinary trick; he had prepared a water tank that was hoisted high up. the lynette who disappeared a little while ago was now inside the heavily locked water tank. the trick was basically to have lynette be able to break free from this near-death experience. the two of them succeeded with flying colors though, and this made the crowd go crazy for them. the only thing left in the tank was lynette’s clothes, but when she reappeared in front of the audience, she was dry, unscathed, and wore the same usual clothing, except with fewer wrinkles. they did a few more acts, and after the final trick, the curtains fell as the twins bid adieu, earning a standing ovation from everyone, including the hydro archon herself.

it was truly a sight to behold, and you enjoyed every bit of it. 

just as you were about to exit the premises, lynette came up to you and ushered you backstage as per lyney’s request yet again. you quietly obliged as she led you to the showman room where performers can touch up, get dressed, and get ready. 

why would lyney want to see you again? you pondered as you unconsciously twirled the loose strand of your hair as you were being led by lyney’s opposite.

“i’ve brought the traveler, lyney.” lynette said with a yawn as she opened the door, only to reveal a hopeful magician spinning on an office chair out of boredom. he stops almost immediately as lynette announces your not-so-grand entrance. “perfect! thank you, dear sister.” he grins as he jumps off of his seat to walk towards you. “now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be taking a nap.” lynette said groggily before closing the door and leaving the two of you in the room.

“she’s leaving already?” you ask in a slightly dejected voice, feeling a bit disappointed that you weren’t able to befriend the interesting feline who looked exactly like her brother. 

“she’s been up all night diving with our younger brother, freminet. they were collecting some materials for the magic pockets that we distribute to people in the romaritime harbor.” he explained shyly as he adjusted one of his black gloves.

“i see…” you hum in approval as you look around the room. there was a black victorian coat rack next to the vanity mirror that had light bulbs bulging from the sides. the walls were painted with a light hue of white and brown; the contrasts gave depth to the ceiling which had a quite grandiose-looking chandelier. lyney could only watch as your eyes traveled the room with curiosity. 

“so, what did you call me here for?” you asked breaking the ice since he wasn’t stirring up a conversation as you thought he would. lyney gestured for you to sit on the couch to which you obliged, but you didn’t expect that he’d sit next to you despite having way more room on the other end. “i wanted to ask if you enjoyed the show tonight,” he says while fidgeting with his glove. it was rather odd to see someone as confident as him fidget in nervousness under your presence, but you didn’t think much of it. maybe he just got intimidated by you.

“of course i did, you two were amazing !! oh, and by the way, thank you so much for inviting me, let alone giving me a VIP seat. the show and the view was great.” you giggled as you recalled the chain of events that unravelled just a little while ago. the magician sighed in relief as he heard you excitedly talk about your favorite parts; he listened intently as you reinacted some of his tricks. you did poor attempts of course, but seeing how you really did love his performance warmed his heart. 

“do you like magic, traveler?” he asked while pouring you a cup of tea. “i do. my sibling and i used to stop over specific regions from different galaxies to witness all sorts of magic. well, that is until we got separated.” you mumbled out the last part as sadness lingered with your words. lyney handed you your cup and you bowed lightly as a way of saying thank you. “i’m sure you’ll find them soon, traveler.” lyney’s brows furrowed in sympathy as he looked at you with concern, his hand laying on top of yours to reassure your worries.

“i hope so.” you smiled sadly. “now, now, ma chérie. turn that frown upside down!” he says as he cups your cheeks with his gloved yet soft hands. “what do you think you’re doing.” you laughed as you looked at him in the eye. your cheeks formed a pinkish hue, and lyney was the first to notice it seeing as how he was teasing you like this. he chuckled as he leaned in close, “you’re too beautiful to be upset.” he whispered as he stared straight into your soul.

your eyes widened lightly in surprise upon hearing him compliment you. you’ve been called beautiful on several occasions, but why is it now when your heart decides to run laps? 

“i… i beg your pardon?” you stuttered as your voice lightly cracked from embarrassment. your cheeks grew a darker shade of red as lyney broke out a laugh as you weren’t able to deliver your words properly. “ma chérie, you’re just too cute.” he chuckled while holding back his tears. you tore yourself away from his grasp and pouted. “okay, now you’re just messing with me.” you huffed as you crossed your arms in discontentment. lyney teased you further by pinching your cheek, “oh come on, how could i not with these cute reactions of yours.” he cooed while mimicking your pouty face. 

you rolled your eyes and hit him playfully. “do you normally do this to people you meet on the outskirts of the harbor? is this a normal occurrence for you?” you asked absent-mindedly, not realizing what direction this conversation was headed. lyney blinked his eyes twice as if to process what you just said before smirking to himself. “no, i suppose this is a first for me.” he smiled cheekily as he leaned on the sofa, placing one of his elbows on the cushion as he rests his chin on his elbow, body completely facing you.

“and what about you? do you usually allow yourself to be reeled in by men you just met on the outskirts of the harbor as they make their advances towards you?” he asks continuously, which makes you arch your brow as he finishes his sentence. “no. this is a first for me too.” you say as you eye him cautiously. “wait so… does this mean that you’re flirting with me?” you tilted your head slightly to the side as you unconsciously leaned in. lyney noticed your body language, and he was amused as to where this was going. 

he, too, leaned in, but this time, to your ear. you feel his warm breath tickle your sensitive skin as he teases you, “i don’t know, am i?” you rolled your eyes at his childish retort before hitting him lightly on the arm. “lyney!” he only flashed you a sweet toothy grin as he inched a bit closer to you, but you scooted further back as he did so. 

“okay. fine, you got me ma chérie.” he chuckles as he put his hands up in the air in defeat. “let’s say that i am, in fact, flirting with you. what are you going to do about it?” he whispered close to you with a smug but suggestive look on his face. you begged to differ this time though, as you wanted to flip the table on him. with a smirk forming on the creases of your lip, you grabbed a hold of his cherry-colored bowtie as you lightly flatten the fabric. lyney’s breath hitches as you catch him by surprise. “you’ll have to do a better job than that if you want to find out, monsieur lyney.” 

let’s just say that things got heated and got slightly escalated ever since then. he became part of your daily routine. he always made sure to visit you in the afternoon whenever he was available. word had spread out that the renowned magician often spent his time with you more than with his own twin, lynette; to be fair, she didn’t mind at all. she preferred it this way. she thought it was refreshing to see her brother annoy someone other than her as she was worried that he would only depend on her company until archons knew when.

besides, she lowkey schemed with paimon to set you two up together anyway.

after your two-week break, lyney brought it upon himself to accompany you on your adventures. he would help you during your commissions and has been nothing but supportive throughout your journey. he even went as far as making you a top priority guest when you told him that you needed to speak with the hydro archon for any form of possible intel that you could gather. you heard that it was hard to request an audience to the furina, and you couldn’t thank lyney enough when he went the extra mile to get you closer to your goals. 

there wasn’t where the two of you wouldn’t be seen out on the streets of fontaine; you were inseparable. it’s not like the two of you were lovebirds who did PDA either, but from the locals’ perspective, all they see are two youthful souls—one is excessively trying to shower them with affection while the other is still in denial. you happened to be the latter. 

to be fair, the concept of love never really struck you. of all the years you’ve lived through since you were born, you only know of love from familial means or via forms of friendships. you never had the time for trivial matters. but for some unforeseen reason, this man, who gave you rainbow roses every day as a symbol of his affection for you, this man, who often extended his hand to you to hold on whenever you felt anxious, this man,  who jot down notes of what you like and dislike so that he’s reminded of how to please you, this man, who made sure to put your safety above his own even though he knows you could fully fend for yourself, this man, who didn’t even need to ask you what you’d order because he knew it at heart, was now ordering your go-to meal at café lucerne as you wait for him patiently under the shade. 

he expressed his adoration for you on several occasions, but you weren’t the type to assume things, so you merely brushed off some of his advances. a couple of months have passed since you first set foot on fontaine, and now you were having an afternoon snack session with ‘your partner in crime’.

you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t fallen for the charming young man, but you were too scared to even explore that kind of field as you knew nothing compared to him. 

oh but was he gentle. he was patient with you even though he would get ahead of himself sometimes and overwhelm you with his overly affectionate personality. you knew you’d already fallen. you were just in denial. you thought that once you’ve explored fontaine enough, you would bid him farewell as you move on to the next region. part of you thought that maybe it was all just an act too; he did say that he mastered the art of deception—and yet, then again, who were you to even question his motives when he’s been nothing but sweet and supportive towards you?

that’s right. he would never do such a thing, would he? 

you glanced over at the male who was on his way to your table as he held the tray with your food, a smile plastered on his face. “i got you your favorite, my treat.” he smiled cheekily as he carried your order and placed it on your side of the table. “thank you,” you replied with a warm smile.

this man would never hurt me. you thought sincerely as you watched him cutely munch on his favorite snack-o-bites. “these turn out perfect no matter how many times they make this, i swear.” lyney groaned in delight as he ate his food. you couldn’t help but look at the young magician in front of you with loving eyes, as if you were put in a trance.

lyney, yet again, noticed how your eyes looked at him with so much warmth, with made him lightly blush. “take a picture, it lasts longer.” he teased to illicit a reaction out of you, but an idea erupted from your systems as if a light bulb had suddenly appeared out of no where. 

you rummaged through your belongings and sought out the kamera that you got from a wandering trader during previous expeditions. once you found it, you showed it to lyney and he almost spit out his food. “my..! a kamera!” he said in astonishment as he examined the mechanical object. “you’re right, taking a picture would last longer.” you say as you press a button, which automatically linked to the shutter. lyney was unprepared and he whined that you take another one, but you thought he looked cute in the candid photo that you took. 

he got his revenge by snatching the kamera away from you and taking candid photos of you too, except he didn’t show you the shots he took. he hid the pictures in his top hat and they disappeared to archon knows where. 

you spent more time with lyney that afternoon until the night was starting to fall. as usual, you expected to temporarily say goodbye to each other as you had other things to attend to during this hour, but lyney stopped you from your tracks by grabbing hold of your arm.

“wait.” he called out to you, which made you turn your head back to face him. “mhm?” you hummed as you looked at him with expecting eyes. lyney was fidgeting and he looked askance. it was almost as if he was itching to tell you something. “what is it, lyney?” you asked the ash blonde as you lay your hand on top of his, wondering what was going on in his mind right now as he avoided eye contact with you.

“lyney?” you called out to him for the umpteenth time, snapping him out of his trance, his attention now darted to you as he flashed you an apologetic smile. he hesitated for a bit to answer, until he finally responded, “it’s nothing, ma chérie. i apologize, i just stalled for a bit because i wanted to see your face one more time before you go.” he said in his usual ecstatic tone, but something about it put you off. was it the way he adjusted his glove? he usually does this whenever he’s nervous about something. you were about to ask him about it until you saw his twin walking towards you.

“lyney. let’s go.” lynette alerted the magician as she tapped him lighty on his back, which startled lyney. “lynette–! don’t startle me like that…” lyney sighed as he rubbed the back of his palm. lynette peaked over his shoulder and tipped her head forward to you as a form of greeting, “traveler.”

“lynette, good evening.” you smiled at the girl. lynette nods in acknowledgement before side-eying her twin sibling. he looks back at her and squints his eyes with a frown, earning a furrowed and confused look from lynette. lyney bit his lower lip due to impatience which made his sister sigh.

you had no idea what they were doing but you only guessed that they were telepathically communicating with one another. 

“are you two doing good?” you took a step forward and looked at the twins with worry. Lynette looked at you for a good two seconds before speaking up, “traveler, listen–” she was cut off immediately by lyney, who oh-so-dramatically looked at the clock before exclaiming “oh would you look at the time, we are running late lynette!! we must hurry!!!” he yelled in a panicked frenzy as he packed up his bags before running to who knows where. lynette could only play along with her sibling as she waved you goodbye. “apologies, traveler. we have urgent matters to attend to.” she bowed before turning her heel and running after her brother.

“...what was that about?” you mumbled to yourself, feeling a lump of uneasiness form internally. you could only watch the siblings run off into the distance; the farther they got, the harder it was to spot them as their figures turned into dots.

something about this felt wrong.

something about this felt really wrong.

although lyney had offered to lend you a helping hand on your adventures, you can’t help but notice how there would be times when he’d zone out. he would stare intently at an inanimate object, his eyes clouded with an unexplainable expression. whenever you try calling him out, he snaps out of it as if he wasn’t disassociating a few minutes ago. 

you loved spending time with him, but oftentimes you felt as if he was wearing a mask. he would never tell you what troubled him even though you, yourself have been vulnerable in front of him on several occasions. you’ve already talked so much about yourself only to realize that lyney hadn’t shared any of his past with you either. he only listened to your stories.

this realization made a wave of guilt wash over you—you didn’t want to seem like you didn’t care about him at all—so you tried asking about him too whenever you got the chance to. with no luck, you got nothing out of him. indeed, he answered your questions, but it was too vague. it’s like he was hiding something a whole lot more the more you pry into his life. 

you couldn’t fully understand the magician. he would always put up a high-spirited front with that exhilarating personality of his, and yet something about his unwavering happy-go-lucky personality grew wary of what the ash blonde was really thinking from time to time. 

unlike his sister, he was evasive when it came to personal questions. lynette was the blunt and honest type, but for some reason, lyney’s so-called ‘honesty’ felt as if it was laced with a heavy lot of sugarcoating. he hasn’t done anything wrong to upset you. in fact, he seemed like the perfect candidate for a love interest had you ever even thought about entering a relationship with him. and yet here you are, left alone in the pouring rain after lyney left you abruptly for unknown circumstances. 

lyney was accompanying you during a commission sent by navia, the spina di rosula president, and things were going well. all you had to do was find clues in regard to the innocence of callas, the late founder of the organization. just as you were about to head back to their headquarters to retrieve and report the data you’ve gathered, lyney abruptly excused himself and left the scene. 

you had no idea what came over the young man, but you only assumed that he had other urgent matters to attend to. he has already done more than enough to help you, after all. so who were you to stop him from leaving?

even still, ithe way he left was rather off-putting. during your way back, you noticed that he felt out of reach; he zoned out often and looked restless. you have no clue as to what triggered him into this state—you asked if he was doing alright, but he only smiled in response and gave you a false thumbs up so you could stop worrying about him. 

you couldn’t recall the first time he started acting distant despite being so close to you. but one thing you knew for sure was that he had a couple of failed attempts into telling you something only for him to change his mind and change the topic immediately. 

you and your deluded self thought that maybe he was trying to confess to you, but you weren’t dumb enough to know that this situation couldn’t be applied to the way he was acting toward you. lyney sure did act head over heels for you, and you admit, you were smitten by the young man who often performed magic shows in the opera epiclese, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness as you talk to him sometimes.

being with him is like painting on a blank canvas with a transparent medium. you see so much room for endless possibilities, and your imagination envisions all kinds of art forms that you could interpret onto the canvas. you stroke your brushes to create the perfect picture you’ve idealized but then, you come to a realization that none of the strokes you’ve made were rendered. you shrug the idea off, thinking that this isn’t a big deal, so you try again. the result remains the same. no matter how much you paint, nothing blooms out of the canvas, and yet it still stands proudly in all its glory. you try dipping your brush in vibrant colors, but no matter what you do, nothing slips through the seams of his never-ending depth of hollowness.

there were times when he’d be hot, but then he’d grow cold. he’d shower you with warmth one day only to leave you questioning what you’ve possibly done wrong the next as he acts indifferent. you were starting to get bothered by this, and you wanted to confront him if he continued this further because your mind was going all around the place.

is this what it’s like to fall in love? you were a traveler. an outsider, even. you had to embrace different cultures and embark on journeys with unfamiliar faces everywhere. you, too, were scared, but you had no choice but to plow through just so you could see your sibling again. never in a million years did you imagine yourself being so…caught up over a man.

without even noticing it, your mood depended on his. lyney was like a firework; he was so beautiful and yet so out of reach. no matter how much warmth he showers your way, no matter how much color he brings into your life, he will remain distant despite being so out in the open. the closer you try to get, the more you get burnt with the reality of his facade. 

everything about him bothered you; the way his lips curled into a smile, the way his eyes sparkled with passion every time he performed his magic shows, the way his laughter sounded like symphonies resonating in an orchestra, the way he treated you gently and cares greatly for his people, the way he made it known to the crowd that you were his rainbow rose, the way he touched you gently with his soft and meticulous hands as he dived into your soul with his hypnotizing eyes… 

fuck. 

you were no longer in denial. 

you adored lyney. you liked everything about lyney. you longed to see him again, you longed to be within his vicinity once more. only he was able to break your walls and make you spiral like this.

was this why your heart felt so restless every time you were separated from each other? the last time you felt this way was the day you washed up ashore in mondstat with your sibling nowhere in sight. ‘that explains a lot…’ you sigh to yourself as you feel your heart breathe in relief as you finally admit to yourself the feelings that you kept hidden for so long. 

you brushed aside the worries that crept onto you earlier. ‘there’s no need to be negative, maybe he’s not ready to say what’s on his mind yet’. that’s right. you shouldn’t rush him into opening up. being there for him is the least that you could do for him, so you figured to be more patient and supportive towards him. 

you could only hope that your sincerity would reach him.

a few days have passed since you last encountered lyney at café lucerne. your days at fontaine were coming to a halt soon as you needed to depart to your next destination; natlan. you’ve stayed in fontaine for almost a year, and you hadn’t noticed how quickly time was passing by. it was all thanks to that young magician who made your stay here worthwhile though. 

you’ve gained a sufficient amount of intel. luckily enough, the hydro archon was accommodating to your inquiries. the abyss seemed to have a strong chokehold on your sibling though, as deinsleif reappeared to venture with you in one of your adventures to unveil the secrets of the prophecy that lay within fontaine. 

the grind never stops—or so paimon says.

you were scheduled to leave a few days from now, as requested by katheryn. you were in love with lyney—to which you can finally admit to yourself proudly—but this wouldn’t stop you from finishing what you’ve started. you’ve rested long and well enough, as well as succumbed to your hidden desires. it was time to move to the next region.

you already told the twins about the date of your departure, and they wished for your safety. lyney still looked restless. he looked even more restless than the last time you’ve seen him to be honest. he asked lynette to leave the room for a bit so he could talk to you alone in the meantime.

he had a frown on his face but you only smiled meekly at him, reasoning that you’re a traveler for a reason and that you shouldn’t overstay. he knew this all along but asked for one condition. 

“can we meet up one more time before you go? just you and i, and maybe even lynette, with no one else intervening,” he asked with pleading eyes as he trailed his finger on your hands gently. you shivered from his touch. 

“of course, where would you like to rendezvous?” he chuckled at your terminology. “at the usual spot. 7 pm sharp.” you smiled before holding out your pinky promise, mimicking paimon’s actions the day before you departed for fontaine. “deal.” he smiled back and intertwined his pinky with yours. 

“i’ll give you a show that you’ll never forget even as you go on your adventures in far and distant lands. you won’t have a choice other than to think about me.” he determinedly states as he locks his violet hues with your crystalline orbs. you laugh at his sentiments, unbeknownst to the weight that his words hold.

“i swear to archons lyney, if you perform one more lousy disappearance act,” you teased as you let out a melodic laugh. lyney scoffed playfully before responding, “that wasn’t even considered as an act! i can do something way better than that.” you raise one of your brows, intrigued by his statement. “oh yeah? like what?” you mused, crossing your arms as your body unconsciously leaned forward toward him. 

lyney gives you an unreadable look before he quickly snaps out of his daze and shakes his head lightly. he faintly smiled before saying, “you’ll see.”

some time has passed, and it was already the night of your supposed meet-up. the day that followed would be the day when you bid adieu to fontaine. 

you pushed through the grand entrance of the opera eclipse; it was the usual spot. the very spot where you first felt your heart yearn for lyney, and the very place where you had your first kiss stolen.

you came alone as requested. paimon stayed behind at the hotel to catch some z’s before your long journey tomorrow. 

oddly enough though, a different guard asked for your identity for security. he wore the standard protocol uniform, but it was an unfamiliar face—barely recognizable. he wore a black-feathered mask that covered the tip of his nose, almost like the kinds you’d see at masquerade balls. lyney did mention that this night would be different from his previous shows.

“you must be the traveler, come in. your seat is on the front row, right in the dead center.” he said in a low but welcoming voice. you tipped your head as a way of showing your thanks as he led you to your seat. the lights were dimmer than what you were accustomed to. what caught your attention more though was the fact that everyone in the theatre wore the same mask as the security guard. there were only a few people including you, but they were scattered throughout the area. they all had their attention focused on the stage.

weird. maybe this was part of the show.you start growing anxious as to what kind of show that sly magician would perform today. the last time he asked you to come here alone led to a steamy makeout session in the middle of the stage with the spotlight centered on the two of you. just the two of you, with your lips on his. you had no idea how he was able to keep people from entering, but he reasoned that he needed to occupy the area on his own to make safety measures for his “equipment”, but all he did was savor you and your sweetness.

you shake your head lightly at the memory, your cheeks turn a bright red. 

your heart starts pounding with every second that passed. the show still hadn’t started yet as the curtains blocked the view of the main stage, but you really couldn’t help but wonder what lyney had prepared for you today. 

was he finally going to confess? maybe even ask you to be his? could it be that he orchestrated this show only as an excuse to take you by the hand and court you properly before you depart for tomorrow?

your lips unconsciously curl into a smile as you daydream about the what-ifs in your head. it was cut off shortly though by a familiar voice you heard from the loudspeaker as it reverberated in the room.

“once upon a time, there was once a blonde traveler who traversed through teyvat for what seemed like decades in hopes to find their long lost sibling.” lyney began with a story-telling tone laced with his voice. your ears immediately perk up at his narration. a bright light shone upon the stage which revealed shadow puppets of you and paimon’s figure wandering around the globe to match his lines. you marveled at the sight.

“but after region hopping for so long, the blonde traveler decides to rest in the land of justice where they meet a peculiar magician who accidentally bumped into them by the harbor.” the shadow puppets reinacted your first encounter with each other, which made you giggle in response. 

is this how he’s going to confess to me? you wondered amusingly, feeling touched by his efforts as you listened further to his dialogue.

“the magician noticed the traveler trying to hide their identity, and he used this to his advantage to tease them. the traveler, now shocked, asked him in a state of panic how he found out. he laughed in response and pointed out that their hood slipped off, and that he could easily recognize them, even from afar.” the shadow puppets played the same exact scenario and waited for the next signal.

“he then invited them to watch his show at the opera theatre. little did the blonde traveler know what they had in store for them.” you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion with the last sentence, curious as to where this was going.

“he fell for their wits, and was charmed by their unwavering bravery. even as they brushed his advances off, he never stopped doting on them.” he was practically confessing at this point, and you felt your cheeks grow warm.

“the magician performed all sorts of tricks; making things appear and disappear was an easy task for him as he excelled in this expertise,” as if on cue, the curtain slowly unveils lyney’s figure with a microphone in hand. he took a deep breath as he locks eye contact with you before continuing, “but the only thing that he cant get to disappear is the thought of you.” 

your eyes widened as you behold the sight in front of you. lyney wasn’t wearing his usual attire, he was wearing a black tuxedo suit. his red bowtie was still evident, but his noticeable top hat and cape were nowhere in sight. he was breathtaking. 

“he fell in love with the traveler for each day that passed by, and he could tell that the traveler was starting to develop feelings for him too.” he extended his arms and got a pair of scissors, his swift hands gracefully cutting over the edges of the folded paper which then revealed the two of their silhouettes dancing with your arms around him. 

you recall when that event happened. it was during that one time you visited the siblings in their home but only lyney was home despite lynette calling you over for dinner. you figured that they must’ve schemed this because lyney didn’t question nor look for them as you arrived, you only spent the night dancing to some tunes and learning more about each other.

“everything was going all according to plan,” he paused for a bit as he took out the same exact mask that everyone was wearing from his pocket. “until he got sick of playing pretend.” his intonation changed from an exhilarating tone to a monotonous underglow. it was heavy and merciful. “true to his word, he did perform something even greater than a lousy disappearance act.” he scoffed before continuing, “in fact, it was all premeditated. all the traveler had to do was wait and see, just as he said.”

“just make sure you don’t perform a lousy disappearing act again.” you jokingly said while nudging his arm, which made him hum in response, his eyes glowered as he repositioned his top hat back on his head. 

“i’ll do something greater than that, ma chérie. just wait and see.” 

your smile fell as you recalled his words. from the looks of it, the atmosphere had a thick tension that made you uneasy. his words contradicted the way he behaved around you previously. for some reason, you didn’t feel safe here. your gut was telling you to leave, that something bad was about to happen if you’d stayed and listened longer, but your feet remained in place as you watched the performer in front of you, still at a loss for words as the weight of the air suffocated you.

“i can see that look on your face. you’re confused—terrified, even.” he trails off as he takes a glance at your disheveled state before chuckling darkly. “so let me clarify everything before the actual play begins.” he flashes you a close-eyed smile before placing one hand to his chest and the other is extended as he bows down to you in a curtsey.

“lyney…” you called out to him, barely above a whisper. you tried to get up from your seat to reach out to him, but you were abruptly stopped by the impact of your wrists being bound to the arms of the chair. “lyney, this isn’t funny. cut it out.” you say as you break out an awkward laugh, trying to break free from the cuffs that binded you from your freedom. 

you heard minor scuffles around you which made you turn your head to see where it was coming from. the sight made you widen your eyes; the few people in the opera house was now lined up in two columns by the main door. “lyney, you’re scaring me. what’s going on??” you asked the ash blonde. he doesn’t even bother to spare you a look as he remains still in his curtsey pose.

“lyney!!” you yelled out. this must be a silly prank, right? there’s no reason for him to scare you like this…right??? right. this was just part of the show. none of this is real. none of this is real. none of this is real. none of this is re-

“ma chérie.” lyney spoke with authority in his voice before finally shifting his gaze towards you. his eyes were slit that of a feline as he hushed you with his presence. he sighed as he finally stood upright, fixing the collar of his suit in the process as he spoke, “i was tasked by father to approach you. he told me to get close to you by using any means necessary and find out your weaknesses. do not get me wrong, i enjoyed our adventures. I enjoyed having you keep me company as well.” 

“but what i haven’t told you the first time we met was that i, too, have hid my true identity from you. allow me to introduce myself again. i, lyney from the house of the hearth, humbly greets you.”

your eyes looked at him in horror as the image you carefully crafted of him your head shattered. your heart ached at the deception he conjured for you. “you’re a fatui…?” your voice croaked in disbelief as you desperately searched his eyes for the truth. your mind wavered as you clung onto your delusions, hoping deep down inside that this was all just a skit, but his silence spoke volumes.

“so everything was a lie…?” tears brimmed from your eyes as you looked at the man whom you loved with so much heartbreak. he bit his lip in contempt as he saw you in that state. lynette then emerged from the shadows and gave her twin sibling a pat on his back before he faced away from you. he couldn’t see you cry, it would weaken his resolve.

“not everything, traveler.” lynette spoke on behalf of her sibling. she, too, wasn’t wearing her usual attire. she had her hair down and her ribbon was placed neatly on one side of her head. she was wearing a beautiful black dress that reached just below her knee and she was also wearing the same exact mask that lyney was wearing.

“this idiotic brother of mine took the words by any means necessary quite too literally. he was not supposed to be intimate towards you. father graciously forbid him from overstepping his boundaries.” lynette deadpanned as she glanced at her brother. he was trying so hard to keep up a front; he was slightly trembling, but only lynette can tell. “he fell for you gradually even though he was the one who initiated everything. believe me when i say that all of his efforts for you were sincere.” lynette says firmly as she places her right hand in her chest. it was a mannerism that she often did whenever she was being honest, but you could only scoff at her words.

“that doesn’t change the fact that you two deceived me!!” you yelled in protest as you struggled to break free from the binds that kept you tied down the chair. “had i known you were part of the fatui, i would’ve never allowed myself to have my life here in fontaine revolve around you two!” you yelled angrily as tears rolled down your cheeks,  “had i known you were part o the fatui, i would’ve never allowed myself to be held by you…!” you continued. your words shot daggers into lyney’s heart as it ached as much as yours did. 

“ma chérie, i apologize for making you second-guess about everything. i had no choice but to do this. father was getting impatient, and this is my only way of repaying him back after everything he’s done for lynette and i.” he admitted, finally facing you. as if his deception didn’t hurt enough, his cold gaze towards you seemed to hurt more ten times fold. 

“If that was the case, then why did you have to make me fall for you…?” your voice weakened as tears profusely streamed down your cheeks. lynette was taken aback by your emotional demeanor. she was an observant but quiet person, so she knew just as much as her brother knew that you weren’t the type to pour your emotions out like this. she felt a pang of guilt through her chest as she side-eyed her twin sibling. he was holding back his tears as well, but he didn’t falter.

“if keeping an eye on me to find out my weaknesses was all that you were tasked to do, why did you have to make me like you so much that it hurt???” you exclaimed as you sniffled. this really wasn’t your look. you hated how you were pouring your heart out to the twins who had ulterior motives towards you all along, but you couldn’t help it. you were hurt, you felt betrayed, and more importantly, you felt conflicted with yourself. you were spiraling internally as flashbacks of him and you played like a broken record. 

you looked at lyney for a brief moment, still hoping he’d take back everything he said just now. you still clinged on so tightly to what you thought he was rather than focusing on who he really was right now as he stood before you. 

lyney let out a sigh as he bowed down, “i have no excuses. I apologize, ma chérie.”  you scoff as you feel yourself getting irritated by his response. “don’t call me by that endearment anymore.” you whimpered as you lay your head on the headrest, feeling defeated. 

that’s it?... you’re not going to say anything else?! you let out a breath of disbelief. your eyes filled with tears, your body carrying the weight of the sorrows of your heartbreak. 

this hurts. oh lord barbatos, please, i can’t do this anymore. how can the blissful feelings of love do a 180 and pierce you with no remorse after you’ve committed to the feeling? please rid me of this unwanted emotion, it hurts. why did it have to end up like this? have i softened too much to have my guard lowered down to this extent? why must i bear the consequences of heartbreak when i’ve been the one who’s peace has been threatened…?

you were speechless. you hated this. you can’t believe that you allowed yourself to be caught by the fatui all because you lowered your guard down and fell in love. this was absurd. you can’t even find the energy to fight off these restraints that held you down because your energy has depleted. it's as if he sucked out the life force remaining in you out of you.

upon seeing your quiet state, lyney called out to you with a worried tone as he took a step and reached out to you as he spoke, “ma chérie, i-” “i hate you. don’t you dare call me by that stupid endearment ever again.” you bitterly spoke, avoiding to look him in the eyes. “i apologize, i was supposed to tell you everything soon but-” “so that explains why you kept zoning out before…” you say in deep thought, feeling a wave of emotions flow into your system.

“yes, please believe me, i wanted to come clean, but i feared you would avoid me if i did and i got scared. i-” “you had so many chances to tell me. had you told me sooner, i would’ve understood you better. but no, you just had to put on a fake play for me to witness.” 

“i’ll give you a show that you’ll never forget even as you go on your adventures in far and distant lands. you won’t have a choice other than to think about me.” he determinedly states as he locks his violet hues with your crystalline orbs. 

“so this is what you meant by giving me a show i’ll never forget, huh?” you laugh dryly with venom trailing behind your words. 

“traveler…” lyney reaches out to you once again to try and reconcile but he stops midway as he sensed a threat coming towards their way. 

“GUARDS!! SEIZE THOSE PREPOSTOROUS TWINS IMMEDIATELY!” the hydro archon barges in and yells with an army of policemen. they quickly cuff the false crowd as they enter. you sigh in relief upon seeing paimon flying beside furina as she searches for you in the room. “over there furina, the traveler is seated in front!!” paimon exclaims as she points to you, they immediately rush over to where you are. 

you look back on stage to give one more glance at the twins but just as how they were clever magicians, they were gone before you knew it. 

paimon and furina quickly rush over to you. “traveler!! are you alright?” paimon worriedly says as she hugs you. you meekly shake your head as tears are still spewing from your eyes. Furina looks over your broken-down state and notices the shackles that bind you. “let me help you with that.” furina says as she uses her vision to break you free. “th..ank you” you whisper softly, chest heaving from the hurt.

“you poor thing… we’re sorry we hadn’t come sooner.” furina embraces you into a hug and pats your back before continuing, “those phonies ran away before we could catch them!! this is so infuriating!!” paimon stomped her feet in the air as she brushed the loose strands of your hair. 

“how did you two know i was in danger…?” you sniffed as you touched the light bruise marks on your wrists. “freminet told us everything. he’s now being held under my protection from the fatui.” furina says as she lifts you up from your chair. “so even he knew about this…?” you say in disbelief, heart weighing even more burden than it already did.

“it’s a good thing they didn’t take you away yet. their ‘father’ or rather, a high-ranked harbinger was supposed to walk down that door to take you to archon knows where but lyney hadn’t given her the signal yet. she’s still here somewhere, we just don’t know where.” furina explained. “what?” you furrowed your brows in confusion. 

he had so many opportunities to send that go signal, and yet why didn’t he? you were lost in thought as you thought of possible reasons as to why he didn’t call his “father” as soon as he got you distracted. but as your mind was going around in laps, a voice erupted.

“pardon me, i think this is for you.” one of the guards excused himself as he stood by furina and handed you an envelope. you opened it and saw the card had the silhouette of you and lyney dancing together on the main cover—it was the same one he cut out earlier on stage, except there was a queen of hearts logo on the opposite sides. you felt your heart ache as you flipped the other side to see his small writing. 

“to my dear chérie, i’ve wronged you in many ways and left you with so many questions. indeed, our encounter was not fate but was strings pulled together to make whatever we had happen. i am no innocent man, but i’ve never shed blood other than mine. would you forgive this poor soul of mine for deceiving you? a magician i am, but at the end of the day, im just lyney; the same lyney who hand-picked rainbow roses just because it reminded him of you.

i grew tired of playing pretend. i fessed up to father how i could no longer carry out the mission as i knew i would only hurt you deeply—it hurts me too that i have to do this to you. father wasn’t pleased with this. he demanded that i cut off ties with you immediately after seeing my weakness becoming your entirety. believe me, i’ve always wanted to tell you the truth, but how could i after seeing that bright smile of yours? how could i shatter the excitement in your eyes as you looked at me oh so lovingly? you were too good for this world, and i wouldn’t want to be the cause of your tears; even now as i write this, my heart aches at just the thought of you trembling once you find out that i’ve conned you into winning your heart.

i understand that you no longer wish to see me again after i’ve wore countless of masks to hide my true intentions to you for every minute we spent together, but just know this, mon amour. 

te rencontrer a été le meilleur miracle qui soit jamais arrivé dans ma vie. j'avais l'habitude de regarder les roses arc-en-ciel de loin, admirant la beauté de tout cela, jusqu'à ce que tu descendes du ciel et apportes de la couleur à ma toile vierge. les roses arc-en-ciel ne pouvaient plus se comparer à votre beauté irisée. même le soleil devient jaloux de votre rayonnement. je t'aime et je t'aimerai toujours.

let your tears no longer cascade on that delicate skin of yours. when our paths cross once more and if destiny allows me to, i’ll tell you everything you’ve always wanted to know. at the usual spot, from years on end.

until we meet again, ma chérie.”

lyney was truly a magician at best; he disappeared into the seams of the night and left no traces of him behind as you grieve for his absence and sins. you often joked around at how he shouldn’t do a lousy disappearance trick the next time that he performs in the opera epiclese, but it seems as though he took those words to his grave as he proved that he can commit to greater feats. 

1.) "i just wanted to give you a hug"

2.) "dumbass we're lost now thanks to you!" " i already got lost in your eyes from the moment i met you but you don't see me complaining."

3.) "please don't talk to me right now, im not in the mood"

4.) "how are you so beautiful?"

5.) "my hoodie looks great on you"

6.) "how could you..."

7.) "i trusted you"

8.) "i didn't tell you to trust me."

9.) "you're leaving? just like that?"

10.) "no stop you're making me blush"

11.) "and if i am?"

12.) "just shut up and let me play with your hair"

13.) "so this is what falling in love feels like"

14.) "how are you even real..?"

15.) "are you being for real right now?"

16.) "...did you just sniff me?"

17.) "if you're that mad then why don't you just take it out on me?"

18.) "i don't mind"

19.) "you dumbass, i said i like you!"

20.) "i used to have this huge crush on you (laughs)" "used to?" "well, yeah.. i dont really like you anymore"

21.) "can i hold your hand?"

22.) "are you nervous?"

23.) "less talking, more working!"

24.) "im in love with an idiot"

25.) "but you promised me that we'd get married!!" "for the love of god, ____ we were 5 when that promise was made!"

26.) "but i still love/like you.."

27.) "this reminded me of you"

28.) "his/her/their smile is really pretty.."

29.) "just confess already!!"

30.) "you're an idiot." "yeah. your idiot."

31.) "are you even paying attention?"

32.) "does it look like i care?"

33.) "i don't really care"

34.) "it's been a while since i last smiled like this"

35.) "oh crap im starting to feel the butterflies again"

36.) "I'm scared, okay?! i can't do it"

37.) "what are you so scared of?"

38.) "im scared of falling.." "dont be, i'll catch you."

39.) "promise..?" "promise."

40.) "i guess promises really were meant to be broken."

41.) "you made a fool out of me!"

42.) "im sorry, its not you.. its me."

43.) "what about our promises??" "what about them?"

44.) "please dont go"

45.) "is/are they/he/she all you're ever going to look at?im already right in front of your attention is still focused on them/him/her."

46.) "that's it..?"

47.) "cuddle with me"

48.) "no."

49.) "his/her/their eyes were like pools; so deep. I fear that if I fall, I might never come out and reach for air."

50.) "i love spending time with you"

51.) "let's just be friends"

52.) "im sorry, im afraid of commitment"

53.) "im afraid of it too. why don't you just take this risk and overcome your fears with me?"

54.) "if its you, then i dont mind."

55.) "i love your smell"

56.) "what's that supposed to mean?"

57.) "first love really never does die huh"

58.) "hey, you look really familiar" "oh, really?" "yeah. you look like my soulmate."

59.) "if you like me so much then just marry me already"

60.) "wait i can do that?!" "your gullibility really amazes me sometimes."

61.) "are you dumb? be honest"

62.) "im not in the mood"

63.) "are you okay?"

64.) "you look horrible" "oh wow gee thanks for pointing that out sherlock"

65.) "what's in it for me?"

66.) "do you..like me?"

67.) "do you like him/her/them?"

68.) "but i wrote you letters.."

69.) "they mean nothing to me."

70.) "wow! i haven't seen you in ages, how have you been?" "we literally just saw each other 5 hours ago."

71.) "wipe that smirk off your face, its annoying"

72.) "aww, why? are you perhaps threatened that you'll end up falling for me?"

73.) "i think im going to puke"

74.) "are you blushing?"

75.) "aren't you tired of comstantly running in my mind?"

76.) "i can't get him/her/them out of my head"

77.) "your laugh sounds really pretty"

78.) "i love how your eyes sparkle whenever you're invested in something"

79.) "im falling"

80.) "oh no im catching feelings"

81.) "do you ever stop talking?"

82.) "let me get that for you"

83.) "its okay, i can pay for myself" "no. i wont let you" "but i have my own mone-" "shut up and let me spoil you!"

84.) "i refuse to stay in the same room with the likes of him/her/them!"

86.) "it was pretty obvious.."

87.) "come here."

88.) "stop doing that to yourself!"

89.) "you deserve better."

90.) "just leave. i dont want to see your face anymore."

91.) "i hate you." "the feeling's mutual."

92.) "didn't i tell you to leave me alone?!"

93.) "was it so wrong to love you..?"

94.) "if you really love me then just stay away from my sight."

95.) "you feel like home"

96.) "i love hugging you, it makes me feel safe"

97.) "i could kiss you right now!" "you're very welcome to do it."

98.) "i can't keep playing pretend"

99.) "let's put an end to this.."

100.) "i think im actually catching feelings"

101.) "this is getting dangerous.."

102.) "give me another chance"

103.) "give me one reason why i shouldnt leave."

104.) "im going to do it! im finally going to confess to him/her/them!"

105.) "you've got to be kidding me.."

106.) "i knew what i signed up for. im not surprised."

107.) "he/she/they has/have stars in his/her/their eyes and im captivated"

108.) "i love you" "nice try, but im not falling for that"

109.) "is it that hard to fall in love with me?!"

110.) "well if you put it that way, then yes."

111.) "you look happy"

112.) "you look happier without me."

113.) "can you guys please change the dare"

114.) "who gave you the right to toy around with my emotions like that?!"

115.) "i got played.."

116.) "stay out of my sight."

117.) "you're an eyesore" "you're an eye candy"

118.) "why are you still here?"

119.) "why..?"

120.) "stop making fun of me!" "make me."

121.) "was i just some kind of sick joke to you?"

122.) " i really like you "

123.) "i don't know how to express my feelings that well but i just want you to know that i'd take a bullet for you"

124.) "i'd do anything just to see you smile like that again"

125.) "what are you staring at?"

126.) "i think i have a crush on you" "you think? you're not even sure?"

127.) "take my hand"

128.) "let's get out of here."

129.) "you should wear my clothes more often"

130.) "i can teach you how"

131.) "I'm here for you"

132.) "you can use me to forget about him/her/them"

133.) "even if the world turns againt us, as long as we have each other, then we'll be alright."

134.) "you're all that i need"

135.) "you're all that i ever wanted"

136.) "you're all that i have"

137.) "please don't leave me"

138.) "I'm sorry."

139.) "look at me."

140.) "look at me and tell me that you don't love me anymore."

141.) "you're an idiot."

142.) "i don't love you anymore."

143.) "did you just drink from my cup?" "and if i did?"

144.) "im going to kill you!" "you don't scare me"

145.) "stay with me a little longer"

146.) "i knew it.."

147.) "i should've known.."

148.) "are you jealous?"

149.) "i made you a playlist"

150.) "when will you ever look my way..?"

151.) "im fine with looking at him/her/them from afar"

152.) "he's/she's/they're out of my league"

151.) "im scared of getting rejected"

152.) "back to square one"

153.) "I'm tired"

154.) "what do you like about me?"

154.) "i'd rather starve than spend time with him/her/them."

155.) "if i'm an idiot, then you're a coward"

156.) "i dreamt about you last night"

157.) "it was a nightmare"

158.) "it's the little things that he/she/they do/does that drive me insane"

159.) "i like you more than i should"

160.) "be mine"

161.) "it was too good to be true.."

162.) "i had a crush on him/her/them"

163.) "i never really thought that i'd end up falling for you"

164.) "you're adorable"

165.) "you mean the world to me"

166.) "you meant the world to me"

167.) "what happened in the past stays in the past"

168.) "careful, you might end up falling for me"

169.) "very funny, mister lover boy"

170.) "lets go out on a date"

171.) "i'm so lucky to have you"

172.) "where are you going?"

173.) "sometimes it really just gotta be like that"

174.) "hello good afternoon, what's your order?" "hell- oh wow.. you please" "im sorry, could you say that again?" "wait no! i meant- uh..oh dear.."

175.) "he's too good for me"

176.) "stop giving me mixed signals"

177.) "i guess it really just wasn't meant to be"

178.) "im not interested in you"

179.) "i cant get him/her/them out of my head"

180.) "where is/are he/she/they?"

181.) "you took my pillow so im going to use you as a pillow"

182.) "why are you avoiding me?"

183.) "did i do something wrong?"

184.) "please talk to me"

185.) "im not even his/her/their ideal type"

186.) "it wouldn't hurt to try"

187.) "you smell like me"

188.) "i like my scent on you"

189.) "that sounds weird if you put it that way"

190.) "can i call you tonight?"

191.) "you should smile more often"

192.) "i hate it when people tell me what to do"

193.) "lets wear matching outfits!"

194.) "im arresting you." "why? i didnt do anything wrong" "yes you did, you stole my heart and i want justice!"

195.) "i guess i got too caught up with my fatasies to notice that he/she/they never really liked me back in the first place.."

196.) "you're the answer to all my prayers"

198.) "you should go home."

199.) "let me come with you"

200.) "run away with me"

last updated: 12/30/20