#txt.cat

The apartment across the yard has been empty for a few months now. 

For Zhongli, the patio and soft grass between the buildings outweigh the stomping of neighbors upstairs. She’s seen the lackluster balcony gardens some of the other tenants maintain. It’s not due to a lack of trying, oh no--even the most dedicated of gardeners can only do so much with so little room. Her little Qiqi’s garden, however, flourishes under both the space and care they can offer it. Several of the other ground floor tenants, Zhongli knows, strive to have plants as well loved as theirs. 

When beautiful new rose bushes seem to appear across the yard, planted carefully around the little patio connected to the usually-empty apartment, Zhongli is surprised, to say the least.

She hasn’t caught sight of their new neighbor yet. However, she can only imagine them as one of two people: a young lady with a busy schedule, who knows how to be brutally efficient in the mornings before Zhongli is even up, tending to her rose bushes’ every need and then disappearing to go to her day job, or an older gentleman with ample time on his hands, shelves lined with every horticulture book known to man, who just so happens to be excellent at avoiding Zhongli’s watchful eye.

Her first guess seems to be the correct one, when several days later, the previously empty apartment’s slider opens, and out steps a young lady--a touch younger than Zhongli imagined--with a head of fiery, messy curls. To her surprise though, a young man follows her out, a handful of years older than the girl most likely, sporting similar hair and a proud smile as the young lady seemingly inspects the bushes.

Zhongli watches from her living room as the young lady stands and smooshes her (presumably) brother’s face, who laughs as he grabs her wrists and tugs them away. They chat there for a moment, and then the young man pulls a cutesy watering can out from just inside the slider door, steps around his sister, and begins watering the roses.

It’s late in the evening, and normally around this time, Zhongli is helping Qiqi bathe and get ready for bed. Tonight, however, Qiqi is staying the night with the other family with a child in this section of the complex--her first ever sleepover. Zhongli’s husband doesn’t return until nearly midnight on the weekends, so she’s left alone for the first time in their little apartment in many moons with just her teacup and her books.

With her reading light on next to her, Zhongli realizes she must have been obviously staring at them, if the brother turning and looking directly at her is any indication. The young man pulls on a smile though and offers Zhongli a wave. She waves back mildly, somewhat caught off guard, widening the young man’s smile. He turns back towards his sister then, who’s also looking in Zhongli’s direction, and escorts her inside, that cutesy watering can still gripped in his hand.

Zhongli hopes she’ll see him around more often now.

As it just so happens, she does.

The young man seems to work on the weekdays, while on the weekends he usually appears midday on his patio, athletic wear on as he leaves through his slider with nothing but his phone and a pair of earbuds. She’s purposefully looking out for him now, and when he returns home sweaty and panting, Zhongli turns her gaze elsewhere.

It’s early Thursday evening when she finally talks to him, only after nearly bolting out into the yard in panic after hearing Qiqi’s soft voice choke up and dissolve into sobs. Zhongli nearly rips the screen door off to get to her child when she sees the young man knelt in the grass in front of Qiqi, a first aid kit lying open next to them.

The young man’s voice is soft as he asks Qiqi about her day, doing what he can to distract her as he pulls thorns from her little hand. Qiqi, normally not one for conversation with anyone she doesn’t know, answers through her blubbering, doing her best to tell the young man the plot of a children's book her teacher read to them today.

Qiqi’s no longer crying by the time the young man is wrapping the last bandage around her finger. Zhongli can’t help but notice the colorful characters printed on them, some she vaguely recognizes from when Qiqi’s cartoons switch over to the older kid’s programming in the afternoon. Zhongli only has a moment to wonder if maybe this new neighbor has a kid of his own before the two have gotten up from the grass and walked their way over to her, still in the doorway of her apartment.

“Hi, Mama,” Qiqi greets quietly as she gently pulls her hand from their neighbor’s, stepping forward to instead get picked up by Zhongli.

“Hello, darling.” As soon as Qiqi is settled on her hip, Zhongli lifts a hand to brush some of Qiqi’s hair out of her face, speaking once more. “Are you alright?” A nod. Zhongli turns her attention to their neighbor from there. “What happened?” The smile the young man gives her is a bit on the guilty side, like he had personal responsibility for a child that isn’t even his. “She tried to pick one of my roses with her bare hands, ma’am,” he answers, voice boyish and, frankly, lovely. “I was just coming outside as she tried--I didn’t react in time. But, uh,” he pauses, one of his hands lifting to rub the back of his neck. “I keep a first aid kit right by the door, so she didn’t suffer for long.”

“Oh,” Zhongli replies, blinking at the man. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” He says with a bit of a laugh, though Zhongli can hear the slight nerve in his voice anyway. Surely she’s not intimidating in her cooking apron of all things.

“Well,” Zhongli starts, returning her gaze to her daughter. “What do we say, Qiqi?” Qiqi squirms under the gaze of her mother, her face flushing as she tucks herself up against Zhongli, mumbling her thanks to the air behind Zhongli instead of towards their neighbor. The young man laughs good-naturedly regardless, his stiff shoulders relaxing with Qiqi’s shyness.

“You’re welcome, Qiqi. Oh!” He perks up, quickly turning towards his own apartment. “One second!” The young man half-jogs over to his patio, stepping just into the threshold of his apartment and reaching towards the same spot Zhongli sees him grab his watering can from. Instead he pulls out a pair of pruning shears and a single glove, steps back out, and beelines to one of the rose bushes. Zhongli hears the snip of the shears after a second despite the young man putting himself between her and whatever he’s cutting, and when he turns around, he’s holding a beautiful rose by its long stem, his gloved hand pulling off the leaves towards the bottom.

“If you cut about an inch off the bottom of this every time you change the water, it should last a while.” He holds the rose out to Zhongli as he steps up to them, a small smile on his face. Zhongli can admire his features more readily like this, and takes delight in noticing the stroke of freckles across his nose and cheeks.

“Thank you.” She returns his smile as she takes it, which only serves to widen his own, a set of dimples revealing themselves to her. How darling.

The young man shrugs. “Consider it a gift for being understanding. I know my mom wouldn’t have been as calm as you if one of my siblings was under the care of someone she doesn’t know, no matter how brief.”

Zhongli laughs, much to the obvious delight of their neighbor. “Why don’t you tell me your name then? So you’re no longer a stranger.”

He laughs again, then smiles at them both, though his eyes return to Zhongli barely after a second of looking at Qiqi. “Ajax, but my friends call me Childe.”

“Childe, then.” Zhongli nods, then jostles Qiqi a little on her hip, pulling a little disgruntled noise from her daughter as she’s dislodged from her hiding place. “This is Qiqi, as you heard earlier. You may call me Zhongli.”

“Zhongli,” Childe tests, his deep blue eyes wandering over her face. Zhongli feels her cheeks flush ever so slightly. She sincerely hopes Childe doesn’t notice.

To help distract, Zhongli speaks. “Well, I suppose I should put this rose in some water...”

“Oh!” Childe blinks, then laughs, light and happy. She can guess the young man is laughing at himself. “Yeah, that would be good.” He steps back from their patio with a smile, passing his pruning shears from his ungloved hand to the gloved one, then waves to both Zhongli and Qiqi, a pleasant smile on his face. “When that one dies, I don’t mind replacing it. Just let me know.”

“I will,” Zhongli nearly whispers, watching as Childe drops the leaves he plucked into the dirt his roses rest in. He pulls that single glove off as he looks over his shoulder back towards Zhongli and Qiqi once more, giving them both another smile and a wave. Zhongli lifts some of her fingers from her rose to wave in return, watching as the young man smiles just a touch more, then steps into his apartment, returning his tools to their spots.

Zhongli hums as Childe comes back out once more to collect the first aid kit still in the grass, then she finally turns away, stepping back into her own apartment. She bends over to place Qiqi down, then stands back up and turns herself to close the slider. She spots Childe standing on his patio then, eyes clearly glued to her, and she pauses, her hand resting on the handle of the door. The young man seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in around then and hurriedly stumbles inside his own apartment, his slider nearly getting slammed in his rush.

Zhongli blinks at the commotion, then shuts her own slider in a much calmer fashion. “I suppose…” she starts as she watches Childe’s silhouette disappear from the little amount of the interior of his apartment she can see, then huffs in amusement. What a peculiar young man. She closes the blinds over the door, then makes her way through the living room, gently patting her daughter’s head. “I suppose we should start on dinner, lest we risk your father’s grumpiness by waiting any longer, hm?”

“Well, now that all that’s settled, we have some time to waste until their two hours are up,” Venti says as he turns towards the Traveler and Paimon, a grin blooming across his face. “Let’s go get a drink, shall we?”

The Traveler smiles awkwardly at the bard as they begin their march from under the city’s Barbatos statue to Angel’s Share, Paimon huffing indignantly as she floats along. “You know they don’t drink, bard! You only suggested it because you don’t know how to do anything else!”

Venti laughs, jovial and completely lacking any shame, which only further riles up Paimon. “So? A good drink always tastes better in good company! You can get grape juice or something.” The bard hops down the steps, two at a time, the traveler following in suit as to not be left behind. “Besides—” Venti pauses near the bottom of the staircase, turning himself back towards his companions, gazing cheekily up at them— “what else are you going to do while we wait to check up on our students? Those commissions no one has posted since the festival began?”

Paimon’s cheeks puff, her little hands balling into fists. “You—!!”

“Ahaha, there you are! Figures I’d find you two mixed up in the sprite’s shenanigans.”

Venti’s cheekiness drops the moment he hears that laugh, a thin smile taking its place as he turns to the presence at the bottom of the staircase. The Traveler’s attention snaps to the Harbinger below just as quickly as Paimon’s, who gasps loud enough for them both. “Childe?!”

“Hey!” The Harbinger greets the three of them with a wave, his smile genuine as far as any of them can tell.

“I thought the shame of losing our little contest would have driven you back home by now!” Venti lilts, bounding down the rest of the steps to land in Childe’s space, that forced smile still plastered on his face.

“Ahh, no, see—” Childe grins at Venti, a little too toothy, this smile much more fitting with the dangerous man the Traveler and Paimon now know him as— “a loss leads to more practice, and more practice leads to more polish, and more polish always warrants another go.”

Venti levels the Snezhnayan with an unimpressed stare. “So you’re here for a rematch,” he states.

Childe laughs, pleasant and warm, the epitome of friendliness. It’s so easy to be drawn into that sound if you know little of the man.

“Not yet! Rather, I heard you’re offering the masses lessons in poetry?”

The question catches both the Traveler and Paimon off guard, and if the silence between the four of them singing louder than any cricket is capable of is anything to go by, it’s surprised Venti too.

“You actually, uh...” Paimon starts after a beat, fidgeting her hands as she speaks, “just missed—.“ 

The sudden clap of Venti’s hands coming together cuts the fairy-creature off, his tone much more amicable than it just was. “I am! And these two are my assistants!” Venti gestures over to the Traveler and Paimon, who have now finally joined the other two at the bottom of the stairs. “You did actually just miss our assignment period though,” the bard stresses, offering a pitying expression that clearly irks the Harbinger. Paimon saw his fist curl.

Childe laughs mutedly, lifting said fist to his torso, casually smoothing it out over the front of his uniform. “That’s... unfortunate.”

“But!” Venti chimes, switching his demeanor in a heartbeat, leaning forward enough to force Childe back a step. “I’d be willing to let you join late, as long as you’re willing to pay the fee!”

The laugh that falls from Childe’s mouth this time is much fuller than his previous one, amusement dancing across his face. “Sure, sure. How much is it?”

“Welllll~” Venti’s index finger comes to rest on his chin as he turns his head conspiringly towards his two assistants, the corners of his mouth curled up in such a way that it practically screams mischief. 

“Since you missed the beginning of the class,” Venti begins as he turns a more scholarly expression towards Childe, his index finger tapping against his chin, “we’ll have to catch you up one-on-one. On top of that, you’re cutting into our break time, which we were really looking forward to after all our hard work with our other students...”

Paimon suddenly seems to brighten up in her spot next to the Traveler, catching onto the scheme the bard is putting forth. The Traveler can practically see her vibrating with her habit of greed. “Seriously! Paimon had to explain the ins and outs of poetry so much, Paimon’s jaw hurts!”

Childe’s eyebrows raise as he appraises the bard and the fairy, and when he glances to the Traveler, they can tell he’s not convinced. However...

“Well, why don’t I just owe you double and we move on?” the Harbinger suggests, his attention returning to Venti.

Venti laughs, delight ringing through the air. “Sounds good to me!”

—

The trio filled Childe in on what information he missed from their earlier class within a few minutes, despite how long both Paimon and Venti alluded to it taking beforehand. Childe didn’t seem bothered over paying double for something that hardly took five minutes, but knowing his spending habits after witnessing everything in Liyue, the Traveler wasn’t surprised.

By the end of it, they assigned Childe a poem to be read and critiqued by the bard as they did the others, and soon enough, the four of them parted ways with an agreement to meet at the Goth Grand Hotel later in the day.

The trio’s idle time passed by swiftly, mostly due to the hilichurl camps nearby the city they decided to clear instead of day drinking. The walk back into town and to the Fatui delegation’s temporary place of residence ate up their remaining time, and though they were clearly invited to the building by the Harbinger earlier, the guard at the door seems unconvinced.

“‘Poetry lessons’ hardly seem in the realm of the Lord Harbinger’s interests,” the doorguard, Luke, states in response to the explanation he’s been given regarding the trio’s presence.

“Well, what else do you expect him to be doing during the Windblume Festival?” Venti asks as he tilts his head curiously, a teasing smile on his face.

Luke scoffs, haughtily turning his head to the side. “The matters of the Lord Harbinger’s love life aren’t mine to divulge. Besides—“ the Traveler raises a hand to cover their sudden smile as Luke continues on, amused over the guard’s predictability. Always a talker, this one. “—last I heard, his partner is in Liyue anyway. What use would he have for the festivities of a Mondstadt festival?”

The mention of a partner has Venti perking up like a dog offered a treat, Paimon now joining the Traveler on covering a smile of her own. “Ohhh, his lover is in Liyue, huh~?” Venti sing-songs. “He must be wanting to send them an authentic piece of his time in another country! How romantic!”

The Traveler and Paimon are both left giggling behind the bard as an embarrassed flush blooms over what’s visible of Luke’s face, the Fatui man clearly only now realizing he’s once again shared too much. “Shut it, you twerp,” Luke spits, trying to reign the conversation in his favor, “unless you want the Lord Harbinger shutting you up himself!”

“Must you threaten my guests, Luke?”

Four heads turn towards the amused voice of said Lord Harbinger, who currently has his upper body partially leaning out a window of what can only be assumed is the foyer. His head is propped up on one of his hands, leaving him looking picturesque under the warm sun and soft breeze.

Venti cackles unabashedly as Luke stammers out an apology in Childe’s direction, Childe’s amused smile pulling into a grin.

“Let them in before you spill more of my secrets,” Childe waves as he pulls himself back into the building, tone light. Luke mumbles an affirmative to the no-longer-present Harbinger and opens the doors of the hotel for the three guests, Venti happily making his way inside with the Traveler and Paimon close behind, the doors softly thudding closed once they’re through.

The foyer of the Goth Grand Hotel hosts two sets of socializing spaces to the left and right of the rug running through the room, decorated with high quality rococo couches, loveseats, and chairs. At the back of the room is the counter, most likely vacant of staff due to the occupation of only Fatui here. On either side of that, stairs leading up, the space required for that leaving the room quite open.

Childe is seated in the room alone, in a chair to the left of the entrance, watching his guests with thinly-veiled amusement. He’s perched so one elbow rests against the armrest of the chair, that hand providing support for his head. He’s leaning heavily to the right, his left leg crossed over the thigh of his right, left hand loose and casual in his lap.

“Someone looks comfortable,” Venti comments good-naturedly as he makes his way over to the couch angled perpendicular to the armchair, the Traveler and Paimon following his lead.

“I am!” Childe laughs as he lifts his head from his hand, regarding the three of them with a bright smile. “Mondstadt is just so lovely right now, what with all the vitriol your people have for us Fatui.”

Paimon huffs, crossing her own legs in the air as she mimics Childe’s positioning, only a lot more balled up. “Well, can you blame them? You guys are always up to something!”

“Ahaha, a fair assessment,” Childe muses as he unfolds himself, planting both feet on the floor as he leans towards the coffee table in front of him. There, he snatches the top paper from a stack of several and offers it in Venti’s direction. “Well, shall we? You’ve more students to see, after all.”

“That we do,” Venti hums, taking the paper from the Harbinger. He sits up properly in his seat then and turns his eyes to the paper only briefly, quickly returning them to Childe. “Would it bother you if I read this aloud?”

Childe grins and waves a hand through the air, casually dismissing the need for permission. “By all means.”

The bard smiles and nods, then once again settles his gaze to the paper, clearing his throat before beginning.

“‘Words come easy to me,’” Venti begins, voice light and pleasant. “‘Over dinner, drinks, the shore. But there are some far more challenging, said aloud than written down.’”

The room is quiet save for Venti’s soft countenance. Childe’s gaze has drifted down to the rest of the pages on the table, where the Traveler can clearly see scribbles and scratches of other versions of the poem Venti’s currently reading.

“‘Surely you know by now, how irreplaceable your presence is, to a man so solitary.’”

Paimon looks to the Traveler then, head tilted in a silent question of who the Harbinger could possibly be talking about—at least until—.

“‘How every word that falls, from your lips and graces my ears, is a sweet treasure, more decadent, than any wine or dessert.’”

Paimon’s eyes widen, and she starts rapidly smacking her hand against the Traveler’s shoulder, pieces being put together. She’s excited, despite how hostile she may or may not be towards the Harbinger. The Traveler can’t help but laugh silently at her antics.

“‘Mondstadt prides itself on freedom, but the freedom you’ve given me, will forever be the envy, of the City of Wind.’”

Venti pauses here, though with a brief glance, the Traveler can see another verse written, just two lines. The script is just messy enough to keep them from making out the words before Venti’s laughing stiltedly, catching the attention of all those in the room. Childe’s eyebrows raise in a silent question, and after a beat passes without an answer, he lifts his upper body to sit up straight.

“What?” Childe laughs, the lightest dusting of color painting his cheeks as he leans back into the chair, the iron grip he’s taken up on the armrest betraying his calm. “Don’t want to finish it, little sprite?”

Venti huffs out a laugh of his own and tosses the paper back in Childe’s direction, who catches it out of the air like it’s a precious thing. Which, honestly...

“To be honest, I was expecting the same sort of mess as your form with a bow, but that was actually well done!”

Childe’s smile turns tight, mirrored perfectly back at him by Venti. The tension is palpable. Concerned, the Traveler turns their attention to Paimon, who meets their gaze with a mildly alarmed look of confusion.

The moment passes as Childe breaks eye contact with the bard, folding the paper in his hands. “Well, as unhelpful as you were, I do owe you,” Childe says as he places the piece of paper on the coffee table. He reaches under the jacket of his uniform after, pulling out a hefty pouch of mora and tossing it carelessly into Venti’s lap. It doesn’t take much thought to how much is in there when the Traveler can practically see Venti’s eyes sparkling—most likely, it’s much more than their efforts today are worth.

“Now,” Childe hums, regarding the three of them with a pleasant smile, “get out.”

—

Luke was more than happy to doubly unwelcome them as the trio stepped out from the hotel with a shout of scram! for good measure, since he apparently decided his Lord Harbinger’s icy dismissal wasn’t enough.

Venti pockets the pouch of mora with a guilt-free grin despite their initial critiquing session lasting a grand total of five minutes max, turning his attention to the Traveler and Paimon.

“Well! Next stop is the Knights of Favonius’s headquarters!” Venti announces with a clap of his hands.

—

The nighttime scene during the Windblume Festival mostly seems to consist of lovers holding hands, playing music, feeding one another food, or in that unlucky instance where the Traveler picked the wrong side path, being tangled together.

The PDA is near unbearable, but Paimon’s never ending hunger has driven them out in search of festival food. Admittedly, everything they’ve tried so far has been mouthwatering, and almost makes up for the trauma both the Traveler and Paimon now have with that one path. Luckily, they’ve wandered into a quieter section of the city, most of the festivities contained to the main street and surrounding areas.

“‘...is a sweet treasure, more decadent, than any wine or dessert.’”

The words coming from somewhere above the duo are immediately recognizable as the work of one Eleventh Harbinger they had already heard earlier in the day. The Traveler and Paimon share a startled look as the voice continues—one they just as easily recognize as Childe himself.

“‘Mondstadt prides itself on freedom, but the freedom you’ve given me, will forever be the envy, of the City of Wind,’” Childe recites, to the sky or to another, they can’t tell. Then...

“‘I love you, dear consultant.’”

A low, rumbling laugh floats down upon the duo then, and the Traveler and Paimon both freeze up.

“I never quite took you as the ‘waxing poetic’ type, Ajax,” Zhongli comments, voice something too tender for these two intruders to be hearing.

“When in Mondstadt,” ‘Ajax’ replies, his tone fond.

“Indeed.”

There’s a quiet moment that neither the Traveler or Paimon are quite sure what to do in, until they hear a deep purr of Childe’s given name. That scares them away immediately, the sound of the Traveler’s footsteps rushing back down towards the main street. 

His classroom wasn’t his typical hangout spot for lunch. Usually, he sat outside with the rest of the team, barking laughter and friendly shoves all around. Today though, the rain beats against the roof of the school with reckless abandon, threatening to take away the ceiling just as it took away the sun. There is nowhere comfortable for their team inside— they’re too loud, too rambunctious, so staying separated when they were confined like this was the most merciful act they could have on the school.

It’s not like Ryuji didn’t have other people to sit with. Honestly, some of the guys on the team were definitely cool enough for him to hang around with solo, and Mishima had always offered a hand to him on the days he wasn’t feeling too hot. Sometimes he was content to just be by himself even, but the rain put a damper on his mood like no other. It’s easy to read on him: he stays firmly planted at his desk with his feet up on the empty chair across the aisle, bento in his lap and a scowl on his face. He’s unapproachable at best and an earful of biting remarks at worst, so maybe that’s why the smile from the transfer student sitting with Suzui a few aisles over and several desks forward throws him off so bad.

Suzui’s clearly explaining… Ryuji, probably, to the guy, who seems unbothered by the eye contact they’ve suddenly made, even with Ryuji’s intense don’t-even-look-my-way aura. It’s somewhere between off-putting and intriguing, the way the transfer student refuses to lose their staring contest. Suzui seems to notice what’s happening between them, if her coy smile is any indicator. Not that Ryuji can notice when his eyes are glued to the stormy grey of the transfer student— Kuroro? Kusuri? He’s not seen a color so intense before, hadn’t even known eyes could be that color. Their contest gets broken by one of the classroom doors opening, Ku-whatever looking away first. Gotcha, Ryuji grins as a newly crowned staring contest champ, before a familiar hand is suddenly snaking its way into his lap to snag one of his pieces of melon.

“Get your own, Takamaki,” Ryuji barks, smacking Takamaki’s hand away roughly enough for her to recoil, but gently enough for her to keep her hold on the piece.

“C’mon, we can share! Sakamaki lunches were always the best.” He can’t help the smile that flashes across his face at her teasing. Middle school was just the two of them sharing their hauls at lunch until Suzui came along and made it three. It fell back to two again when Ryuji left them for lunch with his team instead, and had stayed like that until this new guy, apparently. The idea of being replaced briefly bounces around in his head, even if he hadn’t touched that open spot in their group nearing on two years.

“You only like me for my melons.” 

Takamaki laughs, though it doesn’t nearly sound as bubbly as it used to. “What can I say? Your mom did good.”

Ryuji laughs at that, mood shifting for the better. Takamaki could always manage that regardless of how badly Ryuji wanted to sulk. Maybe he shoulda taken that open slot back before it was too late.

“Come sit with us,” Takamaki offers, snagging one more piece before half turning away from him, offering him the view of the transfer student and Suzui again.

“So you can eat the rest of my food in the comfort of Suzui’s lap? No thanks.” Takamaki laughs again, this one definitely lighter, like he struck something he wasn’t really aware he was digging for. Huh.

“Fine, keep brooding over here. I bet Kurusu has something better than you anyway.” She walks off with that, practically jumping the other two for whatever food they have as soon as she’s in range.

Kurusu, he notes absently as he watches the transfer student’s glasses lift up his face with the rise of his cheeks, that smile from earlier returning as Takamaki fights Suzui for one of her jelly cups.

“Grape’s my favorite, hands off!” he hears Suzui shout as she battles Takamaki for the little thing of plastic, too absorbed in the way Kurusu’s hair frames his face as he once again turns his head towards Ryuji, smile friendly and inviting.

Maybe his spot is still there, even if it’s been collecting dust all this time. Kurusu doesn’t seem like the type to steal anyway, even if his hands have been flipping his pen around the whole class with the proficiency of someone who definitely knows how to pick a lock.

Maybe he can pick the one keeping Ryuji in place over here, despite the stormy eyes practically asking for his company.

Stormy eyes that match the sky behind him, actually.

Rhydon falls, and despite how perfect every inch of his team is, Green can’t find it in himself to be surprised.

He knew he was going to lose the moment Red pushed open those doors. The expression on his face, the determined scowl Green’s seen every time they’ve battled since their first in Gramps’s lab, told Green his time as Champion was up.

It was never really his to begin with, they both knew. Green hadn’t ever beaten Red, and honestly, he couldn’t even picture what that would be like. Would he actually feel satisfaction in seeing Red’s final pokemon fall? Red has never looked pleased about it. Why would Green? Especially now— now that Green’s lost their final rematch, now that Gramps has finally arrived even though Green let him know two full hours ago he’d won, taken the throne, now that he’s stripped of his title and all his hard work and everything he’s ever dreamed of—.

He seethes. It’s a white hot disappointment eating at him from his very core, digging roots and sprouting vines, chomping and chomping at him until he’s in front of the League building, tears burning his cheeks and blurring his vision.

Red followed, apparently, or else it wouldn’t make sense why Kanto’s newest Champion was sprawled on the stone beneath him, shielding his nose from Green’s view. Green draws his fist back like it’s a foreign object. He hadn’t thought a moment like that would have been a blink-and-ya-miss-it deal, and yet. His eyes slide from his hand and meet Red’s dazed form, shock turning into that same white hot burn from before, and he’s on fire, ready to consume Red in his flames.

“Why couldn’t you just let me have this one thing?”

He hadn’t intended for those to be the words he left Red with, but they were. A little slice into his interior, showing the rotting, unwanted, festering guts to the boy that obviously doesn’t care.

“You really need to speak up about this, Ryuji.”

Ryuji sighs, letting his head smack against the top of Akira’s couch, eyes closing. “I know,” he starts, face twisting up as Akira presses his fingertips into the meat of his thigh through his pants, massaging. “S’just…” His head rolls, eyes opening back up to look down at his friend, who’s knelt on the attic’s floor before him. “It’s a normal thing, yaknow? Hate botherin’ others with it.”

Akira lifts his eyes from where his gaze has been boring into Ryuji’s leg, eyebrows drawn down, set in his patent scolding position Ryuji knows all too well. “Well, bother me. You know I’ll let you sit out once I know.”

The scowl that comes onto Ryuji’s face is automatic at the phrase, hackles rising. “I don’t wanna sit out. Nothing’s worse than sittin’ out.”

“Ryuji.” Leader voice, ouch. “I just meant you need to rest,” Akira stresses, staring Ryuji down for a beat before returning his attention to Ryuji’s thigh. “You push yourself too hard. I appreciate your strength; we all do—” Ryuji scoffs, which immediately earns him another scolding glare, which jeez, okay— “but you never let yourself breathe. I’m afraid something’s going to go wrong one day because you’ve pushed too far, and I can barely stomach the thought of that, let alone it actually happening.”

Ryuji bites his lip, gaze falling to his lap, where it wanders to Akira’s hands, fingers still methodically pressing into the fabric. Ryuji’s had the same thoughts before, but about their leader. There’s no telling how exhausting having all those personas in his head must be, and the fact that the team would be practically useless without Akira scares him. Sure, Ryuji’s assets can be covered by their leader if he’s not on the front line, but that means Akira’s taking the exhaustion Ryuji could be handling instead, and that’s not anything Ryuji feels great about. He can shoulder all that, there’s no need for Akira to do it instead.

He lifts his eyes back to Akira’s face, mouth opening to start explaining why he can’t take a breather, when the expression he sees stops him. Akira’s stare has always been intense, but coupled with the knitted eyebrows, the soft frown on his face… Ryuji can’t bring himself to continue this.

“Okay.” Ryuji pulls his hands from their places on the armrest and couch cushion, scooping up Akira’s from his lap. His fingers curl around Akira’s palms, grip firm. He squeezes as he returns his eyes to Akira’s. “I’ll— I can do that.” Nerves spike under the stormy grey gaze of his leader, so Ryuji’s eyes dart to the side as his cheeks begin to color. “Bother you, or whatever.”

Akira smiles, then twists his hands to hold Ryuji’s properly, fingers lacing. Ryuji looks back towards him as Akira squeezes their palms together, the flush of his cheeks deepening as Akira speaks. “Thank you.” 

Ryuji flounders for a response, his mouth opening and closing several times over as Akira keeps their gazes locked. It’s disarming as hell, and there’s nothing coming to Ryuji’s rescue. Is it hotter up here suddenly? He thought it was raining— it definitely was when they got here.

Another beat, and Akira lets go, dropping his own gaze back to Ryuji’s lap— no, his thigh. “Anyway,” Akira begins as his hands return to the fabric of Ryuji’s pants. “Call your mom. I don’t want you walking any more today.”

Ryuji blinks, then huffs out a laugh, moving to pull his phone from his jacket’s pocket. “Oooh, you gonna wait on me tonight?”

“Yeah,” Akira answers, throwing Ryuji one of his other patent expressions: the Joker Smirk. “Curry sound good?”

The structures that Sunny came across on the shores are always, something. 

Sometimes, kind faces would greet him, offering him warm food and their best bed for his time there. Others, he’d come across absolutely inspiring builds, taking notes on new ways to use and place materials as he explores every inch, oohing and awing at all the detail. At the worst of times, he came across imposing metal structures with fire breathing statues threatening to singe his core, cells stacked with tortured plushies and people who very much did not want to be there.

A ‘gate to the underworld’ is, well, not his favorite, but the ladies of the shore made their home there anyway, hidden under the steps like rats. He sees no beds, no bonfires or cookware, no storage or decor. Just the burning metal and aggravated singers.

Mostly aggravated.

Luna, she introduces herself as, is practically bouncing in her excitement to meet the gunk-covered, poison-dripping visitor the moment he steps in. Her hands find his the second he introduces himself in return.

“We match!” she grins, squeezing his hands tight enough for Sunny to be sure he’d lose his fingers.

“Uhm, I guess?”

“Which meeeeaaaans! I’m coming with you!” He blinks dumbly at her as she continues. “This obviously means something! Destined to meet, for you to take me away from here, to see something other than grey!” Luna’s smile practically drips with innocence, which of itself is suspicious, but he knows they don’t have a singer on the Isle, and Luna’s pretty. Maybe Kyla would like her.

“S-sure.” His hands are released immediately, and instead of Luna hopping away to celebrate like he expects (hopes), she throws herself at him, somehow managing to get enough height to get her little body to hang off his shoulders.

“Thank you thank you thank you! I promise I’ll be helpful! I know how to sweep!” He furrows a brow in confusion at the statement, but doesn’t comment as Luna drops herself, landing gracefully on her heels.

The other singers seem none-too-bothered by him letting her come along, and he suspects maybe they’re happy to have her gone, if her energy runs this rampant all the time.

----

“You actually brought someone back?”

Sunny rolls his eyes at Anhi’s teasing, tossing him a slight smile as he helps Luna over the gap between the ship and the dock. She’s lucky Anhi had started their newest project here, because no way would she be able to stay upright in those shoes on the previous dock.

“You’re builders?” Luna asks as she takes her hand back, excitement written all over her face. Anhi glances between the two of them, questioning, and Sunny manages to read the look well enough, waving a dismissive hand in the other builder’s direction.

“Yeah,” Sunny answers for him. Luna’s attention moves from Anhi to Sunny, making her laugh as she quickly punches his arm. He genuinely recoils a bit from the force, hand coming up to guard the spot she hit.

“You coulda said something, you know!” She grins at him, then pats his arm twice and steps away from him to inspect Anhi’s work. “You’re really talented!” she beams, heels clicking on the rocks. “This looks great already!”

Anhi smiles at her and ducks his head a tad, laughter sprouting from her again at the movement. She’s cute, Sunny decides.

“So!” Luna smiles, again turning her attention to him. “Where am I staying?”

“The Gardens are nice?” Anhi provides, and Sunny has half a mind to escort her to the Steppe instead. Though, yeah, they are nice.

----

Luna’s adjusted well enough to the constant work Sunny has the Gardens running on. She doesn’t really do anything too practical, like weed or water or, you know, sweep, but she likes watching them. 

“Mostly you,” Rosie helpfully corrects when he asks about it, a sly smile spreading across her face. “I think she likes you the best.”

Maybe she does, he thinks as Luna leans over the fencing to chatter on about the newest ‘songs’ Haydin has been torturing her with whenever she visits the Steppe. He’s not interested in the topic, not really, but he can’t stop listening anyway. Her voice has a specific… something to it he likes, and her smile when he asks a question about whatever it is she’s talking about— it lights up her whole face, making her shine brighter than she already does.

Maybe he likes her the best too.

----

“Let me help.”

Sunny pulls his head from its careful spot between the leaves of the corn stalks, immediately suffering a leaf to the face for his insolence. The corn has decided to play rough once again. He will never win.

“What?” Sunny asks as he steps away from the crops, waving away the leaves trying to hold onto his hair. Luna huffs at his question, lifting the straw basket she has in her hands into the air like Sunny can’t see it already.

“Let me help!” she repeats as she tosses the gate open, playing up her annoyance. “You know I can’t understand a word Finn says, and he was the only one who wasn’t busy and willing to look for this with me!” She gestures to the basket as she approaches, and Sunny takes note of her attire.

She’s long switched out her original heels for flats instead, but still hasn’t swapped out her dress for something more practical for their work. He’s pretty sure she’s the only adult on this side of the island that wears a skirt, much less offers to do physical labor in a full dress, but. If she wants to help, Sunny won’t stop her.

“Okay.” He turns back to the corn with that, continuing the process of stripping the stalks of dead leaves. Luna, in the meantime, helps herself to the building pile around Sunny’s legs, tossing them into the basket.

“When will the corn be ready?” she asks after a moment of comfortable silence. Sunny doesn’t talk much and she knows it, so she doesn’t think it awkward anymore.

“Next week, hopefully. The pumpkins too.”

“Ooo!” Sunny pulls back from the crops enough to glance down at his company, catching Luna smiling to herself as she continues her task. “Do you guys carve pumpkins around here?” She lifts her head then, catching Sunny’s eye and pulling on an even bigger smile. “It’s almost that time of year, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he answers to both questions, suddenly distracted by her. She stands, slyly noticing he’s stopped working to stare at her instead.

“What about dressing up?” She brushes her dress off while maintaining eye contact, her smile turning coy as she steps towards him.

“Y-yeah.”

Luna giggles as she enters his personal space, amused by his focus on her. “Why don’t we dress up together? We can keep matching that way.” 

He was just going to be a scarecrow again this year. “Okay,” he answers with instead.

Luna laughs fully this time around, kneeling down behind him as she reaches for some dead leaves she couldn’t reach from her previous position. “Aren’t you supposed to be shucking, corn boy?”

Sunny blinks, acting like he just now realized he wasn’t working anymore, which, really, he did. “Oh.” His face colors a tad as he returns his attention to the crops, embarrassed.

Luna just smiles up at him again and returns to her basket with her conquest of dead leaves, dumping them unceremoniously with the rest.

Sunny’s always fun to hang around, so she really doesn’t mind the dirt sticking to the ends of her dress. She’ll probably have to take it over to Babs though, and have to explain to her why she decided it was a good idea to wear a completely white dress while tending to the crops. Let her play her game without judgement, okay? Not everyone is a cottontail.

Luna swats away her mind’s version of Babs and continues collecting the dead leaves Sunny’s dropped in her daydreaming, though with one wrong step, her foot slips down into the channel of water running through the field. In her panic to save herself, she grabs onto Sunny’s belt, but he isn’t ready to be her support, so all she manages to do with that is pull him down with her, forcing them both into the water.

They tumble in with a splash, Sunny a little dazed and confused by it all, but down in the ditch anyway. Alarm quickly replaces that when he hears what sounds like sobbing, making him rush to right himself just to instead see Luna doing her absolute damnedest to keep the giggles in.

Sunny’s urgency cracks whatever restraint she had though, and Luna loses it, practically howling in laughter at the two of them, and how Babs is absolutely gonna lay into her now. The laughter spreads to Sunny, and he starts chuckling right along with her, relieved she doesn’t seem bothered by any of this.

“Oops,” she tries once she’s calmed down some, her watery eyes clear enough to see the smile on her company’s face finally. The softness of it catches her off guard though, enough that when Sunny stands and offers her a hand, all she can do for a moment is stare.

She takes it though, and lets Sunny haul her up rather effortlessly.

“Maybe we can go as drowned rats,” Sunny jokes, that soft, soft smile still sitting on his face.

She manages to laugh anyway, playfully shoving the farmboy before stepping out of the ditch and back onto the dirt. “That’s princess drowned rat to you.”

He laughs, a touch louder than what’s normal for him. The sound makes her feel warm. “Oh,” he grins, stepping out after her. “Sorry, your majesty.” 

She tosses a bit of laughter over her shoulder at him as she heads for the gate, Sunny quickly gathering the forgotten basket before following. She holds it open for him like the true lady she is, and Sunny nods gratefully at her, happy to play along.

“Babs isn’t gonna be happy,” Sunny comments as they step onto the path, referencing the muddy state of Luna’s dress.

“Oh, I know.” Rip to her whole next few days. She’ll be waiting on Babs hand and foot as payment for her dress’s cleaning. 

Sunny seems to be able to read her mind though, because he smiles warmly at her, sunnily, she dares. “I can run it over there. I need to deliver our last batch of coffee beans anyway.”

Ooo, coffee. “Can I get some?”

“Yeah,” Sunny answers without hesitation, countering her obvious surprise with another smile. “For today. I don’t want to turn you off of farming forever.”

Luna laughs again, her heart fluttering happily in her chest. “It’s gonna take a lot more than a bit of water to turn me away from here.”