These Flowers Will Never Fade.

These flowers will never fade.

Synopsis: your mind doesn’t remember his name, your heart burns with the impression he left. You keep searching for someone you are certain you knew, someone you know you loved. When you see him again, does your soul still know who he used to be?

Featuring: Scaramouche x gender neutral reader.

Content warnings: spoilers for the 3.3 quest, this takes place right after the quest’s ending; angst to fluff, amnesia (if you’ve played the quest, you know what i mean), reader is implied to originate from Inazuma, implied friends to lovers (?), reader cries, but there’s a happy ending and some soft kissing, soft scara.

Author’s note: this is kind of a novelty for me, different from what i’m used to writing, i had so much fun creating this story, so i hope it’s enjoyable!

Acknowledgements: thank you so much Bunny for being the first one to read this piece and liking it, that makes me immensely happy, genuinely!

You don’t quite recall when it started, this feeling, as if you miss someone, every day. Sometimes, in dreams, you see this person, him. He is always with his back turned to you, cyan and azure clothes fluttering in the breeze, just out of your reach, for, every time, when your fingertips are close to reaching him, the dream ends, a gust of wind and the same small bird on your windowsill greeting you good morning.

This sensation gnaws at you every time the dream repeats, your heart rate accelerates, its thunder urging you to find this person, to calm the storms battling inside your mind. Who is he? You are not sure. And who is he to you? Your heart answers in whispers that you loved him, but you don’t remember when that was. Was it years ago? Or perhaps you just fell in love with the idea of the mysterious stranger who keeps entering your dreams? Deciding not to dwell longer on your thoughts for now, you get dressed and exit your room.

The inn you’re staying at is nice and small, the occasional chatter or people hurrying to start their days, paired with the natural light entering through stained glass windows making for an atmosphere reminiscent of sunny days. You smile, looking up at Sumeru’s bright blue sky. Perhaps today you’ll find answers, for the first time since you started this journey, leaving your homeland behind, the realm ruled by eternity fading to green fields under the protection of the archon of wisdom.

The wanderer, formerly a man of many names, has his eyes set on the horizon, a golden outline against a backdrop of mist flower blue and snapdragon orange, another day coming to a close.

Erasing himself from history doesn’t seem to have affected the general outcome of events; in the end, he could not save those he cherished, and everything turned out to be the same.

However, now that Scaramouche has recovered his memories and decided to bear the burden of his sins, there is a certain memory concerning someone he hadn’t lost, but who might have forgotten him: you. You, who always trailed behind him, trying to make conversation when he set foot in Inazuma, not as the Kabukimono, not as Kunikuzushi, but as the Balladeer; you, who greeted him with smiles and soft words, even when he snapped at you; you, who found their way into the hollowness of the heart he longed for; you, who Scaramouche was certain he knew, even when no memories remained. And he has no one else to blame for this, except himself.

What are the chances you two cross paths again? What is the likelihood some part of you still remembers him, like Scaramouche did when his own memories were erased? The wanderer sighs, closing his eyes briefly, hands gripping the railing of the terrace in front of the Sanctuary of Surasthana. Even if you did have memories of him, is he really worthy of you? Does he dare speak the words his make-believe heart wrote in the lips he kept silent?

Conflicted, Scaramouche opens his eyes again, the image of an early night starry sky coming into view, as he wonders whether he can bring himself to face you again, if the same stars he once deemed to be a lie weave the threads of this hypothetical fate in his favor, that is.

The last rays of a late sun kiss your skin once more, as the outlined horizon turns from raging reds and purples to azure and starlight golden. Your eyes scan the distant skies, glittering with stars, didn’t someone once tell you they were fake? No matter, you think, gaze fixated in the faraway pinpricks of light.

A wish you dare not murmur crosses your mind, and you silently ask the stars above to guide you, to help you find the man you keep seeing in your dreams. You think you loved him once, but you can’t recall his face or his name, for that matter… Is he in the same situation, wherever he wanders? You wonder.

With these muddled thoughts, your steps carry you through Sumeru city, arriving finally at the Sanctuary of Surasthana. There are still some people around, a researcher and a man dressed in Inazuman attire seem to be discussing something; a blond girl in a peculiar dress is talking to a child? a floating child? you can’t quite tell, perhaps is some new technology, or it could be the renowned traveler everyone talks about and her floating companion; some more civilians seem to be milling around, and then, your gaze focuses on a peculiar figure: he is dressed in hues that match the early night sky, lighter blues merging into more intense tones, like the waves that lap against Inazuma’s coast. You can’t see his face, but, from the back, you spot uneven locks of black hair, the aura around him unknowable, inscrutable, as the very night sky he seems to have walked out of. On top of his head sits a wide brimmed hat, in the same shades of blue, two teal silky ribbons swishing behind him as he walks.

Then, you know. It’s him, the one who’s been appearing in your dreams for archons know how long.

Without thinking it twice, you break into a run to catch up to him.

When you’re about to reach for him, though, you hesitate. What are you even going to tell him? That you dream of him? That you are sure you know him but you don’t remember his name? No, that doesn’t seem like the best course of action…

Not even a second later, your thoughts would be interrupted by a colliding force.

“Hey, would you mind looking where you are- …” Scaramouche’s eyes widen at the sight before him, his words dying in his throat. There, right before him, lying on the ground, is you.

“I’m sorry, I- …” You trail off, your own gaze mesmerized by his features. Deep blue-violet eyes lined in red stare back at you, widened, some dark strands of hair falling over his surprised expression. His skin is pale, porcelain-like, spotless, but if your eyes don’t deceive you, you could swear his cheeks are coloring in pink.

The sight of him is familiar, everything about him, you know you have seen before; his face, somewhere outside your dream, you remember it now, but why? Why is it you can’t recall his name? What is this feeling of knowing you loved him somewhere along the way? Who was he? And who is he now?

Your train of thought is interrupted, his voice, familiar.

“Are you okay?” He asks, fair hand reaching for yours, pulling you up from the ground.

As his skin makes contact with yours, a scene flashes before your eyes.

“So, will you tell me?” You sing-song, skipping along, a few steps before him. “Why do you always speak harshly when you care so much?” You turn around, light pink cherry blossom petals falling around him, the afternoon sun casting an ethereal glow around his figure. You smile, catching a petal that landed on his shoulder, holding it between your fingertips.

“None of your business.” He grumbles, cheeks matching the color of the flowers around you, lilac eyes averted to the side.

You chuckle.

“Hm, so you say but…” You take one of his hands in yours, and although he grumbles a little, the boy makes no attempt to pull away. “You seem to be a little happier when I come to see you.” You regard him, a knowing glint in your eyes. “Are those fatui guys overworking you?” Your gaze darkens, expression somber. You don’t really know what orders does your friend (who you have more than platonic feelings for) receive from the fatui, but you notice how always that he returns from missions, he is visibly tired and overexerted.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He replies, monotonously, as if that same sentence had fallen from his lips thousands of times.

Observing how his expression numbs at the topic, you decide to lighten the mood and, playing with the delicate pink petal you’re still holding, you ask him:

“What do you wish for, Balladeer?” You give him an encouraging smile, then add: “Don’t say it aloud, just think about it, let me know when you’re done.”

The harbinger looks at you, nodding, then: “Okay, done.”

Softly, you blow the petal in your hand, scattering it to the wind grazing the islands of Inazuma.

“There,” you hold his hand again. “Now it will become true, as long as you keep desiring it.”

“I wished for you, [Y/n].” are the words Scaramouche would keep locked inside the heart he yearned for.

Now you remember him. Balladeer was how he introduced himself to you the first time you met him back home. A close friend, what he became next. And the one your heart longed for was what he ended up being the more time you spent together. Yet, you never confessed that to him. Not that you had that much time anyway, you now recall how he left Inazuma one night, never showing up at the spot you usually met, not tomorrow, not the next.

“Ballad-” Your words are cut off.

“Shh, don’t. You remember me, I see.” Scaramouche smiles, perhaps more tender and genuine than you remember. His pointer finger rests on the curve of your lips, effectively keeping you from speaking. “But I’m afraid I do not use that name, anymore, my dear [Y/n].”

It’s true, his attire is quite different from what you remember it to be, and for some reason, you had forgotten about him altogether… But you know he is the same man you fell in love with.

Before you can hold them back, silent tears start falling down your face. He wipes them away with the backs of his fingers, pulling you closer to where his heart should be.

“Then…” You sniffle, trying to contain the sobs threatening to leave your throat. “What should I call you? Why couldn’t I remember you?”

Carefully, he brings your head to rest on his shoulder, and the cries you previously contained now pool out of you like water from a broken dam.

“I dreamt of you, so many nights, but I couldn’t remember who you were!” you cry into his shirt. “I could never see your face in my dreams and I couldn’t remember it when I woke up either, but I knew, I knew you were important to me, I knew you were someone I love and I…”

You can’t bring yourself to go on, more tears blurring your vision.

Scaramouche’s own field of vision becomes tampered with unshed tears, but he shakes his head. Emotions used to make him think he was weak, but now it’s a whole other reason that makes him want to stay strong: for you.

He hugs your form, squeezing you, reassuring you. He’s here now, you found your way to each other, despite it all. Perhaps it was written in the stars all over, maybe it is you two who commanded the threads of your destinies to intertwine once more, but you’re together again.

The wanderer holds your chin between two of his fingers, guiding your tear stained face and shiny eyes to his. For a brief instant he pauses, the question that needs no words hanging between you both.

Through crystalline tears that catch the moonlight, you smile up at him, a little bashful.

With soft eyes of violet, his own lips curve into a smile of his own before locking them with yours.

Scaramouche tastes the salt of your starlit tears and the bittersweet yearning you brought from your dreams of him. Your lips feel so tender against his, the night breeze slightly ruffling your hair and clothes. The wanderer’s hands cup your cheeks, and he thumbs away at the remaining tears, scattering them into moonlight, like you did with that delicate petal the afternoon he made his wish.

Your fingers tangle in the smooth locks of his dark hair, trying to pull him closer to you, to the heartbeat he’s so long desired, to the heartbeat that’s been longing for him, even when your mind could not recall his face or name.

Tilting his head to the side, Scaramouche deepens the kiss, every doubt he had before fading away every second your intoxicatingly sweet lips are in touch with his. It feels like returning to one’s own old home, walls overgrown with vines, no lights on, but the same colorful flowers still growing and thriving in the lonely garden.

Reluctantly, you both pull away, catching your breaths. Your lover rests his forehead against yours, his fingers locking with your own, holding onto your hands, to never let go again. To you, and to any stars above that are listening, he whispers:

“My wish has become true. Right now.”

how they act in a haunted house

including: childe, zhongli, scaramouche, al haitham, thoma, xiao, and kaeya.

warnings: gender neutral reader, mentions of some scary stuff, fluff.

notes: happy almost halloween!

childe.

oh, childe is just so confident he won’t get scared.

he strolled through the entrance without so much as a frown while you trailed behind him, still wondering if this experience would be worth it, given you both had to sign a waver. but that didn’t seem to bother childe; in fact, he looked completely at ease as you walked down a shadowed hallway, the only light source a flickering light bulb.

yes, childe was the poster child of “unbothered”—until the first actor came running down the hallway, chainsaw in hand and a slightly too realistic mask on his face.

that was the end of childe’s bravado, and you, as you correctly predicted, ended up having the be the one to get you two out of there. childe clutched your arm the entire way

zhongli.

zhongli is bored.

he’s seen a lot of unpleasantness in his lifetime. and this? twenty dollar entry haunted house, filled with underpaid actors in poorly made costumes? it didn’t even come close to scaring him.

and that would have been fine, really. you were the one who wanted to go and have a scare; zhongli was just tagging along. but the moment you arrived at the attraction, he just kept going on and on about this thing’s obviously fake, this actor’s mask isn’t on right, this jumpscare’s strings are above.

when an actor in what you thought to be a pretty horrifying clown costume jumped out at you, zhongli only pointed out how unrealistic it was.

you didn’t make it throughout the entire house. not because of fear, but mostly because you couldn’t stand another lecture on how fake everything looked.

scaramouche.

the haunted house you picked out was scary, but scaramouche was… scarier.

when an actor covered in fake-blood came running at you two, they just kind of stopped when they saw scaramouche’s glower. and then they were turning around and running away; scaramouche had scared them. with just his bad temper and annoyance with nearly everyone except for you, scaramouche was more terrifying than literal killer clowns and chainsaw-wielding murders.

so there you two were: simply walking through the admittedly-scarily decorated attraction. no actors dared try and jumpscare you and scaramouche, lest they wanted to face his wrath.

when you got out, you asked if he would consider working at a haunted house. he turned his menacing stare on you, and you understood why the actors didn’t bother you throughout the experience.

he truly was the most terrifying thing in that house.

al haitham.

he, like zhongli, is very undisturbed by the whole ordeal. but unlike the former, al haitham doesn’t say this out loud.

no, he played his cards right. you were there, shaking after being chased by yet another clown while he looked completely unbothered. but oh, he lent you his arm, promised you get you of there unscathed, nothing would hurt you while he was there.

al haitham was the picture perfect hero, leading you out of the house while internally scoffing at the cheap costumes and even cheaper jumpscares and tricks. he almost laughed out loud when you reached a banquet table with someone’s head in the middle, but stopped himself when he saw how wide your eyes were.

when you were both out, you swore you would never go back. but al haitham thought to convince you to try again; he liked being the shining hero, at least for one night.

thoma.

thoma is actually lowkey terrified.

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but you didn’t miss his shaking hand when you had to sign that waver.

you asked him if he was sure he wanted to do this, and he was, so you went inside and…

you didn’t make it all the way through. not you, not thoma. you were both shaking and clutching each other equally tight after an actor chased you down a dark hallway, into the path of a particular gory jumpscare. you could have sworn thoma almost fainted.

and that was that. you turned and, admittedly, ran back through the entrance, to the car, and away from that abomination of an attraction.

xiao.

xiao does not want to go in.

not because he’s scared. at least, that’s what he told you. xiao would wait for you while you went in and had a fright, and you with some reluctance, agreed.

but after thirty minutes of you going in and not coming out, he starts to get restless. worried, even, as the group that went in after you came out before you.

xiao tried to convince himself it was fine, you were just taking your time, or whatever. but then another ten minutes went by and, now actually worried, decided it was time to go and find you.

he told himself this was all fake, the actors weren’t real, this was—

something tackled him from behind and he quite literally screamed. he turned and saw—

you. grinning. ear to ear.

no, the haunted house didn’t scare him (at least, not really), but you certainly had.

kaeya.

please. please.

kaeya is what childe tried to be. he’s actually confident as he marches into the house, laughing at the poor actor’s sweaty makeup, the obviously fake chainsaws and knifes.

basically walks right and in and out with you dragged behind him. he doesn’t even pause for you two to look at the more gruesome displays or creepy portraits on display. kaeya literally speedruns the haunted house.

the only time when kaeya’s bravado falters is at the end, when he realizes that you both paid twenty dollars for that.

you were out in ten minutes. he realizes you two just spent four dollars a minute on that, and maybe regrets going through it that fast.

bonus: scaramouche wasn’t even purposely glaring at anyone. he just has an intense resting bitch face.

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

thinking fluffy thoughts about scaramouche.

Keep reading

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

ONCE AGAIN, I AM AWARE HALF OF THEM ARE FLAT.

featuring. alhaitham, scaramouche/wanderer, kaveh, dottore, xiao

author drivel. look at me go, i finally made the 2nd part after what.. 4/5 months? (typical me behaviour ngl). reason it's so belated is cuz the app i make these things in got messed up and the pfps all disappeared and for a long time i couldn’t be asked to fix it lmao🗿

contents. lots of crack, not nsfw, but it can get pretty suggestive lmao

✤ 𝐭𝐱𝐭 𝐫𝐱𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝟐

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨

ONCE AGAIN, I AM AWARE HALF OF THEM ARE FLAT.

al haitham

I'M FUCKING FINALLY NOT LYING THROUGH MY TEETH WHEN I WRITE THIS SHIT LETS GO

scaramouche

this man(let) is like a victorian man when it comes to anything more than sitting next to each other and you can’t convince me otherwise.

kaveh

to explain the nickname: kaveh -> sounds like coffee -> coffee beans

dottore

the dottores "own(ed)" one phone between the bunch of them, despite it originally being omega's. y/n is just kinda like the communal s/o in a way. also, omega will use ~ over my dead body.

xiao

the image used there is some beta art of xiao where he's got a vacuumed seal shirt for some reason (even more so than normal)

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

🎸: v_loAlo / yuyu_NA_yuyu

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

rules of rationality.

summary: You’re one of the few people Alhaitham trusts to take care of him when he’s injured.

notes: 1.5k words, fic, mentions of injuries + blood, slight suggestive content

He always comes to you when he’s injured.

Alhaitham never explains why, and you know better than to ask. He simply shows up at your door, methodically reciting his list of potential injuries, as you guide him to the couch and press gauze and disinfectant on his wounds.

There could be any number of reasons that he’s been hurt, though you had joked that you didn’t think being the Akademiya’s Scribe was such a dangerous job when you first met him. Now, you think that it’s less of his job that’s the cause of all his little altercations, and more of a symptom of his personality.

“You might need stitches,” you say. “I recommend going to a doctor.”

Keep reading

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

you: my life sucks. i should’ve just stayed in my dad’s balls.

al haitham: it’s a common misconception, actually. you weren’t the sperm competing to get fertilized with your other, more deformed siblings. you were the egg cell that chose which sperm would fertilize you to become what you are now.

you: so i’ve been making bad decisions before i was even born?

al haitham: …

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

— ୨୧ ˖ ˚ vill-v layouts!

🔌⚙️ like/rb if you like/save/use ♡

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

Headcanons for dottore in his time in the academya with a crush who's nice and friendly with him?? Love seeing this loser obsess with someone who showed him kindness for the first time lmao

Il Dottore Having a Crush Headcanon [Sumeru Akademiya Edition] ⋆*.✩‧₊˚

[Dottore x Reader]

Synopsis: Il Dottore having a crush on another student.

Tags: Mostly fluff, a little crackish, soft headcanon, slight cw obsessive Dottore, and slight violence.

Notes: Oocish? Proofreadish??? I love Dottore. I ran out of ideas after the third sentence #igetstuckeasy. Gets really rambly. It's not super great so i might fix it later Also, it’s like 4 am :sobs: ALSO THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FIRST ANON <3333. Please tell me if you enjoyed!!

(Reader is always gn unless otherwise specified.)

Headcanons For Dottore In His Time In The Academya With A Crush Who's Nice And Friendly With Him?? Love

Dottore being shunned for being a "monster" and "madman" wasn't anything new – he was kicked out of his home for his scientific experimentation concepts, and now he is being rejected by the students and teachers at the akademiya for the same thing.

However, you are the exact opposite. Most of the time at least. Before you associated yourself with Il Dottore, you were admired and respected by your peers. You weren’t as smart or as talented as the other students, but you were a pleasant person to be around and that’s what the other people at the akademiya liked about you.

The way you met Dottore wasn't the most...conventional. You saw Dottore getting beat up by one student in a classroom, and you were feeling like a menace that day; so you simply hit said bully over the head with a book – hard. He’ll be fine right? A small blackout never hurt anyone anyways.

Dottore was confused. He also was quite concerned, you were standing over him and the other guy with a book in hand. Why wouldn’t he be concerned?

You handed Dottore the book and left the classroom after that. You didn’t know him that well, you saw him around campus once in a while and you heard the rumors about him, but you never really talked to him. In all honesty, you didn’t care about him or his rumors. ‘Madman’ this, ‘homicidal maniac’ that, he’s passing his classes with higher marks than everyone else so he has to be doing something right. Right?

Ever since Dottore ‘met’ you, he’s been preoccupied with trying to find out more about you. Most people don’t hit a stranger over the head with a book. He’s overheard conversations about you and has been trying to find out what kind of person you are. Most people at the akademiya despise him – do you despise him too? Did you want a favor from him? So many questions about you plagued his mind since that day.

The first time you had a verbal conversation with Dottore was after one of your classes. You were having an existential crisis behind a building because you slept through your lecture and didn’t understand half of the material, and he was trying to hide from other students.

“I’m so going to fail, what does this even mean – maybe it’s not too late to drop out...” “[Name] it’s halfway through the second semester, yes it’s too late to drop out now.”

At that moment, you started to realize that you didn’t really like Dottore. He’s not…awful, it’s more like he laughed at you mid-breakdown. Yeah, you can have inhumane experimentation ideas, but laughing at your panicked state was a big no-no. (It’s fine, you started to like him more as you got to know him better.)

You proceeded to try to subtly avoid him after that. You were polite to him because you had to be, but you didn’t want to deal with him too much after that conversation, but that’s hard to do when you saw him almost everywhere. Dottore was like gum stuck to your shoe that you couldn’t get rid of.

Honestly having him around you wasn’t too bad, and after a little bit, you started to enjoy his presence. You kept the bullies away from him, and he helped you pass the classes that you tended to sleep through. Sometimes you felt sorry for him though, he is a little odd – if you count inhumane scientific suggestions as odd; but they’re just suggestions, right? So no harm done. Plus, his ideas were slightly interesting if you thought about it.

The more you willingly hung out with Dottore, the more he grew addicted to the feeling. After a certain point, he starts to think of you as a close friend. Seeing how you were his only friend.

Dottore as your friend is a good and bad thing. It’s a good thing because he’s extremely helpful when it comes to your classes and he’s an entertaining person to be around, but it’s a bad thing because he’s such a wildcard.

He’ll bully you and pull pranks on you all the time. Your least favorite prank that he pulled on you was when he hid your Sumeru Akademiya uniform from you. Or when he promised to help you study but spoke in Fontaine/Fontais (French) the whole time.

I think Dottore’s feelings for you kind of snowballed. It slowly built up till the realization just kind of…crashed into him. He confirmed his feelings for you after he received a birthday gift from you. It was something really trivial honestly. He offhandedly mentioned that it was his birthday a few days prior and was surprised to see you with a neatly wrapped package the next day at his front door.

“Why are you here [Name]?” “This is for you Dottore.” Dottore looks at you puzzled “A package?” You sigh “A gift you idiot. A gift for you – for your birthday.” Looking at you like you're the weirdest thing he has seen he says “A gift for my birthday?” “Yes Dottore, a gift for your birthday.” “Why would I need a gift for my birthday?” “Have you never received a birthday gift before Dottore?” “...No?”

He was pleasantly surprised to see a mini tool kit inside the package. You knew he liked tinkering with stuff, and he was surprised you remembered that. He just kind of stood there in thought for a bit after that and was like 'wow this is nice, someone cares about my wellbeing'.

I also think Dottore would try to impress you by complimenting you or trying to “flirt” with you. Keyword – try. He’s so shit at it, it’s not even funny. He tries, he really does. He just wants you to feel like how he feels when he’s around you. He’s just not as good with his words as you are, though that could be because he was shunned by mostly everyone in his life for his whole life.

When he’s complimenting you it either doesn’t make a lot of sense or it’s extremely backhanded, and when he’s trying to flirt with you he either forgets what he was supposed to say or just starts to insult you.

“[Name] if you were a…” “If I was a?” “I forgot what I was going to say [Name].”

Dottore isn’t really the type of person to do anything when he has a crush on someone. He won't actively try to seek out a relationship with you mainly because he doesn’t want to ruin the relationship he has with you. He may be bad with social cues, but he understands if you don’t reciprocate the feelings he has for you it could mess up your guys’ current relationship.

On a different note, he’d do anything for you. You were the only person who really showed him any form of kindness, even if that kindness was extremely minuscule at first. He appreciates everything you've done for him – whether that’s getting him gifts, or cooking him meals, he’s really thankful you do that for him. He’s just so whipped for you.

Il Dottore is a man that found an obsession with the feeling of being wanted. A feeling that you have provided for him, and one day he hopes he can tell you how he feels.

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kunikzhs

2 years ago

in the safety of your arms, he can exist.

wanderer x reader

summary: when the past comes to haunt him in his sleep and he wakes up in a panic, there's an unspoken agreement that you leave him be and never speak of it moving forward. however, he can only pretend for so long.

genre: angst/comfort, fluff warnings: descriptive nightmare word count: 1,347

a/n: i'm back with more fluff ╰ (´꒳`) ╯ this one's kinda dark, not sure if nightmares should be a warning but figured i'd add it just in case. enjoy!

In The Safety Of Your Arms, He Can Exist.

every now and then when he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, it feels like he’s there again. surrounded by raging flames in the middle of a small burning house with danger closing in and despair bubbling under his skin, forced to face a reality he never wanted to be a part of.

those words that had once given him another sliver of hope,

“but what if… hearts can be born from ashes?”

faded away in a storm of ash and soot, fueled by the bitter flames of deception.

why him?

what did he do to deserve this?

why won’t anyone just stay with him?

he drops to his knees with a wretched sob, vision swimming with tears that fall from his eyes with practiced ease. in the distance the sounds of familiar voices grow louder as they approach, cackling and chanting while the puppet digs his nails into the ground.

he can pick out every individual voice, can practically see their faces as they antagonize him from every direction. the one who abandoned him, the one who feared him, the one who lied to him, the one who tricked him. they all smile and laugh as their detached heads dance around him in a maddening show of victory, as if they’re celebrating the way he curls up and frantically covers his ears.

let me out.

they inch closer, he can feel their breath against his skin every time they open their mouths.

let me out let me out let me out.

the one who tricked him suddenly grows a twisted, clawed arm that starts reaching towards him, hand outstretched aiming right for his chest.

LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT-

he jolts awake and lurches forward with a gasp, arms immediately wrapping around himself as he quivers in fear and waits for the hand to grab him.

one.

two.

three seconds pass before he realizes the voices are gone, the roaring sound of flames replaced by a dead silent room accompanied only by the sound of soft breathing somewhere next to him.

he slowly lifts his head to peer over his shoulder and ends up meeting your eyes from where you were sat scribbling away into a journal before he suddenly sat up. you acknowledge each other, and there’s poorly hidden concern all over your face, but no words are spoken and you shortly go back to what you were doing before, the way he demanded you to the first time this happened. it was just a senseless nightmare, he doesn’t want nor need your worry or pity.

he tries focusing his attention on objects around the room, willing his limbs to stop shaking so hard he can barely keep a grip on himself, but that feeling won’t go away. he can still feel multiple pairs of eyes staring through him, hear whispers of their elated mockery in the air. but no matter how hard he tries, minutes pass by and a lump starts forming in his throat with each ticking second.

he can tell you’ve noticed this when he hears the sound of your quill against the paper slow to a stop, knows you’re looking in his direction, but he keeps his head tucked down into his knees and bites his tongue against the way he’s about to fall apart at the seams.

“hey,” you call out softly. the sound of your voice rings clearly in the silence and tears immediately start gathering in his eyes at your gentle tone.

on the other side of the room, you’re fidgeting with the pen in your hand and trying to carefully select your next choice of words as to not worsen the situation. he looks so lonely, so afraid all curled in on himself while using every last bit of his willpower to keep it together, and you are so, so tired of seeing him suffer.

“are you…okay?”

three words, and the dam breaks. when he slowly lifts his head to face you there are tears streaming freely down his cheeks in fat droplets and a remorseful look on his face. not towards you, but towards his own weakness and the way he failed to keep it under control over nothing more than a measly nightmare.

your eyes soften immediately at the sight and you’re up from your seat in an instant, silently crossing the room while the wanderer glares at you through his blurry vision. he tenses up as you hesitantly sit next to him with your hands clutched tightly together in your lap, wanting so badly to help but not wanting to cross a boundary while he’s in such a vulnerable state.

you both stare at each other silently for a few seconds before you finally speak up, voice coming out as an unsure whisper. “do you wanna talk about it?”

he bites his lip and shakes his head, a movement so slight you only managed to catch it because of the moonlight peeking in through the window behind him, and nod your head wordlessly in response. he’s still shaking, you can feel it under the shabby mattress you’ve been calling a bed, and your hands start reaching towards him before you can even register the decision to do so.

you only managed to lift them a few inches before there’s a sharp intake of breath and he curls in on himself impossibly tighter, seeing a flash of the jagged hand that had been reaching out to grab him before he had woken up. you freeze and quickly bring them back to your lap as guilt rushes through you. “sorry! i’m sorry, i-“

you cut off your apology when he says something, so quiet and muffled that you can’t catch a single bit of it.

“what?” you whisper softly, meeting his eyes again as he slightly unfurls from himself.

“please,” he repeats himself louder this time. there’s a heart wrenchingly desperate sort of look in his gaze has you instantly forgetting all of your previous awkwardness as you lift your hands again and hook them around his body to pull him into your embrace. he looks furious, uncomfortable, and anxious all at once, but in the end the grief he’s remembering so vividly overpowers everything else and he lets you tuck his head into your neck with a defeated sob.

his arms finally unwrap themselves from around his knees and he immediately clutches onto your shirt for dear life as you hold him. he really is trembling like a leaf, body so tightly wound that he feels almost entirely solid against you. on instinct you start absentmindedly running a hand through his hair in a comforting manner as his tears dampen your shirt, yet he makes not a single sound as he cries silently in your arms.

“shhhh,” you whisper gently, tightening your hold on him a fraction as the situation starts to catch up with you and you feel tears start to prick your own eyes. “you’re okay, it’s okay. everything is fine.”

with the rhythmic feeling of your fingers against his scalp and your steady heartbeat to fill the silence of his racing mind, his shaking eventually slows to a stop and his tears finally run dry as you continue to hold him and coo soft reassurances every now and then until your eyes are starting to slip closed with fatigue.

he knows he should be embarrassed, ashamed, angry, and so many other things, but in the safety of your arms he can’t bring himself to fight the lull of your steady presence, so instead he mutters a weak and exhausted, “don’t leave me.” into your shirt. he didn’t intend for you to hear but, of course, you did, and like it’s the most obvious and casual thing ever respond with an equally as quiet, “okay.”

this time, when his eyes slip shut and he falls into unconsciousness again, the past leaves him alone. in the safety of your arms, nothing tries to haunt him. nothing holds him back.

in the safety of your arms, he can exist.

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