where light kisses the dark, i leave my words.

ANGST.ANGST.ANGST. ANGST.ANGST.ANGST. ANGST.ANGST.ANGST

[moonlit-letters]

about me.

MASTERLIST

hi, i’m moonlitletters <33 ☆ 21 yo i spill my heart in little fragments of prose, mostly tangled up in genshin fanfics— the kind that hurt a little too much but leave you wishing for more.

i write because my chest feels too small to hold everything inside, because love scares me, because heartbreak is beautiful in a way i can’t explain.

my words are soft, sharp, messy—like pressed flowers in a diary that’s been read too many times. expect angst wrapped in pretty ribbons, a dash of fluff when i can’t resist, and characters who love too deeply even when they shouldn’t.

welcome to my corner of the internet. i hope you stay, and maybe— find a piece of yourself between my lines.

[moonlit-letters]

People making Durin smut is crazy. I don’t care what his lore says yes, he’s a dragon, yes, he’s technically however many years old but he was designed to look like a kid. For people to sexualize that and justify it with “he’s technically an adult” is wild.

Where in his character design does it even imply he’s older? It’s literally the same situation as Nahida and Qiqi. They’re canonically older, but people aren’t supposed to sexualize them because their designs are clearly childlike.

The same logic should apply to Durin. WTF.

#Ihateped0filesdisgustingshitshonestlyhopeyouchoke

[moonlit-letters]

“BURN BESIDE ME”

part 2

Note: I don’t usually write fluff, so this feels kinda strange lol. Think of it as a one-time treat — enjoy it while it lasts 💋

Previous | Masterlist

Centuries passed.


And Xiao endured them like a prisoner chained to eternity.

Every battle bled together into a blur of screams and silence. Every sunrise was another day without you. He did not count the years anymore; he only counted the prayers he answered, the demons he killed, and the times he almost—almost—called your name, only to remember you would never answer.

But on the night of the Lantern Rite, when the sky burned with golden lights, he felt it.
A pull. A presence. Familiar.

And then, through the crowd—


You.

Alive.

Lanternlight reflected in your eyes as you steadied a child’s hand, helping them release their glowing wish into the sky. You laughed softly, and Xiao’s knees nearly gave out. After centuries of silence, the sound of your voice cracked him open.

“...You,” he whispered, choked and desperate.

You blinked, confused. “Do I… know you?”

The words gutted him. He stood frozen, spear heavy at his side, the crowd around him dissolving into meaningless blur. You were here, alive—but your eyes did not remember him.

And then Morax appeared.


The Archon’s amber gaze weighed heavy, filled with a sorrow Xiao had never seen.

“Alatus,” he said softly. “I stripped her memories to spare her suffering. But your grief has lasted too long.”

Xiao could not breathe. He wanted to scream, to beg, to demand the Archon return what was lost—but his throat locked. His heart already braced for disappointment.

Yet Morax lifted his hand. “Let her remember. And let her mortal body be immune to the karmic debt you carry. This is my atonement.”

Light engulfed you.

And then—you staggered, gasping, clutching your chest. Memories cascaded back: his laughter, rare and fleeting. The weight of his head on your shoulder when exhaustion broke him. His broken whispers the night you collapsed in his arms. His cries when your final breath left you.

“Xiao…” your voice cracked, tears spilling freely.

He broke. His mask shattered, his spear clattering to the ground as he stumbled toward you. For once, it wasn’t the monster that surfaced—it was him. Trembling, undone, terrified.

“I killed you,” he rasped. “You stayed because of me, and it destroyed you. I don’t deserve—”

You silenced him with your hands cupping his face, your touch warm, unflinching. “You’re wrong. You didn’t kill me. I chose to stay. And I choose to stay again.”

His breath hitched. A sob clawed its way out of him, raw and unrestrained. He clung to you as if you’d vanish, forehead pressed desperately against yours.

“Please… don’t go. Not again.”

And this time—the Archons did not take you from him.

But healing was not instant.

The first night back at Wangshu Inn, Xiao refused to sleep. He sat rigid at your side, golden eyes darting to your breathing every few seconds, terrified you would fade if he closed his eyes.

When you touched his hand, he flinched—not from fear of you, but from fear of himself. “If I hurt you again—”

“You won’t,” you whispered, lacing your fingers through his. “Not this time. Morax made sure of it.”

Still, he trembled. Still, he pulled away sometimes, haunted by centuries of nightmares. Some nights, you woke to find him kneeling by the window, whispering broken apologies into the dark.

But you stayed.

When he hesitated to smile, you teased him until one slipped free.


When he woke screaming, you held him until his shaking slowed.


When he whispered, “I don’t deserve this,” you answered, “Then let me decide what you deserve.”

Day by day, the fear loosened its grip. Slowly, Xiao began to believe. Not in absolution, not in escape from his karmic debt—but in the truth of you, warm and unwavering beside him.

And when the next Lantern Rite came, Xiao did not stand on the balcony alone.

He stood with your hand in his, watching as the sky filled with lights. For the first time in centuries, his chest did not feel like a tomb.

You turned to him, smiling through the lantern glow. “This time… we get to write new memories.”

Xiao looked at you, the corners of his lips trembling into the faintest, most fragile smile.


And when the lanterns rose, Xiao let himself believe that, maybe, fate had finally been merciful.

[moonlit-letters]

My Xiao Angst Here

SHOULD I MAKE A PART 2 OF MY XIAO ANGST AND IF YES HOW SHOULD I END IT?!?!

Yes, happy ending

Yes, bad ending

SURPRISE

no

Voting ended onSep 17, 2025

[starlit-whisper]

"THE WEIGHT OF A SINGLE WORD"

Some wounds aren’t carved by time, but by words that can never be taken back.

With Tsukishima, you never expected sweet words or grand gestures. His love was quiet, hidden in the smallest things: lending you his scarf when you forgot yours, waiting for your texts late at night even if he acted like it was an inconvenience, adjusting his long strides so you could walk beside him.

But lately, those quiet things had stopped.

It wasn’t sudden. It was gradual, like sand slipping through your fingers. The dinners where he used to ask about your day turned into evenings where he scrolled through his phone, barely responding. The small touches—his hand brushing against yours, his chin resting on your shoulder—became rare.

And then came the words.

One night, you were sitting together in his apartment. You had been telling him about something that happened at work, a funny story you thought he’d like. But halfway through, he sighed and muttered under his breath— “Do you ever stop talking?”

You froze.

He didn’t even look at you. Didn’t see the way your throat closed, the way your chest ached at the sharpness of it. He just kept scrolling through his phone like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t matter.

You laughed it off, because what else could you do? “Sorry… guess I ramble sometimes.”

But that night, you lay awake next to him, eyes open, staring at the ceiling while his back faced you. You replayed the moment over and over, hearing it louder each time. Do you ever stop talking?

And slowly, you did.

You stopped telling him about your day. Stopped sharing your excitement, your fears, your small joys. You grew quieter, careful, walking on eggshells so you wouldn’t be “too much.” And he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, but said nothing.

The apartment grew silent. Not peaceful silence, but heavy, suffocating silence.

And the worst part? You still loved him. Even when he made you feel unwanted. Even when your laughter died in your throat. Even when the person you once were—bright, talkative, alive—faded into someone quieter, smaller, dimmer.

One evening, as you were washing dishes, he glanced at you and frowned. “You’ve been quiet lately. It’s weird.”

You almost laughed at the irony. Instead, you whispered, “You told me I talk too much.”

For the first time, he froze. He remembered. The offhanded remark, the look on your face. And suddenly, he realized: you had taken it to heart. You had believed him.

But by then, it was too late.

Because you weren’t the same anymore. And no matter what he said, no matter how he tried to take it back, Tsukishima knew he had killed something fragile between you—not with a fight, not with a breakup, but with a single careless sentence that lingered like poison in the air.

[moonlit-letters]

"BURN BESIDE ME"

A quiet, tragic love: she chooses ruin for the sake of staying, and he is left to live with the silence of gods.

Next | Masterlist

ART BY: @_REIJI03

note: hi guys!! I’m finally back—sorry for being inactive for so long :> I had so much to do this week, but I’m here (not for good, just for today hehe). hope you guys like this one JHDSHADH

Xiao had always known what he was: an adeptus, cursed with karmic debt, bound by contract to defend Liyue. He was a weapon, not a lover. His hands were meant to kill, not to hold. His presence was poison.

That was why, when you stumbled into his life, he tried to drive you away. “I am danger itself,” he warned, his golden eyes hard but his voice trembling beneath. “Stay too close to me, and the corruption will consume you.”

But you only looked at him and said, “Then let it. If it means I can stay, then let it.”

And so, you stayed.

At first, it was subtle. You grew tired easily. A cough here, a shiver there. Xiao tried to ignore it, but he saw the truth—the black miasma coiling under your skin, the karmic debt leaking into your fragile mortal body.

Each day, it grew worse. Your hands trembled when you held his. The warmth in your cheeks drained until you were pale and cold. He carried you when you could no longer stand, his jaw tight as if holding back every word he wanted to scream.

At night, he fought demons in the mountains, slaughtering remnants of gods and shadows of the past. By dawn, he returned to you, only to watch the karmic debt gnaw away at your spirit—something no spear, no talisman, no prayer could destroy.

“Archons,” he whispered to the empty sky, kneeling in the grass with bloodied hands. “Take it from her. Punish me instead. I am the Yaksha. I was made for this. Please… she wasn’t meant for this curse.”

But the skies remained silent.

And so, your suffering dragged on.

By the second month, your voice had grown weak. You winced with every step, every breath, but still you smiled for him, whispering, “I’m fine, Xiao. Don’t look at me like that.”

But he did. He always did. Watching the light fade from your eyes felt like watching the sun sink and never rise again.

By the third month, you could no longer walk. Xiao carried you on his back as he patrolled the mountains. You rested your head against him, whispering soft words between ragged breaths. He tried to hide his tears, but when you coughed blood into his sleeve, his hands shook so badly he could barely hold his spear.

And still, the Archons did nothing.

“Morax,” he begged one night, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead into the dirt of Wangshu Inn’s balcony. “I upheld my contract. I spilled blood in your name for centuries. Just this once—answer me. Save her.”

But the god who once listened to him was long gone, and the silence was deafening.

By the final month, you were only a shadow of yourself. The miasma spread through you like ink in water—your veins black, your breaths shallow, your laughter only a memory. And Xiao… he never left your side.

“Why?” he whispered one night as he held you close, his tears dripping into your hair. “Why did you stay, when I told you this would happen?”

Your lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Because, Xiao… I’d rather burn beside you than live in a world without you.”

Those were the last words you spoke before the karmic debt took everything.

You slipped away in his arms, eyes dim, body trembling once, twice—then still.

Xiao broke. He clutched you to his chest, his voice raw as he screamed into the night. “ARCHONS! TAKE ME! TAKE ME IN HER PLACE! I BEG YOU! PLEASE!”

But no miracle came. No god listened.

Only silence. Only loss. Only him.

He had fought countless demons, slain gods, survived centuries of slaughter. But this was the one battle he could never win.

And as he knelt there, holding your lifeless body against his chest, Xiao realized the cruelest truth of all:

The karmic debt had always been his to bear—yet you carried it instead.

And now, the one soul who had ever loved him enough to stay was gone.

Forever.

[potoh]

Two stunning winners ✨️

[moonlit-letters]

"Too Late"

The manor had always been too quiet.

Even before everything fell apart, Diluc carried silence like a second skin. It was easier than trying to fill the void his father left, easier than pretending the warmth of family hadn’t been ripped away.

Love, he decided, was dangerous. It left scars too deep to heal. So he shut his heart away, buried it beneath duty, anger, and fire.

Then you came.

You weren’t loud like the others. You didn’t press him with questions or force him into the warmth of gatherings. You simply stayed. Quiet, patient, steady.

And slowly—against every instinct—he let you in.

He didn’t notice when it happened, but somewhere between the long nights at the tavern and the quiet talks in the vineyard, he realized: he loved you.

But the truth struck cruelly when he saw you in Mondstadt’s plaza, lantern-light catching in your hair as you laughed. Kaeya stood beside you, his usual smirk softer now, his gloved hand brushing yours—and you let him.

Diluc froze. His chest hollowed out. His brother. Of all people.

The world tilted. Too late, too slow, too guarded. He had no one to blame but himself.

Kaeya had always been reckless with affection, quick with charm, fearless in the face of love. Diluc had been the opposite—hesitant, silent, buried under caution until all he had left were regrets.

And you… you had chosen warmth over silence. Light over shadow.

So Diluc said nothing. He turned back to the tavern, where shadows welcomed him as they always had. If his heart had to break, then so be it. He had lived with heavier burdens.

But the ache never left.

One evening, you found him outside the winery. The moon hung low, silver spilling across the vineyard. You sat beside him, shoulder brushing his as though nothing had changed.

“You’ve softened,” you said quietly, your gaze on the stars. “When I first met you, you never let anyone close. But now… you stay. With us.”

The words nearly undid him.

He wanted to say it—to confess that it was always you, that every wall he tore down had been for you alone. But instead, he breathed, “Perhaps I finally found a family worth keeping.”

You smiled, warm and gentle, and leaned your head against him. Not in love—that belonged to Kaeya now—but in trust, in comfort.

Diluc stared at the vineyard bathed in moonlight, the silence pressing heavy on his chest. Yet for the first time, he didn’t feel utterly alone.

And though it tore him apart, he allowed himself a fragile thought:

Even if you never looked at him the way you looked at Kaeya, perhaps one day you would still see him—not as your love, but as your home.

And for a man who once believed he deserved nothing, that was enough.

[moonlit-letters]

shi_rayu_ki on x for the header

“The One Who Left” part 2

note: sorry for the extremely late post I was super busy the past few days and I still am but I couldn’t leave you guys hanging.

Warning: Angst

Previous | Masterlist

They whispered his name like a curse.

Scaramouche. The Balladeer. The puppet who clawed his way to power through fire and lightning, leaving ruin in his wake.

To the Fatui, he was a harbinger of terror.

To the world, he was nothing but a weapon of destruction.

But to himself? He was still the boy no one stayed for.

And the proof of it lingered in the memory of you.

He thought he buried it—the night you walked away from him. The sound of the satchel’s strap sliding over your shoulder. The finality in your voice when you said he would destroy you.

But no matter how far he rose, no matter how many knelt at his feet, that memory haunted him.

He told himself he didn’t need you. He told himself you were weak for leaving. But every quiet moment, when the halls of Fatui strongholds echoed empty, he would find his gaze wandering to the door, waiting for footsteps that would never return.

And so, when he climbed into the seat of the Divine Machine, when he seized godhood for himself, he thought—finally. Now I’ll never be abandoned again. Now no one will dare leave me.

Yet in the roaring silence of his throne room, all he could hear was your voice.

“You’ve become the same as them. Cruel. Unfeeling. A god who rules by fear, not love.”

The words carved deeper than any blade.

And when they came for him—the Traveler, the Dendro Archon, all those who dared to defy his ascension—he fought with everything he had. The sky split with his storms, the earth trembled with his wrath.

But beneath the thunder, there was only one thought screaming inside him:

If you had stayed, would I have become this monster?

When the Divine Machine fell, when his godhood shattered into ash, the truth hit him harder than the blow that ended it.

It was never the world he wanted to conquer.

It was never divinity he sought.

It was you.

He only ever wanted you.

Collapsed in the aftermath, stripped of his power, Scaramouche’s breaths came shallow, ragged. The world around him blurred, fading in and out, but the memory of you remained sharp as glass.

He laughed, hoarse and broken. “I thought if I became a god, I’d never be left again. But even now… even like this… you’re still gone, aren’t you?”

The laugh crumbled into a sob he couldn’t suppress. For all his claims of being heartless, the truth was cruel: he had a heart, and it was still tethered to the one person who had walked away.

“Do you know what you did to me?” His voice cracked, trembling as he stared at the empty sky. “You ruined me. You left me hollow, and I thought I could fill that void with power. But all I did was lose myself even more.”

His hand reached out as if to grasp something, someone—but only air met his fingers.

“You should have killed me that night instead of leaving. It would have hurt less.”

The wind howled through the ruins, carrying his words into nothingness.

And Scaramouche, the puppet who had tried to be a god, curled in on himself, broken and abandoned once again.

No one would ever know that the storm of a false god was born not from ambition, but from the absence of one soul who had once believed in him.

And even as he remade himself into the Wanderer—discarding his name, his past, his so-called godhood—the memory of you lingered. A wound that never healed, an echo that haunted every step.

Because in the end, he wasn’t searching for freedom.

He was still searching for you.

And he always would.

[mmelete]

The Tumblr Experience

[moonlit-letters]

hello!! I see that requests are open!!

I was wondering if you could do Shouki no Kami/archon scara with reader follower who leaves him and like he gets all angsty or whatever the word is!!

okay thanks!

note:

ok sooo this literally took me forever to write 😭 i haven’t done the quest yet (still stuck in sumeru lol) and med school is eating up my time so i don’t get to play as much. that’s why i didn’t want to risk making it shouki no kami—i was scared i’d get the lore wrong. so i went with scara instead 🫩

if there are inconsistencies just know i tried my best and i poured my whole angsty little heart into this lmao. hope you guys like it !! 🌙

Masterlist | Next

“The One Who Left”

The Fatui camps always bowed when he passed. They feared his name, his temper, his cruelty. He liked it that way—it was easier to rule when people trembled before him.

But you?

You never feared him.

That was why you mattered.

You weren’t like the others who flinched under his glare, or the soldiers who groveled at his boots out of obligation. You stayed beside him because you chose to. You bandaged his wounds when he returned bloodied from missions, listened to his bitter ramblings about gods and mortals, and never once called him “monster.”

And somewhere along the way, he began to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one person who wouldn’t throw him away.

Until you did.

It happened on a quiet night in Snezhnaya, the snow falling thick outside the camp. He found you packing your things, fingers trembling as you shoved clothes and keepsakes into a worn satchel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was sharp, laced with frost, but there was something fragile beneath it.

You froze. Then, slowly, you turned to him. “I can’t stay, Scara.”

The words lodged in his chest like shards of glass. “…Can’t stay?”

Your eyes were wet, but your voice was steady. “I’ve followed you through everything. Your plans, your rage, your battles. But you don’t see me. Not really. You only see what I can give you—my loyalty, my devotion. And I can’t… I can’t keep tearing myself apart for someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Scaramouche laughed, sharp and bitter. “So that’s it? You’ve finally realized what I am? A tool. A puppet. A mistake. And now you’re just like the rest of them.”

“That’s not—” You stepped closer, but he recoiled as if burned.

“Don’t.” His voice cracked. His hands shook as he curled them into fists. “Don’t come any closer if you’re going to leave.”

Tears slipped down your face. “Scara, I never saw you as a mistake.”

“Then why?” His voice was a snarl, but his eyes betrayed him—shining, desperate, breaking. “Why walk away now? After everything I let you see? After I let you close when I swore I’d never let anyone in again?”

Your throat burned. “Because if I stay, you’ll destroy me.”

The bag’s strap slipped over your shoulder. His heart dropped with it.

You stepped past him, and he didn’t stop you. Couldn’t. His body felt rooted to the spot, like if he reached for you, he’d fall apart completely.

The door shut softly behind you.

And then there was nothing.

Scaramouche stood there long after you’d gone, the echo of your footsteps like thunder in his skull. He pressed a hand to his chest—his empty chest, where there was no heart to break—yet it hurt worse than any wound.

He laughed, hysterical, choking on the sound.

“Of course. Of course you’d leave. Everyone does. Creator, Fatui, now you. Why should I expect anything else?” His voice fractured, rising with each word. “Who was I kidding, thinking someone like you would stay with a puppet who was never meant to exist?”

The snow outside howled with the storm that burst inside him. He tore the room apart—tables splintering, glass shattering, papers ripped to shreds—but no amount of destruction could drown the memory of your face when you told him goodbye.

When he finally collapsed against the wreckage, his breath ragged, his hands bled from shards of glass. But he felt nothing except the gaping hollow where you had been.

For all his talk of being heartless, of being untouchable, you had proven him wrong. You had been his weakness. His tether. His proof that maybe, just maybe, he was more than a discarded puppet.

And now you were gone.

He tilted his head back and laughed again, broken and bitter, tears he swore he couldn’t shed stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“You wanted to save me,” he whispered to the emptiness. “But who’s going to save me now?”

And for the first time in centuries of existence, Scaramouche wished he had never met you at all. Because losing you hurt more than every abandonment that came before.

part 2

[moonlit-letters]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

I’ve been stuck in a writer’s block lately and honestly don’t know what to write or who to write. I want to write angst, but I have no idea how to begin—help me out!

[red-shameless]

Presenting to you my writing cycle

[moonlit-letters]

that kinich fic... T-T

OKAY-

I honestly thought it would get like 20 likes as I really didn’t like the way I wrote it that much but it’s so rewarding to know it got more than 40!!!

thank you so much sincerely!! if you like more angst please do check my tartaglia or childe angst I swear I cried when I was writing it.

[writers-bane]

[moonlit-letters]

"CRIMSON TIDE"

image artist: anna-drw01 on twitter/ X

Living with Ajax had been nothing short of a dream. The mornings where he quietly cooked breakfast while humming an old Snezhnayan tune, the evenings where he returned home—sometimes bruised, sometimes exhausted, but always with a smile just for you. He never told you much about his work, only that it kept him away at times, and you had respected that silence.

For a while.

But love makes people curious, doesn’t it? You wanted to know more about the man you shared your home, your heart, your life with. What was it that pulled him away so often, leaving him haunted when he thought you weren’t looking?

So, when he left again, you followed.

The night was thick with mist when you trailed behind him, careful not to be seen. You didn’t recognize this version of Ajax—the way his shoulders squared, the way his voice became sharp as he spoke to cloaked strangers. Then you saw the Harbinger insignia, cold and merciless. The Fatui.

And it struck you. The truth of the man you loved.

Your heart wanted to deny it, but your eyes couldn’t. Childe wasn’t just Ajax. He was something far deadlier, something you never imagined—and yet, you still loved him. Perhaps that was why, when the ambush came, when steel clashed against steel and Fatui soldiers and enemies spilled blood under the moonlight, you didn’t run.

You couldn’t leave him.

He didn’t see you at first, too focused on the fight. But when an enemy’s blade arced toward his blind spot, your body moved on instinct. You lunged forward.

The sound of steel piercing flesh was deafening.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, breath shuddering, as the pain bloomed through your body. You collapsed into his arms, crimson spilling onto his clothes, staining the white fabric you had carefully washed just days before.

“Why—why are you here?!” his voice cracked, desperate, as he tried to staunch the wound with trembling hands. His eyes—so blue, so bright—were wide with terror. “You weren’t supposed to see this… You weren’t supposed to—”

You smiled weakly, raising a trembling hand to touch his cheek. “I couldn’t let you fight alone.”

Ajax broke.

“No—no, don’t say that. Don’t close your eyes. Please.” His voice was raw, unravelling with every syllable. “You promised you’d stay with me. You can’t—don’t leave me. I’ll protect you, I’ll fix this, I’ll—”

But there are battles even the Eleventh Harbinger cannot win.

And when your hand fell limply from his cheek, when the light in your eyes dimmed, Ajax’s world shattered.

The battlefield was silent except for his sobs. Not the cries of the Fatui’s Childe, nor the sharp commands of a Harbinger. They were the cries of a man who had lost the one thing he truly loved.

He pressed his forehead to yours, shaking. “If only I told you the truth… If only I kept you safe.” His tears mingled with the blood that stained his hands. “I love you. Archons, I love you—”

But love, no matter how deep, could not bring you back.

And so Ajax—Childe—remained, holding your lifeless body under the pale moonlight, a broken man cursed to remember the warmth he could never touch again.

[moonlit-letters]

"Like Starlight" ✧

At first, Scaramouche barely noticed you. You were just there—quiet, persistent, irritatingly kind. He had no reason to pay you any mind. A harbinger had no use for mortals who smiled at him as if he were something more than what he was.

But then… he started to notice.

The way you always seemed to wait for him, even when he didn’t ask you to. The way your laughter slipped through the cracks of his carefully built walls, soft and warm, refusing to be ignored. The way you looked at him—never with fear, never with reverence, but with something simple and impossible: trust.

He hated how it made him feel at first. The strange heaviness in his chest when you weren’t around. The way his eyes searched for you in a crowded place without him realizing. The way your absence lingered like a missing heartbeat.

One evening, he caught himself staring. You were humming under your breath, mending a small tear in your sleeve. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary—and yet, Scaramouche found himself frozen, memorizing the curve of your lips, the glow of lantern light painting your hair, the sheer serenity of your presence.

Something inside him ached. Something fragile and dangerous.

“Why are you always here?” he asked, voice sharp, defensive. You looked up at him with a small smile. “Because I want to be.”

That was all. No grand declaration. No expectation. Just quiet certainty.

And Scaramouche—who had been abandoned, discarded, cursed to believe no one would ever choose him—realized with dawning terror that you already had.

Days passed. He stopped questioning why you stayed. He stopped pushing you away. He even let himself laugh once, and the sound startled him as much as it startled you.

Little by little, he softened. He caught himself reaching for your hand without thinking. He caught himself remembering your smile when he closed his eyes. He caught himself whispering your name in the dark when he thought no one could hear.

And then, one night, when you almost stumbled on the path, he instinctively grabbed your wrist, steadying you. Your fingers lingered against his, warm and steady.

He didn’t let go.

Scaramouche lowered his gaze, heart pounding against ribs that weren’t supposed to feel. “…Stay close,” he murmured, almost embarrassed. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You blinked at him, soft surprise turning into a smile so radiant it made his chest ache.

And Scaramouche realized then—quietly, terrifyingly, beautifully— that he was already in love with you.