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A faint flicker of flame and the dimly lit glow of a dying fire cast a shadow across Scaramouche’s face, a shadow that he was grateful for, since it helped him hide the tears that stained his pale cheeks. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying, and that was probably the worst part.
He had never really been one for emotions. Partly because throughout his entire existence, he’d only ever been told that he was wrong for feeling anything at all. It made sense, really. He wasn’t real, not in the same way the other Harbingers were. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. It just wasn’t part of his programming.
There was no room in the life of a living weapon for something as foolish as emotion. Emotion made him vulnerable, vulnerability made him weak, and weakness made him worthless. Maybe that was the reason the electro Archon had cast him aside. It hurt. All of it. Despite knowing how badly it shouldn’t, it did and that was the problem.
He was the problem.
Scaramouche flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, followed by the familiar and somehow soothing voice of his fellow harbinger.
“I'm surprised you’re still awake,” Childe murmured, removing his hand after feeling Scaramouche tense at the sudden touch. Leaning casually against the nearby tree, he eventually slid down it to where the other boy sat.
“It’s a nice night. Mind if I join you?”
The two of them had been traveling for days, between Mondstadt and Liyue, and had set up camp somewhere on the outskirts of Dragonspine. It was freezing and the contrast between the frigid air and the warm fingers against Scaramouche’s skin had startled him.
Scaramouche shrugged, hugging his knees to his chest as he inched a bit closer to the fire to make room for them both underneath the tree. He hesitated, torn between accepting the company, and just wanting to hide himself from the world like he always did. The last thing he wanted to risk was Childe seeing him cry.
“It’s not like you of all people would actually wait for an invitation,” he grumbled, still facing the opposite direction. “You really think you’d leave if I told you to…?”
Childe thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Probably not. But…the moon is full, neither of us can sleep and —“ He pulled out a bag he’d been hiding behind his back. “I have these.”
The other boy raised a brow. “Tartaglia…we’re in the middle of nowhere, freezing our asses off…when the hell did you have the chance to buy marshmallows?”
“That’s…really not important.” Childe hummed, tearing open the bag and offering a marshmallow to his…friend? Could he call Scaramouche a friend? They were certainly comrades, and they’d been through a lot together. Still, he couldn’t be sure if friend was the right word.
“You stole them, didn’t you?” Scaramouche finally turned to face the other, giving him an accusatory expression. With a sigh, he snapped off a piece of fallen tree branch, peeling the end away to create a sharp tip, perfect for roasting. Childe opted to use one of his arrows, which the smaller boy found amusing.
“Always prepared, huh?” His lips upturned in a slight smile. As he scooted towards the edge of the fire to roast his marshmallow, it was at that moment that Scaramouche decided he really didn’t mind Childe’s company. As obnoxious as the eleventh may be, it was…nice, not having to be alone for once.
Scaramouche realized he was starting to let his guard down a little as he found himself moving a little closer to Childe, eventually leaning against his side. Surprised, Childe glanced down at him with a soft smile.
“Comfy?” He asked, softly, one arm outstretched towards the fire to hold his arrow as the other came to wrap around the smaller boy’s shoulders.
Scaramouche snuggled into the embrace. Here, in the arms of his fellow Harbinger, he felt…at ease, actually. The safest he’d felt in as long as he could remember. Childe was warm, and he smelled, sweet, a scent reminiscent of freshly baked cookies. But, if Childe ever asked, Scaramouche would simply blame it on the cold, and the smell was just the bubbling marshmallow, dangling off the end of his stick.
“Shut up…” He grumbled, letting his head fall against Childe’s shoulder. “I’m cold. I can’t sleep because I’m cold, because someone decided we should camp in a frozen tundra tonight instead of traveling just a few more hours to get to Liyue.” Scaramouche huffed. Childe laughed, hugging him closer.
“I can grab a blanket from the cave if you want.” He laid his arrow against the edge of the fire and made a move to get up.
Childe’s movement earned a small whine of protest from Scaramouche. The tiny boy gripped his sleeve. “Just stay here you big oaf…I’m sure you’re warmer than any blanket we have. They’re so thin and scratchy. So just…hold me. And pick that arrow up before you burn your marshmallow.”
Grabbing his arrow, Childe bit his marshmallow directly off the end of it as Scaramouche watched in awe, wondering how the idiot hadn’t burnt his mouth yet. He went about enjoying his own marshmallow in a slightly less chaotic way.
“So…” Scaramouche hummed, leaning back against the taller boy. “What’s the real reason you’re out here, Tartaglia…? You usually sleep like a rock. You slept through, like, five ruin guards right outside our camp yesterday.”
Childe laughed at the obvious exaggeration, shaking his head. “It was one. And it was like a couple hundred feet away.” He rolled his eyes with a smile, ruffling Scaramouche’s hair a little. The small, gremlin of a boy quickly swatted his hand away, which only earned him more laughter from Childe.
The laughter died down after a minute, replaced with a sigh. His expression grew solemn, but still gentle. “I was worried about you…” He murmured, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the crackling fire. “You’ve been quiet since dinner…more quiet than usual.” He frowned, rubbing his back lightly.
Scaramouche tensed a bit, but soon relaxed, leaning into the touch. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel. Why did Childe have to be so damn nosey? And why was the other boy being so nice to him?
“I’m fine…” The lie was simple, deflecting. He was hoping it would be enough to distract the obnoxiously persistent harbinger. It most certainly was not.
Childe sighed. “You know you can talk to me if something’s bothering you…right? I really don’t mind. I can tell you’ve been thinking a lot. I know what it’s like to feel alone.” He gripped Scaramouche’s shoulder lightly.
Tears welled in the smaller boy’s eyes. He was terrified of opening up, terrified of Childe leaving him. No- abandoning him, the same as anyone he’d ever shown weakness to had. “You don’t.” His voice cracked when he finally spoke and it didn’t take long for Childe to notice that he was trembling. “You’ve always had people that care about you, Childe…at the very least, you’ve always had your little brother. He looks up to you. He loves you!” The choked out words fell somewhere between sounding bitter and heartbroken. “I’ve lived my entire life, surrounded by people that didn’t care if I lived or died. I’m nothing more than a tool. If something was wrong with me, if I was broken, they’d just t-throw me away and get a new one!” His voice was starting to waver and he couldn’t hold back the tears that fell.
Childe held him as he cried, hugging him close against his chest. The hug only made Scaramouche sob harder, clinging to Childe, shoving his face, wet with tears, into the other boy’s shoulder. They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity.
Scaramouche eventually pulled away, still sniffling, and wiped his nose with his sleeve. He glanced up at Childe, eyes red rimmed from crying, half expecting the other to scold him for being a blubbering mess and getting tears and snot all over his shirt.
Gently cupping Scaramouche’s cheek, Childe laid their foreheads together. “You’re not just a tool. I promise…You’re so much more than that, Scara.” He caught the remnants of tears with his thumb, stroking his cheek softly.
“Please don’t leave me…” Scaramouche whimpered, gripping Childe’s hand to hold it close against his face, not wanting to lose the comfort of his touch. He was the only one that had ever cared.
“I won’t…” Childe reassured softly, still holding his cheek. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’ve got you.”
Scaramouche smiled a little at that and cuddled into him. He felt safe and warm, albeit exhausted from crying. Letting his head fall against Childe’s chest, the smaller boy curled up in his lap. “M’tired….” He mumbled, fighting back a yawn.
Fingers carded through his hair. “It’s okay, get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Childe hummed, twirling a strand of hair around the end of his finger. “We can find somewhere to have breakfast and watch the sunrise.”
“Don’t start getting sappy on me, Tartaglia…” Scaramouche yawned, stretching a little to get more comfortable.
Childe laughed, patting his head softly. This time, the other made no move to bat his hand away. He leaned back against the tree, draping an arm around Scaramouche’s waist as he lay cuddled into his chest.
A moment of silence passed, with the exception of the cracking fire and the occasional chirping of crickets in the distance. Childe wasn’t sure if Scaramouche was still awake or not until the boy spoke once more.
“Hey, Childe…?” He asked softly.
“Hmm?”
“I…I love you.” Scaramouche’s voice cracked, sounding squeaky and shy, but he was far too tired to care.
“Look who’s being sappy now,” Childe chuckled quietly, pressing a kiss to Scaramouche’s forehead. “I love you too.”
A soft sigh of relief left Scaramouche’s lungs. That may have been one of the hardest things he would ever have to admit. “Please don’t make me regret it…” He was still terrified of being hurt, terrified of rejection or of Childe growing bored with him, but right now he felt safe. Safe and loved. And right then, the two of them together in that very moment was all that mattered.