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Pulling on his hat, Scaramouche grabs his keys before making his way out of his dorm for his meeting with Nahida.

In just a few days, his second year at the Akademiya is set to begin. The first had gone by rather quickly, and Scaramouche finds that he’s actually looking forward to starting a new term. He has his apprehensions, as he does with most things, but for the most part his time at the Akademiya has allowed him to grow in ways he’s thankful for.

University hadn’t initially been his plan. After leaving Inazuma, he thought he’d go off and travel for a few years, picking up odd jobs wherever he could find them just to make ends meet in whatever part of the world he wanted to explore. It was a risky plan, sure, but he’d never really had safety to begin with. Most of his life has been spent alone with only himself to rely on.

He had been at a coffee shop in Sumeru city just a couple weeks ago, making said arrangements to spend some time first in Mondstadt, when he met Nahida. She’d seen him browsing hotels on his laptop and inquired as to his travel plans out of curiosity. Scaramouche had, against his better judgment, felt strangely compelled to tell her about them. Now he knows that Nahida uses her ability of being incredibly perceptive to figure out just how to get people to open up.

(It’s borderline manipulative, if you ask him.)

Their conversation in that coffee shop had quickly deviated from his travel plans to Scaramouche admitting that he had never actually considered college as an option. That then prompted Nahida to admit that she was actually the President of Sumeru’s most prestigious university–the Akademiya–and before he could get another word in, she was telling him how great of an intellectual opportunity it could be. How he could have chances to travel for free if he got involved in clubs and programs there to learn more about the world before truly venturing off alone. Scaramouche had been so caught off guard by her infodumping that he accepted her business card without any fuss. She bought him a cookie and disappeared like some magical fairy godmother. 

A few days after their encounter, Scaramouche was sending a very unprofessional and poorly composed email asking for more information. 

Nahida was all too eager to help. She sent Scaramouche a link to apply directly to the university as well as many resources for scholarships and campus housing accommodations and things that Scaramouche had even thought of. He reviewed everything carefully, knowing that, even with the President’s help, it would be a major headache to apply so close to the start of the semester. If he decided to go through with this, it would require a lot of time and quick decision making.

But a month later, Scaramouche was accepted to the Akademiya.

Nahida remained in close contact with Scaramouche. He had initially guessed her to be furthering some kind of personal agenda with recruiting him, maybe the university’s numbers were dwindling or she had some kind of savior complex and wanted to put every “troubled youth” she stumbled across on a better path. But after a few more conversations with her, he realized she was genuinely just an annoyingly good person. She’d even gone as far as to schedule lunch meetings with him in her office in the administration building every so often, just to make sure that he was settling in okay. 

For the most part, it was pretty much a routine interview with the occasional small talk. She’d ask about his grades–Great . How he felt about the campus–It’s pretty. And if he’d made any friends yet–No .

This last question–and his ever unchanging answer to it–seemed to trouble her quite a bit. However, it was only as Scaramouche approached the end of his first year that she finally let her disappointment show.  

“You’re smart,” she’d said to him, about 8 weeks into his second semester. “You’re motivated. You get involved in lots of programs and work fine with others when you have to. So why don’t you want to make actual friends? Connections are just as important as academics.” 

Her genuine confusion was as frustrating to him as his clear apathy was to her.

“It’s not worth the trouble.” He replied curtly, hoping she wouldn’t press beyond that. She was good about knowing when to drop things, but unfortunately for him, she wouldn’t let up this time.

“You find personal relationships to be troublesome?”

Scara sighed. “Befriending people means taking the time to figure them out. Once my classes with these people end, I doubt I’ll speak to any of them again. So what’s the point in doing that?”

Scaramouche will never forget the look of genuine disappointment that Nahida had fixed him with after those words left his mouth. In all the time he’d known her, it was the first time he’d seen her upset. She hadn’t even tried to hide it. It felt like a slap in the face.

She dropped the topic after that, but Scaramouche hadn’t been able to shake her words, or that look, since. He’d go to class and see students chatting in groups or walk past friends enjoying lunch together in the quad and all he’d picture was Nahida’s disappointed gaze. A weight would always settle in his chest, making him wonder if maybe his outlook here was flawed.

But then finals rolled around and he became too immersed in his studies to let the thoughts linger. The semester wrapped up after that, and he took an internship opportunity in Mondstadt for the rest of the break to keep busy. When he’d returned it was nearing the start of the first semester of second year, and just like that, he hadn’t had the time to really think about it.

That was, until today, as he’s summoned to Nahida’s office to discuss mentoring a new student.

They exchange tired greetings. Scaramouche is still sleep deprived from his recent travels, and Nahida is visibly overworked from all the preparations necessary to begin the next term. Scaramouche tells her briefly of his internship and she mentions some random construction around campus, but they quickly move onto the real subject of the meeting.

“It won’t be a very demanding arrangement. I know you only just got back and have a lot of preparations to make for the next term yourself,” Nahida prefaces, “but I think you’re the perfect person for the job.”

“Why me?” He asks.

“After thinking it through, I thought that you might be able to sympathize with him.” Nahida skims over something on her computer before turning to him. “This student is a lot like you. He’s a hard worker and very responsible, coming here from a small town where he didn’t have many friends. I expect the transition might be overwhelming for him, or at least a little challenging. A third year here, Cyno, is a friend of his and asked me if it were possible to find someone to show the boy around and help him out. You were the first person I thought of.”

Hearing all of that…makes Scaramouche feel like he’s being left with no other choice. Truthfully, he had been expecting her to ask him for a favor of this nature for a while; she’s big on “paying it forward” as much as she is random acts of kindness, so this is likely her way of getting him to repay the help she’d provided in getting him enrolled. Still, he can’t help but feel that there’s a second, hidden agenda here. He hasn’t forgotten their conversation from last semester.

“What’s his name?” He follows up. Nahida’s eyes nearly sparkle. He groans. “I haven’t agreed yet!”

Nahida laughs, clicking around her computer. “His name is…Sethos.”

Sethos. A unique name. Definitely from Sumeru, but likely one of the smaller desert cities, which would explain the “small town” thing. He wonders if Nahida had randomly ran into this guy and convinced him to study here just like she had with him. If so, he must be stressed out of his mind.

“And why can’t his upperclassman friend help him?” He can’t help but ask, to which Nahida sighs.

“Cyno had initially intended to. But he’s a lot more occupied than he thought he would be–he’s a member of the student council, vice captain of the water polo team, and the leader of the TCG club.” Nahida suddenly scrunches her eyebrows and turns to her computer to click around again. Finding what she’s looking for, she smiles successfully. “Sethos is on the water polo team, too.”

He’s not sure why he should care, but he hums in acknowledgement anyway.

This “arrangement” is something he’d really rather not be caught up in. Having someone depending on him while juggling his own responsibilities sounds like more trouble than it’s worth. But for as much of a chore as it’s bound to be, Nahida seemingly thought this through quite a bit and still chose to ask him. She probably wouldn’t have the time to find anyone else should he reject, either. He supposes he owes it to her, and it saves him the awkwardness of ever having to deliver a mushy thank you. H can just consider them somewhat even after this.

He sinks into the chair he’s been sitting in for the past 20 minutes. Nahida remains smiling at him, patiently awaiting his response.

“Fine.”

She claps her hands dramatically. “Perfect! I would like the two of you to meet on Friday, just to get to know each other a bit. I know you like eating at that cafe on the other side of campus, so how about I tell him 4:30?”

“Fine.”

With a final profuse thank you, Nahida dismisses Scaramouche to go on about his day. He leaves her office feeling a bit of dread, but also..a little bit of interest. If things were to go well, he wonders, he might be able to make something of an acquaintance out of this guy. Enough to prove to Nahida that he can build connections, even if it doesn’t last.

For the days leading up to Friday, Scaramouche busies himself with shopping for school supplies and deep-cleaning his dorm before the semester inevitably turns it into a wreck again. The mentoring arrangement doesn’t weigh on him, at least not in a bad way, but he finds himself thinking about it now and then in between organizing his textbooks and restocking his mini-fridge.

He’d already agreed, so there was no going back. He just hopes the guy isn’t a weirdo.

When it comes time for them to meet on Friday, just a couple days before classes start, Scaramouche isn’t sure what to expect. He has next to no info on the guy–Sethos , he supposes he should get used to using his name–which makes him a little uncomfortable. He doesn’t deal well with extreme extroverts for obvious reasons, but if the guy is more of an introvert like him, it’s going to get awkward between them, fast.

He’s already sitting down at a table in the corner of the cafe when Sethos finally walks in. He’s only able to guess it’s him because of the way the brunette looks around like a lost puppy, trying to see if he can identify Scaramouche amidst all the patrons. The second year lets out something of a snort without meaning too, and it’s that which finally catches Sethos’s attention. The two lock eyes, the younger man smiling awkwardly as splotches of cool maroon burst across his cheeks. Scaramouche quiets instantly. 

“Are you Scaramouche?” Sethos asks hesitantly after walking over, holding onto the strap of his messenger bag with both hands. His cheeks are even redder from up close, but the color perfectly compliments the tone of his golden skin.

Scaramouche looks away. “Yeah. You can sit.”

Sethos thanks him quietly, taking the seat opposite him. Scaramouche blesses his earlier self for choosing a table in the corner of the shop. It hasn"t even been a minute, and this is already causing him pain.

The rustling on Sethos’s side of the table stops, and he speaks up again. “Thank you for agreeing to help me out. I’m a little embarrassed that Cyno even asked, but I hope it isn’t much trouble for you?”

The last bit being posed as a question forces Scaramouche to glance back up. The boy across from him remains slightly flushed, but the color has now dispersed into something of a natural summer blush. He swallows. “It’s just a favor I owe the President.”

“Oh,” Sethos’s eyes widen with curiosity. “Do you know her personally?”

He debates how to answer the question. The last time he’d made the mistake of telling someone about how he knew Nahida, they’d made him feel like a fucking nepo baby. He doesn’t know how Sethos will interpret it, but he doesn’t want to deal with any overreactions. “Sort of.”

“Ah, that’s nice.” A beat. “I like your hat.”

Scaramouche blinks, confused. “Uh, thanks?”

Sethos opens his mouth as if to follow up, but then seems to think better of it and nods instead. The splattering of maroon across his face comes back full force as tears his gaze away, looking in the direction of the register.

This is much, much worse than expected.

But as apprehensive as Scaramouche is about this whole situation, he’s self aware enough to know that it’s his own blunt responses and inherently abrasive nature that tend to make these kinds of things worse than necessary. So, although he fears that this rough start and… weird tension might be hard to rewrite, he figures he can at least try to make it easier on the both of them.

He’s definitely not picturing Nahida’s disappointed look in the depths of his mind as he asks, “Nahida–President Nahida said you play water polo?” 

And thank the heavens, that seems to have been the perfect thing to say. Sethos perks up immediately, his attention returning to the man in his company with eagerness. His eyes light up in a way that reminds Scaramouche a bit of Nahida, except this look doesn’t make him want to run away in fear of whatever the other is thinking. This look makes him want to do whatever it takes to hold it captive.

This boy might be trouble, after all. 

Everything goes smoothly after they start talking about water polo. Sethos really loves the sport. He does enough talking for the both of them, telling Scaramouche first of his passion for it, then of the team members he only recently met but already adores, and lastly of how excited he is for the season to start. Scaramouche hums around the rim of his latte cup here and there to confirm that he’s actively listening, and Sethos is perfectly content with that. Though once he’s concluded his extensive water polo info session, he turns the conversation over to Scaramouche.

“Do you play any sports? Or are you in any clubs?”

Scaramouche raises his eyebrows. Normally, he gets a weird bit of satisfaction out of admitting that he doesn’t partake in those kinds of extracurriculars, simply because people always get so worked up about why he wouldn’t want to join something for fun. As if being sweaty and being forced to speak to dozens of people everyday can be considered fun. 

Absolutely not.

But right now, with a set of bright green eyes staring at him with such deep curiosity, he finds himself…suddenly embarrassed about it.

He clears his throat. “I’ve…done internships.” One internship, he doesn’t clarify.

Sethos is none the wiser. “That’s awesome! For what?”

Now Scaramouche strongly dislikes talking about himself, but this guy must have gone to the Nahida School of Pressing People because Scaramouche can’t find it in him to shut him down again.

“It was in Mondstadt.” He starts, and Sethos places his elbows on the table to lean closer. Scaramouche is quick to bring his empty latte cup up to his mouth, holding it in between them like a shield. “Just secretary work at their security headquarters. Delivering letters and…stuff like that.”

“You must have met some really cool people!” Sethos prods.

Scaramouche ponders the question. He had.

Their current stand-in chief, a woman named Jean, had allowed him to shadow her for the majority of his time there. She’d been a woman of few words, but he learned a lot about work ethic and professionalism just from watching her work. Then there was a talented chemist, Albedo, who worked in the lab and whose introverted nature reassured Scaramouche that he’d adapt just fine into the workforce (cough, Nahida ). And then there was a young girl named Klee, who, from what Scaramouche gathered over the course of the internship, was the daughter of someone very important but kept around the headquarters to ensure the safety of the rest of the city.

He never managed to get to the bottom of that.

When he brings his focus back to Sethos to give him an answer, he’s startled by the way the other is watching him. The corners of his lips are slightly upturned and his gaze curious; it doesn’t seem to be teasing, but not malicious, either. Scaramouche stares at his mouth for a second before realizing that’s fucking weird and tearing his gaze away to the windows.

And the douchebag across from him laughs . 

Scaramouche huffs, his ears feeling hot. “They were weird, as you also appear to be. I seem to attract weirdos, for some reason. Wish I knew why.”

Sethos, visibly fighting to suppress a smile, rests his chin upon his palm. “Usually people say opposites attract, but I don’t think that’s true here. This is probably more along the lines of…birds of a feather?” Sethos pauses. He doesn’t linger on it long. “Regardless, I’ll take that as a compliment. Normal can get boring.”

Scaramouche stays silent, letting the silence sit between them. He’d be annoyed if he hadn’t been the one to call Sethos weird first, but the guy really was acting strange. One moment he seemed bashful and embarrassed, and the next he seemed like he was trying to get inside Scaramouche’s head. Just as the second year is thinking of what to say, the hues of orange painting the sky outside catch his attention. Sethos follows his gaze. They’ve probably been here nearly an hour now, but it hadn’t felt nearly that long. 

Scaramouche’s ears pick up shuffling from across the table, and he turns to find Sethos gathering his things. “I should get going–I’m sure you’re busy getting ready for classes. But it was nice meeting you. Thank you, again, for agreeing to help me out. I hope we can be friends?” The brunette stares at him hopeful, two hands clutching the strap of his messenger bag, awaiting his response. 

“It’s no big deal.” Scaramouche mumbles. “I’ll see you around.” 

Sethos seems content with that. He wears a pleased expression as he stands, stretching his arms. “Our first water polo game is on Tuesday at six, if you’d like to come. See you, Scara.” And with that, the first year walks off.

Scaramouche, still, isn’t sure what to think.

The weekend is uneventful for him, unless you factor in the hours he spends over analyzing every moment of that hour in the cafe. Images of flushed tan skin and gentle smiles play in his mind like a slideshow, one that he cannot turn off. He grows progressively more frustrated with himself for thinking so much about someone he just met, knowing it’ll probably just be a short-lived acquaintance. But his brain and the traitorous thing he calls a heart seem to be working against him.

He’s crushing on someone. Him. He feels ridiculous.

Doing his best to be normal about it for now, Scaramouche tries catching up on sleep and relaxing as much as possible to brace himself for the hectic semester ahead. Nahida reaches out to ask how the meeting went and he tells her it went well. He can’t really scream over email. 

Monday morning arrives eventually, more than happy to take Scaramouche"s mind off of green eyes and pretty hair. His first class is set to start at 10:15, so Scaramouche gets there about 45 minutes early. Many would think him insane, but he likes to pick out his seats very carefully, and that requires the head start. For the most part, people respect the seating arrangements that are made on day one so it’s only today that he’ll have to go through the trouble.

He picks a seat in the front row, against the wall of the classroom. This way he can see the board well while remaining slightly isolated. He’s picked similar seats in all his past courses, and he’s never once regretted it.

The minutes go by and a few more people trickle in with similar ideas. A few of them he recognizes from previous courses None acknowledge him. 

He thinks back to what he told Nahida a few months ago.

“Once our classes end, I probably won’t speak to any of them again. So what’s the point in doing all of that?”

But…as he recalls the conversation for what must be the millionth time, it isn’t Nahida’s eyes staring back at him. It’s a deeper hue of green imprinted in the forefront of his mind, glowing with curiosity and intrigue. Seeing as he’s in public, he refrains from groaning.

And speak of the devil. 

With about 20 minutes remaining until class time, Sethos walks in looking–for lack of a better word–frazzled. His eyebrows are knit tightly together and he’s carrying several things in his arms that he could definitely fit in his bag. He scans around the room quickly to scout the open desks which reminds Scara of how he’d looked walking into the cafe. Does the guy spend his whole life walking around confused? Maybe he really does need the help.

When Sethos hears someone come in behind him, he makes toward a random desk and sets all his stuff down with gentle thumps. Scaramouche watches him like he were a bug on a flower, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s openly staring.

Sethos sits, opening his bag and beginning to organize his things. It only takes him a minute to get it done and leaves him significantly less distressed than he was entering the classroom. He looks around again, and it’s nearly comedic the way his eyes instantly find Scaramouche’s. Sethos smiles the instant he recognizes him. Scara looks away quickly, but he can hear Sethos’s quiet laughter.

A few moments later, there’s a body hovering next to him, asking, “Do you mind if I sit with you?” 

“You’re already here.” Scaramouche mumbles, trying to ignore the whispers that are starting behind them and the heat of his cheeks.

“Ah,” Sethos laughs again, suddenly radiating confidence. “Well I would have asked first, but you avoid eye contact like you have things to hide.”

Scaramouche tries to ignore the voices behind them, but his classmates seem to feel no shame over discussing them within earshot. He hears they’re friends? and who is that guy? before pulling his hat down, curling into himself to tune them out. “Just sit.” 

He’s sure Sethos must hear them too, but when he sneaks a glance, the first year is sat scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, wearing something of an amused smile.

The professor comes in soon after, and everyone quiets down. 

Scaramouche’s only takeaway from the class session is that it seems Cyno wasn’t lying to Nahida about the kind of person Sethos is. Although it’s only the first day and they didn’t learn much at all, Sethos is very attentive and takes notes on anything that seems like it could be important. Scaramouche has to give him credit for it, because not even he pays attention on introduction days. When they all had to go around and say a little bit about themselves, he also learned that Sethos is skilled in martial arts. He can’t really picture it, but it’s impressive. 

Class ends soon enough, and they pack up in silence amidst the conversations of the students catching up around them. As Scaramouche stands to make his way out, Sethos grabs his attention.

“Do you have another class right now?” He asks.

Scaramouche looks at the boy–who’s still sitting–trying to guess why he’s asking. “In an hour. Why?”

“Would you mind helping me find the rest of my classes?”

It dawns on Scaramouche that that’s likely why Sethos had looked so lost earlier. Maybe a campus tour was something he should have suggested last Friday instead of sitting in a cafe and drinking lattes and making unusually tense conversation.

He really wasn’t any good at this mentor thing.

“If you can’t keep up, you’re on your own.” He heads for the door, Sethos jogging after him.

As it turns out, them having a class together was a one-off stroke of luck. But the rest of Sethos’s courses are with professors that Scaramouche had in his past semesters, so he finds himself using the tour to complain about nearly all of them as they walk around campus. Sethos seems to really enjoy both the conversation and the tour, occasionally interjecting with architectural and historical questions about the campus that Scaramouche absolutely does not have the answers to, laughing it off each time Scaramouche looks at him incredulously. 

When they’ve just about finished, it’s safe to say that Sethos has found a newfound appreciation for the Akademiya’s infrastructure and isn’t even the least bit discouraged by any of Scaramouche’s so-called warnings.

“It sounds like they all gave you such a hard time,” Sethos muses, admiring the courtyard garden they ended up in. His tone clearly implies he doesn’t believe Scaramouche’s dramatics, and the latter takes immediate offense. “But if anyone could survive a professor from hell, I’m sure it would be you,” he adds.

Scaramouche hums, offense forgotten. “Obviously.”

“And at least your experience will make studying together easier,” Sethos comments. “Lucky me.”

Scaramouche’s confusion must be so obvious it’s nearly palpable, because Sethos is quick to give him a questioning look back. One that turns into apprehension after searching his face for a second. He watches Scaramouche carefully as he speaks.

“Fridays at the cafe, I thought we would be studying together? That’s what Cyno said.”

That’s news to him.

Scaramouche can only assume that Nahida had made the arrangement. Bold of her to sign away someone else’s time without consulting or informing them. The two hadn’t really discussed what this whole “mentor” thing would entail, but he would have at least appreciated an email.

Whatever. It’ll help him stay abreast of old subject material if they study together. It’ll help him out.

“Right.” The fact that he might sort of kind of like spending time with the guy has nothing to do with it. “Just don’t expect me to hand you any answers.” He says.

Sethos relaxes. “Of course not! I’m here to learn.”

They walk in silence for another minute until they reach the final building just beyond the garden, where Sethos’s next class is located. They stop outside the doors, turning to face each other. 

Sethos grabs the strap of his bag between his hands, fidgeting with it. “I can find them from here. Thank you for the tour.” He smiles. Scaramouche nods. “Think about coming to the game tomorrow. Maybe you’ll discover a deep love for water polo and get the sudden urge to join the team with me.” 

Scaramouche pulls at his cap, suddenly fidgety as well. “I highly doubt that. You should hurry or they’ll mark you absent and kick you.”

“Jeez,” Sethos puts a hand on his chest. “Shouldn’t my mentor be giving me positive affirmations?” Scaramouche scoffs, making the younger man laugh again. Sethos then steps forward, patting him on the arm. “But don’t be so narrow minded about new things. You’re closing doors that haven’t even opened yet.” 

Those last words float around in Scaramouche’s head long after they’ve parted ways.

Tuesday comes. Scaramouche…decides not to go to the game. 

He did think about it. But considering how this stupid little crush is starting to consume his thoughts, he thinks it better to stay in his dorm for the day to clear his head. He’s fairly certain that Sethos won’t hold it against him, and even if he does, it’s not like Scaramouche should care. It’s not like him to care. The opinions of others and their views of him have never been of much concern to him. 

So he lets it slip his mind (sort of) as six o’clock comes and goes, deciding to get ahead on his notes instead. Around 7:30 his focus is broken by the unmistakable pangs of hunger, and he hastily grabs his keys to head to the campus food court.

There aren’t many options to choose from, so he settles on Chinese food for the night. The line is empty and he’s able to get a small bowl within minutes, just enough to hold him over for the night. He sits down at a table in the corner, scrolling through his phone while picking at his food. There’s an email from Nahida suggesting a research opportunity in Liyue city which he bookmarks to look at later.

“Scara?”

Startled because who the hell knows his name, he looks up from his phone with a scowl. Only to come face to face with a bright eyed, freshly showered Sethos. His hair falls over his shoulders in pretty wet waves.

The scowl falls. Scaramouche blinks. “Didn’t you have a game?”

Sethos’s immediate attitude switch to annoyance nearly gives him chills. “Yes. It’s over. And you didn’t go.”

For reasons he doesn’t want to think about, Scaramouche feels guilty. He looks down and pokes at his food. “I was busy.”

“Yet you’re…” Sethos takes a look at the bowl on the table. “Here eating Panda Express?”

“I have to eat,” Scaramouche scowls again. He doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, and crush aside, much less some guy he’s known for less than a week.

Sethos opens and closes his mouth, searching for some way to keep arguing, but comes up short. “Fair enough.” He deflates.

Scaramouche stabs at a piece of beef. “Did you win?”

“Oh.” Scaramouche is learning that it’s rather easy to cheer Sethos up. “We did actually! It was a fun first game.” Then, more quietly he murmurs. “Would have been nice if you’d been there–”

“Yeah, I get it.” He looks up and Sethos is very clearly trying not to smile. Scaramouche shuts his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

“I mean, why else would I be in the food court?”

Before Sethos can even laugh, Scaramouche is grabbing his bowl and his bag.

“I’m kidding! Scara!”

After several attempts to lure Scaramouche back to the table, Sethos eventually coaxes him into sitting back down and they finish dinner together.

Sethos tells Scaramouche all about the game, and by the end Scaramouche starts to wish he had gone, if only to verify that these plays he’s hearing about really occurred. He doesn’t pretend to really understand what the other boy is on about, but Sethos tries his best to explain with lots of gestures and descriptive words, so he does his best to follow along. They remain seated for over an hour after finishing their meals, feet occasionally knocking into each other under the table. They don’t acknowledge it.

“Cyno says that Sethos likes you.”

Scaramouche chokes on his orange juice. “W-what?”

Now Wednesday, President Nahida and the coughing young man sit in her office, eating lunch together per her request. 

Back when Scaramouche first transferred to the Akademiya, he’d tried to get out of these meetings as often as possible. He felt like he was being coddled by her most of the time; like she didn’t believe he could really handle himself or truly trust him to take advantage of the opportunity. But now he finds the air conditioning and free snacks far more preferable to the heat and the mindless chatter of gossiping students outside–although he still feels coddled.

Nahida looks up from her paperwork.

“Is that so surprising? I bumped into him and he said that Sethos considers you two pretty close already.” Nahida tilts her head, asking with genuine intrigue. Her annoying way of prodding takes effect yet again, and nearly wins. Luckily Scaramouche has gotten better at resisting. He clears his throat of the last of the juice, looking to the windows.

Sethos likes you.

He’s not sure why he thought she meant, well…likes likes. For starters, he and Sethos barely even know each other; all the time they’ve spent together thus far has all essentially been forced. Sure, you could say they get along alright, but…it was still a completely illogical leap for his brain to make. Plus why the hell would that guy know, let alone tell Nahida. That would just be weird.

But his face feels oddly warm thinking about it, and he doesn"t think he would mind it if his assumption were a possibility.

“Scaramouche?” 

His attention snaps back to Nahida. He really hopes she doesn’t pry. “We’ve been running into each other a lot. He’s...alright.”

Nahida smiles, seemingly very pleased with that answer. 

Both her eyes and her pen find their way back to her mountain of paperwork, allowing Scara to breathe normally again. “That’s nice. There’s more snacks in the fridge, why don’t you take some with you?”

Thursday is mostly a whirlwind of mindlessly reading syllabuses and rushing around campus to attend classes and see professors. Scaramouche hadn’t bumped into Sethos at all yesterday, and hasn’t spoken to him so far today either.

He’s seen him plenty, however.

Apparently the guy is somewhat popular already, despite just having started his first year. It makes sense, considering he’s unbearably charming and charismatic when he tries–and while Scaramouche can’t personally understand what’s so alluring about those qualities, it seems that Sethos uses them to pull people into his orbit rather easily. While he can’t understand them, he supposes he isn’t beyond their effects.

And how effective they are. In the past few days alone, Scaramouche must have seen him with at least 20 different people, in groups big and small. Sethos is always at the center, never quite the focus of everyone’s attention, but the conversations still seem to happen around him. Like everyone wants to make sure he’s involved, no matter what. Scaramouche feels a little weird for watching him, but he can comfortably say that the observation remains true.

It"s evening now, and while returning from his last class a flash of purple and yellow in Scaramouche’s periphery catches his eye. Sethos is across the courtyard, walking with a group of guys who seem full of energy, all carrying big duffel bags and heading for the opposite side of campus. Must be the water polo team members.

Scaramouche pulls down his cap and starts putting in his earphones, but he’s forced to stop when he hears a call of his name. 

Somehow, from across the whole courtyard and in between several trees, Sethos had spotted him. Scaramouche can’t understand how , since Sethos had been walking ahead of him and he himself had been very far out of view, but the brunette managed it. 

He would be creeped out, but he’s more annoyed that Sethos feels the need to keep calling attention to them both, now waving cartoonishly as people stare between them. This guy is quickly undoing all of the work Scaramouche had done during his first year to make himself invisible. 

Yet, instead of rolling his eyes or turning away, Scaramouche is compelled to lift his hand in an awkward salute. Even from this far away, he can see the other boy break out into a large grin. 

His chest feels a little tight. Maybe he understands the charm.

The whole group stops. They look at Sethos and over to Scaramouche, the latter immediately pulled out of whatever that moment was by the extra attention. He looks away, picking up his pace as he approaches the path that will take him back to his dorm in the hopes of getting away. But just as he turns onto it his name is called again. He doesn’t recognize the voice this time.

When he turns, there’s suddenly three unfamiliar men behind him and Sethos–looking like he’s about to die of embarrassment. Scaramouche would laugh if he wasn’t scowling.  

“Sorry to bother you–” Sethos starts.

“-Sethos says you’re the guy he invited to our game!” The tallest of the three guys, a buff, white and red haired man that Scaramouche isn’t sure he’s ever seen before, is quick to interrupt. “Why didn’t you show up?”

Scaramouche has never been the type of person to disguise his emotions. He’s not about to start now. He narrows his eyes as he replies dryly, “I told him I was busy.”

Either the guy in front of him is trying to get on his nerves on purpose, or he’s just a block head. He’s leaning toward the latter. The large man laughs. “He was really looking forward to showing off for you! We might’ve won even harder if you’d been there to motivate him!”

“Itto! ” Sethos’s panicked interjection seemingly catches all of them off guard. Scaramouche looks over, and the sight makes his stomach flip.

Sethos is trying to hide his face with his hand, but it doesn’t do much to cover the red flush that’s overtaken his face. It’s the deepest shade he’s seen yet, and might just also be the prettiest. Scaramouche is again taken back to the day they first met, but he doesn’t feel like laughing this time. He oddly feels embarrassed himself, and the other three sets of eyes on them aren’t making it any better.

Sethos sighs and takes Scaramouche by the arm, pulling him to the side and out of earshot from the other three. He’s looking down and still trying to cover his face. Faintly, Scaramouche can hear one of the other men start to chastise the tall one.

“I-I’m sorry about him. He’s the captain of the water polo team. He’s a nice guy, just really… a lot. Bad with social cues sometimes,” Sethos laughs, but he doesn’t sound amused. “Good captain, though.”

Scaramouche risks a glance back over at the group, and sees which of the other two had been doing the admonishing. It’s the blonde one who has his head tilted, one hand on his hip while he speaks in harsh whispers. Captain Itto looks like a kicked puppy now, all his spark from before completely gone. Scaramouche lets his gaze wander to the remaining member, who’s already staring at him.

“Ah, that’s Cyno! He–um–wanted to meet you. That’s why we came over here,” Scaramouche’s eyes flicker back and lock onto Sethos’s hands, pulling at the strap of his duffel bag. “But you don’t have to actually talk to him. And I’m sorry Itto got carried away, I swear I didn’t complain about you or anything. I really wasn’t upset that you didn’t come.”

For once, Scaramouche is at a total loss for words. It’s common for him to make the active choice not to speak, but he just doesn’t know what to say here. He feels like there’s a lot more going on here than Sethos is letting on. And while he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, he’s quickly starting to form a theory. 

He bites his lip. “It’s fine. They seem…interesting.”

“Interesting is one way to put it.” Sethos kicks at the concrete, but his grip on his bag relaxes. He risks a glance at Scaramouche. “Are you done with class?”

Scaramouche nods. “Going back to my dorm.”

“Oh. Well we have practice, so we should get going too. I’m really sorry again.”

“You don’t need to keep apologizing,” Scaramouche says, wondering what exactly it is that Sethos is really apologizing for.

The first year scans his face for a moment, searching for who knows what at this point. He opens his mouth before catching sight of something behind Scaramouche, promptly clamping it shut. Scaramouche gives him a questioning look before turning around to find Cyno looming behind him like a serial killer.

“We have another game next Tuesday.” Is all he says.

This whole fucking campus is insane.

“Ignore him!” Sethos squeaks, rushing around Scaramouche to usher Cyno away. “We’ll be going. Make it back safe, okay?”

Scaramouche watches the four of them go in relief.

When Scaramouche wakes up on Friday morning, he feels like shit.

Going off of hours, he’d gotten a reasonable amount of sleep. But he’d woken up at around 3 and hadn’t been able to fall back asleep until after 5, which had impacted the quality of his sleep. Why had he woken up? He dreamt about him and Sethos.

To clarify, it wasn’t a weird dream. If it had been a dream of that nature, he would probably be withdrawing from all courses for the semester to take some time to find himself in the forest. No, it was a perfectly normal dream. Domestic, even. That was the problem.

Most of the details had fled his mind in the minutes after waking, but the pieces that he can recall float in his head like balloons he can’t reach. Scenes of his fingers brushing through brown and grey waves, of tan skin pressed up against his, of green eyes looking into his own with a mixture of mirth and amusement–they had him staring at his ceiling for hours after waking.

Scaramouche isn’t stupid. He knows that this crush is undeniable now. But for it to be this bad already, when he barely knew the guy?

Hence, he decides he needs to try and get his mind off of things and lock into his studies to do so. He’s never liked anyone before and isn’t sure if these thoughts are normal, but based on how it’s affecting him, he’s mostly worried about his grades slipping. That’s something he won’t allow. So he gathers his things to hide in the library until it’s time to meet Sethos at the cafe.

One of his proudest Akademiya accomplishments must be the intricate system of hidden away studying, dining, and relaxation spots he’s mapped all across campus. In the library in particular, the top most floors have an abundance of tables tucked away behind bookshelves, touched by maybe one student a semester,which make for some of Scaramouche’s favorite places to study. 

He’s on his way to one of said spots when he sees the very object of his frustration, and thinks that this is getting absolutely ridiculous.

The first year is sitting at a table in plain view, playing with a strand of his own hair while focused on the text placed in front of him. He appears to be alone, but there’s not a single spot on the table that isn’t covered by a book or a piece of paper. It seems he really needs all the space. From where he’s standing, Scaramouche can’t quite see what Sethos is working on. But whatever it is, it seems to have him stressed.

There’s two ways he can go about this.

One, he can go about his day the way he had intended to. He can go up to the top floor, find one of the dusty tables in the back where no one is going to bother him, and study by himself until it’s time for them to be at the cafe. Or, he can grow a pair and go over right now and just suggest they just study here, which is what any socially apt person would do in this situation. They’d get more work done.

Maybe spend more time together. 

He walks up to the table Sethos is sitting at and gently kicks one of the legs to get his attention. “I’m convinced you’re following me.”

Sethos jolts, focus broken, and squints up at him with strained eyes. “Huh? Scara ?” 

Scaramouche doesn’t respond. The piece of hair that Sethos was twirling around slips from in between his fingers, falling across his cheek. Scaramouche’s own fingers twitch at his side. 

Realizing he’s not getting anything else, Sethos’s eyebrows furrow. He leans back from the table to cross his arms over his chest. “I’ve been here for hours and haven’t seen you once, so that’s a crazy accusation to make. I’d argue you’re following me .” 

Hours? Scaramouche doesn’t hide his surprise–nor his nosiness–as he peeks at the spread of reading material that Sethos has in front of him. There’s a book on ancient relics as well as several papers on recent desert expeditions. Scaramouche distinctly recalls having told Sethos that he excelled in this exact area of study during their tour.

Sethos follows his gaze, having the decency to at least look guilty as Scaramouche asks, “Why didn’t you ask me for help?”

“Well, I don’t exactly have a way of contacting you.” Sethos shoots back, but the fire in his words soon sputters out. “We’re meant to meet later, anyway. I didn’t want to keep bothering you.”

His first point was valid. But the second one? “Bothering me? Isn’t this,” Scaramouche gestures to the table, “my job?”

“You just accused me of following you around.”

Okay, again, valid point.

He parrots the statement that Sethos made in the dining hall last week, albeit with none of his charm. “Sethos, I’m kidding.”

The younger boy looks like he doesn’t quite believe him, but doesn’t say anything else. Scaramouche takes a seat across from him before he can protest, and Sethos clears away some papers to give him more space.

“Show me what you’re working on.” He says.

Sethos lets his guard down once Scaramouche starts asking questions. They quickly find that they work quite well together. They get through a good chunk of Sethos’s work before the younger boy grows curious about Scaramouche’s own assignments, asking to see what he’s working on in his own classes. Eventually Scaramouche moves to the chair beside Sethos so they can more easily see each other’s work, and by the time they’ve both caught up with everything, there’s hardly even a foot of distance between them. 

Scaramouche shuts his laptop quietly, having just hit submit on his last assignment for the week. He turns to Sethos who is already looking at him between slow blinks, face pressed against the table. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask about your hat.” Sethos mumbles, his hand reaching up across the short distance between them to gently take the brim between his fingers. Scaramouche holds his breath. “It looks like the clothing I’ve seen from Inazuma. Is that where you got it?”

The dark haired boy finds himself unable to move. He breathes slowly, sight locked on the boy in front of him. “That’s where I’m from.”

A hum. “Do you go back often?”

“I haven’t been back in years.”

“Oh.” The exhaustion leaves Sethos’s eyes as they look into Scaramouche’s. “I’m sorry–”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Scaramouche says. Unable to help himself, he tucks that stray piece of hair from earlier behind Sethos’s ear. “I’ve made my life here.”

Neither of them look away. “It’s really pretty. It suits you.”

And Scaramouche desperately wants to read into that.

“You’re not making sense,” he says instead.

Sethos laughs. “You’re too smart to play dumb.”

And if that doesn’t confirm his theory, Scaramouche doesn’t know what will.

They end their study session there for the night, with their hearts in their throats.

Scaramouche hardly gets any sleep over the weekend, either. His walk back to his dorm after having said goodnight to Sethos had been a blur. He’d immediately collapsed into his bed, overcome with emotions he didn’t know how to cope with.

In just a week Sethos has managed to flip his entire world around.

Since he could remember, Scaramouche has feared getting close to people. People aren’t possessions; they’re free to come and go from the lives of others as they please. And as individuals, we can only learn to cope with the feelings of betrayal and loss that result from the comings and goings of others. We cannot force anyone to stay in our lives because that choice is simply not ours to make. It’s that uncertainty, that knowledge that a person could simply decide to leave you and you’d be helpless to prevent it, that forced Scaramouche to learn to be content with his own company from a young age. 

But if he’s honest, he’s always hated it. He demands respect from others, and that’s enough sometimes. But not always. He wishes he had company, someone he could be himself with. Nahida looking out for him helped him discover a lot more about himself as a person. Having his peers respect and admire him has helped him build confidence. But nothing–no one–has been able to provide him with a sense of safety that might finally allow him to let his walls down without fearing how he’ll be perceived as a result.

The closest he’s ever gotten–the closest he’s getting–is in the moments he’s spent with the guy he was just meant to be mentoring. The guy he was only aiming to become acquainted with. He’s no longer worried about Nahida’s frustration over his lack of desire for social interaction, that’s the least of his problems now. Because when he shuts his brain off and tries to calm his racing thoughts, all he can picture is Sethos peering up at him in the library.

Doe-eyed. Sleepy. Untroubled.

A perfect picture of the safety that Scaramouche has been searching for.

Monday morning kicks off with Scaramouche bursting into Nahida’s office. 

“I can’t see Sethos anymore.”

Nahida blinks, looking between her desk and the frenzied student before her. It’s apparent she’s only just arrived herself considering there’s a stack of folders on her desk, but seeing Scaramouche’s distressed state, she slides the folders to the side and walks over to her electric kettle instead. “Goodmorning. Did something happen between you two?”

“He’s in my head.” Scaramouche doesn’t know how to explain. Admitting to Nahida that he has feelings would be more humiliating than if he were forced to tell a total stranger. He probably should have thought of an explanation before coming here, but in his defense, he hasn’t had a moment of mental peace since leaving the library on Friday.

Nahida turns to him after placing tea bags in twin green ceramic cups. She tilts her head in the same inquisitive manner she always does, leaning against the counter behind her. “In your head? Did he say something rude to you?” 

Scara sighs, pacing around the room. Sethos had said things and done things and implied things and–

“No. I’m thinking about him. He acts as if we’re best friends. And when we’re together–which is way too often–he’ll say strange things to me and then act all weird about them, or worse, do them fully on purpose.” Scaramouche turns his face away as a preventive measure, memories of the past week flooding back into his mind and making him feel warm. “But it’s confusing, and it’s bothering me.”

To her credit, Nahida listens very attentively considering how vague and ridiculous he sounds. She ponders for a few moments before inquiring further. “So you’ve been spending a lot of time with him and find yourself thinking about him often as a result. But you find his behavior overall to be confusing, so you assume he’s playing a game with you?”

Scaramouche mulls it over. He knows what the game is, but again, he is not admitting that to Nahida. Honestly, he’s not even sure what he’s doing here. It’s 8 am. “Yes.”

Nahida nods. “Well, every individual has traits that make them unique, or ‘strange,’ as you described. When two people meet, they create a dynamic specific to them and only them, which might also seem strange.” The kettle beeps. Nahida fills the first cup, sliding it to the side of the desk closest to Scaramouche. “You’re likely…stressed…because this is unfamiliar territory. You haven’t formed that many close connections in your life, and this connection with Sethos–from what I know–is vastly different to the relationships that presently exist in your life.”

At this point Scaramouche questions just how much she knows, because she’s making it sound like she knows more than he does. Only once she finishes speaking does he realize he’s stopped pacing. She gestures for him to take his cup of tea. He sighs and sits. “Lovely psychoanalysis, but what exactly am I supposed to do about it, then?”

Nahida hums just as the kettle beeps again. She replies as she reaches for the sugar jar. “If you’re really feeling overwhelmed, I can talk to Cyno about finding another mentor. I wouldn’t have you do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

As has been proven to Scaramouche over and over again, Nahida is too good of a person. She’s only ever been patient and understanding with him–well, except for the one time–but he knows she’s being sincere right now. Giving him an easy out if he truly wants it.

But he senses there’s more she wants to say. “Or?”

“Or,” her spoon clinks it against the sides of her cup, disturbing the morning silence of the building. “You can just keep getting to know him. Maybe there’s a reason he’s acting strange, and you’ll figure it out, and you can go from there. Maybe you’ll just get used to it and decide you don’t care. Maybe he’ll simply stop being weird. But I think it’s worth giving him a chance–you want to, don’t you?”

Scaramouche narrows his eyes. “What makes you think that?”

“You said you liked him.”

“I said he was alright.”

Nahida smiles behind her teacup. “Same thing.”

Scaramouche leaves Nahida’s office with mixed feelings. He’s about 90% sure she knows everything and he kind of wants to hide in his room for the rest of the day because of it. But there’s only 20 minutes left until his first class starts, the very class he shares with Sethos, and with a plan in mind he thinks he might be able to take control of the situation.

He’s wrong.

The second he sits down in his seat, Sethos reaches for his wrist and starts wrapping something around it. Scaramouche doesn’t even listen for whispers this time. 

“What are you doing?” He blurts.

“It’s a friendship bracelet.” Sethos answers merrily. A beautiful one, made of several different shades of blue string braided together in an elegant but simple pattern. “I made it myself,” he boasts.

Scaramouche doesn’t know what to say. “I–where did you learn to make them?” He asks, resigning to the knowledge that his wrist is no longer any possession of his.

“Growing up. The older women in my town showed us a lot of crafty things so we’d keep ourselves busy. Who do you think does my hair?” Sethos finishes tying the bracelet after a bit of a struggle, finally releasing Scaramouches arm. He shakes his own wrist where a similar gold and brown bracelet sits, looking between the two with satisfaction.

“That’s…thoughtful.” Scaramouche sets his arm back on his desk and stares at the threads, entranced. He knows he’s blushing. Lord help him.

“Of the old ladies?”

“Huh?” He’s already forgotten the conversation, “Uh, no. Of you.” 

Sethos looks at him like he’s a science experiment that just went exactly as hoped. “You sure struggle with compliments, don’t you?”

That snaps Scaramouche out of his daze. He glares, which only makes Sethos laugh. 

The first year seems to suddenly remember something. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask if I could…get your number? So that if you can’t make it to the game tomorrow, you can at least let me know this time.” He jokes, his voice a little tight.

Scaramouche sits up straighter.

He refuses go out like this. This is his chance. “Right, because you were looking for me like a lost puppy last time. How could I forget?” He muses.

Sethos gasps. “You’re heartless! I played so hard just for you, thinking you might be there watching me. And you don’t even feel bad?” 

Just like that, Scaramouche’s plan is foiled. He snatches Sethos’s phone from his hand and punches in his number, avoiding eye contact and hiding his blush.

Thank god the professor walks in.

Truthfully, since the day he’d had the misfortune of meeting Sethos’s teammates, Scaramouche had been contemplating whether or not to go to this next game. The pouty Sethos he’d run into after the first one had made him feel unreasonably guilty for not going, and if he’d felt bad then he doesn’t want to think about how he’d feel for skipping now. Sethos seems rather keen on having him watch a game, for whatever reason.

There’s really not much else to contemplate. He supposes there’s a first time for everything, including spectating collegiate sports.

After class, Sethos hardly has time to breathe a word to Scaramouche before the water polo guys are peaking their heads through the door and calling for him. He smiles apologetically at Scaramouche, waiting to walk out with him at the very least.

When they stand outside in front of the men, Scaramouche braces himself for a repeat of last Thursday. Surprisingly, Itto doesn’t say anything this time, but he manages an apologetic look when Scaramouche eyes him. The blonde one–Thoma, if he remembers correctly–gives him a nod.

Cyno…stares. “Did he remind you–”

“Yes.” Sethos sighs.

Cyno blinks, but doesn’t continue. The first year smiles, slightly pained, but waves enthusiastically as he bids Scaramouche goodbye, heading off with his friends. Deciding it’s in his best interest to erase any and all interactions with Cyno from his mind, Scaramouche leaves as soon as they do.

He’s halfway to a bench hidden n the garden when his phone chimes.

> This is Sethos!! You can save this number.

> I hope I’ll see you tomorrow?

Maybe. <

> :( you’re being mean

We can’t always have what we want. <

Thank you for the bracelet. <

> So you CAN say thank you

> It’s supposed to match your hat

You did a decent job. <

> I"ll take that

Tuesday arrives and Scaramouche ignores most of the world. Amidst his panicking his classwork has started to pile up, and the tiny bit of stress that it places on him makes him forget everything and lock in.

Much to his surprise, Sethos doesn’t text him.

He’d sort of assumed once they’d exchanged numbers that Sethos, what with being the social butterfly he is, would be messaging him incessantly. Or at least here and there. Once. But no. Beyond the few words they had exchanged after class yesterday, no more messages arrived on behalf of the first year. To cope, Scaramouche concludes that Sethos must just prefer talking in person.

Early in the afternoon he decides to take a break from notetaking to fuel himself, and it’s well earned. He’s gotten about a week ahead in the short while he’s been working, which is a new record for him. Maybe he was more stressed than he realized. With chips in one hand, he uses the other to flip his phone over where it lays on the edge of his desk. Besides the big numbers telling the time, the screen is blank.

3:13. 

Scaramouche realizes he doesn’t know when or where the game is. He spends 3 minutes typing and deleting text messages.

Why is this making him nervous?  The last messages in their thread were from Sethos, so it’s only sensical that the next ones be from him. He just needs to ask for the place and time–the phrasing hardly matters! Yet he finds himself fretting over the phrasing a whole lot, not wanting to sound overly excited but fearing taking a tone of accidental disinterest. Another minute passes and he curses at himself.

He pretends he’s just writing an email to Nahida. 

What time is the game? <

> 5!! 

> Are you coming?

And where? <

> The pool in the recreational area, have you been there before?

I can find it. <

> I’ll come get you

> If that’s okay

Scaramouche blinks at the screen. He didn’t think he’d actually see Sethos, even if he did attend the game. Obviously he’d be watching him play, but he didn’t think the other boy would have the time amidst warmups and the game itself to actually see and speak to him. He’d hoped that he could take today to keep thinking things through. To process his…feelings. His tentative plan was to stay and watch the game for a while before heading home once it was close enough to the end to assume which team would take the win. 

But now it seems he might have to rethink his whole plan. 

That’s fine. <

> Perfect

> Which dorm building are you in?

After sending the information, Scaramouche clicks his phone off and tosses it onto his bed with a sigh. He takes one look at himself in the mirror, assessing his sunken eyes and messy hair. A week ago, he wouldn’t have cared. Now, he grows suddenly self conscious.

Once freshly showered he tries not to overthink his outfit and picks out something light to wear. He settles on his favorite pair of jeans and the first t-shirt he finds in his drawer, which happens to be one of the university’s shirts. A gift from Nahida that’ll show his support for the team, he supposes. The spring air is warm this late in the season, so he forgoes a sweater.

He falters when he reaches for his hat. Sethos seemed to like it a lot, didn’t he? 

It was one of the last things he’d purchased in Inazuma before moving to Sumeru. Otherwise an average baseball hat, the unique part is that it’s embroidered in blue and gold like much of the clothing that comes out of the region. It’s different from typical Sumerian fashion, but accessories similar in style are perfectly accessible to those who know where to look so it isn’t all that special. Scaramouche’s eyes involuntarily fall on his wrist where the bracelet Sethos had made him sits. He had matched the colors alarmingly well.

As he’s pulling the hat on, his phone chimes.

> I’m a little early, hope you don’t mind

His heart picks up speed. He muses up his hair in the mirror one last time before grabbing his keys and leaving his room, breathing deeply as he heads for the front doors. 

Right outside, Sethos waits for him in nothing but basketball shorts and a thin tank top. There’s a slight breeze but the air is just warm as Scaramouche had predicted, blowing Setho’s hair over his shoulder. The bright sun illuminates him in shades of gold, and Scaramouche lets himself stare. Sethos smiles, clueless as to the art piece he’s the center of, and greets his mentor warmly. 

“Hey! These are really nice dorms.”

Scaramouche forces himself to look up at the building. It was the newest dormitory building that had been constructed on campus, he’d landed a spot thanks to Nahida pulling some strings for him. “They’re pretty nice.” 

“Do you like living on campus? I can’t imagine being here all the time.” Sethos asks, starting to walk. Scaramouche matches his stride easily.

“I don’t really mind it.”

Sethos hums, nodding. “Do you stay here even during the breaks?”

“I try to travel as much as I can.” Scaramouche answers honestly.

“That’s awesome!” The younger boy’s sudden excitement makes the one at his side feel hot. “By yourself?”

“Who else would I go with?” 

“You must have some friends who like to travel!”

“Can’t say that I do.” Scaramouche responds in turn.

His mind drifts to thoughts of Lumine and Aether, two friends he’d made almost two years ago when he had first come to Sumeru. They love to travel and are the closest things to friends that he has, but he hasn’t seen them in quite a while now. He doesn’t know if he could really count them, anymore, but maybe he should think about paying them a visit.

Sethos seems to cling to that last answer. “Where are you going next?”

“You’re very inquisitive today.” Scaramouche notes.

There’s a bump against his shoulder as the first year knocks into him playfully. “I’m just curious about you. But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” 

Scaramouche makes a thoughtful sound in return. “Mondstadt, maybe. I have friends there who I haven’t seen for a while.”

“From the internship?” The younger boy asks.

“No. I met them during my first few months in Sumeru, before I started coming to school here.” A pause. “They were a lot like you, actually.”

“How so?” He’s asked.

“Followed me around like bugs until I got used to their company and let them stick around.”

Sethos gapes. “You make it sound like I"m obsessed with you-you’re meant to be helping me!”

Scaramouche laughs. “Whatever you say, little bee.”

He looks over to Sethos, if only to glimpse the scorned expression he’s sure to be wearing. But bright green eyes stare back with warmth instead, and pink lips curl into a smile that he fears he might be wearing as well. They both look away in haste, the breeze suddenly a few degrees warmer as it wraps around them. The remainder of their walk is silent, filled by the rustling of leaves and scuffing of shoes.

Once they arrive at the pool, Sethos points out the home stands. He stumbles over his words every now and then as he explains how the games usually go, and for once the younger boy is the one to struggle making eye contact. Scaramouche bites his lip to keep from laughing, humming as he listens. 

In the middle of Sethos’s explanation of the game rules, the opposing team exits the locker room. His eyes go wide. “Crap, they’re probably waiting for me.”

“Go, I"m sure I understand enough by now.” Scaramouche says.

“Okay,” Sethos hesitates momentarily. He holds eye contact as he says, “Sit where I told you to, so I know where you are.”

“You shouldn’t even be paying attention to me. Pay attention to the ball.”

“I’m good at multitasking. You should know that by now.” 

Scaramouche smiles just as some of Sethos’s teammates exit the locker room. Sethos goes stiff upon seeing them. He throws a goodbye over his shoulder, rushing off to change.

Scaramouche finds a seat right where he was told and waits.

He’s scrolling through emails when the crowd around him erupts in sudden cheers. The teams have both gone into the water to warm up, each waving at their respective sides of the stands to get the crowds excited. It takes him a second to spot Sethos, but once he does, the fondness that had situated itself in his chest since earlier turns into a pool of warmth in his stomach.

The sun shines on Sethos’s tan skin nearly making him sparkle. Droplets of water cascade down his chest shoulders, rushing to collect back into the pool. He laughs loudly at Itto who is splashing the whole team with water, splashing him back once he gets close enough.

He turns to scan the stands and instantly locks eyes with Scaramouche, grinning so bright it challenges the sun. His every instinct begs Scaramuche to tear his gaze away. Instead, he forces himself to look straight at the boy in the water and mouth goodluck .

Sethos bites his lip, whispering back thank you as the sound of a whistle demands his full attention.

To say that Sumeru’s team is “strong” is a massive understatement. The visiting team stands no chance–at any point. And Sethos in particular, he’s incredible.

He’s a fast swimmer and very attentive; he knows exactly when to attack and score, and when to wait and assist. Scaramouche doesn’t take his eyes off of him for a second. He wonders if the other audience members are just as captivated by his player. He’d be shocked if they weren’t.

When another whistle signals that the game is over, Sumeru’s team has absolutely demolished the opposition. Scaramouche smiles, feeling overwhelmingly proud. There’s a set of green eyes already fixed on him when he looks back to the water from the scoreboard.

Sethos watches him expectantly. So?

Scaramouche shrugs a shoulder, but he doesn’t suppress his smile.

The coaches urge the players out to debrief, and Scaramouche gathers his things feeling oddly…light. As if all his worries and burdens have been taken off of his shoulders for this one evening. It’s the most relaxed he’s felt in a long, long time.

With the merging crowds, it takes him about ten minutes to get out of the pool area. Admittedly, he doesn’t know what the protocol is here; should he stay, should he go? What was Sethos expecting? He leans against a pole just outside of the immediate pool area as the crowd disperses, pulling out his phone to send the other boy a text.

“Boo!”

He jolts as two hands grab a hold of his shoulders from behind. Sethos laughs at his panic, moving to stand in front of him and lifting up his shirt to wipe some water from his forehead. Scaramouche tries not to look. “What did you think? Exciting enough for you?”

After their walk earlier, Scaramouche had felt that their roles had reversed. He’d finally felt like he had control over whatever this is between them. But after the game Sethos is back to his confident self and Scaramouche has once again been reduced to, “You…played really well.” 

But Sethos doesn’t care. He beams, crossing his arms in front of his chest and tilting his head. “You think so? I tried extra extra hard for you, since you actually showed up this time. Didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

He’s teasing, Scaramouche knows that. It still doesn’t sit right with him. “I can make time.”

Sethos blinks, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh. Yeah?” 

Scaramouche is suddenly very aware of the fact that they’re the only two people in sight right now, the attendants having all gone home for the night, and that Sethos’s eyes are most definitely on his lips and no where else. His heart catches in his chest as Sethos takes a slight step forward, one that he mirrors with only a little hesitation. Then–

“Hey!” A loud, booming voice makes them both stumble back and jerk their heads toward it. They see the rest of the team spilling out the gate leading to the pool, all in high spirits and oblivious to what they just interrupted. Itto leads the way with Thoma and Cyno trailing behind him.

They come up to the two, and Scaramouche chances a glance at Sethos to find him looking…angry? The expression is completely foreign on him. He flicks his eyes to Scaramouche as well, masquerading with an apologetic smile when sees that the other is already looking his way.

“Hey.” Sethos greets his captain, voice flat. “Are you guys going to get something to eat?” 

“Yep!” Itto pops the ‘p’ and Thoma laughs. “Are you coming with?” 

Sethos looks at Scaramouche then, and the latter instinctually reaches up to adjust his cap. “I have work to catch up on,” he says quickly. “I’ll see you around–”

A hand suddenly takes hold of his forearm. The grip is gentle but firm, enough to ensure that Scaramouche doesn’t so much as think about moving. Scaramouche looks from Sethos’s hand to the man himself, but he isn’t looking back.

“I’m going to walk Scara back to his dorm. You guys go ahead.” Sethos squeezes his arm for a fraction of a second, but it makes Scara feel like he’ll collapse instead of stabilizing him. “You all played well.”

Just as Itto starts to protest, Thoma elbows him in the ribs, glancing at where Sethos is holding Scaramouche. Cyno also makes the quick assessment, clapping Sethos on the shoulder and ushering away the rest of the lingering team members. For the first and likely only time, Scaramouche might feel just a bit of respect for Cyno.

And it’s back to just the two of them, the pressure on his arm persisting.

“You could have gone with them.” Scaramouche’s voice is so quiet it surprises him. He supposes it’s because he doesn’t really mean that.

Sethos’s voice is equally as calming. “I wanted to walk with you.”

He knows Sethos is staring at him. He knows he’s waiting for him to look up, too. But he doesn’t know what Sethos plans to do after that and he isn’t sure he’s ready for it. Somewhere deep down he knows this is going to get really complicated if he doesn’t get it together. But he doesn’t trust himself to act on the tension of this moment, at least not in the way he really wants to, not when he’s never done any of this before. So he takes his hat off and shoves it onto Sethos’s head, blocking the other’s eyesight.

“You need to eat.” With one last deep breath to ground himself, he grabs the hand that rests on his arm and takes it in his, interlocking their fingers. That much he can do.

Dragging Sethos along, he sets off in the direction of the food court. The walk is silent just like the latter half of their earlier walk, paying respects to the sanctity of the peaceful spring evening. They communicate only through the occasional, reassuring squeeze of each other’s palm, as if to make sure the other is still there.

They eat Chinese together again, and for the most part it’s as if nothing has changed. As soon as they’re sat with their food, Sethos launches into bragging about his plays, wearing Scaramouche’s hat like a crown. Scaramouche listens quietly, picking at his food and staring into bright green eyes that he hopes to never have taken away.

Their feet knock together under the table, and now, they leave them pressed together. They stay talking until the dining hall closes for the night, and when it’s finally time to walk back the night air is cold. Scaramouche hugs himself as a shiver passes through his body. Looking over at Sethos, he wonders how the guy isn’t cold in just shorts and a top.

Seemingly sensing the question in the stare, Sethos answers him. “I don’t really mind the cold. I’m used to fluctuating temperatures since I grew up in the desert.”

Scaramouche should have put that one together. “Must be nice.”

“You get cold easily?” Sethos returns the question, his eyes scanning over Scaramouche’s shivering frame. The staring only makes him shiver more.

“Sort of. I didn’t expect we’d be out this late so I didn’t bring a sweater.”

“Well if you need someone to keep you warm, I’m happy to help.”

They reach the dorm hall entrance just as Sethos makes the offer. Scaramouche stares at him, no clue as to what to say, and Sethos smiles. He removes the hat from his head and places it back onto that of its rightful owner, in much the same way that Scaramouche had used it to cover his eyes. 

Scaramouche reaches up to readjust the cap as two arms snake around his waist.

He freezes, at first. But slowly, while trying to calm his pounding heart, he"s able to wrap his own arms around Sethos. Up against each other like this he realizes that the other boy is actually quite a bit taller than him, and that water polo has built him well. He can feel the rise and fall of the other’s chest as he breathes, and the frantic pumping of his heart as well. 

Scaramouche is helpless to do much more than cling to him. He’s not sure he remembers the last time he was hugged. This one feels really nice.

Warm breaths tickle his skin, and the reverberations of the other’s chest as he speaks shake his own.

“I’m really glad you came to the game.” Sethos whispers.

Scaramouche buries his head in the crook of his junior"s neck. His voice comes out muffled, “I’d rather not have Cyno jumpscare me again.”

Sethos laughs, which shakes them both. “You’ll get used to him soon.”

The implications of that are clear.

They stay like that for a few more moments before Sethos begins to pull away. His hands remain on Scaramouche’s waist and Scaramouche’s arms refuse to let go of his neck. Neither of them want to pull away completely so they simply stare at each other, unsure how much further they can take this.

In the end, it’s Scaramouche’s phone that breaks the moment. He glances down at his pocket and then back up at Sethos with words on his tongue, but he’s released before he can even say anything.

“I’ve kept you long enough. Get some rest, Scara. I’ll see you soon.”

His disappointment lasts only a second–a soft pair of lips paralyzes him with a kiss to his cheek, and with one last smile that shoots Scaramouche through the chest, Sethos walks off.

Scaramouche tastes his tears before he feels them.

Wednesday morning, Scaramouche awakens to a suspicious amount of light coming in from his windows. Between the events of last night and the crying he’d done afterward, he’d been absolutely exhausted. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d slept until his alarm. 

Except, he hadn’t woken up to an alarm. And the sun should not be that bright. And his head feels like lead. Only slightly panicking, he grabs his phone from his night stand. The first thing he sees are several messages from Sethos. He then looks at the time and–

Fuck. He missed class.

He bolts upright only to be immediately overcome by a wave of dizziness. Laying back down he holds a hand to his forehead, trying to get his eyes to focus on his screen.

> Are you coming to class today?

> Hope everythings okay

> Message me back when you see these, if you need anything let me know

Those messages had been sent nearly two hours ago. He really can’t believe that he slept in that long. Although, if the tickle in his throat and the prodding headache are any indication, he might have worse to worry about.

It’s almost like you intended this. <

>What?? What are you talking about? Are you okay?

No. <

I"m sick and it"s your fault. <

Scara clicks his phone off and sighs. Okay, that reply was both dramatic and an exaggeration. But he wouldn’t have gotten sick if he’d stayed inside yesterday, so it is, technically, Sethos’s fault that he currently feels like he might actually pass out. 

Of course he’d have to go and get sick the second week of classes. At least he’d gotten ahead yesterday.

His phone chimes again.

> What’s your room number?

The frantic beating that starts in his chest is definitely because of the cold.

You don’t need to come to my rescue. <

I’ll be fine. Just go to class. <

> I’d rather confirm for myself, thank you

> I’ll go over after this next class

> It was my fault you were out in the cold

> Room number?

Scaramouche sends him the details and proceeds to lay in bed, freaking out, for nearly a half hour.

They hadn’t kissed but…almost. If they hadn’t been interrupted, they probably would have. And afterwards in front of the dorm, Sethos seemed to have felt that Scaramouche wasn’t ready and held himself back, but they would"ve otherwise kissed then, too. The desire was there on both sides. But so was the hesitation.

He suddenly wishes he could talk to Nahida.

He doesn’t care about her knowing he has feelings anymore. Who cares if it’s embarrassing, he needs help. He’s never felt this way for anyone before and now suddenly there’s a boy he just met who treats him nicely and apparently feels the same and wants to be around him and is around him but doesn’t show any signs of planning to disappear. No, Scaramouche is sure he won’t.

The feelings are too much for him to come into so fast. 

But this is exactly what Nahida wanted him to realize, isn’t it? This is the truth that she had challenged him to find. That he is more than capable of forming and maintaining healthy relationships. That he doesn’t have to pretend not to want them.

But more importantly, that there are people out there who would be willing to do whatever it takes for to have a relationship with him.

A frantic knock on his door interrupts his realization. It’s been about 35 minutes now since he texted Sethos, but the first year’s second class should have only just ended. Scaramouche goes to the door slowly, leaning on things to stabilize himself until he makes it.

He opens the door to a panting, worried, first year.

“You looked a lot like this when I first saw you walk into class,” Scaramouche can"t help but remark.

But Sethos doesn’t seem to even register his words. Instead, he presses the back of his hand to Scaramouche’s forehead for a few moments before lowering it with a relieved sigh. Scaramouche takes the moment to assess the bags in his hands. “What are those?”

“I brought you drinks and sandwiches. You’re always at the food court, so I figured you didn’t have anything here.”

“You’ve known me for two weeks. How do you know I’m always at the food court?” Okay maybe being sick makes Scaramouche a brat. But if he suffers, so does everyone else.

Sethos isn’t having it, like at all. “Are you in the position to be arguing with me right now?”

The response catches Scaramouche off guard. He lets Sethos push him into his own room, guided back to his bed by an arm around his waist. He sits on it with his legs crossed, closing his eyes. His head is starting to really hurt now.

A bottle shakes in front of his face and his eyes peek open to aspirin hovering in front of his nose.

“You’re going to get sick if you stay,” He says to his self-designated nurse as he takes the bottle.

The look that Sethos gives him is near withering. “Do you think I care about that?”

“You should care. You’re being careless.” Scaramouche is being difficult for no real reason now, and he doesn’t know why. He wants to stop. He wants to let himself be taken care of. But deconstructing the walls he’s had built for years is going to take some strong hits, and this still feels really weird for him.

“I would say I care a whole lot.” Sethos answers, his expression morphing from that of stress into one of amusement as he sees his senior’s scowl. “But the object of my care seems not to want to acknowledge it, unfortunately.”

Scaramouche groans. He falls back onto the bed. “My head hurts too much to tell you to shut up.”

“Then I consider myself lucky.” Coupled with a laugh is the response he receives.

Finally, once and for all, Scaramouche just has to ask. “You have the time of your life saying these things to me, don’t you?”

“...A little bit, yeah.” And the voice that replies is nothing if not love-struck.

A few moments later, a weight shifts the mattress beside him. Scaramouche doesn’t have the energy to push it off. Fingers brush against his forehead first, moving his bangs out of his eyes gently. He keeps his eyes closed until that same hand cups his cheek and strokes across it with a thumb, coaxing him to open them. When he cracks them open, bright green eyes regard him fondly. 

“Scara…I’ve been pretty forward with my feelings, I think.” Sethos’s thumb brushes with the lightest of pressures. Scaramouche leans into it, despite the way that the words reaching his ears make his heart race. “I don’t want to beat around the bush with this anymore. I’m kind of going crazy.”

Scaramouche can only stare. Objectively, he knows Sethos is attractive. But staring at him like this, admiring his every feature without feeling the compulsion of needing to look away, he realizes how truly beautiful the boy above him is. “You’ve been plenty clear. But I’m the one you drove crazy.”

Sethos blinks. “What do you mean?”

Scaramouche looks away, embarrassed over what he"s about to admit. “I’ve never…had anyone interested in me before. I didn’t know what you wanted from me at first, and then I didn’t know what to do with all these feelings. I’m pretty sure the President knows.” He cringes.

“About that…” Sethos suddenly looks like he was caught drinking milk from the carton, and he covers with a forced laugh. “Cyno kind of told her about us. At-at least about how I felt.”

So he"d been right. Nahida had meant it that way. He stares at the ceiling, wondering if his credits might transfer to another university.

“But it worked out!” Sethos quickly brings Scaramouche’s gaze back to him. “You put up with me, and it"s fine. After everything...I hope that means you feel the same?”

Scaramouche doesn’t answer, but his eyes line Sethos’s lips. 

The other understands that well enough.

The kiss–their first kiss–is gentle. They take the time to figure out what they’re doing and what they like, to ensure the memory is as perfect as they deserve. By the time they get the hang of it, Scaramouche’s hands are threaded through brown and grey strands of hair and Sethos’s fingers have mapped every centimeter of skin on Scaramouche’s cheeks. They pull away, breathing heavily.

“Now I’m sure you’re going to get sick,” Scaramouche whispers.

“We can be miserable together if you let me stay.” His junior suggests.

Scaramouche huffs, but there’s no malice behind it. Sethos settles on top of his chest, and their breathing syncs as they fall asleep, bathed in the late spring’s sun.