roommates: part four.
your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)
pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader
tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure
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Your roommate had changed.
It was a change so minute that you had barely noticed, yet it was there. It was in the way he looked at you, you think. In the way he no longer avoided your eye, and in the way he’d respond to your smile. Well, honestly, he always had that little frown on his face, and his words were always sharp, but still, it was a start.
This was… certainly an interesting development.
See, when you had posted that commission in search of someone who'd loan you some aid, you did not expect that person to be the Traveller. As in the guy who’s taken Teyvat by storm, solving crisis over crisis from nation to nation. As in the guy who's got a title in just about every nation he's visited. That guy.
“Thank you for accepting my commission!” you tell him brightly, because what else were you supposed to say? At the very least, you were sure the job would be well done. “I'll make sure the compensation is worth your while.”
Paimon brightens immediately. “What do you need us for?”
You hand the Traveller the list of fabrics and other materials you need. “Could you get me everything on the list? These aren't the materials I usually buy, so I have no idea which ones are of good quality. Or even how or where to get them.”
“All these are… Inazuman?” Paimon says, curious. “What do you need them for?”
You nod, grinning. “My roommate's from Inazuma — well, he looks like he does… I wanted to make a traditional set of Inazuman clothes for him.”
It would match the shawl you had made for him perfectly. He'd look angelic, you muse, dressed in white and blue.
You'd pay to see the sight, really. You hadn't spent all that time designing and researching and sewing just to see his pretty face be wasted on those boring ass clothes he had on. Seriously, was that the only set of clothes he had or what?
“That's so sweet!” she gushes.
The Traveller pockets the list. “I'll be back by the end of today.”
“Damn, that's really quick. Thank you!”
You have to tell Alhaitham about this.
“He was so pretty, I swear, why aren’t isn't there anyone talking about how insanely gorgeous the Traveller is?”
Both his hair and eyes were of shimmering gold, not to mention his lean build and rosy skin… You hadn't registered it then, with the legendary Traveller in front of your very eyes, but thinking back on the encounter… damn. You want to make something for him too. Or maybe a little cape and dress for Paimon?
Alhaitham sighs. “Please, try not to get too far ahead of yourself.”
“Easy for you to say. Hmph.” You cross your arms in faux anger, turning your nose up at him. “I can't believe you didn't tell me the Traveller looked like that.”
“You seem quite taken with the Traveller. Does this indicate that you have finally gotten over your infatuation with your roommate?”
You squawk, gasping in indignation and utter betrayal. “Never! Do you think so little of me?”
… He just stares.
“And I don't have a crush on him,” you finish, protesting weakly. “He just seems interesting.”
Even you find it hard to believe yourself.
(He's walking down the streets when a particular store catches his eye.
Little trinkets are laid out on the tables, from keychains to bracelets and the like — but it's the wood carvings that he narrows in on. They're tiny, no bigger than the palm of his hand, and no heavier than a small stone. He picks up the carving of a bunny, inspecting it.
You had always liked bunnies, he remembers. Especially the ones white as snow, and the ones black as night. He wonders if you like them still.
“Would you like that one? It's a thousand and three hundred mora,” the shopkeeper says. “Very cheap for a handmade carving.”
He pauses. Just what was he doing?
Nothing good would come out of being involved with you yet again, that he knew. No, nothing good ever came out of associating with mortals in general — and that had been a harsh lesson learnt.
… But ‘Scaramouche’ was no more, and gone was everything that had happened with him too. He was, by right, no one at all.
Him interacting with you — a human who had never known ‘Scaramouche’, a stranger of a person he had simply come to share an apartment with — surely that was alright?
Oh how far has he fallen, to be bargaining with himself like this. He tosses a bag full of mora onto the counter.
“Keep the change.”)
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