Archive of Our Own

Scaramouche cannot believe he was roped into this.

It was Lesser Lord Kusanali’s idea to throw a celebratory party at the Grand Bazaar to honor the hero of Sumeru, the illustrious Traveler who stood up against the Akademiya and their “false god”, as she’s taken to calling him. However, it was also her idea to make the false god in question attend the stupid thing. When the ridiculous decision was met with protest on every front, the little god said, “It will be good for you. Besides, due to your little Irminsul stunt, nobody there will remember your part in any of this.” Clearly the Traveler wasn’t willing to argue with the God of Wisdom’s logic, because here they were, standing at the entrance. The only thing Scaramouche was told was that a numerous amount of the Traveler’s friends from many nations would be in attendance. The image of such a crowded gathering in a place as tiny as the Bazaar made the puppet shudder. This was as good as any other punishment for his actions at Irminsul.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Scaramouche sighed. His scowl only deepened further at the Traveler- no, Aether’s amused grin.

“That’s the spirit,” the blonde chuckled. “Besides, all good parties need the one grump who stands in the corner away from all the fun. You’re already doing me a service!” His grin only got wider at the other male’s seething glare, and he put his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, somebody’s not in a joking mood, I got it.”

“Just- ugh, forget it. Let’s just get inside already,” Scaramouche scoffed, starting a brisk walk towards the entrance. Before Aether could respond, he was already pushing open the twin doors to the Grand Bazaar. He was promptly met with the sight of a room packed with people. In the crowd, he spotted at least four different nations, all mingling with each other, eating, or dancing. The bastard really did invite all his stupid friends. At the sound of footsteps behind him, Scaramouche whipped around to face the bastard in question, who already had a sheepish grin on his face at the sheer volume of attendants.

“Did you fucking invite everyone you’ve met in the four nations you visited?”

Aether let out a nervous chuckle. “That and then some.”

“Archons above,” Scaramouche groaned. “Don’t even think about trying to get me to socialize with any of these insects. That little corner you mentioned earlier sounds real nice right about now. Have fun celebrating my glorious defeat, o’ mighty Traveler.” At this, he removed his hat, starting to weave his way through the crowd in desperate search of where the sea of people ended.

“Suit yourself!” Aether called out to him.

“Fuck off.”

Graciously, Aether waited until he’d made his way through the crowd to announce his arrival. The room erupted in cheers as the blonde made his way onto the stage. Whatever he said after that was tuned out of Scaramouche’s mechanical ears as he found refuge near one of many refreshment tables. He sighed, keeping his hat off as he leaned back against the wall. Now all he had to do was wait out this accursed party. Wrapped up in his own exhaustion and annoyance, he didn’t notice the other person standing beside him until it was too late.

“I see you hate crowds as much as I do, comrade.”

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuck.

The room began to spin under his feet. This cannot be happening. He was ready to face almost anyone, just not him.

He was going to kill Aether when he saw him next. Successfully this time.

“Haha, woah there, pal. That’s a lot of bloodlust for such a little guy. I didn’t mean to upset you, honest.”

He was still the same bumbling fool as the day Scaramouche left him. Said fool was turning to leave when the other man spoke without thinking.

“Wait.”

He had no right to call him a fool. He was just as foolish.

“I’m not mad at you, it’s something else. Don’t let me spoil your fun.” The beaming smile directed his way at that made Scaramouche want to sink into the ground, away from this godforsaken interaction he never wanted to have.

“Phew, that’s good to know. Had me worried there. The name’s Childe, nice to meet you.” A hand extended downward towards him. Scaramouche took it tentatively, shaking it once before letting go as if he’d been burned.

“…Call me… Kuni.” He might as well use the wholly uncreative nickname Aether gave him.

“Kuni,” the ginger said with a smile. “Pretty name you got there.” The compliment left his face burning, and Scaramouche could only let out a vague noise of acknowledgement. This was fucking ridiculous. He wasn’t ready to face this, to face the direct consequences of his actions so soon after getting his own memories back. This was too much. His chest burned where his heart should be, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

He really doesn’t remember.

He wasn’t sure why this realization hurt more than it should. He had already discarded such emotions towards the other man when he took the Gnosis and resolved himself to become a god. The…relationship they shared in the Fatui was nothing but transactional, and it was already long gone. So why now, after all that happened, was the hope for a second chance singing in his mind?

Childe, the ever-observant asshole, noticed his conflict, moving to stand next to him. “Doing okay over there, comrade? You look… upset. Or angry. Or both?”

Scaramouche let out a bitter chuckle. “I’m fine. It’s just my first time out in a while. Guess I got a little overwhelmed.” His somewhat truthful answer seemed to satisfy Childe, who gave him yet another smile that made his stomach turn.

“So, what brings you all the way here, then? Your Vision casing is that of Sumeru, yet those clothes of yours tell me otherwise. Inazuma, maybe?”

“Look how observant you are. Inazuma is where I’m from originally, but now I’m just… a wanderer. I’ve overstayed my welcome in Sumeru for so long I gained a Vision here.” Keeping up the almost painful small talk, he raked his eyes over Childe’s form, coming to a stop on the Hydro Vision pulsing on his hip. “You’ve also come quite a way, hm? Couldn’t make it more obvious you’re Snezhnayan if you tried.” Childe let out a bashful laugh at the blatant observation. “You got me there. Snezhnayan born and bred, although I do travel occasionally for work.”

“Interesting, what kind of work is it?” Scaramouche asked innocently. This should be interesting, what with the Fatui garb the ginger insisted on decorating himself with, even now.

“Ah, I’m a toy salesman.”

A laugh bubbled up past the puppet’s lips before he could stop it. Glad to see he’s still the same idiot as before. Childe puffed his cheeks in indignation at his reaction, trying and failing to act offended. “I’ll have you know that it’s quite the honorable profession back in my homeland!” At this, Scaramouche let out another laugh, louder this time.

“Maybe that lie would work better if you didn’t have a Fatui mask strapped to your head,” he managed in his laughter. Childe’s hand flew up to the mask in question, mouth opening and closing as he frantically tried to make up an excuse.

“Save it, I can hear the gears turning in your head. Aether’s told me plenty about you, Eleventh Harbinger.”

The look on Childe’s face was incredible, picturesque even. Scaramouche unconsciously wished for a Kamera to capture the moment. “Aah, did he go around telling all his friends about that? Thought I could keep the ruse going for a little longer than this.”

Now it was Scaramouche’s turn to lie. Or rather, creatively omit the truth. “Fortunately for you, it’s just me as far as I’m aware. I have a… personal grievance with certain Fatui Harbingers, so he warned me about you so I wouldn’t try or say anything stupid. Don’t worry,” he reassured upon seeing Childe’s defensive expression. “I didn’t approach you to start a fight or anything. You’re not the one I’m after.” Dottore is.

Now Childe’s interest was piqued. The battle-hungry moron. “Oh? And who is?”

“Hah, like I’d tell you, Harbinger. They’re too strong for me to make a move just yet, anyways.”

“Why not? I get the feeling you’re far stronger than you let on to others. The unassuming “wanderer” shtick isn’t fooling me, either. I can always tell when someone will show me a fight worth my time.” Childe’s gaze darkened, leaning closer to Scaramouche. “There’s more to you, isn’t there, Kuni?”

Scaramouche shuddered. The all-too-familiar feeling of arousal curled in his gut. Shit. He really should leave the other man behind before their impromptu interaction escalated past the point of no return. Deep down, he knew that if Childe offered or asked him of anything like that, he wouldn’t refuse.

He thought he fucking buried this shit, but seeing Childe again after such a long time, getting to speak to him as if it’s their first time meeting all over again, it was making his head spin dangerously. Any longer in his presence and the self control he so carefully constructed over their time apart would shatter. Scaramouche pushed off the wall, eyes darting around for a convenient exit. In the crowd, he locked gazes with Aether, who saw through his intentions immediately, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. A look that said if you so much as try to leave this early, I’m telling Nahida. Fuck. Leave it to him to use Scaramouche’s newfound respect and devotion to the little god against him. There was no escaping this one.

The puppet knew he couldn’t shake Childe if he tried now. The fucker had already sniffed out his latent power, and Scaramouche knew all too well from his Fatui days that he wouldn’t back down without a fight, literally. Such a crying shame that he couldn’t satisfy the ginger’s ever-present lust for a spar and be done with him, what with his glorified babysitter staring him down. He’d just have to keep conversation going and play dumb.

“Well, you pick up a thing or two when you’ve traveled as long as I have. Unfortunately for you, I didn’t come here looking for a fight. Frankly, I’m not interested, so you can forget any hope of that changing.” He stifled a laugh at how Childe’s face visibly fell. The denial of a promising fight always left him looking like a kicked puppy, he recalled, almost fond of those memories. Almost.

“A shame, comrade. I would love to cross blades with you one day.” Suddenly, the taller male lowered his voice, pushing off the wall himself to tower over Scaramouche. “However, could I interest you in… other activities? Once this whole thing is over, of course.” Saying this, his hand reached out to hold Scaramouche’s chin between his fingers, the other resting on his hip. The puppet cocked an eyebrow at the bold offer.

“What, do you just offer sex to every interesting stranger you meet?”

Childe smirked. “Only the prettiest ones. Besides, who said anything about sex?”

“Please, do you take me for an idiot? I know bedroom eyes when I see them.” Your bedroom eyes, he fought the urge to say. Childe didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. If anything, he seemed even more encouraged.

“So? What do you say?”

With every fiber of his being screaming that this was an awful idea, Scaramouche responded with a noncommittal shrug. “Where are you staying in the city?” Childe broke out into a toothy grin, clearly pleased with his supposed victory. “I’ve got the address written down so I could remember it, but I don’t need it anymore.” He punctuated this by revealing a slip of paper from his pocket, taking Scaramouche’s hand and placing it there. “I’ll let you think about it. Come stop by tonight after this is over if you’re interested.”

With that, he released his hold on the shorter man, walking away with a brief and awkward wave that was wholly uncharacteristic of the entire exchange just prior and leaving Scaramouche utterly dumbfounded.

What. The fuck.

Leave it to Childe to be obnoxiously observant towards his unease, giving him an out like that. Now Scaramouche still had a chance to redeem himself, to act as if their entire interaction never happened and let the other man move on with his life. Let him forget Scaramouche all over again. His metaphorical heart twisted at the thought, but he couldn’t afford to be selfish here.

Not when I’m the reason he forgot in the first place.

I couldn’t have discarded that unnecessary relationship better if I tried. So why…

Why was he standing in front of Childe’s door??

Near the end, Aether had found him and offered to walk him back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, and yet Scaramouche traitorously found himself refusing, claiming he had some “unfinished business” in the city. Aether let him off with a shrug and a knowing look, seemingly not caring what he did now that he successfully forced Scaramouche to sit through that entire goddamn party. With that, he made his way over to the written address, his thoughts filled with justified protest with every step.

This is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve had in a while.

And yet, here he was, hand poised over the door and prepared to knock. Maybe there was still time left to turn around, forget this ever happened, and hardwire some sense into himself while he was at it. Of course, Childe picked the most opportune time to swing the door open enthusiastically.

Fuck.

“Kuni! I had a hunch you’d come.”

Scaramouche let out a sigh, walking through the doorway and taking a look around the place. It was… humble, to say the least. All the one-room lodging contained was a table, some chairs, shelving space for food, and a bed in the middle of it all, a nightstand placed directly beside it. To the side, a tiny bathroom. Seeing Scaramouche’s unimpressed gaze, Childe let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s obviously not much, but it’s only temporary. Still, make yourself at home.” Saying this, Childe walked over to the bed, patting the space besides him as he sat. Removing his hat and placing it by the door, Scaramouche made his way across the room, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed next to the taller man. His uncertainty was easily picked up, however, as Childe turned to look at him, concern fresh in his eyes.

“Hey, you sure this is okay? You look a little on edge there. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Scaramouche took a deep, shuddering breath. Here he was, given yet another escape from this entire fucked up situation. And still, the thought of leaving, of walking out and never looking back, was even more painful than the idea of staying.

“I’m fine. I… I want to do this.” The voice that came from his mouth, so small and unassuming and unsure, made Scaramouche want to vomit. Childe still looked wary, but resolved to instead place his hand down on the bed, dangerously close to the other man’s thigh.

“Any boundaries I should be aware of, then? Stuff you don’t want to do?” Scaramouche sat in silence for a moment, contemplative.

“Kissing. No kissing.”

This way, Scaramouche could somewhat convince himself that he was at least trying to keep Childe at arm’s length. That these feelings, whatever they were, had left for good.

“Haha, sure thing. Kissing too touchy-feely for you, then?”

You have no idea.  

Without waiting for a response, Childe opened the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. Both were unopened and unused by the looks of it. Probably bought them just for tonight, Scaramouche thought, his head spinning at the idea. Placing them down, the ginger then turned to the shorter man beside him, a hand coming to rest on his thigh as he leaned in close to his ear.

“Then, how about we start with me sucking you off, pretty boy?” Scaramouche squirmed at the breath fanning over the shell of his ear, core growing uncomfortably hot with arousal once again. His cunt throbbed in anticipation.

“Sure, but…” the puppet all but whispered, guiding the hand on his thigh to rest over his sex, which already threatened to soak through his pants. “…think you can handle this instead, pretty boy?” Childe audibly gulped, letting out a shaky breath. With a glance, Scaramouche could already tell how uncomfortable his own pants were becoming. Just as expected, that cocky persona of his all but vanished when the real action started. Just like before.

Childe was visibly growing more flustered by the second. “Yea, um… just uh- lay on the bed,” he lamely managed. Scaramouche laughed at the drastic shift in dynamics, but did as he was told, shucking his shorts and underwear off as quickly as possible. He spread his legs to accommodate for Childe in between them, revealing his cunt that was practically dripping with excitement. The man between his thighs swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away from Scaramouche, so open and inviting. However, Scaramouche was nothing if not impatient.

“Hm? What are you waiting for? Put that mouth of yours to good use for me.” That was enough to startle Childe out of his trance, who quietly muttered an embarrassed apology before leaning down. Any teasing response Scaramouche had died in his throat, replaced by a quiet, breathy moan as Childe licked a stripe across his cunt. Spurred on by his reaction, the ginger took Scaramouche’s swollen clit between his lips and sucked, causing the puppet to let out a shout. He quickly clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his whimpers, causing Childe to pause.

“Don’t cover up your noises. I want to hear you, Kuni,” he said, reaching up to pry Scaramouche’s hand from his mouth.

“Ah, Childe, you- FUCK!” His protests ended on another shout as the other man resumed. The room was quickly filled with obscene slurping noises, paired with Scaramouche’s moans and whispers of encouragement. He let out a drawn out groan when Childe slipped two of his long fingers inside him at once. A tightening of his gut warned him that he was close, and he told the other man just that through breathy gasps and whines. He came with a cry inside Childe’s mouth, who let up on his vigorous performance to gently lick and suck at Scaramouche’s oversensitive pussy until he pushed at his forehead.

When Childe emerged from between the puppet’s legs, he already looked nothing short of utterly debauched. The lower half of his face dripped with saliva and Scaramouche’s fluids, up to his nose, as he let out short, ragged breaths. Once Scaramouche came down from his high, he looked up at Childe. 

“What do you say you go and get cleaned up so we can continue, hm? Bet you’re miserable over there-“ He cut himself off as his gaze landed on the front of Childe’s pants, which sported a visible wet patch. When they locked eyes, Childe gave him a shaky, embarrassed grin.

There’s no way…

“Did you- did you cum in your pants just from eating me out?” When the other man nodded sheepishly, Scaramouche let out a groan, throwing his head back. “Archons, that’s fucking hot.” He didn’t bother asking if Childe was able to continue. He knew better than anyone the ridiculous stamina levels the Harbinger possessed. All he offered instead was a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Go clean yourself up. We’re continuing once you’re done.” Childe nodded frantically, hopping off the bed on shaky legs in search of a towel. At the sound of running water from the bathroom, Scaramouche moved to take off the rest of his clothing. Once he removed his shirt, however, he hesitated. How would he explain away the various markings on his torso, one of the more glaringly obvious indicators that he wasn’t human? Before he could think of an answer, Childe emerged from the bathroom, fresh-faced and with only a towel around his waist. His eyes bulged momentarily at the sight of Scaramouche, now fully naked and lying across his bed. His eyes hungrily raked over the smaller man’s exposed form.

“Nice tattoos.”

Oh right. Childe was an idiot.

He chuckled, equal parts amused and relieved. “That’s all you have to say?”

“The rest of you isn’t half-bad either,” he replied with a smirk. Scaramouche clicked his tongue in mock annoyance, unable to stop the smile that crept in the corners of his mouth. With that, Childe made his way back to the bed, discarding the towel to display his cock, already standing at full attention again. Scaramouche let out a whistle as he relished the sight, the other man blushing under his hungry gaze. Sitting up and crawling to the corner of the bed, Scaramouche made direct eye contact with Childe before gently taking his cock in one hand, causing the ginger to let out a grunt of surprise that morphed into a quiet moan as Scaramouche stroked his hand up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. His body thrummed in excitement at the reminder that his longest fingers still couldn’t touch around the girth of his dick. It’s been so long since…

“How about I return the favor, hm? Suck this pretty cock of yours?” He thumbed over the head as he spoke (just how Childe liked it, he traitorously remembered), his breath fanning over it as he leaned in invitingly. Childe let out a shuddering breath, but ultimately pulled his body away, cock springing free from Scaramouche’s grasp.

“As much as I would love that, I’ve got to save enough for the main course, don’t you think?” To emphasize his point, he took hold of the box of condoms, shaking them. Scaramouche mock-sighed in defeat. “A shame, truly,” he said teasingly as he moved to lean back on the bed once again. Opening the box, Childe let out a chuckle as he shook his head. “Maybe another time, sorry.”

Another time…

Scaramouche’s throat tightened at the words. This would have to be the first and last time that he dared indulge himself like this. All he should be in Childe’s mind is a one night stand. He didn’t want- no, didn’t deserve to be anything more. It was better this way.

Scaramouche was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the lube bottle popping open. He turned, and was greeted with the familiar sight of Childe stroking the length of his cock, evenly spreading the lubricant. They had used a condom and lube many times before Scaramouche gathered the courage to explain to Childe about his… artificial nature, and therefore they didn’t need such preventive measures. He wasn’t about to break the news to Childe again, though, seeing as how they just got acquainted that day in Childe’s mind. He saw no point to it. They would be parting ways for good when tonight was through, after all.

Childe wiped his hand on the previously discarded towel before climbing onto the bed and caging Scaramouche in with his arms. 

“You ready?”

Scaramouche opened his mouth to respond, and that’s when he saw it. A familiar, violent Electro burn scar in the shape of his own hand rested across the circumference of Childe’s bicep, caused many years ago during a spar from their shared Fatui days. He remembered the incident like it was yesterday. Without thinking, he let out a soft gasp, reaching out to trace the perimeter of the darkened, damaged skin. The man above him made a noise of surprise, looking at where Scaramouche’s fingers rested.

“Aah, that old thing. Got it from a training match with a Fatui guard who wielded the power of Electro. I can’t quite remember what they looked like, but I do remember that their fighting style was… breathtaking.” He stared at the scar with an uncharacteristic amount of fondness for something caused by a supposedly unremarkable “Fatui guard”, much less the cause being horrifically painful. A faint glimmer of hope, that he might still be able to remember, flashed through Scaramouche’s mind, and his eyes threatened to well up with tears. 

“Yknow, you kinda remind me of them,” Childe said casually, as if he wasn’t ripping out the puppet’s metaphorical heart with every word of that sentence.

“How so?” He could only manage but a whisper in response.

“Maybe the personality? I’m not sure, something just seems… familiar. Right. Like I’ve known you for years or something.” At Scaramouche’s wide-eyed silence, he let out a chuckle, cheeks flaring up in embarrassment. This close, Scaramouche could count every freckle on Childe’s burning face. “Hah, didn’t mean to weird you out or anything. Just an observation I can’t seem to shake.”

“No, it’s alright,” he lamely mumbled in response. God, this dumbass was making it harder and harder to quell his stupid, hopeful idea that whatever he did at Irminsul could be fixed, even for just one person. All he needed was just this one more night with him, then this weakness could be squashed forever and the two could move on from each other. The last thing he needed was silly whims trying to convince him that anything about them could go back to normal. He thought he’d fucking moved on. He thought he could move on.

Who are you kidding, honestly? Selfish bastard.

Swallowing thickly, Scaramouche attempted to repair what was left of his façade, wrapping his legs around Childe’s torso.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting, Childe.” The ginger’s eyes widened at the sudden change in atmosphere, but obliged, taking hold of his cock. The head sat almost teasingly at his entrance before Childe began to slowly push in, causing Scaramouche to let out a gasp. With just how wet he had become, it didn’t take long for the other man to sheath himself fully inside, and the pair stopped to adjust to the overwhelming sensations.

Fuck, this was exactly what Scaramouche needed. He’d never dare utter this aloud, but he missed being so deliciously full. Childe’s cock always fit him perfectly. Absentmindedly, he traced over the slight protrusion in his abdomen, where Childe rested deep within his walls, causing both of them to shudder.

“Aah, you take me so well, Kuni. Almost as if you were made for this,” Childe gasped out, shaking with the effort it took to stay perfectly still inside the other man. It would be endearing if Scaramouche wasn’t already losing his patience.

“Mm, that’s sweet. Now move.”

“You sure? I-“

“Are you questioning me? I said move.”

Without another word, Childe started up a slow, comfortable pace, gradually pulling out before pushing fully in again. Safe to say it was boring, borderline agonizing for Scaramouche.

“For Archon’s sake, pick up the pace,” he groaned. “I’ll be fine, I’m not going to break.”

“But you’re just so… small, and I don’t want to hurt you, and-“ 

Scaramouche snarled, digging his blunt fingernails into Childe’s forearm. “You’re testing my patience, Harbinger. If I say I can handle it, I can handle it. Just fuck me already.” His eyes glowed threateningly, and Childe’s cock twitched inside of him in response. Apparently that was all the motivation the other man needed, because no sooner was Scaramouche releasing his arm that Childe started a bruising pace that punched the air from his mechanical lungs. The tiny room echoed with the obscene sound of skin wetly slapping against skin. A chorus of moans and gasps fell from both their lips, and Scaramouche bit back a scream as Childe brushed against his sweet spot.

“Aah, Childe, right there, do that again- FUCK!” The scream he held back forced its way out as Childe began to drive into that same spot ruthlessly. Losing himself in the pleasure, Scaramouche scrambled for something, anything to keep himself grounded. In his haze, his hand instinctively sought out the other man’s arm, latching on tightly to his bicep. A particularly hard thrust had him clenching down on his arm with probably too much force, and his body markings momentarily thrummed to life with residual divine power. Clearly, he did something wrong just then, because in an instant, Childe halted to a complete stop, unmoving yet buried deep inside the smaller man.

This was enough to shock Scaramouche out of his sex-driven daze, and he looked up to see Childe staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused and breathing quickening. In that moment, he saw from his peripheral vision that he had accidentally latched onto the burn scar, his handprint aligning as perfectly as the day he gave it to him. Shit, he’d fucked something up by doing that, but he just wasn’t sure what.

“…Childe? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Gods, his voice sounded so meek and afraid and just not like himself. Childe still had that faraway look in his eyes, but turned his head down to look at Scaramouche. He didn’t even want to know what pathetic expression the other man must be seeing on his face right now.

“I…” Childe’s breathing had slowed, but he still sounded as if he was in a daze. “…I don’t know what just happened. Some weird deja vu flashback or something, I…” Something was clearly still off, but the ginger looked reluctant to talk about it. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke, voice barely a whisper.

“…I saw… you. You… gave me this scar, didn’t you, Kuni?”

What the fuck.

What the FUCK.

“…What?”

“It was you, wasn’t it? Your face says it all. Give me your hand again.” Without waiting for a response, Childe took Scaramouche’s limp hand that had fallen off his arm, matching it up with the scar once more. A gasp, then a whisper. “What does this mean? Why… how did…”

This could not be happening.

This wasn’t possible. This shouldn’t be possible.

Some way, somehow, Scaramouche had just fixed a part of Childe’s memory.

This shouldn’t have happened, because now that it did? Scaramouche knew despite himself that he would not, could not rest until he had fully restored Childe’s memory. An utterly ridiculous idea crossed his mind in that moment of realization. There’s no way…

“Childe.”

“…Huh… what? Me?”

“Kiss me.”

“W-What?! Didn’t you say- and how would that- what??”

“I have a really, really fucking stupid idea. Just do it.”

“…Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Childe licked his lips briefly before leaning down, letting Scaramouche’s arms wrap around his neck. Mere inches away from his lips, Childe paused, opting to rest his forehead against Scaramouche’s own.

“If I do this… promise to explain everything to me after we’re done?”

“…Yeah, I promise.”

A thank you was whispered against his lips, so soft and quiet he nearly missed it. Then, Scaramouche finally closed the gap between them, something he’d been torturously denying himself all this time. At the same time, he called upon the remnants of divine energy within him, body markings glowing and pulsing with power. The kiss started out tentative, unsure, much like their first. Something must have clicked inside of Childe, however, because in a moment, the press of his lips became insistent, passionate, loving. Scaramouche responded with just as much vigor and- oh, this is what he’d truly missed. Sex with Childe satisfied a physical need above all else, but this was the one thing that had ever made the puppet feel truly alive. Every joint and part in his body sang; he felt as if he was being set on fire, yet he wasn’t burning. Seemingly all too soon, Childe pulled away with a final peck on his lips. He stared down at Scaramouche, his normally lifeless eyes shining with a myriad of emotions, and a blinding smile stretched across his face. Was this…

“…Ajax?”

“Hey, Scara.”

The first tear of many that night rolled down Scaramouche’s cheek, and a wet laugh bubbled up in his throat at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Ajax, you…” With that, the floodgates burst open, and a violent sob ripped past his lips, followed by another, and another, and yet another.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Scaramouche choked out between sobs as Childe blinked away tears of his own before leaning in to wrap the puppet in a tight embrace. Scaramouche held on tightly to the other man like a lifeline, whispering the same two words over and over again like a mantra as Childe tenderly stroked his hair.

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

He just couldn’t find anything else to say.

As his grip started to let up and his crying calmed down, Childe took the opportunity to sit up, moving his hand down from Scaramouche’s hair to his cheek and wiping the tears. Scaramouche reached up to do the same, cradling the ginger’s face in both of his hands, who leaned into the touch so lovingly that Scaramouche felt he might burst into tears all over again.

“I missed you, Scara.”

“I know.”

“It was bad enough learning about you leaving with the Gnosis, then Dottore’s plans for you in Sumeru, and… I forgot you. Everyone did. Why did I forget you?”

Scaramouche winced at the hurt evident in Childe’s voice. “I’ll explain everything soon, but…” He trailed off mid-sentence. Was he really allowed to make such a selfish request once again?

“But…?”

“Could you… I mean, could we… uh…” His gaze flicked downward to Childe’s lips involuntarily as he struggled to find the words. Thankfully, the other man seemed to understand, because he was softly pressing his lips to Scaramouche’s before he could properly finish his sentence. He smiled into the kiss, letting out a pleased hum as the pair lazily made out. No teeth, no tongues, just gentle pressing of lips. Scaramouche poured all his unspoken feelings into the kiss; his guilt, his sorrow, his love, all communicated by the soft drag of his lips against Childe’s and his thumb that tenderly stroked the side of the other man’s face. Regretfully, they broke apart after some time, but not before Scaramouche snuck in a quick peck, or two, or three. Childe let out a giggle, reciprocating with one of his own before they pulled apart for good this time.

“Gotta say, Scara, I’m liking this new you,” Childe said with a teasing smile. Scaramouche let out a huff of annoyance, shoving Childe’s shoulder as the other man laughed at his expression. “Shut the fuck up,” he grumbled, but couldn’t stop a smile of his own spreading across his face.

“I’ll let you explain everything later, but I just had one question first… Am I the only one who remembers?”

Scaramouche shook his head. “Unfortunately for you, you’re not that special,” he said, smirking at Childe’s look of mock offense. “No, besides you, there’s the Traveler, his annoying little companion, and Lesser Lord Kusanali…” He trailed off, then gasped in realization. “Lesser Lord Kusanali! We need to go see her, now.”

Childe’s face scrunched in confusion. “The Dendro Archon? I mean, alright, but what- Scara?!” The smaller man had already shoved him off mid-sentence, putting his clothes back on with record speed. “I’m not sure how your memories returned, but they might not be back permanently. She has a way to preserve them in a way that Irminsul can’t erase, and there’s no time to explain everything but we need to go.”

“Irminsul?!”

“I said, no time to explain! Now, Ajax!” With that, Childe ceased his protests, quickly slipping on his pants and red undershirt. Scaramouche had already finished, donned only in his tight black undershirt and shorts and clutching his elaborate Vision casing tightly.

“Why do you have your Vision?”

“There’s no time to walk. We’re flying.”

“Flying?!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Ajax,” Scaramouche groaned before throwing the door open and scooping the much larger man into his arms without a hint of struggle. Childe had no time to admire how ridiculously attractive that was because, in an instant, they were out the door and up in the air.

“Since when could you fly?!”

“Since I got my Vision and learned how.”

“Archons, you’re amazing. And my extra weight doesn’t affect it at all?”

“No, but you fucking talking might,” Scaramouche huffed, but a blush still spread on his face at the compliment. Within what seemed like only a minute, he was already placing Childe down in front of an intricately designed doorway. “We’re here.” Before Childe could question where “here” was, the puppet was already throwing open the doors. The little god, who was sitting calmly in the center of the massive room, startled at the noise.

“Buer!”

“Is there something you need?” She asked, a little out of breath from the shock of the sudden intrusion.

“Save his memories,” Scaramouche said immediately, tugging Childe fully into the Sanctuary by the arm. “Please.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. Memories of what exactly?”

“Of me.”

Nahida let out a quiet gasp, tiny hands moving to cover her mouth. “You don’t mean… but how?” Scaramouche let out a dry chuckle. “That’s just it, I don’t know how, but it happened, and I need you to do the same thing for him that you did for my memories. Can you? Please? I… I don’t want him to lose them again.” His voice cracked on the final sentence, and he winced at how pathetic he must sound, pleading and groveling to an Archon like this. But Nahida’s face showed no judgment, only calm understanding.

“Yes, I can certainly replicate the same process I used for your memories for his own. However,” she said, shifting her piercing gaze to the other man, “this would require me to enter your dreamscape and personally witness each and every one of these preserved memories. I might even see unrelated personal memories along the way. Would you be okay with such an invasive process, Mister…”

“Ajax,” Childe spoke up. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lesser Lord Kusanali.” The little god smiled softly, beckoning the pair over with a wave of her hand. “There’s no need for such formalities, although your partner here insists on them. Just Nahida is fine with me.” At the title of “partner”, Scaramouche’s face burned bright red, his gaze shifting to the floor.

“Lay down right here, Ajax. I’ll put you to sleep and get to work in just a moment.” Nahida then turned to Scaramouche with a knowing look. “Do you want to say anything to him before I begin? I’m not sure how temporary his newly returned memories might be, or that I can replicate the same success I had with your own. This could unfortunately be the last chance you have to speak with him, the real him.” Scaramouche could only nod silently at this. His intentions and feelings were all read in an instant, as usual. He’d expect nothing less from the God of Wisdom.

Scaramouche focused his attention on Childe, now laying on the floor, and got down on his knees beside him. He could already feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes at the prospect that this might not work, that he could lose the other all over again. Childe, noticing this, reached up to cup Scaramouche’s face in his hand. Scaramouche allowed himself to lean into the touch, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Hey, what’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me now.”

Scaramouche wetly chuckled at Childe’s teasing words. “In your dreams, asshole,” he managed, no bite to his words.

Childe let out a laugh of his own at the response. “Good,” was all he said before leaning up, capturing Scaramouche’s lips with his own briefly. As they pulled away from each other, Childe reached his other arm up to wrap around Scaramouche’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “Now, I’m still not entirely sure what’s going on here, but… if I forget you again, I just want you to know one thing.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Childe was silent for a few moments. This close, Scaramouche could feel the other man’s pulse, erratic and nervous. When he finally spoke, it was nothing but a whisper.

“…I love you.”

The silence that engulfed the room was suffocating.

“O-Of course, you don’t have to say it back,” Childe immediately backtracked when Scaramouche didn’t respond. “You don’t even have to feel the same way or anything, I just had to say it in case I couldn’t anymore, and-“ The puppet cut him off by briefly covering his mouth, a flush burning across his face.

“Archons, I thought you’d never shut the fuck up.”

Childe let out a noise of incredulity. “Excuse me?! I-“ Before he could finish, Scaramouche cut him off with a tender kiss. The other man easily became pliant under him in response, any protest he originally had dying as he enthusiastically reciprocated.

“You fucking asshole,” Scaramouche said in a whisper as they pulled apart. “I can’t believe you beat me to it.”

Childe’s face lit up, a grin stretching across his face. “Does this mean…?”

“Ugh, gods, yes, you moron, I love you too.”

He had never seen Childe smile this wide before. It was almost… cute.

“Say it again.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Scaramouche said, rolling his eyes. “Make sure to keep those memories, then we’ll talk.” Childe hummed in contentment, pressing a final kiss to the puppet’s cheek before laying back down on the ground. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, laughing at Scaramouche’s flustered expression. With an annoyed huff, Scaramouche stood up, walking to where Nahida was standing at the other end of the platform. He didn’t dare make eye contact with her. He didn’t even want to know just how much she’d picked up on their “relationship” from that interaction alone, much less the fact that she’d see it play out in its entirety in just a few moments.

You know that whatever I see in there, I won’t judge you or him for, right?

Scaramouche jumped at the sudden voice that rang in his head. He would never get used to Nahida doing that.

…I can see it on your face, you know. When Scaramouche flashed her a confused look, she continued. Your fear, your worry. You haven’t let most people see you so vulnerable for such a long time. I’m glad he makes you so happy though, I’ve never seen you like this. Well, except for in your memories.

And who said he made me happy?

Nahida smiled, tapping her head. Mind reader, remember? Also, I have eyes, my dear. I don’t have to be the God of Wisdom to understand how you look at each other. Scaramouche grumbled, turning his head to hide his face. Once again, she was right. “Not a word about this to anyone,” he hissed aloud. Nahida simply laughed at his reaction, walking over to where Childe laid patiently.

Scaramouche swallowed his pride. “Lesser Lo- Nahida?”

“Hm?”

“…Thank you.”

He didn’t have to turn and face her to feel the kind smile she gave him.

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet, this process is still highly experimental. But, you’re welcome.”

Scaramouche stole a passing glance behind him just in time to see Childe slipping into unconsciousness.

Several hours would pass before he awoke.

He sat by his side the entire time.

After what seemed like an eternity, Scaramouche watched as Childe’s eyes blinked open. He blearily looked up at the puppet leaning over him, squinting at the bright light that illuminated the Sanctuary.

“Am I… dead?”

“What? No, you idiot, you’re just in the Sanctuary of Surasthana.”

“Mmh, then how come I’m seeing an angel right now?” He flashed Scaramouche a half-asleep smirk as the “angel” in question rolled his eyes.

“You fucking dumbass.”

“You love it though.”

“Remind me why I wanted to preserve your memories again?”

Childe pouted at that. “Aw, cmon Scara, don’t be like that. Here I thought you loved me.”

“Unfortunately.”

A quiet giggle had the both of them turning their heads. “Sorry, I don’t mean to offend,” Nahida said, hiding her mouth with her hand. “You two just make quite an amusing pair. The bond you share is unlike any other I’ve seen, it’s quite fascinating.” This time, both their faces lit up bright red, seemingly embarrassed that an Archon was watching and observing their little display.

“Clearly Ajax has retained his memories, but if that changes, please come find me. Now, I’m assuming you two will have a lot to talk about, so I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, Nahida turned to walk off the platform, entering a different room. Now, it was just them.

Now, I have to explain everything.

Would Childe feel hurt when he heard what Scaramouche had done? Betrayed? Angry? Would he… leave him behind like Scaramouche tried to do? A hand grabbing his own snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Nahida told me everything while she was in my dreamscape. Said it was so you wouldn’t have to.”

Scaramouche’s eyes widened. He almost forgot to breathe. When he spoke, his voice was so unlike him: small, timid, scared.

“How much information does “everything” entail?”

“All the facts, I guess. About what you did, why you did it, her role in all this.” Scaramouche’s gaze shifted to the floor. He couldn’t look him in the eye, or he felt he might cry yet again. He’s had enough crying today to last him a lifetime. The hand holding his gave a gentle squeeze, and he felt it shift in Childe’s grasp so the ginger could comfortably caress it with his thumb.

“I’m not mad at you, y'know. Far from it, actually.”

“How?!” Scaramouche was incredulous. “How can you not be? I- I made you completely forget me. How could you even- Why would you-“

“Scara.”

“A-And I wasn’t even thinking of you at first, I was just so angry at myself. I never even stopped to think of the consequences until it was too late, and now almost nobody even knows I exist-“

“Scaramouche.”

“What?!”

“You still found a way to bring me back, didn’t you?”

“I- Yes, but-“

“No buts.” Now, it was Childe’s turn to get choked up. “Before I found you again, I constantly felt like something was missing. Like I was supposed to be sad about something, or someone, but I just didn’t know what.” Tears began to roll down his cheeks, and Scaramouche reached up with his free hand to wipe them away. “When- When I remembered again, when you helped me remember, everything felt complete again. I don’t care about the how, and I understand the why. All that matters to me is that you brought me back. You wanted to bring me back.” He lifted the puppet’s hand to his mouth, softly kissing it.

Childe locked gazes with Scaramouche, eyes glistening and cheeks still wet with tears. “Thank you.” Then, he swept the smaller man into a hug, pulling him to sit on his lap in the process. Scaramouche relaxed into the embrace almost instantly as Childe stroked his hair, burying his face into his broad chest. They sat peacefully like this for a few minutes before Scaramouche felt Childe nodding off, head bobbing up and down as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Oh, right. It was the middle of the night. And humans tend to sleep during this time.

Reluctantly, the puppet pulled away from the hug, gently tapping the other man’s cheek before he could fully fall asleep.

“Hnh… I’m up, I’m awake.”

“Sure you are, tough guy,” Scaramouche chuckled. “Let me fly you back to your room, okay?”

“Okay…” Childe really was quite adorable like this. “But only if… if you promise to stay with me.”

Scaramouche smiled, real and genuine. Truly a rare sight.

“Yeah. I’ll stay.”

-

“My dear? I have a question for you.”

Scaramouche swallowed his mouthful of tea to look up at Nahida, sitting opposite from him. “What’s that?”

“Well, I've been curious about this since I first viewed it in your own memory, then again in Ajax’s. It’s something that’s caught my interest, but… it might be an uncomfortable topic.”

Scaramouche gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’ve had my fair share of uncomfortable conversations. Ask whatever you like.” He began to take another long drink from his cup.

“Alright then. Could you tell me more about your experience with sexual intercourse?”

Scaramouche choked, spitting his tea across the room.