❝ 好きっていいなよ ❞
say "i love you"
SCARAMOUCHE LAID QUIETLY beside you, his right arm draped over your figure to pull your back closer to his chest. Presently, you've been trying to succumb to exhaustion for the last two hours yet nothing seemingly works. All you could think about was your fiancé's touch against your bare arm, how his fingers danced fire across your body in shots of heat waves despite the coldness of the room. He traced patterns up and down against your skin, causing your body to shudder in empty excitement. His breathing was quietly, not too shallow which indicated that he wasn't quite asleep either.
"Why aren't you asleep?" His voice caught you off-guard, startling you. Slowly, you rolled to your other side to see him staring at you, his eyes glowed in the darkness like violet plasma shot across the night sky.
"Can't sleep," you replied, emptily.
You felt his arm shift, moving around your waist to push you closer to him. You caught a whiff of his cologne; it was hard to pin-point the exact scent but it was reminiscent of the earthy tones after rainfall in Liyue. The smell of the wet soil, the natural musk of summertime rain storms, a clap of thunder that lit up the sky. Something about it was electrifying, natural. Within that, there was the scent of tsubaki flowers and orange blossoms. The sweet floras blended with the muskiness of the earth, comforting. It smelled like home to you.
"What on earth could be occupying your mind?" Scaramouche berated, propping his head up with his free hand. He pulled his arm away from you, the warmth leaving your skin. A whine almost escaped you, wanting him to hold you longer but you suppressed it.
"Nothing," you lied, pressing your eyes closed.
"I'm sure it's not 'nothing'." Scaramouche scoffed at you, condescendingly. "Spill it. Don't make me ask again."
You pressed your lips thinly before letting out a quiet sigh. You reopened your eyes, looking up to see that his gaze was fixed upon you. His scent filled your nose again; putting you at ease.
"If... I wasn't so powerless... maybe these things wouldn't have happened to me..." You muttered quietly, eyes scanning his face for a reaction. "All I've ever been to you is a nuisance..."
Scaramouche listened intently for once. He didn't butt in, didn't retort at your words; he just listened. It compelled you to continue, maybe you needed to be more open towards him.
"I'm not... who you expected me to be, right...? You probably thought of me as some stuck-up, pretentious, rich heiress. Or maybe someone who has their life sorted out, someone charismatic and charming? I can't imagine anyone liking me..." You laughed wryly, a sad smile curled at the corners of your lip as you turned your gaze downwards. "I feel useless, pathetic. I hate relying on others... but that's all I'm capable of... The gods didn't give me with a Vision or normal life so all I can do is rely on others—"
Scaramouche's hand grazed your skin again, casting shivers down your spine. Did he always have this effect on you?
"Scaramouche...?" Your voice was low, quiet as he slowly inched closer to you. His lips ghosted over your forehead, a centimeter away.
"Silence," Scaramouche's words didn't carry any malice or disdain. "Don't say anything."
He kissed you, pressing his lips swiftly against your forehead before retreating back. Electricity efflux throughout you, sparks that made butterflies flutter madly at his sudden gesture. You couldn't help but smile a bit, the smallest fragment of sentimentality.
"You really ought to know your place," he muttered quietly, swiftly planting another kiss on your temple. He shifted down, matching his forehead against your own. His hand searched for yours, grasping it tightly. Fingers intertwined with one another, lacing together.
"Don't you dare insinuate that you're worthless in any manner." He chastised you, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. "I wouldn't have agreed to marry you if I didn't like you."
His edict soothed you, even if he was reluctant about it. Though, his words made you wonder, did you love him all the same?
You shifted closer to him, head tilting into his chest until all you could smell was the clean linen of the bed and his cologne. The scent calms your nerves, casting away all of your previous spouts of cynicism in regards to your existence.
"I hope your declaration from the other day was not in any seriousness." Solemness plagued his tone, his gaze dimmed with shadows casted by his loose bangs.
"What declaration...?" You asked, absentmindedly. You weren't really listening anymore, just too tranced by the circumstances to comprehend his words.
"Your declaration of how you wanted to call off our marriage."
Oh... right. It took you a moment to recall the events of the other day. Upon recollection, heaviness settled into your heart.
"I was disappointed in you, that's all. In the spur of the moment, I said what I said. I'm still... upset."
"I see..." He hummed his response quietly as if he was trying not to stir you.
"I just don't like the secrecy between us... I want you to be honest with me." You softly told him, eyes pressing close. "I just want this to work..."
Scaramouche sighed, prompting your eyelashes to flutter open. You looked up at him, observing his features. "I know..."
Companionable silence befell the two of you. Soft rustling sheets, shallow breaths, and quiet inhales harmonized into a mellifluous theme. Silver moonlight cascaded through the glass, the light shining onto his midnight features. His white blouse was slightly disheveled, revealing his pronounced collarbones. His skin was translucent, pale as the snowy petals laying upon Snezhnayan grounds. You felt your cheeks warm at the sight. You looked away, hiding your darkening cheeks beneath the blankets before asking him a question.
"What possessed you to consider marriage with me?" You asked quietly, maintaining the quiet ambiance of the room.
Scaramouche drew a deep sigh. His free hand finds its way to your scalp, threading his slender fingers through your tresses.
"When the Tsaritsa proposed the idea of marriage to us all, I immediately thought of you— the most available bachelorette in all of Teyvat." Scaramouche gently combed through your hair with his fingers, the gesture was sweet. "As I've said before, aside from wealth and status, I thought you would be most befitting as my spouse. I've heard all the rumors, you know."
You chucked amusingly. "Oh? What rumors?"
"'Teyvat's Beloved is hard to please, hard to satisfy. The most available bachelorette in all of Teyvat turns everyone's proposal down. No one can compete with the heiress of the (l/n) family.'"
Scaramouche rolled his eyes, shaking his head at you. "You've got quite the reputation as a stone-cold rich heiress."
The rumors told of you were all bizarre and ridiculous. You're as human as anyone else, feigning divinity to live up to your adopted lineage.
"So you chose me... because you thought you could challenge my authority?"
Scaramouche scoffed at your obvious patronizing tone. "More or less. Don't think too much of it." You couldn't help but smile more, it made you feel equal to him.
"But... now that you've gotten to know me... do you possess any rejects?" You waited eagerly for his response, curling closer to him. You felt his hand shift from your shoulder to your arm, holding you tight.
"Other than your childishness, I suppose I expected as much. No, I don't regret my proposal to you. You fell beyond my expectations." You scrunch your nose at his answer but found it satisfactory nonetheless.
"Mm..." You hummed, leaning into him. "Any plans for tomorrow?"
Scaramouche took a moment to think. "I have a meeting with all present Harbingers and our soldiers who head security in the morning. I have something else I'd like to discuss with them. That and also, we need to discuss when our eventual marriage will be officiated. The sooner, the better."
"Why 'sooner'?" You inquired curiously.
"Because then your board of directors won't have any reason to vilify you. You're married to a Harbinger, they won't argue about that. You can claim your seat as the official director of the company with ease."
You frowned at his words. "Are you sure you're not the one who's benefiting from this? The entire Snezhnayan branch of my company will be in your hands."
Scaramouche snorted, eyes rolling at you. "My bank account rivals yours. I don't need petty change from your company."
You let the comment about your multi-million worth company slide though you were tempted to rebuke his commentary.
"Then, how do you want to go about it? A wedding?" You waited for his answer, silently scanning his dim face for an answer.
"Wedding? No, too grandiose and cumbersome. You just need to sign some officiating documents and we'll be married to one another." Scaramouche's gaze flickered to you, studying your features. "Are you not pleased with that?"
His words tempted you to attest to your inner thoughts and opinions but you were too tired to start up another debate with him. "No, it's not that." Your plan seems too effortless, like you just want to get this over with.
"Then?" You watched as he lifted an eyebrow at you, awaiting your response.
"You know what," you offered him a yawn. "I'm tired. Let's discuss tomorrow, okay?"
You could tell he wasn't satisfied with your answer but you didn't want to drag the conversation into another possible argument, so you elected to remain quiet. You turned to your side, feeling his hand slip off of your arm as you pulled the blanket cozily up to your shoulders. Your eyes fluttered shut, giving way to the shadows behind your lids. With the blanket pulled over and your eyes squeezed shut, you fell into an abyss of darkness.
MUCH TO YOUR surprise, Scaramouche was still laying beside you when you woke up late that morning. He looked peaceful, sincere even. Much unlike his usual scowling or smirking self. It was a welcomed sight to say the least.
You couldn't help but stare a bit, admiring your fiancé's handsome and youthful features. His navy hair was slightly tousled, his bangs messy and scattered. Pale, porcelain skin that was absent of any blemishes or scars— one reminiscent of a doll. Scaramouche is naturally beautiful; how he didn't have any wrinkles from drowning and scowling all the time was a question beyond your comprehension.
You noticed the faintest signs of dark circles underneath his eyelids. It served itself as a question, have you ever seen him sleeping? The two of you shared a room though you couldn't recall seeing him sleeping beside you once.
"What are you staring at?" You jumped, startled by your fiancé's husky voice, eyes focusing to see that he was staring back at you with a half-lidded gaze.
You smiled a bit, resting easy against your pillow. "You, what else?"
He scoffed at you, running his fingers through his messy hair. "Don't give me empty flattery."
"I'm not trying to flatter you," you retorted with an eye roll. "I was just wondering if I've ever seen you sleep."
"Sleep is redundant when there's work to be done." Scaramouche answered, pushing himself up from the bed. His white blouse was a bit wrinkled, loosely fitting onto his lean figure. "I'm sure I don't need to explain that to you, yes?"
For anyone who's worked an occupation of your nature absolutely understood what Scaramouche was suggesting. Even at your young age of twenty, you've experienced your fair bouts of insomnia. Curiosity possessed you to ponder how exactly your fiancé manages to keep up physical appearances whilst maintaining his insane work ethic. It seemed too inhuman to sustain.
"When's that meeting of yours?" You changed topics, watching as Scaramouche opened the door to the walk-in closet to change into a more fitting attire than his casual sleepwear. A thought nagged at the back of your mind as you awaited his response.
He glanced over his shoulder as he unbuttoned the top two buttons near his collar. "Soon, why do you ask?"
Apology came to the forefront of your mind at his questioning. "I would like to formally apologize to Signora and Dottore for my previous behavior."
Scaramouche groaned irritably, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him, leaving just a bit of the door so that he could still hear you.
"You don't need to apologize to them. You don't owe them an apology. You're my fiancé, you needn't bow down to anyone."
His words didn't elevate the burden you felt; Dottore had essentially saved your life only on your fiancé's whim and Signora, albeit an enigma still to you, was relatively welcoming. Her unexpected sympathy towards you was a warm welcome to this cold palace. Your sudden departure from dinner that one time didn't help your image and not apologizing for your actions didn't seem right to you.
"Fiancé or not, as the Director of the (l/n) Company, this is highly unprofessional for me not to apologize." You countered his argument, frowning at his words. "I have an image, you know."
Scaramouche exhaled a sigh of defeat, painfully audible despite the closet door being mostly closed. "You're getting worked up over nothing. Don't be such a stickler for tradition."
He stepped out of the closet, dressed in his usual clad to see you picking at your nails, eyes focused on your ring. "Get dressed. If you want to take part, you need to hurry. We're already running late."
It mused you to see him give into your request and allow you to take part in a meeting. The prospect of a meeting between Harbingers intrigued you, as your fiancé's reputation as a dislikable person precedes him. How intolerable could he possibly be?
"YOU'RE LATE."
SIGNORA RETORTED AS you and Scaramouche ambled into the great hall with arms linked together. Only five people were present at the meeting hall; Childe, Signora, Dottore, and two standing Fatui soldiers you did not recognize.
"(y/n) insisted on coming along," Scaramouche offered, though it was apparent that none of the Harbingers cared for his excuse.
"You insisted on us meeting. Now you're going to show up late to your own proposal?" Childe mused, his eyes flickered to you. "How undignified."
"Shut up, you incompetent fool." Your fiancé snapped at his fellow Harbinger. His hand slowly made its way over to yours, clasping it tightly. You chose to ignore the banter in favor of observing the lavish hall instead.
The meeting hall oddly resembled a chapel; it's elongated ceiling is easily several meters high. The dark wood walls are covered in beautiful mosaic tall windows, depicting glass illustrations of the Cryo Archon. In the center of the arched ceiling, a grand, bronze chandelier was lit with elemental energy. Honey-colored light shone down upon the cast of characters beneath, the four Harbingers haloed in their own light of frosted distaste for one another. The presence of the four Harbingers was suffocating. All four of them were glaring at each other down; the disdain shared between them was crystal clear. You shuddered at the thought of all eleven Harbingers in a meeting— how devastating and horrific that would be.
"So, what? You called us to reveal our own insecurity because you're incapable of protecting your fiancé? Is that it?" If Childe's intent was to piss Scaramouche off, he was certainly doing a good job at it.
"I called everyone present at the palace because we need to discuss how our security department is lacking." Scaramouche shot a glare at the two Fatui soldiers, his words were grating and harsh. You almost felt bad for them, had the responsibility of your survival hinge on their incompetence.
"L-Lord Scaramouche... we did as you asked! We double checked everyone on the list! Their occupations, their background, everything!" One of the soldiers frantically answered, trying to cover for themselves.
They looked to be visibly shaken by this whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine being in their position, being seated at a conference with more than one Harbinger must be terrifying. Thankfully, you had an advantage in having met your fiancé's fellow colleagues before this instance. Had you met them only this once, you could only imagine the terror you could've been in the presence of three other Harbingers. But even then, nothing was quite as frightening as the angry shareholders of your company.
"W-We have compiled everything here..." The other nodded in agreement, placing his briefcase atop the meeting table. The soldier unlocked it, revealing the documents inside— the information of all guests present at the party the night before. The papers were passed to your fiancé, his eyebrows furrowed at the document as his eyes scanned it.
Scaramouche clicked his tongue in distaste, scowling at papers before him. "I suppose you imbeciles didn't think a taste tester was necessary. With a banquet as big as the one last night, you didn't think you needed any?"
Your fiancé's tone grew louder as he snapped at the two soldiers who appeared to be rather shaken by his thunderous howl. The other Harbingers seemed unbothered by Scaramouche's holler.
"To think, I could've lost my fiancé and Teyvat as a whole could've lost a huge financial asset over your reckless mistake!"
The two soldiers were unable to offer any more excuses, their heads hung low in mortification and humiliation. A silence draped over them, leaving them quivering as Scaramouche huffed at them, rolling his eyes at the two. "I expected as much, you lot are all so pathetic. Now get out of my sight."
The two soldiers scurried out of the meeting hall without another word, leaving behind the briefcases of documents. In part, you did feel rather bad for them. Being at the blunt end of your fiancé's criticism is not pleasant to say the least.
"Idiots... none of them are capable of doing their damn job. What do we even pay them for?" Scaramouche scowled, leaning back against his chair. "Dottore, have you gotten anything else out of the prisoners?"
"The one that you, oh-so-kindly stabbed, is in a catatonic state and the servant is still pinning the blame on the heiress." Dottore sighed dramatically, shrugging as Scaramouche glared at him. "There's not much I can do. I reckon we already got all the information out of them."
"What do you suggest a fitting punishment for the prisoners?" Signora brought up, her slender fingers occupied with twirling her hair around in boredom. "You already stabbed one of them. An heir, no less. We're not going to be left off easy if we kill the rich one."
Scaramouche grumbled, evidentially he was all for the death penalty. "Then let the court decide their fate. We've gotten everything we wanted out of them anyway."
The other Harbingers nodded in agreement before Childe pressed the conference on. "Well, if that's over with, what other topics did you wish to discuss?"
All eyes fell upon Scaramouche, including yours. You recalled his words from earlier this morning— 'I have something else I'd like to discuss with them.'
"I need favors. From all of you." Concurrently, all three Harbinger's eyebrows quirked up at your fiancé's request.
"What favors?" Signora inquired, folding her arms across her chest.
"Simple ones, really. I'd like Dottore to examine (y/n)'s health and Signora to acquaint (y/n) with Snezhnayan society..." Scaramouche paused, sighing heavily as he pressed his eyes close in contemplation before finishing his sentence. "And for Tartaglia to accompany my fiancé back to Liyue."
Your eyes widened at the last request, head snapping to face your fiancé with a look of bewilderment. You opened your mouth to speak but Childe spoke before you could've uttered anything out.
"Why can't you?" Childe mused, clearly as oblivious as you were to the whole situation—
"Because I have business to attend to."
You shot up from your seat, garnering the attention of all the Harbingers present. The loudness of the chair scraping the hardwood floors of the hall became deafening to you.
Shocked and bewildered by this, you could only describe the feeling as something relative to betrayal by Scaramouche in his negligence to inform you of such damning information. His actions from earlier that morning now felt duplicitous and calculated— had he just manipulated you into believing that he supposedly 'loved you' only to do a complete roundabout and lie straight to your face?
Why didn't he tell me? Why did he not say anything about this?
"Why was I not informed of this?" Angry confusion was painted onto your features as you snapped at your fiancé. It was this sort of secrecy that you hated most; especially when it came to Scaramouche.
"Sit down," Scaramouche ordered harshly. His tone didn't soften, nor did his words. "Don't make a fool of yourself."
For the sake of your own pride and dignity before the other Harbingers, you listened and sat back down. Though your temper made your blood boil, nipping away at your dwindling patience.
"I have business to take care of in Inazuma. Therefore, I won't be able to accompany (y/n) back to Liyue. I don't trust our soldiers and would rather a fellow Harbinger escort my fiancé. Even if it's Tartaglia..." Scaramouche continued, ignoring your obvious sour mood to press forth with his individual requests.
"And what's in it for us?" Dottore asked, leaning back in his chair as he stared amusingly at the two of you.
"Money, information, whatever you want. You can ask me about that later. Do we have a deal or not?"
The three Harbingers looked at one another, musing over the certain requests. They nodded unanimously, leaving no points left to argue. If there was anything left to be said, no one had the time nor energy to expend. Apology finally crossed your mind by the end of the meeting and before Signora and Dottore left the hall, you went up to them with an apathetic smile, a feigned one that forcibly tugged at the corners of your lips.
"I wanted to apologize for my previous behavior. I hope to start anew with the two of you. Not as the director of my company, but as my future husband's spouse." Your words came out more bitter than you had intended them to be. You were positive that your agitation could be sensed by your tone of urgency and passiveness.
Signora's eyes flickered past you, to Scaramouche who was leaning against the doorway of the meeting hall with a scowl. She snickered in amusement, comprehending the circumstances leading up to this point.
"There was no offense taken. You needn't worry about your appearance when you become one of us. What you need to worry about is your fiancé." Her words sat heavily in your mind as Dottore responded with something similar though you mindlessly nodded, blocking out any sort of external exchange.
Worry about Scaramouche, huh...? You wondered if it was a word of caution or perhaps you were misinterpreting it. Your fiancé is an unpredictable man. There was just something about him that you never fully understood— or perhaps it was because you were far too fixated upon the problems present in the marriage.
"Are you finished?" You nodded, noting the boredom in your fiancé's tone. Slowly, you made your way towards the doorway of the meeting hall with a conflicted attitude exhibited openly towards the Harbinger before you. After everything that had happened, you were in disbelief at the fact that he withheld this information from you. Especially since he had finally expressed some vulnerability to you— the audacity of him.
"We need to talk, Scaramouche. A real, long talk about this relationship." You scowled at him, pointing your index finger at his chest accusingly with seething eyes.
"Talk about what? I thought we discussed everything necessary last night." Scaramouche retorted, rolling his eyes at you. "Don't tell me that you're actually throwing a fit over the fact that I didn't tell you about my business trip?"
His mean spirited sarcasm tipped you over the edge, causing you to spiral into a frenzy as you suddenly turned on your heel, and glared daggers at the Harbinger you were (unfortunately) engaged to.
"I've had enough of your sneering and mockery! And here I thought we were finally starting anew! Guess I'm 'too naïve' and 'childish' to believe that 'nonsense'!" You mocked him, hissing as you stomped past him in a furious delusion. "I'm going home now! Without your men!"
A split second of vulnerability finally cracked in your cold-hearted fiancé. His amethyst eyes widened with shock as you scolded him in a blind rage before he reverted to his normal livid glare. He stormed after you and once he caught up to you, he grabbed hold of your wrist. He held you tightly, gripping until you were sure there would be marks.
"I told you, you're not going anywhere—"
"Fuck you, I'm sick and tired of your ludicrousness! Whether you like it or not, I'm going home!" You hollered back, ripping your wrist from his grip before storming off in a huff. This time, Scaramouche didn't stop you.
By the time you returned to your shared room with him, tears had long blurred your eyes as you forcibly shoved a number of your clothes into a vanity case. You force whatever you can into the vanity case, taking as many belongings as possible. It was a haphazard mess, the entire walk-in closet had been vandalized by your furious rage; clothes scattered upon the floor and hangers knocked around. Your face was tear-streaked, nose and cheeks darkening as you pathetically stifled your sniffling and sobs.
Upon throwing on your wool trench coat, your mind drifted to the ring that sat snuggly around your finger— symbolizing your engagement to the man you dreaded seeing. Despite this, you kept it on, feeling too emotional to part ways with the ring that served as the only item that brought you any semblance of joy when thinking of your fiancé. With one final glance at the bedroom of which you shared one, deceitful night with Scaramouche, you headed out.
All of this could've been so easily avoided had Scaramouche simply told you of his business trip— had he not kept this information from you. With him, there were always secrets; private affairs that he never shared with you despite your position. You couldn't fathom why he didn't bother telling you. Lies, secrecy, affairs that didn't involve you yet he never bothered to think that maybe— just maybe, you wanted to be a part of his life as well?
Work be damned, all you asked was for him to be open and honest with you. Like you had been with him— pouring your heart and soul whenever he asked you 'what was wrong'. You desperately wanted this failing relationship to work yet it seemed that he put no faith in you, opting for simple lies.
At the front of the palace, you noticed two Fatui soldiers standing guard at the gate. Startled at your tear-soaked appearance, they made no attempt to hide their curiosity.
"D-Director (l/n)...! What business do you have with us...? Has something happened?" One of the soldiers asked, noticing your packed clothing trailing behind you.
"It's none of your business. I need a carriage to Liyue Harbor." You snapped at them impatiently.
"E-Excuse me...?" The same soldier stuttered, panicked by your abnormal request.
"Get me to Liyue, now. I won't ask again."
They nodded swiftly, turning to their fellow soldier to fetch a carriage for you. The other soldier hurried off, too afraid to be at the blunt of your wrath.
It didn't take long for the carriage to arrive and by the time you had gotten into the car, the anxious feeling that's been building inside of you had boiled over. Only now, that anxiety is filled with excruciating disappointment.
You knew this breaking point was going to happen, eventually. But after everything, you had assumed that Scaramouche was finally working towards bettering himself for the sake of this collapsing engagement.
How foolish of me to think that he would try, of all people. You scolded yourself, shaking your head at your own naivety. It had been painfully obvious— so why didn't you see it coming?
There was a guilt building within you; one that constantly reminded you that it was your own fault for believing in his stupid lies. It was your fault for thinking this could possibly work out. It was your fault for tricking your mind into thinking that he would mend the problems that he has caused.
Or perhaps, it wasn't the problems that Scaramouche has caused that was the biggest issue. Maybe, it was you.
—
END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN