Fifth Season

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/44604259.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: Gen, M/M
Fandom: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)
Relationships: Kaedehara Kazuha & Scaramouche & Shikanoin Heizou & Xiao |
Alatus, Venti & Ying | Lumine (Genshin Impact), Scaramouche & Venti
(Genshin Impact), Shikanoin Heizou & Xiao | Alatus, Shikanoin Heizou
& Venti, Scaramouche & Xiao | Alatus (Genshin Impact), Raiden Ei |
Baal & Scaramouche, Venti/Xiao | Alatus (Genshin Impact), Kaedehara
Kazuha/Scaramouche, Kaedehara Kazuha/Shikanoin Heizou, Kaveh &
Venti (Genshin Impact), Lyney & Venti (Genshin Impact), Scaramouche
& Shikanoin Heizou
Characters: Ying | Lumine (Genshin Impact), Venti (Genshin Impact), Xiao | Alatus
(Genshin Impact), Kaedehara Kazuha, Scaramouche (Genshin Impact),
Shikanoin Heizou, Genshin Impact Ensemble, Kaveh (Genshin Impact),
Hu Tao (Genshin Impact), Lyney (Genshin Impact), Lynette (Genshin
Impact)
Additional Tags: Humor, situational comedy, Self-Indulgent, Therapy, Found Family,
scaramouche and the mortifying ordeal of having friends, Lumine is the
mom friend, aether is a crime boss, onesided kazuscara, onesided
kazuhei, no fighting pls it’s all a joke, no beta we die like me I’m so
fucking sick right now, best friend core, venti eldest heizou youngest,
tags will be updated with chapters, little angst, in which the anemo boys
are depressed, and lumine is their therapist, and she forces them to
become friends, Rated T for language, (mainly scara and his potty
mouth), scarahei animosity over kazu, and kazu is just oblivious, ventis
twins name is carmen, 5WIRL things, Slice of Life, sitcom-typical
parodies
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2023-01-28 Updated: 2024-10-15 Words: 160,118 Chapters:
10/?
 Fifth Season
by milanles

Summary

In which five emo guys are mutually depressed, mutually forced into group therapy, and are
mutually roped into becoming roomies in a three bedroom house.

It sounds like the plot of a really bad sitcom. It probably is. Lumine just thinks this marks the
beginning of a very beautiful friendship.
 Pilot
Chapter Notes

I really should not be fucking writing this with exams so close. But that is precisely why
I’m writing it.

disclaimer: this is mainly self-indulgent crack, pls don’t take any of it seriously. Most of
this shit will definitely be unrealistic (like, impulsively buying a house? no way) so
please bear that in mind when reading this!

title is a pun bc… season… sitcom… get it? And there’s five of them?

… yeah

For the first time in her life, Lumine truly feels that, back straight and hands crossed over her
lap, face steeled in a room of high pitched protests and grown men going full tantrum, that
she really, honestly, does not get fucking paid enough.

Her office must sound like the middle of a psychotic relapse to anyone unfortunate enough to
be waiting in the reception at this time of day, or just a really heated game of monopoly.

“I did not pay for this!” One of the boys protests with treachery in his eyes, teeth bared and
looking like a kicked kitten bordering a hissy fit.

“Wow, what a shock. You think we asked for this either?” Snaps another with folded arms
and looking like he’s weighing up the pros and cons of leaping out of her office window.

Considering they are on the seventh floor, and her ears have begun to adopt an unpleasant
sort of ring bordering on churning bats and just plain insanity, the blonde takes a sip of her
coffee — black, bitter, an accurate representation of her morning — before settling it down
and clearing her throat.

“Sit back down, Kunikuzushi,” she drones without looking behind her, where Scaramouche is
fumbling, ire-eyed and bitter mumbling as he snatches his hat from the rack and makes his
way to leave.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he bites before clutching the door handle again.

“The session has barely started, let alone ended. I’d advise you to stay here and at least wait
to hear what I have to say. Otherwise I’ll have no choice but to inform your mother.” She
responds with a calm shrug, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other.
She doesn’t need to turn around to know the boy’s stopped dead in his tracks and is probably
looking like someone trampled on his ice cream in front of him, “you— Lumine!”

“Ahah, hear that, Kunikuzushi? Sit back down or she’ll call your mom,” comes a snicker
from her side.

“Don’t fucking call me that, you bastard—”

“You too, detective.” Lumine folds her arms and turns to Heizou, choking on his laughs now
that he’s the one under her weighty gaze, “you’re not here by choice, but by order of your
superior officers. So you better cooperate with me right now or I’ll have to send this in with
your weekly report.”

His mouth clamps shut immediately.

The room falls silent after that, gradual huffs and bitter mutterings all but snuffed under her
stern gaze.

Xiao still looks like he wants to hurl himself out of the gleaming sash windows behind him,
while Scaramouche and Heizou resort to indiscreet stink-eyes and sealed lips from opposite
one another. Venti still has those wide green eyes welled to the top with tears, while Kazuha
just looks happy to be there.

“Good,” she smiles cheerfully, taking another sip before clearing her throat, “now that you’ve
all let it out, let me reiterate my point.”

“You’ve said enough,” Xiao speaks up, quietly and so empty she can practically hear an echo
from within his gut, “and I want no part in it.”

“Oh hush,” she furrows her brow before lifting a finger to rub her temple, “this is all very
immature, all of you. Especially you, Venti, stop that pathetic show at once!”

And like a switch, Venti’s tears stop, and his previous heartbroken expression shifts to one of
sulkiness, “but, Lumiiiineeee—”

“Shut up! All of you!” She snaps, finally breaking like a tugged rope worn to its last string.
It’s unprofessional, and could probably get her fired, but these idiots need to hear it otherwise
she probably will grant Xiao’s wish immediately, “all your guardians have already agreed
that they think it will be beneficial, since all of your progress has been majorly positive,
steady and healthy. This will be another big step to recovery.”

“There is no way in hell that the road to recovery you speak of is dependent on fucking group
therapy,” Scaramouche spits out, “the previous arrangement was bad enough.”

“You guys will still be having your own individual private sessions with me each week. The
only difference is your second one, which will be replaced and dedicated to this group
instead. That’s not that bad, you know?” She reasons.

“No.” Comes four hopeless voices: Heizou’s bitter, Scara’s venomous, Venti’s shaky and
Xiao’s devoid of any such feeling.
Kazuha, again, just looks happy to be here.

“I don’t think it’s too bad,” reasons the sweet, blessing of a boy.

“Speak for yourself,” wails Venti, tugging his braids and looking desolate, demure and
devastated. In other words, giving exactly the impression he wants her to have. “My time
with Lumine is already scarce, and now I’m expected to give up a whole hour dedicated to…
to you guys?! Forgive me for not being so enthusiastic! Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” they all say at once, with varying degrees of sincerity.

Lumine inhales deeply through her nose, and releases it slowly through her mouth, “guys, I
know this will be a change, and a big step, but it will be worth it, I promise. I picked you five
for a reason because I genuinely think it will be good for you to talk about your losses and
experiences together—”

“I didn’t agree to therapy to listen to someone else’s fucking sob story,” snaps Scara, “I
agreed for you to listen to my fucking sob story.”

“You didn’t agree,” she deadpans, “this is being entirely paid by your mom.”

“Yeah, well, fuck her.”

Lumine really is losing patience, and a will to live, probably, “guys, I don’t understand what’s
so wrong with sharing your experiences!”

“Oh yeah, it’s totally not like it was hard enough opening up to you about my problems,
Lumine,” Heizou rolls his eyes, “now I get to do it in a group of strangers. Yipee.”

“I’ve known you for years. Some bordering on a decade — I know you’re ready,” she replies
gently, “and I’m not going to force you to commit to this. But all I’m asking is for you to give
it a chance. Please?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“One month, and if you decide you absolutely, positively, cannot stand these guys, I’ll get us
all back to our old schedules. Can you do that for me?”

Silence.

“Guys, cmon. Work with me here,” Lumine folds her arms.

“I agree then,” smiles Kazuha across from her, and she snorts.
“I know you do, love. You’ve been great. It’s the rest of these assholes I’m waiting for.”

“…” Scara looks close to decomposing, “one. Month. That’s it.” He grits out.

She nods and turns to Heizou, who scowls hard and deep at her before shrugging, which she
takes as a yes — or more like a “fine, whatever”.

Good enough.

“It’s not like I have much of a choice, do I.” drones Xiao.

“You always have a choice,” replies Lumine cheerfully, by which she means no, you do not.
“Venti?”

“Agh, fine. I’ll do it for you, but you must keep your promise. One month, and we’re back to
our old routine,” whines Venti, all pink-pouts and butterfly lashes, “do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” Lumine, relieved beyond measure and seriously thinking of looking into an early
retirement, sighs, “and who knows, maybe you all will end up becoming really close friends.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

One week later, trudging up the seven god-damned flights of stairs because the elevator is
still broken, and waved in by Katheryn, Venti pulls open the door to Lumine’s room only to
find it empty.

That in itself isn’t unusual, since she does spend a lot of time in the break room, and is
probably brewing some of that pungent putrid coffee she insists on gulping down so early in
the damn morning.

He winces at the thought.

He must be the first one to arrive, he decides, because no other boy can be seen in sight.

And so, with a hup and the door behind him closing with a faint click, he makes himself at
home and waits.

Lumine’s office always does feel like home, anyway, which is why he takes the full liberty of
opening the blinds and window for air, turning on the AC and watering a potted plant in the
sink. When that’s done, he slinks behind the right side of her desk with a grin, pulling open
the top drawer to reveal a gleaming treasury overflowing with the most delectable sweets and
treats.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he smacks his lips as he unfurls the foil and wrapping paper.

“What are you doing?”

A squeal, a jolt and a skip is all it takes for his chocolate sublime to be launched. Venti
watches dismally as it soars in an arch across the room, rebounding against a wall and picture
frame until eventually teetering behind the slabs of a metal radiator.

“Shit, you scared me,” he tuts before turning around to face Lumine.

Except the face he meets isn’t Lumine’s at all. It’s one of those guys from last week, the
golden-eyed one with jade hair, brows furrowed and clad in a bomber jacket that looks far too
hot for this weather.

Temperature wise, he means. Of course.

The boy’s eyes flick between Venti and the still-open drawer, scowl deepening, “do you make
it a habit of snooping through other people’s possessions?”

“What are you, a ninja? How long have you been here?” Venti deflects, folding his arms and
not-so-discreetly sliding the open drawer closed with his left hip.

“I just came up now.”

Venti blinks, “is the elevator fixed?”

“No.”

You mean to tell him this guy walked up seven flights of stairs and isn’t on the brink of a
sticky, sweaty death the way Venti currently feels? Either he really is a ninja, or he’s got some
serious building blocks.

Venti tries to look as less creepy as possible as he does a quick scan and — yup — it’s all
there: high cheekbones and a tight jawline, pole perfect posture and broad shoulders upon a
slim frame.

Heh, the sweets certainly aren’t the only delectable thing here…

“What?”

Shit, did he say that out loud?

“Would you like a sweet?” Venti smiles sagely, ready to pull open the drawer at any given
moment.

“That’s not your call.”

“Hush, what a buzzkill. Lumine doesn’t mind.”

“She doesn’t?”
“Well she wouldn’t. If she knew. Of course.” Venti winks and continues talking before he gets
grilled again like a child with bad report grades, “I’m Venti, by the way. We met last week.”
He extends his hand.

The guy stares at it. “Xiao.”

“Ahhh, cute. ‘Small’, right?”

“…”

“No?”

“Swift,” Xiao grits out, and Venti can’t help but think he’s made his way straight to Xiao’s irl
blocklist.

“Nice. Like the singer.” Venti nods wisely, and he’s saved from any further social suicide by
the door swinging open once again, to reveal a blondie with a blissful air of zen around him
and a redhead looking close to having a heart attack.

“Ah, I see two of our groupmates have already made it.” The blond one smiles and glides in,
while the other rushes over to the tap on the corner and shoves his open mouth under the
running sink.

When he’s done, wiping water off his cheeks and panting under control, the only thing he
says is, “someone needs to fix that motherfucking elevator.”

“Agreed.” Venti sing-songs.

“I’m Kazuha,” the breezy boy grins warmly from the other end of the room, and Venti opens
his mouth to respond.

But then the door swings open one last time, and two more figures enter together — a head of
golden hair next to one of dark blue.

Lumine is whispering to the last boy — the angry one with mommy issues, he remembers —
close to his ear and gentle murmuring that Venti can only catch snippets — “major
decision…will be devastated…are you sure about this?”

But as she catches sight of their company quickly, all ready and waiting in her room, she
straightens. Then smiles, wide and all teeth. “Ah, the whole ensemble is here. I’m impressed
you made it. Let’s not waste anymore time then and start, shall we?”

✳︎✳︎✳︎
“So, do you all know the aim of group therapy?” Lumine chirps from her seat in front of
them, five files neatly nestled on her lap and cup of black coffee in her left hand.

“To embrace the power of friendship!” the crimson-haired guy to Venti’s left claps
sardonically.

Lumine, with a twitching eye and deathly gaze, smiles wider, “no. It served as a pillar of
support, to help you view yourself through a broader lens as part of a bigger picture. A safety
net, if you will, so that you understand that you’re not alone in your struggles.”

“Bleugh,” Venti retches, “so droll.”

“Droll is good.”

“So not droll.”

Their therapist inhales deeply through her nose before opening her eyes, “let’s introduce
ourselves, shall we? To ease us in a bit. Kazu, why don’t you start?”

Kazuha straightens his back and casts a serene smile to the rest of his companions, “alright.
My name is Kaedehara Kazuha. I was born in Japan to the Kaedehara family. As a teenager, I
was adopted, living the rest of my years here with my adopted mother Beidou and my
siblings. We all work as a family together at the ‘Alcor’. That’s the name of the bar my
mother owns, by the way. I recall she first got it in 1989–“

“Okay,” Lumine interrupts, leaning forward and patting the boy’s hand, “that’s lovely, Kazu,
but please spare us the Wikipedia article. Why don’t you tell us why you’re here?”

“Ah,” Kazuha nods, ”well, it was around eight years ago when Beidou suggested I attend
therapy. Because, you see, before I was adopted, my life back in Japan wasn’t the best. I had
a friend, though, who helped me through all those years alone, but — ah — things. Um…”
for the first time, Kazuha’s eyes gloss over like gauze over a light, “let’s just say, life cut our
friendship short a little too quickly.”

Lumine’s eyes soften, “that’s more than enough. Thank you, Kazuha.”

Kazuha blinks and cheers up, “but of course.”

“Anyone else?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”
She lets out a tch and rolls her eyes, “Xiao. Go.”

“…My name is Xiao.”

“Go on.”

“I am Chinese.”

“Insightful.”

Xiao pauses for a beat, “I like almond tofu—” Lumine is glaring daggers of blood into his
forehead right now, which cuts him off from continuing what sounds like his tinder profile.
“When I was very young, I lost my four siblings and mother in a freak accident. My father
was the one who insisted I take psychotherapy.”

Lumine nods, “there you go. Your turn, detective.”

“My name is Shikanoin Heizou. Since we’re apparently naming our nationalities as well as
what fucked up trauma we experienced, I guess I should say I’m also Japanese,” the rouge-
haired boy shrugs, arms folded and leaning back on his chair, “I used to be part of the
Tenryou police force, working pretty hands-on in the CID. But as of yet, I’ve been sent here
on a forced suspension by my superior officers. This is because, a year ago, a colleague of
mine passed away in front of me while we were undercover trying to catch a perp at a
festival, and I still haven’t fully recovered from the experience to have my badge reinstated.”

“We have a Sherlock Holmes here, everyone,” Venti cheers, “this’ll be good.”

“Your turn, Venti.” Lumine turns to him.

He bubbles with warmth, “but of course! Everyone — hi, hello! My name is Venti, I’m
German, hehe. I like to sing, and I love to drink! Kazuha, you mentioned your mother owning
a bar? You have to bring me there someday—”

“You.” Lumine frowns, “stop that. We’ve talked about this.”

“Stop what?” He bats his eyes.

“Deflecting. The focus is on you, so stop trying to draw our attention back to Kazuha. You
always do this.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Venti frets, clutching his braids with a somber tug, “I just can’t
help it. You always help me so much, it feels a little unfair to let me complain all the time. I
mean I know that’s your job and all, but you also need to let it out sometimes, you know?
Like, with your brother and all… I’m always here to lend an ear, Lumine.”

“Venti,” she grits her teeth.

He lifts a palm to his mouth in shock, “oh dear, was I too loud? I’ve said too much, especially
with a detective in the room. How careless of me.”
Heizou frowns. “Excuse me?”

Even the others look confused.

“What’s this about her brother?” Xiao frowns.

“Nothing you guys need to know.”

Venti nods vigorously, “indeed, it’s best you don’t know.”

“…” Heizou‘s eye twitches, “don’t tell me her brother is some sort of criminal or something.”

“Guys, can we please get back to the matter at hand—” she snaps.

At the same time, Venti laughs, “I’m sure she wishes he was just a small criminal.”

The last boy, mostly silent throughout the entire exchange, finally raises a brow, “Lumine,
what’s going on?”

The girl glowers at the five pairs of eyes trained on her, before faltering and giving up,
“fucking hell, you guys won’t leave this alone, will you? Fine. Have you heard of the
Abyss?”

Heizou’s eyes shoot open wide, “you have a brother in the Abyss?!”

“It’s more than that,” Lumine shrugs, “he’s the leader.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“And if you tell anyone,” Lumine looks so, so tired, “he will definitely find you and put you
down. So for your own sakes, you didn’t hear this.”

“I can’t believe it,” Xiao looks gobsmacked, “your brother is the leader of the most feared
organization of the underworld.”

“Do you have a protection racket or something?” Heizou looks genuinely curious.

“Guys, we have lost focus. I am the therapist, it’s my job to talk to you guys. Venti, stop
giving that stupid look, I know damn well this was your intention.”

Venti tries hard to smother his grin, “sorry, sorry. I’ll carry on now, I promise. Ahem. My
name is Venti, and I’m… a singer! On Spotify, name ‘Barbatos’, so please stream my newest
album ‘Seeds of Time and Wind’ now.” He winks to no one in particular.

Xiao stops, looking like he’s seen a ghost, “I— what??”

“Do you even have a record label.” Heizou deadpans.

“Of course! It’s called ‘die Straßen’ entertainment.”

“… you’re a busker aren’t you?”

“Ehe. Überraschenderweise bist du ziemlich schlau~”

Heizou’s glowers, “fuck you.” And Venti bursts out laughing.

“Venti.” Lumine, having reached her limit, growls.

“Oh, fine.” Venti rolls his eyes, “I’m here because, twenty seven years ago, I was born a twin.
However, seven years ago, I became an only child. The end.”

Lumine sighs, “good enough. Scara?”

The final boy looks up, indigo hair spilling over his forehead, “my name is…” he faltered.

Heizou whistles, “fallen at the first hurdle. Signing forms must be hell for you, huh, buddy?”

He glares at the detective with venom, “shut the fuck up. I…”

“Hey,” Lumine says gently, “a name doesn’t define you, okay? Whichever one you choose, or
whichever one you decide to stick with, doesn’t make you any less of who you are.”

“…” the boy swallows tightly, “I’m Scaramouche, then. Not Kunikuzushi. Anyone call me
that and I’ll rip your spine out.”

“Oh, oh!” Venti jumps, “can you do the fan—“

“No I will not do the motherfucking fandango,” Scara explodes, “and if I hear that
motherfucking question one more time I swear to god I’m gonna throw myself off this
motherfucking building.”

Venti raises his palms up in surrender, “Wow, so thunderous.” Then he snickers, “how very,
very frightening~”

“Galileo?” Kazuha pipes up, and Venti snorts, giving him a high five.

Scara looks ready to deck them both there and then, cheeks fuming red and thunder in his
eyes.

Lumine takes a sip of her coffee to try and hide her smile. Ah, these five guys really will get
along just swell.

✳︎✳︎✳︎
Lumine knows that trying to breach tender ground will be unfruitful in their first session.
They were already reluctant to join in the first place, so she decides a more light-hearted
approach is better suited for the rest of the time they have left.

It takes ten minutes to simmer Scara’s rage and get all of the boys to finally stop goofing
around. When that’s done, she takes a look at the clock, which tells her they still have around
half an hour.

“Okay!” She claps her hands, “now that you’ve all gotten to know each other a little bit, do
you see why I wanted you five to meet?”

“No.” They all say.

She sighs.

“Honestly, if you insist on attending group therapy, I don’t see why you don’t let me go with
that fresh rock-and-roll artist I normally meet in the waiting room. She and I get along like
this!” Venti crosses his fingers.

“Because,” Lumine exacerbates, “Xinyan is in here for systematic desensitization to help with
her phobia of frogs. You guys are here for a completely different reason.”

Heizou raises his eyebrow, “So you’re saying you want us to get group therapy because we’re
all depressed and have lost at least one person we loved?”

“Yes! No! Goddamn it, you guys are making this such a headache for me,” Lumine rolls her
eyes, “the answer is yes, as your therapist, and as someone who’s had personal one-to-one
sessions with each of you, I genuinely do believe that you five could be great friends.”

“So this is about friendship match-making rather than therapy?” Scara clicks his tongue.

“Now why can’t it be both, hm?” She clears her throat, “just cooperate with me, alright? How
about we talk about our new year? Happy lunar new year, everyone! I’m sorry for not
wishing you that sooner. Did anyone have any special plans this year?”

“… Father and I released some lanterns by the river,” Xiao replies after a few seconds.

“That’s so sweet. Anyone else?”

Kazuha hums, “mother hosted a party at the Alcor. That’s it, I suppose.”

“I was too busy trying to get my fucking life together to even notice it was lunar new year,”
Scara snipes.

“Well, how about any New Year’s resolutions?” Lumine muses, “You guys must have some
of those.”
“To get my fucking life together.”

But instead of getting annoyed, Lumine’s eyes just soften, “you will. You’ve already taken a
big step. I know you don’t want your mother’s involvement in anything, but I’ll be more than
happy to pull some strings on your behalf.”

Scara looks down at the floor, eyes narrowed, “you don’t need to do that.”

“Oh, but I want to,” she pats his hand, before turning to the rest of the guys, “what about you
guys?”

“To escape my fucking stepfather.” Xiao spits out the word like it’s acid, “I swear to god I’ve
taken to bunking at Hu Tao’s because of how loudly I can hear them— ugh.” He grimaces
and shakes his head violently at whatever internal image is plastered across his mind right
now.

Even Lumine looks uncomfortable, “ah yeah, I can imagine. Yikes.”

“Oh, oh!” Venti waves his arm in the air, “my resolution is to find somewhere comfortable to
settle down this year. The streets are warm and breezy in summer but, my god, the concrete
kills. I think I have a crick in my neck from this morning.” Venti rotates his shoulders,
“maybe I’ll go back to my old routine of finding myself in a stranger’s bed every night. At
least that way I’ll have a cushion and a warm duvet to wake up to.” He sighs dismally.

Meanwhile, Lumine looks absolutely incredulous, “excuse me? Venti— Kaeya and Albedo
told me you moved out and got a flatmate to live with. What the hell is this?”

“Ah, oops,” Venti shuffles his chair back and out of the firelight of Lumine’s scorn, “that may
or may not have been — ahh, what’s the word — a lie.”

“…”

“But you know, I really do like it there. It’s just the concrete that’s annoying. I have this one
pigeon friend, though, I named him Timmy. After this one kid I knew back in Germany. He
loved pigeons, you see—”

“Venti!” Lumine shouts, and despite himself, the boy flinches. “You…” she pinches the
bridge of her nose, “how long has this been going on? They told me you left months ago. Has
this been happening all this time?”

“Well, no,” he replies sulkily, tamed under her fury, “like I said, I did have a bed to sleep in
for a while. Just, yknow, a different one every night.” He shrugs.

Their therapist is seething, “I have to call them about this right now.”

“No!”

Alarmed, everyone in the room turns to look at Venti.

“I—” the boy swallows, and tries to smile. “There’s no need for that, silly. Don’t bother
them.”

“Bother them? Venti, you’re living on the streets instead of their house—”

“I just.” Venti looks down at his feet then, biting his lip, “thought they deserved to finally be
free. Yknow, from me.”

And Lumine’s temper dissipates, “what? They don’t think that. They care about you a lot,
Venti.”

Venti shrugs, “ah, sure. But even they have a limit, you know? And their leech of a friend,
semi-employed and turning up reeking of wine every night, being forced to pay for his
therapy and still having another child to raise… well, they don’t deserve that. Klee is turning
eight soon. She can’t— she can’t keep living in a house with,” he falters, “with me.”

“They don’t think that at all. They took you in because you’re their friend.”

“No,” Venti snaps, and it’s so out of character that Lumine’s mouth actually closes shut.
Then, he inhales, haggard expression melting into cheeriness, “ehe, but it’s alright, really. I’m
one with nature, now! Timmy really does make for good company. Although he does like to
steal my sandwich, which can get quite annoying…”

“Fucking hell,” Lumine leans back on her seat, “I am a terrible therapist.”

Venti frowns, “I didn’t say—”

“Shut up.”

He shuts up.

“Now wait just a minute,” Heizou finally speaks up, leaning forward, “if what I’m hearing is
correct, shorty here wants out of his house so he can escape the constant reminder that his
father is getting more action than him—”

“What the fuck, you’re literally shorter than me, you son of a bitch–” Xiao barks out.

“And Beyoncé over here is living on the streets so that he doesn’t burden his closest friends
who are already doing so much for him,” Heizou continues, “so I have a preposition. I’ve
been staying with my colleague for this past year — Sara, you know her, Lumine. And
she’s… how do I word this nicely? She has about as much personality as a wet napkin.”

Lumine folds her arms, “have you forgotten that Kujou Sara is the only reason the force are
even considering your reinstatement? You ought to be more grateful to her.”

He pointedly ignores that, “and, as it happens, I’ve also been looking around for a place of
my own. Or basically, anywhere that’s not where she is.” He looks at Lumine with a glint in
his eye, “do you… get my drift?”
And she does. Like a lightbulb, her mouth falls open into soft ‘o’, “that’s. That’s not a bad
idea, actually. And yknow what, Scara—”

“No.” He says immediately.

“Why not?”

“I didn’t escape my mother’s hell just to be thrust into another one.”

“Do you not realise how fucking lucky you are to have even stumbled upon this?” She hisses,
“you were just telling me about how you wanted to leave your mom’s house and stand on
your own two feet. Now, the opportunity has literally been handed to you on a silver platter
and you refuse to take it?”

“I didn’t ask for roommates, I said I wanted to be alone.” He glowers from under his hat.

“And that’s all nice and dandy when you’re Moneybags McDollarsign, but who’s been
paying up for your, well, everything, up until now? Your mom? Your previous “employers”? I
said I’d pull strings to support you, but even I can’t pull at least one grand out of my ass for
you.” Lumine matches Scara’s glare with a far harsher one of her own, “so stop acting like a
child and accept support when you get it.”

“…” Scara’s words all but vanish in lieu of bitter scowls and narrowed eyes.

“The way I see it, you have two options. Either you come on board with this idea, or you get
your mom to pay for own place,” Lumine shrugs, “take your pick.”

And they both know which one he’ll pick. Or rather, which one he’ll never pick, even if his
life depends on it.

Finally, to her right, comes Kazuha’s soft voice, “you know, I’ve also been considering
leaving the nest as well. Mother and I have been looking at residences…”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

And that is how, three weeks later, after about a million phone calls and paperwork and
negotiations later, five boys find themselves on the doorstep of their new home, moving van
en route and a very pleased looking therapist gleefully pressing her car horn behind them.

A three bedroomed bungalow, with two bathrooms, a cellar, a dusty attic and a fuzzy greeting
mat that reads:
“Welcome Home, Boys.”
 Moving In
Chapter Summary

in which scara and venti give law enforcement the finger, xiao and heizou are trapped
with nothing but each others company, a bunch of coal and a rat just trying to live in
peace, and kazuha is no stranger to looooveeeee~

Chapter Notes

updates run on good vibes & my ability to withstand the crushing weight of exam
pressure

pray for me guys, please, fr

pray your heart out for me

It’s to be expected, really, that with something as large as moving houses, some major
decisions will inevitably have to be made. For instance, the placement of furnishings and
setting up of TV warranties, or deciding how they should split the bills among themselves
and who’s going to cook every night.

But as Lumine’s car — a quaint Hyundai of milky white — pulls out of their driveway and
disappears, and the moving guys have long since left after helping them settle in, their first
order of business isn’t furnishing, or TV, or cooking.

No, instead it’s—

“I’m the one getting the master bedroom.” Scara growls with a tight hand clutching a
gleaming doorknob.

It’s a large door, wide and grand, with an air of imposing regality that doesn’t really seem to
fit the modesty of this small bungalow. The thing is literally intricately carved in what looks
like mahogany of deep chestnut brown, likely fake but it still doesn’t stop it from looking any
less aristocratic.

The hallway they’re standing in is long, two pairs of doors facing opposite each other along
parallel walls, with said master bedroom at the very end and an arched doorway leading to
the living room at the other. Behind the doors on one side is bathroom #1, next to bedroom
#1. And same on the opposite side.
Save for the master bedroom, the other two rooms are readily prepared for two people, a pair
of single beds already sitting in each of them. As it stands, four of them would have to share
with someone, while that last person would be able to bag the master bedroom alone. And it
looks like Scara has every intention of being that person.

“And who the fuck are you to decide that? You aren’t the only one who lives here now, Your
Highness.” Heizou snaps back, trying to prize Scara’s hand off, “stop being a selfish bastard.”

“Why the hell do you want it?” Scaramouche tightens his grip and uses his leg to shove
Heizou away, “this whole arrangement was your idea. I’m the one who wanted to be alone.”

“What, and that suddenly leaves you with the right to the best room in the house? Asshole.”
The detective bares his teeth and kicks him back.

“Guys, guys, please don’t fight,” Kazuha soothes as he grabs both of the guys’ wrists and
gently pulls them away from the door, “let’s all decide on this calmly.”

There’s a metallic jingle from behind them and all three of them turn around to see Venti
poised against the wall, bundle of keys dangling from his index finger.

He has a callow smile on his face, “you know, I actually had the liberty of checking out the
rooms beforehand. Therefore, I can confirm that the master bedroom definitely has the best
acoustics in the house. So please add me to the ballot of candidates as well.”

“Unbelievable.” Scara looks like a teapot full-boil.

“What’s unbelievable is you acting like an entitled little shit just because this ordeal isn’t
what you had in mind,” Heizou spits venom as he yanks his wrist out of Kazuha’s grip,
“we’re not your mom, dude. You can’t just walk all over us and expect us to take it.”

That does it.

Scara lunges like a cat in clawed fury and seizes the front of Heizou’s hoodie, bunching the
material between his fingers as he slams the guy against the wall.

The detective retaliates by grabbing his wrist and twisting it, until a full brawl breaks out
between the two with Kazuha trying to meekly calm them down and Venti cackling in the
back.

A few kicks, scratches, and extensive swearing later, a soft deep voice calls out from over
Venti’s shoulder:

“Just do rock paper scissors or something.” Xiao gripes, “I’m tired.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎
Needless to say, when all four of them pulled rock and Kazuha paper, master of the Master
Bedroom was decided.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Hey there, roomie!” Venti sing-songs as he waltzes into his new room, duffel bag tucked
under his arm and guitar strapped to his back.

Scaramouche, reclined on his new bed on the far side of the right wall, scowls under his
heavy set of headphones. He flips to lie on his side and turns his back away from his new
roommate.

This will definitely be a nightmare.

Unfazed, Venti surveys the rest of their chamber with a curled lip. It looks like the interior of
a motel room — empty white sheets and blank walls, a carpet of raven black and there aren’t
even any curtains on the windows.

“Bleugh, how plain. This room is in desperate need of some color. We should definitely work
on decorating it, roomie.”

“Stop calling me that,” Scara snaps from his bed on the right, tugging his headphones down
to his neck and looking over his shoulder.

“But I’m your roomie, roomie!”

“Just… if we’re gonna be sleeping in the same room, you’re gonna have to be quiet.” Scara
narrows his eyes at the guitar strapped to Venti’s back, “don’t tell me you plan on playing
that.”

“This old thing? Oh, no. Heavens no. It’s just an accessory, of course. And an occasional
weapon if you annoy me too much,” A sardonic smile.

“…is that—”

“Yes that’s sarcasm.”

 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Okayyy, first order of business!” Venti bounces into the kitchen with a skip in his step, his
miserable roommate gliding behind him like a wraith.

The rest of the gang are already there, sitting around the table and spreading open a blueprint
of what looks like the floor plan of the entire house. Their heads are bent, surveying the paper
with squinted eyes and low murmurs amongst themselves. There’s a teapot on the stove,
readily boiled, and as they walk in and settle down next to them, Kazuha pours two more
cups.

“What’s this all about?” Scara asks as he takes a sip.

“We’re just deciding what to do with the cellar and attic,” Xiao replies absently, folding the
paper closed, “what’s up?”

“Well, have any of you guys even stocked up on groceries?” Venti raises his eyebrow.

“… I thought Xiao was doing it.” Heizou shrugs.

“Me? Why the hell would I do that? If anything, Kazuha was the one in charge of food.”

“I stocked up on things like frozen meat and oil,” Kazuha blinks, “not groceries,”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Venti stands up from the table. He downs his tea in one go and
throws an arm around Scara’s shoulder, who looks like he’s reached his 13th reason, “worry
not, my dear housemates, we’ll take care of it~”

“Are you sure?” Xiao looks between Venti with his crescent-eyed smile and Scara looking
like a smothered kitten.

He covers his mouth with a palm to hide the upturn of his lips.

“Oh absolutely! But first, lemme just—” Venti fumbles around in his pocket before fishing
out a phone.

[Ventiiiii has created the group chat ‘an (emo) boys’]

[Ventiiiii has added ‘Xiao-bao’]

[Ventiiiii has added ‘Scarymouche’]

[Ventiiiii has added ‘Kazooha’]

[Ventiiiii has added ‘Heihei’]

Heizou, spying this from over his shoulder, snorts, “Heihei?”

“Like the chicken,” Venti flicks his nose. Then he pulls Scara up from his chair, “now just
text us the list of what you guys need on there. We’ll be at the mall. Adieu~”

And with that, he drags the poor guy out of the house and out of sight.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Once they’ve disappeared, the faint sound of the front door slamming shut, they text them the
list of groceries needed to keep them going for the next week.

Xiao then takes one last look at the floor plan before standing up. He drains the remainder of
his tea in the sink and leaves the kitchen.

Leaving Kazuha to tend to the dishes and clean up, Heizou follows in quick succession, “so
what’s the plan?”

“Hm?” Xiao doesn’t look over his shoulder as they turn a hallway and reach the door leading
to the back garden. Fumbling with a huge tinkling row of keys, he unlocks it and continues to
circle around the house until they are face-to-face with the dusty double-doors of the cellar.
“What do you mean?”

“Lumine said the cellar was left pretty much unused by the previous owners, right?” Heizou
casually swings back and forth on the balls of his feet, “so… what’s the plan? What will we
do with it?”

“Don’t know,” the older guy shrugs, trying to pick out the key to the cellar in the massive
bundle of keyrings, “we could convert it, I guess, but it would take a lot of time and money.
Let’s just take a look at the place first.”

Finally, he finds the correct one, and asks Heizou to step back.

Lumine wasn’t kidding when she said the place was barely used, because as they yank the
busted creaky door open, a fog of dust jumps out and clogs the back of their throats. Heizou
erupts into a fit of coughs and Xiao waves his hands in order to dispel it.
Gathering himself together, Heizou takes a good look down, and only sees darkness staring
back.

“How…” his throat suddenly becomes dry, “how deep does this thing go anyway?”

Xiao shrugs helpfully and gets his phone out to turn on the torch, “let’s see then.”

“Are you sure it’s safe down there?” Heizou eyes the open door to the underworld with
suspicion, its dark and foreboding interior contrasting almost comically to the dandy
brightness of the garden. “I’m pretty sure I can hear demons calling us in.”

“If you’re scared, you can go inside and help Kazuha unpack,” Xiao shrugs again and begins
to descend.

“I’m not scared!”

Xiao ignores him, descending deeper into the spiraling stairs and into the depths of the abyss.

Feeling itchy, and wanting to prove the bastard wrong, Heizou scowls and follows in suit.

Xiao hears him and says mildly without looking behind, “since you’re also coming, make
sure you leave something to prop—”

There’s a resounding ‘bam’ as the creaky hinges of the heavy door slam shut behind them.

“… the door open.” he finishes weakly.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“What the hell is the difference between semi-skimmed and regular milk?” Venti squints at
the two cartons held in each hand, as if that would help him find some distinguishing feature
that sets the two apart other than the contrasting color of the cartons.

“One is semi-skimmed, the other isn’t.” Scaramouche says, already walking away and into
the cereal aisle.

“Har har.” Venti rushes after him and puts both cartons into the shopping cart.

Scara frowns and takes the regular milk out. “Put that back. Xiao said he wants semi-
skimmed.”
“We aren’t all like Xiao, on ridiculous egg-only vegan meals and diets to cater to that
athlete’s bod of his,” Venti huffs, putting the regularly milk back inside, “I, for one, think
semi-skimmed milk tastes rancid.”

“Well we can’t take both, there’s no space in the fridge.” Scara folds his arms. He has an
overwhelming urge to bang his head against the shelves, “just keep the semi-skimmed.”

“No!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he growls, and chucks the green carton into Venti’s chest, who lets out a
winded ‘oof’. “Fine. If that bastard gets mad we didn’t get his milk, I’ll say it was your fault.”

“Alrighty!” Venti replies cheerfully, skipping onto the next aisle. Scara inhales deeply and
wishes the ceiling would collapse on him at that moment.

He eyes the cart under his hands, and quietly ticks off the checklist in his head.

Eggs

Bread

Semi-skimmed milk

Lettuce

Grapes

Almonds

Apples

Rice

Yogurt

Carrots

Tomatoes

Apart from the dubious milk, everything else is ready to be checked out.

Fucking finally, he thinks, turning around to tell Venti he’s on his way to the checkout.

But the guy is nowhere to be seen, long lost in the maze of canned shelves and frozen food
isles. He sees an old lady a few feet away, eyeing the frozen peas. But apart from that, no
Venti can be seen in sight.

Scara’s eye twitches and he calls out, “Venti?”

When he gets no reply, his hands tighten the handle of the shopping cart until his knuckles
turn white.
Swearing every colorful phrase he knows under the sun, he abandons the checkout line in
search of his idiotic roommate.

He finds him five minutes later, in the home decor area, two pillows in each hand and
squinting at them.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see!” He perks up when Scara approaches, either completely
missing or ignoring the contempt in his eyes, “which of these would look better against
turquoise sheets?” He holds up two pillows, identical in size in texture except one is midnight
blue and the other is peachy white.

“Venti.” He grits his teeth, patience slipping like grains in an hourglass, “we need to
checkout. I don’t have the energy to pick out fucking duvets and pillow sheets with you.”

“Oh hush, it’s literally only 2 pm. What are you, a vampire?” Venti tuts and picks out more
items from the shelves. This time, a curtain rack, “and have you forgotten the sordid state of
our current room? At the very least, we need curtains. Otherwise I definitely won’t be able to
sleep tonight.”

“Tough shit.”

He sighs miserably, “and when I suffer insomnia, the only way to get me through the night is
to play my sweet moonlight sonatas all night long~ but you’d hate that, wouldn’t you,
roomie?” He gives Scara the most disgustingly shameless puppy eyes he’s ever seen.

“… just the curtain. That’s it.” Scara hisses after a beat or two.

Venti claps gleefully and picks up more drape curtains, asking infuriating little questions
every few seconds like “would this match the lighting?” or “does this suit the vibe our room
will have if I get the turquoise sheets I want?” Or “maybe Kazuha and Xiao would like some,
let’s phone them!”

“Venti!” Scara shouts loudly, so very loudly that, in their desolate corner of the store, his
scream rebounds against the falls and fades into oblivion.

Venti silences his rambling, eyebrow raised, “yes?”

“Just get fucking done with it!”

“Tch.” Venti folds his arms, “would you rather I didn’t ask for your input? You need to
cooperate with me, Scarymouche, otherwise we definitely will end up with bright pink
curtains and fluffy bedsheets. Would you like that?”

“…”

His eyes drop down to Scara’s outfit, a deep purple hoodie lined with red-black strings and
the motif of a mitsudomoe plastered on the front, “speaking of which, you’ve been wearing
similar outfits every session we’ve had with Lumine. Is purple-red-black your thing, or…”

“Just shut up.”

Venti raises his hands in surrender, “I’m not making fun of you, I swear! I just think, hmm, I
think blue would be a nice look on you.” He takes out a turquoise hat from god-knows-where
and plonks it on Scara’s head. “Ah, so cute!”

Scara rips it off, “I’m going to the car.”

“Waaaiittttt,” Venti wails, tugging on his arm and slumping on his shoulder. Scara tries to
shake him off, but the guy only clings on tighter, “just help me pick out the bedsheets and
curtains. Pleasseeeee?”

“Venti.” Scara takes a step forward with difficulty, feeling Venti slump to the floor and hug
his leg, “stop. Acting. Like. A. Child.” He huffs and tries to kick the guy away one more
time, “let go. Of my fucking. LEG.”

Venti shakes his head violently, “no. You need to cooperate.”

“Can we just go fucking home, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT?” Scara screeches, so loudly that
a few heads pop up from other aisles to check out the commotion.

He snarls at them.

They scurry away.

Venti doesn’t say anything.

“You really should start to act your fucking age.” Scara hisses, leaning down to prize Venti’s
away arms that are glued to him like a bloody leech, “you’re what, 27? Cmon, man.”

“Humph, says the guy who acts like he has a mental age of 77. Planning to retire anytime
soon, grandpa?”

Scara grits his teeth so hard he can see stars, “if I pick out the bedsheet I want, can we go
home?”

“Yes.”

“The black one.”

“What an emo.” Venti tuts, but stands up obligingly. He dusts off his jeans like he wasn’t just
lying on the floor clinging to the leg of his friend two seconds ago, and chucks the black
duvet cover into the cart. “Fine, let’s go.”

Scara sighs and grabs the guy’s wrist before he can get distracted by anything else and
change his mind, speedrunning it out of the store as fast as his little legs can carry him.

… only for the security alarms to fire full-scream the second they leave.

“…shit. The groceries.” Is all Scara manages to say before a booming voice calls out to them
from one end of the mall.
“Hey, you two!” It’s a security guard, clad in a jacket with the words ‘MALL’ postered on the
front in bright neon green, walkie-talkie in one hand and the other pointing a finger straight at
them like some sort of mall-cop Alan Sugar.

Venti’s mouth falls open in surprise. He turns to the officer. “ah, excuse me? This is all just a
misunderstanding—”

Scara, without thinking, grabs the back of Venti’s hoodie and bolts, forcing the cart forward
and using the balls of his feet to propel them with momentum.

“What the—” he hears roommate screech.

Behind them, the security guard cries out in surprise, giving chase.

Shit.

“Why the fuck are we running, you bastard?!?!” Venti all but screeches into his ear.

Scara picks him up bridal-style and throws him into the shopping cart, “uh, force of habit?”

“Why is that a force of habit?! You idiot, we look so guilty right now! Stop at once!” Venti
struggles around, stepping on the bread and the eggs and the goddamned fucking semi-
skimmed milk as he tries to stop them from running away and digging their own grave
further.

“Hey, you! Stop right now!” They can hear the officer screech from behind them, closer this
time. Then, the fuzzy sound of the walkie-talkie being spoken into, “hey, this is Huffman. I’m
gonna need some backup on the third floor. Shoplifters.”

Scara pushes the cart harder, sharply turning a corner and almost running over a family with
icecream in their hands.

They need to get out of here, they need to get to the parking lot. Shit, shit.

“SCARAMOUCHE!” Venti is screaming, trying to lift a leg out of the cart and stop this
stupid mayhem.

As Scara turns another violent corner, he falls back inside, crushing the eggs and banging his
head on the side of the metal. He groans.

“Sorry,” Scara winces, “we’re almost at the parking lot, though. I can see the entrance there.”

“Just stop the fucking cart!!” Venti screeches, “what is wrong with you?” He gropes an arm
up until he feels Scara’s face and gives it a weak slap.

“Well it’s too late now.” He slaps the hand away.

“No it’s not—“ Venti’s cut off by a slow buzzing noise, barely perceptible in the heat of their
escapade but accompanied by an annoyingly perky TWICE song loudly ringing out. He pulls
a phone out from his pocket and squints at the screen, “Xiao? Why the hell is he phoning me
— hey!”

Scara snatches the phone out of his hand, “don’t answer that.”

“What, because we’re wanted shoplifters now? Give me my phone!” Venti tries to reach out
for it but Scara pulls it out of reach.

He pushes the cart further still, able to see the entrance to the car park elevator so close, so
close, if only they could make it…

But it’s at that moment that their path gets blocked by another officer, also clad in green the
same way officer Huffman was, and holding up a hand, “freeze!”

Scara panics and throws Venti’s phone.

Time seems to slow.

Venti’s cry echoes in the air, dragged out and heartbroken as he watches his phone get flung
in a straight line.

The officer is also surprised, blinking slowly and face contorting into bewilderment as he
stares like a deer caught in headlights at the soaring device.

Throughout all of which ‘Likey’ is still stupidly being played in the background at top
volume.

The officer gets hit in the face by Venti’s phone.

There’s the sound of a crack, which Scara is praying to only be the phone screen, and he sees
the officer fall to his knees, blood wildly pouring from his nose and staring straight at the pair
with a look of pure stupefaction…

…before promptly passing out on the shiny mall floor.

“Shit.” Both him and Venti say at the same time.

They reach the elevator.

Scara slams the button to the parking lot and watches as more officers flood into the open
area of the third floor through the steadily closing elevator doors.

✳︎✳︎✳︎
Heizou is not panicking. As an ex-cop, he’s been through way worse situations than locked in
a cold, damp cellar that hasn’t been used in generations. For instance, that one time in Vegas
with the slot machine and no food for two days. Or that time in São Paulo with the trafficking
scheme. Hell, he’s even been through Sara’s goddamned morning breath, so really, he should
be able to handle anything.

But admittedly, he may not be the steely sprightly young officer he once was two years ago,
so perhaps he was freaking out just a teeny tiny bit.

“KAZUHAAAAA!” Heizou wails and bangs on the door of the cellar, “KAZUHAAAAA,
LET US OUT!”

“For the last time, please calm down,” Xiao snatches his shoulders with a painful grip and
forces the detective to look at him. At least that’s what he thinks happens (you really can’t
see anything with how dark it is in there).

“Shit, dude!” Heizou struggles, but for someone so small, Xiao has a grip of steel. “You're
underreacting! We’re trapped in here for god knows how long! KAZUHAAAAAA—”

Xiao slaps a hand over his mouth, muffling the rest of Heizou’s screams, “he won’t be able to
fucking hear you from here. So for the love of god, please stop screaming or you’ll lose your
voice, or turn me deaf, or both.”

… well he has a point.

Heizou clamps his mouth shut.

Xiao sighs, “now if you had spent less energy wailing, you’d have realized we still have my
fucking phone with us.”

“… oh.”

Xiao turns it on and the blue light from the screen feels like the glaring sun after all this
darkness.

Heizou peers over his shoulder as he scrolls through his shoulder, catching names like ‘Jiê’
and ‘Father’ and ‘Hu Tao’ before finally seeing ‘Kazuha’ towards the bottom.

Xiao hits ‘call’ and it begins to ring.

✳︎✳︎✳︎
Meanwhile in the kitchen, Kazuha is cleaning up, having already vacuumed and wiped the
tabletop, and is now in the midst of cleaning up a stack of dishes piled in the sink.

Earphones are readily connected into his ears via an mp3 player as he scrubs away, a catchy
Rick Astley song blasting in his ears.

“We’ve known each other~” Kazuha hums along to the tune, “for so long~”

He is, of course, blissfully oblivious to the violent vibrations of his phone on the table
counter.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Why the fuck isn’t he answering?!” Heizou shrieks, making a grab for the phone.

Xiao yanks it out of arm's reach and scowls, “I don’t know, he could be on another line, or
preoccupied, or in the bathroom—”

“Please.” The detective scoffs, “there’s no one in the world who doesn’t take their phone in
the bathroom with them while they—”

Xiao ignores his babbling and scrolls further down his contacts until he finds Venti’s name.

He hits ring.

A few seconds later: “hello?”

Relieved, he puts the guy on speaker (which successfully shuts Heizou up), “hey, Venti,
where are you guys?”

“Hellooooo?” Is all that they get in response.

They both frown, “hello? Venti—“

“I can’t hear you!” Comes Venti’s voice from the speaker, artificial and slightly distressed,
“hello? Hellooooo?”

Xiao double checks to see if he had accidentally muted himself but — nope — Venti should
be able to hear, “uh, Venti?”
“Helloooo— pfft!” Like a switch, Venti’s concern breaks into a fit of giggles, “just kidding,
haha! April fools! Unless this isn’t April, in which case: fools! This is a voicemail, I’m
currently either busy or ignoring you, ehe! Please leave a message after the beep and if
you’re lucky, I’ll get back to you. Byeeee.”

A beep.

“…”

“…”

Clearly seeing that Xiao has no intention of saying anything after the beep, Heizou leans over
until his lips are near the mic of the phone and whispers menacingly, “when we get out of
here, I’m gonna kill you, you little shit.”

The call cuts off.

Heizou opens his mouth awkwardly, “So… what now?”

“Don’t panic.” Xiao repeats, turning to his contacts one more time, “we still have loads of
options. Surely someone has to be free right now—“

But of course his phone chooses that of all times to fucking die on him.

The screen fades to black with no warning, startling the two enough for Heizou to erupt into
another fit of hysterics until Xiao pinches his arm to shut him up.

When trying to turn it back on again, he only gets an infuriating symbol of a drained battery
and a request to be charged in response.

“… okay now you can panic.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Back in the elevator, the doors remain closed as the pair descends. Scaramouche’s heavy
breathing and the crackling sound of the various groceries being crushed under Venti’s body
is the only thing that can be heard save for some perky and upbeat elevator music.

Scara opens his mouth to say something, but only receives a death glare and an
uncharacteristic scowl in his direction.

He takes the hint and shuts up.

The elevator slides open with a ding, and thankfully, no mall guards have made it down to the
parking lot just yet.

Scara grips the front of the shopping cart and guides it out, occasionally slipping glances at
Venti who’s taken to staring blankly at the ceiling.

Whether this new dissociation is because they had almost been captured for shoplifting, or
because he just watched his phone get flung into the face of an officer and knock him out,
Scara doesn’t know.

They reach the car, only passing one or two strangers. If they noticed a grown man lying
down and looking half-dead in the shopping cart, they kept their mouth shut. Scara can
appreciate that.

“Er… do you mind?” Scara gestures awkwardly for Venti to get out now so he can load the
car.

Venti turns his head away and forces his eyes shut, “Scaramouche. I have just been thrown
into a shopping cart and tossed around like some kid in a bumper cart, accused of shoplifting
and forced to watch helplessly as my phone was used to assault an officer.”

“… your point?”

“Why the fuck did you run.”

“I told you,” he scowls, “force of habit.”

“What were you, part of the fucking MI6 when you were a teen?” Venti bares his teeth.

Now… Scara is hardly one to feel guilt.

Like when he left his mothers home after two hours of nonstop screaming and admittedly
uncalled for accusations, refusing her help even now and rejecting her advances to mend
bridges — all he felt was anger back then.

That one time when he ripped apart Arleccino’s fur coat and blamed it on Capitano? All he
had felt back then was smug victory.

Even with Lumine, subjecting her to every stress under the burning sun and being needlessly
uncooperative for no sole reason other than to fucking spite the person who is funding this
therapy — he never had felt guilt so much as he had felt, well, spite.

But seeing Venti’s wide puppy eyes welled with tears and lips wobbling as he tries to mask
his look of clear petrification with one of anger, he feels a hollow sinking in his stomach.

And oh, he thinks, that must be guilt. That’s a first.

Venti, however, barely lets him get a word in before he forcefully jumps out of the cart, on
trembling feet at first and almost falling face first onto the rough concrete. He rejects Scara’s
advances to try and help him up and simply focuses on loading the car.
“I am going to go home.” He’s muttering, almost to himself, “and I am going to have a nice,
long fucking shower. Probably the last one I’ll ever have before I’m dragged to prison for the
rest of my fucking life.”

“…” Scara shuffles on his feet, “uh, Venti, let me help you—”

“Shut up.”

Scara shuts up.

“Just load this bloody car with me so we can escape with the fucking goods and go fucking
home.” He continues loading the food way more aggressively.

Scara, on the other hand, notices that they have some company, “uh, Venti—?”

“No! Goddamn it, don’t you realize how serious this is? Just hurry up before these shitheaded
left-brained officers realize where the hell we are and take us to the county gaol or whatever
the fuck they have nowadays.”

“But, Venti, I—” Scara tries again.

“WHAT?” The braided boy screeches at once.

A deep husky voice clears his throat behind them, and finally — finally — it dawns on Venti
that they have company. Multiple, in fact, with four mall-cops and two very much real ones
surrounding them, guns in hand.

From the corner of Scara’s eye he catches sight of a paramedic tending to a sobbing officer
with a napkin dyed red pressed to his nose. Yikes.

“Hands up. Now.” The officer that stops them is a woman, short black hair brushing just
below her ears and looking so strangely familiar that Scara forgets all about the gun in her
hand and just blurts:

“Who the fuck are you?”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Thirty minutes later, the two are thrown into a jail cell at the city prison, handcuffed together
and their only other company being a man with a scraggly beard who looks high as a kite and
like he hasn’t had a shower in months.
“Buckle up, boys.” One of the officers, name Uesugi, chuckles as he leaves them to it, “this
will be a long night.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“How long has it been… two days? Two months?” Heizou croaks, clutching his throat like he
can feel the lack of moisture permeating his lungs and windpipe, “I can feel the dehydration
eating me up inside.”

He sobs as he curls against the stone wall, long accustomed to the reek of fresh coal and the
slightly metallic scent of the damp floor, “We’re gonna die together here, aren’t we?”

“I can already picture it… twenty years from now,” he continues miserably, “some curious
new tenants of this house come down and make the same mistake we did. ‘Ooh, a cellar? I
wonder what’s in here’ and boom, in full un-fleshy glory, our rotting corpses, probably well
into the skeletal stage by then, finally uncovered.”

He lets out a cry that sounds like a mixture between a choke and the high wail of a kettle
almost boiled, “oh, god, I’m too young to die. I’ve barely done all the things I want to do.
Like, like, like,” he hiccups, “like see that big tower in France, the one shaped like a triangle
made of iron. Or… swim with sharks! And try a taco. I’ve always wanted to try Mexican
food. And have my first kiss! 22 years old and still no first kiss? That’s so pathetic,
waaaaaahhhhh.”

“The guys have probably assumed we ditched them.” He laments, “We’re probably reported
missing by now, or assumed dead. Or worse, maybe no one’s even noticed we’ve been gone
for all these years! Maybe in the end we’ve just faded into history like the rest of all the
forgotten nobodies…”

Heizou flumbles around and finds Xiao’s arm in the darkness, “and even now, my only
comrade, my fellow soul trapped down here with me who’s supposed to keep me from
insanity, has fallen silent on me. Are you still alive, bro? Are you with me?” He shakes the
arm lightly. “Xiao! Talk to me! I think I’m going insane.”

His eyes well up with tears, “I haven’t felt the touch of another man in years. In the end,
there’s only us two down here. So be a dear and just indulge me this once, hm?” He puckers
his lips and leans his way forward in Xiao’s general direction.

Slap!

Heizou retreats, rubbing his stinging cheek, “okay, fair. I deserved that.”
Finally, finally, Xiao speaks, his low voice permeating the thick darkness like a tunnel of
light in the abyss, “shhh… do you hear that?”

The detective freezes, tensing up his body and straining his ear for every minute sound, every
pin drop and water drip that can meet his ear, “n-no? What is it?”

“HOW GOOD IT SOUNDS WHEN YOU’RE NOT WHINING?” The guy screams, so
suddenly and harshly that Heizou’s ears start ringing loudly and he flinches so hard that he
bangs his head against the rigid wall.

“Ow! Dude!”

He hears a sharp inhale from his side, “listen to me, you numbsculled little fucking ball of
nerves, it’s literally been only an hour. A fucking hour and if someone doesn’t break down
this door right now I’m gonna stuff my mouth with all this coal until it chokes me and I can
finally be at peace away from all your crying.”

“Harsh but okay,” Heizou sniffs.

“So to preserve both our sanities, please, please, please, please, please, please,” Xiao’s voice
grows harder with every syllable, heavier with each ounce of desperation poured into the
words, “just shut the fuck up?”

“Can I at least say—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“I said shut up. That means you don’t need to finish. Zip it.”

Heizou growls, “you aren’t the boss of me,”

“Detective, I am approximately 0.2 micrometers away from wrapping my hands around your
throat and shutting you up myself. Don’t push it.”

“What a brute.” He snaps. Then he stops and winks in the darkness, even though he knows
there’s no way Xiao can see that, “you know, there are easier ways to shut me up~ ow! Okay!
Jesus Christ, I’ll stop. Jeez.”

“Finally.”

“You aren’t even my type anyway,” Heizou grumbles, running his arm.

“The only blessing I could ever ask for.”

“You’re too short for me.”

“Do you want to die?”

“Honestly, right now, very much so.” Then he feels a sharp and abrupt pain on his right
shoulder, “dude, cut it out! I was only joking. Fucking hell.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes you did, I felt it on my right shoulder.”

“I’m on your left.”

Goosebumps flutter down Heizou’s spine, “w-w-w-wh—What? What? Whatwhatwhatwhat?

What was that then, what touched my shoulder, Xiao, what touched my shoulder????”

“Relax,” comes Xiao’s voice, way too fucking calm for comfort, “it was probably just a rat or
something.

Heizou screeches at the top of his lungs.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Salvation comes to them twenty minutes later, in the form of blond hair and a sweater lined
with maple leaves.

The boys have worn themselves out by the time Kazuha opens the door to the cellar, leaning
on each other and half dozed off, all their screaming and pinching and bickering and more
screaming tiring them enough to slip away into the blissful clutches of la la land.

Heizou squints as brightness, piercing and all-encompassing, fills the cellar. From the dusty
stone walls and the black-stained floors, and Xiao and him reclined against a large stack of
coals, and a rat that had taken residence in the corner a few feet away from him.

He doesn’t even have the energy to scream anymore. At any rate, he’s fairly certain he’s lost
his voice by now.

“Guys?” Kazuha calls out, blinking down at them, “is that where you two have been? Why
haven’t you been answering my calls?”

“… left my phone in the room.” Heizou croaks.

“No battery.” Xiao also croaks.

Kazuha stares at them for a beat or two before sighing and extending an arm to help them out,
“come on then.”
“How long has it been? How many days?” Heizou rushes up and clutches the front of his
Kazuha’s sweater, desperation filling his eyes and clogging his throat.

He’s ready to burst into tears..

“One hour? One and a half?” Kazuha shrugs.

“…”

“Anyways, you guys are covered in coal but there’s no time to freshen up. We need to get to
the police station.”

Xiao, still groggy and squinting in the high noon sun, frowns, “the police station? Why?”

“Because,” Kazuha sighs with exasperation seeping his bones weary, “our lovely roommates
have, somehow — I know not how — landed themselves in prison while trying to buy milk
and bread.”

“…” Xiao says.

“...” Heizou says.

“I know.” Kazuha says, “I know.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Scara tells himself that the bitterness frothing at his mouth and clogging his throat is the
result of boredom, and saltiness at being ignored by his jailmate. He tells himself that the
empty pit swirling in his gut and gnawing at his insides is Annoyance and its friendly
neighbor Spite. Feelings he’s familiar with, like long lost friends, and not some foreign
mixture of pity and remorse and — ugh — guilt that somehow this braided bastard has
kindled within him.

Because he is Scaramouche, (former) no.6 of the Fatui Harbingers, who he has never once
allowed himself to feel guilt in his fucking life. And he certainly won’t start now.

But it’s painstakingly obvious that he is being given the cold shoulder when Venti pointedly
refuses to look in his direction at all for the rest of the half hour they’re stuck in this stinking
cell.

Instead, he can be seen in Scara’s peripheral, hunching in the far, far corner of the room so
that it puts as much distance between them as possible. Consequently, that means he’s almost
crawled onto the lap of their companion, raggedy clothes and dirty beard and all.

But he’s Venti, so of course he manages to somehow strike up a conversation with the guy
who looks like he got arrested midway into a Chewbacca cosplay.

He can hear them conversing amongst themselves, but Venti’s soft murmurings make it clear
who’s doing most of the talking.

Scara tries his best to ignore them.

He leans back and stares at the ceiling — around three meters wide, two meters length —
with long linear light bulbs casting the area in an ugly shade of yellow. It flickers on and off
like it’s on its last life, and Scara watches mindlessly as it does so.

Sooner or later, the sound of Venti’s conversation dies out gradually, and he lifts his head to
take a look.

Only to find Venti’s face inches away.

“Shit!” Scara startles, falling off the bench he had been lying against — a stark, muddled
brown — and glares, “hello to you, too.”

Venti says nothing, lowering himself down to sit next to Scara and looking deep in thought.

Scara knows he should probably apologize for well, everything. ‘Hey, uh, sorry for throwing
you into a shopping cart and knocking out an officer with your phone. I’ll buy you a new one
I swear’.

But of course, being the innate dickwad he is, instead says: “you bored of your furry little
friend yet?”

Venti frowns at him, “Benjamin? Don’t call him that, it’s quite rude.”

He doesn’t know whether to feel bad for getting scolded, or for the guy who’s parents must
have hated him enough name him fucking Benjamin.

“‘Quite rude’,” he mocks, framing an accent so thick that Venti’s frown molds into a
disdainful scowl, “would you like some tea with your crumpets, milord?”

Truth be told, that was his attempt to salvage the mood, but if anything, it deepens Venti’s
somber countenance, “Scaramouche.”

“Yes?”

“Why,” he turns to stare at him, green eyes dagger-sharp and painfully piercing, “why is it a
habit for you to run from figures of authority?”

God, not this again.

“You’re really asking me that?” Scara responds sourly, “don’t act like you don’t know.”
“I really don’t.”

“Lumine must have mentioned something.”

“I don’t think you realize how seriously that girl takes her job sometimes,” is what he gets in
response, “she would never disclose any information about another patient. Believe me, I’ve
tried.”

Scara frowns, “you tried? When? Why?”

“Just answer my question.”

A pause, “and what if I don’t want to?”

“You literally dragged me through hell and back, demolished my brand new iPhone 6s that I
had just got for Christmas, and you don’t think you owe me this at least?”

“… no?”

“Scaramouche.” Venti grits his teeth, and Scara will never, ever admit that he got
goosebumps at that moment.

Shit, there’s nothing scarier than seeing someone like Venti get angry.

“Fine.” He slumps back against the cold stone walls, feeling his skin jump out at the frigid
contact, “I… well I used to be in juvie as a kid. Minor things at first, really. But yknow how it
is. It starts off with a little shoplifting and a few weed deals here and there, and then the next
thing you know you’re suddenly being roped into some pseudo-Mafia Russian organization
type shit.”

“No.” Venti gapes, “god, what the hell, Scara?”

“You. Asked.” Scara lashes out, “anyways, their name is the Fatui.” He feels Venti tense up
imperceptibly beside him, “I left them recently due to… outside help. But these bastards
aren’t to be fucked around with. They’re the reason I… freak out a little every time I see a
cop.”

“… I see…”

“Happy now?” He scowls and looks away, trying to hide his burning face and the giddiness
of his traitor stomach that’s overjoyed they’ve mended bridges again.

Not that they’re friends, or anything. Of course not. He doesn’t do friends.

“Yes,” Venti replies honestly, a wide and familiar smile stretched across his face, “that’s all I
wanted to know. But the Fatui, wow, who would have thought?”

“You know them?” Scara frowns.

“I bumped into them once or twice. I…” he trails off, sounding pained, “I got kicked in the
gut once when I refused to give one fiery lady a relic she was looking for.”

“You— huh?! Who was this?”

Venti shrugs, “she was tall and, uh, blonde. Hot. Like I mean, smoking hot. And liked to wear
this black mask-tiara-hybrid hat thing.”

“… did she by any chance have a look on her face that looks like she constantly wants to
crush you under her six inch heels until you’re ground into dust?”

“Yes.”

“Signora.” Scara bites out, before registering what he just heard, “wait, Signora kicked you in
the stomach? What the hell? Why? What relic did she even want?”

“Just an old family heirloom. I don’t fucking know either,” Venti shrugs, but strangely begins
to steer the reigns of conversation in a different direction as if to avoid touching the subject
again, “but anyway, thank you for telling me. Now I understand why you ran. I can’t imagine
what it must have been like to be a part of that… group.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scara grumbles, turning his head away and feeling the back of his neck heat
up, “don’t think this makes us friends or anything by the way. I was just answering your
damn question.”

“Oh but, roomie,” Venti trills with bubbles of glee, “we’ve just had our first adventure, our
first fight, and our first heart-to-heart all in one day! That does seem very friendly to me.”

“No.”

“If you say so, roomie.”

“Venti, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up—”

Venti hums, “whatever you say, roomie.” And leans over to hug Scara’s arm.

Scara could rip it away at any given moment. He could kick the guy to the other end of the
cell and yank his stupid braids until he learns not to touch him like that again.

Instead, he sighs, “what are the guys gonna say when they find out…”

“The guys are gonna say a lot,” growls a dark voice from beyond the metal cell, and three
men step into the light from the shadowy corridor to stare at them.

Heizou looks pissed, Kazuha looks disappointed, and Xiao just looks exhausted beyond
belief.

“You guys had one fucking job—”

“Heyyyy, roomies!” Venti cheers from over Scara’s shoulder. “I missed you!”
“ONE. JOB.”
 Pinnochio
Chapter Summary

Xiao: father, when can I LEAVE to be on my OWN, I’ve got the whole world to see—

Chapter Notes

look… things have NOT been good vibes lately

but here’s a long chapter to make up for it

also, a few things:

Xiao’s relatives (namely Aunt Jiefeng Uncle Dieshan and Zhuyang) are derived from
their Chinese titles

Moon Carver: 削月筑阳真君 (Xuē yuè zhù yáng zhēn jūn)

Mountain Shaper: 理水叠山真君 (Lǐ shuǐ dié shān zhēn jūn)

Cloud Retainer: 留云借风真君 (Liú yún jiè fēng zhēn jūn)

Please bear in mind I am not a native Chinese speaker so these are just rough names I
designated them based on their in-game titles, because obviously “Aunt Cloud Retainer”
sounds stupid.

The same goes for Raiden, which is a real name, unlike Shogun which is (I think?) a
title

Also TW for this chapter, references to suicide// implication of past suicide attempt. It’s
not detailed or anything, but just in case.

EDIT: her name has been changed to Xianyun now that she has an official name

EDIT 2: and the guys now lol

See the end of the chapter for more notes

As luck would have it, Venti and Scara are not kept in jail for months or forced to pay some
inane fine for the war crimes they committed that day at the mall.

Apparently Heizou knew the Chief Officer rather well — who was that scary brooding lady
with the uneven bob and hellfire in her eyes — and that connection was the one that saved
them from a life in state pen and kept their records clean as a whistle (in Venti’s case
anyway).

Truth be told, it was a close call, one dangerously close to having them whisked into court
and settling it the old-fashioned way. Thank the heavens that poor officer they assaulted
opted out of pressing charges, or Lumine really would have blown her fuse the second she
heard the news.

After a long day of assessments and negotiations, having to write a formal apology letter to
the guy (Lawrence, his name was) and to the staff of the grocery store they had accidentally
ransacked, it finally blows over and the five of them are able to return to the peace of their
home.

Even Scara, normally dead-set on finding any opportunity to let his irritation be known, is
silent as he lies slumped sideways on their pale leather sofa, legs reclined and cheek cupped
in his palm.

Their living room is spacious. On the eastern side is the arched doorway leading to the
hallway of bedrooms, and to the south is the open-aired kitchen separated only by a white
marble counter.

While the others were busily kept at the station to settle all the boring legalities and pinned
under the weight of Kujou Sara’s watchful gaze, Xiao had taken the liberty of returning home
and setting up the TV.

So now, here they are, the five of them sprawled across several sofas and watching idly as
some game-show plays out in the back.

It’s all white noise to Xiao, who can feel the weight of his eyelashes like concrete pulling his
eyes closed – and a quick survey around the room tells him he isn’t the only one. Venti’s
already fast asleep, flopped on his side and half-lying on Kazuha’s lap – who doesn’t seem to
mind in the slightest.

Scara, funnily enough, is engrossed in the game show with amusing ferocity as he calls out
answers and swears every time he gets one wrong.

Xiao stifles a yawn.

From his side, Heizou notices, “ah, tired? It really is late. What’s the time?”

He checks his phone and grunts, “almost half one.”

“Jesus.” the guy mutters, “we need to hit the hay. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

Xiao nods.
From across the room, Kazuha chimes in, “ah, that’s right. It’s funny, really, how you’re the
only one of us who has a proper job.”

“Heyyy,” Heizou pouts, “what about me?”

“Being a private investigator doesn’t produce a consistent salary though, does it?” Kazuha
points out.

“Well that’s true, I guess. What do you do again, dude?”

“I own a martial arts school with my sister.” Xiao replies, stretching his arms over his head
and getting ready to go to his room.

“Oh yeah. Hehe, Kung Fu Panda, are you?”

“Hilarious.” Xiao deadpans, “I’m going to sleep.”

“Wait, wait.” The detective grabs Xiao’s wrist, “at least wait for the show to finish. The guy’s
about to win!”

“I don’t care.”

“Oh don’t be such a wet blanket.”

At that moment, the host’s voice resonates in static, choppy volume as he calls out the final
question:

“Final question, folks! Genre: folklore.”

“What is the name of the famous German allegory about a god of gales who soothed a
weeping dragon?”

“Shit!” Scara cries out, pulling at his hair as though it would prompt his brain into deep
recall, “I know this. My stupid mother used to tell me this fairytale. Fuck, I forgot the name.
AGH.”

Kazuha snorts and mumbles to the two of them, “this is so unlike him it’s rather endearing.”

“I agree,” Heizou rolls his eyes, “on it being unlike him, not endearing.”

“The god of time and wind?” replies the contestant, “Lord Barbatos?”

There’s an explosion of cheers, a bombardment of crisp gold confetti, and the contestant can
be seen in tears as he embraces the host and expresses his gratitude at being given the
opportunity to come on the show.

Scara curses under his breath, “shit, that was the name.”

“Wait, isn’t that the name of Venti’s alias on Spotify?” Kazuha pipes up.

Xiao says nothing.

“That’s right,” Heizou nods, “isn’t that right, Xiao?”

His eyes flutter open, “why are you asking me?”

“Well you listen to him, don’t you?”

“…”

“Don’t you?”

“How the fuck did you know that. Are you a stalker?”

“I’m a detective,” Heizou shrugs as he reclines back and casts a smug glance towards him, “I
figured you knew him when he mentioned it that day with Lumine. You looked like a cat that
had been dunked in water.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Wait, so you really do listen to Venti’s music?” Kazuha tilts his head, “why didn’t you say
anything?”

Xiao closes his eyes again, feeling the sounds and lights in the room warp with his tiredness,
reality fluctuating like a watery dream, “what’s there to say?”

“Well I’m sure he’d appreciate knowing someone who actually enjoys what he creates.” The
blond reasons, and he has a good point.

Xiao just closes his eyes tighter, “I don’t think it’s necessary, is all.”

But as always, Heizou is able to see right through Xiao’s masquerade, as though all his walls
are made of glass, “you’re worried… that addressing it will change the way you perceive his
music?”

“…”

“I see. It must mean a lot to you, huh?”

“Can you stop that?” Xiao growls out.

“Stop what?”

“That. Detecting. Whatever. Stop it.”

“Well, am I wrong? They say you should never meet your idols, and you’re worried that’s the
case right here aren’t you?”

“Who knows.”

Heizou falls silent. Kazuha and Scaramouche exchange a look.

Xiao can feel his consciousness slipping away as black blotches begin to cloud his vision.
He’s so tired, god, so tired.

He hauls himself up and turns to leave. But, again, he is stopped — this time by a tune that’s
playing out from a phone.

It’s a song he’s familiar with, dreamlike and melancholic, and sung by a voice so radiant he
can almost see stars dance across his vision.

His treacherous body reacts like a plant basked in sunlight, muscles unclenching and the calls
of sleep beckoning him harder, more intensely.

He sighs through his nose and behind him, he can hear Heizou snort loudly.

“Wow, this is my first time hearing his tunes. I didn’t expect the guy to have such good
pipes.”

“It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” Kazuha muses. They all cast their eyes down to stare at Venti
himself, currently slumped on Kazuha’s lap, sleeping soundly and loudly and looking utterly
unperturbed by the commotion they’re all making. “He has such a lovely voice.”

Scara rolls his eyes, “if that’s even him.”

Three pairs of eyes turn to look at him.

“What?”

“What do you mean by that?” Xiao asks carefully.

“Well I mean, I don’t know if you guys noticed, but Venti isn’t exactly the most reliable
source when it comes to — well — anything.” The guy says like he’s explaining to idiots that
the sky is blue, “who’s to say this guy even is him? What if he just name-dropped the
motherfucker?”

“That…” Kazuha trails off.

“Seems awfully in-character for him.” Heizou finishes, and then barks out in boisterous
laughter, “you hear that, Xiao?”

“Well, regardless of whether he is Barbatos or not, I’m not telling him I like his music. And
you guys better keep your mouths shut too,” Xiao breaths out, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’m
going to our room before I pass out.”

“Ngngnfjd wait for me then. You can’t just leave without your roomie.” With a whine,
Heizou shoots up, trailing after Xiao who’s already disappeared into the dark hallway.

That leaves Kazuha and Scara, left alone together and forced to carry Venti’s unconscious
state into bed.

✳︎✳︎✳︎
“My family want to meet you.” Is what Xiao says the next day when he returns home for
lunch.

He’s still dressed in his work uniform, unconventionally simplistic for what Heizou would
assume to be a traditional gi or even a ruqun. Yknow, the type of attire you’d expect as a
martial arts coach.

Instead, he’s wearing plain black palazzo pants, billowing up near his ankles, and a simple
white shirt with the school logo deep set and sewed onto the left breast.

He has to admit, the simplicity of it all does a really irritating job at making Xiao’s already
striking features all the more noticeable. The spiraling jade of his tattoos can be seen peeking
out from under the fabric, and his hair — tousled and loosely tied back — accentuates his
features in a way that makes him look like he came back from a photoshoot rather than a
fighting class.

This bastard really needs to get that perfect face ruined somehow. It’s like staring into the
sun. Ugh.

Of course, being a decent, self-reigning person, all Heizou says is, “Hello to you too.”

“I made lunch! Ratatouille~” Venti singsongs from his spot at the table, where all of them are
already sat and digging in.

“It’s tasty. I didn’t know you could cook so well,” remarks Kazuha with a semi-full mouth,
eyes crinkling.

Venti huffs, “I’ll have you know, of the myriad of talents I possess that you all don’t know
about, cooking is just one of them. You underestimate me.”

Scara snorts between mouthfuls, “sounds dubious but okay.”

“Hey!”

“Guys.” Xiao says, louder, “did you not hear what I said?”

“Your family wants to meet us, that’s great.” Heizou drawls, “what, do you want us to throw
a party or something?”

“Absolutely not. They—” he stops.

“They?” Kazuha prompts.

“…They’re very particular.”

“How so?” Heizou yawns before grabbing the hem of his shirt and forcing the guy to sit
down and eat.

“All families are different. We won’t judge you, Xiao,” smiles Venti. He takes Xiao’s bowl
and pours in steaming chowder, swimming with onions and carrots and potatoes.
“That’s not what I mean, it’s just— they—” Xiao growls and bunches some of his hair
between his fingers, “they’re different.”

“Dude, my mom literally gave my sister the same name as her so that no one would notice
when she took over the family business.” Scara’s eye twitches, “so spit it out.”

Kazuha looks flabbergasted, “I’m sorry, your mother what?”

“They’re sophisticated.” Xiao finally manages.

“Oh. Well I figured as much,” Heizou shrugs, “I mean, it’s pretty obvious you come from
some deep-pocket Chinese heirs or some shit, since you’re the one who mainly paid for,” his
hand flies up in a gesture towards the house, “literally all of this.”

“Is that all?” Venti takes a bite of his food, “what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that they’re sophisticated,” Xiao grits out. He looks ready to throw the damn
ratatouille in their faces, “and — how do I word this nicely? — you’re not.”

A round of gasps.

Venti looks deeply wounded, “you wrong us so, Xiao! How dare you say we aren’t posh
enough for your hotshot relatives! How rude!”

“You were literally a street rat a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well, times change. I’m a different man to what I was back then.”

Kazuha is also frowning, “do you really believe we aren’t capable of living up to your
parents’ expectations, Xiao?”

“It’s not that,” he says, “its—”

“It’s exactly that,” Scara pipes up, adding coal to the flames, “he’s embarrassed of us.”

“Shut the fuck up. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It kind of is, dude.” Heizou sets his spoon down, “Uncool. Uncalled for.”

“They plan to meet us at the Celestial art museum in town later tonight, do you guys even
have formal attire to wear? Anything suitable?”

“Pfft. Who on earth needs to look so dapper there of all places. What, we trying to impress a
few wishy-washy paintings? Seduce the Mona Lisa, mayhaps?” Venti chuckles.

“Okay first of all, there’s no one in the world who doesn't know that’s in France. And
secondly, my father is going to be hosting an event there. He’s decided to donate some old
family antiques, and auction off the rest. Stuff like porcelain vases, printed screens, jewelry,
stuff like that. Dating back all the way to the Qing dynasty.”
“Holy shit???” Scara gapes, “dude, are you an aristocrat or what? Why the hell are you
working as a martial arts teacher—”

“You guys are missing the point,” Xiao scowls, “you wanna prove to me you guys can handle
my family? Show me what you’re gonna wear. Now.”

“No sweat,” Heizou tips his chin up, “prepare to be bedazzled.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“What the fuck is that.”

Heizou pats down the shirt — white, collared and slightly creased — dangling from a
clothing hanger with a pleased look that’s entirely unwarranted.

“My fit of course.”

“That’s your uniform.”

“Ah, ah.” Heizou frowns, “now now, I’m on suspension. So this isn’t my uniform, not for at
least two years now.”

Xiao inhales deeply. Slowly. He counts to ten in his head. He turns his head up to god and
prays for patience or an untraceable handgun.

Then he opens his eyes, “I am not going to let you wear your fucking work clothes to the
gallery.”

“Why not?! Just stick on a tie, a jacket, some shined up shoes, and I’ll fit in with all the other
classy dullards there.” The guy insists, like Xiao’s just shot down the best idea he’s had in a
long while.

That is worrying, indeed. “I feel like you have a very wrong impression of just what exactly
we are going to.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “and even if, for some godawful reason,
you do want to go ahead with the tie, the jacket, the shiny shoes, you still have your fucking
badge embedded into the material, you idiot.”

“…oh yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe your family will appreciate you having a friend
who’s a cop. Make them feel you’re secure, you know? Safe.”

“You are barely a cop. You’re a detective, who’s on suspension anyway. And I have a black
belt in seven different combat sports, so safety isn’t an issue here.”

“You’re like a walking paragon in every possible way and I fucking hate you for it.” the guy
says, “you know that right?”
“And thirdly, my family are not some kind of old-money ultraconservative magnates or
whatever the fuck kind of impression you seem to have of them. They won’t appreciate you
turning up at an art gallery looking like you walked out of a Halloween party.”

From Heizou’s right, Kazuha nods, “indeed. Heizou, you need to realize, he mentioned that
his family is really quite traditional.”

“That’s not what I’m saying! And what you’ve got on is even worse!” Xiao barks, looking
close to passing out, “why do you look like you’re on your way to a cosplay convention?”

Kazuha blinks before turning his head down to stare at the deep scarlet kimono slung over his
shoulders. The rest of the ensemble, fit for a samurai and paired with a haori jacket and
hakama leggings, are bundled in his arms, while his hair is tied back to display the plating of
(fake?) armor attached to his shoulder.

“But it’s traditional, no? I thought they’d appreciate something a little closer to home.”

“If you wanted something closer to home, try a hanfu. And this is not what I meant either!”

“Then spit it out!” Scara snaps from Heizou’s other side, “one moment you’re saying they’re
too sophisticated for us, the next you’re saying they’re not that posh. Make up your mind,
goddamn it!”

Xiao doesn’t miss the way Scara very unsubtly tries to hide behind his back an outfit very
similar to Kazuha’s, except this time drenched in shades of purple, red, black.

God.

His shoulders slump, “They just want to know you guys as… you. So just be yourselves. But
that doesn’t mean you can act like slobs. Be civil, polite, and don’t insult them by treating
them like 19th century British aristocracy.”

“…” Heizou folds his arms.

“…” Kazuha looks away.

“Wow. You managed to say so much and yet absolutely nothing at the same time.” Scara
says, “your ass must be pretty jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth— ow!
Dude?!” He sticks his elbow hard into Heizou’s torso in retaliation.

Xiao looks to the last one with dwindling hope almost snuffed like a damp flame, “please.
Please tell me at least you understand what I’m trying to get at here.”

“Of course, Xiao! Don’t worry. It has to be personal, got it.” Replies Venti cheerily as he
holds up his outfit, “this over here, take a look. It’s a German bard garb, very traditional but
also something I so adore! Over here is a hat that goes with it. And the corset… and look!
Bloomers!!”

Xiao stands up, “we are going clothes shopping. Now.”

 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Well, hello there. Aren’t you all just adorable? How can I be of service?” The assistant
cooes and, from the name tag, her name is Ying’er.

“Uh yeah,” Xiao gestures to the four guys hobbling behind him, dragging their feet like
children sent to detention, “we need outfits for a formal event we’re attending today.”

She clasps her hands together, “how fun! A formal event, you say?” Her eyes glint, “ah, but
you’re so easy on the eyes, are you sure it’s formal clothes you’re looking for~? I’m sure
they’d appreciate seeing a little more of you~”

Heizou bursts out laughing.

“Okay. New shop.” Xiao turns around, seizing his chain of hostage roommates behind him
and in full stride to the exit.

“Alright, alright.” laughs Ying’er, making no move to stop them. Xiao halts anyway. “How
feisty. Oh well, please follow me, then.”

She turns on her heel.

The department store is large, with at least three storeys ranging from wedding dresses and
designer handbags, heels tall enough to pass as public hazards, embroidered belts and ties,
uniforms, sportswear, trainers, cosmetics, nails, even a goddamn Halloween section when it’s
barely even June.

Ying’er passes breezily through it all, heels clicking against the tiled floor and pausing only
to exchange brief pleasantries with her colleagues.

From the corner of his eye, Xiao can see the rest of the guys trailing behind him.

Scara has his hands stuffed in his pockets, hood pulled up and face tilted firmly towards the
ground, like simply being in such a flowery — dare he say, effeminate — place is enough to
strip away whatever shreds of masculinity he thinks he has.

Heizou, on the other hand, looks thoroughly disinterested, while Venti stops every two
seconds to “ooh” and “aah” at whatever trinket catches his eye. Every now and then Kazuha
has to pull his arm to hurry him along.

They arrive at a section scattered with mannequins donning tuxedos with bow ties, a range of
different jackets and waistcoats. There are shelves lined with shined shoes and black boots,
folded shirts, two-pieces and three-pieces, all in a color scheme of muted greens, and blues,
and reds.

It’s all very classy, very fancy, and very stuck up.

“Perfect.” Xiao says.

“Bleugh!” Venti says.

Scara wrinkles his nose like he’s about to have an allergic reaction to the place, “dude, you
want us to look like fucking waiters?”

“This,” he snaps in response, “is what you’d be expected to wear at a formal event.
Something you’re clearly not used to. Stop making a fuss.”

But even Kazuha is frowning. “But, Xiao, it feels rather… rigid… don’t you think?”

“Look,” he pinches his nose and sighs, “I know you all don’t want to. But it’s just for one
day, so please just suck it up? Please?”

Ying’er returns to them shortly after, having disappeared moments before into a narrow door
of what he guesses is staff-only storage room.

In her hand is a tape measure.

“I’m afraid this section here doesn’t have all the sizes on display. The rest of the stock is in
the storeroom.” she explains, “It wouldn’t be a problem normally, of course, but given all five
of your…” her mouth twitches, “vertical measurements, I don’t think we have anything out
here that would fit you guys.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

Scara bares his teeth. “What did you just say, bitch?”

“Scaramouche!” Kazuha splutters, “don’t call her that!”

“She called us short!”

She pulls open the tape measure, “one at a time, please.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

It takes a lot to coax Scara into letting her get anywhere near him. Whatever the hell kind of
height complex he must have, he’s clearly clinging onto it like a drowning man.

But eventuallly, Ying’er manages to collect all of their measurements. Shoulder-to-shoulder,

round the torso and waist.

Seeing her disappear into the back end of the store to collect their outfits, Venti takes the
chance to explore the shop.

He grabs Kazuha’s hand and scurries away.

Heizou watches them trail off into and beyond the maze of clothing racks and shelves. Then
he turns to Xiao.

“Are you sure this is necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you taking this a little seriously? Just a teeny bit?”

“Not even a little. You guys are the ones who have no grasp at all about how to act in these
kind of events. I mean, really, were you raised in a barn? Texas, maybe?”

“Neither,” replies the detective cheerfully, “the Japanese countryside, in fact.”

“Country boy? That fits.”

“Thank you— wait. Hey!”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“How delightful!” Venti says as he picks up a hat that looks sort of French, like a flat sort of
beret.

“‘Baby Smooth Skin Guaranteed Within Thirty Days?” He gasps as he reads out from a bottle
of pastel purple lotion, “wow!”

He tries on a knitted winter scarf with mini Santa Clauses stitched onto the ends, “so warm!!”

“How cute!” He says to a fluffy phone case with googly eyes stuck onto the back.

“Venti.” Kazuha laughs after watching this show for far too long, “do you perhaps have a
shopping addiction?”

“Are you perhaps banned from Amazon.” Scara deadpans from behind them.

Venti blinks while he tries on a bucket hat, “no?? What makes you think that?”

“… no reason.” They both say.

“This shop is just different to what I’m used to, ehe! So many floors, such sleek structure, so
many brands! How chic!”

“Dude.” Scara looks flabbergasted, “this is a fucking department store. Do you normally get
your clothing from the back of a van or what? Charity shops?”

Venti opens his mouth.

“Don’t answer that.”

Venti closes his mouth.

“You do look rather adorable in that bucket hat though,” muses Kazuha, playing with one of
the ears, and the guy simply glows at the compliment.

“You look like a lamp.” Scara says.

Venti puffs up his chest, “try all you like, but I know my worth.” He bats his eyes, “you’re
simply melting at how adorable I look right now, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You want to smush my cheeks.”

“I want to smother you, sure.”

“What a tsundere.”

Kazuha snorts.

Scara turns to glare at him.

Kazuha covers it up with a cough.

“Oh! Oh!!” Venti cries out, very very loudly, and very unexpectedly. It scares the hell out of
them both.

“What’s wrong?” Kazuha asks.

“What the fuck?” Scaramouche covers both his ears and winces.

“I love this song! Barbara Pegg, she’s my idol—”

…Yeah, Scara really is considering smothering the guy.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

When Ying’Er finally returns, there are five boxes piled in her arms. Looking closer, Xiao
can see that they’re packages with outfits inside, and all are half encased with sleek glass
covering the top.

He picks up one to take a closer look. Peering in, he sees that it’s got everything already in it
— suit, tie, shirt, pants. Even a fucking boutonnière.

She must notice his approving look, because her smile widens, “I took the liberty of getting
the entire ensemble ready for each of you since you seem to be in a rush. And I also used my
professional opinion to choose colors for each of you, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes,” he says in a daze, “I mean, no I don’t mind, and yes we are in a rush. Thank you. That
saves us a lot of time and effort.”
She giggles, “anything for you, darling. Instead of a tip, perhaps you’d appreciate spending
an evening with me instead~” his face falls slack again, and she laughs louder, “only joking,
relax.” A pause, “sort of.”

“…”

“Now,” she continues, “let me explain who’s is who. This one, the one with the crimson tie?
That’s for the blond one, and this green one…”

Halfway through her monologue, Xiao notices his four roommates in the distance from over
her shoulder.

Heizou is there with them now, laughing at Venti, who looks like he’s been invited to an
impromptu dance battle. Twirling and spinning, he has a scarf in his arms as he waltzes
around, even grabbing a nearby mannequin as a dance partner.

“… now this fabric should be hand dried, or preferably in a cold cycle, with a very specific
type of laundry detergent to use…” Ying’Er is saying.

He watches as Venti twists around in an attempt to twirl his inanimate dance partner, but fails
spectacularly. And ends up snapping the plastic arm clean off.

Shit.

“Pardon?”

“Er—” he flicks his eyes back to her, “I said, lit. Yeah, lit. These outfits are…” he swallows,
“lit. Very lit.”

“…”

“How do you want your payment?” He hurries quickly, pulling out his wallet. Desperate to
get out of the place.

She opens her mouth.

“Please, just give me a straight answer. Please.”

She snorts and pulls out a card reader, “pay here, please.”

“Thank you.”

And after that, he grabs the boxes, strides over to where the guys are trying their best not to
look too conspicuous as they try to reattach the lost limb of the mannequin, and drags them
out before anyone can call them back in.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

The Celestial art museum looks less like a gallery and more like a palace.
Its large, and pearly white, with a stained-glass dome arching at the very top and sandwiched
between two towering bartisans.

Venti can’t help but feel giddy as they park up and get out of the car, in suits and shined
shoes, touched up and feeling ever-so-regal.

It’s just past sunset, and colorful lights of green and blue and pink are cast at the entrance,
where hundreds of other guests are flocking, in all their money and regalia.

As they walk along the red carpet leading into the main hall, he does feel grateful that Xiao
forced them to change attire. To wear bloomers in such imposing company… ah, for shame!

Scara lets out a low whistle as he takes in the view, “are you sure we’re here to meet your
parents and haven’t accidentally wound up at the Met Gala?”

“I told you,” Xiao steps into his line of sight, tapping away at his phone for a second or two
before pocketing it, “my father is here to host an auction. After that, he’ll take us to dinner.”

It should honestly be illegal how good he looks right now. Jaded hair tied back and slicked
smooth, with only a few strands let loose and falling across his cheekbones, and the suit
looking just comfortable enough to hug his frame without looking too tight, while leaving the
honed muscles of his neck, and sliver of his tattoo, exposed. Budded earrings are attached to
his ears and metal ringlets encircle his fingers and wrists… goddamn, he sure feels like he’s
going to die of heatstroke if Xiao keeps this up for too long.

And it’s definitely not just him, because every heiress and sultan or whatever the hell kind of
rich people seem to be attending here, Venti doesn’t miss the way their eyes flick towards the
guy, drawn like flies to a lantern.

That’s not to say that the rest of them aren’t, of course, dressed up as well. His own braided
hair is tied back behind his head, while his fringe has been swept nimbly to one side.

While Scara didn’t seem to change much apart from wearing the outfit, it’s clear Heizou and
Kazuha also made an effort with the way their hair has been tightly tied back, and powdered
faces masking their natural flush.

It’s just that, standing near Xiao, they really do look like an idol and his backup dancers, a
lord and his lads-in-waiting.

“Venti? Are you even listening to me?”

He snaps awake, blinking blearily as Xiao’s sharp gaze bores into his, “pardon? Hehe, sorry. I
I was just trying to work out everyone’s estimated networth here~ this would surely be a
good place to earn some easy cash. Oh, if only I brought my guitar with me!”

“Don’t even think about busking here, you idiot.” The guy scowls, and even that is
unnecessarily gorgeous. Goddamn. “and as I was saying, the auction is going to start in about
half an hour, so just hold on until then. Mingle, but please,” he rotates his head to glare
pointedly at every single one of them, “please don’t embarrass me.”
“Xiao, don’t stress,” Kazuha reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, “we’ll do our best to make a
good impression to your family.”

“We’ll be good boys! Don’t worry!” exclaims Scara with no shortage of sarcasm.

“Fine. Let’s go then,” and with that, they continue walking along the red carpet leading
indoors, “if you guys get lost, just phone me please. I can’t deal with anymore bullshit today.
Venti, stop that.”

Venti’s hand drops from where he was waving like the Queen of England. “Tch, this is my
first time on a red carpet, Xiao! Let me practice my Windsor Wave just this once.”

“Excuse me?” A trim voice greets them from the doorway. It’s one of the members of staff,
smartly dressed and checkboard in hand, “invitation, please?”

As Xiao hands them over, someone else approaches, tray in hand. She looks like a caterer,
balancing five tulip-glasses filled with sparkling wine on a tray.

“Would you like some complimentary—”

“Yes!!!” Venti grabs a cup and takes a large gulp.

Xiao pinches his arm.

“Ow! Oh. Er, I mean. Thank you very much. Much obliged, my dear… maid.” He drops
down in a curtsey.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Er…” the woman looks between them, where Heizou looks like he’s about to piss himself
trying not to laugh.

“I’ll have one as well,” Kazuha says eventually, taking a glass and smiling apologetically at
her.

She nods and scurries away.

“This is going to be a long night.” Xiao mutters.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

In the ten minutes that follow, they advance as a group deeper into the museum. They pass
the early 20th century pieces, the colorful swathes of fauvist paintings and some more bleary
expressionist forms of art.
Kazuha stops to observe each and every one of them, looking keenly interested, which Xiao
can appreciate.

What he does not appreciate, however, Heizou’s constant one-liners and quips that make him
want to roundhouse kick him into the next day.

“This looks like the picture I once drew in kindergarten for my cousin.” he snickers at a
painting riddled with swirls of blues and golden bursts of light. “I was trying to recreate that
scene in Tangled,”

“This is clearly inspired by Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’,” Kazuha folds his arms and looking
scandalised beyond belief, “it really is quite sonorous once you pick apart the story it’s trying
to tell.”

“Don’t know what that means.” Heizou replies cheerfully, “all I see is a pretty lake and some
fireflies?” He gasps, “and look! Is that a coffin?”

“That’s a log.”

“Potaytoh-potahto. Let us move swiftly on.”

Scara, a few feet away, suddenly pipes up, “oh wow. How do you feel about this one, folks?”

Heizou strides over to where he’s standing, takes one look at the painting in front of them,
and laughs so hard a few passersby begin to stop and stare.

“Guys.” Xiao hisses.

“Fucking hell, man, I—” he wipes his eyes. Beside him, even Scaramouche looks close to
breaking down as well, “who the fuck would paint such a thing?” He squints at the
information plaque, “what’s the name of this thing…‘naked man with rat’…”

Heizou looks at Scara.

Scara looks back.

They burst out laughing.

Kazuha rolls his eyes, while Xiao looks ready to commit murder.

As if sensing his energy, Heizou takes a step back, slotting himself nearly behind
Scaramouche, who scowls and moves out of the way.

But luck is his salvation, because Xiao’s phone rings out at that particular moment, and as he
pulls it out to check, it’s clear it’s someone important.

“I need to take this,” the guy says, still looking like a bomb about to blow, “for the love of
god, I’m tired of telling you guys to grow up. I’m fucking tired. Please, god, please can you
act your age for one fucking night?!”
He raises his voice at that last bit, and multiple guests turn to stare. But he ignores them,
casting a bitter stare back at his roommates before turning on his heel to find somewhere
quieter to answer his phone call.

“…” Heizou purses his lips, “well…”

“Guys.” Kazuha’s eyes narrow, “he’s right though. You guys are being very immature.”

“Kazuha. How can I not be, when this painting is literally named ‘naked man with—”

“No.” The guy replies sharply, “just stop it. Can’t you see? He’s really worried.”

“…”

“You can see it too, I know you can.” Kazuha continues crossly, “You don’t need to be a
detective to figure out that this dinner is more than just his family meeting his friends. He’s
really hoping we make a good impression.”

Scara looks away.

Heizou looks down.

Kazuha sighs, “let’s just find somewhere quiet and wait for the auction to start, okay? We
have fifteen more minutes.”

“Uh,” Scara squints, “what about Venti?”

“What about him?”

“He’s not here.”

“What?” Kazuha turns around, scanning the area, and realises he’s correct, “oh my god.
Where’s he gone?”

“What an idiot.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Venti thinks he must look like a bit of an idiot, head tilted upwards at a 90 degree angle as he
stares at the ceiling, but he can’t help it. He’s always been an admirer of the aesthetic side of
— well, anything — and the stained-glass dome that had been visible from outside looks
even more dazzling from the inside.

For one thing, the colors are a lot more saturated, and the little pinpricks of light from below
make it look like it’s almost glowing.

He knows the rest of the guys have probably wandered off already, and that he’s likely
separated from the group. But it’s alright.
He’s about to fish out his phone and snap a photo of it when a soft, masculine voice clears his
throat beside him.

It’s one of the guests, dressed in a wide-sleeved shirt of stunning white and a scarf of deep
scarlet wound around his neck. He’s pretty, really pretty, with dark caramel skin and pale
blond hair tucked behind his ear and curling at his neck.

In his hand is a briefcase, “appreciate the view?” He gestures upwards.

Ears reddening, Venti simply laughs it off, “if, by view, you mean the ceiling, then definitely!
I’ve always been a fan of mosaics and colourful architecture, so whoever designed this
building deserves a raise.”

The man laughs, and it sounds like bells chiming together. Very pretty indeed. “Oh, that
means a lot, honestly. I definitely do wish I bargained at a higher price when commissioned
for this place.”

Venti blinks once, twice, thrice. “Uh, pardon? Wait, so you mean you’re…”

“You can call me Kaveh,” he smiles at Venti’s dumbfoundedness, “and yes, I designed this
place. Well, more specifically, this part of the building, including the stained glass dome you
seem to really enjoy.”

“Wow, honestly!” Venti exclaims, “that’s amazing, you sure have a keen eye for this sort of
thing. I can’t imagine how long it must have taken to make.” He lets out a dreamy sigh, “it
must look absolutely stunning in the daytime.”

“That would be correct. When the sun is hanging smack-bang in the middle of the sky at
noon, you can see the entire color spectrum cast like a kaleidoscope at your feet,” there’s a
well-warranted pride in his voice, with a tinge of giddiness that somehow suggests that he’s
not used to getting such enthusiastic responses to his work, “you haven’t been here before
then?”

“Oh, no no,” Venti shakes his head, “I’ve never been to one of these before. Let’s just say I
haven’t reached that level of pretentiousness to attend things like auctions and galleries just
yet, hehe!” Then, he adds, “er, no offense, of course.”

“Oh, none taken. Honestly, I was only dragged here by my idiot roommate.”

Venti gasps, “same! By my idiot roommate. For different reasons though, I’m sure. Does
yours particularly like auctions?”

Kaveh lets out a winded huff, “hardly. I think he’s just here to show his face. He’s pretty
well-known with a few of the people here, so it would be a good opportunity to make some
connections. As for me…” he trailed off, staring wistfully into space for a moment or two.

“As for you?”

The guy slumps with an air of self-pity reminiscent of a puppy, “truth be told, business hasn’t
been great for me lately. I need the money, so I was hoping coming here would help me catch
people interested in my services, yknow? God knows they definitely have the money if
they’re coming for an auction.”

Venti laughs, “I see. So that’s why you came to me. As a potential future customer.”

“Guilty as charged,” Kaveh grins, “but… I’m guessing you aren’t here for the auction
either?”

“Nope,” Venti says, popping the ‘p’, “but I do hope you’ll manage to snag a bunch of clients!
From what I’ve seen so far, you seem to really know your stuff. Where are you from, if you
don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m Iranian. The dome was inspired by architectural styles from back home, actually.”

“How gorgeous!” Venti applauds, “seriously, good luck, Kaveh. And I didn’t even introduce
myself! I’m Venti.”

“Nice to meet you, Venti. It’s a shame, you seem like a real nice guy. I would have totally
given you a discount if you decided to hire me.”

Venti laughs, “honestly, I’m nowhere near rich enough to rent an apartment, let alone hire an
architect! But my roomie is loaded, and we just moved into a new house. So maybe, in
future, I’ll think about it.”

“That’s great. Feel free to give me a call, here’s my card.” He hands a slip of paper, shined
gold and contact details embedded into it. “Ugh, I can see Alhaitham now. That’s my
roommate. I better catch up to him before he starts wondering where I’ve gone.”

Following Kaveh’s gaze, Venti sees who he’s referring to. The man is tall, really tall, clad in a
simple tuxedo with a tie of daunting green. His hair is gray and falling in swathes across his
forehead. He’s darker than Kaveh by a few shades, and totally ripped. His muscle mass looks
to be almost bulging out of the constraints of his tuxedo.

Venti lets out a low whistle, “that must be a good view to wake up to every day.”

Kaveh rolls his eyes, “don’t even. What that guy has in looks he balances out with
temperament. He’s a pain in the ass, constantly nagging and giving me shit about the tiniest
things.”

“That’s some pretty intense homoeroticism I’m sensing,” Venti grins, and Kaveh groans.

“Please don’t.” He says, like he’s heard this multiple times already.

“Alright,” Venti laughs, “still though. He’s fine as hell, you gotta admit that.”

Before Kaveh can reply, another voice, deeper than before, breaks through their conversation.

“There you are. Where are the others?” It’s Xiao, looking on edge and so tired. His eyes flick
between Kaveh and Venti, “am I interrupting anything?”
“Well, well. Looks like I’m not the only one.” Kaveh pipes up with a teasing grin in Venti’s
direction.

His ears redden, “now you listen here—”

“Don’t worry, you weren’t interrupting.” Kaveh continues easily, picking up his briefcase, “I
was just leaving. Bye, Venti. Let’s meet again someday.”

Xiao watches as he leaves and disappears in the crowd, before turning to Venti, “what was
that about?”

“Oh nothing, nothing you need to worry about, my dear roomie.” Venti pushes a strand of
hair out of his eyes, “just mingling like you said. What’s up?”

“I was on the phone with my dad, he’s about to start in five. Where are the others?” There’s a
strange look in his eye. Irritation, perhaps even anger. Whatever that phone call was, it put
him in a bad mood.

“Don’t know,” Venti says with a shrug, “I was pretty distracted. Kazuha’s with them though,
so I’m sure they’ll meet us there.”

Xiao doesn’t look convinced.

Rolling his eyes, Venti hooks arms with him, “why so serious, hm? Loosen up a bit! I know
we can be a tad bit annoying—”

“— a tad?—”

“—but have some faith! We can behave if we really need to. Come, come, let’s look at some
pretty paintings together.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

The main auction site is held in the center of the main hall of Celestial Gallery. There’s a
stage set up at the very front, just before a statue that looks to be Greek or something of that
caliber. Several seats have been set up before the stage, with workers flitting in and out to
help guests find their places and offer more complimentary snacks.

Heizou snags something off the tray of a caterer walking past, a wrapped up sweet of some
kind.

There’s still no sign of Xiao or Venti, which is worrying, but Kazuha chooses to believe in
them. Xiao definitely will be coming soon, and as much as Venti likes to take on the facade
of an airheaded, light footed fool, it’s obvious he’s not as immature as he likes everyone to
believe.

Truthfully, the only ones worth worrying about are the two guys currently with him at that
moment, mocking paintings and artworks in one breath and then squabbling at each other's
throats in the next.
Honestly, it’s like watching cats and dogs. Or siblings.

“When is it going to start.” Scara groans, rolling his shoulders and looking ready to fall
asleep.

“Whennnn is it goingggg to staaartt,” Heizou mimics, scrunching his nose and voice raising
in pitch.

“Don’t try and act funny with me, you son of a bitch.” Scara snaps.

“Guys, honestly. Can’t you put aside this animosity for one day? One hour?” Kazuha
suddenly realizes this must be how Xiao must have felt the entire day, “and don’t worry, it’s
going to start very soon.”

But of course, Heizou being Heizou, ignores him completely, “It’s a free country, what are
you going to do about it?”

And of course, Scara being Scara, rises to the bait, “asshole.” And elbows the guy, hard, in
the side.

Heizou yelps, sounding like a cat whose tail had been stomped on, and the wrapped up sweet
he was halfway through opening is flung out of his hand.

“You bastard! Look what you did.” Heizou hisses, shoving himself past Scara to try and
retrieve it.

It had fallen under one of the exhibits, beside the foot of a marble statue, separated by a brass
red-roped stanchion.

… Which Heizou promptly ignores, dropping to his knees and crawling under it.

“Heizou!” Kazuha hisses, looking around in case security is close by, “get out of there at
once! You can’t go there.”

“Just let me get it. It won’t be a second.”

“Heizou!”

Just then, a booming voice breaks out from speakers, and glancing over his shoulders,
Kazuha can see that someone has taken the stage. One of the museum staff.

“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for joining us this evening! Please begin to take your seats,
we will be starting now.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Are you an art fan, Xiao?”

“Not really.”
“I see.” Venti hums, staring at the piece of artwork they’re currently scrutinizing, “so this, all
this, means nothing to you?”

Xiao shrugs, “it looks nice enough. I wouldn’t go crazy for it though.”

“Hm. That’s fair. The colors are rather bleak.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

A sideways glance, “you an art fan?”

Venti ponders over this, “I suppose it depends. Music is an art, and I like that. And I can
appreciate beauty when I see it. That man I was talking to, he’s an architect. Designed this
building.”

“Oh wow.”

“Hmm but in terms of art art. Eh, not really.” Venti looks at the painting one more time, “this
one in particular is a little boring. Like I said before, bleak.”

“How about this one?” They continue moving forward, until they’ve reached a small
opening, where a framed picture can be seen hung in the middle and attracting lots of
attention.

There’s a lot of camera flashes, a lot of ‘oohs’ and ‘aah’s, and so Venti glances at the plaque
out of curiosity.

“Oh my!” He cries out in delight, “this was made in Germany!”

“Hm?” Xiao peers over his shoulder, “so it was.”

Finding an opening, they manage to squeeze through and get a good look at it.

Their breaths simultaneously hitch.

The painting is old, at least five centuries old, but it’s an odd sort of familiarity Venti feels
when he sees it.

The painting itself looks to be almost split into two, with both sides starkly contrasting each
other. The top half of the canvas is covered in fair shades of white and blue, while the bottom
half is drenched in abyssal blacks and reds and sickly greens.

There are two figures, he notices.

From the top — the bright side — looks like an angel, with grand white wings painted large,
wide and high enough to touch the heavens, while the other figure is near the bottom, looking
almost trapped within darkness. Almost like ropes are chaining him down, like he is a fly
caught in a spider’s web.
So starkly different the two are, and yet they’re embracing, with the angel cupping the
trapped one’s cheek and pressing their foreheads together, their hands entangled, their eyes
closed.

“‘The Anemo Archon And The Last Yaksha’”

Venti jumps, “huh?”

“That’s what the painting is called.” Xiao says, but he has an unreadable look on his face.

“Ah, haha! So it is.” Venti rereads the plaque one more time, “what a coincidence, I used to
love the folktales about him as a child. I was named after him, you know.”

Xiao looks incredibly surprised at that, “wait, seriously?”

“Well, yeah. You didn’t really think Venti was my real name right? It’s Barbatos—”

“Me too.”

“…” Venti gawks, “your real name is Barbatos too??”

“No.” He gestures towards the painting, “I was also named after someone — him.” He points
to the desolate figure, mask covering half his face and looking like a demon embraced by an
angel. “Alatus.”

“Alatus is your real name?” He blinks, “wow, I never would have thought. Are you called
Xiao then cuz of your—”

“For the last time, my name means swift not short,” the guy snaps, and Venti bursts out
laughing, “and anyway, all my siblings were named after the Yakshas.”

“Ohhh, I see. I’ve never heard of them. What are they?”

“They’re a part of Chinese folklore. Illuminated beasts that purged the world of demons. I
won’t go into the details, but you can find more stories online. Long story short, though, they
all passed away, until only one of them was left.”

“That one being Alatus?”

Xiao says nothing.

“Are… are you alright?” Venti frowns, tightening his grip on Xiao’s arm, whose eyes are
trained on the painting, misty eyed, and his hands are shaking ever so slightly, “Xiao?”

He snaps out of it, blinking back at him, “what? Sorry. I was just thinking about…” he laughs
then, but it’s a bitter sound full of something unreadable, immeasurable, and unforgettable,
“… about how ironic, and also how perfect, the names turned out.”

“… oh…” Venti remembers their conversation with Lumine, weeks ago, fresh in his mind.
When I was very young, I lost my four siblings and mother in a freak accident.

“I’m so sorry.”

Xiao doesn’t reply.

Venti clears his throat and tries to lift the mood a little, “well… I was named after Barbatos.
But I never realized him and this Alatus guy were shipped! How adorable.”

“Well the story of the Last Yaksha says that in one of his final moments, when death was at
his door, a god of wind and song played a melody for him, and saved him from corruption. A
lot of people theorize it to be the Anemo Archon, and I guess this artist believed in it too.”
Xiao shrugs.

“You sure know a lot.”

“It’s just stupid old folktales. Anyone knows it.” Is his reply, a little too defensively.

Venti hums, “it’s romantic though, you can’t deny that. How poetic, a divine angel and a
corrupted demon-slayer. Oh, tragedy of the star-crossed lovers!”

Xiao simply rolls his eyes.

“Still, I think it’s nice,” Venti playful demeanor worn away, he smiles ever so slightly, “that
we were both named after such beautiful legends.”

“Actually,” Xiao falls silent.

“Actually?”

He looks unsure about something, “I was wondering…Is the name Barbatos, then, related to
your music—”

But he’s cut off by a voice — piercing, loud and scaring the hell out of them since they both
happen to be near the speakers — announcing the commencement of the auction.

Guests begin to flock towards the main hall, ready to begin, and Venti and Xiao share a
glance before following in suit.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Shikanoin Heizou, the auction is about to start. Get out from under there this instant!”
Kazuha hisses.

Heizou, on all fours and inching ever so closer to the sculpture, scoffs, “you’re overreacting.
No one will notice, or care. I’m just grabbing something.”

“Two of your roommates have just got out of jail, are you really going to risk getting hauled
after them for the sake of a sweet?” Kazuha insists, “and you, stop recording this right now!”
Scara snickers from behind where his camera is facing the scene, Heizou inching closer and
closer in order to try and retrieve the candy.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Up at the podium, the curator of the museum has a mic in hand, smiling wide. Guests politely
clap and most are already readily seated save for a few clustered along the edges.

“I’d like to thank you all, tremendously, for being able to attend this event….” He begins to
say.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Almost… there…” Heizou strains, reaching his arm out.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Rest assured,” the curator continues, “this will be an evening well spent as we go over the
collections being auctioned off today — from exquisite folding fans and screens, painted
urns, jaded murals and more!”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Heizou’s finger touches the tip of the wrapper.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“But first, it’s only proper to show our thanks to our kind benefactor who arranged for this
all.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

So close, Heizou thinks, and so very ready to smugly prove Kazuha’s worrying wrong, as he
starts to shuffle backwards with his treat in hand.

But he misjudges the distance between the barrier and wall, foot snagging onto one of the
narrow copper legs, and the railing collapses on top of him with a sharp bang.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

“Please give a warm welcome to Mr Zhongli!”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

The alarm is set off, high-pitched, blaring and really fucking loud.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

A very handsome, very confused man, tall and dark haired, stops halfway as he walks on
stage.
 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

Alarmed and terrified guests leap from their seats in a state of panic fuelled by the booming
siren echoing throughout the hall.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

And amidst all this roaring chaos, comes Venti’s incredulous: “BLOCKHEAD?!?!?!”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Xinyue Kiosk is one of those places often heard of, frequently yearned, almost always on
someone’s “someday” list, but hardly ever truly attended.

It’s funny, in a way, how out of everything that had happened to them that day, from mingling
with diplomats and heiresses to almost getting whisked away by the museum security, that
the restaurant is what finally forces them to sit still and try and make a good impression.

If Mr Zhongli hadn’t butted in, Kazuha dreads to think of Lumine’s reaction to their third
roommate being whisked away into a dingy prison, all in the span of less than a week.

“I still can’t believe it,” Venti is saying as he takes a seat at the long dining table readily
reserved just for them.

The man, Mr Zhongli, casts a tired glance at the boy, looking astutely similar to his son, and
Kazuha has to hide a smile from behind the back of his palm.

“I wasn’t aware that, when my son said he had gotten some roommates, you’d be one of
them, Barbatos.” He doesn’t look too pleased.

Venti, on the other hand, looks very pleased, “wow, what a reunion! How many years has it
been? Great to see you again, you old fart.”

“What a reunion indeed. Although it’s to be expected, really, that our first meeting comes
with you almost ruining my charity event and scaring all the guests away. You always were a
magnet for chaos. It’s a miracle you haven’t wound up in jail already.”

Venti laughs, a little too loudly, “jail? Meeee? Neverrr!”

“Remind me again, how the hell do you know each other???” Xiao gapes.

“No, no, no,” a sharp voice interjects, and it’s Scaramouche. “Before that, why the hell didn’t
you tell us that the CEO of MORA-X is your fucking father?!”

Xiao bristles, “this precise reaction,” he bites out, “is exactly why.”

“Alatus, really.” A woman with red-rimmed glasses, donning a white feathered blouse and a
silken dress drawls, “it’s quite rude keeping your friends in the dark like that.”

“Aunty,” he folds his arms, “you didn’t even know I had moved out until this evening.”
Aunt Xianyun frowns, and from beside her, one of her brothers makes a sound that could
have been a gruff laugh, or a bemused scoff.

The humiliation must have gotten to Heizou, Kazuha thinks, because the boy is deathly silent
as he sits at the table, eyes glazed over and silently taking in everything. He doesn’t blame
him. He’d probably want to erase his very existence too if one of the biggest names in
everyday media had to personally get you out of detainment.

MORA-X, one of the world’s leading banks, parent to the two sister companies Qixing Inc.
and Adeptal Enterprises, and all its shareholders were at one table.

Well, this certainly explains where all Xiao’s money comes from, Kazuha thinks.

But there still are many, many questions, left.

So he says, as politely as he possibly can, “it’s a true honor. We’ve heard lots about you all,
so please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Kazuha. This is Scaramouche, Heizou, and over
there is Venti, although I suppose you must already know him somehow.”

Aunt Xianyun seems pacified enough with that start, “such a well-mannered child. Is our
Xiao being well-behaved?”

“Aunty.” He grits out.

Finally, Heizou chuckles, but his face hasn’t become any less red, “well, dude, if you don’t
want them to start talking to us, introduce them yourself to us.”

“Fine. This is my Aunt Xianyun, and my Uncles Jiehu and Houzhang.” He gestures to the
three of them. “My sister couldn’t come today, her daughter is sick.”

Beside the feathered woman are two men, both with a tall and imposing stature. Uncle
Houzhang looks unimpressed, and impatient, with constant side glances to the clock hung on
the far side of the right wall like he has somewhere to be and not enough time to get there.
Uncle Jiehu smiles politely at Kazuha, but he too, looks thoroughly disinterested.

“Alatus has been begging us to meet his friends for many weeks now,” Aunt Xianyun
continues, rolling her eyes but her lips quirk up, “it’s a shame Ganyu couldn’t attend, but
poor Qiqi has a belly ache. She was so excited to meet her brother’s friends.”

Kazuha blinks.

He knows Heizou must be thinking the same thing, because his grin turns tight, “ah, is that
so? We were under the impression that you wanted to see us. At least, that’s what he told us.”

From a few seats away, Xiao stills.

“Is that so?” the woman frowns, “how strange. We never—”

“Venti, you didn’t answer my question,” Xiao interrupts, loud enough to draw everyone’s
attention.
“Hmmm?”

“How do you know my dad?”

“Oh,” Venti nudges Mr Zhongli with a look not unlike when you see the old teacher you used
to torment as a child, “I met him during college.”

“What? When? What college did you even go to?”

“All irrelevant details.” Venti waves it off, “but I was eighteen. We met at a bar, hehe, and he
offered me a drink. And it wasn’t just us back then, there was a whole group of us. Seven, I
think? We were buds. Or, well, we used to be.”

“Well what happened?”

Venti opens his mouth, before closing it again, falling strangely silent.

“People change, move on,” Zhongli’s voice breaks the silence, “now enough of all this
nonsense. This is about you, Xiao.”

Xiao, like a switch, scowls. “What about me?”

His father frowns back, “is something wrong? You wanted us to meet your friends.”

Heizou, Kazuha, Venti and Scaramouche all turn to look at him.

“Really?” Venti tilts his head, “you didn’t invite us then?”

Xiao folds his arms, gaze fixed firmly to his plate like it’s the most interesting thing in the
world right now.

“Honestly, Barbatos, why would I? I must confess, this is the first time I’ve heard that you of
all people are one of Xiao’s housemates, but even then, why on earth would I invite my son’s
new friends to an auction? I may be off the mark here, but it doesn’t really seem to be your
generation’s… taste.”

All four of them shrug in agreement, “yeah that fits.”

Heizou clicks his tongue and leans back on his chair, “well this is a predicament, isn’t it?
Xiao told us you were the ones dying to meet us.”

Zhongli frowns, “did he now? That’s strange.” He turns to look at his son, “very strange
indeed.”

If that was a prompt for the guy to speak up and explain himself, Xiao doesn’t take it.

Zhongli continues after a while, “in fact, while I am beyond pleased that he’s found himself
some reliable company, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of him moving out in the first place. We
were doing fine on our own, I rather miss him in the house now—”
“Fine?” Xiao finally speaks up. “Fine how?”

“What do you mean?”

“Fine, we were fine at home? No, no. Don’t give that bullshit.”

“Alatus!” Aunt Xianyun snaps, “that is your father. Show him some respect.”

Xiao falls silent, eyes trained onto his plate once again, hard set and unreadable.

“No,” Mr Zhongli frowns, setting down his drink, “continue, Xiao. What exactly do you
mean?”

“We were fine a year ago, sure. We were even fine last January, sure. But to say things are
fine in the house now is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? I mean, especially because of that
overweening bastard.”

“Alatus.” Mr Zhongli is still calm somehow despite Xiao’s growing irritation radiating off of
him in waves, “I’m aware it’s a bit of a change for you, and I know it’s hard, but I will not
allow for you to address your stepfather in such a way.”

“Oh wow!” Heizou tries to laugh, “isn’t this getting a bit deep? Hahaha! Let’s, uh, let’s all
look at the menu, guys! Wow, they serve caviar! I hear that’s some real rich palate. Let’s
order some.”

“We already ordered in advance, everything is on its way—” Aunt Xianyun tries to say with a
strained smile.

“I can, and I will.” Xiao bites from his side of the table, “I hate that bastard, I always will
hate him. He’s a pain in the ass, a literal snake that has you wrapped around his little finger.”

“Ajax tries very hard with you, Xiao. You need to be patient with him.”

“No I will not. I’m a fucking adult, I don’t need to like him and especially not when he may
as well be my brother with that stupid age gap between you two.”

“Xiao!”

“I just don’t get what the hell your problem is. You get upset when I say I can’t stand being in
the same house as him, and you get upset when I say I’ve decided to move out.”

Finally, finally, Mr Zhongli’s calm exterior cracks, and it’s a stone-hard assertion that
follows, “fine. Then let me ask you this. Am I the only one giving mixed signals here?”

Xiao opens his mouth.

“You were the one who forced me to invite these boys, and now here you are throwing a fit.
What exactly is the reason?”
“So you can finally meet them and leave me alone.” Xiao snaps, “so you can understand that
I left the house for a valid reason, and I do not need to be kept under house arrest 24/7.”

“I’ve never once said anything about that—”

“You may not say it outright, but it’s obvious, father.” The boy snaps, “why is it so hard for
you to trust me? I take my meds every day. I attend all my sessions with Lumine. I have a
job, students, colleagues. I am not the me from before, so for the love of god, please stop
acting like you have to keep me under watch 24/7. Like I might just end up jumping off a
building otherwise.”

Now it’s Mr Zhongli’s turn to fall silent. In fact, the entire table is still, hushed under the
heavy atmosphere. It’s only fortunate that they had booked a private room of the diner, away
from the public commotion of other guests.

Xiao turns to his left, to each of his housemates, “yes, I lied. They didn’t ask to meet you. I
wanted them to. And the reason being is because my father, civil as he may be to you right
now, absolutely hated the fact that I was moving in with some roommates. It’s clear now that
he never really believed me when I said I don’t plan on self-destructing anytime soon.”

From beside him, Venti presses a gentle hand to his arm, “Xiao—”

The guy stands up, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

When he’s gone, Mr Zhongli’s face, stone-cold and stoic, finally cracks.

He buries his face in his palms.

Venti sighs and rubs his shoulder, “I guess… that’s your son?”

And Scara, despite everything, looks dumbfounded, “are you seriously asking that? Are you
that stupid?”

Venti simply smiles sadly, “remember how I said I knew Zhongli back after college? That
there were seven of us?”

“… yeah?”

His eyes turn wistful, “well, things weren’t the easiest for any of us. And this blockhead,
well, he mentioned his son to me a lot. He mentioned a lot of things, actually.”

Mr Zhongli finally looks up from his palms. Kazuha had expected tears, but his eyes are dry
and hard.

“I apologize for all of this. I should not have let our guests witness this familial dispute.”
There’s a rigid formality thickening the sentences, prompting the rest of the boys to reply in
weary and polite dismissals.

However, Mr Zhongli’s eyes soften, “he was right, however. I was not happy at all when he
told me he was moving out. I had always known he had never gotten along with my new
husband, but I had never imagined it would be to the extent of his moving out. So when he
told me Lumine had arranged alternative living arrangements for him, I thought he was being
awfully childish.”

He stares into space for a few moments, “now, I think I see that this was no new desire of his.
Ajax was the breaking point, but he had wanted some independence for a long time. I should
have given it to him.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Aunt Xianyun sighs, “I daresay we all are guilty of
treating Alatus a little like he’s made of glass. But it’s to be expected, especially after that
awful…” she trails off, “…after Guizhong and the rest of the children… and every moment
after.”

The man says nothing for a long time.

Scaramouche gets up very suddenly. Apart from Mr Zhongli, they all turn to look at him. He
doesn’t say a word as he gets up and leaves the room, the large oak door slamming shut
behind him

“…” Kazuha and Heizou exchange a glance.

Mr Zhongli finally looks up. There’s a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He looks
at Kazuha, at Heizou, and finally at Venti.

He says, “May I just ask— how is everything? How is your new house? Is he… doing well?”

Kazuha smiles, “I couldn’t ask for a better housemate.”

“He and I got locked in a cellar for two days.” Heizou adds, “it was torture.”

“He’s a sweetheart.” Venti chirps, “He makes sure the rooms are clean, he nags us when we
haven’t eaten. Like a little mama hen.”

The man doesn’t respond.

“He’s doing great, blockhead.”

“Good.” Mr Zhongli says slowly, very slowly, “I’m glad. I’m glad he’s doing well. I think,”
he swallows, “I think it’s about time I trust that he is.”

“And, yknow, you are allowed to worry sometimes, you old fart.” Venti nudges him, “you’re
a father. It’s your job.”

And finally, Mr Zhongli smiles.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Like the upscale fine-diner it is, the Xinyue Kiosk bathrooms are ridiculously, criminally,
preposterously deluxe. The floors are tiled with smooth onyx marble, where one could
practically see their own blemishes in the reflection. The sink is hands-free and forged in
gold, while the chandelier is large, lustrous and lined with silver and pearl-white quartz.

Even Xiao, having long gotten used to the ways of the wealthy, what with his own heritage
meaning that he had been born with a — quite literal — silver spoon in his mouth, still can’t
help but feel a bit disdainful at this overly opulent display of money. Jesus.

He cups his palms under the gilded sink and brings the water up to his face. It's refreshing
and cold against his skin, so much of a relief that he doesn’t care that his red eyeliner is likely
smudged. He pulls out a tissue from a (pearl-encrusted!) tissue box and daps at the corners of
his eyes to wipe away the remaining excess of powder.

He inhales slowly and leans into the mirror.

Behind him, the door to the bathroom swings open again, and he makes eye-contact with the
new presence through the window, but he doesn’t stop reapplying the red-rimmed makeup.

“You look like shit.” Scaramouche remarks, sliding up next to him and leaning against the
counter.

“Yeah, well, having an argument with your father who still believes you’re going to kill
yourself will do that to a person.”

Scara hums in thought. He’s sitting on the counter now, leaning back dangerously close to the
hand-dryer. His presence triggers it to start up and blow hot air into his face, causing him to
yelp and shuffle away from it and subsequently closer to Xiao.

“Did they send you over?” he asks with a mild side-eye.

The guy scoffs, “no. Why would they? If they wanted to send someone to comfort you, the
best bet would be Kazuha.”

“Fair.”

“You still look like shit.”

“I’m touched you feel the need to repeat that. Really. Thank you, Scaramouche.”

The guy frowns, “no, I mean it. Are you even looking at yourself?”

Xiao opens his mouth, a disdainful snap poised at the edge of his tongue, when he catches
sight of his reflection in the mirror and realizes the dude is right. The shadowy powder is
smudged wildly, trickling in uneven trails across the side of his face and– oh, his hands are
shaking.

Scara rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle from his hand, “idiot. I’ll do it.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared so much about cosmetics.”

“I don’t.” he bites back, quick and harsh, “but all your moping is pissing me off. Come
closer.”

Xiao obeys and Scara pushes a damp tissue to the corners of his eyes, wiping away the
smudges, and begins his work.

A long-drawn silence falls over them.

It must be awkward, Xiao thinks, but he’s too tired to feel the tension. He knows he must at
least say something though, and is about to open his mouth when Scara speaks out.

“My mother used to do this to me.”

“It’s sweet that you’re taking on this maternal role for my sake then, Scaramouche. My own
mother has passed away, so thank you for filling in the gaping hole she left behind.”

He bares his teeth and and scowls at him so vehemently that Xiao can’t help but laugh.

“Son of a bitch.” Scara glares, “Anyways, as I was saying. My mother used to do this for me
and my sister when we were younger. So I do know a thing or two about how to dress up.”

“I would have never guessed, with your depressing fashion style.”

He ignores him, “I used to enjoy those moments. They were one of the few times she’d spend
time with me alone. I was a child back then, but even still she cared a lot about her children’s
public appearances.” he tilts Xiao’s chin to the right slightly, “I may as well tell you know
that my mother is the CEO of Euthymia Communications.”

Xiao blanches, “now who’s the one keeping their deep-pocket family history a secret?”

“Probably because I don’t consider her family anymore.”

“... what happened?”

Scaramouche shrugs, “a lot of things. Or maybe too little.”

Xiao thinks that’s the end of the conversation, and is ready to steer away the subject, but his
companion surprisingly continues.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew your father, actually.” he pauses, “no, actually, I’m
certain she knows him. She also mentions the ‘seven’ a lot. It seems my mom, your dad, and
our roomie have some sort of history together.”

“Small world.”

“Indeed.”

Xiao hesitates, “...Scaramouche–?”

“You’re going to ask me why I hate her, aren’t you?” the guy laughs, short-winded and bitter,
“there are a lot of reasons. Lots and lots. I won’t tell you most of them, but I will say this.
While you hate your father for worrying too much about you, I would have done just about
anything to make my mother even remember my own name.”

“I don’t hate—”

“Look, I’m not trying to compare us. The fact that we both go to Lumine just shows we have
our own fair share fucked up life experiences that don’t need sizable comparing. But still.”
the makeup is finished now, so Scaramouche leans back, handing back the eyeliner and
admiring his work.

Xiao doesn’t check in the mirror. His eyes are locked on Scara’s, “Can I ask you something?”

The guy snorts, “oh, go ahead. I can’t promise i’ll answer, but just spit it out. I’d rather you
be upfront about it than try and slowly weed your way into the touchier topics.”

“You said once that your mother plans to have your sister succeed her in the company.”

“I did.”

“Is that one of the reasons? For your hating her?”

“Oh, definitely. One of the biggies, actually!” the guy is laughing but there’s a deep-set, sour
pain miring his voice, “Raiden is a snake. I hate her. I pray to god one day that bitch gets
what’s coming to her, but Mother is convinced that my little sister is an angel rather than the
gorgon I know that she is.”

“Ah.”

“Ah? What do you mean ‘ah’? Does this mean you’ve connected some dots?”

“You’re bitter that she is the one succeeding the company rather than you?”

“I couldn’t give two flying fucks on a pogostick about that stupid company.” the guy snaps.

“But it still hurts.”

“Of course not. Who cares if my mother never gave me the consideration she did with my
little sister? Who cares if she forgets sometimes that she has two kids, rather than one? Who
cares if she sent me off to Shakkei Boarding School as an excuse to try and ‘toughen me up’
when the reality is, she never gave a fuck about her first child.” there’s a hysteria miring his
voice, iron-hot anger like liquid spilling from his tongue, “who cares? Ha!”

Xiao purses his lips, “... as the youngest child of five, I can’t claim to understand. I was
always mother and father’s favorite, though my siblings never seemed to mind–”

“Pfft. Now who’s the one good at pep-talking?”

“–but, Scaramouche, from what I’ve heard from Lumine, she does seem to really care about
you–”

“Care? Please. She only got involved with me again now because of that stupid kid. Kusunali
—” he stops. “Look, dude, I came here to comfort you, not tell you my entire life story. And I
don’t appreciate you trying to defend my mother when you don’t know the full story.”

Xiao’s lips twitch, “you came to comfort me?”

Scaramouche, realizing his mistake, explodes, “no! I came to get you to stop griping about
your father and his stupid husband. You know what this is giving?” his voice heightens into a
comic drawl, “‘i’m Xiao, and i’m SO upset that my father loves me soooo much and cares
about my safety even after i’ve moved house, I absolutely haate all this love but also I hate
that he loves anyone other than me, aka my stepfather.’”

“Wow. It’s like looking into a mirror.”

“I know right.” Scara hops off the counter, “look, dude, I’m gonna wrap this up since we’ve
been here for way too long. What I’m trying to say is, I know you’re upset but please for the
love of god let it go. I also know that you’re not just upset about what’s been mentioned this
evening, and I don’t know anything about what problems you and your father have
undergone after… that accident. But at the very least, lemme give you some life advice.”

“Wow. Life advice from the angry misanthropic goth? This should be good.”

“I have a step-mom too. Sly as a fox, second only to my sister in terms of bitches I hate most
in this world. And let me tell you, I despise her guts.” he pauses, “But. In her presence, my
mother – however cruel and calculating she may be – smiles a little wider when she’s there,
and is a little less unbearable in her presence.”

“...”

“I may hate her, but I'm no monster. Mother hasn’t looked this happy since Aunt Makoto was
still alive.” he shrugs, “I still hate them both. Mother and Miko. But if they want to spend the
rest of their lives together, well, who am I to stop them?”

“...”

“Get it, dude?”

Xiao, finally, turns to look at himself in the mirror. Scaramouche did a good job. His eyes are
bright and neatly red-rimmed, and his tear stains have faded considerably. “Thank you.”

“Hm. You look a little less like shit now. Let’s go back.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Upon their return, the food had already arrived and was readily served. The tension appears
to have eased somewhat, and Kazuha looks to be in deep conversation with Uncle Jiehu
about some tedious topic like poetry or something.
They all fall silent, however, as the two of them sit back down on their places once again,
with Xiao settling back between his father and Heizou, and Scara on the detective’s other
side.

Mr Zhongli glances up from his conversation with Venti and stares at his son for a few beats.

His son stares back.

I’m sorry, father. He wants to say.

What I said was rude and impulsive, and I hope you can forgive me.

The truth is, I’m grateful you care, and I am glad that you’ve found someone who has made
you as happy as mother once did.

The truth is, I care a great deal about your opinion and I had really hoped you’d be
supportive in my decision to leave the house.

However, all he says instead is, “Come visit tomorrow, Father. I can show you the house. I
think you’d like it. You can have tea with us.”

Mr Zhongli smiles gently, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

The rest of the meal thankfully manages to progress as normal, and actually better than Xiao
had expected.

Rocky beginnings aside, it’s a pleasant surprise to see that his family do not disapprove of his
housemates nearly as much as he had initially expected. Xiao’s lessons in etiquette and
manners have clearly flown out the window and away to Easter Island, seeing as how none of
them seem to remember any of the pointers of polite speech he had instructed them to follow,
but his aunts and uncles don’t seem to mind. In fact, they look a little amused. Perhaps even
endeared.

“And then we caught the perp,” Heizou is saying, hands flying up in animated speech and
gestures as he recreates a case he had once solved, “and we unmasked the man, and boom!
Guess who it was? The landowner. Sneaky bastard.”

“My word!” Aunt Xianyun exclaims, “what a plot twist! But it all makes sense, looking back.
He was rather obvious.”

Heizou is nodding, “I often find that retrospect is a wonderful thing.”

Kazuha is laughing, “Heizou, have you considered signing with Netflix? Or a book agency?”

Scara adds wryly, “I know someone who can hook you up with the Yae Publishing House in
Japan.”

“You do?!” Heizou gapes.

“Of course.”

“Would you really?” His eyes are wide and sparkling.

“Hmmm…. No.”

“Scaramoucheeeee!!!” The light in Heizou’s eyes die out just as quickly. He grabs the man’s
arm and shakes it hard and sulkily.

To Xiao’s right, he notices Venti eyeing a corner of the room. He follows his gaze and sees a
mic stand, connected to what looks to be an inactive TV screen.

“Is that, by any chance, a karaoke stand?” The boy asks with barely concealed glee.

“…yes…” Xiao admits, “please don’t tell me you want to–“

“Yes please!”

“Dude. This is Xinyue Kiosk, not McDonalds.”

“Pfft, what kind of McDonalds has a karaoke machine?”

“Karaoke?” his father pipes up with a raised brow, “there’s a karaoke machine here if you’d
like to use it, Barbatos.”

“Why, thank you, blockhead!”

Xiao frowns, “father, this isn’t like you. Don’t you usually hate things like that?”

The man shrugs, “ordinarily, yes. But Barbatos, perhaps, is an exception.”

Before he can ask what the hell that means, the boy has already stood up and rushed to the
stand, preparing the mic and scanning the track list. Many minutes later, he finally appears to
have chosen a tune he likes and clears his throat, tapping the mic.

Soon, a slow sounding melody begins to play out from the surrounding speakers.

Xiao, rolling his eyes, turns to Heizou to mention something about the next case he was
narrating to his aunt when the voice ringing out of the mic stops him. In fact, it stops
everyone.

The voice is soft. It’s lilting and sweet and thick with flowers and fresh breeze and a
blanketing familiarity that fills Xiao with an all-encompassing warmth that threatens to spill
out from all sides.

Everyone at the table, from his friends and father to his aunts and uncle, are all equally
enraptured, but Xiao in particular finds it hard to breathe hearing the voice that had held him
away from the edge of insanity for so long— in the flesh, right here, next to him.
 The voice that had kissed his wounds and stroked his hair, that had dried his tears and held
him afloat when he felt like he was drowning.

The voice that had been the sole shining light during the darkest hours of his life, the one
thing that had probably kept him alive up to this point.

Scaramouche had once said that he didn’t believe Venti really was the singer he said he was.
Well, all doubts have been dispelled now. It’s almost laughable now.

Everyone else is still staring at the boy as he sings, creased eyes and wide smile behind the
mic. His aunt is cooing in appreciation, and even his stoic Uncles of whom Xiao knew had no
real interest in music looked captivated.

Beside him, Heizou’s gaze flicks towards him, then at Venti, and between at both of them for
a long time.

Then, his mouth stretches into a coy smile. He leans in and whispers, “dude. Your eyes are
practically forming into hearts right now.”

“Shut up.” Xiao tries to frown and shove the guy away, but a small part of him can sense that
he’s right.

As he gazes up at Venti on that podium, basked in the dusty midnight light of the stage, mic
in hand, he can’t help but stare and think—

Oh he is so, very screwed.

Chapter End Notes

omg lore accurate skin tones?! reference to real paintings?!

naked man with rat traumatised me the first time I saw it, so I had to share it with all of
you.
 That’s A Taco, Watson.
Chapter Summary

In which we finally see some Sherlock in action, and Scaramouche develops a phobia of
Mexican food.

Chapter Notes

another long wait, I am sorry. Another long chapter to make up for it though.

By all accounts, Venti isn’t exactly a morning person. That isn’t to say he is, of course, a
groggy hypersomniac like some of the others in this house (read: Scaramouche) but he likes
sleep just as much as any other.

But ‘ding ding ding’ rings his alarm one Sunday morning, and his eyes fly open immediately,
wide awake and bright as stars.

He hauls himself out of bed with a smile stretched wide and almost splitting his face, and
pirouettes across the room, leaping over discarded clothes and a guitar and Scaramouche’s
inane supply of hats.

He pulls the curtains wide open.

Sunlight floods in, radiant and honey warm. It encompasses the room in a golden sort of
sheen and shines directly onto the face of his roommate, nestled deep into his duvet.

It must burn his little emo eyes, because Scaramouche groans out like droning machinery and
pulls the blanket over his head to block the rays out, “Hnmgnfjd, close the fucking curtains.”

Venti, of course, just opens them wider, “the sun’s out! The bells are ringing! The sky’s
awake and I feel like singiiiing~”

Scara’s head pokes out from under the sheets, heavy-lidded and bloodshot, “Venti, I swear to
god, if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“Oh, what a wonderful day!” Venti sings louder, twirling in a ring that has his braids
swaying, “I can feel it there and here. Cranky-mouche, wanna know the reasons for my
cheer?”

“No.”
Venti waltzes over the far end of their bedroom. He looks up at his spotted Hello Kitty
calendar hanging from the wall, displaying the month in baby pinks and spotted blacks.

He points to a square, where the little square displaying the current date is circled over and
over three times in thick red marker, “my apfelstrudel!”

Scara grabs a nearby book and hurls it.

Venti dodges it with ease, skipping over to smother his roommate in a morning hug, before
finally taking pity on him and leaving him to rest.

He skips out of the room and lets the door fall shut behind him.

In the kitchen, Heizou, Kazuha and Xiao are already sat, two in fuzzy morning slippers and
pajamas, while Xiao in his work clothes and looking ready to leave. There’s tea brewing, the
burnt smell of toast, and a plate of fruit set out that looks to have been freshly cut.

“Did you hear about the G.E.O Eastern Trade Company airbus? The one that crashed?” He
can hear Xiao saying, “it’s all over the news—”

Venti waltzes in, glee diverging off of him like a radiator, and they all look up.

“Apfelstrudel!” He cries happily.

“Bless you.” Says Heizou, not looking up from his phone.

“Oh you,” Venti laughs, sliding over and slipping an arm around his waist in a squeeze-hug,
“aw, you, you, you!” He pokes Heizou’s cheek with beaming eyes and pinches it.

The guy rubs his cheek with new-nervous eyes, “me?”

Venti hugs him tighter.

From across the table, Xiao sips his tea. The corners of his mouth are twitching, “is there a
reason you’re smothering my roommate like this?”

Venti squeals.

“I’ve never seen you this happy,” Kazuha laughs, looking implausibly endeared, “and this
includes that time you won the bid for the DVD Barbie full film ensemble on eBay.”

“Apfelstru—!” Venti cries, but the rest of his words are smothered when Xiao shoves a piece
of toast into his mouth.

He looks at Xiao, who looks relieved at the silence.

They watch as Venti chews the toast happily.

He swallows.

“…”
He opens his mouth again.

Xiao rolls his eyes and feeds him another slice of toast.

Kazuha watches this all play out before finally speaking up, “so… are you going to tell us
why you’re so happy now?”

Venti beams, “ap—”

Heizou covers his mouth with his palm, “apfelstrudel, right?”

Venti nods eagerly.

“What, is that, like, a band or something?” Xiao asks flatly.

“It’s a dessert, isn’t it?” guesses Heizou.

Venti nods again, more vigorously.

“For fuck’s sake,” comes a menacing voice, half-dead and full of poison, from the doorway,
“to hell with you and your whiny ass waking me up on a Sunday all because of some German
dessert.”

“I’m sorrryyyy,” Venti glides over and hugs Scaramouche.

The guy pushes him away and walks over to plonk down on the seat beside Xiao. He leans
forward and buries his head in his arms.

They all look at Venti.

“So!” He claps his hands, “you all know Good Hunter, that cafe in town?”

“Yes?” Kazuha nods.

“Well! Sara, the owner, is my friend. She’s been promising for a few months now to update
her menu, getting in new stock other than the hashbrowns and the fisherman’s toast and
pancakes and stuff that are already there. And after months of trying to convince her, she
finally agreed to test out and enter a new menu, including—!!”

“Let me guess,” Heizou deadpans, “apfelstrudel?”

“Yes!” Venti trills and claps his hands, “it’s a dessert me and my brother used to eat, like, all
the time. It's like a slice of heaven on a plate. But it’s not just that! She’s adding apfelwein—

Xiao and Kazuha look at Heizou.

“Apple cider.” The guy translates.

“Bratapfeln!”

“Baked apples. I think.”

“Gedeckter apfelkuchen!”

“Apple pie.”

Kazuha takes a sip of his tea, “so I’m guessing ‘apfel’ means ‘apple’?”

“Well, no wonder,” Xiao muses, “you love apples.”

“Yes I do!” Venti replies cheerily. Then he slams a hand on the table, so hard that Scara, who
had only just dozed off again, jumps out of skin and swears at him, “and I have been waiting
for this day, for MONTHS. The opening ceremony is in an hour.” He wipes the corner of his
eye, “this will be the most momentous occasion of my life.”

“Ah, yes,” Heizou intones, “the day you get some apple-themed dessert. Truly a milestone.”

Venti lifts his arm up into a theatrical arch, voice lilting upward and curling into a falsetto,
“for todaaaay! I will be eating… aaapfel… struuuuu—”

The doorbell rings, putting a sharp and abrupt end to whatever new musical number he was
about to descend into, which can only be seen as a relief because Scara looks so very close to
murdering his roommate right now that Kazuha has to pat his head and feed him a cookie to
simmer his rage. At least Xiao looks somewhat disappointed.

Venti, oblivious to all except the approaching promise of apple-themed delicacies, dances
over to the front door with ridiculous levels of enthusiasm for so early in the morning, “that
must be Kaeya. Hehe, he hasn’t been speaking to me much lately — still angry about the
whole ‘lying about moving out when I was actually homeless’ thing, but haha, it’s fine! He
gets me. We’d never miss out on the debut of the Apfelmenu.”

He pulls the door open breezily, “Kaeeeyaaaa— AGH!”

Venti stumbles back, tripping over his feet and staring up at their guest with a look of potent
petrifaction contorting his face.

Standing at the doorway, arms folded and looking down at him, is Lumine, “hello, Venti.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

After taking the last available seat at their breakfast table, Kazuha offers Lumine some snacks
and drinks, while Heizou tries hard not to laugh at a despairing Venti, staring across at their
therapist like she’s satan incarnate for daring to arrive at a time when he really wished she
could have been anywhere else.
She takes such blatant disparaging regard with grace, however, which is to be expected as a
therapist having to deal with all five of them on a weekly basis, let alone Venti, “we talked
about this,” she says, looking bored, “literally at our last session, Venti. You and I both
agreed to free up this Sunday so I could come over and help you secure a job.”

Venti lets out a wounded and excessively melodramatic gasp at that, “I would never! I’m a
free bird! How could you even suggest such a thing? Let it be known that the day I let myself
be bound by the grubby conglomerates greedy capitalist hands, is the day I— I—” he falters,
trying to think of an appropriate analogy to throw at her, “… get a cat.”

“Funny you should say that, considering the heir of one of those very ‘grubby conglomerates’
paid for this very house,” shrugs Lumine.

“Oh yeah.” Venti blinks.

He bats his eyelashes sweetly at Xiao.

The guy rolls his eyes and gets up, “I’m going to work.”

He picks his bag and coat, draining the remnants of his drink the the sink before leaving. The
sound of the front door slamming shut follows soon after.

Lumine turns to Venti, “you literally agreed to this last week, during our session.”

“I have no recollection whatsoever of this.” Venti sniffs petulantly.

“I said ‘Venti, it’s nice and all that you have a home now, but busking can’t stay a full time
thing for you. You need a job, even if it’s part-time. And then you said:” Lumine’s voice
pitches higher, a mockery in some sense but also hilariously accurate in another, “but I would
never enslave myself to capitalism like you, Lumine!” And proceeded with your whole
dissertation about the grubby hands and the conglomerates and whatnot. But by the end of it,
you finally agreed to let me come over and help you job hunt.”

“Oh,” Venti says, “I’m not gonna lie, I kind of zone out when you start to drone on about
things like that. I was busy wondering, like, whether dragons would think it was cool that we
produced water from our mouths.”

Heizou face palms.

Kazuha on the other hand, sets down his tea, “no, no, he has a point.”

“Right???” Venti enunciates.

Scara rakes a hand through his hair and groans, “see what I have to deal with on a daily
basis? The other day, he woke me up in the middle of the night because he had the most
moronic nightmare—”

“Okay, I’ll have you know, getting stuck in a kitten’s cafe is terrifying because that shit could
literally kill me!” Venti huffs.
“Either way,” Lumine snaps, “I cleared my schedule just for you, Venti. So get your ass up
and get ready, we need to go.”

“But— but— why can’t we go on another day? Or later! Today’s the apfel menu opening at
Good Hunter, Lumine!”

“We can still go there, don’t worry,” she reassures him, “we can pitch up after we go through
all the places we need to see—”

“But that’ll take aaages,” Venti whines and tugs at her sleeve, “it’ll definitely be sold out by
the time it’s done—”

Lumine rolls her eyes, “I really don’t think anyone is as obsessed with this apple menu the
way you are.”

“You underestimate the popularity of apples, Lumine! And Germans!”

Lumine’s eye begins to twitch, but somehow manages to keep her smile plastered on, “Venti,
I’m a very busy person. I even had to leave Paimon with my brother for the day which — I
love him to bits, but — in case you haven’t noticed, he isn’t exactly the most reliable person
to leave child-sitting to. So please, for the love of god, let us get a move on already!”

“But—”

“The quicker we get started, the quicker we finish. And I promise you will have time to visit
Sara and see the new menu, okay?”

Venti shuts up and descends into pouty silence.

Scara yawns and stretches his arms over his head, “ugh, good riddance. Please take him away
for a long time, Lumine. I need the peace and quiet.”

She turns to him and says sweetly, “aw, rise and shine, sleeping beauty! Get your ass up too.”

Scara’s eyes shoot open, “Wh— why?!?!”

She folds her arms, “much of the same reasons for him. Namely, unemployment.”

“B-But—” Scara splutters, “he used to be homeless! I was never!”

“Nope,” says Lumine, “instead you were a criminal. Now get your ass up and get dressed.”

Scara looks around desperately. His eyes fall on Heizou. “What about him?”

“Sorry, buddy,” Heizou drawls with a smug grin, “but I’m on suspension, remember? I didn’t
choose to be off the force. And I also still do private investigating.”

Scara looks at Kazuha, “you?”

“I work at the Alcor part-time on occasion. My mother’s bar.” Kazuha replies breezily, before
turning to look at Heizou, “uh, speaking of which…”

Scara stares at Lumine with imploring eyes, “please, no. Leave me alone.”

“Nope.” Is it just him, or is there now a wicked sort of twist to her smile? “Go get dressed.”

“But!!”

“Aahhh,” she muses and leans back, “a day trip with my two favorite jobless half-wits. Just
how I’d like to spend my Sunday.”

Venti, meanwhile, looks to have had some of his sunken despair dispelled at the realization
that he won’t be alone, “Scarymouche, will you really join me?” He leans over to hold his
hand happily.

“Lumine!” Scara desperately cries out.

She checks her watch and begins to look actually irritated, “we’re running late. Go.”

“No!!”

“I’ll call your mom.”

Scaramouche runs out the kitchen.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

After they’ve left, two poor tortured souls looking like they were being sent on their way to
the gallows rather than a day trip with Lumine, it’s only Kazuha and Heizou left alone to
clear up the table and clean the kitchen.

Kazuha begins to sweep away the crumbs and trash, and gathers up the used dishes to dump
in the sink.

Heizou, meanwhile, leans back on his seat, smug grin wide across his features, “aw man. I
wish I could be there to see those guys live. I’d pay big money to see Scara try and sucker
people into employing him.” He snickers, “wanna place bets on who’ll bag the first job?”

Kazuha shoots a look of mild disapproval his way, “that’s quite unnecessary, don’t you
think?”
He pauses for a few seconds.

Then: “20 dollars. I say Venti.”

Heizou grins, “40 dollars. I say neither.”

They laugh. The mental image of either one of their ditzy roomies somehow managing to get
someone to employ them is a hysterical hypothetical to imagine.

“Anyways,” Heizou pipes up after a while, “what was it you were trying to tell me back
then?”

“Hm?”

“About your mom’s bar.”

“Oh, yes.” Kazuha dusts his hands off and turns to face him, “I don’t know if you’ve heard
but, um, it got ransacked yesterday.”

Heizou, not knowing what to expect but definitely not that, just stares at him, “I’m sorry,
what?”

“… Basically… mother phoned me this morning about it. Apparently while she and my
siblings were out that evening, they came home to it upturned. Someone had broken in
through the back, disabled the security, and snuck in.”

“Jesus. What the hell?”

“I offered to come and help her out with everything, but she refused. The police are still
investigating the break in, but…”

“But?”

Kazuha smiles weakly, “my mother… she’s awfully stubborn, so it’s no surprise that she
doesn’t want to seem in need to help even in a time like this. However, I think it’s getting a
bit ridiculous as I’ve heard from my siblings that she’s even refusing to allow the police to do
any more than necessary to get to the bottom of this.”

“I see.”

“You see why I’m telling you this?

“You want me to come with you as a private investigator to help get to the bottom of it,
right?”

Kazuha nods, looking unspeakably sheepish for such a genuine request, “I can only hope
she’ll be more welcoming if you come as a friend of mine rather than an official officer.
Since you technically aren’t.”
Heizou leans in with a teasing grin, “I don’t know, Kazuha. I don’t like to make a habit of
mixing my personal and public life all that much.”

And the guy looks so genuinely guilty over that one sentence that Heizou almost wants to
take it back, “I’m sorry. I know this is a rude request of me. I’ll pay you a hefty sum in return,
don’t worry—”

“Christ!” Heizou chuckles and raises his palms up in surrender, “I was joking, relax. You’re
my friend, of course I’ll help. Besides, it’ll be nice to meet your mom.”

Kazuha tilts his head, “it will? Why?”

“Well,” he shrugs, “I don’t know. You’re a really chilled and well-mannered person, so I’m
guessing she raised you well. She must be like that, right? Kind, gentle, motherly— hey!
Why are you laughing? What’s so funny??”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Lumine’s car is small, and very white, and impeccably bleak. As she pulls out of their
driveway and off to god-knows-where she’ll drag them to first, Scara lies on his side in the
backseat, slumped and looking halfway through to the grave, while Venti slouches in the
passenger’s seat and watches as buildings flitter past his window.

The radio is low and quiet. The background droning of the weather forecast so dull it’s
almost grayscale, close to making him fall asleep on the spot.

He leans over to change to a pop station instead.

Lumine slaps his hand away with her eyes still on the road.

“Ow.” He pouts and rubs his hand.

He reaches over again.

She slaps it again.

“Oowww!”

“Where do you even plan on taking us?” Scara’s mumbles from the back.

“You make it sound like I’m about to murder you.” Replies Lumine cheerfully.
“You may as well.”

Venti tuts, “see what I have to deal with? You guys call me dramatic but look at this guy,
acting like the world is ending because he’s forced to get a job.”

“Says the guy who looks like he just watched his entire family get murdered because he
thought he wouldn’t be able to get German pie.” Scara gripes back.

“It’s studel! And it’s not German, it’s Austrian. And delectable.”

“I hate apples.”

“And I hate you.”

“I hate you more.”

“No you don’t.”

Lumine stops the car, pulling over to park at a side street before taking out her phone.

The boys lock eyes for a moment, mutual fear reflected in both irises as they consider for a
moment whether she really would murder them.

But all she does is smile at them which is, frankly, even more terrifying, “okay! The first
place on our list is the local library. They’re looking for some help.”

“No.” They both say immediately.

She pauses, “what? Why not? That’s like, the most chilled-out job ever. 24/7, surrounded by
books and total silence—”

“Tame job? That’s my college nightmare!” Venti cries out with a full-body shudder, “I
already went through it once, and now you’re asking me to relive that trauma?”

“You love poetry—”

“So?” He huffs, turning his head away and braids swinging side-to-side, “that doesn’t mean I
like libraries.”

“Venti.”

He looks at her wordlessly, before mumbling quietly, “…Carmen and I used to sit together at
our local library every weekend. Writing songs.”

Her demeanor changes immediately, sifting into gentle apprehension, “I’m sorry. I
understand. That was inconsiderate of me. Fine, library’s off the list for you.”

Venti laughs loudly, “aha… meanwhile… Scaramouche, you don’t even need to think is it?
You must hate libraries!”

The guy scowls, “and why would you think that?”

“Well, they’re for smart people, aren’t they?”

He whacks him. “I’ll have you know, I used to consistently be one of the top students in our
year back in high school.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Until…” Scara falters, “I got banned. For uh, getting annoyed when kids would be too
loud and distracting so I’d use books in a way they’re not supposed to be used to get rid of
them.”

Venti looks at him with a newfound light in his eyes, “okay I take back everything I just said.
I love you so much right now.”

“Lord have mercy,” Lumine mutters.

“Hah,” Scara has a proud look on his face that’s absolutely entirely unwarranted, “that's what
they used to say to me. And gee, don’t I miss those words.”

Lumine slumps back in her seat and massages her temples, “I don’t know what’s worse. Your
god complex or the fact that you’ve just admitted to abusing kids in your local library by
hitting them with books.”

“Hey, I was a kid too!”

She straightens, stopping to check her hair in the side mirror, and starts the car up again.
“Well. That’s library out of the question. What’s next on my list?” She scrolls through her
phone for a few minutes, before sliding it back into her pocket, “alright, let’s go.” And drives
off again without another word.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Heizou’s first thought upon entering the Alcor bar was that it is surprisingly groovy.
Although to be fair, it isn’t like he has much of a built up perception on such things before,
either. Unlike some people (see: Venti) he doesn’t particularly make it a habit to inspect and
experience every single place that sells alcohol just for the sake of it.

Still, that doesn’t mean he’s never, yknow, been to one. And compared to others, it looks
pretty comfy. At least, he assumes it would be, because right now the place looks like a
garbage dump, with barstools discarded at every odd angle, broken shards of glass from
fallen bottles peppering the floor, and drawers and cupboards opened and emptied all out
onto the ground. The mustard-yellow police tape surrounding the scene is like the cherry on
top of this potent scene of a ransacked and upturned building.

“Wow.” Heizou says with no small amount of shock enriching his tone.

Kazuha sighs dismally from beside him, “I know. Who could ever do such a thing?”

“No, I mean wow, Kazuha, your mom is ripped. Does she juggle treadmills for a living or
what?” Heizou shifts his gaze from Beidou, a few feet away engaged in a conversation with a
nearby officer, not yet noticing them, and towards Kazuha. He pokes the guy’s skinny arm,
“is this really the woman who raised you?”

Kazuha lets out an indignant huff, “yes. She is my mother. You, too, share her
disappointment, it seems, in my lack of physical prowess. But it’s not my fault I hold more
appeal towards the weight of words than those of… actual weights.”

“That’s an awfully fancy way of saying you’re a twink.” Heizou snickers.

Kazuha rolls his eyes.

“Why, you!” A deep voice calls out,, where they turn and see in full stride towards her son,
Beidou herself.

Kazuha smiles and opens his arm for a hug, but all he gets is a headlock instead. “I told you,
you little brat, that you didn’t need to come over! We’ve got it all under control, you worry
too much.”

Kazuha, despite it all, grins brighter than Heizou has ever seen him, “I know you do, mother,
but I can’t help but worry.”

She barks out in boisterous laughter, “don’t be. Your mama has handled worse things in her
lifetime than a little break in. They didn’t take anything that significant anyway. And who’s
your friend?”

Her eyes lock onto Heizou, no less warm, and he can’t help but feel an immediate attachment
to this woman despite not even having said a word yet.

He holds out a suave hand to shake, leaning forward with his best Colgate grin, “Greetings,
Miss Beidou. I’m Heizou, one of his roommates.”

She ignores the hand completely and pulls him into a one-armed hug. Pressed against her
firm torso, it’s perhaps a little shameless that the only thought running through Heizou’s head
is that, Jesus, she really is ripped isn’t she?

“One of the house buds, huh? Well now I’m even more annoyed! Why’d you bring your
friends over, Kazuha? I wanted to meet them properly. I had an invitation planned and
everything. Now you’ve ruined the surprise. Some first impression this is, isn’t it?” There’s
still mirth in her voice though, even as she lets go of him and folds her arms.
“There’s still three more you can work to impress, mother.” Replies her son easily, “Xiao,
Scaramouche, and Venti.”

She snorts, “that so?”

“You’re a bar owner?” Heizou asks.

“Yep.”

“Then you’ve already won Venti over.”

She throws her head back and cackles, slapping a hand on his back. He almost falls down at
the sheer strength of it. “You’re a funny one. How is Kazu, anyway? It’s so quiet here now
that he’s gone. His siblings all miss him a great deal.”

Kazuha, as though sensing some embarrassing story teetering on the horizon, tries to step in,
“mother—”

“In fact,” Beidou continues, “we all miss him so much we’ve begun to dig up old pictures to
gush over in his absence, for old times sake. Shed more than a few tears at this one.”

And before Kazuha can stop her, she holds up a photo under Heizou’s nose of a boy of
fourteen, with a smiling mouth full of braces and acne clustered around his face, hair shorter
and left hanging loose under his ears.

Heizou bursts out laughing.

“Mother!!” Kazuha cries out, ears definitely burning a simmering shade of red right now.

“Just look at that scrawny kid.” His mom snorts, “looks like he’d be at the receiving end of
every bully’s fist, eh?”

“I’ll say.” Heizou wipes a tear, “he wasn’t, though, right?”

“Nah. My Kazu’s a strong one. Looks can be deceiving. He’d never let anyone give him any
shit for anything.” She replies with a tender sort of pride miring her voice now.

“Quite small, wasn’t he?”

“Very.” Beidou sighs, “he’s always been a short one. Just never got a growth spurt like his
other siblings. A pity we don’t have any baby photos of him, since we took him in at
fourteen.”

“That’s sad, I’d have loved to see that.” Says Heizou, genuinely.

“You and me both, kid,” she laments, “you and me both.”

“I’d like to say I very much regret ever thinking bringing you here to meet my mother would
be a good idea.” Kazuha sniffs primly.
“Oh, but it’s cute, don’t worry.” Heizou pokes the guy’s cheek, “and it’s been nothing but a
pleasure meeting Miss Beidou.”

“Likewise,” she grins, all teeth, “but, Kazuha, tell me now. Why are you both really here?”

“I came to see if you needed help, of course. Nothing more, mother.”

Beidou’s smile this time is a little less warm, “think I’m stupid, do you? Come on, out with it.
You hate manual labor. It’s the curse of having a kid built like a noodle.”

Heizou bursts out laughing.

Kazuha levels him with a look.

He stops and clears his throat.

“And,” Beidou continues, “you’d never bring your friends over in a situation like this. So
drop the act.”

Kazuha stares at her for a few seconds.

She stares back.

Finally, he sighs, “I suppose there’s no fooling my mother at all, is there?”

“That you can’t, squirt.”

“Well, you see,” he begins, sounding strained, “Heizou is—”

“I do private investigating for a living.” Heizou pipes up, “he just wanted to bring me over
and see if I could give any insight on the situation. That’s all.”

Which must have been the wrong thing to say, because it’s clear Beidou isn’t happy at all to
hear that, “and that’s why Kazuha called you over, did he? Well, that’s awfully nice of you to
let him drag you over, but you needn’t waste your time. We’ve got things covered.”

“It’s really not a problem—”

“Now, go on, kids, shoo.” She takes them by the shoulder, ushering them out the door and
into the outdoor sunshine, “Kazuha, it’s sweet you care so much but things are just fine. You
don’t need to bring your own private investigator here, and I’m sure you have much better
things to be doing—”

“I really don’t—” Heizou tries to say.

“Bring your friends another time, I’ll treat them to dinner!” And with that, she slams the door
in their faces.

“…”

“…”
Heizou opens his mouth, “Well.”

Kazuha stares at the door with a troubled look on his face, “She’s hiding something,”

“Wow!” Heizou rolls his eyes, “I don’t know where on earth you must have gotten that idea.
Was it the fact that she kicked her own son out of her house, or that she suddenly got
defensive beyond belief when she found out I was a detective?”

“No,” Kazuha frowns slowly, “it’s because she’d never offer to invite people over for dinner.
It’s always for a drink.”

“Right. Of course. Buff alcoholic mom and her twink son dynamics. You know each other so
well, how could I forget?”

“I’m sorry,” his roommate turns to him and sighs, “for dragging you into all this. You don’t
have to continue if she’s doing to keep making this difficult for you. I never thought she’d be
this defensive. I don’t even understand what it is she could be hiding—”

Heizou lifts a hand to shut him up, “Kazuha, I already told you, it’s fine. Besides, I’m curious
too now. Let’s do this. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He nods, “We call the police.”

At the same time, Heizou says, “we break in.”

“…”

“…”

“You wanna call the police on your mom?!”

“You want to break into my mom’s house?!”

“Pfft,” Heizou chuckles, “is it really technically breaking in, if you’re her son?”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“Come on,” he whines, “it’s the only way! Calling the police will cause so much more
problems than it’s worth.”

The guy ponders over this, “hmm… I suppose so. After all, it would be a bit awkward
knowing I’ve reported my own mother, not to mention the statement I’d have to give and
state my legitimate reasons for calling them—”

“What?” Heizou squints, “no! It’s because if we do call them, Sara will definitely come too,
and I can’t see her so soon! Heck, I never thought I’d ever see her again, but then those idiots
got arrested and it was like a jumpscare! No,” he shudders, “No, no, I’m not risking it.”

Kazuha looks flabbergasted, “so you’re saying your plan is to break into someone else’s
house. To avoid your policewoman friend.”
“Yes.”

“Who you may or may not see anyway if we end up getting caught.”

Heizou opens his mouth.

Then closes again.

Kazuha raises an eyebrow.

“Okay fair point,” Heizou shrugs, “but I still want to break in.”

“I’m starting to see why you’re on suspension.”

“Whaaaatt, let me have this movie moment, Kazuha.” He takes Kazuha’s arm, leading him
out towards the back of the building, “and didn’t I just tell you it’s not technically breaking
in?”

“And didn’t I just tell you it technically is?”

Heizou turns to him, “look, do you wanna find out what she’s hiding or not?”

Kazuha doesn’t reply.

“Hmmm?”

“Well…” Kazuha bites his lip.

“That’s what I thought,” Heizou hums, “now quick, give me a leg up.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Pulling into the parking lot of their next stop, Lumine ushers them out of the car and guides
them by the shoulders into the next place that she knows is hiring.

A globally successful company with such a high turnover rate and yearly revenue of up to
two billion dollars.

A company noble in its very nature and almost cultural in its trademark as a household name.

A company so iconic it hardly comes to that anyone would not know its name, even in the
deep streets of the city.
A corporation easily comparable profit-wise to some of the most prominent business sharks
in the world of stocks and sales.

“Welcome to Taco Bell, can I take your order?”

“Ain’t no way.” Scaramouche breathes from behind her.

Lumine chooses to ignore that, “Hi! I hear you guys were hiring?”

The employee behind the counter stares at her for a couple of moments, blinking slowly with
a drowsy air of someone who’s had far too many shifts to even be able to comprehend reality
at this point.

Poor lad. He must be so tired.

Oh well.

“Oy!” She leans forward and snaps her fingers in front of his eyes. He startles and lurches
back, “I asked a question. Are you hiring or not?”

“Uh, yes.” The guy blinks rapidly, “Are you here for the ad or the job?”

“The job. I called in advance.” She folds her arms and narrows her eyes.

“Um, please wait one moment, I’m going to have to call the manager.” He shuffles on his
feet, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves as Lumine stares him down, like he’s worried she
might pulverize him at any given moment. Scara knows that feeling well. “Do you have your
resumes with you?”

“Right here,” she fishes them out of her bag, slightly creased but still in good shape, each
individually laminated with their names boldly emblazoned on the top.

Venti peers over her shoulder, “Where did you even get those?”

Scara makes a lunge for it in a last-ditch attempt to yank the thing out of her hand and stop
her from selling him like a slave to a Mexican fast food restaurant.

She ducks under his arms with ease, sliding out of the way, and hands it to the employee.

He stares for a few long beats, before ultimately deciding that keeping Lumine waiting would
only irritate her further, and scurries away to find the manager of the place. Smart boy.

“There’s no way,” Scara seethes with his teeth bared and hair falling across his forehead,
trademark hissy cat face in full motion, “there’s no way in hell, Lumine, that I’m letting you
rope me into working at Taco Bell.”

“Well it’s either this or the library,” she shrugs.

“Library!”
“Oh.” She says flatly, “Well, tough, luck. We’re here now, so you may well get on with it.”

“Lumine, you monster!”

In contrast to Scara’s writhing and wailing, however, is Venti’s imploding enthusiasm that
appears to have grown tenfold at the revelation of this new job prospect, “Lumine, I love you
to bits!” He rushes over and gathers her up in his arms.

She pats his back with a laugh, “what happened to the whole ‘not lowering yourself into a
slave to Capitalism’?”

“Well, yes,” he hums and tugs at her hair gently, “jobs are far too restricting for my taste, but
think of all the free food here that makes up for it~”

“What? Venti, you won’t get free food as an employee here, you’re here to work.”

Venti gapes at her.

Then he releases the hug and retreats back in line with Scara, mirroring his arms folded
across his chest, “Lumine, you monster!”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, “you guys aren’t employed yet, idiots, so stop whining.
You still need to get interviewed,” catching the ray of hope flicker across their faces, she adds
ruefully, “but if you guys so much as think about self-sabotage to get out of this, I’ll shove
those resumes so far up your ass that you won’t be able to blink without without seeing it
imprinted at the back of those eyeballs.”

“‘Get a therapist’, they said,” Venti throws his arms up miserably, “‘she’ll be kind and
understanding’, they said.”

“I can’t believe you actually expect me to go from Balladeer, one of most feared within the
Fatui hierarchy,” Scara looks crushed, “to a Taco Bell employee?”

“It’s really not that bad—” she begins.

“Lumine! Columbina loves Taco Bell! Don’t you know how awkward it’ll be if I run into
her?!”

“Okay,” she shrugs, “but who doesn’t like Taco Bell?”

Scaramouche opens his mouth.

Then he closes it again.

“Exactly.”

“Will there really be no free food?” Venti laments.

“Oh my god, no, Venti—”

“Please stop mentioning food,” Scara clutches his stomach, “I’m literally starving, since
someone forced me out the damn house before I could even go and get myself something to
eat.”

Lumine folds her arms and tilts her chin up, “what, it’s not my fault you wake up so late.
What are you, a vampire?”

“I ask myself that every day.” Venti pipes up, “although I think he’s a lot more like a hermit.”

“…”

“Crab.” He adds.

Scara still has his arms around his stomach, gaze fixated far beyond their shoulders and
instead locked longingly on the bannered menu high above the order counter.

Noticing, Lumine exhales through her nose, “well I feel bad now. Go on, go order something.
I’ll pay.”

“Aaand this is why you’re my favorite,” Venti singsongs. He skips over and takes Scara’s
hand in his, pulling him along check out the menu.

Lumine watches them as the two scrutinize the options and pointing to different items on
display, Venti open and so very eager, letting out cute little gasps whenever he sees a special
deal or something that strikes his fancy, clutching and tugging and shaking Scara’s arm every
time he he does so.

Every now and then Scara would frown at him and roll his eyes and snap a word or two at the
guy, but he doesn’t pull away.

Lumine smiles to herself. He doesn’t pull away.

“Ah, sorry about that, things have been so hectic lately!” An ornate, feminine voice speaks up
just above her ear, and Lumine turns her head to see a woman in a dark pantsuit beside her,
hair disheveled and glasses askew as she smiles at Lumine apologetically. She has a clipboard
in her hand.

“It’s fine,” she turns to face her, “I’m assuming you’re the manager?”

“Yes, yes,” the lady laughs breathlessly, swatting away a bead of sweat from her forehead,
“I’m sorry about all of this, things have been a bit all over the place today.”

Lumine opens her mouth, only to let it fall shut again when she notices a long, winding queue
of men and women, trailing behind the door the manager had just walked in, and stretching
so long that it begins to wind outside and round the building as well.

It reminds her a little of her childhood, of a long line stretching half a mile that she and
Aether had once staked out for two days straight, waiting for the newest issue of some RPG
game they had been obsessed with as kids. She can hardly remember the name now, but a
sunken nostalgia builds up in her gut at the memory. God, she misses those days. She misses
the him of those days as well.

But anyway, how she hell hadn’t she noticed that queue when she walked in?

“Are those guys all here for the job?” Flabbergasted, she gapes at the sheer bulk of people
standing in line with growing dread, “I had no idea it was so popular—”

“Oh, no,” the woman laughs sheepishly and pushes a stand of hair behind her ear, “that’s
nothing to do with the job, don’t worry. We’ve, uh, been recruiting for our newest
advertisement that we’re filming.” A look of immeasurable exhaust suddenly breaks across
her face and she removes her glasses, rubbing at her eyes tiredly, “we’ve been at this for a
week now. Today’s the last day before our set is getting disbanded and we still haven’t
chosen a proper actor, let alone gotten to filming it.”

“Oh jeez.” gapes Lumine as she gestures to the queue, “are they all that bad?”

A shrug, “some of them, yeah. Others are okay, I guess, but not good enough, you know?
Never perfect.”

“I mean, do they need to be? It’s just a Taco Bell ad—” Lumine laughs, but stops at the
woman’s intense glare, “uh, my bad. Sorry.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” the manager sniffs indignantly, “after all, you aren’t
someone who’s dreamed of doing something like this ever since you were a child.”

“Your childhood dream was to direct a Taco Bell ad?” Lumine deadpans.

“No, filmmaking!” The lady looks up dreamily, “oh, how I used to think I could have it all,
getting in big in Hollywood, imagining having my name rolling in the end credits.” Then she
lets out a dismal sigh and lifts a hand to gesture around her, “and now look at me,
overworked and underpaid and up to my neck in idiots of every corner who can’t even cook a
quesarito without making me fear for my life.”

“Aw man, I feel you,” Lumine mirrors her sigh, “back then, I used to think I could be a
traveller, yknow? All over the world, with my brother, backpacking and seeing places. And
now,” she puts a hand on her hip and lets her head droop a little, “now i’m stuck with bags
under my eyes, my whiny little sister as my ward, and living on nothing but black coffee and
the stress my clients put me under.”

Both women let out long, dragged out sighs in unison.

“Anyways,” the lady perks up, holding up the clipboard, “you’re here for the job?”

“Um yeah, but not me. Two idiots of mine. Here’s their resumes—”

The woman takes them and adjusts her glasses, skimming over them, when said idiots saddle
over to Lumine at that precise moment.
“Lumineee,” Venti cooes, arm still linked with Scara’s, “we’ve ordered! I want a loaded taco
fries burrito.”

“And I want a bacon club chalupa—” Scara begins to say, before the manager lady lets out a
freakishly loud gasp.

They all jump.

With an avid look in her eye, the woman chucks their resumes onto the floor.

She rushes forward and grabs Scara’s shoulders.

“Gah! What the fuck?!”

“Young man,” the woman says with wide and slightly hysterical breathlessness, “what did
you say?”

Scara blinks very slowly, “I said ‘gah! What the fuck!’”

“No, no, no, before that!”

“… I want a bacon club chalupa?”

And with that, she lets go of his shoulders, staring at him up and down with a tearful smile,
“the one. You are the one.”

“Oh wow.” says Lumine.

Scara just looks lost, “what?”

The lady doesn’t reply, wiping the corners of her eyes with a tissue. She’s still smiling at him.

“What?” Scara demands nervously, “what is it? Why are you both looking at me like that?”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

It takes longer than expected to investigate Beidou’s room once they’re able to scramble their
way inside through the window. Truth be told, Kazuha was expecting the room to be in
shambles, much like the downstairs bar, with objects strewn all over the floor and the
cupboards and drawers picked apart. As it stands, though, the room is relatively clean — at
least, for Beidou’s standards.
Much like Kazuha’s own situation back home, his mother had the largest room in the house,
with a king-sized bed of dark oak sitting in the middle and framed by deep velvet curtains.
The room itself is basked in a goldenish hue, with the walls varnished in traditional Chinese
lattice, and adorned with paintings and pictures of her family, her military years, and her old
ship.

It’s an immense sort of eminence that doesn’t seem to fit Beidou’s taste at all, but Kazuha’s
always thought that his mother deserves only the best in this world, and this room has always
been a definite tick in his book.

Unsure what exactly they’re meant to be doing, Kazuha resolves to just mirroring Heizou. He
surveys the room, looking under pillows and picking up objects, scouring for anything
suspicious — not that he’d know what qualifies and what doesn’t.

He feels the inanity of it hit him all at once, skulking around like some common criminal,
trying to dig up dirt on his own mother. She, who took him in at his worst point in life, and
here he is repaying her kindness by violating her privacy and trust in more ways than one.

He clamps down on the guilt settling deep in his stomach and tries to liven the atmosphere a
little, “this certainly isn’t how I thought I would spend my Saturday.” He reaches forward and
pulls open a heavy wooden cupboard, before letting out a breathless laugh at the rows of
wine bottles lined straight as soldiers within, “well at least she hasn’t changed much.”

Heizou doesn’t reply. His eyes are narrowed with a sort of razor sharp focus that Kazuha has
never seen before, as he surveys the room like a machine scanning some convoluted puzzle
before him. He notably doesn’t touch anything, silently stepping over objects without moving
them an inch, and if he does pick something up, he always makes sure to return it to the same
angle, same position, that it was before.

He watches as the boy pulls open the door to Beidou’s bathroom, silently slipping in and
disappearing for a moment or two, before sliding back out and continuing his investigation.

“Stop staring at me, it’s weird.” Heizou mumbles, not looking Kazuha’s way as he slides
open a drawer and rummages with meticulous care through the contents.

“I can’t help it,” Kazuha laughs, “you’re so in your element right now. If ever I had any
doubts you were a detective, they’ve all been dispelled now.”

Heizou huffs, “the fact that you ever doubted it wounds me. Now, tell me. Is your mom
single?”

Kazuha chokes.

“Oh, come on,” the detective rolls his eyes, “this is a genuine question, Kazuha, I’m not
trying to be weird. She’s fit as hell, but not my type.”

Recovering, Kazuha folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, “oh yeah? What is your type
then?”
The boy actually ponders over it for a while, before finally saying, “someone who can keep
up with me, and keep me on my toes.”

Kazuha laughs, “quite the high horse you’re sitting on, aren’t you?”

“If you’ve seen my backlog of cases, you’d see all this pride is entirely well warranted.” He
smirks back.

“Yeah, alright,” says Kazuha with a dubious snort, “as for your question, no. Mother’s dated
lots of women, of course, but currently she’s not seeing anyone.” Then he frowns, “at least,
not that I know of?”

“Well,” Heizou shrugs, “you better think again.”

“She is?” His brows shoot up, “how do you know? She’s never told me anything.”

“You see that?” Heizou points to Beidou’s dressing table, at a strange box that Kazuha hadn’t
noticed there before — small, and encased in black walnut wood with gilded edges.

Very slowly, Heizou lifts it open and pulls out one of the most beautiful necklaces Kazuha
has ever laid eyes on, a chain of polished silver attached to a pendant no smaller than his
littlest fingernail, and gleaming in iridescent flashes of blues at every angle.

“No offense,” Heizou drawls as it dangles between his thumb and forefinger, “but I really
don’t think your mom is the type to go out shopping for noctilucous jade necklaces.”

“She isn’t,” Kazuha says in a strained voice, “that could be a gift from someone.”

“Oh it definitely is. But who? Your siblings? This stuff is worth millions—”

Kazuha unfolds his arms, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation—”

“There is,” Heizou agrees, “it starts with L and ends with -over.”

“Land Rover?”

“Not funny.”

“It is a little,” Kazuha peers closer to get a closer look at the gem, swinging lazily back and
forth and dispelling bursts of blue like starlight with every shifting angle. There’s no doubt
that it’s authentic, no doubt at all. “Don’t you think we’re getting rather hasty? I’m not
disproving your theory, but to assume she has a secret girlfriend based solely on a necklace
—”

“That’s not all, though,” this time Heizou holds up a hairbrush, “your mom is brunette. So
why is there blonde hair in the bristles? Unless, of course, it’s yours, which we both know is
out of the question.”

“That— it—” Kazuha splutters, “there could still be an explanation—”

“Like what?”

“She’s… wearing a wig… or she’s practicing for her cosmetology license—” he stops,
realizing how absolutely stupid that is once it leaves his lips. The day Beidou becomes a
hairdresser is the day he grows muscle mass enough to rival Dwayne Johnson.

Heizou bursts out laughing. Nice to know he finds Kazuha’s mental anguish the peak of all
humor. “You’re more willing to believe that than the fact that she might be dating someone in
secret?”

“Because she’d never lie to us. Why would she? There’s no logical reason for it.”

“Oh, I can find one. That’s noctilucous jade, Kazuha. I could sell both my kidneys and a lung
and still not be able to afford a grain of this stuff. You know what that means? Her girlfriend
must be loaded. Perhaps making their relationship public could cause trouble, like a scandal
or something.”

“You’re saying my mother is dating a celebrity.” Kazuha purses his lips sceptically.

“Why so doubtful?” Heizou raises an eyebrow, “such little faith you have in Beidou’s rizz!”

“Please. Never say the words ‘rizz’ and ‘Beidou’ in the same sentence again.”

“Anyways, look here.” Kazuha is pulled by the arm into the bathroom, where Heizou
gestures to the sink and mirror, “see that? Two toothbrushes.”

“…”

“Still doubt it?”

Kazuha doesn’t say anything.

“And you know what that also means?”

“She’s been a lover of hers for a while,” replies Kazuha miserably.

“She’s been a—” Heizou stops, “oh, wow, you actually got that!” He even looks slightly
disappointed, almost like he had enjoyed being the bearer of bombshells.

Kazuha frowns at that.

“But there’s still one thing that doesn’t make sense…” the boy muses.

“What?”

Heizou gestures around to the rest of the room, “if your mom got robbed, why is her room
not upturned like the rest of the place? And even more confusing: why is the million dollar
necklace left untouched?”
“I was wondering about that as well,” he replies with a quick scan around the room, “Yinxing
had told me that all the rooms had been snooped through, and that the police had instructed
them to not touch anything during the investigation. Which means that—”

“—your mom cleaned this place up anyway.” Heizou finishes.

“Something fishy is definitely going on.”

“You think?”

“Mother would never willingly clean up after someone else. She must have a secret agenda.”

“Again, you know each other very well,” Heizou deadpans.

The boy looks ready to mention more details he noticed to try convince Kazuha of his
mother’s secret trysting, even though Kazuha’s well beyond deluding himself in front of the
overwhelming array of evidence placed before him, but a ruckus outside the chamber doors
stops him in his tracks.

Muffled voices.

The two lock eyes in panic, Heizou frozen on the spot as the door knob begins to turn, and
without thinking, Kazuha seizes the boy’s wrist and shoves them into the large wardrobe to
the right of the bed.

“Gah! Kazuha— mhmhf!” Heizou blurts, before the rest of his words are muffled by
Kazuha’s palm.

“Shh.”

Through the tiny slit between the wardrobe doors, Beidou they watch as Beidou enters the
room, hand on her hips and a phone pressed against her ear. “It’s not a big deal, honestly.
Nothing big was even taken. A few gadgets, but that’s about it.”

The person on the other line replies in pitched and static fuzz that only barely escapes their
ears, and Beidou sighs heavily, “no, babe, none of your gifts. Especially not that. The box
was kept in a safe place when they came, luckily, so they didn’t manage to find it. It’s fine,
don’t worry.” More noise from the other line, “I’m fine too. Stop being such a worrywart.”

Despite the words, there’s an affectionate roll of her eyes and a smile on Beidou’s face that
Kazuha hasn’t seen in a long time. He can’t help but stare blankly at it.

The woman on the other line continues speaking, causing Beidou to bark out in sudden
laughter, “quite full of yourself, aren’t you? Of course this wasn’t a targeted attack. It doesn’t
have anything to do with you, babe, so stop overreacting.”

Another reply, to which Beidou sighs again, “I know. It’ll be difficult to keep things under
lock and key now that all these authorities are involved, not to mention my family. I hate
lying to them.”
Kazuha chokes, before clamping down in his tongue to stop himself from giving their
position away. Whatever suspicions they already had, Beidou’s words all but confirmed it all.

“Look, I’m not blaming you, I know it’s not your fault,” his mother continues, “It’s just that
Kazuha came over today. With a detective. Can you believe it? Honestly you couldn’t even
tell, the kid looked fresh out of high school—”

“Excuse me?!” Heizou splutters loudly.

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

Beidou stops, retracting the phone from her ear. She looks over her shoulder and scan the
room, eyes narrowed.

They hold their breath in the silence that follows.

After a few long moments, she carries on speaking, “sorry, what were you saying? Yeah, I’ll
come soon. I just need to help Furata settle a few things. You be safe, hm? Yeah. Yup. Love
you too. Bye”. And with that, the call is cut off, and she stuffs the phone back in her pocket.

She doesn’t leave the room yet, and the pair of them continue to gaze through the crack in the
door and watch as she makes her way over to the dressing table.

She picks up something — that same wooden box with the necklace inside — and stares at it
for a long time.

Then she walks over to her bed and lifts up the mattress, where a little compartment Kazuha
hadn’t noticed before was embedded into the bed’s foundations. They can’t see much from
their angle, but he can hear the sound of it clicking open, and the sharp rummaging of objects
follows, before she slides the mattress back to its position and dusts her hands off.

As she returns to the door, her hand gripping the handle, she pauses for such a long time that
Kazuha feared Heizou really had given their position away.

But then the knob turns, swings it open, and she slips out without a word.

The door only just slams shut when the two of them tumble out of the dresser, yelping and
slamming into the hard floor with winded grunts.

“Ow!” Heizou hisses, rubbing his forehead.

Kazuha detaches himself from their tangled twist of legs and limbs and stands up. He reaches
out and pulls Heizou up as well, “sorry.”

“Gah, I can’t believe this. This is the second time I’ve been stuck in a small, dark place with
one of my housemates.” Heizou mutters angrily, “I’m going to develop claustrophobia at this
point. Who’s next? Scaramouche? I’d rather jump off a cliff— why are you laughing?!”

“It’s just,” Kazuha covers his mouth to hide his smile, “funny, the way you two are.”
“Shut up. I hate that bastard.” The detective scowls, “now enough about him. We have a lead
now.” He runs across the room and pulls back the mattress.

Kazuha follows wordlessly, peering over his shoulder to see a little metal hatch, which
Heizou tinkers around for a bit before managing to pull it open.

Inside the compartment is not just the box Beidou had added, but a treasury filled to the brim
with different sorts of gifts, from rings and gold roses, perfumes and droplet earrings, chokers
and carved lockets, hair pins and pearl bracelets—

Heizou lets out a low whistle, “looks like your mom’s sugar mommy is more smitten than we
thought.”

“Please stop.” Kazuha begs, before a pallid shape in his peripheral catches his eye. “Wait,
what’s that?”

Heizou follows his gaze and pulls it out, revealing a small white slip of card, “well, would
you look at that? Looks like we found our first lead.”

Kazuha leans closer, the words on the pale paper reflecting back at him:

Minxing Jewellery.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Scaramouche generally tries not to think back on his days in the Fatui as long as he can help
it, but it’s times like this that make it inevitable.

He could lay down and reminisce forever on that status of his, that sheer magnitude of
dominion above the lower ranks that he had worked blood, sweat and tears to earn. He
remembers the way some of them would look when they’d pass him in the hallways, teeth
clenched and eyes on the floor.

Apart from his fellow harbingers, he was seen as an entity to be avoided, an object of abstract
fear that all among the Fatui both lower and upper ranks had come to fear, or at the very least
respect.

Try as Lumine likes to call it a superiority complex, Scara just thinks it’s the simple truth.
Because he was the Balladeer, number 6 of the Fatui Harbingers, paramount in contrast to the
pawns of the lowlifes from the bottom of the ladder.
So it’s as he stands in the filming set in front of a green screen, vested into a stuffy taco
costume that’s uncomfortable in all the wrong places, that he wonders where the fuck did it
all go wrong for him.

He voices that last bit out loud, very vehemently, almost acidic in its spite.

Venti just picks up a prop sombrero discarded in a corner and plonks it onto his head, “Scara,
don’t worry, you look delicious!”

“That’s not what I want to hear!” He explodes.

“Ahh, perfect!” That crazy, unhinged lady who started this all cooes and claps her hands,
“you look perfect, like a soft cuddly tacos sudados.”

From a table off set, Venti and Lumine are sitting in a corner, munching away at the
complimentary snacks and drinks. Absolutely fucking shameless.

“That means sweaty taco.” She says with a mouth full of burrito.

He wants to scream.

“Aw, don’t look so glum! You should be proud!” Says Venti as he sips his soda, “can’t you
see? You’re like the chosen one! Chosen to be the representative of this well-respected
establishment. The reputation of this fine place is in your hands!”

“And this so-called ‘well-respected establishment’ decides that the best way to keep on top of
that brand is through advertising someone in a sweaty taco outfit?”

“Boys, boys, quit yapping,” interrupts the lady with an impatient clap of her hands, “we need
to start.”

“Yeah, quit yapping, Taco-mouche!” grins Venti, way too fucking happy at all of this, “you
know what they say: keep calm and carry on. You haven’t eaten much, have you? Here, have
some of this—”

“Oh you’re telling me to keep calm?” Scara growls, “I’ll show you calm. Come over here,
you little shi— mhm!” Half a quesadilla is shoved in his mouth.

He screams into it.

Something is slipped into his hand and he looks down. Swallowing aggressively, he scrims
over it once, twice, thrice.

He hurls it to the ground.

“What kind of ratshit script is this?” He says in disgust, “I’m not reading that out! I have
dignity! In fact, I did not consent to any of this at all! I refuse to be used as a tool in corporeal
propaganda for profit assimilation! Let me go!”
“But this is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Lumine insists, “you know, maybe one day
you’ll be telling your grandkids this—”

“Yeah, stuff about what a looker old Grandpa-mouche used to be, back in his acting days~”
Venti pipes up.

Scara clenches his fists. “I swear to god, Venti, if you don’t shut up right now, I’m gonna
grab that tongue of yours myself and twist it so hard you won’t be able to talk without
gagging.”

“You know,” Venti muses, “that threat would be a lot more effective if you weren’t dressed as
a taco while saying it.”

He screeches.

The manager lady snaps her fingers in front of his face, loud and unbearably irritating, “chop
chop! We must start. Now, boy, start! The footage with the children is already prerecorded, so
there’s not much to do.”

“Children?” Venti asks.

“Yes, children.” She nods, “Children who are eager for a bite, which is where our Taco
Master will come in, spreading tales of the wonders of our restaurant and what we have to
offer! All for under 5 dollars.”

Lumine looks dubious, “And… you’re sure this will bring in more customers? Because right
now our Taco Master looks like he’s ready to burn the children alive on those grills.”

“Oh but he will be just fine,” manager lady insists with inane and frankly absurd levels of
confidence in him, “he is the most convincing and best of all the people I have ever seen for
this job!”

“No I’m not!” Scara all but shrieks.

She looks at him, “Oh but my boy. You are. That was a compliment. This role, it resonates
throughout your entire being.”

“How dare you!” He splutters with a face burning red, “do you know who I am? I am
Scaramouche, number 6 of the Fatui Harbingers! I—”

“Well, now you can add ‘best taco’ as part of your titles as well!” She pats his shoulder
happily.

“…”

Venti and Lumine break out into hysterics.

He feels on the verge of tears.

“Now come on! We are late. Come on, sudados, start saying your lines,” manager lady says
again.

“No.”

She blinks, “are you feeling shy? My boy, don’t feel self-conscious! I assure you, you look
very cute—”

“That’s not what I mean!” He screams, “i— you— me— Lumine!!”

But the girl is still laughing to the point where her face is almost blue, and burying her face in
her arms as her shoulders shake.

Venti picks up a banjo from a pile of props and plucks tunelessly at the strings, “if you feel
shy, I can play a song to ease you into it.”

“NO!!”

“Come on!” Manager lady barks, “hurry up, hurry up. The set is getting disabled at 5.”

At those words, Venti stops and stares, “wait, what’s the time??”

“3 pm—”

“Already?!” He gasps, running over to tug at Lumine’s arm, “Lumine, the apfel menu! My
apfel strudel! It’s gonna be all gone—”

“Relax, relax,” she pats his arm, “it’ll still be there.”

“No!” He cries, “it’ll be gone! What if we get there too late and it’s all sold out?”

“I seriously doubt that—”

He pouts and wails louder, “I! Want! Apple! Strudel!”

Scara, meanwhile, is still raging in the back, “I! Am! Not! A! Taco!”

“I want to go Good Hunter!” Venti whines.

“I want to go back home!” Scara whines.

“Lumine!” Venti cries.

“Lumine!” Scara cries.

“LUMINEEE—” they both howl.

“SHUT UP!”

They shut up.

Lumine twitches, teeth bared and eyes narrowed, liquid hot ire bubbling behind those depths.

Before it melts away, and she smiles sweetly at them.

Venti and Scara lock eyes with each other in terror.

“Venti,” she says calmly, “you will get your apple strudel. Don’t worry.”

“But—” he begins.

“And, Scara, you will say your lines and get this over with.”

“Oh yeah?” He retaliates, like he very much has a death wish, “and what if I say no?”

She simply smiles serenely at the two of them from her spot at the table. “If you guys
complain one more time, do you see this little burrito over here?” She picks it up from her
plate.

Confused, they both nod.

She points a finger to the burrito. And then at them. And then back at the burrito.

“What?” Scara doesn’t get it.

“I think,” Venti whispers to him, “she’s comparing us to that fiesta veggie burrito—”

“Well done!” She grins, “and you know what happens when this little burrito begins to get on
my nerves?”

She crushes it between her fingers.

An unpleasant squelching sound and sauce drips between her fingers like blood, and the
remnants of the thing slide onto the floor.

She smiles.

Venti and Scara freeze in their place.

Manager lady, meanwhile, looks absolutely besotten, “Miss Lumine, I simply must learn
from you, you are like a— a—”

“A megalomaniac?” Whispers Scara.

“A true leader of men! What’s your secret?”

“Experience, is all,” Lumine replies easily, wiping away the corpse of the burrito with a
napkin. She’s glaring straight at him, “Scara. Now.”

“…” he picks up the script miserably.

 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

Minxing Jewellery screams big-ticket before the two of them even set foot through the door.
The exterior itself is relatively small, but through the glass entrance Heizou catches sight of a
climbing staircase that likely leads to other levels of the store.

The windows display holds all sorts of twinkets, from gleaming brooches and garnished
necklaces, wedding rings and emerald chokers, blood-rubies and diamond-encrusted purses,
pouches, belts, even books.

The inside is even more blinding, looking like the entrance of purgatory from the sheer
amount of opulence flooding in from every angle, rows upon rows of gaudy jewelry
exhibited around them.

“This place,” says Heizou with a slow blink, “looks very much like the place rich people
would go to buy their beloveds gifts.” As they stroll deeper in, he stops and stares at a
passing sign, “‘discount: $9,999?’ Bro? That’s enough to pay for… for… a lifetime supply of
scrambled eggs!”

“That’s what you’d spend almost 10k on?” Kazuha intones from behind him.

“No you’re right,” nods Heizou, “chickens would be way more value for money.”

The guy is smiling, “ah, yes. With that amount, I’m sure it wouldn’t be impossible to hunt
down the golden goose from the fairytale as well.”

Heizou gasps, “oh my, you’re right! Imagine that, my own personal farm of golden geese
pooping golden eggs—”

“Geese don’t poop eggs—”

“Ahem.” Says a dry voice behind them, “are you two lost?”

It’s the store owner, a delicate woman with dark eyes and dark hair, tied primly back, and
wearing a pale silk blouse with the name tag ‘Xingxi’ imprinted on the front.

“Oh, hi,” he grins at her, “nope, we aren’t lost. Just browsing, is all.”

She raises an eyebrow, looking like she doesn’t believe him for a second, either cause of the
tacky way they’re dressed, or the topic of their conversation she had the unfortunate luck of
walking in on.

He pretends not to notice, “say, do you sell any noctilucous jade here, by any chance?”
She smiles tightly, “first time here?”

“Whaaat?” He laughs loudly, “what makes you say that?” He shifts a little, arching his back
high at an angle in his best impression of a tall, regal, seasoned rich person that definitely
screams I can definitely afford everything here.

He notices the front of his shirt has a blotched yellow-brown stain from breakfast, and he
laughs again, angling away and he hopes she won’t notice.

From the unimpressed curl of her lips, she does.

He gets an idea.

Kazuha lets out a startled sound as Heizou grabs him, linking their arms together as he rests
his head against his shoulder.

He lets out the most frilly, flustered, syrupy giggle he can muster, “my fiancé and I were just
browsing. I want to get him something special~ isn’t that right, dearest?”

Kazuha shifts into character immediately, “of course, daarin~”

“I—” Heizou stops for a moment, taken aback and feeling heat rush up to his ears and
cheeks, “uh, I, um… wanted to get him a noctilucous jade necklace. Yeah.” He nods and
looks back at the woman, “ so do you have any in stock?”

“We don’t sell noctilucous jade in store,” she says flatly, “you have to order it in advance.
Unfortunately, however, what stock we have left is almost finished, and due to unforeseen
circumstances, there’s no telling when the next batch will be available.”

“Oh. Well, has anyone bought some of this stuff recently?”

Another rigid smile. “I’m afraid that’s confidential information, sir.”

“What, this isn’t a hospital or something,” he insists, “you can’t be serious.”

“I am, sir.” Xingxi folds her arms, “and forgive my rudeness, but either you make an order
now,” she frowns distastefully in a way that makes it obvious she knows they can’t afford a
thing here, “or I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“Wait!” He cries out, not wanting to pull out their trump card just yet but looking like they
have no other choice. Oh well. “What if we told you this information is crucial in aiding a
criminal investigation? You could be helping serve justice!”

“Come back with a warrant and then I’ll listen to what you have to say,” she smiles and opens
the door for them. Dammit. That usually works., “now please leave.”

“Now you listen here—” he scowls deeply, finger pointed to her chest, ready to give her a
good tongue lashing for her uncooperativeness. A gentle-yet-firm hand stops him, though,
taking his shoulders and guiding him out.
“I think the lady is right, sweetheart,” Kazuha says near his ear, “it’s time we leave.”

Heizou turns to stare at him accusingly, but the guy isn’t looking back at him. Instead, he
takes a few steps towards Xingxi, leaning in and mumbling something in her ear that Heizou
doesn’t hear, before slipping something inside her hand.

Her expression doesn’t change, “I see. Have a nice day.”

Heizou looked between them, “what?”

“Let’s go.” Says Kazuha and drags him out of the store.

He doesn’t let go of his arm or answer any of his questions. Instead, he guides Heizou until
they reach the back alley of the building, before releasing him.

“What the hell was that about?” Heizou demands, “what did you tell her?”

“Can I see the necklace please?”

Heizou stops, “What? Why?”

“Just a second.”

“…” he pulls the box out of his coat pocket and hands it over.

Kazuha opens it, pulling the pendant out and holding it up. It shifts and gleans in the sunlight,
no less beautiful than the first time they had seen it, casting photons of aqua coloured rays
across the boy’s face.

Kazuha stares at it for quite some time. Heizou stares at him for quite some time.

Then he puts it back and returns it.

“Aha,” the detective grins, “you really like it, huh? Should I consider getting you one,
dearest?”

“What’s your salary again?”

He whacks him.

“Soooo what now?” He says after a while.

“We walk of course.” Replies Kazuha, taking him by the arm and strolling languidly out of
the alley.

His hair begins to adopt a pink sort of hue, before Heizou realizes it’s the reflection of the
sunset. How fast the day had passed.

The sky is a burst of candy canvas, the bubblegum blue tinted into misty violets and oranges
and rose-gold.
“You know,” he nudges Kazuha playfully, “this was actually sort of fun. You’re not too bad,
leaf boy.”

The smile he gets in response is like a burst of a thousand suns, “likewise.”

They don’t manage to make it out of the alley, though, before the light of that sweet sky is
blotched ou. By four dark silhouettes, tall and bulky, and glaring straight at them. One of the
men he thinks he recognises from the store, the only other customer a few shelves away,
while the other two are unfamiliar.

He steps back but his back bumps straight into Kazuha. It’s then that he realizes they have
nowhere to run.

“Who the fuck are you?” He spits.

If they reply, he doesn’t get to hear it, because he feels a sudden sharp impact at the back of
his head, a blaring ringing in his ears, and his consciousness starts to fade out into black,
fuzzy static.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

He wakes up to something nudging his leg, once, twice, three times. His face is warm and his
eyes are glued shut. He rolls his shoulders, feeling it crack as he shifts in his position, before
mumbling:

“Xiao, dude, five more minutes.”

The nudging grows more forceful, like heavy kicks against his shin, that makes him yelp and
jolt in his place. He opens his eyes.

And can’t see a thing.

“What?” His voice comes out muffled and stuffy, and oh yeah. They had gotten knocked out,
hadn’t they? He isn’t in his nice warm bed at all. There’s no Xiao here nagging him awake.
Sigh. “Is there a sack on my head? Get it off! I can’t breathe! DUDE—”

The sack is pulled off forcefully and light spells into his retinas, causing him to flinch back
and squint. Adjudging and blinking rapidly, he finally realizes that he’s in a warehouse, tied
to a chair with binding red ropes.

Then he notices Kazuha, a few feet away and tied up too, sack removed and hair sticking up
at every odd angle.
He bursts out laughing, “Kazuha! You look like you’ve been electrocuted. Pfft!”

“Have you seen your hair, detective?” Is his reply.

There’s no mirrors around anywhere, but he can feel it frizz up around his ears in tufts, and
he’s sure he looks just as, if not more, disheveled than Kazuha.

He’s about to crack a joke about it when a computer-distorted disembodied voice booms out
around them.

“You’re both awfully cheery for someone who’s tied up and trapped against your will.”

Heizou just shrugs, “what can I say? After a while, you just sort of get used to this stuff. So
please let's just skip over all the threatening and intimidation tactics and just tell us why you
took us.”

The voice clearly did not expect such a sardonic response, “I—”

“And the voice distortion? Really?” He rolls his eyes, “What are you, fifteen? This isn't a
James Bond movie, Jeremy!”

“My name is not Jeremy!” Thunders the voice.

Then the speakers power down as a meek, male voice says, “it’s Tyler.”

“Hi, Tyler.”

“… hi.” The guy steps out of the shadows, black mask covering the bottom half of his face,
with blond hair tied back and visible.

“How’s it going?” says Heizou with a yawn.

“Good…”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, “I’m not gonna lie, you look kind of stressed. Other guys
giving you trouble?”

That seems to warm Tyler up to him, “you have no idea!” He cries out, “it’s like, they don’t
take me seriously. Like at all. I told them you two were going lead us straight to it, but
noooo, it’s all just patronizing glares and— and— it just gets frustrating after a while,
yknow?”

“Aw, man, I feel you.” Heizou nods, “my old colleagues back on the force? Same thing to
me. It’s like, where is respect in this day and age?”

“Exactly!” Insists Tyler, before he stops, realising what’s happening. He scowls, “hey, wait a
minute. Stop that!”

“What, making conversation?”

The guy puffs up his chest, hand on hips, chin up, as he tries to level himself to his full height
and assert dominance, “you must be wondering why I’ve brought you here.”

“Not really.”

“Huh? Not even a little?” His smile falls.

“Nah.”

“But… I had a whole speech planned…”

Heizou shrugs, “sorry.”

The guy looks so crushed, completely heartbroken, that Kazuha must take pity on him.

“Uh, you can tell me,” he pipes up gently, “if you like. I’m still a bit confused.”

Tyler brightens, “ah, well, you see! I’m a treasure—”

“He’s a treasure hoarder.” Says Heizou, bored, “he’s come with his gang to steal that
noctilucous jade necklace from your mom in order to sell for a rich sum.”

“Uncool, man!!” Tyler explodes, “we live in a society! Where you can’t just rob me the rights
to my, my, my villain speech!”

“I mean, you did gag us and tie us up, sooo—”

“I did, but I’m not a monster.” The guy sniffs, “look, I even got the TV out for you so you're
not bored.” He points to the side where, sure enough, a tacky motion array TV is set up and
tuned to what he assumes to be a kids channel, by the looks of what’s playing on right now.

“Scooby Doo? Oh my god, I used to love that show as a kid.”

Tyler stares at him uncertainly, “is that sarcasm?”

“Nope,” Heizou answers truthfully.

“Oh. Well me too!” Tyler says happily, “yknow, I used to insist on having my hair done like
Fred as a kid—” he stops again, having probably realized he’s being led off track once again,
because he clears his throat, “um. Anyway. Thanks for leading us right to the necklace.” He
pulls it out of his pocket and dangles it in front of their faces, “honestly, finding out that
something like that was given as a gift to a common bar owner? It was like hitting gold,
haha! Aw man, the guys and I, we’re gonna be rich.”

“Uh huh,” drawls Heizou, “and where are said guys?”

Tyler hesitates, “um. Out. For food.”

“Without you?”
“They needed someone to stay and keep an eye on you both, duh.” He insists weakly, like
he’s trying to convince himself more than them.

“Really?” Heizou tilts his head and gestures to their bound wrists and feet, “cuz I mean,
we’re wrapped up pretty tightly here. And Scooby Doo is on, so like, I really don’t think
we’re going anywhere.”

“Well—”

“Honestly? I think the guys are just using you. The scapegoat of the group. You gonna put up
with that?”

He tries not to feel too disappointed when Tyler doesn’t rise to the bait like he had expected,
“that may be true, but if you’re trying to manipulate me into compliance to your side, you’ve
got another thing coming. Us treasure hoarders, we’ve heard all about you, Shikanoin
Heizou. The guy responsible for putting Bao-Er and Kojirou and Ken behind bars.”

The detective shrugs, “should I apologize for being good at my job?”

“Hah, not good enough to keep it though, clearly.” the guy retaliates smugly.

“Wow,” Heizou deadpans, “you hit a nerve. I’m so wounded. Look at me, bleeding tears.”

A glare. “You know, maybe I will turn the TV off instead, and leave you both alone and
entertainmentless.”

“That’s not a word.” Kazuha pipes up.

“You’re not a word!” Tyler explodes.

“…”

“…”

He inhales, “anyway. Thank you, once again, for leading us to it.” His grin turns malicious,
“as for you two, well, this warehouse is getting demolished in two days. Unfortunately, we
won’t be here to see what happens to you, because me and the boys are taking our green,
green, green, all the way to Vegas. Hahaha!”

“Oh my, is this why you turn to crime?” Asks Kazuha with genuine seriousness, “my friend,
gambling is a serious addiction. It’s not too late to get help. I recommend rehabilitation
therapy. I have a friend, Lumine, who used to have a serious gambling addiction, and now
she helps with rehab therapy. You should consider seeing her—”

“I don’t need therapy!” Tyler yells.

Heizou thinks he might bust a lung from laughing so hard.

“That’s it, I’m leaving.” Tyler snaps, glaring at them one last time before sulking and
skulking away with heavy footsteps.
Soon after, the sound of a heavy metal door slamming shut echoes in the empty open space.

Silence.

“Sooo…” Heizou says after a while, “what now?”

Kazuha looks at him with an exasperated frown, “Heizou, just tell me.”

“What?”

“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”

He smirks, “perhaps. But you go first, let’s see how much my daarin has concluded~”

“Well then,” replies the boy, leaning back, “from the get-go, it seems my mother was never
the target for these men. It was always the necklace they were after.”

Heizou nods, “correct. And why do you think that?”

“Well, because it’s valuable?”

“Well, obviously,” he rolls his eyes, “they wouldn’t be called the treasure hoarders if all they
were after was action figures and shiny shoes, would they? Of course it’s because it’s rare and
expensive. But it’s a little more than that. These guys, they were willing to risk getting done
for burglary, and now even kidnapping, just to get their hands on that teeny, tiny little piece of
noctilucous jade.”

Kazuha ponders over this, “that’s a good point. Perhaps they are under pressure to supply
from a powerful demand?”

“That’s a reasonable enough conclusion,” Heizou agrees, “but here’s the thing. I know these
guys. I’ve dealt with their kind long enough to pick up in the fact that they’re all cowards.
They’d never risk their neck this much unless they were absolutely convinced it would be
worth all the trouble.”

The boy frowns, “so then, what are you saying?”

“Do you know just how rare noctilucous jade actually is?” He asks. Kazuha shakes his head.
“It’s as sparse as diamond, and one of the most adamantine materials in the world. That being
said, its texture and physical properties means it’s also one of the world’s most beautiful.
That's one of the reasons why it’s used mainly for jewelry more than anything else.”

“And why it’s very expensive?”

He nods, “very, very expensive. But for these guys, being expensive isn't enough.
Noctilucous jade is hard to get, yes, but even more than that, it's an object of high interest to
employers with networks through the shadow market who'd give money to just about anyone
who're able to hand it to them.”

“So you’re saying there is an employer motive behind it?”

“Do you remember what Xingxi said? That due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’, their stock of
noctilucous jade was running low. And think of what’s been going on all over the news, with
that G.E.O Eastern Trade Company Airbus that had crashed into the ocean not so long ago as
well.”

Kazuha’s eyes widen, “yes Xiao did mention that at breakfast. Oh dear—”

“The loss of this particular plane is important because of the cargo it was carrying,” Heizou
continues, “namely, the next batch of noctilucous jade for the next six months.”

Kazuha draws in a sharp breath.

“Here’s what happened.” Says Heizou, “these guys over here, they must have heard about it
and realized that there’s now a shortage of noctilucous jade in the country, so much so that
even a tiny amount would be able to sell for big bucks if they managed to get their hands on
it.”

Kazuha remains silent as he speaks. Gladly willing to let Heizou do all the talking.

“They must have targeted Minxing Jewellery for a while, since Xingxi said they had a bit of
stock left, but considering the circumstances of their tight situation, it’s no surprise that any
attempt at gaining access to their noctilucous jade stock would be fruitless since the store
would likely be intent on saving it as much as possible. Except your mom’s girlfriend, who
must have ordered in advance like Xingxi said we had to, and so her necklace was already
made and sold before the recent shortage.”

“And so they decided to steal that one instead?” Kazuha asks quietly.

Heizou shrugs, “I suspect they were rushing and in a panic. Knowing them, they probably
made some inane promise to a supplier that they’d be able to get their hands on some
noctilucous jade before the end of the month, but after realizing how difficult that would
actually be to steal it from Minxing, they were desperate enough to rob a poor woman’s
gifted girlfriend.”

“So that’s why—”

“—they broke into your mom’s house? Of course. They needed it quick, but were of course
unsuccessful, thanks to your mom’s need for absolute secrecy. I reckon they kept their eye on
the place after that, waiting to see if they could get another chance at stealing it, but then they
must have seen us two idiots sneak into the house and come out with their prize in hand,
essentially doing all the work for them. Must have been like Christmas to them.”

“… Which leads us to the present.” Says Kazuha with a stiff wrist gesturing around the room,
at their current situation held as hostages in a rundown warehouse.

“Yup,” Heizou replies with a grin, “just you and me, and a lil’ TV. Me and you, and Scooby
Doo~”
But there is no Scooby Doo anymore on the channel, long shifted to a commercial break of
pink pet toys and glittery unicorns.

“Thank you, Heizou.” He hears Kazuha say.

He looks at the guy curiously, “what is it?”

“Truth be told,” the boy sighs, “I was worried that my mother was somehow the target of
these all attacks. That was one of the reasons I was so adamant to get to the bottom of it. Why
I asked you to get involved. My mother, she's a friendly woman, but she's had a hell of a past.
She used to be a mercenary, you know. She... she's made just as much enemies as she has
friends.”

Normally he’d nudge the guy, or put an arm around his shoulder, but in his restricted state the
best Heizou can do is kick his ankle lightly, “well, you can rest easy now, knowing now that
she’s fine. The treasure hoarders are relatively harmless, honestly. Only thing on their mind is
money.”

Kazuha still doesn’t reply, biting the bottom of his lip.

“Something else on your mind?”

“I just,” Kazuha laughs mirthlessly, “can’t understand why. Why she’d lie about all this. She
could have told us the truth about who she is seeing, and we could have supported her. Does
she not trust her own family?”

“Well maybe she has her reasons,” Heizou replies slowly, “after all, we don’t know who it is
she’s seeing either. For all we know, it could be the Queen of England.”

Kazuha looks more than a little sick at the mental image of that affair, causing the detective
to explode into peals of laughter again.

“Look,” he grins once he’s calmed down a little, “tell you what. After we get out of here,
we’ll confront your mom, okay? Hear what she has to say.”

He doesn’t reply.

Heizou continues, “And you know, I don’t think she means any harm. My intuition is almost
never wrong, and something tells me she’s an honest lady. She probably has her reasons for
all of this.”

Finally, Kazuha’s lips quirk in a small smile, soft and honey-sweet, and Heizou thinks he
feels his heart do a double flip at being the object of such a gentle gaze. “Intuition, is it?”

Ignoring the rapid reddening of his ears, he huffs and sticks his nose up, “yeah. Intuition.”

“Don’t worry, detective,” says Kazuha genuinely, “I think you’ve well earned my respect by
the end of today. You truly are unparalleled at what you do. I do hope you get reinstated
soon.”
Heizou shuffles a little in his seat, the weight of those words making his stomach twist and
turn for reasons he’d rather not think about, “yeah, uh, thanks. Means a lot.”

“Your family must be proud.”

“… not really.” He says quietly.

Kazuha tilts his head.

He lets out a bleak laugh, “I don’t talk to my dad much.” Then he shrugs, “to be honest, I
think he’d rather have Xiao as a son. Hah.”

The guy frowns, “but you’ve got a lovely face too.”

“Okay that is not what I meant,” Heizou side-eyes him with pursed lips, “it’s that my dad
teaches fighting as well. At least, he used to. I don’t keep in touch with him much to know
whether he still does.”

“I see. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, he always wanted me to be like him.” He shrugs, “what can I say to him? That I’m
sorry for not being a multi-trophy tournament champion like my brother? Being up and
physical just isn’t my style. He’s always hated that about me.” A pause, “among other
things.”

“Well then he must be blind,” says Kazuha with firm ferocity that’s surprisingly out of
character, “if he really hasn’t seen how you work. You’re in your element, and a father should
be proud that his son has managed to figure himself out so early on in life. Not many people
can say that they have.”

Heizou stares at him, taking in the bags under his eyes and the tousled tufts of his hair, and
the inanity of their situation as tied up hostages in a strange dark place. He doesn’t say
anything for a long time.

Then: “Thanks, Kazuha.”

For the next few minutes, the only sound that can be heard is the white-noise drone of the
static TV, and occasional creaking of pipes from above and around them.

“Sooo,” he enunciates after a while, “what now?”

“Well, actually—” Kazuha speaks up, but the two of them freeze in their place at the sound of
a familiar voice cutting through the air in choppy bursts of volume.

At first he thinks he must be hallucinating it, but catching Kazuha’s look and realizing he
hears it too, thinks the guy had somehow found them and was calling out to them from the
outside.

But then finally clicks to him that the sound is one coming from the small television,
broadcasting from an advertisement of bright faced and curious looking children.
And with them is—

“Hola, amigos! Did I hear some little kids want some tacos?”

… fucking Scaramouche. Dressed as a taco. On live television.

“…”

“…”

“YEAHHHH!” Cry the kids with raised arms.

“Come on then!” Says Taco-mouche with a smile so wide Heizou knows the guy is probably
counting down the days until he’ll jump after this mortifying ordeal. “At Taco Bell, we have it
all!”

To the side, one kid, a little girl with blonde braids, looks forlorn and pouts, “but I only have
5 dollars in my piggy bank…”

Taco-Mouche laughs. Actually fucking laughs. “Not to worry, youngster. Taco Bell's 5 buck
box has a burrito supreme! Crunchy taco, a bacon club chalupa and a medium drink!”

The kids begin to cheer, “thank you, Taco Master!”

“You’re welcome,” Taco-mouche replies, turning to face the camera with a wink, “Brighten
up the afternoon with happier hour at Taco Bell.”

The commercial is complete, screen changing to a dollhouse set of some kind on

advertisement, something to do with Barbie or ponies or something like that.

Kazuha opens his mouth.

Then he closes it again.

“…”

Heizou stares at the TV with blank eyes. “…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Did your intuition prepare you for that?” Kazuha finally says.

“No.” The detective whispers, unspeakably traumatised, “no it did not.”

Part of him is laughing, a small part, at the sheer dumbassery of the entire situation. Jesus.
They leave them for one day and now god knows how they’ve wound up on national
television dressed up as Mexican food.

Either the job hunting went really well, or Lumime is persuasive as hell.

Heizou doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry.

He isn’t given the opportunity to decide, either, because it’s at that moment that a solid
sliding metal door from the side of the building is prized open, creaky metal startling them
both.

Light spills into the empty space where they’re both sat.

For a moment, all he can see are silhouettes of people blurring into the dark sky, before they
finally start to shift into focus.

He sees the faces of officers, loads of them, rushing over to untie them from their chains.

A figure shoves past the swarm of police, pushing between the two currently cutting through
the ropes binding Kazuha and Heizou’s wrists and ankles, and seizes her son in a lopsided
hug.

“You!” Cries Beidou in frenzied fury, “what the hell, kid?! Just what did you get yourself
into?”

Kazuha hugs her back tightly, “Mother, we managed to find the people who burgled you.”

She bares her teeth, “you little brat. What kind of game do you think you’re playing? This
isn’t some movie, boy, you could have been killed!”

“It’s alright, really,” he resolves with ease, “I’ve heard these men are relatively harmless—”

The woman just looks flabbergasted at how utterly unperturbed her son is even after been
kidnapped and almost killed. Heizou doesn’t blame her, he’d have been worried too, if he
didn’t already know how much of an idiot the treasure hoarders were. Tyler very much
withstanding.

Kazuha pulls his mother into another hug, and Heizou hears her heave a long heavy sigh
before melting into his embrace.

He walks away to give them some time alone, passing officers who are scouting the area and
searching the premises.

They have a lot of questions for him, but he’s tired and hungry and can’t find the energy in
him to deal with yet another interrogation with some form of law enforcement.

He spots a familiar figure a few feet away, arms folded and watching him, and blinks in
surprise. He runs over to her, ignoring the fact that he was in the middle of an interrogation
one of the investigators.
“Why are you here?”

Xingxi shrugs as he draws near and unfolds her arms, “well—”

“She told us to come here, obviously.” Says Beidou, pulling over to them with her son under
her arm.

“She did?” The detective squints, turning to her with sharp eyes “and how did you know
that?”

“I told her.” Says Kazuha.

“… what?” Heizou’s splutters. His words falter as he tries to realign his perceived order of
events to fit this new light of revelation. Like a jigsaw piece had been revealed that he hadn’t
known about before. “You… huh???”

And then it slides into place when he remembers something, back at the jewelry store. Before
he and Kazuha left, the guy had spoken to the woman and handed her a piece of paper.

“Wait.” Heizou gapes, “you knew we’d be taken???”

He actually has the audacity to shrug it off. Like it’s nothing, “well of course. Actually, I
noticed we had a tail following us since we left Mother’s house.”

“Then why didn’t you— you— say anything?!”

“Because I concluded that letting him trail us for a while,” Kazuha’s eyes are gleaming,
“would lead us right to the bottom of it. Isn’t that how detectives work?”

Heizou stares at him.

Kazuha laughs, “you’re at a loss for words.”

“Well done, Kaedehara,” he finally chokes out, “I haven’t felt the surprise of a plot twist in a
long time. Well done.”

And the boy beams at that compliment. Positively beams.

Heizou thinks the guy may well have just tasered him in the heart with that simple look.

“What do you mean ‘since you left my house’?” Beidou folds her arms, “what exactly
happened?”

Heizou panics, locking eyes with his roommate and praying the guy doesn’t mention the
snooping, or the cupboard, or the ransacking of her private jewelry.

He doesn’t, luckily. He just turns to her and smiles, “I do hope the police manage to find your
necklace and return it to you, Mother.”

Beidou blanches, taken aback, “what? Kid, how did you know about that?”
“Can I ask, though, why you didn’t tell us before you were seeing someone? Do you not trust
us?”

Beidou looks torn, and incredibly anguished, so much so that Heizou almost feels bad for
confronting the lady when she must have already been so stressed about her home, and the
kidnapping of her son, and now this.

She exhales. “It’s not that at all.”

“Then,” Kazuha says slowly, “was she the one who wanted you to keep this a secret?”

“No. She was the one who wanted me to tell you guys. Actually—” and Beidou’s face,
usually so stoic and hard set and borderline intimidating, flushes a faint pink, “she wanted to
go full public with it. Make it official. I was the one who stopped her. Just thought that it
would cause trouble, so much trouble, with her family, manager, fans…”

Well. If they had any doubt before that she was entangled in a secret love story with a
celebrity, those suspicions have all but been confirmed now.

“So who is she?” Kazuha asks.

Out here in the open, with the sun now set fully, dusk fading out into tufts of violet twilight,
the clouds a growing mist above their heads, the air has adopted a frigid sort of chill, with a
faint breeze picking up and causing Kazuha’s hair to sway around his neck and ears.

The parking lot of the warehouse is filled to the brim with police cars, blaring lights still
flashing pulsing brightly, so brightly.

Beidou looks conflicted for quite some time, before shaking her head. Deciding that it was
time to come clean, most likely.

But she doesn’t get to say a word, because at that mkment a new car pulls over in front of
them, a high-end midnight blue limousine with silver mirrors and headlights, and shimmering
in the sparse twilight.

A man comes out, a chauffeur, and walks over wordlessly to open the passage door.

The first thing he sees is a leg. A long and pale leg, stretching out, with laced-up six-inch
heels at the end, followed by a sway of white fabric.

A dazzling woman basked in a golden hue walks out.

Her hair is pale, half tied up above her head in a semi-bun and held up by a gilded fazan,
while the rest spilling down her back like starlight. Her face is sharp and lined with makeup,
her wrists and ankles adorned in clinking bracelets and anklets and rings. Her lips are painted
a deep, dark red.

“Now what on earth happened since the last time I saw you, dearest?” drawls multi-Oscar
winning movie-star, household name and national treasure, actress and runway model, ‘The
Tianquan’ Ningguang.
 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

Lying down flat in the backseat of Lumine’s car, hoodie pulled up over his head and face
buried in his arms, Scara slumps sideways with the air of a man ready to write his will and
depart from the world.

Filming over, the day is steadfastly coming to an end, and Scara is determined now more than
ever that if he never steps foot in Taco Bell, or any form of fast food restaurant ever again, it
would be too soon.

If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll wake up to find that this was all the result of some bleary, lucid
nightmare. If not, well, he figured never leaving the house for the rest of his days is a
reasonable plan as well. He had already rid the world of his existence as Kunikuzushi, so
letting them forget Scaramouche shouldn’t be that bad.

“You’re trending on twitter.” Venti snickers from the passenger seat.

Well, so much for that plan.

“Shut the fuck up!” He hollers, uncaring of Lumine’s presence. His self-preservation instinct
must have been ripped to shreds along with his dignity.

“I think you look cute, though.” She chuckles, catching his eye through the rear view mirror.

He glares at her.

“Taco Master,” Venti sings, “care for a selfie?”

“I will break your neck.”

“Hey, no need to be so feisty. At least you have your five minutes of fame now, ehe~”

“Don’t care.”

“Boys, boys,” chides Lumine gently, “hush now. Hasn’t this been an eventful day? I’m sorry
we weren’t able to get you a job today.” She ignores Venti’s very loud, very dragged out sigh
of relief to her right, “Scara, meanwhile, is getting paid a hefty sum for that ad. Aren’t you
happy?”

“I am never eating a taco ever again.” Scara replies miserably.

“Well that sucks,” she shrugs, “because we have loads of leftovers. You can have them at
home. Let’s go.”

“Uh, no!” Venti folds his arms crossly.

She blinks at him. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

The boy sniffs, “it’s sunset, and we still haven’t gotten my apfelstrudel. It’s probably all gone
now anyway—”

“Oh my god.” Lumine gasps, eyes wide as golfballs as she remembers her promise, “I forgot
all about that! Come on, let’s go.”

She seizes the wheel of the car and yanks, doing a U turn so fast that Scara rolls over
painfully onto the floor from his slumped position.

She hits the accelerator and speeds over to town.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

The evening is cold, and the sky is rapidly darkening by the time they arrive outside Good
Hunter. For a second, Lumine’s afraid that the place is closed and that they were too late.

But the lights are still on when they get out the car, and as Venti rushes forward, the sign still
says ‘open’.

He pushes open the door, a little bell sounding out and announcing their arrival, and enters
the café.

The chairs are all set away, upside down on tables, and all the treats and snacks have been
cleared away from display.

Sara can be seen cleaning the counter, going over the last few chores left until she can close,
presumably.

She looks up as he calls her name and delightfully grins, “Venti! What’s up? How is
everything?”

“Where’s the apfelstrudel?” He demands.

She blinks, “what?”

“…” he smiles tightly, “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. You look tired, Sara. Busy day?”

“I’ll say.” She sets down the wet towel and leans forward with her elbows on the counter,
“people have been in here non-stop. The Apfel Menu was a hit! Our weekly stock was
drained in just a day, so I’ve ordered double for next week. I can’t thank you enough for
making me go through with this, Venti.”

The boy just looks crushed, “wait, so you mean…?”

“Is there no more apple strudel?” Lumine speaks up from behind him.

Sara winces, “no, I’m afraid not.” Catching sight of Venti’s expression, she adds
apologetically, “oh, god, I’m so sorry, Venti! I should have set some aside for you. I
completely forgot.”

“It’s okay,” he replies quietly, “you didn’t know.”

“But hey,” she puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, “there’s more coming next week.
And tell you what, it’s on the house. Alright?”

He nods without saying anything and turns to leave, head lowered dejectedly.

Outside in the cold air, Lumine rushes over and grabs his arm, “Venti, I’m so sorry. I should
have listened to you.”

The boy sniffs, “it’s okay. Really.”

Scara trails up behind them and takes in Venti’s tearful state, and feels a sunken feeling deep
in his chest.

“Um.” He pats the guy’s arm awkwardly, “don’t worry, though, there’s more next week.”

That makes Venti laugh a little, which is a relief, “I know. It’s just,” he wipes his eyes,
“frustrating.”

Lumine looks genuinely distraught, “because you were so excited?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” She holds his hand, “I should have listened to you.”

“It’s okay, really,” Venti says with a quiet laugh, “at least we missed it for a good cause.”

Scara, who had been brainstorming ideas on how to cheer the guy up because of how much
he hates seeing him like this, just stops and glares venomously, “I will kill you if you mention
that again.”
 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

Well into the evening, back at the house, three boys are sitting around a table in the kitchen,
winding down as the evening stretches on with tea and milk.

Xiao had gotten there a good few hours before them, so he’s already changed into an
oversized hoodie and pants, mug of tea in hand as he stares at the other two roommates who
had just arrived.

And oh, what a story they had to tell.

“So let me get this straight,” Xiao says skeptically, “your mom's house got burgled. Then you
went to investigate it, only to find out she was being really suspicious about the whole thing,
so you decided to do a little digging and eventually found out that she has celebrity girlfriend,
which subsequently leads to you guys getting kidnapped, until you were rescued somehow,
and then it was it was revealed that your mother's lover is none other than film star
Ninnguang?”

“Hm. Yes, pretty much.” Heizou sips his tea. “How was your day?”

“I was a little shocked at the whole ordeal.” Kazuha admits. “how unexpected.”.”

The guy looks gobsmacked, “A little?”

“But I’m happy for Mother.” He continues, “They make a good pair.”

“Surely it must be a little weird seeing your mom’s girlfriend all over billboards and bus
stops and perfume ads.” Heizou adds with a teasing nudge.

Kazuha shrugs, “I mean, she wasn’t always her girlfriend. And anyway, she was really civil
about the whole ordeal. Offered recompense for everything that happened to us, apologized
for what went down. Nothing at all like the cold, calculated diva those horrid rumors on the
internet seem to spread.”

“What exactly happened then?” Asks Xiao, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his
head into the curve. He stares at Kazuha through half-lidded eyes.

“Nothing much, really. Miss Ningguang said she would have come sooner if she had known,
but she was in the midst of filming so was only able to hear about the drama when it was all
over.” Says Kazuha, “in the end, it was getting late, so we were rushed over to give
statements before allowed to leave for home.”

“And what about the necklace? And the treasure hoarders?”

“Oh, they were caught alright.” Heizou snorts, “no surprise, really. Let’s just hope they have
Scooby Doo in prison for Tyler.”
Xiao eyes Kazuha strangely, looking conflicted about something for quite some time.

“And,” he finally says quietly to him, “you’re okay with all this? Your mom’s new partner?”

“She makes her happy,” responds Kazuha softly, “what more could I ask for?”

Hauling himself up, Xiao stretches his arms above his head and yawns, “well. That was
certainly a story to come back to. I’m afraid my day wasn’t nearly as dramatic. Let’s see
whether our other roomies have had as eventful a day as you guys.”

Heizou perks up at that mention, “heh, funny you should mention that—”

The front door swings open then, and Lumine, Venti and Scaramouche enter the house,
shrugging off coats and hanging keys away.

Kazuha rises to greet them, “hello, there. I made tea. How was it?” Then he stops as he
catches sight of Venti’s deflated look.

Heizou frowns, “is something wrong?”

“Oh my, did the job hunting not go as planned?” Kazuha sighs and puts an arm around
Venti’s shoulder, squeezing gently and holding him close, “don’t look so down. These things
take time. You’ll find one soon, don’t worry.”

Venti releases a long, loud sigh, and slumps against Kazuha’s chest, “no, it’s not that.”

“We missed the apple menu opening at Good Hunter.” Explains Lumine, striding past the pair
and settling down on a seat beside Xiao. She pokes his cheek and ruffles his hair. He rolls his
eyes and hugs her.

“… that’s it?” Heizou says.

Scaramouche kicks him in the shin.

“Ow! Bro, why??”

“It doesn’t matter if it was just a dessert, you idiot,” he scowls, “he was really excited.”

“Aww,” Heizou sneers, rubbing his leg, “is our emo boy going soft?”

“Do you want to die?” Scara thunders.

“Very soft.” continues Heizou, “like a soft-shelled taco.”

Scara freezes.

“You.” He digs his nails into the boy’s shoulder, “what the fuck did you just say?”

“Boys.” Lumine warns, voice hard and firm and straight up petrifying.

They both stop immediately.

Kazuha watches her in awe, “it takes me a good four or five minutes to be able to get them to
stop fighting and listen to me. How do you do it, Lumine?”

Xiao, meanwhile, isn’t paying attention to them at all, “Venti, you never got to eat your pie?”

“It’s not pie, it’s strudel.” Venti sniffs, “and I can get some next week, don’t worry. It’s not
even that deep, honestly. I was just excited.” He tries to smile, “Haha, I just look ridiculous
crying over something like this, huh?”

Xiao doesn’t respond.

He gets up from his seat and opens the fridge, pulling out a small box, wrapped up cutely in
apple stickers, the Good Hunter logo emblazoned on the front.

He hands it to Venti. “Here you go. I passed the place on my way back from work. I thought
you might like some extra for tomorrow or something.” He scratches the back of his head
awkwardly, like he was somehow worried Venti would take his gift with ill-intent.

Meanwhile, the guy is just staring at it in shock, gaze shifting from Xiao to the box to Xiao
again.

He opens his mouth.

And then he closes it again.

Heizou smirks, coughing into his fist something that sounds an awful lot like ‘simp’.

“Xiao, you—” a smile breaks across Venti’s face, wide and radiant and simply beaming.

He lunges over and hugs him.

Xiao stumbles, holding his waist, “… relax. It’s just a dessert. It’s not that big of a deal—”

But Venti only squeezes him tighter, “waaaaahhhh, what did I do to deserve such a
roommate? Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!”

From the side, Lumine watches the two. She has a soft and knowing smile on her face.

Xiao locks eyes with her and scowls. His ears are red.

The moment is broken, however, by the sound of a video — no, an ad — blasting out from
Heizou’s phone:

“Taco Bell’s 5 buck box has a burrito supreme—!”

“YOU ASSHOLE!” Scara yells, lunging across the table to snatch his phone and kick him,
which the guy happily retaliates, until an all-out brawl is forming.

Even Lumine can’t seem to get a reign on them, her cries of fruitless in the fading evening
ambiance. “Boys!!!”
 Kunikuzushi
Chapter Summary

In which Scara learns a lesson the hard way.

Chapter Notes

TW// panic attacks and mentions of domestic abuse

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Lumine can’t help but feel sometimes that, had she known what would be in store for her the
day she decided her career, she’d have taken a very, very different route to the current
conclusion she finds herself roped in. Aether always said she had a personality fit for the
mob, that she’d bring grown men to her knees if only she tried. Maybe she should have
listened to him.

There’s most definitely some degree of nostalgia she feels as she sits now, black coffee in
hand, nestled deeply into her velvet pleated wingback armchair, with her patients before her
hurling and screaming at each other with all the curses and complaints under the shining
summer sun. Granted, it has only been — what, two months? — since the day she first
suggested these joint therapy sessions, but still. There’s a distinct sense of cyclicality, here, of
life ‘coming full circle’, permeating the air.

Although that might just be the humidity, she muses. God knows it’s been forever since the
air conditioner breathed its last cold dying breath, and being on the seventh floor… well, heat
travels up doesn’t it? At least she thinks so. She can feel the beads of sweat bloom across her
forehead, and a dampness manifesting from where her back is pressed against the chair.

She sips her iced coffee.

“And then this guy has the audacity to tell me that I don’t pull my feet up!” Bellows Heizou,
loud enough to snap her out of her reverie, and she watches silently as the boy leans
frightfully forward on the edge of his seat, teeth bared, “this is our house as a collective! You
are not a guest!”

From opposite, his hostility is well matched.

“Oh please.” Scaramouche scoffs, looking bloodshot, and folds his arms, “you think you can
pin every little thing on me, you son of a bitch? I’m not the only one—”
“No.” Heizou agrees with a sharp nod, “you’re not. But you’re the most obvious one. You
don’t do shit in this house, Scaramouche.”

Scara glowers, getting more and more pissed off with every word that comes out of the guy’s
mouth, “yeah? And what about you? You do everything, do you?”

“Well—”

“Be real for a second.” Scara snarls, “the only one, the only one of us who genuinely pulls his
weight in this house is that one.”

He points to Kazuha, who tenses up considerably at the sudden spotlight turned to him. He
sits up straight and tries to offer a faint and placating smile. “Well, I don’t mind—”

“Well I agree!” says Heizou suddenly, “it’s not just you. Venti needs to get off his ass
sometimes too!”

“Pardon?!” Venti turns his head away from where he was sat half-listening and gazing out of
the gleaming window, perking up while looking very much like a child who hears their name
mentioned in a parent's argument, “why are you bringing me into this? I contribute a lot!”

“Your idea of ‘contributing’,” Scara turns to him furiously with gritted teeth, “is very, very
different to ours. And playing BGM while we slave away is not part of it.”

“Hah!” Heizou scoffs, disbelieving, “‘we’?”

To his left, Venti looks vaguely crestfallen, “I thought you liked my playing.”

Scara falters for a moment, before scowling again, “well, sure, but it does become a bit of a
pisstake, Venti, when we’re the ones washing, dying, cleaning, cooking, and you’re just
playing the fucking ‘Macarena’ in the back.”

“Exactly.” Heizou chimes in, and looks to be on the cusp of another unending rant, but is cut
off by Xiao, who up until that point had remained largely silent and typically brooding.

“You aren’t any better,” he says quietly, calmly, but with a tone that’s both frigid and firm and
has them falling silent immediately, “you’re getting worked up about all of this, but who is
the one who’s always stuck cleaning up our bedroom? You’re a fucking slob sometimes.”

“It’s not my fault I like to live in ordered chaos!” The guy shuffles to the edge of his seat and
jabs an accusing finger into Xiao’s chest, “you’re the control freak here. Who fucking cares if
my pills are out, or my clothes are on the floor, or my bed’s not made?”

Xiao slaps Heizou’s hand away, “me. Me! The person who you share a room with!”

“Guys,” Kazuha places both hands on each of their shoulders, and gently reels them in, “I
really think we should tone this down…”

They all turn to him.

He blinks.

“Kazuha, tell us the truth,” Scara snaps, “out of all of us, who contributes the least in this
house?”

The boy shuffles back a little after being put on the spot like that, and splutters, “well, uh—”

“Go on,” even Xiao nods vigorously, “you’re the only one in a position to make that
judgment.”

“…Lumine, help me.” Kazuha whispers in her direction.

Their therapist, meanwhile, is curled up on her armchair, head resting on the left seat brace
and one foot dangling idly off the other, scrolling through her phone with half-lidded eyes.

They all stop and stare at her, and in the ensuing silence, the sound of cute cat videos and
notification pings can be heard every once in a while.

“Lumine!” Scara yells eventually.

The girl looks up, blinking for a few moments before straightening up, stretching long and
wide to the point where they can hear her joints click, before pulling out two cotton earbuds
from her ears, “y’all done?”

“…”

“Cold.” Mutters Venti finally.

“Look,” Heizou sniffs primly and gestures to the rest of them, “just tell us now. Some people
don't work nearly as hard to take care of our house as a collective. We’re allowed to be angry,
aren’t we?”

She moves to take a sip of her coffee, bringing to her lips before before realizing it’s empty,
and looks dismally at her shell of a Starbucks, mumbling, “if you’re waiting for me to care, I
hope you’ve brought something to eat, ‘cause it’s gonna be a reeaaalllyyy long time.”

Silence.

She folds one leg over the other, leans forward, and grins dryly, “I'm not a family counselor.
If you'd like one of those, I'll happily book one for you.”

Scara glowers, “we are not a—”

“And!” She continues loudly, “since you guys wasted half an hour of this session arguing
about this, which I know very well was kicked off as a diversion tactic.” She pats Heizou’s
knee, “you are not slick at all, detective.”

His eye twitches.

“And thus, I’m going to extend the session by an hour to make up for lost time.” She eyes the
pendulum clock up on the far right wall, before sighing deeply, “it’ll cut through my break,
but oh well. It is what it is.”

The five of them shuffle on the spot, grimacing and muttering and still very much shooting
salty looks over at one another when they think she won’t notice, but to her relief no more
protests follow, and the heat has somewhat died down. Metaphorically, of course, because it’s
still fucking boiling and all the open window is doing is blow more hot air in. God, she hopes
it rains soon.

“Great job.” Breathes Xiao under his breath.

“Shut up.” Heizou snaps back.

She sets her empty coffee down on the low table and smiles, pulling her seat forward and
closer before fishing out a clipboard from a nearby drawer.

She clicks open her pen, “so, how is everyone today?”

They all open their mouths.

“Internal household disputes notwithstanding.”

They all close their mouths.

She writes something down and hums, “I see.”

Seconds tick by as she scribbles, the only sounds the scratch-scratching of pen on paper, the
ticking of the far clock, and the quiet hum and howl of traffic from far, far below them.

“Lumine?” Says Kazuha at last, quietly.

She looks up, “yes, sweetheart?”

“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” he continues quickly, and she raises an eyebrow,
“but did we not agree to only one month of group therapy with you?”

They all nod at her, some more vigorously than others.

“That’s right.” She shrugs cooly, “I agreed to one month of sessions. I’m aware it’s been
more than a month since that day but let’s be real for a second. Can these, any of these, be
considered lessons?”

They all shrink in their seats, fully expecting another rant or rave or rebuke at their
uncooperativeness to accompany her words, feeling the weight of an impending admonition
like guilty children before a disapproving parent.

To their surprise, though, her voice softens, “I meant what I said yknow.”

“…”
“I believe the five of you would benefit exponentially if you would just cooperate and take
these sessions seriously.” She turns to examine each of them individually, “and it's for that
reason that they haven't stopped yet. I agreed to stop after one month of proper sessions, not
halfhearted ones based on petty arguments or sorting out the logistics of your new living
arrangements. It wasn't my original plan to make y'all roommates, but I'm not complaining.”

Xiao grumbles, “I am.”

She giggles. Actually giggles. “You guys are the cutest.”

They each exchange uncertain looks.

“So!” Says Lumine cheerfully, clapping her hands and drawing the clipboard up again, “let’s
not waste anymore time, shall we? Today I thought we should finally get round to discussing
something that I know you're all very keen on avoiding.”

The glee in her voice is enough to unsettle them to the very depths of their souls. This time,
the looks they exchange are wary, with no little amount of fear, dread, and regret at life
choices that have undoubtedly built up to that very moment.

If she noticed, well, she doesn’t show it, “having known and worked with each of you
individually, I firmly believe that you guys are ready to start breaching this ground. So let’s
get started, okay? How are things at home?”

Weighty silence follows her words, stuffy and suffocating and painfully obvious in the
oppressive heat, before Kazuha is the one who finally takes the plunge and indulges her
answers. It’s a common trend, really, how he out of all of them is the only one willing to
engage and even lead certain discussions.

She makes a mental note to work on that in later sessions.

“Well,” he begins slowly, “I told you all about mother and… her new partner. Things have
been smooth, I’d say. I haven’t seen Ningguang since that day, but Mother has been saying
that she wants to meet me and spend a day together. That must be a good sign, right?”

Lumine nods with a smile stretched wide and almost splitting her face, “that’s great, Kazuha.
That’s wonderful, actually. And how do you feel about it?”

He chuckles awkwardly, “aha, disconcerting. I’m still, even now, half expecting to be called
upon in the middle of the night and laughed at for falling for such grandiose a prank. I
suppose the reality just hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“Well, regardless,” she laughs, “it’s good that she’s making an effort to get to know you.
What do you think about it?”

“It makes me happy,” he says honestly, “Mother… she’s dated in the past. Many times, But I
haven’t seen her nearly as happy as I’ve come to notice now that she’s in the company of
Ninnguang.”
Lumine doesn’t reply, but it’s obvious she’s incurably pleased at the response, and has a
tender smile on her face as she balances her clipboard on her knee and continues to take notes
or write an account, or something.

“In fact,” Kazuha continues quietly, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this would be the one
relationship of hers to actually stick.”

From his seat, Heizou raises an eyebrow and grins, “man alive, you’re getting a bit ahead of
yourself, aren’t you?”

Kazuha shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well, who knows? The future is uncertain. But
regardless, I’m happy for her. Very happy indeed for her.”

Done with her notes, Lumine glances up and, judging from the look on her face, makes it
obvious that somehow they’ve set up her next array of questions very nicely. “it’s always a
good sign to show willingness to change within a family, even if it’s a positive one. I know
that for some, it can be very difficult to get used to, which is perfectly understandable.”

Xiao from his seat, tenses up ever so slightly, and though she doesn’t look at him, nor said it
in any leading way to suggest she was talking about anyone in particular, he can’t help but
feel like the recipient of her words, and feels an odd obligation to speak in that respect.

“… yeah.” he agrees dumbly and brusquely, whatever it was he wanted to say, could have
said, dying at the end of his tongue until all that’s left is a mere aftertaste.

She finally turns to look at him, “step-family can be tricky. It’s understandable. How are
things at home?”

Xiao shrugs, turning his gaze away from them all, where all eyes have suddenly trained onto
him, boring into him until he feels like there are knives piercing into his skin, itching and
boring and invasive. He shifts his gaze to the outside window and avoids their gaze by
watching the congealed rush traffic far, far below.

For all Lumine’s nagging, her persistence, her exasperation at them and her angry-tired-
annoyed mother persona she’s adopted, though, he knows without a doubt that she would
never, ever force anyone to speak if they truly did not want to.

He answers anyway, with a half shrug, “I guess you could say I’ve been arguing less with the
bastard.”

“That’s great–” she starts, beaming.

“Because I haven’t seen him since I moved out.”

Her face falls slack, “well.”

He’d have left it at that. He normally would have. But god knows what overweening force
compels him to continue speaking, and he blurts out, “but… for all that orange bastard gets
on my nerves, he makes father happy. It’s a bit selfish for me to continue clinging onto
mother… and expect him to do the same.”
Lumine descends into stunned silence, delightfully surprised at the uncharacteristic
confession, and overjoyed beyond belief at the maturity and acceptance permeating such
words that she, truthfully, had not expected Xiao to reach anytime soon. After years of
digging into this topic with the boy, over and over, this is the most progress emotionally he
has ever made, and she can’t help but feel a giddy sort of pride upon hearing his shifting
perspective and newfound credence.

“That’s,” she tries to say, but her voice comes out in a winded whisper, “delightful to hear.
Genuinely.”

He doesn’t look away from the window, but judging from the way his ears and neck are
burning a faint and pretty crimson, that’s as much as he’s willing to give her, “yeah, well, if
they wanna spend the rest of their lives together… who am I to stop them?”

At those words, Scara, sitting beside him, looks sharply at the boy, who either doesn’t notice
or doesn’t care.

And oh, Lumine realizes. So that’s what it is. That explains the sudden progress.

The jolt she feels in her heart is unexpected, and so is the unending torrent of happiness that
follows. She knew, she knew, she knew that they would be able to support each other, help
one another, and this all but proves it.

She wants to hug Xiao, squeeze his cheeks and say she’s proud of him, give him all the
almond tofu in the world and shower him in praise for finally taking the first step to get rid of
this persistent grudge, this endless deep-set all-encompassing hatred that had been chaining
him down for years. For showing willingness to move on, willingness to grow, willingness to
accept. All of it, all of it, all of it. She’s proud of all of it.

But the poor boy looks uncomfortable enough, so she clamps down deep and hard on her
emotions, resisting any and every one of those urges, and says instead, “that’s awfully mature
of you.”

He grunts, still staring out to the vast, bright blue sky.

She slowly turns to look at the rest of them, “anyone else?”

And, boy, if Xiao’s words from before had surprised her, Scara’s speaking up is enough to
stun her into numb shock. Scaramouche. The boy who, for two whole months when they first
started therapy, would refuse to say a word, not a hello, or a thank you, or a goodbye to her.
The boy with the highest walls and knee-deep scars, a boy hurt too many times to even
consider opening the chambers of his heart again, instead locking it away, padlock upon
padlock, and swallowing the keys. The single most reclusive, evasive patient she ever had,
and he here is willingly, willingly speaking up in a group therapy session.

God, this really is a testament of both Scara and her standards for him, and of how this job
has completely taken over her life to the point where she can find such unbridled joy in
something as simple as like one fucking sentence.
“I haven’t heard from the old hag lately,” Scara shrugs with a characteristically uncaring look
that means he cares a whole deal, “I guess I should take that as a good sign, huh?”

He doesn’t say anything else after that, which has her suspect that the only reason he spoke
up in the first place was to ease some of Xiao’s discomfort, and that in itself is a pleasing
prospect to think about.

But the casual sweeping sway of his words only breaks her heart further. He doesn’t look at
her, or anyone, and keeps his gaze firmly locked to the ground, but the mention of his mother
casts a dark and lingering shadow across his face, so much so that despite her knowing that
it’s logical and beneficial to touch upon family and familial relations during this session,
Lumine can’t help but feel a deep-set wedge of guilt at any rate for making him feel this way.

With that notion, she decides to let him alone for the time being, knowing all too well how
touchy this topic is for this one in particular.

She turns to the others, and persists in throwing the subject around, taking notes when she
needs to, and having to prod and pine every now and then at some of the more sensitive
topics.

The rest of the session passes in a blur, with the oppressive summer heat becoming more and
more forceful to the point where it’s obvious even Lumine is struggling to keep her focus.
Venti remains firmly and stubbornly silent in any topic she tries to bring forth, and after a
while of trying to get him to speak she lets him alone.

Heizou in particular begins alarmingly casual anecdotes about his father, joking and laughing
about the types of strict parenting he had been subject to as a child, comments on typical
Asian parenting and the whole shebang. It’s a clear diversion tactic, which is made even more
strikingly obvious when he pointedly avoids mentioning certain other aspects of his father’s
treatment of him, and Lumine makes a mental note to work with him on it during their next
private session.

And if Scara tenses up considerably when the subject of parenting and childhood dances
around, albeit casually and in no way directed at him, and Venti leans forward to press their
palms together and give his hand a gentle squeeze…

Well. She pretends not to notice.

✳︎✳︎✳︎
One hour and twenty minutes later, session over and finally free from the stuffy suffocation
of Lumine’s office. Venti guides them over to a dimly lit shop, wedged tight between an
oriental convenience store and a smoky cafe. A sharp bell rings as he pushes open the door,
where the interior inside is small, very cramped, and unspeakably, ineffably creepy.

The rest of them follow shortly after, huddled close together and immediately regretting ever
following Venti into this place. There’s a resounding bang as the door slaps heavily shut
behind them, and dust leaps into the air, causing them to cough. Deep velvet curtains drape
across the door, covering what little light they had left and casting the room into blanketed
and all-encompassing darkness

Inside the little shop is murky, with dull shapes dancing in the peripheral that slowly fade into
focus to reveal displays. The only source of light are candles, faintly lit and casting large and
overreaching shadows across the walls and floorboards, and there’s a strange chill in the air
despite the humidity of the summer afternoon. The air is heavy with the scent of incense,
hints of sandalwood, myrrh and frankincense that mingle with undertones of herbs and
spices, each that waft through the cramped space in thick tufts of smoke that clog the back of
their throat.

You’d think he’d be used to it, but all the same Heizou erupts into yet another coughing fit,
and even Xiao grimaces at the heaviness of the choking atmosphere. Kazuha reaches over
and rubs his back in gentle circles, until his coughing subsides.

They begin the walk deeper in, feeling an increasing sense of peculiarity and some degree of
dread with every step they take. The floorboards creak under their feet, and soon enough the
shadowy shapes shift into focus, becoming a lot clearer, and they’re able to see now just how
cluttered the space is, peppered with curiosities and trinkets from floor to ceiling.

Shelves tower above them, lined with jars filled to the brim of various bubbling substances,
and colorful bottles follow shortly after. On the adjacent wall is a similar display of shelves,
with rows upon rows of glassy-eyes porcelain dolls staring blankly forward. There’s tables
littered with tarot cards, and shimmering rocks, and gleaming crystal balls, and mapped out
charts of stars that’s laid wide open, and there’s stacks upon stacks of books mounted to one
side, with a sleek black telescope perched at the very top. Directly behind is a display board,
pinned with astral charts and excerpts of torn book pages, as well as clocks of various shapes
and sizes ticking away, of which neither tell the correct time.

“Venti.” Xiao hisses and strides forward, breaking the suffocating silence with a harsh tug of
the boy’s arm, “where the fuck have you taken us?”

“Hm?” Venti tilts his head, and in the darkness his blue eyes look bigger and brighter than
ever, “you said you needed to buy some incense.”

“Yes. I did.” replies Xiao slowly, “why the hell did you bring us to this freakshow then?”

“Because they sell incense here. Duh.”

“Uh yeah. Among other things.” Heizou pipes up from the side, where he’s standing in front
of the shelves of dolls, “what the fuck kind of shop is this, Venti?”
“It’s great.” The boy replies cheerfully, “everything here is very cheap!”

Heizou stares at a particular doll eye-level with him, with dirty blonde hair that’s choppy and
tied with red ribbon into two curling big tails, wearing a bleak white dress that’s shapeless
and looks more like a sleeping bag, and staring straight through him with faded blue eyes.

He feels a chill creep up his spine.

“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice breaks through the silence, appearing out of nowhere,
and they all yelp and turn around. The lady is short, clad in a shifting cloak of midnight blue
that hangs behind her shoulders, and raven black hair tied in two hanging pigtails that sway
behind her.

Her eyes are sea-green, intense, and very accusing as she sizes them up, almost glowing in
the shifty darkness. She stays there, unblinking and unmoving, for a very long time. An
unsettlingly long time.

“Did you appear out of nowhere?” Says Kazuha at last.

“Perhaps.” She replies ominously, tightening the cloak around her shoulder and stepping
closer.

The hazy silhouette of a door takes shape behind her.

Oh.

She notices, and adds quickly in a haunting tone that has them suspect she may be laying it
on a little thick, “the stars foretold I’d have some company today. It’s very rare to have
customers, even at this time of day—”

“Ya don’t say.” Scara mutters under his breath.

The girl falters for a few seconds, before shaking it off. She leans in with an intense stare, “so
what can I do for you?”

Finally, Venti squeezes himself forward from where he had been lodged against the rickety
table, between Xiao and Scara, and throws an arm around her shoulders, giving it a tight
squeeze, “heyy, Mona!”

Mona stumbles under the sudden contact before gaining her bearings. She hugs him back,
chuckling, spooky facade vanishing like a mist, “goodness, Venti, you have me a fright. What
on earth are you doing here?”

He hums and lets go of her, before gesturing to the rest of them, “my friend over here needed
some incense. We were in the area so I thought I’d stop by. You do sell some, don’t you?”

Mona is nods, but Scaramouche cuts them all off with an incredulous laugh.

“This guy asks for incense, which we can get from virtually anywhere, and your first thought
is to drag us to this superstitious hag’s den?!”
Mona spins on her heel to face him with a look of wounded outrage, “how dare you! Who do
you think you are?!”

“Someone in touch with reality, clearly.” Scara retorts, gesturing to the rest of the store with a
scoff. He picks up a nearby crystal ball from the table, turning it over in his palms and
holding it up, “I mean really, this feels like the type of place you’d find in some 18th century
witch hunt movie.”

“Please refrain from touching that, it’s—”

“What? Magic?”

She purses her lips, “I was going to say expensive, but yes, that too.”

He rolls his eyes, “oh jeez. I bet you’re one of them crazy bitches all about the zodiacs too,
huh?”

She glowers, snatching the ball out of his arms and settling it back onto the table, before
folding her arms, “those who are most dismissive of the sway of the universe are often the
most ignorant. Careful what you say, boy, or one day that arrogance will rear its head on
you.”

He pouts and leans in with an insidious grin, “oh, I’m sooo scared. What’ll happen to me?
Maybe I’ll get turned into a frog, or get struck down by lightning.” This time he moves to
pick up one of the display dolls from the row of shelves and whispers to it dramatically, “do
you think I’m doomed forever, little lady?” He uses a thumb to move the doll’s head in a nod,
raising his voice into a mocking pitch, “of course, you’re doomed forever!”

Mona’s look of fury shifts to one of outrage, “put that down this instant! You don’t know
what you’re doing!” She lunges forward to snatch it, but he only pulls it out of reach.

“Oh yeah? Or what?” He challenges, holding the doll up high in the air.

Mona stops and folds her arms, teeth bared and looking increasingly ticked off by the minute,
and like she very much regrets ever having met Venti at all if it meant bringing this
insufferably prick into her life, let alone her shop, “that doll is one dating back to the ancient
civilisations of Alexander the Great, said to have been dyed in the rotting essence of a long-
forgotten child, mummified and extracted to preserve their spirit. Be careful with the way you
handle it, or you may just end up making life very, very difficult for yourself.”

“Uh huh,” Scara nods with faux enthusiasm teeming with sardonic skepticism, and he flips
the doll over in his palm to get a good look at it.

“What are you—”

He smoothens over a creased label in his hand and squints at it, “‘’made in china’.”

“…” Mona’s arms fall slack at her sides, “fuck you.”

He bursts out laughing again, throwing the doll at her face. She stumbles and fumbles to grab
it before it hits the floor, looking scandalized beyond belief and like she has half a mind to
kick him out and plaster a sign to keep him out forever.

“I broke the cryptic!” He wheezes, keeling over and hand squeezing Xiao’s shoulder, who
looks like he wishes he could be anywhere but here, “pay up then.”

She stares at him, “now why would I do that?”

“You’re clearly a scam.”

“Okay, I agree that was a bit overkill,” she admits, and shooes Heizou out of the way as she
repositions the doll back on its original spot on the shelf, “scaring the customers is a habit of
mine, when things get so mundane here in this little store. But listen to me very carefully,”
she faces him fiercely, “you’d better be careful while you’re in here, or I have a feeling you’ll
end up doing something you’ll very much regret.”

Scara, of course, just looks insufferably more entertained at her words, but whatever snarky
response he was prepared to spit at her dies on his tongue as Xiao steps between the two and
folds his arms.

“Can we just get the incense sticks and go?” He snaps with a look of palpable weariness,
“where’s your stock?”

Finally, looking frankly very grateful to be relieved of Scara’s obnoxious presence, Mona
turns to acknowledge Xiao, back straightening and putting on her most accommodating look,
“I do indeed. Anything particular?”

“Sandalwood, preferably.”

The points over to a deeper corner of the store, where sticks of incense are readily lit near
rows of different boxes and scents and types, and without a word Xiao shoves past them to go
take a look.

Heizou follows close after, muttering under his breath with an endless string of complaints
about Xiao’s “stupid fucking obsession” with incense, and his “stupid fucking insistence” on
lighting a stick every week in their room, and how he’s certain he’ll die of lung collapse,
palpitation or asthma if this keeps up.

All of which Xiao steadily ignores, of course.

Meanwhile, Scaramouche remains at the doll section, and this time leans forward to fetch a
slightly different one from the shelves.

It’s a ball-jointed puppet, he realizes, with deep brown hair and eyes of fierce violet. Her
arms and legs flop limply at her side as he shifts her around and moves her limbs here and
there, but he feels an uneasy weight, almost a chill, condense at the back of his neck as he
holds it. Which he promptly ignores.

“Don’t touch that!” Mona hisses, yanking it away from him.

“Why?” He yanks it back, “what, is this made in China too?”

“No,” she says impatiently, “no one knows where Herta was made. According to my old
master, she was crafted in the form of a forgotten genius, who was intoxicated by her own
twisted brilliance, and had the puppet made and bound to preserve her essence forever. Now,
she’s been long forgotten, but this puppet is fused with the fragmented consciousness of her
countless abandoned achievements, the only thing left to her memory and the tales of her
curiosity gone awry— are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah yeah, Herta, forgotten genius, her evil puppet incarnation, got it.” Scaramouche
mumbles distractedly as he grabs the Herta doll’s wrist and fiddles with it, twisting it around,
“how long have you even had this? It looks brand new.” He feels a bit of nostalgia as he’s
suddenly reminded of his childhood. He used to have such a huge obsession with puppets as
a child, and he feels it all coming back now.

“Please stop doing that—”

“The legs and arms are a bit stiff though, but that’s probably cause you never use her,”
Scaramouche rolls his eyes, “normally I’d say oil the joints down but I don’t think it’s
necessary here. Maybe just—” he begins to tamper with the puppet’s pale limbs, moving
them up and down and left and right.

“Wait, what are you—”

“Just… a… second,” he sticks his tongue out in concentration as he tinkers around,

“almost… got it…”

The leg snaps clean off.

“…”

Scara stares at it in his hand.

Venti gapes. Kazuha gapes. Mona…

… loses her shit.

“WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU?” She shrieks, so loudly that they all jump and jolt into the
table next to them, causing the crystal balls to wobble, rolling away, and the pile of books to
tumble onto the floor.

For once, though, Mona doesn’t look like she cares, instead staring incredulously from
Herta’s disembodied limb in Scara’s hand, to the dismembered body, to finally Scaramouche.

“Jeez, relax—” he says slowly while trying to reattach it, before it becomes evident that it’s
been broken beyond repair. He shrugs, “look I’m sorry for breaking your heirloom or
whatever—”

“Sorry? Sorry?!” She yells, grabbing it from his hands furiously, “do you have any idea what
kind of force you’ve angered upon yourself?!”
“Well—”

“Quick, I need, I need—“ she mutters, almost to herself, shoving her way past them to the
table, scamming it and, knocking over more books and maps and pieces of paper until she
finds what she is looking for. “Here they are.”

She holds up tarot cards and begins to shuffle through them.

“Uh, yeah, no.” Scara backs away, arms folded, “I’m sorry for breaking your master’s little
toy or whatever, but I don’t need you to do… whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll pay you for the
charges—”

“Just sit down and let me read your future, asshole.” Mona snaps and gestures for him to take
a seat opposite her, “the money isn’t important. In breaking that, you may as well have cursed
yourself—”

“Cursed?!” Venti gasps in horror.

“Cursed…” Kazuha blinks in confusion.

“Cursed? Hah!” Scara scoffs disparagingly, “what, and let me guess, you’re going to have me
pay extra for some stupidass ‘cure’ or whatever?”

“No.” She shakes her head with genuine urgency, and points to the seat again, “this is serious,
so please sit—”

“You sure know how to squeeze every last cent out of people.” Scara continues, “how much
do these tarot readings usually cost?”

“$50, but—”

“Fifty whole fucking dollars?!” He turns away from her, tutting and shaking his head in both
a disapproving and triumphant manner, “what did I tell you? Scam.”

“You’re really willing to let this malediction of misfortune follow you everywhere?” Mona
snaps.

“Sure, that’ll be perfect.” He shrugs with his back towards her, “My life has already been like
absolutely fucking shit, so maybe two negatives will make a positive.”

He doesn’t wait for her to reply as he seizes Kazuha and Venti by the elbows and tugs them
towards the exit.

“Wait!”

“Yeah. I’m going to respectfully leave now. Bye, psycho.”

And with that, he pushes the door open, the searing brightness of the outside feeling like the
entrance to purgatory or some shit, before the door falls shut behind them and they’re left
alone in the silent street.
 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

Outside, the air is cool and crisp and a refreshing shift from that stuffy snuffed up atmosphere
of the shop, though the bright flooding sunlight takes a while to adjust to.

Stretching his arms above his head, Scara yawns and looks at his dragged roommates with
half-lidded eyes, only to see that both of them look troubled, very troubled indeed.

“Oh come on.” He smiles dryly at the both of them, “you can’t seriously be taking what that
whacko said to heart?”

“Well she seemed rather serious,” says Kazuha carefully, brows furrowed, and that’s all the
indication Scara needs to realize just how much the two of them have been swept away by all
this magic pizzazz and abracadabra bullshit.

“Kazuha,” Scara lowers his arms to gape at him, “you as well? I honestly expected better
from you.”

Kazuha just smiles wordlessly, while Venti looks positively scathed at that passing comment.

“Pardon me? What’s that supposed to mean!”

“Besides,” Scara continues loudly, sliding over to link their arms with his, “‘malfortune” my
ass. It’s obvious she was just trying to scare me, and she admitted herself that customers are
rare to come by. She was probably trying to squeeze every little penny out of me.”

“But that doesn’t explain why she didn’t ask you to pay for breaking the doll,” Kazuha points
out weakly.

He rolls his eyes, “well that’s probably because she wanted to lay it on real thick. A fifty
dollar tarot reading? There’s no way I’m falling for such a scam!”

Kazuha falls silent at that, but Venti still looks ready to object, and knowing him, once the
guy kicks off about something, it takes a whole lot of patience, apples, and a whole lot of
yelling to get him to stop, none of which Scara has the energy for.

“In fact,” he continues loudly with a purposeful huff, “I had been feeling pretty happy about
today when the morning started. I even decided to wear my favorite hat, on this fine clear day
—”

A loud rumble echoes across the sky, causing them to jump, thick and grating thunder that
resonates through the atmosphere for a few long seconds.
Before it begins to rain down hard in a burst of a hot summer shower.

“…. What the fuck?” He hisses, tugging them along and ducking under a nearby roof for
shelter, “but the weather app said it was going to be a clear day today—”

To his left, Venti lets out a loud, piercing wail, “it’s started! NO-”

“Oh shut up,” Scara slaps a hand firmly across his mouth, “stop being such an idiot. You do
realize weather apps can be wrong sometimes too, right?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrow deeply, a sure sign of a hefty and vehement protest on the
horizon, but at that moment Xiao arrives with Heizou, jogging over to join them under the
sheltered roof.

“Shit.” He swears and shakes out his damp hair, “why the hell did you guys run off?”

“Scara dragged us out—” Venti began.

“Whatever. I brought the incense, let’s just go now. The car’s just over… there.” Xiao falters.

In the near distance, their car (read: Xiao’s car) is where they left it, but now they can see it’s
wedged in a space between two cars, so tight that even from where they’re standing it’s
obvious that it would be impossible to get out without triggering someone’s alarm and adding
a custom touch to paint.

“Asshole!” Xiao yells in outrage, to no one in particular, “what kind of bastard parks like
that? Who in their right fucking mind would give a license to someone like that? Wait here.”
And, shoving the shopping bag into Heizou’s hands, skulks off to check if the owner of the
car is inside, looking well prepared to give him a good tongue-thrashing.

The person isn’t, which is a real genuine fucking pain, because now it means they’re stuck in
the rain in the middle of town until god knows when.

“What a pain.” Scara mutters, which he regrets immediately as Venti whirls to face him.

“See?!”

“You do realize that guy must have been parked there since before I even broke the doll
right?” Scara snaps, “can you please stop overreacting?”

“Hey.” Heizou says, as he faces the shop they’re lurking near, sheltered under its
overreaching metal sheets. It’s that same oriental convenience store they had passed before.
“since we’ll be here for a while, let’s get something to drink.”

So they do, entering the shop with aisles so narrow that they have to walk in single file to get
to the fridge. The owner at the till is an old man, back hunched and looking exceedingly
irritated at them for no valid reason.

Once they leave, Venti and Heizou sit down at the front steps, while the rest stand and watch
as the rain plummets down in sheets, like beads on concrete, and the smell of petrichor
permeates the air like fragrant mist.

Venti sips his Coca Cola and watches the rain with innocent fascination.

Scara opens his bottle.

It explodes in his face. “Shit!”

He swears and coughs as he feels sparkling soda in his eyes and ears and up his goddamn
nose, and it’s really no surprise that Heizou beside him is laughing like it’s the funniest thing
since slapstick comedy. At least Kazuha is the only one who cares enough to grab a tissue for
him.

Scara dabs his face and blows his nose, and doesn’t even need to look Venti in the eye to feel
the daggers the boy is sending him.

“Coincidence.” He grumbles as he wipes his face, feeling gross and sticky in all the wrong
places and wanting very much to go home.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

It takes another twenty minutes by the time the guy finally arrives to move his stupid car. By
that point, Scara was fully prepared to just get up and walk off into the stupid rain himself,
despite their home being miles away, if only to rid himself of Venti’s insufferable whining
about this stupid fucking curse that Scara unleashed upon himself. This guy watches way too
many movies.

Anyway. It isn’t long before Xiao gets up and is up in the man’s face, slamming a palm into
the window to stop him from getting into his car, and starts yelling with unhinged ferocity,
cursing out his stupid fucking parking and his stupid fucking driving and his stupid fucking
self who has inconvenienced not only himself, but five other fucking people.

The four of them watch the exchange in silence.

“I’m not gonna lie.” Venti says eventually, taking a final swig and finishing the remnants of
his soda, “that’s kinda hot.”

Scara side-eyes him, “dude.”

Finally, the yelling subsides, and the man flips Xiao off before slipping into his car and
driving off, where Xiao is left standing there looking like he wishes he had just gone ahead
and left a massive dent to spite the asshole.
“Get in.” He snaps at them eventually, sliding into the front seat.

He doesn’t need to tell them twice. They all get a move on, with Kazuha slipping into the
passenger seat and Venti and Heizou in the back. Scara moves to take up the last seat—

—Before a car speeds past at that very moment, into a puddle that splashes him and soaks
him from head to toe.

“…”

“… how unfortunate.” Kazuha says very seriously, in a way that makes it obvious he’s trying
not to laugh.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU?” Venti cries out.

“Coincidence.” Scara grits his teeth, aggressively wiping away grime and dirt from his face
and weeks. He gets into the car, shivering, slamming the door harder than necessary.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

When they arrive home, home sweet home, and pull into their driveway, the first thing they
see is the front door gaping wide open.

“What the??” Heizou frowns and squints out the window, “was that open the whole time we
were out?”

“Scaramouche.” Xiao turns from the driver’s seat to glower at him. “You were the last one
out of the house. I distinctly remember telling you to close it properly.”

“I swear I did!” Scara exclaims, truthfully.

“It’s the curse!”

“Shut your mouth, Venti!”

It’s typical to see that Heizou, in spite of it all, seems to be finding this particular turn of
events the pinnacle of all entertainment, and one could practically see his ears perk up at
those words, “what’s this about a curse? What, is the universe finally getting back at this
entitled little shit? Hah, bout damn time if you ask me.”
Scara snarls, “I will break your neck.”

Kazuha is the one who out the car first, which prompts the rest of them to do the same, “well
we should at least check to see if anyone came in.”

“I doubt it.” Heizou is saying as they all enter, “but let’s check anyway.”

“Shh.” Xiao raises a sudden hand. They all stop dead in their tracks, standing dumbly in the
porch, “what’s that sound?”

They all hold their breath, straining their ears, but hearing nothing except the gentle tremor of
rain that has by now faded into a fine shower.

After a while, though, the sound of water can be heard — distinctly different to the rain —
less like pitter-patter and much more like gushing and gargling. Like an open sink.

They all run towards the sound, speeding past the living room and kitchen and pulling open a
door to one of the corridor bathrooms.

Only to find it flooded to their ankles in water.

Venti yells, leaping into Xiao’s back immediately like some cat avoiding a bath, to avoid
getting his feet wet.

The guy doesn’t react, instead staring at the cabinet under the sink, where the source of all the
flooding water seems to be originating from.

Heizou opens it and gapes inside, “… the pipe is busted.”

“What?” Xiao says, gobsmacked, “how?”

“I don’t fucking know!”

Kazuha kneels down beside Heizou, the bottom his trousers and ankles getting soaked wet, as
he begins to fiddle with the pipes or something inside the cabinet which Scara can’t get a
good view of from his position near the door.

The flooding water stops.

“There.” says Kazuha, standing up and dusting his palms together, “I’ve turned off the water
in this bathroom for now.”

“Fucking hell.” Xiao rakes a hand across his face and groans, “I’m gonna have to call the
plumber. Please let go of me, Venti.”

Xiao leaves the bathroom, shrugging off his soaking shoes as he leaves, off to find the
number for the plumber, presumably.

Scara just stares at the carnage dismally.

“This is our bathroom.” He groans. It’s true. Of the two bathrooms in the hall, one belonged
to Heizou and Xiao, and the other one was his and Venti’s, “I’m fucking caked in soda and
mud and god knows whag else. Where the hell do I shower now?”

“I guess you’ll have to share with me and Xiao,” Heizou shrugs, “or use the one in Kazuha’s
room.”

“Typical.” Scara mutters.

“Very typical!” Venti folds his arms, “the curse!”

“Come, now,” says Kazuha soothingly, gliding over to put an arm around Scara’s shoulder.
He guides him out of the bathroom, “you’re still soaking wet. Let’s go to my room, you can
use my bathroom.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Twenty minutes later, with fresh new fluffy dry socks, Venti hops towards the kitchen to find
the rest of his roomies and ask what the situation is with the plumber.

He hears them before he sees them, and as he draws closer realizes that it’s the midst of yet
another drawn out argument that seems to be more and more frequent between these two
members of their house specifically.

“Before we left, I fucking told you to turn the dishwasher on,” Xiao is saying harshly.

“Well, I forgot.” Heizou hisses at him, “what’s the big deal? We can turn it on now.”

“The deal is that now we have no useable dishes for dinner,”

“So fucking what? We can just get takeout, or wash old ones.”

“That’s not the point! The point is that I asked you to do it, and now that you haven’t, it’s
inconvenienced the rest of us.”

“It’s just a fucking dishwasher!”

“That’s not just it though, is it?” Xiao folds his arms and levels him with a look, “there’s also
the room, and the laundry, and our bathroom. I wouldn’t be surprised if our pipe burst just
like those guys’ did, from the number of times you forget to clean it when it’s your turn.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself.” Heizou bares his teeth, “you’re just a control freak. Let some of us
live.”

“You little—”

“Guys.” Venti sing-songs from where he’s leaning in the doorway. They stop to look at him,
“let’s calm down, hmm?”

“He started it.” They both say.

“No, he did.” They both say again.

“Stop copying me.” They glare at each other.

“Hmm.” Venti hums thoughtfully, “I think we need to settle this the old fashioned way.”

They stop glaring to gawk at him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Venti tilts his head, “I meant by talking it out.”

Relief breaks across both of their faces.

“What?” Venti frowns, “what did you think I meant??”

“I don’t know, man,” Heizou shrugs, “you’re a bit unpredictable sometimes, yknow?
Knowing you, there’s no telling what dumb ideas you have stored up in there, like a dance
battle or some shit.”

“Oh that’s a much better idea!”

They both facepalm.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Meanwhile, Scaramouche — with a bunch of clothes from his closet bundled in his arms and
a navy blue towel slung over his shoulders — takes full liberty of Kazuha’s bathroom.

He has to admit, he feels no short amount of bitter resentment, greener than green envy, as he
steps it, eyeing everything. The gleaming tiles are of a brilliant pale white marble, looking so
clean and shined up that he can practically see his ascended figure in the reflection. It’s
specious too — far much more so than the one he shares with Venti, which is so cramped and
suffocating that he can’t even get dressed in the damn place without triggering his
claustrophobia and banging his head on the cupboard or sink or shower head or toilet seat.

Ah yes, maybe he will just abuse Kazuha’s hospitality and take a long, long, soak in this
place.

All at once, he feels the weight of the day stack upon his shoulder, and a sudden bone-deep
exhaustion he can feel seeping out of his very pores. As he begins to unbutton his shirt, he
eyes up the shower.

It’s a lot shiner than the rest, practically sparkling, and the bathtub itself is sleek and smooth
and delightfully unblemished. A very pale white, except for one fuzzy black spot that catches
his eye…

Eying it closer with a squint, he realizes that it’s moving, towards him—

He fucking shrieks.

Kazuha rushes in, “what is it?! What’s wrong?”

Scara flings himself behind him, towel wrapped around his shoulders and held up to cover
half of his face. All sense of dignity out of the window? Sure. But it’s Kazuha, of all people,
and besides. He feels he is entirely justified as he stands there, pointing a long, daunting hand
at the bathtub, straight at the the biggest, thickest, furriest fucking arachnid he has ever seen
in his fucking life.

Kazuha stares at it.

He bursts out laughing.

“Stop that,” cries Scara, bringing the wrapped towel closer around his neck, “and get that
overgrown eight-legged pipecleaner away from me.”

Kazuha just grins at him, fondly, “but look at the size of it compared to you. What could it
possibly do?”

“It could crawl into my clothes when I’m not looking, with those eight longass piercers
digging into my skin, and slowly make its way into my ear while I remain blissfully unaware
of it all—”

“Well—”

“—and soon it finds a good resting place to lay eggs, hundreds upon thousands, into my brain
until they have a moist warm environment to manifest and hatch as a group—”

“I—”

“—before finally in my sleep they awaken and the offspring of this bastard slowly begins to
feed on my inside, eating my organs and brain matter and flesh from the inside until I am
devoured from the inside out.”
“… You watch too many movies.” Kazuha says at last.

“Just,” Scara shuffles back, “remove it.”

Kazuha obliges, hunching over to pick up that beast with so much ease it’s disconcerting, and
lets the spider out through the high stained glass windows. Stained glass.

Once Kazuha leaves again, Scara finally has his long awaited shower, leaving the steam rise
and open up his clothes throat and sinuses, and allows the engulfing heat to slide over his
neck and back. He feels the grime and soda wash off of him, and finally he allows his
muscles to relax, his body to ease…

Before the heat becomes biting, sharp, fucking freezing.

In the bedroom, Kazuha jumps up from his bed as he hears yet another scream come from his
bathroom, and runs over to see what’s the problem now.

Scaramouche storms out of his bathroom, wrapped his towel, shivering very violently and
looking very bloodshot, “of course the water is fucking cold. Of course. This fucking day.”

Probably not the best thing to say, but in the spur of the moment, Kazuha cannot help but
mention offhandedly, “are you inclined to believe venti now?”

Scara just grits his teeth and shivers harder, “a coincidence.”

Kazuha smiles and ushers him over, “come, let’s warm you up.”

He lets the boy borrow one of his bathrobes for the time being, before pushing him down to
sit on the bed. He pulls out a hair drier.

“This may not be hot water but it should warm you up,” Kazuha says, switching it on, and for
a while the room is silent save for the sound of the whirring heat.

Scara shifts a lot, feeling weirdly jarred by the domestic intimacy of it all, and can’t help but
hold his breath at every angle the drier turns, or tense up whenever Kazuha’s face comes so
close that he can almost feel his breath condensing at the back of his neck.

When it’s finally done and his hair is finally dry, and Kazuha has concluded he is sufficiently
warmed up, he lets himself relax.

✳︎✳︎✳︎
Meanwhile in the living room, Venti is sitting languidly on the sofa, reclined back and arms
folded, looking very eager indeed as Xiao and Heizou stand smack-bang in the middle of the
room, directly in front of the TV.

“Are you ready?” He sits up and claps in anticipation.

“No.” They both say.

He pouts.

“This is counterproductive.” Says Xiao.

“This is stupid.” Says Heizou.

“That’s the point!” Insists Venti, “I think you’ll find that by putting yourself in this situation,
by forcing you to be completely honest while still dancing away, will rid you of your
inhibitions and allow you two to become the best of bros again!”

They stare flatly at him.

Venti promptly ignores their death glares and whips out his phone, tapping away before
opening Spotify. He slides the volume up and puts his playlist on shuffle.

“Now dance!”

“…”

Venti raises the volume to max, “I said dance!”

Reluctantly, Heizou begins to shuffle on the spot, “well. Xiao. You’re a fucking clean freak.”

Xiao starts to sway with the music as well, “just because I don’t like living like a fucking
slob?”

“Neither do I!” Snaps Heizou, his movements becoming harsher, “but you take it to the next
level!”

“Well that’s because it piles up!” Says Xiao with a furious hip sway, “one mess becomes two,
and two become three, and—”

“You seriously can’t expect me to be the only one.” Heizou twirls angrily, “you always burn
that fucking incense in our room. But do I say anything? No.”

“It’s only once a week.” Xiao throws his arms up in time with the music.

“Once a week is enough!” Heizou yells while doing the floss, “are you that inconsiderate?”

“Oh yeah?” Xiao moonwalks, “and what about you? You’re up until 3 am reading detective
novels, and I don't say shit.”
Heizou pirouettes like a ballerina, “well how about you, waking up at 6 am in the loudest
fucking way possible. Woukd it kill you to creep out of the room? But nooo, you're all open
blinds and morning sunshine!”

“Oh don’t be such a priss.” Xiao snaps as he boogies away, “a little routine would be good
for you.”

“You’re not my mom.” Heizou dances aggressively.

“Well you’re not a child either.” Xiao dances, even more aggressively.

“O…Kay…” Venti’s voice cuts in, cheer dispelled and replaced with uncertainty, “while it is
wonderful that you're letting it out in the open... the purpose was for this to be a funny way to
break the ice. How the hell are you guys managing to dance so threateningly?”

He is typically ignored.

“Would it kill you to be a bit more mature?”

“Oh shut up. Don’t patronise me. You’re just like Sara.”

“Well maybe she was right then. You need some routine in your life, and you can't keep
pushing away people who do.”

“You wanna know what I think, shitstain?” Heizou growls as he tap dances, “You're
absolutely fucking desperate to have things just the way you want it to be. Maybe you're not
using to having a messy room, being born with a silver spoon, but the rest of us can't handle
your controlling bullshit!”

“Uh,” Venti raises a weary hand, “I don’t mind—”

“Oh yeah?” Xiao barks back with jazz hands, “well at least I was raised to have some form of
self respect! People would think you were fatherless, the way you behave.”

Heizou stops dancing.

The impact of his words comes to Xiao in waves, first with numb confusion, the next with a
sudden mortifying clarity, and a sunken daunting realization that he just crossed a line he
really shouldn’t have.

He stops as well, “wait, that came out wrong—”

“Yknow, sometimes I wish that I was.” Says Heizou very slowly.

Before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The faint echo of a door slamming shut follows not far behind.

Venti and Xiao stand there in bated silence.

“Want a break from the ads?” Venti’s phone suddenly blares out, cutting off the music,
making him jump. He grabs it and turns off Spotify, cursing out the stupid ads. God he misses
his free premium trial.

Despite the intermission, Xiao’s expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t say anything,
watching blankly at the empty spot where Heizou had been standing.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

You’d think after the day he’s just had, the odds are that it couldn’t get worse.
Mathematically, it seems improbable, impossible even.

But of course as he goes down to collect some of his freshly laundered clothes from the
dryer, he finds that some of them (read: his favorite sweater!) have shrunk to the size of his
palm.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Kazuha follows close behind, takes one look at the tiny sweater in Scara’s hand, and bursts
out laughing.

“It’s not funny!”

Kazuha grins, “is this perhaps—”

“Not some fucking curse. A coincidence, that’s all.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately. Well, come on then,” Kazuha says, ushering him away
for what feels like the upteenth time, off to pamper him somewhere else. “I’ll let you borrow
a sweater of mine.”

Scara hangs his head in exasperation, feeling way too drained to even argue against anything
at this point, and follows the boy back to his room. He has extras, of course, but for some
reason something stops him from mentioning it.

Most of Kazuha’s sweaters are white or red, and lined with maple leaves. As hands one to
him, Scara is appalled at the very sudden urge to inhale it, to see if it smells like Kazuha, and
that in itself is to make him want to throw it away in mortification.

Instead, he sucks it up and pulls it over his head. It’s a little loose on the arms, but otherwise
very comfortably.
The domestic intimacy of wearing Kazuha’s sweater hits him all at once, and he feels both a
twist in his stomach and a blood rush to his face.

At least Kazuha doesn’t seem to notice.

“You look adorable.” He claps his hands.

Scara mumbles a thanks under his breath, feeling his ears burn hotly, and stalks out of the
room without further ado. He can hear Kazuha following him as he goes to the living room.

Venti and Xiao are there alone, while Heuzou is nowhere to be seen, and look to be in the
midst or a very serious conversation, head bents close and urgent whispering obvious even
from Scara’s place in the doorway.

They break apart when they see them.

Venti beams and waves at them. Then he takes one look at Scara and his new ensemble, and
promptly bursts into a daze of breathless laughter.

“It’s really not that funny—” Scara starts.

Venti collapses on the floor, rolling into his sides, still laughing loud and hearty.

“Bro—”

The boy’s face begins to turn a shade of blue, which only fuels Scara further because it’s
really not that fucking funny—

“You’re being ridiculous!” He bursts out, and finally Venti takes a deep breath and calms
down somewhat. He wants to kick the guy.

“What happened to your clothes anyway?” Xiao asks, sitting down on a pale armchair.

“Shrunk.” Says Scara irritably, “some asshole didn’t do my laundry properly.”

“That was you.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“Uh, yeah it was. It was your turn last night, Scara.” Venti points out.

“…” Scara gapes, “no?”

Was it?
 Last night — 10:00 pm

Scaramouche slumped into the laundry room, eyes half-lidded and fucking pissed to no end
that it was his turn to this stupid shitload of chore work. He was so tired, goddamn it. He
wanted to sleep. He wanted sleep sleep sleep sleep.

Just need to get it over and done with, he thought, facing the never-ending mountain of
clothes. He grabbed them all, shoving them into the machine, slamming the door shut. He
turned on the controls, and stalked straight out, right back to his warm soft bed.

“…Oh.” He says at last, flashback over, “my bad. But in my defense, I haven’t done laundry
much before I came here! How was I supposed to know my sweater needed a separate
wash?”

“It’s made of wool.” Venti snorts.

Xiao rolls his eyes, “And you guys call me spoilt,”

“But, guys.” Venti stops smiling to stare ominously at Scara, “you can’t possibly say this is a
coincidence anymore, can you? You, you know, this is all the work of Hellen!”

“Herta.” Corrects Kazuha.

“Herta!”

“No.” Scara flicks Venti’s forehead, “my clothes being shrunk is the result of my mistake, not
some stupid purple puppet’s quest for vengeance. Get a fucking grip.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Look, you’re overreacting.” Xiao hauls himself up, “I’ll prove it.”

He holds out his fist.

Scara stares at it, “I’m not fist bumping you, dude. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

He narrows his eyes, “i’m not asking for a fist-bump, shithead. Let’s do rock paper scissors.”

“Er— why?”
“To prove you’re not cursed. The more times you lose, the less likely you are the lose again.
Hence, debunking this whole superstition. If you truly are cursed, you won’t win at all.”

“O… Kay…” Scara says warily.

He holds up his fist.

He picks rock, Xiao picks paper.

“Alright, that’s normal. Another round.” Xiao nods.

He picks scissors, Xiao picks rocks.

“Again.”

He picks rock, Xiao picks rock.

“Again.”

He picks paper, Xiao picks scissors.

“… Again…”

Scissors, Scissors.

Rock, Paper.

Scissors, Rock.

Paper, Scissors.

Scissors, Rock.

Paper, Paper.

Rock, Paper.

Xiao stops the game, withdrawing his fist and just stares at it, to Scara, to back at it, “science
does not follow this.”

Scara folds his arms and scoffs, ready to spew what he’s been saying the whole day, but now
he feels a strange doubt begin to nestle deep on the back of his mind. There’s no fucking
curse. There isn’t. It’s superstitious bullshit.

… right?

He shakes his head violently, locking those thoughts away in a box that he doesn’t plan on
opening and indulging anytime soon.

“Maybe it’s a psychological thing.” Kazuha suggests, “let’s just sit and watch TV. The more
we think about it, the more things we’ll pick up on. Let’s just sit back and relax.”
The TV is already up and running, and the four of them laze around and sit down. But it isn’t
long before Scara of course begins to whine and wings again.

He’s glaring daggers at the TV with the salt of an old grudge surfaced.

“I fucking hate the shopping channel.” He snaps, “change it.”

“But why?” Venti teases, “aren’t you simply dying for a new blender?” He stands up and
poses near the TV, like those dumbass models on game shows.

“Where’s the remote?” Scara sits up and shifts around, picking up pillows and looking under
rugs and the coffee table and in between sofa folds to try and find it.

Xiao shrugs, “it’ll turn up eventually.”

“I want it now.” Says Scara, becoming slightly hysterical voice, “god, if I hear these people
drone on any much longer I’m going to go insane!”

He doesn’t find the remote, which is once again typical, even after a full 20 minutes or
searching under crevice and corner, and with growing desoierarion as he hears the
saleswoman move on from item to item like a voice of a woman who’s job had her lost all
feeling years ago.

He gives up. He stands up.

“Ah well, it is what it is,” Venti laughs. Then he catches sight of Scara’s face and stops, “eh
— why are you crying?”

Scara sniffs and walks out of the room without a word.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Heizou is lying on his bed and facing the right wall when Xiao walks in. He has airpods on,
and a duvet covering him up to his shoulders, and Xiao almost mistakes him for being asleep,
if it weren’t for the way he tensed up as he entered.

Xiao stands there for a few uncertain moments, staring at the slumped figure, neither of them
saying anything, before he sucks it up and walks over.

He sits at the edge of the bed.

“Hey.” He says softly.

Heizou doesn’t respond for a long time, before pulling out his airpods and sitting up.

Part of Xiao had expected more tears, or red eyes, or something, but the boy’s face is
surprisingly dry.

He inhales slowly, “look. I’m sorry what I said. It was out of line.”

Heizou shrugs without looking at him, “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

“No. I will worry about it.” Xiao moves closer until he’s sitting in line with the boy, his back
are against the headboard of the bed and shoulder to shoulder, “this morning with Lumine,
you had already mentioned how strict your dad was. So what I said was definitely
unwarranted.”

“Man alive, turning soft are you?” Heizou nudges him playfully, “it’s okay. I’m not about to
start wailing just because you called me fatherless. I know I can be a pain, but that’s just how
I am.” He pauses, “and I know you’re a bit of a control freak, but that’s just how you are.”

“I am not—“

“And anyway.” Heizou continues, yawning, “I should be used to it. My cousin, Kano Nana,
you remind me just like her. And Sara. And my old man. Guess I’m destined to live with
control freaks, or maybe I really am just that unhinged.” He shrugs.

Xiao doesn’t say anything, but a weight in his chest he hadn’t noticed before is dispelled
significantly at the easy forgiveness. Still, though, he doesn’t know what compels him to
continue speaking.

“I have one sister.” He says quietly, “well, she’s technically more like a cousin, but her
parents passed away very young so she was raised by my aunt and my father.”

Heizou raises an eyebrow, “the one you own the school with?”

Xiao nods, “Ganyu. Even though she’s older, she’s pretty spineless. That’s not to say she’s
weak. Not at all. She’s beat me in sparring more times than I can count. But she’s… a bit of a
pushover. She used to be a secretary, yknow, and her colleagues there treated her like shit.”

“Oh?” Heizou tilts his head, but it’s clear he’s unsure why he’s telling him this.

“After my siblings passed away,” Xiao continues softly, “it was just me and her. We had
father, and Aunt Jièfēng, and everyone else. But Ganyu… she’s the closest thing I have to a
sibling now that they’re gone.”

“I’m sorry. That’s horrible.” Heizou says genuinely. “I’m sorry.”

Xiao shrugs and fiddles with the end of the duvet, “I’m not trying to justify my behavior. But
I guess that’s one of the reasons I’m so overbearing.” He laughs without mirth, “I guess
switching from youngest to only sibling will do that to a person.”
Heizou doesn’t say anything at that, but he reaches over and prizes Xiao’s hand away from
the duvet, to squeeze it gently.

Feeling increasingly self conscious, Xiao clears his throat and adds hastily, “so yeah. I just
wanted to tell you that so you don’t take it personally. I’m sorry if it felt that way.”

“Wow,” Heizou grins, but there’s a tender undertone behind those eyes that puts him at ease,
“is this really Xiao i’m talking to? Blink twice if you need help.”

He scowls, “fuck you.”

Heizou laughs but doesn’t say anything else, and in the silence that follows Xiao considers
changing the subject, or getting up and leaving. Give the guy space after the trauma dumping
he had been subject to. It’s his turn to cook dinner anyhow.

But at the last moment, Heizou suddenly asks, “that’s why you do it then, huh? I just
realized.”

“What?” Xiao blinks.

“Burn incense. That’s why you do it.”

His mouth falls shut. He breathes through his nose.

Then: “I’ll stop.”

“What?” Heizou sits up straight, “what? Dude, that’s not what I meant—”

“No I know. I know you didn’t.” Xiao takes a shaky breath, “but it’s a stupid little sentiment.
I need to move on. Is that not why we take therapy?”

“Xiao.” Heizou grabs his shoulders fiercely and forces him to look him in the eye, “as your
roommate, the incense is annoying, yes, but it’s not something you should stop. Moving on
does not mean we forget about people, it doesn’t mean we stop missing them. That will never
happen. That will never be the case. It’s about being able to carry on in spite of that pain.”

Xiao just closes his eyes, “and did Lumine tell you all of this?”

“Yes. And she’s right.”says Heizou firmly, “you’re allowed to miss them, dude. Don’t you
fucking dare say otherwise.”

He’s is still gripping his shoulders, so Xiao raises a palm to cover the back of Heizou’s hand,
“… are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes.” Then he retracts his arm and shuffles to the corner of the bed. He’s looking at
Xiao’s wardrobe, and Xiao knows what he’s going to ask before he even speaks, “can I see
it?”

He shrugs awkwardly, “there’s not much to see.”

“Still.”

He stays where he is for a long while before finally gathering the energy to haul himself up.
He walks towards his wardrobe, feeling a sense of both dread and anticipation, like he’s
opening up a part of his heart to this his roommate, like he’s laying his insides bare and
trusting him with the rawest, most damaged parts of himself, to someone who for all he
knows could step on it and break it apart, crush it under his heel and open up old scars.

Xiao’s hand grips the handle tightly.

But as annoying and insufferably and a pain in the ass Heizou is…

He trusts him. And that’s a more terrifying realization than anything. He can’t remember the
last time he felt it.

Xiao inhales slowly and opens the door before he can wimp out, where the insides are
relatively bare. No hanging clothes, no jackets, no clothing hangers and shirts and ties.

All there is is a small altar adorned with a delicate silk cloth, and before it is a quaint
porcelain incense burner painted with patterns of swirling hues, green and purple and marble
blue. There are wilting flowers and petals peppered around, and at the very center of it all is a
large, framed picture.

Of five figures, three boys and two girls, of various ages but all in the same uniform
indicating they were all in high school. They’re posing for a camera, eyes wide and smiling,
arms linked, in what looks like a booth of some kind. The type you see in restaurants and
bars, near a window so that behind their smiling faces is a backdrop of a night time view,
looking like a city of stars.

He can’t tear his gaze away from it, but feels Heizou draw up beside him, “… what were
their names?”

Xiao points to a tall girl with flaming red hair, at the very end of the booth, with a full-teeth
smile and eyes folding into crescents, “Indarias.”

Then to an even taller boy with golden hair, who even through the picture still conveys a
tranquil presence, “Menogias.”

A petit blue haired girl, beaming sweetly and so short that the table almost reaches her
shoulders, “Bonanus.”

A tall purple boy, large with bulging muscles that are obvious even through his uniform, “and
Bosacious.”

Heizou leans forward to point to the final figure in the centre, looking so young he could be
ten, maybe eleven years old, “and Alatus?”

Xiao nods, “yeah.” He adds awkwardly, “father is a bit of a history buff.”

“The five Yakshas, right?” Heizou nods, “it’s a beautiful legend.”

“Well. Agree to disagree.”

Heizou bumps their shoulders together gently, “keep doing this, yeah? Every Sunday. I’ll pay
your respects with you as well.”

“…”

“I’m serious. Don’t offend them up by giving up their weekly prayers for some stubborn
detective!”

The corner of Xiao’s lips quirk up, “that so? Well if you put it like that.”

Heizou snorts, but looks so have more to say, lots more to say. He isn’t able to finish, though,
because the sound of the doorbell rings loud and searing and breaks them out of whatever
sentimental spell they were trapped in.

Xiao closes the cupboard carefully, “we should go and see who it is.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

Worried about the boy, Kazuha takes it upon himself to check up on Scaramouche.

He pushes open the door to him and Venti’s bedroom, only to be met with a sign the never
would have thought he’d ever see in his lifetime.

The boy is sprawled on the bed, surrounded by an assortment of the most random of objects
that feel like a setup at a garage sale, or a spring cleanup pile, ranging from four-leaf clovers
and rabbit feet keyrings, horseshoes and even a cracked mirror hanging on the wall.

One thing they all have in common though? Good luck charms.

Where he managed to even get all of these, is another question.

Kazuha can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.

Scaramouche jumps and nearly drops a stack of lucky coins he was arranging. He looks
startled, and slightly hysterical, as he clutches onto these ridiculous omens like they’re his
lifeline and remedy.
Kazuha enters the room, stifling more giggles and drinking in the sight before him.
“Scaramouche, my friend, what in God’s name are you doing with all these trinkets?”

The boy’s face blushes a deep and pretty scarlet, and he glares at Kazuha with flames burning
behind those radiant indigo eyes, “I fucking give up! I’m tired! This needs to end now! This
curse needs to end now!”

Kazuha makes his way over, moving the objects lightly to the side and ignoring the boy’s
protests. He seizes Scara’s hand in his, whose breath hitches, and gently prizes the penny out
of his hand.

He pulls him up.

“Let’s go out and get some fresh air, shall we?”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

One of the biggest perks of their neighborhood is its short distance to a local grocery store,
barked a ten minute walk up from her hill that makes last-minute shopping worlds more
convenient. Scars just wishes he and Venti knew about the place before that day at the mall.
He still thinks about that Lawrence guy sometimes.

The store itself is in a weird sort of area, tucked smugly behind the rows houses and
neighborhood Main Street in such a way that you could drive through this place your whole
life and not realize it’s there. It takes a lot of awkward turns to actually find the place, and it’s
very small and sparse. The owner is a friendly woman of forty or fifty, humble and always up
for a good chat which Venti is always happy to indulge, but has a really irritating habit (at
least in Scara’s opinion) of commenting on how marriageable they all are everytime they
enter.

She’s not at the till when they walk in though, thankfully, which is instead occupied by a teen
with a mouth full of braces and a tortured look of endless boredom.

They stroll around, idly and casually, and Kazuha stops at an aisle to have a look at some
treats, ranging from rainbow fizzing candy to truffles, “ah, so much to choose from.”

“You never struck me as the type to have a sweet tooth.” Scara raises an eyebrow.

Kazuha just smiles, “I’m not. But I think we can make an exception just this once.” He picks
up a carton of milk with a baby cow on the front, “would you like some of this?”

“What, because I’m so short?” Scara snaps.

“Not at all.” replies Kazuha smoothly, “it’s because you’re Scara-Moo-ch.”

“…”

It’s honestly a little concerning seeing how obvious it is that the guy’s trying not to laugh at
such an unfunny joke, “what a tough crowd you are, Scaramouche, my dear.”

“That was fucking terrible.” Scara’s lips quirk upwards, though, in betrayal, and — judging
from Kazuha’s triumphant grin at finally squeezing a smile out of him — was his intention all
along.

Scara laughs, slightly, ever so slightly, but its only after he realises how foreign it feels that
he realizes just how shitty a day he actually had.

He gulps against a dry throat, “I’m sorry.”

Kazuha blinks at him.

“Whatever are you apologizing for?” He asks, genuinely.

Scara shrugs. He doesn’t know either.

So he just grabs the milk from Kazuha’s hand and puts it back in the fridge, “I hate milk,
anyhow. I wish I was lactose intolerant sometimes.”

“So you can use that as an excuse for your height?”

Scara side-eyes him, “you want to die, shithead?”

Kazuha chuckles and tugs at Scara’s arm, linking their arms together, and he feels his heart
jump to his throat. He doesn’t allow himself to breathe as he’s dragged out of the aisle and
into the bakery section, where Kazuha eyes the muffins and croissants and brownies.

Their arms are still linked, Scara notices, but Kazuha’s doesn’t pull away, so neither does he.

“Scaramouche.”

“What?”

Kazuha doesn’t look at him as he scans the shelf, “life is what you make it.”

This time, Scara does move to pull away, “what?”

Kazuha lets him retract his arm, but then reaches over to hold his hand and give it a tight
squeeze, “fate is as fickle as the shifting winds, never bound by reason or rhyme”

“… what?” Scara says again weakly, “what the fuck are you trying to say?”

Kazuha hums, “chocolate muffin or brownie?”

This guy. “Dude.”

“You’re absolutely right. We should totally get both.” He says cheerfully and begins to bag
five sets of each.

As they go to the till to pay the teen employee, Kazuha looks at Scara one last time, and says
softly, “don’t let some self-fulfilling prophecy get the better of you. You’re better than this.
Alright?”

Scara doesn’t say anything, and Kazuha’s doesn’t wait for a response, as he thanks the
cashier, seizing the bags of treats in one hand and Scara’s hand in the other, and walks back
home.

✳︎✳︎✳︎

They spot Venti reclined on the couch when they walk in, who perks up as he sees the bag in
Kazuha’s hand.

He has something in his hand.

“What the— how the hell did you find the remote?” Scara gapes at it in shock.

The guy just shrugs, “It was just there. Don’t know.”

“You know what.” Scara throws his hands up, “whatever. I genuinely can’t be bothered with
this bullshit anymore. Curse, my ass. This is all in my head. I’m sure of it.”

He flops on the sofa, beside Venti, and slumps onto a pillow, “I’m tired as fuck, man. I am
officially out of karma at this point. There’s literally nothing worse that could possibly
happen to me at this point.”

The doorbell rings, just them, cutting him off, and he opens one eyelid. Kazuha is the one
who gets up to answer it though, so Scara closes his eyes again and prepares for a power nap.

Until the voice that resonates from the doorway turns every vein in his body to ice.

“Does Kunikuzushi live here?” Asks Raiden Ei, standing in the doorway.
 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

The woman in the doorway is tall, with her back against a dusty bright dusk backdrop, so that
only a dark black silhouette is visible at first. Until she steps forward and he gets a good look
at her, there, standing there, right there, in his house. In his fucking house.

He feels the blood rush to his ears and he can barely think straight, and the only coherent
thought he can manage is: she’s wearing the coat Raiden bought for her.

The deep violet pea coat, and a matching hat on the top. So casual, like she’s visiting a friend.
Like she’s visiting her son. Like it’s a normal evening and not like she’s broken apart his
entire world within 30 fucking seconds.

“Kunikuzushi.” She says slowly, carefully, looking him straight in the eye, the way you
would an approaching deer that you don’t want scaring away.

He feels like one, like a deer caught in headlights, standing up and staring wide-eyed,
backing away like a fucking coward. A fucking coward. A fucking coward. Because right
now, there’s nothing of the anger he normally feels for her, he doesn’t feel like screaming, he
doesn’t feel hostility, he doesn’t want to yell and shout and make her hurt.

No, right now, all he can feel is a numbness creeping over his entire body, and a choking,
unutterable terror that threatens to consume him whole.

Raiden Ei tries to smile, “is this your new house?”

“How did you find me?” Says Scara in a betrayed whisper, “who told you? Was it Lumine?”

“Well—”

“It was her, wasn’t it?” He demands louder with a shaky voice, “she promised. She promised
she wouldn’t tell you. She promised, and lied.” He begins to shake, “of course she did. They
all do.”

“She didn’t tell me.” Says Ei loudly, and he flinches. She gulps and continues gently, “she
refused to tell me. Actually… I found your address online.”

That makes him stop, at least.

“What?” He asks, confused, “online?”

She shuffles on the spot, and tries to smile lightheartedly, “I saw your — um —
advertisement…”

The words don’t sink in for a long time, until the realization hits, followed by humiliation so
fierce it threatens to wipe him overboard and choke him.
He stops trembling. He just stops.

“Of course.” Of course she saw it. “Of course you did.”

“Wait—”

He laughs bitterly, “that must have felt like a stupid prank, huh, Mom? Seeing your child.
Your failure of a son — your words not mine — humiliate himself on live fucking television.”

She has the audacity to look guilty, “I told you I didn’t mean that—”

“Don’t worry though,” he interrupts loudly, to drown her voice out, “no one knows I’m your
son. Your reputation is safe.”

“That’s not why I came.” Ei says carefully. Patiently. Very different to what he’s used to, but
instead of feeling reassured, it makes him more uneasy, “I wanted to see how you were doing
—”

“WHEN HAVE YOU EVER CARED?!”

Ei frowns and steps closer, “kuni—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

He wants to cry, he can feel it, he can feel his throat closing up and his eyes burning. Or
maybe he’s already crying already. He can’t tell.

He wants to scream, seeing her inside the house, his fucking house, his own house, the one
safe haven he thought that could let him forget about her, about his sister, abour every
fucking scar she’s ever carved onto his skin and now she’s invaded this too. Of course she
did. He wants to scream until his throat is raw and bleeding. He wants to until he can drown
her voice out, drown Raiden’s voice out, drown that fox bitch’s laughter out.

He wants to grab her and throw her, he wants to push her and hurl water at her face, he wants
to ask her why, why, why, why, why her and not me? Why Raiden and not me? Why Miko
and not me? Why that fucking Sara girl and not me?

Oh. That’s when it hits him. So that’s why she looked so familiar.

But his throat is closed up, and the reality is closing in on him, and he feels trapped in his
own skin, burning alive on the inside and not being able to let it out. He feels the reality close
in on him, his chest tighten, and suddenly he can’t breathe anymore.

He feels someone take him by the shoulder — blond, Kazuha — but that only makes it harder
to breathe.

He’s saying something to him but he’s still looking at her. He’s still staring at her who’s
looking at him who’s looking at her.
Suddenly Xiao is next to her — shit, how long had those guys been there? — and he strains
his ears to hear what he’s saying.

“I think you should leave, Ma’am.” He fixes her with a cold stare.

She just turns to him with a death glare. A very familiar sight, and that in itself is enough to
have him feel close to vomiting all over the floor, “This is none of your concern.”

Not my fucking friends too, you bitch.

“Don’t.” Scara tries to shriek, but it comes out in a breathless gasp. He swallows against a
dry, dry throat and tries again, “don’t you fucking dare talk to him like that!”

Suddenly Venti is there too, beside her, in the scene as well and he’s finding it hard to
comprehend what the hell is happening at this point.

Venti takes his mother by the arm, “Ei? Ei.”

She looks at him in shock, “Barbatos? Barbatos, what are you doing here?”

“Let’s go out, hm? Come on, Ei. Take a walk together.” He says slowly, tugging her out of
the house before she can object.

The door falls shut behind them.

The second that happens, Scara slumps down onto the floor and erupts into a mortifying fit of
sobs and gasps. The world is crumbling around him and his ears are ringing, and all he can
hear is her voice, her voice, her voice, her voice—

There are three figures kneeling beside him, holding his hands and rubbing his back. They’re
hugging him and wiping his tears and helping him up but he can’t breathe. He can’t see
through the blur. He feels the world only in screams and scars and half-slurred sentences and
suddenly reality has been drenched in nightmare pitch, and it feels like he’s burst a lung
because he can’t fucking breathe at all.

Someone rubs at his back again, Kazuha, and says a vague something that sounds like a
question.

Scara chokes out a name.

“What?” asks someone. One of them. He doesn’t fucking know which.

“Lumine.” He grits out, “I want Lumine.”

“But—”

“NOW!” He shrieks, feeling an overwhelming array of dizziness descend upon him so hard
he can see stars, and purple, and purple eyes and purple purple purple, “no one else! Lumine.
I want Lumine.” He slumps down and presses his forehead against someone’s shoulders. He
sobs louder, “I want Lumine. Lumine.”
 ✳︎✳︎✳︎

It takes an eternity for the girl to arrive, though in all honesty it couldn’t have been more than
twenty minutes. In that time, the guys had somewhat succeeded in quelling Scara’s mania,
urging him to drink water and getting him to take deep breaths.

Now, though calmer, the boy’s state now is one of blank emotiveness, back against a wall as
he just sits there staring apathetically forward.

And when Lumine rushes in and drops to his side, he just stares at her.

“I had no idea she was going to do this.” She’s saying furiously, “I told her not to come on
her own. I told her not to. I told her.”

Scara’s face is devoid of any emotion, “I should have fucking yelled.”

Her eyes soften. She cups his cheek.

“I should have, shouldn’t I?” He whispers with a broken voice, “I should have shouted and
screamed and told her every fucking thing I wanted to tell her.”

“Scara—”

His eyes well up again, and tears spill down, burning his cheeks, but his expression doesn’t
change, “but as always I was coward. Unable to say fucking shit to her face.”

She wipes away his tears with a thumb, and kisses his cheeks softly, cradling his head close
to her chest.

Within seconds her shirt is soaked with tears, but she doesn’t seem to care at all.

“I should have.” Scara is saying repeatedly, between bursts of sobs, and the rest of his
roommates exchange worried looks. Kazuha feels his heart ache, genuinely ache, seeing this
boy — this temperamental, unseemly boy — reduced to such a state after the sight of his
mother, “I should have said something.”

“Say it then.” Says Heizou flatly. Both Xiao and Kazuha blink up at him, while Scara doesn’t
even seem to have heard him.

“I should have said it all.” Scara whispers into Lumine’s shirt.

“Then say it.” Heizou says louder.

Finally, Scara looks up, and it’s almost impressive how he’s still able to maintain that
venomous spiteful look that is always reserved for Heizou in spite of all that has happened, “
what the fuck do you mean by that, asshole?”

“I mean.” Heizou shrugs, “just tell her.”

“How? She’s gone.”

“My father used to beat me to a pulp as a child if I didn’t perform any less than what he’d
expect of me.” Heizou says suddenly.

Scara closes his mouth.

Then opens it again.

Then closes it again.

“I used to want to scream everything to his face. I almost did, once. But,” he shrugs again,
“but my self-preservation instinct kicked in, and boy am I glad, because I genuinely think I’d
be six feet under if I had said any of the shit I wanted to say to him, and no that’s not an
exaggeration.”

Lumine clears her throat, “Heizou, what are you—”

“But I still wanted to say it.” He continues, and he goes into the kitchen before returning with
the fruit basket under his arm, ranging from apples to oranges to pomegranate to even a
fucking watermelon. “I wanted to let it all out, and let all my anger out. So cmon, dude. Just
say it.”

Scara gapes at it all, “how—” he hiccups, “just how will this make me feel better, exactly?”

Heizou grins wryly and picks up an orange, before pulling out a sharpie from god knows
where and doodling on it. Then he holds it up front of Scara’s face.

It has a stupid and very badly drawn expression of an angry face with sharp triangle teeth.

He dips his voice into a comically aggressive and feminine voice, “don’t you dare speak to
your mother that way, Kunikuzushi!”

Scara stares at without saying anything. Heizou keeps it there.

Lumine leans back against the door, still holding Scara tightly, taking in the scene with a
somber sort of silence, and watches it unfold curiously before her.

Then, Scara finally says quietly, “fuck you.”

Whether he spoke to the orange or Heizou, it isn’t clear, but Heizou takes it as the former and
continues with his roleplay.
He squeezes the orange just hard enough to make the mouth shift into a mildly shocked
expression, enough to have Kazuha hold back peals of laughter, “pardon?! Say that again,
son, a little louder. I almost thought you dared to swear at me!”

“Fuck you!” Scara says loudly. Very loudly.

Heizou grins.

“For what?” Asks the orange in outrage.

“For everything!” Screams Scaramouche, leaning forward to stare the orange straight in the
eye, which is both an endearing and slightly hilarious sight from a bystander’s perspective.

“The nerve!” Cries the she-orange, “when I have been nothing but loving to you!”

“Loving? Loving? Living is being held in your arms instead of crying at your feet and told
you toughen up like a soldier. Love is supposed to be unconditional, unquantifiable, not being
held head-to-head and being compared to a sister, like items in a fucking store to be discarded
when something new comes along. Loving is forever, not suddenly after feeling some guilt.
Fuck you, Mom, fuck you! Loving isn’t sending your fucking child to some boarding school
because he doesn’t fit the mould you wanted him to, loving isn’t sending him away to therapy
the second he begins to speak up to you!”

He is seething, and the orange says, “well—”

“If that’s loving, mother, than I don’t fucking know where to draw the line between love and
hate. Because if someone hates me, at least I know I’m somebody worth hating. You never
cared enough to hate me either.”

The words hurt, and there’s a tangible, almost toxic air of injury permeating the air, like the
blood of old wounds flooding their living room and staining the floor, clogging up their
throats and threatening to drown the poor, aching boy down under.

Kazuha reaches forward to squeeze Scara’s hands ever so gently. Xiao does the same.

“Hah.” The orange snaps, “that’s the most sensitive whining I’ve ever heard—”

Splat!

Kazuha flinches as something hits his face, and in the seconds that follow realises that it’s
orange bits. He licks his lips and tastes a tangy and citric taste.

No one says anything for a long time, and Heizou lets the corpse of Orange-Ei fall to the
ground as Scara pants heavily. He stares at his hand gripping some orange skin and insides
tightly, wheee he squished it to death, and opens it. The rest of the corpse falls to the floor.

No one says anything for a long time.

Then—
Scara laughs.

It starts small, little more than breathless gasps, before he’s on the floor in a fit of giggles.

He wipes a tear away, “fuck. That felt good.”

Heizou grins, “Told ya.” He picks up the melon, “wanna try for round two? This can be your
Evil Sister.”

Kazuha clears his throat loudly, enough to stop Scara, who looks like he’s found his next
favorite toy, “as charming as that is, I actually was planning on cutting that. Perhaps we can
eat your sister instead?”

Scara scoffs, and daps at the corner of his eyes, “sure. Okay.” He inhales shakily, “that
sounds good. And… I’m sorry. About that.”

“About what?” Xiao asks incredulously, and the boy shrugs.

“It’s okay.” Heizou has a wide smile on his face, “I’m more of an apple person anyway.”

Scara, however, doesn’t rise to the opportunity of subject change, which is uncharacteristic in
itself, and instead says, somewhat hesitantly, “… that stuff about your father. I’m sorry.” He
gulps, “mother never reached that stage of childhood trauma, at least.”

“Emotional and physical trauma are just as bad as each other.” Replies Heizou easily, “so
stop being a stupid bastard.”

Scara inhales, “family’s a bitch sometimes, huh?”

They all sigh in unison.

“I wouldn’t know.” A cheery voice cuts in, “I never knew my parents. Me and my brother
were orphans.”

It’s Venti, standing over them both with a grin on his face, arms folded. God knows how he
came in without any of them noticing.

“Is everything okay?” Kazuha frowns.

“Where is she?” Scara demands.

“Home. I sent her home.”

Scara gapes, “just like that?”

Venti just gives him a cryptic smile in return, “we spoke about a few things. It’s not
important.” He kneels down next to Scara and reaches over to wipe away a stray tear, “now
you look a mess, dear.”

Scara hiccups, and slaps his hand away. His throat feels like it’s on fire.
It’s as if Venti reads his mind, cause then he says, “let’s go get ice cream. I’m suddenly
craving it.”

They all mumble okays, standing up, for once uncaring about the mess of orange carcass on
the floor and the rest of the fruits peppering the floor. They’ll clean that up later.

Kazuha extends a hand to help Scara up, and he accepts it gratefully.

Xiao turns to say something to Lumine, only to stop and stare at her wet face, “why are you
crying?”

“Am I?” She asks quietly, lifting a hand to feel her damp face, “it’s nothing.” Then she smiles
at them all, each and every one of them, with a look of pride and pain and love that makes
Scara’s breath hitch, “you guys go ahead. I need to go back home. I left Paimon with the
neighbor. Have fun with your ice cream.”

“I’m sorry.” Scara says awkwardly.

“Don’t.” She walks forward to cup his face, pressing their foreheads together, “and for what
it’s worth, shitstain, you could be the most irritating angry bastard in the world and you’d still
be my Scara.”

He doesn’t respond.

She bops his nose, “that’s what you call unconditional, isn’t it?”

“Careful.” He says with a wry smile, but his voice is weak and shaky, “don’t start the
waterworks again.”

She chuckles, and hugs him one last time. She hugs him tight, tighter than ever, and then lets
go.

Then she leaves, and they hear the sound of her car rev and exit the front yard.

“Cmon.” Venti hops forward to sling an arm around Scara’s shoulder, “let’s go get some ice
cream.”

✳︎✳︎✳︎

It’s darker than expected when they get in the car and drive to the ice cream place, with a
clear sky scattered with stars, they enter the ice cream place.
It’s one of the lesser known places, almost deserted, and tucked in a side street that hardly
anyone passes by. The inside is covered in static neon lights, casting colorful shapes of pink
and blue and green, and casting the whole place and their booth into a dreamlike state.

They all sit down to check the menu.

Scara’s tears have dried now, but he’s sure he still looks like shit. He doesn’t feel
embarrassed though. Maybe it’s cuz he’s too tired, or because he knows these guys — all four
of them, sitting around him, who held his hand when he was on the teetering at the edge of a
nightmare and wiped away his tears — would be fine seeing him like that.

He used to be scared at such a prospect. Now, he can’t help but think Lumine really was
right. About him, about them. About all of them.

Back in the Fatui, friendships were a double edged sword, mired in traps and caveats that
meant every friend was at heart your enemy, and every civil conversation could well be your
last. Trust was a myth in that world he used to live in, and friendships only went as far as
someone was useful to you.

This new life he finds himself in, he doesn’t allow himself to latch onto it too much. He
doesn’t let himself hope it’s real. Maybe he’ll wake up one day, to Capitano’s drill and back
to the way he was before.

But for now, in this quiet ice cream place, with no one there but these four bastards and
himself, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can let himself breathe. Just a little.

Their waiter comes along, a young teen with dusty blond hair and a plaster on his nose, “hi,
I’m Bennet. What can I get for you?”

They place their orders, Xiao’s typically with three simple vanilla scoops — boring bastard
— whereas Venti just had to choose the most intricate and complicated order with up to 10
different flavors and frostings.

Poor Bennet is asking him to repeat his order one more time, and Venti is replying. Scara
slumps back against the next closest person — Xiao — and mutters.

“I am never fucking with puppets or cryptics ever again.”

“Oh?” Pipes up Bennet as he scribbles on his notepad, “pardon me for eavesdropping. It’s
just that I visit cryptics a lot. What happened?”

Scara waves a tired hand, “I broke a magic puppet and now I’m apparently being cursed with
bad luck.”

“What?!” Bennet exclaims loudly, dropping his notepad, and they all jump. He smiles
apologetically and picks it up, “sorry. It’s just… sir, why on earth would you do that? Take it
from someone who’s been cursed with bad luck since the day he was born. Never take curses
lightly!”
 Terror begins to creep its way back up, and Scara feels an impending sense of dread as he
listens to Bennett’s words, “you mean, it really is real?!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Xiao turns to him sharply and pulls out a coin from his pocket, “heads
or tails.”

“What?” Says Scara dazedly, “uh tails.”

Xiao flips it.

It lands on tails.

The guy nudges hin, “see? Utter bullshit.”

“Complete bullshit.” Heizou nods.

Scara slowly begins to laugh, melting relief, and breathes out softly, “ahaha, you’re right.
Yeah. You’re right. I’m fine.”

Kazuha puts a hand over his and his breath hitches, “yes you are, Scaramouche. You’re fine.”<