To Fall For The Sun.

– to fall for the sun.

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.

– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end

– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.

“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper. 

“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”

but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.

albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.

with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city. 

in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow. 

venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.

albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.

“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”

he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering. 

so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.

which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.

he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.

with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.

“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.

“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out. 

“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”

albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.

“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”

“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages. 

you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he’d comply.

by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.

“to my dearest, albedo

you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”

albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.

“like icarus, i found myself

flying straight into the pools of his eyes

with my wings made of wax, 

i soared straight into his guarded heart

and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.

then i fell—or so i thought

my body did not meet the ground harshly,

for he caught me,

in all the gentleness known to mankind, 

he treated my scorched skin with care.

i was icarus and he is my sun,

with gold and glitter in all his glory.

why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?

icarus is a fool in love.

because the sun is icarus’s love.

in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,

loving him despite it being too hot, too close.

icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,

he would have no reason to live.

why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”

albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.

with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.

for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

– to fall for the sun.

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.

– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end

– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.

“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper. 

“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”

but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.

albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.

with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city. 

in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow. 

venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.

albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.

“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”

he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering. 

so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.

which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.

he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.

with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.

“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.

“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out. 

“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”

albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.

“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”

“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages. 

you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he’d comply.

by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.

“to my dearest, albedo

you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”

albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.

“like icarus, i found myself

flying straight into the pools of his eyes

with my wings made of wax, 

i soared straight into his guarded heart

and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.

then i fell—or so i thought

my body did not meet the ground harshly,

for he caught me,

in all the gentleness known to mankind, 

he treated my scorched skin with care.

i was icarus and he is my sun,

with gold and glitter in all his glory.

why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?

icarus is a fool in love.

because the sun is icarus’s love.

in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,

loving him despite it being too hot, too close.

icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,

he would have no reason to live.

why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”

albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.

with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.

for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

– to fall for the sun.

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.

– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end

– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.

“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper. 

“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”

but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.

albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.

with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city. 

in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow. 

venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.

albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.

“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”

he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering. 

so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.

which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.

he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.

with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.

“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.

“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out. 

“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”

albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.

“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”

“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages. 

you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he’d comply.

by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.

“to my dearest, albedo

you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”

albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.

“like icarus, i found myself

flying straight into the pools of his eyes

with my wings made of wax, 

i soared straight into his guarded heart

and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.

then i fell—or so i thought

my body did not meet the ground harshly,

for he caught me,

in all the gentleness known to mankind, 

he treated my scorched skin with care.

i was icarus and he is my sun,

with gold and glitter in all his glory.

why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?

icarus is a fool in love.

because the sun is icarus’s love.

in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,

loving him despite it being too hot, too close.

icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,

he would have no reason to live.

why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”

albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.

with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.

for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

– to fall for the sun.

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

premise: albedo was not a poet, but for you, he could try to become one.

– warnings: fluff, yearner albedo, he sucks at poetry (he's trying his best), poor attempts in making poetry at the end

– author’s notes: this is a remake of my old albedo fic but instead of angst, its fluff so yippie!! art credits goes to @.Jotto75 on twitter. thank you to @lowkeyren for proofreading and creating the title <3 | ~1.4k words.

“mr. albedo, are you alright?” sucrose, his assistant, asked. worry etched in her eyes as she watches her mentor’s hunched figure throw away another crumpled piece of paper. 

“yes, yes, i’m quite alright. please don’t mind me.”

but albedo was anything but alright. he pushed his messy hair back with his hand and let out a tired sigh. albedo had ultimately underestimated your talent in making poetry–he had always assumed you just wrote whatever you felt on paper–no need for fancy words or metaphors. yet here he was, on the third day in a row, filling the small trash bin in his office with poorly written declarations of love.

albedo wonders how you do it. you, a traveler from fontaine, coming to visit mondstadt to explore the nation’s ballads and poetry, had easily captured the hearts of many by just walking down the cobblestone paths that lead inside its walls. you with your charming presence, felt like a character from an inazuman fairytale, had even captured the bard in green. but more than that, you had captured his attention—maybe even his heart—by simply existing.

with one glance you had enamored his chalky heart. suddenly, the paint brushes that were in his hand itched to be used on a blank canvas to paint your portrait, wanting to forever remember the smile that glowed under the afternoon sun. albedo could’ve sworn he saw fresh cecilias beneath your feet with every step you took inside the city. 

in one glance, you flashed him a knowing smile and gave him a bow. 

venti played his lyre and before the chalk prince knew, he was tugged into a dance near the city’s fountain. everyone laughed and danced and sang, but all albedo could see was the way you sat by the bard, a quill in your hand and a piece of parchment on the other. you cleared your throat, capturing everyone’s attention and started reciting your magnum opus.

albedo didn’t quite understand most of its content–a real shame he thinks–but there was one line that made his mind tick in interest.

“why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom?”

he was not a poet by any means, he was a researcher, a slave to finding the truth, but he found the mystery behind your words worth uncovering. 

so for the next few days you stayed in mondstadt, albedo had asked for your time to ask you questions. the two of you spent your time in dragonspine in his lab. he asked about your inspirations as you chatter about your love for words and asked him in return on why he paints. albedo concluded after your time together that you were simply born with poetry running through your veins and pumping metaphors and analogies to your beating heart. there was no sense of logic in your being–it wasn’t a bad thing, emotions seemed to transcend all logic to begin with–and he found that incredibly charming.

which leads to his predicament now: inside his office, trying to rack his brain on a verse that would evoke the same feeling you showed him when you first met.

he loved your poetic mind, the calluses from pens on your fingers, your ink-stained blouses and hands, the love letters hidden under the guise of friendly affections—he loved you. but he didn’t know how to showcase it. relationships were troublesome–hard to maintain. but he wanted to try. he didn’t fall in love easily–he didn’t even know he was capable of falling in love–but he felt his growing yearning for you deep in his chalk stained bones. for once in his life, albedo wanted his fixation and interest in you to last a lifetime, afraid of the lingering bittersweet sensation that you would leave him.

with one last sigh, he picked up his sketchbook and left his office. a change of pace would surely inspire him, he tried to convince himself, but not even a few steps later, he sees you by the entrance of the knight’s headquarters. and like the first time, you flashed him a smile with those eyes and his mind went blank. you tug at his hand–his heart–ever so gently, urging him to have a picnic with you under the afternoon sun.

“you seem to really love using icarus in your poems.” albedo randomly mentioned, taking a bite of the adventurer’s sandwich you bought. you only hum and continue to write in your journal. against his better judgment, albedo leaned into your space, trying to take a peek of your newest piece, but you quickly shut the journal and stuck your tongue at him.

“peeking is rather rude y’know?” you jest and his chuckle ringed out. 

“pardon my rudeness,” he said. “i was simply curious.”

albedo was sure there was something swimming in his chest–fondness, most probably–as you flash him a knowing smile. you take out something from your bag, a crown made out of cecilias and windwheel asters, and place it on the crown of his head, leaving him with a quiet but undeniable joy that he couldn’t quite name.

“i see myself as icarus, that’s my answer.”

“how so?” he asked, mindlessly flipped through his sketchbook and felt a growing smile tug at his lips when he saw your handwriting in the corners of a few pages. 

you don’t answer–you never do– but albedo never minded. he liked it whenever you left him guessing. for the rest of the afternoon, you both spend your time in each other’s presence as you eat your food. you talked about the new book lisa had given you to read in your spare time and he asked you what colors he should use on his next painting. “yellow because they remind me of you.” would always be your reply and he’d comply.

by the time he waved you goodbye and sat back down in his office, there was another letter pressed in his sketchbook. he could already feel his heart racing as he reached for it.

“to my dearest, albedo

you seem to really ponder over the last verse of my poem when i first arrived in mondstatd. i must say, i feel honored that i made your mind tick with curiosity. i found myself gravitating towards your presence more and more after you asked me if i could be the subject of your painting. that was the first time i’ve ever been the muse to someone’s creation. it sent my heart into a giddy fit you know. you are no poet, as i am no painter; i cannot paint the image i have of you on a canvas, but i can put my affections into words. after all, the verse ‘why does icarus continue to fly despite his impending doom.’ was always meant for you—to capture your attention.”

albedo sat down on his chair, a gloved covering half of his face to hide the pathetically infatuated smile on his face. he took out the second letter from the envelope, bracing his heart to whatever emotion you would stir inside him.

“like icarus, i found myself

flying straight into the pools of his eyes

with my wings made of wax, 

i soared straight into his guarded heart

and let his burning affections scorch me and melt my wings.

then i fell—or so i thought

my body did not meet the ground harshly,

for he caught me,

in all the gentleness known to mankind, 

he treated my scorched skin with care.

i was icarus and he is my sun,

with gold and glitter in all his glory.

why does icarus continue to fly, despite his impending doom?

icarus is a fool in love.

because the sun is icarus’s love.

in every lifetime, he will always choose to fall,

loving him despite it being too hot, too close.

icarus is a fool in love, for without the sun,

he would have no reason to live.

why would icarus fly if he had no sun to fly to?”

albedo’s eyes traced over the last line of your poem, his heart rattling with uncharacteristic tenderness and a gentle ache. your words had breathed life to the emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

he looked down on his sketchbook, then out the window to gaze at the setting sun. the warmth reminding him of your love for icarus—him. he was no poet, but for you, he could perhaps become one.

with careful hands like you described in your poem, he folded the parchment and placed it gently into his sketchbook, right beside the finished sketch of you under the afternoon sun, cecilias blooming right under your feet. a small smile tugged at his lips as he picked up his pencil.

for the first time in a long while, albedo finally understood what it meant to be inspired.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

– nuvole bianche.

pairing: scaramouche x gn!reader

premise: scaramouche, or kunikuzushi to you, never dreams. but after that accident on prom night, he's been dreaming more than he liked. he wonders if his past actions were actually enough.

– warnings: angst with slight comfort <3 + slight spoilers for the game "until then"

– author's note: this is what happens after i watch a playthrough of every depressing indie game. art credits to @.inertraccoon on twitter. | ~4.7k words.

“look at you working so hard,” you tease as you sit beside him. “what happened to quitting hm?”

he only rolls his eyes at you and elbows your side. you scoff in offense and shove him back. for a while, the two of you went back and forth elbowing one another until you burst out into a fit of laughter. scaramouche only clicks his tongue, his eyes focusing back on the set of black and white keys in front of him. all the while feeling your lingering stare and the way it made the hairs on his arms stand.

“if you’re going to disturb me then leave. i have no use for distractions.” his voice was stern but you only threw him a smile. your own finger danced on the keys with his in perfect harmony, scaramouche couldn’t help the small smirk that twitched at his lips.

“will you finally tell me the name of your piece?” you ask. 

he paused in his movement and just stared in front of him. you continued to play his piece with ease. scaramouche didn’t want to acknowledge how your fingers had memorized every line and curve of his creativity with such precision; he begins to wonder if you’ve taken all of his talents in playing the piano.

“not a chance!” he replied, tone higher than normal.

you let out a sigh and shook your head. scaramouche stares at you with a blank expression, he takes note of the fading light from your eyes and the way your hands slowly drop to your lap. your head turned here and there, taking your surroundings in for some odd reason he didn’t want to figure out.

“you’re acting strange.” he points out and you smile. 

“i just remembered how we first met, that's all.”

he lets out a groan and drags a hand down his face. “don’t remind me.”

your laugh ringed out the empty music room as you playfully shove at his shoulder. 

“oh come on!” you say, wiping the pretend tears from your eyes. “our first meeting was cute.”

“i was ready to cut off your fingers.”

“like i said, it was cute.”

he looks at you with a bewildered expression. his lips turned into an odd smile and his brow kept twitching in annoyance. “you’re such a pain.”

“don’t lie to me kuni,” you tease. “i know you love me!”

“and for the nth time, don’t call me that!”

you cease your teasing and just sigh. body leaning into him despite his protests. you drum your fingers on your lap as he continues to play the piece he’s so keen to keep a secret despite you helping him create it in the first place. for a moment, you close your eyes and relish in scaramouche’s company. taking deep inhales, catching small whiffs of his perfume and tea he had this morning, then opening your eyes as you exhale. 

“another boy went missing today.” you randomly say which made him pause.

“who is it this time?” he shifts closer to you; knees touching as you feel his hand interlace itself with your own. you bury your face further into the crook of his neck. you don’t mention the way his ears flush a cute pink and how his breathing turned shaky.

“it was kazuha today.” you whisper. “how long do you think before another one goes missing?”

he scoffs. you could practically see the frown that tugs at his lips. “don’t know and don’t care.”

“do you really note care?”

you detach yourself from him and look at his eyes. they were such an electric shade of purple, it almost felt illegal to look at them for free. 

“why should i?”

“kuni come on.”

he glares at you and you screw your mouth shut.

scaramouche lets out a deep sigh and stood up. he grabbed your arm and started tugging you out of the music room.

“come on,” he didn't bother to look back as he spoke. “we’ll be late.”

“what if i’m the next to disappear?”

“then i’ll look for you.”

you stare at the back of his head with your mouth slightly agape. neither of you mention the way your classmates stared at your hands and the burning of your ears and cheeks.

– –

what a disaster, you thought. what was supposed to be a heartfelt reunion for a son and his mother turned into a bitter one-sided screaming fest. you flinch when the harsh slamming of the door echoed into the now silent kitchen. 

“i’ll…” you start, pushing your chair back and giving an empathetic smile to the woman who looked identical to your hot headed friend. “go look for him. please excuse me.”

as you close the sliding doors, you couldn’t help but let out a long sigh. a hand dragging itself down your face as you try to spot the treehouse scaramouche had told you about. you dragged your feet into his old backyard and it wasn’t long before you spotted a tree with a small wooden house, the bark had worn out ladders. taking a deep breath, you climb up.

“kuni, you there?” you call out but no one replied. when your head peeked into the slightly ajar door, you feel your heart sink. there he was, in all his mopey state, knees hugging his chest as his eyes stared blankly at the doll in his limp hand.

“hey..” you quietly approach him. “what was that back there? i thought you two were okay now.”

“i told you this wouldn’t work out.”

you frown at his pessimism. “of course it’s not going to work out if you aren’t even trying to–”

“but i am trying!” he shouts, abruptly standing up from his sitting position. you felt a twinge of concern–fear– when he glared at you with tears pricking his eyes while his hand tightly gripped the doll like a lifeline. “is it my fault she wasn’t there when i needed her the most?! is it my fault that she was slowly spiraling into depression and compromising all her relationships?!”

“kuni come on,” you slowly stand and try to calm him down. “you know i don’t mean it like that.”

“then what did you mean!?” he stomps his way over to one of the desks and slams his hands down. you have no doubt that the adults back in the house heard it with how loud it was. 

“i wanted my mother to be there for me when i lost someone important to me.” he murmurs, head hanging low. one hand grips the stray picture frame on the desk and in one violent action, throws it across the room. you flinch at the loud shattering of glass clamored in the rickety old treehouse.

“kuni!” 

“you said you understand.”

“what?”

your feet subconsciously stepped back when scaramouche turned to glare at you – eyes cold and cruel. he pressed his lips into a thin line, his eyes following your movement like a hawk.

“you said you understood me, was that also a lie?” his voice cut through the air like a cold knife. he no longer looked like the kunikuzushi you grew up with. the words get stuck in your throat, your mind racing to try and say something–anything.

“but i do understan–”

“then why are you taking her side!?”

“but i’m not taking anyone’s side!” you take a deep breath and rub your temples. “kuni, please, just try to calm down.”

he only clicked his tongue, the sound harsh like the oncoming storm outside.

“where are you going?!” you shout, chasing after him.

“don’t follow me.”

“kuni!”

you try to reach for his hand but the sharp slap echoes in the rain-soaked air. you felt your eyes widen and for a while, you saw a flash of regret and hurt in his eyes as you let your hand drop to your side. he could glare at you all he wanted but you’ll always see through him– at least he hoped you could still recognize him. the way your frown deepened, how you cradled your wrist, and the way your hair slowly hid your eyes– scaramouche was sure you would be the next one to leave him.

“i’m trying my best to understand, kunikuzushi.” you whisper.

how long has it been since you called him by his full name?

“but it’s so hard when all you do is detach yourself when someone tries to get close to you. it’s suffocating y’know?”

“then leave,” he replies, colder than before.

“and what if i actually did?”

scaramouche opened and closed his mouth to reply but no words came out. what would he do if you actually left? would he return to his reclusive self? pushing anyone and everyone away if they tried to get too close? but wasn’t he already doing this right now? what is wrong with him.

“you never tell me anything, kuni, not how you feel nor what's going on,” tears prick your eyes as you try to approach him again. “can’t you see how much this is hurting us? when will you finally let it go? when will you finally move on from the things that have hurt you instead of holding grudges? it’s so painful to see you so stuck in the past.”

“i’m not as forgiving as you.”

“you don’t have to forgive her for anything!”

“you don’t understand.”

“then make me understand! for once kuni, just tell me what you’re feeling instead of leaving me to guess.”

this was going nowhere, he thought. so he did what he does best: runaway and never look back. you call out to him, you even try to catch up to him but the sudden downpour of rain made it hard to make out his figure that slowly disappeared. he ground his teeth together and gripped his hair. 

“i’m a fucking mess.”

– –

scaramouche stared at himself in front of the mirror. dressed in formal kimono for tonight’s prom theme. a deep sigh left him as he readjusted his haori. the house was unusually chatty tonight – most probably because his mother was downstairs with nahida and her mother. it filled the normally quiet and serene atmosphere with something warm.

it’s been around a week and a half since you had last talked to him. he hasn’t heard from you since he dropped off the box of dango with a note asking for a dance, he hopes you liked them. he reached for the gel on his desk but he hesitates, not sure if he wanted to gel his hair back or just leave it as is. you’ve always nagged him about being presentable, now it’s become a habit of his to bring a small mirror and a comb wherever he goes.

a knock echoed in his room. 

“may i come in, kunikuzushi?” ei, his mother, asked from the other side.

for a brief moment, he hears your voice. urging him to open the door and let his mother inside, hear her out. with another sigh he reluctantly gets up from his seat and opens the door.

“do you need anything?” he asks bluntly, raising a brow at the older woman her mouth opened and closed, eyes looking everywhere but him. it makes him frown but he doesn’t dwell on it for long.

ei cleared her throat and gestured if she could come in. scaramouche relented. 

“i’m glad the kimono still fits you,” she finally says. “blue suits you better than purple.”

“thank you…” he quietly mutters, ignoring the sudden spike in his temperature.

“before you leave, i wanted you to have this.”

a feathered ornament was placed on his hands and he felt the wind get knocked out of him. he’s suddenly taken back to the old backyard where he and a younger boy played under the big sakura tree that housed their little base.

scaramouche bitterly smiled and twirled the ornament in between his fingers. “i thought you threw it away.”

ei frowns. her hands smoothing out the creases of his white nagagi and his haori. “you treasured that little feather, how could i possibly throw it away.”

he doesn’t say anything more and lets his mother fix up his appearance. she helped him readjust the kakuobi on his waist, brush out his hair, and even assisted him in making the red eyeliner he always wore be even.

“is [name] at the venue already?” he asks as he boarded the car, waving goodbye to nahida at the porch.

“i assume they are,” miko answered as she buckled the seat belt. “be sure to make up with them alright? all of my hard work in getting you that kimono from chiori would be wasted if you don’t.”

scaramouche rolls his eyes and looks out the window. he can’t help but frown at the feeling that’s swimming in his guts. something bad is going to happen–he was sure of it.

– –

the venue was obnoxiously – in his mind– decorated, but it was overall decent. in the distance he could see some of his classmates (re: friends) on the dance floor. when aether’s eyes caught sight of him, the blonde boy immediately waved him over but scaramouche only ducked under his hand when venti wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“get off of me!” he protests and tries to run away but a tanned hand dragged him back to the dance floor.

“come on man,” sethos grins at him. “let loose a bit!”

and that’s how scaramouche got dragged all over the venue with his little band of misfits. xiao and albedo were chatting by their table, the purple haired boy threw his middle finger up when albedo stuck out his tongue at his misery while xiao only rolled his eyes in amusement. the twins were by the dj requesting songs and heizou was on stage performing with childe.

scaramouche sighed for the nth time and let a small smile slip out. he only rolled his eyes when venti tugged at his cheeks and when charlotte took a photo of them. for the entire night, he let himself enjoy everyone’s company, all the while, keeping an eye out for you.

“scara, look over there.” itto nudged him and pointed across the room.

his heart suddenly started racing when he saw your figure slip away behind the gymnasium doors.

“was that [name]?” lumine asked, her brows furrowed. “should we go follow them? it’s raining pretty heavily...”

rain. scaramouche felt his feet run towards the doors, ignoring the shouts of concern from his peers. it was raining tonight. he couldn’t shake the growing dread that gripped his heart as the rain poured down. 

“you’re almost there.” a voice that sounded like yours echoed and everything went white.

the raindrops felt like small bullets that penetrated his skin. he was in pain and he didn’t know why. his mind kept screaming at him to run, and run, and run, but he didn’t know where he was running to. to catch up to you? no. that’s wrong, he is trying to catch you, so yes. maybe?

scaramouche was suddenly inside an all too familiar room–your music room. there was a piano in the middle where you sat on the stool, the giant window in front of you was left open. the white curtains flowed with the wind as he tentatively tried to take a step closer.

“you know,” you start, fingers pressing onto the keys to play a familiar tune he knew by heart. “you never really told me what you titled this piece.”

“how is that relevant now?” he snapped, voice raising in volume. why did he sound so frustrated? why did this feel so familiar but strange at the same time?

“i guess there are some things you’ll never get to know, huh?” your tone was sad, but accepting.

you stop playing at the part he composed for you.

“why did you stop?” his voice turned shaky, the panic settling in his gut.

you look back at him and smile. “you don’t need to be too hard on yourself you know.”

“hey!” he shouts, chasing after your vanishing figure. when he tried you catch your wrist, it suddenly turned to smoke, inevitably slipping through his fingers. he felt his heart drop when he looked to see you standing in front of the giant window.

“you need to go now, kuni.”

“[name]!” he cried, desperation clawing at his chest.

you flash him one last smile. 

“don’t leave me alone!”

and then he was back outside under the harsh downpour of rain. his hands meet the pavement hard, he felt the pain shoot up all the way to his head but he didn’t care. this was too familiar–too painfully fucking familiar. his breathing started to turn shallow, vision blurring with his tears as the rain continued to pound down on him, drenching him straight to the bone.

give up.

he refused.

give up.

he refused.

give u–

“kuni?” 

he looks up from the pavement and he sees you there, across the street. under the bus stop with your hand under the rain. there were tears on the corners of your eyes as you realized that it was him.

you laugh in disbelief and rub at your tears. “you came all this way, for me?”

“you idiot,” he curses at you as he stands up. “i wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t left. i still want that dance!”

scaramouche felt his smile slip away when a flash appeared in his mind– a warning, a memory, an inkling feeling that something bad is going to happen.

“don’t!” 

but it was too late. he willed his feet to stand up and help you. save you like you did to him. what went wrong? everything was fine–he was talking with his mother again, he can play the piano without having the urges to jump off a cliff, he had friends now, he had you. so why did everything start clicking into place in his mind, as if this was how it’s supposed to end? 

am i too late? he asked himself as he reached a hand for you. everything was too slow, he caught every expression that went across your face that was painfully illuminated by the yellow headlights. 

will the last time you played piano together truly be the last?

“why are you smiling…?” he asks, voice breaking in disbelief.

but if that truly was the last time, then how will you find out that he named the piece after you?

“why are you doing this to me!” he shouted, voice echoing in the empty streets.

he didn’t quite pick up on what you said the last time you two played in the music room. it was something along the lines of “you’re so mean.” or “why won’t you tell me?” but those don’t feel quite right. why couldn’t he remember?

“don’t leave.” he pleaded, just above whisper.

why didn’t he pay enough attention?

you once told him, “the greatest movies are never made.” but he often wanted to counter them with “but here you are in front of me.” will he never get the chance to tell you that?

ah. 

now he remembers.

the words you said that day, it was….

“i love you, kunikuzushi.”

– – 

beep. beep. beep.

so this was it? he asked himself as he stared at his hands. they were bandaged and bloodied. the heart monitor’s rhythmic beeping made his ears ring, feeling each beep drill itself into his skull as the doors opened and a flood of nurses and doctors rushed in.

the mask over his lips continued to fog up with his labored breathing, adding to that suffocating feeling inside his chest. everything was too much– too loud, too bright, too real. he wanted to leave. he needed to see you. but his vision blurred as his body gave out, collapsing back on his bed. was he dying? but didn’t he already die? this didn’t make sense.

a warm hand gripped his arm. when he turned to look at the person he felt the last flickers of hope in his heart die out. it wasn’t you.

there by his side was his mother, eyes blown wide and breath shaky as she tried to calm her breathing. she looked so strange, that frazzled and panicked look in her eyes didn’t belong there. she was supposed to look stern, strong–unyielding, not this fragile, worried mother.

“[name]...” he whispers. still clinging onto that small shimmer of hope.

“i’m so sorry, kunikuzushi.” ei’s voice brokes as she hung her head low, tears dropping to his arm. 

“oh.”

the word slipped from his lips, barely audible. so it was a dream after all. 

– – 

home didn’t feel quite like home without you. even more so as his acquaintances (re: friends) helped him store everything in boxes. the twins were arguing over something, xiao and albedo’s little sisters were playing in one of the spare rooms, childe and itto were competing to see who could carry the most boxes, and his mothers were helping move his piano.

scaramouche ended the call with a breath of relief. he pocketed his phone and stared blankly at the sealed cd in one of the boxes. ei told him it was found on your body on the night of the accident. he frowned at the memory but picked up the cd nonetheless.

nahida told him he had run off in the middle of prom when his mother arrived. you chased after him and the both of you unfortunately got into an accident. the dreams–hallucinations maybe– were created by consciousness to cope with the guilt, his psychiatrist said. zhongli said it would be best to distance himself from anything that reminded him of you, but how could he? not when every turn he took you in this small town you were there.

ripping the plastic and placing the cd in his worn out cd player, he skipped through the songs. a smile creeping up his lips when he realized you finally got it right. you burned the cd with songs he actually liked.

“hello…? is this thing working?”

scaramouche stopped. so did everyone present in the room when they heard your voice. from the corner of his eye, he saw miko try to approach him but ei held her back. for the nth time in the past 8 months since he woke up, he felt grateful for the woman.

“it’s flashing red so i’m just gonna assume it’s recording. if it’s not then this is gonna be very, very, embarrassing.” you laugh and paused. “i’m not really sure why i’m doing this. maybe it’s because i’ve been having this strong sense of deja vu? it kinda keeps me up at night, y’know? the thought that i won’t be able to tell you, so here i am, recording just in case something bad happens.”

he winces at your keen intuition but he makes no effort to stop playing the recording.

“it’s… been hard. seeing you in so much pain, i mean. it just became harder when we grew up and all i could do was just… watch. i didn’t know how to help. i was there, but it never felt like it was actually enough. was i doing enough, kuni?” you chuckle bitterly. “i never got why you wanted to be called scaramouche. names are an important part of someone’s identity, so i kinda get why you wanted to be called something else, but i don’t think i’ll see you as someone who isn’t kunikuzushi. sorry about that. maybe i’m also a bit stuck in the past, like you.”

he feels ei sit beside him, guiding his head to lay on her shoulder as your voice continues to echo throughout the now empty house.

“i hope in the future, you aren’t so hard on yourself and you continue playing the piano. seeing that spark in your eyes again, though almost always momentarily, makes me really happy. i felt a part of me become jealous. i never liked piano that much; i only ever played it because you liked it. i felt a little bit left behind. i don’t know. i-i just thought, you’d be stuck with me in this gray area for a little longer.” your voice started to shake. “i felt really sick and guilty when i started to hope you’d fail the audition. i’m so sorry about that. you were working so hard, and that made me want to work hard too! so i started practicing without you. i asked furina to mentor me, and oh boy, was she strict.” you chuckle. “but it was worth it. seeing that look of bewilderment on your face when i played nuvole bianche for auditions was really cute! i don’t think i’ve seen that expression on your face before.”

“w-whoa, whoa why is the red flashing slowing down?! is the recording gonna end?!”

he laughs at your panicked state. fiddling with the cd case in his hands.

“well okay then, i’ll wrap this message up. kuni, i’m so glad i met you when i climbed over our fenced gates. i’ll never forget that confused look on your face when i jumped over it and landed in your backyard and just, started listening to you play. you know, i was very sure you’d call your mom and have me kicked out.” you chuckle and take a deep breath. “i like you, you know. like very, very much and not in the friends type of like. for the longest time, i’ve had the biggest crush on you. i’m surprised you didn’t notice! hell even xiao figured it out and he’s the densest person i know!”

scaramouche turns to glare at xiao who only shrugged his shoulders.

“but yeah, i like you. i can’t really make a grand confession, i suck at words. if… if you really want to know how much i like you, then come over to my place and i’ll show you this piece i made for you! i don’t know what to title it yet but i’m thinking about “kabukimono’s finale.” oh crap the red flashing is gone now! okay, okay, bye now kuni! and please don’t be too hard on yourself okay? remember,” you pause. “i love you.”

and like that, the recording ended. scaramouche sat there on the floor with his mother for a long time. everyone had finished moving his stuff out and all that was left were his piano and the cd player in front of him. slowly, he closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. 

“thank you,” he says in a quiet whisper. “for being here, i mean.”

ei smiled and patted down his hair, still using her shoulder as his makeshift headrest.

“you’re welcome.” she replied with a kiss to the crown on his head.

he carefully placed the cd back in its case and tucked it into a box labeled “[name].” standing up, he takes one last look around the house.

“thank you,” he whispered once more. scaramouche could have sworn he saw you turn to look at him from the piano stool to flash him a smile and a small wave. the light reflecting in your eyes reminded him of the filtered sunlight that slipped through the cracks of that giant window in your music room. he wonders if this was real or just a final farewell his mind conjured up to seal the gaping hole inside his chest. but maybe it didn’t matter.

he isn’t quite sure if you understood the weight of both your words, but they were enough. the house is quiet again, but not nearly as lonely as it felt after he woke up. there was a feeling of peace in the silence, like a final note that’s still lingering just long enough for the melody to be completed. 

as he walked out of the house, leaving the boxes for the movers to move, scaramouche felt a sense of peace wash over him. the pain and guilt of losing you will never really disappear, but he had to walk down a path without you sooner or later. but for the first time since that accident, he felt like he could finally let go of the past. 

step after step as he crossed the road and further away from his childhood home, he smiled– a small bittersweet smile. this won’t be enough to ease the pain but it was the beginning of something new. and for now, that was enough.

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

i love you elysia from the hit game honkai impact 3rd