Chapter Text
The night is unusually quiet in Inazuma, with the wind carrying a faint hint of rain. Once Scaramouche -now known only as the Wanderer or Hat Guy- finds himself sitting at a lonely sake bar tucked away in one of the less-visited alleys of the city. It’s the kind of place no one would look for him, which is exactly what he wants. He prefers the silence, even if it’s filled with the occasional clink of bottles and low conversation from distant patrons.
He honestly didn’t want to come to Inazuma at all. It all started when Nahida asked him to deliver something to the Raiden Shogun. Why him? Because the damn nekomata, who was originally assigned the task, fell ill and couldn’t make the delivery.
The real shock came when he met his mother again. After erasing himself from Irminsul, he thought she wouldn’t remember him -but somehow, she did. He had no idea how, until she revealed that Nahida had told her everything ever since he gained his Vision. The nerve of that little girl, daring to share what he had buried away! Anger surged through him, and without another word, he stormed out of Tenshukaku.
He refused to return to Sumeru -not until the ache and anger in his heart was gone, he knew he would hurt Nahida if he went back to Sumeru now. For now, he would drown his fury and sorrow in drink, downing as much sake as it took to numb the pain.
And here he is. Inside a Bar. Drink alcohol like He is some pathetic mortal. The other patron and the man who serves him the Alcohol seem don't care much about how young he look, good for him because he will get drunk so much it'll even make a puppet like himself drunk! how it's even possible in the first place, he doesn't care.
His gaze is distant, eyes narrowed as he swirls the drink in his cup. No matter how much time has passed, old memories have a way of clawing their way back after all. The anger he thought he'd buried rises to the surface again. The resentment still lingers, even though he tells himself he’s over it.
Then, he hears a familiar voice. One that makes his skin crawl and his heart race at the same time.
“Mind if I join you?”
He looks up, and there she is -Raiden Ei, standing by the entrance with her usual calm expression. There’s no annoying powerful aura, no imposing presence, just an old woman carrying the weight of centuries on her shoulders.
Wanderer feels a flicker of irritation, but beneath it, there's something else, something much harder to name.
Without waiting for an answer, Ei sits down beside him and orders a few bottles which arrive quickly. The bar's low lantern light flickers over her face, softening the usual sharpness of her expression. For a moment, neither of them says a word. It’s not that they don’t have anything to say, it’s that there’s too much left unsaid
“You’ve grown quiet,” Ei finally murmurs, breaking the silence. Her tone is neutral, but there’s a subtle undercurrent of regret hidden beneath her words.
Wanderer clicks his tongue, glaring at her. “What do you want?”
Her expression remains calm. “I heard you were here. I wanted to see you.”
He scoffs, turning away. “That’s rich coming from you. Now you care?”
There’s no venom in his words, though. Just tired resignation. He’s fought this battle with himself too many times to still feel the sting of betrayal the way he used to. Yet something about seeing her now—here, so close and so quiet—makes the old wounds ache.
Ei doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she pours herself a cup of sake, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
"You don’t have to forgive me,” Ei says softly. “But maybe we can talk.”
Wanderer clenches his fists under the table, feeling the familiar bitterness rise in his chest like bile. His jaw tightens, but the words he’s ready to spit -sharp, angry, full of venom- never quite make it past his throat. Instead, they sit there, festering. But strangely, he doesn’t push her away. Not yet.
The two of them sit in silence, nursing their drinks. The weight of all the years between them, everything unspoken and unresolved, suffocates both of them. Every breath feels heavier. Every glance exchanged carries its own burdens -guilt, anger, regret, and maybe, just maybe, the faintest trace of longing. Longing for something neither of them can name, something both of them lost long ago.
Ei turns the small sake cup in her hand, studying it as if it holds answers. "I thought of you, you know," she murmurs, more to the drink than to him. “Every day.”
Wanderer snorts bitterly, though his eyes remain glued to the amber liquid in his cup. “Yeah? What did you think about? How well I was doing on my own? How much stronger would I be without you?”
"No," she whispers, the word laced with something that sounds like sadness. "I wondered if you were happy."
The words hit deeper than they should. Wanderer's hand curls tighter around the sake cup, he can hear something crack. He hates how easily she slips under his defenses, how a few simple words from her can stir the parts of him he’s spent years trying to bury.
"You've got some nerve." His voice is low, full of restrained anger. “After all this time, after everything... You think you can just sit here, say a few words, and what? Fix it?”
Ei doesn’t flinch. "No," she says softly. "I don't think anything I say will fix what I broke. But I want to at least try."
He looks away sharply, swallowing the bitter laugh that threatens to escape. “You always wanted to try, didn’t you? Always a little too late.”
For a moment, the silence between them feels unbearable. It presses down like a storm waiting to break, every unsaid word clinging to the air between them. And yet neither of them leaves.
“Do you hate me, Scaramouche?” Ei asks quietly, her voice just above a whisper.
He flinches at the sound of that name - his name, his old name. No one calls him that anymore. He buried it along with other names he called himself : Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi. trying to shed it like old skin. But hearing it from her lips... it stirs something painful, something dangerous.
“That’s not my name anymore,” he mutters, teeth clenched. “Most People call me Hat Guy. Wanderer if they are my close acquaintance.”
Ei studies him with the same look she used before, the look she used when they meet again after a few centuries, a few hours ago. She’s not asking for permission to reach him -she’s just doing it, like she always has. It makes him feel raw, vulnerable, and furious all at once.
“I know it’s not,” she says gently. “But it is what people in Teyvat, including me, know about you, well once.”
Wanderer shakes his head, biting back the urge to shout at her, to tell her that she doesn’t have the right. But the truth is, the words feel meaningless even to him.
“So, what?” he asks, finally turning to meet her gaze. "You want me to just forget everything? Pretend like nothing happened?”
“No,” Ei replies. “I don’t want you to forget. I don’t even expect you to forgive. I just want...” She falters, something rare for her, and when she speaks again, her voice is smaller. “I just want a chance. To know you, after all i never have a chance to know you after all. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
He stares at her, heart pounding against the walls of his chest. He hates her for this—for showing up, for making him feel things he thought never exist. And worse, for making him want to believe her.
“You think you can just waltz back in and make things right?” he snaps, though his voice lacks venom. “After everything?”
“No.” She exhales, a breath shaky with emotion. “But I’d rather try and fail than walk away without ever trying.”
Wanderer huffs, frustrated by the tug-of-war between anger and something softer he can’t name. His hand tightens around the cracked sake cup until the ceramic feels like it might shatter.
“You don’t get it,” he mutters, voice thick with all the things he can’t bring himself to say. "You left . You left, and I—" His voice catches, and for a moment, he struggles to find the words. "I needed you, and you weren’t there."
“I know.” Her voice cracks, and she quickly takes a sip of her drink as if that can steady her. “I know, and I’ll regret it every day for the rest of my life.”
His chest tightens, and for a second, he can’t breathe. There it is—that same aching vulnerability that sat between them.
“I don’t hate you,” he whispers, surprising even himself with the admission. “But I don’t know if I can... let you in again.”
Ei nods slowly, as if she’s been expecting those words. "That's fair," she says. "But maybe we can start with just one night. No expectations. Just... us. Talking.”
He knows he shouldn’t agree. He should stand up, walk away, and never look back. But something inside him refuses to let go. Maybe it’s the way she’s looking at him -not with pity, not with guilt, but with something close to hope. Or maybe it’s the way he feels a little lighter sitting here, with her beside him, even though it hurts like hell.
“One night,” he says abruptly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “That’s all you get.”
Ei’s eyes soften, and though she doesn’t smile, there’s a flicker of something -relief, maybe- in her gaze. She raises her cup slowly, as if afraid the moment might shatter if she moves too fast.
“One night,” she echoes, lifting her drink in a silent toast.
He clinks his cup against hers, and they both drink. The silence between them shifts—not quite warm, but not as cold as it was before. It’s a fragile truce, held together by years of pain and a sliver of something new.
When the bottle is empty, they sit quietly, side by side, each lost in their own thoughts. For the first time in a long while, the silence between them feels... almost bearable.
The rain taps steadily against the windows of the bar, filling the room with a rhythmic murmur. Inside, the glow of lanterns flickers unevenly, casting shifting shadows across their faces, as if the past itself were alive between them. The space feels smaller now, trapping themselves in their shared space. The only things easing the tension are the clink of sake cups and the shared warmth spreading through their veins.
Wanderer leans back in his chair, his gaze sharp but heavy-lidded, a hint of bitterness dancing in his eyes. “Why didn’t you try looking to find me, if you regret it so much?” His voice is low, void of fury but tainted with something worse- the kind of curiosity that cuts deeper than anger.
Ei watches the ripples swirl in her cup. “I thought you were better off without me.”
A dry chuckle escapes him, more of a sigh than a laugh. “And here I thought gods were supposed to know everything.” His lips curl into a dangerous smirk. “Guess even eternity can screw things up.”
Ei takes the jab without flinching, only offering a tired smile in response. “This old woman made more mistakes than you know.”
Her words settle heavily between them. Wanderer had expected excuses -some half-hearted or twisted attempt to justify the past. This quiet acceptance, though? It leaves him unsteady, like standing on uneven ground. It’s hard to fuel hatred when the other person refuses to fight back.
He pours another round, the sake sloshing over the rim of his cup. When Ei takes hers, their fingers graze briefly, sending an uninvited jolt through him. He pulls away too quickly, scowling. It shouldn’t mean anything. And yet...
“There were nights,” he murmurs, swirling his drink, “when I imagined what I’d do if we met again.” His voice is soft but laced with something sharp. “Some nights, I thought I’d beg for answers. Other nights...” He trails off, letting the silence carry the weight of his unspoken thought. “I thought I’d just kill you.”
Ei’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something -acceptance? Sadness? -in her gaze. “And now?” she asks, her voice steady but quiet.
Wanderer shrugs, a lazy, dangerous grin forming on his lips. “Guess I’m still deciding.”
The tension between them shifts, taut and razor-thin, like a blade balanced on the edge of indecision.
Ei rests her chin on her hand, her gaze soft in a way that unsettles him. “You’ve changed,” she whispers. “I almost don’t recognize you.”
Wanderer scoffs, though his heart stirs uncomfortably at her words. “Don’t start pretending you care now.”
“I’m not pretending,” Ei replies gently. “You’ve grown, Scaramouche.”
And here she was calling him that name again. The sound of that old name -the name the fatui gave him- insulting him more than Aether refused to give him a name. It also carries the weight of many unpleasant memories he thought he had buried.
“I told you before, Don’t call me that,” he snaps, though his voice falters.
Ei doesn’t press the matter. “What should I call you, then?”
“Hat guy. Wanderer. Whatever.” He looks away, rubbing his temple as if the act could wipe away the confusion swirling inside him. “Just not that.”
Ei nods, but there’s something unsettling about her gaze -like she knows a part of him still craves the sound of that terrible name on her lips.
The alcohol dulls the sharp edges of his resentment, leaving only a strange emptiness behind. Wanderer takes another sip, his grip loose, almost careless. It’s easier to drink than to think after all.
“Do you regret it?” he asks suddenly, catching Ei off-guard. “Creating me?”
She meets his gaze without hesitation. “No,” she says softly. “Never.”
The simplicity and confidence of her answer disarms him. He wanted hesitation -something to fuel the belief that he was just a mistake. But there’s none. Only strengthen the certainty.
Something tightens painfully in his chest. He doesn’t want to believe her -but he does. And that terrifies him.
“I don’t know how to forgive you,” he admits, barely audible, as if saying it aloud might make it more real.
Ei reaches across the table, her hand resting lightly over his. “Then don’t.”
The touch is light but lingers, but the phantom of a gesture that haunts him long after she pulls away. " She never asked for forgiveness. She never expected it ."
Outside, the rain continues its steady rhythm, a constant backdrop to the fragile peace between them. And The storm inside Wanderer’s heart feels harder to quiet.
For a moment, he allows himself to study Ei in the flickering light—how it softens the sharp angles of her face, how she seems both familiar and distant at once. And how beautiful his Mother truly is. He wonders, just briefly, what it would feel like to stop fighting her and, and….
But the thought is too dangerous, and he shoves it aside with practiced ease. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
“Another drink?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral, though the tension still lingers beneath it.
Ei gives him a small, knowing smile. “One more.”
They raise their cups, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, the silence between them feels... almost bearable.
And so they drink, teetering on the edge of something unnamed -a place between forgiveness and regret, between bitterness and longing, where neither knows exactly how to move forward, but neither is ready to walk away.
They drink more and more, until his head cannot make sense of anything and his eyelids grow heavier with each moment until they finally drift shut, but not before he see his mother eyes and smile full of regret.
The first thing Scaramouche feels is warmth -a presence beside him, soft and unfamiliar. His head throbs with the dull ache of too much sake, and his body feels heavy, as though weighed down by something more than just sleep. Blinking his eyes open, he’s greeted by the pale morning light spilling through thin paper walls. He shifts slightly, the soft rustling of sheets the only sound in the still room. And that’s when he realizes -he’s not alone.
A soft breath brushes against his neck, and he freezes. Turning his head slowly, he finds himself face-to-face with Ei. Her bare shoulder peeks out from beneath the blanket, her purple hair splayed across the pillow like a silken waterfall. She’s asleep, peaceful, her expression devoid of the usual weight of regret and sorrow that clings to her waking self, she looks more like an innocent baby who doesn't care much about the world around her. The blanket shifts, and Wanderer catches a glimpse of his own bare skin, the full weight of what has happened crashing down on him more than when he fell from that Giant robot. They’re both naked .
His nonexistent heart slams against his ribs as a surge of panic floods through him. For a brief, irrational moment, he thinks about running -just grabbing his clothes and leaving her behind without a word. But it’s too late for that. The reality of the situation coils around him, a suffocating pressure in his chest. What the hell did they do? The events of the night before blur together in his mind -shared drinks, lingering glances, touches that lasted a second too long. But nothing beyond that!. Or so he thought. Yet here they are, naked and tangled beneath the sheets, with no clear memory of how they ended up like this.
Beside him, Ei stirs. Her lashes flutter, and she makes a soft sound -half a sigh, half a groan- as she slowly awakens. Wanderer swallows hard, forcing himself to stay still as she opens her eyes. Her gaze meets his, and for a long, agonizing moment, neither of them speaks.
Ei is the first to break the silence. Her eyes drift down briefly, taking in the way the sheets cling to their bodies. Something flickers in her gaze—an emotion too complex to name. Regret? Guilt? She draws a breath, then speaks softly, “I’m sorry. I... I took advantage of the moment when you were drunk.”
Wanderer’s nonexistent heart drops into his stomach, the words hitting him harder than he expects. For a second, his entire body tenses, anger bubbling to the surface. His hands clenched into fists, and he feels a white-hot need to lash out, to scream at her -to demand how she could do this to him. To her own son .
But then... he stops.
The rage burns in his throat, hot and sharp, but something -maybe exhaustion, maybe the weight of all their shared history- keeps him from letting it out. He forces himself to breathe, slow and deep, even as his mind screams for release. What would it change? The damage is done. Screaming at her won’t undo the night, won’t make this mess of regret and confusion any less suffocating.
Ei watches him carefully, her expression unreadable, but her eyes show a flicker of something -genuine remorse. “I won’t ask you to forgive me,” she whispers. “I just... I made a mistake. I was a weak woman, and I know that’s not an excuse.”
Wanderer glares at the ceiling, his jaw tight, every artificial muscle in his body strung tight with tension. He wants to say something cruel, something that will make her regret ever touching him. But the words stay locked in his throat, heavy and bitter. It’s not worth it. Just not worth it. Not with her.
“I should hate you,” he mutters finally, his voice low and strained. “I really should.”
Ei nods slowly, accepting the weight of his words without flinching. “I know.”
They fall into silence again, the air between them thick and heavy. Wanderer feels the anger in his chest simmering, still hot but slowly cooling, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. He’s too tired to fight . Too tired to hold on to the rage that once fueled him.
Ei shifts slightly, the blanket slipping down her shoulder. “Whatever you want to do next... it’s your choice,” she says softly. “I won’t stop you.”
Wanderer closes his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. The temptation to leave -to storm out, to never look back- is overwhelming. But deep down, he knows that running won’t change anything. It never does.
When he opens his eyes again, Ei is still watching him, quiet and patient. “I don’t know what comes next,” he mutters. “But... don’t expect this to be easy.”
Ei gives him a small, sad smile. “I never did. My son”
With that, she slowly sits up, gathering her clothes in silence. Wanderer watches her, his nonexistent heart heavy and his thoughts tangled in knots he’s not ready to untie. There’s no neat ending here. No closure. Just the messy aftermath of choices neither of them can take back.
As Ei finishes dressing, she pauses at the door, glancing over her shoulder one last time. “If you ever want to talk... I’ll be waiting.”
Wanderer doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as the door slides shut behind her with a soft click. He stays like that for a long time, lost in the heavy weight of everything unsaid and done. And for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t know if he’s angry, sad, or just... tired.