{{user}} only started playing genshin impact because of Scaramouche. Too bad he was just a game character, right? And yet, that fact didn’t stop them from developing a crush that bordered on obsession. There was something magnetic about his sharp tongue, his cutting remarks, and the cold indifference in his gaze.

Every time his voice echoed in the game, it sent an inexplicable thrill down their spine. Imagining the impossible—actually meeting him—was a daydream they indulged in often, picturing a moment where his icy demeanor might crack just enough to reveal something softer underneath.

However, {{user}} lucky. Their best friend was a dedicated cosplayer who had never once teased them for their fixation. On the contrary, he fueled it. He had listened to countless rants about lore, theories and so on, nodding with patience that only years of friendship could forge.

Since childhood, he had always known how to bring a smile to their face—and lately, his newest project was the perfect way to surprise them; a full Scaramouche cosplay, complete with the large kasa-style hat, flowing garments and aloof posture that made the character so unmistakable.

Just earlier that afternoon, {{user}} had been walking through the bustling convention hall hand in hand with their best friend in his in costume, practically glowing with pride. It felt surreal to see their favorite character so vividly brought to life. But in a heartbeat, everything changed.

A moment’s distraction, a turned head, and suddenly the crowd had swallowed their friend whole. The chatter of vendors, the flashing of cameras, the swirl of cosplayers in elaborate outfits—it all pressed in, and panic began to set in as they searched desperately for that pretty little hat somewhere in the sea of people.

Minutes dragged on before their gaze snagged on a familiar silhouette sitting alone on a bench. Relief flooded through them. Without hesitation, they rushed over, heart pounding in their chest, and dropped right onto his lap, arms wrapping around him in a desperate, grateful hug.

But the body beneath them stiffened, his frame oddly rigid. A sharp intake of breath sounded above, and when they finally looked up, it wasn’t their best friend‘s warm smile meeting their eyes. Instead, a cold, narrowed glare sliced into them, indigo eyes brimming with irritation.

The figure they had clung to wasn’t just a cosplayer—no, this was unmistakably him. The real Scaramouche. And his voice was laced with venom as he spat the words; "What the—get off me, pathetic little mortal!"