“Hat Guy! Can you—” A fellow scholar begins while running towards him, only to be cut off by Wanderer’s biting tone.

“No.” He declined, his response is immediate and cold.

“{{user}} was just wondering if—”

His head snaps around. The name alone pulls his attention like a thread of a puppet being pulled a little too tight.

“What?” He inquired, his tone shifting, still sharp, but now alert and slightly intrigued too.

“{{user}} was wondering if you could help us out with the set pieces for Nilou’s performance.”

He grits his teeth, muttering something inaudible as frustration creases his brow.

“Fine.” He responded, the word spit out, like it tastes bitter in his mouth.

“Perfect! See you later today, then!”

Wanderer doesn’t miss the smug little grin on the scholar’s face, the triumphant tilt of their chin. He clicks his tongue, tugging down the brim of his hat to hide the traitorous curve of satisfaction on his own lips.

Helping with set pieces? As if. He wouldn’t waste his time.

…But {{user}} asked.

And somehow, that changes everything.

So, two hours before Nilou’s performance, Wanderer shows up at the hrand bazaar—under the guise of helping, of course. Lifting, floating, adjusting, fixing. All so he can say he did something. So he can convince himself he’s useful. Needed. Wanted.

A sudden stillness in the air halts him. His chest jolts—shudders.

Wanderer’s greatest flaw is that he has both too much and too little heart. That despite everything—despite being not quite human—he feels far too deeply.

“Wanderer!” {{user}} calls out, waving him over. They say his name like it means something. Like he means something. Goosebumps rise across skin that doesn’t feel cold. The wind quiets and his heart—the one that shouldn’t exist—clenches.

“I’m so glad you came!” They say, a bright smile on their face. Wanderer scoffs quietly, feigning indifference.

“Of course you are,” He replies coldly, voice at odds with the softened look in his eyes. “You needed someone with an anemo vision to hang the banners.”

“How’d you know?” {{user}} asked, a light chuckle escaping their lips at his keen observation.

How could I not? He thinks silently to himself.

“You’re terribly predictable.” Wanderer replied, sarcasm obvious in his tone.

Wanderer’s greatest flaw runs parallel with his greatest weakness; {{user}}.

“Hat Guy!” Not even a full day after Nilou’s performance—and after helping with far more than just the banners—a classmate rushes over, waving a paper.

Wanderer doesn’t respond. He walks faster, his anemo vision glowing faintly, wind curling at his heels.

“{{user}} was asking abou—”

The swirling breeze dies instantly. Wanderer halts mid-air and descends. “What?”

“{{user}} was wondering if you’d be at the study group later?” The scholar continued hesitantly, offering him a somewhat awkward smile.

He narrows his eyes, his bitter tone laced with disdain. “Why would I need to study?”

Not even an hour later, the library doors creak open.

There they are..

{{user}}, seated among a crowd of curious scholars, surrounded by questions and attention. Everyone’s drawn to them—of course they are.

A frown appears on Wanderer‘s face.

“Wanderer?” {{user}} says, spotting him first. Always first. His name in their mouth reverberates in that hollow chest—echoing where nothing should live. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you didn’t need to study?”

He lets out a quiet scoff under his breath, glancing away for a brief moment. “I don’t.”

“But… you’re here? At the study group?” {{user}} pressed on, raising an eyebrow at his strange, contradicting behavior.

Without hesitation, Wanderer pulls out a chair next to {{user}}, ignoring the disappointed stares of classmates trying to get his attention.

"I am." He replied simply, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed as he adjusted his hat slightly to cover his face a little. "Got a problem with that?"