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The curator nods, but his gaze follows your movement, lingering for a moment longer than is natural. You ask him if anything is the matter, and he shifts his gaze back to your face, eyes as tranquil as ever. This close to him, you notice that his irises are a very pale shade of brown, so pale that they almost seem to gleam golden under the yellow light.
“I apologise,” he says smoothly, regaining his calm so quickly that it suddenly leaves you unsure if you had actually been mistaken, “you just look like someone I used to know.”
You can’t help your curiosity: “Are they a friend of yours?”
He offers another small smile in response. The slight expression transforms his demeanour, softening the aloof distance of his beauty into something a little more human.
“Yes.”
Much, much later, in a time where the era of gods and monsters has long since passed, a Snezhnayan exchange student and a Liyuean museum curator meet once again.
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Bookmark Notes:
You know that it isn’t exactly unheard of for people to share similarities in appearance to strangers, but Tartaglia’s face…
He looked so much like you (or was it that you looked so much like him?) that you could have been brothers.
***
Something old and buried in your chest cries out in recognition, filled with a bone-deep longing so strong that it almost overwhelms you.
Big brother, it sobs, its voice pitched high like a young child’s.
You have three sisters. One is twice your age, and the other two are twins who are two years younger than you. You do not have a brother.
But you don’t even register the wetness on your cheeks until the curator hands you a handkerchief.
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Bookmark Notes:
oh what the fuck :(