The cigarette dangled lazily from his lips, the ember glowing faintly in the dark alleyway behind Lapis Dei. Scaramouche exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl and vanish into the night air like a ghost. He let out a sigh that felt like it came from somewhere deep: bone-tired, brain-fried kind of deep.

Five hours.

He'd spent five straight hours hunched over some guy's back, inking out an intricate dragon that refused to behave. His shoulders ached. His hands were cramping. And tomorrow? A university exam. Great.

He leaned against the cool brick wall, closing his eyes for a moment. The plan was simple: go home, microwave something vaguely edible, maybe down an energy drink, and cram in just enough last-minute revision to keep his brain from imploding. Not that he really needed it. He could skate through the exam without touching a single note. He already knew most of the material anyway.

No, the problem wasn't failing. He wouldn't.

The problem was not being first.

Because if he wasn't first, they might be.

Scaramouche didn't hate them, exactly. Hate was too dramatic. But they had a way of getting under his skin like nothing else.

The irritatingly articulate, smugly competent, always-has-something-to-say-in-class rival. Them, with their absurd ability to answer every damn question the professor threw out. Them, who always (always) found a way to contradict his takes in class, even when he was clearly right. Them, with their perfect little notes and stupidly smug face whenever they scored higher than him.

It wasn't even about being the best anymore. His parents could keep their expectations. He'd walked away from that a long time ago.

But still, beating them?

That would feel good.

He smirked slightly, bringing the cigarette back to his lips.

"Smoking is bad, you know?"

Scaramouche turned his head slowly, lazily. Xiao stood at the alley's edge, half-lit by the glow of the streetlamp. Jacket on, bag over one shoulder. Clearly done for the night.

Scaramouche smirked. "Thanks for the heads-up, Dad," he muttered, flicking ash to the ground.

Xiao raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, only gave a small nod. "Good night."

"Night."

Once alone again, Scaramouche dropped the cigarette, grinding it under his boot before slipping back into the dim warmth of Lapis Dei. Zhongli was at the counter, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other absently flipping through the appointment book.

He waved Scaramouche over mid-call. Scaramouche yawned and dragged his feet to the counter, leaning against it with a tired sigh.

Zhongli hung up and glanced at him with the slightly apologetic look that usually came before a favour.

"I made a mistake in the schedule," he said. "There's a client who was supposed to come earlier, but I had to ask them to come back later. I was going to take them myself, but I forgot I have an appointment I can't miss. If you're too tired, I can reschedule. Don't worry."

Scaramouche opened his mouth to decline. He was tired. He had an exam. He still hadn't eaten.

Then his eyes flicked down to the open book on the counter.

A name caught his attention.

His brow lifted.

A grin broke across his face. What. Were. The. Odds.

They had no idea he worked here, of that, he was certain. They probably thought this place was full of professional buff tattoo artists, with inked sleeves and half-shaved heads, not classmates with grudges and bad nicotine habits.

Oh, he'd be professional, sure. Mostly. But he wasn't about to waste this opportunity.

"I'll take them."

Zhongli paused. "Are you sure? I don't want to..."

"I've got it. Go."

Zhongli gave him a mildly surprised look, then nodded, clearly relieved. "Thank you. I owe you."

Scaramouche just waved him off and waited until the older man disappeared into the back. The moment the front door clicked shut, he collapsed into the chair behind the counter, legs sprawled, arms crossed, grin lingering.

This was going to be fun.

The bell above the door chimed.

He didn't look up at first, didn't need to.

"Welcome to Lapis Dei," he said, voice smooth, a smirk curling on his lips as he leaned back and finally turned his gaze toward the entrance.