|| The Harbinger's Guest ||

|| Part 16 ||

Note: This is just a short part bcuz I like fluffiness and rainbows (guess who the rainbows are).

~

I sit down on the top of a grassy hill, overlooking the Mawtimya Forest. The giant fluorescent mushrooms dot across this part of Vanarana, providing a bright turquoise glow around the land. It is night, and the stars are looking out overhead. It is warm. It is calm. Crickets chirp nearby, with my sword lying in the grass beside me. I smile up at the stars, as if they really are watching me. A part of me hopes they are.

"This spot taken?" a familiar voice asks.

I look up at Scaramouche, a small smile on my lips. "All yours."

Scaramouche smiles at me, and sits down beside me in the grass. He looks up at the stars with me, and I find them in his eyes now. I stare at him for a moment. He's wearing less of his excessive clothes, and he's placed his hat beside him. He's wearing a kimono, worn loosely around his chest, and I can see the markings around his neck that look like tattoos. Even his hair isn't as neat, slightly longer too. The breeze makes it wave a little, barely noticeable. He turns to me, his expression shifting to one of mild amusement. "What?" he asks me with a smirk.

"Nothing," I chuckle, looking away. "Am I not allowed to look at you?"

"You are," Scaramouche replies, looking back up at the sky. "I guess."

I sit there with him, memorising every detail. The softness of the grass. The faint breeze in the air. The sky is completely clear, and all the constellations are in full view. I glance at Scaramouche from the corner of my eye, and I know he's charting them in his mind. I can see his eyes flicking in different directions.

His eyes flick back towards me, and I glance away again, grinning. He starts smiling too. I reach out and gently place my hand over his, and he doesn't pull away. He barely even reacts at all.

"You're not even from this land," Scaramouche says softly, his eyes still on the stars. He's stopped his observations of them now, it seems. "And yet you fit here like... a perfect jigsaw piece."

"Why do you say that?" I ask.

"Because I never felt that way, even when I was created here," he goes on quietly.

"Has that changed?" I also ask.

"Yes, I think so," he starts. "Well, sort of. I thought I belonged in memories, and now I know I belong in moments. I can trust moments."

"I think I understand that," I reply.

Scaramouche leans into me, his head resting upon my shoulder. "You know I don't like promises."

"Yeah, I know," I smile. I lean over and rest my head on top of his.

"Thanks, Aether," he says, sighing softly. "I'm happy. At least right now I am."

"That's good," I reply.

We don't say much else from then on, but I feel his head against me and know there are a million words within that action. His hair feels soft against my neck, and his hand beneath mine fits perfectly against my palm. In this moment, we are both happy, and I believe that's all that matters.

~

Scaramouche looked down at the Traveler, his eyebrows furrowing. They hadn't spoken to each other much since they visited Dottore's lab, and now Aether was asleep, nestled within pillows and sheets. Scaramouche sat beside the bed, next to the Traveler. As he had done before, he reached out and gently placed his hand over him, watching his dreams.

The first time, Scaramouche was lying in bed beside him. He woke up in the middle of the night, despite his exhaustion, and had flipped around to be face-to-face with the Traveler. The Traveler was breathing softly, his golden hair sprayed around him. He had this look of contentment that Scaramouche hadn't observed in a human for a long time. As if he felt completely safe beside him.

Scaramouche had watched him for a moment, how his chest rose and fell. Scaramouche observed the marks left behind from burns, the small scars. He started to feel curious as to how he had earned them in those specific places, drawing up inferences in his mind. Then he paused to himself, narrowing his eyes. Why did he care?

Scaramouche found himself reaching out with a sigh, annoyed by the mess of Aether's hair. He moved away a long strand of hair out of Aether's face, tucking it behind his ear. Within that moment of contact, he saw a small, delicate vision. He viewed it from Aether's perspective: a voice calls out Aether's name, and Aether turns to find Scaramouche there, standing beside the bed.

Scaramouche pulled his hand away almost immediately, his eyes widening in alarm. Then, ever so slowly, he reached out again, gently placing his hand over Aether's cheek. Scaramouche watched his dream play out with mild curiosity, something in the back of his mind. Does Aether want me to see this? How else would I have access to this vision? Scaramouche realised Aether must have unconsciously wanted Scaramouche to view it. So, naturally, Scaramouche should... right?

Scaramouche watched as the dream played out. He opened his eyes for a moment and saw Aether's real face had become more tense, his eyebrows furrowing. Scaramouche's mouth twisted into a smirk. He was allowed to have a little fun. With his hand over Aether's cheek, he sent him a message from his mind to Aether's.

"Are you nervous?"

The Scaramouche chuckled darkly as he toyed with Aether's dream, letting him stay in control for most of it. He watched as Aether's face reacted, contorting in surprise and confusion. It was a bad sign that Scaramouche immensely enjoyed tormenting him.

"Aether, do you like it when I say your name?"

Scaramouche chuckled to himself and decided he'd stop there, allowing Aether to continue his dream in peace. Still, he kept his palm against Aether's cheek, listening in for how it would play out, growing more and more concerned as it played out. Scaramouche stopped finding the dream amusing, and felt his hand around Aether's skin become more tense. His dream self was acting... well, quite like him, but not in a way he'd ever let himself...

"I always loved our fights. Especially when I win," his dream self said.

Yes, that was very much like him to say. But still. Scaramouche's breath hitched as he watched his dream self pin Aether's wrists, leaning in closer. He was—

Kissing him?

Scaramouche felt his eyes go wide. He watched how Aether reacted— his cheeks going red, his face twisting into a wince. Scaramouche wondered if this was actually a nightmare for him.

As he watched, he heard the snowstorm howling outside in the dreamscape. In a moment of panic, Scaramouche had altered the dream, cracking the window until it shattered. Snow flooded Aether's mind, and his eyes fluttered open, his chest rising and falling.

That was yesterday morning, though. Scaramouche tried to forget it and believe it meant nothing, but it did. Scaramouche wasn't sure exactly what that was, but he knew it was... something. So now, right before the dawn, Scaramouche sat beside the Traveler as he slept, far more comfortably than the day before, thankfully. Scaramouche gently placed a hand over his, and dreamt alongside him. That was the only place he could say what he truely wanted to say, after all.

"This spot taken?"