Not A Good Man - Scaramouche x Reader

Vanish

Scaramouche walked down the staircase that connected the fourth floor to the third floor, his steps uneven and choppy. His fingertips brushed his lips.

You promise, Scaramouche repeated in his mind. Your words seemed to flow from your mouth so easily and sweetly. It wasn't foolish to believe you, right? He could afford himself this much happiness, right?

Scaramouche turned as he heard the distinct tap of leather shoes against his flooring growing louder. "Master Scaramouche, there is someone at the gates." One of his butlers informed him, a tray in hand with a drink Scaramouche didn't even recognize.

"Who is it?" He asked.

"Childe, Sir."

Scaramouche made a face before sighing. "Bring him in."

Childe sat haphazardly on one of the chairs in Scaramouche's home office, his face null of the cheerful façade he usually dawned.

"I heard what happened to [Name]." Childe spoke, breaking the silence. "How is she?"

"She's recovering well." Scaramouche responded. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"To apologize."

"What?"

Childe rubbed the back of his neck. "I kinda feel like this is my fault."

Scaramouche's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

"When you saw us outside of the Northerland bank, it was because I wanted you to see us."

"Yes, I already know that."

"Just let me finish," Childe continued. "If I wasn't there, none of this would have happened. I'm sorry."

Scaramouche simply stared out of one of the windows in the room, his eyes looking through the glass. "It was premeditated. It wasn't your fault."

Childe stilled at his words, not expecting such a calm answer from the man in front of him. A long silence filled the air before Scaramouche spoke once more.

"I kissed her."

"WHAT!?" Childe practically fell out of his chair, his hands gripping the sides of the armchair dangerously tight. He regained his composure after a moment of shock, clearing his throat. "You really like her, don't you?"

"I suppose I'm fond of her." Scaramouche squeezed his eyes shut, trying to cover his face with his hand over his eyes. "Childe, be honest with me."

"What, Scaramouche?"

"If [Name] promised you something, would you believe her?"

Childe's eyebrows raised at the question. It was becoming more clear to him that Scaramouche's question was laced with unearthed history he didn't know about.

"[Name] seems like a genuine person. I don't know her well enough, though," Childe began. "Did something happen?"

"When I found LeeYang, he said something about [Name] not being my assistant for much longer, but she promised she wouldn't leave."

Promised, or made to promise? Even if it wasn't an order, Childe knew better than anyone the influence Harbingers had on those below them. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how to respond.

"I can't say for sure, but . . . I don't think she'd do anything to you out of malice." This, he thought, was true at least.

-

You exhaled lightly, buttoning the last bit of your blouse as you prepared for your first day back at work as the assistant to sixth Harbinger Scaramouche. Your stay at his manor was like a daydream—otherworldly and fleeting. Aside from when you awoke, you hadn't actually seen Scaramouche at all.