𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗲𝗿 ៸៸𓂃 scaramouche

∙ ୨୧ the meaning of this : 14 !¡

◢◤◢◤◢◤ YOUR POV !

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You did. At ten o'clock at night, in the bitter cold, you put on your shoes, your sweater, and went. A small bag over your shoulder, your phone in your hand, headphones in, you walked.

private messages (scaramoucheee, u/n)

scaramoucheee
wanna come over?

u/n
omw. are you ok?

He didn't respond. He wouldn't, until you reached his neighborhood an hour later, freezing cold and on his doorstep. You knocked.

"Hey," Scaramouche stepped aside and let you in. His house was pleasantly warm, a welcomed thing after your long walk. You still held your sweater tighter around yourself, though.

"Hey." You said, and properly looked at him for the first time. Archons, he seemed awful. You hadn't seen him since the mall— your school workload had picked up heavily and you had no time to hang out with Tartaglia, Rosalyne, and Scaramouche. The only word you could think of was exhausted, yet that still felt like an understatement. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Liar.

You weren't usually so good at reading people, when to know if they were lying or not, but it was so, so blatant. But you wouldn't pry. "Alright."

◢◤◢◤◢◤ ❝ but if you need me ❞

It ended up being you and him, in his bedroom. A sparsely decorated, rather big, space— it almost felt like a hotel room over Scaramouche's bedroom. Gray walls, a white comforter, spotlessly clean and free of clutter. You had seen this room in a furnishing magazine once or twice.

But it was cozy. Comfortable. Scaramouche sat at his white desk on his laptop. You sat on a black chair in the corner, scrolling on your phone.

Up. Down. Up. Up. Down. Left. You played your mindless games. The kind you only saw on shitty Instagram advertisements. Right. Down. Up. GAME OVER. You huffed, and started again.

Things continued like this for an hour. Two. You were bored, the air permeated with unanswered, unasked questions of yours. You occasionally saw Scaramouche glance at you, but thought nothing of it. After all, you didn't live here. You were out of place, in the huge, opulent mansion of his.

You continued to scroll absentmindedly on your phone until Scaramouche stood up. "Y/N."

"Yeah?"

Scaramouche took another step closer. Closer. "Close your eyes." Instead, you looked up at him, confused, your phone in your lap. "Please." And at that, you obliged.

You felt a hand— his hand— under your chin, tilting your head upwards. The other placed on the arm rest of the chair. You could feel him, his breath, close to you. Your heart raced and raced. Your thoughts went rampant and you forfeited control. "Tell me to stop, and I will." His voice. Almost as if he wanted you to stop him. Tell him no. Push him away. But that was the last thing you wanted.

The distance between the two of you grew smaller and smaller. Until Scaramouche's lips were on yours.

His hand cupped your face now.

Until he didn't. Until they weren't. Scaramouche pulled away, his hand lingered on you for a moment until he stepped back.

He sat down on the floor, leaned against the bed. "Do you really— I mean, do you actually...?" You trailed off. Words evader you as you realized you had stood up and stared at him. Nothing felt real... but everything felt right.

"Like you? Do I really like you?" Scaramouche held his head in his hands and looked at the wall, "Archons, I don't know."

You hesitated. The words cut deeper than you ever expected. Memories of Kazuha flooded your mind. Him, and his causal conversations you managed to misinterpret as flirting. Him, and Sunneva Aika in the hallway. Him, and the betrayal you brought upon yourself. Your oblivious, blissful ignorance that caused the rift between you and Kazuha. And now Scaramouche?

But Kazuha never kissed you.

"Let me know when you find out, alright?" You straightened your sweater, picked up your backpack, and left.

◢◤◢◤◢◤ SCARAMOUCHE POV !

The knocking had gone away when Y/N was there. And now, punctuated by the door closing behind her, Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. Though it wasn't that that made Scaramouche grab his coat, the first pair of shoes he found, and hurry after her.

It was her laugh. Her smile. The effortlessness behind it, and her excitement in the little things. He remembered Affinity Day— after their team won the debate and she, caught in the moment, hugged him. Tight. And she apologized for something he didn't think she should. The way he hadn't realized she were wearing the shirt Scaramouche bought for her under her sweater.

Damn it. Scaramouche ran out the door, forgot to close it behind him, and saw Y/N's silhouette in the distance.

"Hey, wait!" He stumbled over himself trying to catch up to her. Archons, if anyone saw him right now— if Childe saw this— actually, what did he care? About what Tartagalia, what Rosalyne, what anyone would think? Scaramouche stopped, filled with relief when she turned around. "Hey."

Y/N looked at him. "Did you mean it?"

Mean what? The kiss? Yes. The I don't know? No. When Scaramouche didn't respond immediately, she kept talking, "Because if you didn't, let me leave. I'll go home, I'll leave you alone. Just tell me, please."

"I meant it. I swear, and I'd do it again."

"So do it."

Y/N stood mere inches from him now. Shit, when did she get there? Scaramouche hesitated. He had never, and never planned to, be with anyone as more than a friend. Like anyone more than platonically, but here he stood. His hand brushed a piece of hair out of her face while tears fell from her eyes. She waited. He did it.

This time, the movements were more natural. He liked it. Her hands in his hair, his arms around her waist. Scaramouche could get used to this. It took an eternity for either to pull away, and when he did, he did so reluctantly.

Y/N laughed, a soft, beautiful sound, one he now saw through rose-tinted glasses Scaramouche never, ever wanted to take off. "Can we go back in? ... It's cold."

Scaramouche nodded, and they did.

◢◤◢◤◢◤ WORD COUNT : 1,049