Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rain was without relent and it had been as such for days.

Scaramouche watched as the heavy drops fell through the cracks in the trees and added to what had already puddled on the concrete and in the grass. The sun was nowhere to be seen, save for the way it just barely peeked through layers upon layers of clouds, and no one could say for certain when it would return from its sudden departure. The weather forecasts hadn't even called for a storm, though the longest and worst ones always did arrive unexpectedly and without warning.

The clouds coated the sky in a dark blanket with no edge in sight, raindrops pelting down against the top of Scaramouche's umbrella as he held it in one hand, shielding himself and his belongings from the rain as he walked. The sidewalk was slippery and the air smelled of petrichor, the dirt and dust having been disturbed but not quite yet washed away, and so he stepped slowly and carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was slip and draw an unnecessary amount of attention to himself on his way home for the day. He scrunched up his nose at the air, not caring for the scent of unsettled earth.

There weren't as many people around as there could have been, only a fraction of what there usually was at this hour — he silently supposed that some people must have skipped their classes to avoid the rain. He didn't blame them. It was tedious, especially after multiple days of having to deal with it, especially for those who commuted.

It was days like these when he was thankful to be lucky enough to live so close to campus, only having to deal with what was typically an eight minute walk. Twelve minutes if he was unlucky, but those days were few and far between— today was probably one of them, considering the traffic that was sure to be on the roads that he had to cross to get home.

Scaramouche breathed out a sigh, shifting his umbrella from one hand to the other as his wrist started to cramp. He shook his hand, trying to rid it of the irritating ache. These were supposed to be the best years of his life, weren't they? The rosiest, most colourful, brightest times in his youth; it was what everyone around him seemed to be experiencing, even despite the onslaught of rain that had yet to relent for weeks now. So, why was it that all he could see, feel, hear was the rain? That damp, grey gloominess dulled his senses, enveloped every atom that made up his form, and left him here; waiting to drown while standing upright in shallow waters.

There was nothing rosy about these years of his life. Not even rose-coloured glasses could tinge his vision in a pinkish hue when all he could fathom was grey .

The sun was just beginning to sink under the horizon, though it was barely visible as it was amidst all the clouds in the sky. He hardly looked up from his phone in his hand, only glancing at his surroundings when he sensed he might be approaching something or someone, giving himself just enough time to step out of the way, unless they did so first. No one wanted to be bumping into each other on a good day, but especially not in this weather.

His expression was blank as he walked, as he scrolled. He didn't use social media much, never posted, and didn't care about the posts of the people he followed. It mainly served to keep him distracted, entertained when he had nothing better to do. He had a book tucked under his arm that he'd brought it with him to have something to keep him entertained between classes, but he figured that reading and walking didn't mix too well. Besides, he could probably recite most of the scenes in the book word-for-word if he wanted; it was hardly entertaining anymore when he'd already read it six times over in the past.

It wasn't long before Scaramouche reached his complex and he huffed as he stood at the bottom of the short staircase leading to his front door, lowering his umbrella once more as he struggled to get it closed. Eventually, he managed, and it tapped against the edge of each step as he ascended the stairs to his apartment.

The stairs were somehow even more slippery than the sidewalk had been, and Scaramouche had no time to react as his foot slipped out from underneath him, a noise of surprise leaving his lips as he braced himself. The book fell from under his arm as he prepared to collide with the step and go sliding down the rest of them, his hand reaching out for the railing but not quite grabbing it in time to catch himself. He knew the fall would be a hard one, as well as being cold and wet from the rain.

The impact never came, much to his surprise. Instead of colliding with a number of wet, hard steps as he lost his balance, he felt himself fall against something firm and warm, especially in comparison to the biting chill of the rain. He leaned against it for a second as he composed himself, blinking a couple of times as if taking a moment to process what had happened. It was after what felt like a long minute that he realised there was a hand on his waist, and his eyes widened while his cheeks flushed a rosy shade.

Immediately, he pulled back, scrambling back up a step or two to put some distance between himself and the individual he had apparently crashed into— the stranger who had caught him , rather.

Scaramouche nearly fell again as he rushed up a few steps, pulling away from the hand that held him, brushing himself off as he struggled to collect himself as best as he could, to shove down what bit of shyness had risen on his features in front of the other. His left hand moved to grasp the railing properly this time. When he spoke, it came out rushed and almost frantic, "Sorry, that... I, um... sorry." He stammered slightly, awkward as he pulled his sleeves back over his hands and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. His gaze was fixated on the dampened steps, refusing to look at the other until he managed to douse the heat that had risen on his cheeks.

"Only a sorry?" A voice sounded then, one that sounded almost too warm in comparison to the chill of the rain. "Not even a thank you?"

The words made Scaramouche's brows furrow. A frown touched his features as he felt something like offense seed itself in his chest. I was getting to that , he almost spat at the stranger. His gaze lifted and he looked at the other properly now, the results of his short temper rising in his throat as his lips parted to curse at the other, but the words died on his tongue as indigo eyes met a soft gaze and a friendly smile.

"Just kidding." The voice spoke again, but this time, there was a face to match it to.

Scaramouche blinked a couple of times as he stared at the other, the crease in his brow vanishing as his previously cold gaze met the other's welcoming one, as he looked over the other for a moment too long. He didn't mean to stare. He didn't even realise that he was as his eyes trailed over ginger hair, then down to the other's face, over long lashes and what looked like constellations mapped out in freckles along the bridge of his nose. He blinked again as he realised that, even though he was two steps higher than the other on the stairs, he still was just barely eye-level with him.

"I'm glad I was here. You probably would have hurt yourself with how brutal these stairs are in the rain." The stranger spoke again before Scaramouche could bring himself to utter even a sound, dull blue eyes remained fixated on his face. "I nearly killed myself a couple of times while moving my boxes up earlier."

"Yeah, they get pretty bad when it rains. Thanks." Scaramouche turned his head to the side then, finally looking away from the other. The blush had vanished from his cheeks and he pressed his lips into a line. A brief moment of silence fell over them before he spoke again. "Wait. Moving your boxes?"

He looked back at him. The stranger was still wearing that same perfect smile as before. Scaramouche didn't know if it comforted him or infuriated him.

The ginger nodded, placing his right hand on the railing. "Mhm. I just moved in, literally just today. I'm right up these stairs, that's why I was here." He explained, lifting his hand to scratch at the back of his head. "I wasn't following you, I promise." A laugh fell from his lips then, something light and airy, and Scaramouche hated how warm it made him feel.

Part of him wanted to scowl at the other, but he didn't. All he did was nod in return, humming softly as he looked over his shoulder to glance at his own front door, then to the one right beside it. "Didn't think you were." It was all he said for a long moment, his fingers idly tapping at the railing as he turned back around to face him. "Guess that makes us neighbours, though."

The ginger's eyebrows lifted slightly, not enough to be too noticeable, but enough to betray the look of surprise that he tried not to let be too terribly evident on his face. The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying a little too hard not to smile. "Neighbours?" His own gaze shifted to look behind Scaramouche, and he figured that he was looking to their front doors as well. "You live next door?"

"Mhm." Scaramouche only hummed again in response, adjusting his bag on his shoulder as he finally pulled his focus away from the stranger— his new neighbour — and looked around, suddenly remembering the belongings he'd dropped when he'd slipped. "Apartment 72, that's me. Don't worry, though, I'm not loud. I won't disturb you." The words were said noncommittally, as he suddenly moved past the other to kneel down, picking up his book from where it had landed a few steps below them.

His face contorted into something of displeasure as he realised how wet the pages had gotten from the rain, from the shallow puddle it had landed in, and he sighed as he pressed it closed carefully, knowing he'd have to separate the pages later.

"I didn't think you would," the ginger confessed, a bit of a playful lilt lingering in his words, though Scaramouche was paying little attention now as he looked around for his belongings. The other noticed this. His expression suddenly turned serious and he looked around too. "Oh, right, let me help you." He knelt down to pick up the golden feather from the step he stood on, lifting it between careful fingers and holding it out for the other to take. It must have fallen from the pages it was tucked between when the book fell.

Scaramouche's breath caught in his throat as he watched the other pick the small ornament up, but he didn't let his expression betray his uneasiness, keeping a neutral, almost uncaring look as he snatched it from the other's hands and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket once more. "Thanks."

"No worries." The words were said as the ginger was already descending down the rest of the stairs to pick up Scaramouche's umbrella. He shook it off as best as he could before climbing back up to offer it to him as well, that warm smile still sitting upon his pretty face. "Anything for my new neighbour." He winked then, and Scaramouche didn't like the way his heart beat just a bit faster.

He didn't say anything as he took the umbrella, simply staring at the other for what was maybe a moment or two too long before he forced himself to look away, turning his back to him as he ascended the stairs once more. "Right. Well, thanks, anyways." He paused, unsure if he should say anything more. "It was nice meeting you."

He couldn't see it, but the ginger beamed, his face lighting up as he watched the other put distance between them, almost forgetting that he'd been on his way up to his own apartment too before their kind of collision.

A silence fell over them, save for the rain hitting the pavement and Scaramouche's footsteps as he climbed the steps, and he thought that was going to be the end of it. He'd already thanked him. There was nothing more to say. He could finally just go inside and take the nap he'd been looking forward to all day.

"I'm Childe, by the way." The other called out to him again, and Scaramouche couldn't help but think of how his name was, somehow, fitting. It was a silly thought, considering he didn’t even know him or anything about him other than their minute interaction just then, but still.

He didn't turn around as he replied, fishing his keys out of his pocket as he said, "Scaramouche." He left no more room for conversation as he unlocked his door and pushed it open, sparing Childe only one last glance before stepping inside, locking the door behind him and making a beeline for his small bedroom.

He didn't even bother to change out of his damp clothes as he collapsed on the bed and waited for sleep to consume him.

Of course, it didn’t come easily. It never did. By the time it did wash over him, and he allowed it to dull his senses, he had already memorized just about every pattern he could make out in his popcorn ceiling. The sun had already long since set. It was still raining, but he didn’t mind the sound of it hitting against his window.

He woke to what he thought was thunder only a couple of hours later, but after sitting up and taking a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes, he quickly realised that it was knocking . His brow creased, delicate features contorting into an almost irritated frown. He blinked a couple of times before grabbing his phone from where it'd ended up beside him on his bed, and his eyes narrowed into a blinded squint as he turned the screen on, checking the time.

7:32. Fuck. He hadn't meant to sleep so long, first of all. Second of all, who in the world would be knocking on his door so late? The only person he could think of was Signora. Maybe Kazuha, but he seriously doubted it. He would have texted him first. Showing up uninvited wasn't something he did.

The knocking persisted and Scaramouche breathed out a sigh, taking another moment before tossing his legs over the side of the bed. He hissed as his bare feet touched the cold floor, scowling slightly to himself as he stood, his steps slow as he dragged himself out of his room.

He touched along the wall to find the light switch as he entered the small living area, flicking it on with a lazy movement as he made his way to the front door. His hair was still messy from his nap, dark strands sticking up in odd places, small tangles lingering at the back of his head. With a small huff, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted, pulling the door open.

"What on earth could you possibly want—" Scaramouche cut himself off as the door swung open, revealing who turned out not to be Signora. His eyes lifted to meet a mop of ginger hair and he blinked a couple of times as he processed the other's presence. "Oh."

A smile pulled at Childe's lips almost immediately as he looked down at Scaramouche, and he lifted his free hand to greet him. "Sorry. I guess I didn't think about how late it was before knocking." His tone was apologetic, and if Scaramouche squinted, he could see his freckled cheeks tinged pink in what he presumed was embarrassment.

"No. No, no. I thought you were someone else— I thought you were a friend. She shows up at the worst times sometimes." Scaramouche shook his head, freezing as he noticed how Childe seemed to falter at his words.

"Fuck. Is it a bad time? Were you studying or something?" Childe's eyes were wide in a subtle panic, his words coming out a bit rushed. Dull blue eyes looked over Scaramouche, flickering from the top of his head, then back to his face. "Oh, my God. You were sleeping, weren't you? I woke you up, I'm so sorry. I should have waited 'til morning. It could have waited 'til morning—"

Scaramouche interrupted him by shaking his head, eyebrows pulling together at the other's frantic apologies. "No— I mean, yeah, yes , I was sleeping. You woke me up, but I... it's okay. I didn't mean to sleep as long as I did, anyway, so you did me a favour." He stared at Childe for a few seconds, the lingering sleepiness still evident upon his features as he continued. "What, um... Did you need something?"

Childe's expression shifted then, eyebrows raising and lips parting in realisation. "Right, yes! Well, no. I didn't need something, but I brought you something." He held out a small box to the other, that same small smile from before pulling at the corners of his mouth. When Scaramouche didn't say anything or take it, he continued, "I, uh, I went across the street to check out the shops and stopped at one of the bakeries. The one with the bear as the logo? I got a couple of things, but when I got home, I realised it was more than I could eat alone, so I thought to bring you some." He paused. "But I didn't really know what you liked, so I just brought half of everything that I got."

Scaramouche blinked at the other, almost dumbfounded, before his gaze dropped down to stare at the box in his hands. "You didn't have to do that." Really . He didn't have to. Scaramouche hated sweets, but he wasn't about to tell Childe that.

"Oh, it was no big deal. I'd rather share than have any go to waste." Childe insisted, pushing the box a bit closer for the other to take. Scaramouche felt a tinge of guilt in his chest, knowing that they would probably be going to waste either way. "Hopefully you like something in here."

Reluctantly, Scaramouche took the box, holding it in his hands as his eyes lifted back to the other's face, dimly lit by the light that bled from inside. "I'm sure I will. Thanks."

"No problem. You'll have to let me know which one is your favourite so I'll know what to bring you next time." Childe winked playfully before taking a step back, shoving his hands into is pockets.

Scaramouche had to resist the urge to scrunch up his nose and protest, instead choosing to simply nod slowly as he spoke. "Will do."

Childe beamed, nodding happily as he took another step back toward his own front door. "I'll be waiting." He grinned, breathing out a soft sound that wasn't quite a laugh as he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, that was all I came by for. Sorry for waking you again. I should probably get ready for bed myself; those eight a.m. classes always take something out of me."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." It was all Scaramouche said for a long moment, watching as the other inched toward his front door. "Thanks again."

All Childe did was smile as he pushed the door to his own apartment open. Had the door been cracked open the entire time? Scaramouche hadn't even realised. "Night, Scara."

The nickname made Scaramouche falter. He was frozen in place for a moment as he stared after the other, his head tilted slightly to one side as the door pushed closed with a quiet ' thud '. "Night."

It was quiet as he stepped back inside, closing the door behind him and locking it. The soft pitter patter of his steps against the hardwood floor was the only sound, save for the rain against his rooftop, in his apartment as he walked to the kitchen, setting the box of sweets down on the counter. He stared at it for a long moment before breathing out a sigh, shaking his head as he lifted up the top of the box.

The scent of chocolate, caramel, and frosting hit his nose instantly and his face scrunched up in distaste, quickly replacing the lid of the box and pushing it away from him. If anything, Signora would eat them when she came over, which he was sure she would. With a sigh, he turned to his cabinet to grab a glass, filling it with water from the tap and downing almost the entire thing before discarding the cup in the sink again.

He checked the clock on the microwave. 7:49. Deciding that he no longer felt tired, he figured he could get some studying in before getting ready for bed. He grabbed his bag from where he'd dropped it near the door earlier and dragged himself back to his room, making himself as comfortable at his desk as he possibly could.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It wasn't that Scaramouche had a routine to his days, because he didn't. He expected each day to play out differently than the last and he knew better than to expect otherwise. It was, however, that he didn't like his days to be disturbed . He didn't like to be inconvenienced and he didn't think that was too much to ask.

It was raining again. He'd heard it hitting against his rooftop the moment he'd opened his eyes that morning. It was raining harder than it had yesterday, probably harder than the day before too, but he was starting to lose track of the days since the storm had started. All he knew was that it was a downpour and that the streets would likely be flooded, which meant walking to his classes would be hell, even if they were just across the street. The streets would probably also be busy , which meant that he had to weigh his options.

To be drenched in the rain if he walked as usual or to be stuck in traffic for a few minutes if he drove? He chose the latter after a small, internal debate with himself.

With a small huff, he pushed himself out of bed, tossing his blankets to the side and planting bare feet on the carpeted floor. His movements were slow, still ridden with sleep as he moved to the bathroom to get ready for the day. He smoothed his hair down from where it stuck up in odd places and he gagged on the taste of toothpaste as he brushed his teeth, spitting into the sink and wiping his mouth with his sleeve before he slipped back into his bedroom to get dressed.

As he rummaged through his closet, he briefly thought about how he really needed to invest in some winter clothes. He wasn't typically too sensitive to the cold, but the weather lately had been taking something out of him, more than he wanted to admit. Jeans and a hoodie would have to do, though he couldn't say it was preferred.

As he walked into the kitchen on his way out, his gaze landed on the box of pastries that still sat on his counter, untouched. It had been a couple of days since Childe had brought them over, and he almost felt guilty for not even trying them. He wasn't even sure if they were good anymore, considering he hadn't cared to put them in anything other than the cardboard box Childe had brought them in. He shook his head to rid himself of worrying over something so trivial. It didn't even matter. It wasn't like he'd asked him to bring them, anyways.

He was out the door by 8:09, locking it behind him and making sure to be extra careful as he descended the staircase. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, key to his car held in his fist as he pushed the button to unlock it, letting it beep twice before he opened the door and climbed in.

His small frame was wracked with shivers as he settled in the seat, shoving the key into the ignition and twisting, immediately blasting the heat the moment his car turned on. Trembling hands were held in front of the vents, letting himself warm up before he even thought of pulling out of his parking spot. He hated driving, especially in this kind of weather. That's the main reason he'd chosen to live within walking distance to the campus— it saved him the hassle of having to be on the road, of having to deal with other people on the road, rather.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to check it, scrunching up his nose as his screen lit up just a bit too brightly for his liking. It was Kazuha, much to his surprise. Scaramouche didn't think Kazuha even had classes on Tuesdays.

Wanna get coffee?

Scaramouche typed out a reply quickly.

u don't even like coffee?

Kazuha's reply was instant.

I'll get tea of course. I'm headed over rn.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes slightly, but coffee didn't sound too bad right then. He hadn't seen Kazuha in a few days either, so it was a win-win, he supposed.

fine but ur paying

His phone buzzed again less than a second later.

Always <3

He couldn't help the small smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth as he turned his screen off and tossed his phone into the seat next to him, putting the car into reverse to back out of his parking spot.

For as much as he'd been complaining to himself, the drive was less than five minutes away, considering the cafe was right across the street. He was surprised there hadn't been more traffic, but he was silently thankful as he pulled into the parking lot of the university's town center. This is where the busyness was, he realised as he tried to find a parking spot. It seemed everybody was taking shelter from the rain here before their early morning classes.

He should have just asked Kazuha to pick him up.

He had to go in circles around the lot a few times before he found a car that was pulling out, and he quickly pulled into the space after them. He sat there for a long minute, not quite ready to brave the rain again, before he pulled his hood over his head and opened the door, stepping into the all-too-cruel weather.

Thankfully, his parking was close to the door. Scaramouche didn't even bother to look around to see if Kazuha was there yet, because he knew he wasn't. Kazuha lived a good ten minute drive from the town center, probably closer to fifteen or twenty in this weather. His classes didn't start for another hour and fifteen minutes, though, give or take, so he had all the time in the world to wait for him.

Surprisingly, there was no line, though almost every seat in the place was occupied. It made sense. Everyone was probably just hanging out until they had to go to their classes. Scaramouche and Kazuha were about to be no different.

"Hi! Welcome in. What can I get started for you?" A cheery voice asked from behind the counter, and Scaramouche lifted his eyes to meet a girl, about his age, with long, brunette pigtails and bright red eyes. He recognised her, but he didn't know her name. As often as he came here, he'd never bothered to become too accompanied with the workers.

"Hey. Can I get a coffee with oat milk?" Scaramouche asked, hands still shoved into his pockets, fumbling with his car key as he avoided eye contact with the barista by looking at the menu on the wall behind her.

"For sure! Hot or iced? Any creamer or sugar, or anything else at all?" She asked, smiling kindly at him as she clicked away at the screen in front of her.

"Hot, please. And, no, just the oat milk is fine." He paused then, hesitating for only a moment before he added, "Could I also do a hot chai latte with almond milk?" For Kazuha . There's another pause before he continued, "And that'll be all."

The barista nodded and tapped away at the screen some more before lifting her gaze to smile at him. "Alright, so I have one hot coffee with oat milk and one hot chai latte with almond milk," she repeated back to him, looking to him for confirmation. When he simply nodded in response, she said, "Your total will be 11.57."

Scaramouche only nodded again, pulling out his phone and holding it to the card reader, waiting for it to beep before he pulled it back. He watched as the screen prompted him to leave a tip, sighing before he selected whatever the third recommended option was.

"Receipt?"

He shook his head. "I'm good."

She smiled again. "Your number is sixty-seven. It'll be at the end when it's ready. I'll call out the number, too."

"Thanks," was his only reply as he stepped away from the counter, walking toward the pick-up counter to wait for the drinks to be ready. He glanced at the door, then, just to see if he saw Kazuha anywhere outside yet. When he didn't, he pulled out his phone to aimlessly scroll through while he waited.

Scaramouche looked up again a few minutes later when the bell above the door rang as it swung open, eyebrows raising slightly as his gaze landed upon a familiar figure.

Childe's expression lit up as his eyes met Scaramouche's, lips pulling into a friendly smile as he walked towards him. The bell jingled again as the door closed behind him and his shoes squeaked against the floor with each step, the tile damp from the rain.

"Scara, hey!" Childe greeted, hands tucked into his pockets and hood pulled over his head. He didn't have an umbrella, Scaramouche noted, and it reminded him that he'd forgotten his too. The walks to his classes would be fun. "Good morning."

"Morning." Scaramouche wasn't much of a morning person. He knew it and he admitted it. The only people that he willingly spared more than five words to before noon were Kazuha and Signora, and even they knew not to push their luck sometimes.

"You have classes today? You go to the university, right?" Childe asked, and Scaramouche had to tilt his head back a bit to look up at him properly. "I kind of just assumed, but correct me if I'm wrong. I can take it." He laughed, something soft and airy, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly.

Scaramouche clicked the screen of his phone off, tucking it into his own pocket. "No, you're right." His gaze flickered over to the barista who had walked over to where they stood, one drink in hand. He knew it was his as she set it down, but he made no move to grab it yet. "I have a class at 9:30." He paused, briefly asking himself if he had to continue, if it would be rude not to. "You?"

Childe nodded, pulling his hands from his pockets and lifting them to remove his hood. He fixed ginger strands, scrunching his nose up as he felt the dampness from the rain. "Yeah. I have one at nine." It was his turn to pause then, pursing his lips sheepishly together before continuing, "Okay, well, it actually starts at eight-thirty, but I woke up late, so I figured I might as well get some coffee since I'm already gonna be late."

Scaramouche nodded. He's done that before. Not often, only once when he'd had a rough time the night before, but still, he could relate.

"Did you already order?" Childe spoke again before he could, and the question took a second too long process in his mind. "What do you want? It'll be my treat—"

"I did, actually." He cut him off before he could finish, taking an awkward step back as he finally nodded again in response. "Order, I mean. Thank you, though." That last bit was added as an afterthought— he figured that he should at least appreciate the attempted offer.

The smile on Childe's face didn't falter as he shook his head. "No need. Consider it a raincheck. Next coffee’s on me." Another laugh fell from his lips as he turned his body to face the menu that hung behind the counter. "Any recommendations, though? I got a hot chocolate here the first day I moved in, but I haven't been back since. I'm feeling adventurous ."

Scaramouche turned his attention to the menu too, squinting slightly as he made out the drinks listed there. "I'm probably not the person to ask for 'adventure'." He blinked a couple of times, shrugging slightly as he turned back to the ginger. "The barista probably has some suggestions, though."

"Awe, but I was trusting your judgement." His voice was teasing and Scaramouche swore he saw him wink, but with the way he turned away from him again so quickly, he couldn't be sure. "What's your favourite drink? I bet you're plenty adventurous."

"Sixty-seven— hot coffee with oat milk and a hot chai latte!" The barista called then, setting the second drink down on the counter and drawing Scaramouche's attention away from Childe.

He turned to face the brunette, smiling minisculely as he reached for the cups. "Thank you." They were warm against his palms. It was a nice reprieve from the chill that had resided in his body since he’d stepped outside.

Childe spoke again before he could, gaze flickering to the two cups in his hands before moving back to his face. “Two drinks? Late night?” That same, slightly teasing tone returned.

”Yes, but no,” Scaramouche said. “I’m meeting a friend.”

The bell above the door chimed again as it swung open, immediately drawing both of their attention to the figure who just entered, white and red hair dampened from the rain.

“Where the hell is your jacket, for fuck’s sake?”

Kazuha smiled as he stepped inside, looking over his shoulder to double-check that the door closed behind him. He quickly made his way over to Scaramouche, who shoved one of the cups into his hands with no hesitation. “Come on, the weather’s not that bad. You’re just a baby.”

“I am not— and even if I was, at least I won’t be the one with a cold in a week.”

“And when I come down with one, I know you’ll take wonderful care of me.” Kazuha laughed, bringing the cup to his lips to take a sip. His gaze shifted to Childe, who was still lingering, as he did, and he swallowed quickly. “Oh, sorry. Who’s this? A friend of yours?”

Blue eyes stared at Kazuha, some unreadable look present as Childe studied the other, not speaking, practically unblinking. It was almost unnerving, but Kazuha wasn’t someone who felt threatened very easily.

“That’s Childe.” Scaramouche broke the moment of silence, taking a small step back from them both. “He’s my new neighbour. I thought I mentioned him to you.”

“Not that I recall, but it’s nice to meet you, regardless, Childe.” Kazuha turned back to him, offering a smile again as the other continued staring at him. “I’m Kazuha.”

“Likewise.” Childe said, offering a small smile in return before turning his attention back to Scaramouche, his expression immediately softening. “I should probably get going. Don’t wanna be too late. Catch you later, Scara.”

It’s all he said before Scaramouche was watching him leave, the bell jingling again before the door swung shut. Childe didn’t even get a drink. The gust of cold air that rushed in during that brief moment sent a shiver up his spine, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he took another sip of his coffee for warmth.

“ Scara , huh?”

He blinked a couple of times, gaze shifting back as his eyes narrowed into a slight scowl. “What about it?”

“Nothing much.” It was said with a tone that Scaramouche knew meant he was lying. “Just surprised you’re letting him call you that.”

“What do you mean? You call me that.”

“Yeah, but it took literal months for you to let me, if not years .”

“Shut up. It did not take that long.” He rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest as best he could with his coffee in hand.

“I swear on my life, it did!” Kazuha persisted, voice rising slightly in volume. “Don’t you remember? For months, I’d call you ‘Scara’ and you either wouldn’t respond to it, or you’d full-on tell me that only Signora got to call you that. I didn’t get ‘Scara’ privileges for ages!”

“That was different!” Scaramouche was quick to defend, his lips pressed into a slight pout as he tried to think of an argument. “… I feel bad correcting him. I feel like he’ll look like a kicked puppy if I do. That’s all it is.”

Kazuha laughed again, gently nudging him as he pushed past, heading for the door again. “Whatever you say. Come on, I wanna go get some snacks. I’ll drop you off at your class after.”

“I can’t just leave my car here.”

“Sure you can. It’s not gonna get towed, and I’ll pick you up after class and bring you back here to come get it.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, head turning to the side as he let himself be guided out of the shop. “And what are you gonna do for two hours, while I’m in class? I know you don’t have class today.”

Kazuha shrugged, taking another drink of his latte. “I’ll hang out here, or go to your place— is the key still under the mat?”

“Mhm.” He hummed around the lip of his cup, stepping outside as the door was held open for him. “My room’s a mess, though, so don’t judge.”

“Everytime you claim something is a ‘mess’, it’s always just, like, a dirty cup and an out of place shirt or something. Your idea of a mess differs from mine, I bet it’s fine.”

It was true. Scaramouche, for all it was worth, was nothing shy of a perfectionist. Nothing in his apartment was ever out of place— textbooks perfectly stacked on pristine white shelves, clothing perfectly hung in a perfectly organised closet, cleaned glasses perfectly perched atop his desk when they weren’t in use (which was almost all of the time, because he always insisted he didn’t need them). He didn’t have time for imperfection. He didn’t leave room for it.

“Fine, but if my car gets towed, it’s on you.”

“Always, my love. I’ll take full responsibility for you, always,” Kazuha hummed, taking out his phone and doing something on it that Scaramouche couldn’t quite make out, even as he glanced towards his screen, which was getting wet with the rain. He pulled his own hood up as they walked.

“Your phone’s gonna get water damage.”

“These things are practically indestructible now, it’ll live.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket then, though; Scaramouche’s buzzed in his own pocket.

He pulled it out only when they stepped into the small grocery store, seeing the notification on the screen.

“You didn’t have to pay me for the drinks.”

“Of course I did. I said I would, didn’t I? What do you take me for? I can’t let my darling pay when I promised to be a gentleman.” A smile was flashed at him again as Kazuha tugged on his sleeve, pulling him in the direction of the snack aisle. “Now, come on. You can pick out whatever you want. My treat.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Can we get chocolate milk?”

“We can get chocolate milk.”

He sighed in acceptance and content alike as he let himself be pulled along.

“That Childe guy was kinda hot.”

The words were said passively, Kazuha didn’t even look up from his phone as he said them, but they were enough to make Scaramouche’s head snap up, one eyebrow raised curiously.

“Huh?”

“Like, objectively.” This time, Kazuha did look up, setting his phone down on his thigh and poking the bottom of Scaramouche’s foot with one finger, watching as he recoiled it back from where it laid on his lap. “He’s not really my type, but he’s yours, for sure.”

Scaramouche blinked. His brows furrowed and he kicked his foot at Kazuha’s thigh. “What? No, he’s not. I don’t even have a type.”

“He definitely is, and you definitely do.” Kazuha sat up a bit straighter on the sofa, lifting Scaramouche’s legs from his lap so he could cross his own legs before setting them down again. “Tall. Strong. Nice voice. He’s exactly your type. The ginger is new, though. I don’t think you’ve fucked a ginger before.”

“I have so fucked a ginger before.”

“Oh, yeah? Like who?”

A hand circled around his ankle as he thought, nose scrunching up when he couldn’t think of anyone.

“Exactly.”

“Hey, that’s not because I’ve never fucked one— I’m just bad with names! Sometimes, I don’t even get their names. No need if I’m not going to see them again.”

“Mm.” Kazuha hummed in thought, fingers tracing circles on the other’s skin idly. “I guess that’s true, but still, you’ve never mentioned a ginger.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, retracting his legs to pull his knees to his chest, chin propped on one of them. “It’s not like I mention every hookup to you— and can we let go of the ginger? It’s not like I’m going to fuck Childe.”

“Why not?” Kazuha shrugged. He pushed himself up to walk across the room, fetching the bag of snacks they’d bought earlier. “Like I said, he’s hot.”

Indigo eyes narrowed at him, before Scaramouche shifted as well, reaching out to make grabby hands at the bag. “Stop saying that. He’s too… nice.” He wrinkled his nose like it was a bad thing. “And kind of weird.”

Kazuha’s interest was piqued.

“Weird, how?” He tossed Scaramouche a bag of chips as he sat back down.

“Weird, like, the first day we met, he brought over a bunch of pastries at… it was almost eight p.m., I think. Unprompted. We’d had one conversation before that.”

“That’s not that weird.” He spoke around the chip he was eating, covering his mouth as he chewed. “It’s kind of nice… kind of sweet.”

“Well, of course, you would think it’s sweet. You’re hopeless when it comes to romantic gestures.”

Kazuha was the type to handwrite love letters and love poems for someone he was pursuing. He’d done so more than just a few times for Scaramouche in the past, even— snuck them into his locker between classes, dropped them in his bag when he wasn’t looking. That was years ago, though, when they were both in high school and shared the same literature class, and Kazuha had a budding crush on him. They went to prom together once, but nothing ever came of it, and they’d both long since realised that they work better as friends.

Scaramouche still had the letters and poems written in his honour, though. He still teased Kazuha about them regularly.

“Oh? So you admit it’s a romantic gesture?” Kazuha teased, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“No.” He deadpanned. “He’s just overly-friendly. Like a golden retriever as a person… and you know I’m not crazy about dogs. Or sweets.”

It was Kazuha’s turn to roll his eyes, a small laugh leaving his lips as he took a chip out of his bag, holding it to Scaramouche’s lips.

“I know, I know. You’re my cat-loving, sugar-hating best friend who has fucked so many gingers, obviously… How could I forget?”

“Oh, shut up.” Scaramouche kicked him again as he chewed, taking a chip out of his own bag to throw at the other, but the amusement in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Seriously, though, he seems nice. You could at least be friends.” Kazuha crumpled up his empty bag of chips, reaching down to tuck it into the bag with the rest of the snacks to discard later. “You could use more of those, you know.”

Scaramouche scoffed, sitting up straighter and stretching out his legs again. “What? I have plenty of friends.”

“You mean, me and Signora? I don’t know if two qualifies as ‘plenty,’ Scara.”

He pouted then, subtly. He crossed his arms over his chest as he set his own chip bag to the side, turning his face away from the other. “Hmph. Well, it’s plenty to me. You two are all I need. What would I even do with more than that?”

Kazuha laughed, that same soft sound that Scaramouche had become so used to hearing over the years.

“You’re right. What ever would you do with more people who love and care about you? How silly of me.” He stood up again, moving to the small kitchen to open the fridge.

“Exactly. Thank you for coming to your senses.”

Scaramouche turned around on the couch to face him, legs folded under him as he rested his arms on the back cushions.

“Want your chocolate milk?”

“Yes, please.”

Kazuha tossed it to him and, with a surprised yelp from Scaramouche, the bottle landed on the couch beside him.

“We should have bought strawberries,” Kazuha mused, attention still on the mostly-empty fridge. “I’ve been thinking about making this—“

There was a knock on the door then. It was so quiet against the rain outside that they both almost missed it, or both almost mistook it for thunder. Silence fell over them as they blinked at each other. The knock came again.

“You expecting someone?”

“No.” Scaramouche was already out of his seat, walking to the door. “It’s probably Signora. Don’t know why she didn’t text first, though.”

“I would have left if she did. I swear she hates me.” Kazuha shut the fridge, moving back across the room to lean against the back of the couch.

“She does not hate you.” Scaramouche argued, fingers wrapping around the doorknob as another knock sounded. “She just holds a grudge against you for taking her prom date.”

“That was not my fault! You didn’t tell me you’d already made plans to go with her— how was I supposed to know?” Scaramouche couldn’t hold back his laughter at how distressed Kazuha sounded about it. The incident was clearly still haunting him despite it having been almost three years ago.

“Take that up with her.” Scaramouche unlocked the door quickly, tugging it open as he still faced the other. “I just got caught in the middle of your guys’ feud—“ He cut himself off when he turned to face the doorway, stalling when a mop of ginger hair came into view. “Childe?”

“ Childe ?” Kazuha practically gasped, but ducked behind the couch, as if he had any reason to hide.

“Hey, Scara.” Childe grinned. He was drenched . He looked like he’d been standing out there for hours, not just a few minutes. Did he walk to and from campus? No way, not in this weather.

“Hey.” It was all he said for a long moment, hand still on the doorknob. His fingers fidgeted with the lock as he stood there, itching to close the door again. “Did you need something?”

“No, but yes.” The words made Scaramouche’s eyebrows crease slightly, head tilted to one side as he stared at Childe. “Are you busy?”

“Um…” Scaramouche hesitated, turning his head slightly to spare a glance at Kazuha, who quickly shook his head and gestured for him to turn back around. He did. “Not… busy, necessarily.”

Childe practically beamed. Dull eyes lit up and that same, warm smile from before took its place upon his lips. What could he possibly be so happy about that had anything to do with Scaramouche?

“Do you wanna go get dinner with me?” He asked, lifting a hand to brush dampened bangs from his face. Drops of rain slid down his cheeks, beaded on his eyelashes as they dripped down from his hair. “A few of my classmates were telling me about this new ramen place down the street, and I thought I’d try it— wanted to see if you wanted to come with. We could get dessert or something after, too.”

Out of pure habit, Scaramouche scrunched his nose up in distaste at the mention of dessert, but quickly tried to play it off by bringing his hand to his nose, rubbing it like he had an itch.

“You mean, like, tonight?” As if it wasn’t obvious. Of course , he meant tonight. He didn’t even have to look over at Kazuha to know that he had face-palmed.

“Yeah! Well, if you don’t already have plans or anything.” Childe scratched the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, but his smile never wavered. Scaramouche couldn’t tell if it infuriated him or not. “I still have yet to go grocery shopping, so I’ve just been eating out, trying different places, and since it’s new, I thought maybe you’d wanna check it out too?”

He seemed to pause, then. Scaramouche could see it in the way his expression suddenly fell slightly, the way he stood up a bit straighter, the way he blinked one too many times, too quickly; everything about him faltered for a moment.

“If you even like ramen. I probably should have asked that before inviting you. If you don’t, I totally get it. We could get something else, even—“

Scaramouche couldn’t help the slightest exasperated noise he let out. Was this guy serious? Was he that stressed because he didn’t know if Scaramouche liked ramen, of all things?

“Ramen is fine.” He cut in before the other could spiral even further, leaning against the doorframe as he looked up at him. “And it’s really nice of you to ask, I just…” It was his turn to falter. He’d never really had to do this before. How was he supposed to let someone down easy?

He shook his head. It wasn’t like he was asking him on a date. He could just tell Childe that he wasn’t up for it. He’d, surely, understand.

“He just didn’t know what time I would be leaving, and he felt bad cutting our study session short.” Kazuha was by Scaramouche’s side faster than the lightning that kept lighting up the sky, and indigo eyes widened at him in shock, in disbelief. “I’m heading out now, though. I forgot I have a thing tonight.”

“What thing?” Scaramouche forced the words out, gaze never leaving him.

“Just a thing.” Kazuha grinned, pulling his shoes on quickly and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He slipped past Scaramouche and out the door, nudging past Childe with a hum. “It’s important, though, so I should get going. You two have fun and stay safe. The forecast is looking really wet tonight.”

Scaramouche practically choked at that, devolving into a short coughing fit as he shot Kazuha a glare while the other gave him a wink over Childe’s shoulder, before he was on his way.

“You stay safe, too.” Childe gave a short wave, turning his attention back to Scaramouche, who was covering the lower half of his face with his sleeve, trying to mask his flushed cheeks.

He almost wanted to wipe the smile off of Childe’s face. It was too uncanny, too much . Not even Kazuha or Signora were ever that happy to be around him.

“So…” Childe spoke up again before he could, head tilted to the side to try to meet his gaze. “Is that a yes?”

There was a moment of nothing but the sound of rainfall that passed between them, indigo eyes flickering between the freckled face and his door, as if still debating whether or not to just retreat inside and hole himself up in his room for the night.

Eventually, though, he huffed, dropping his hand back to his side with a resigned sigh.

“Let me go get my shoes.”

“Oh.”

That had Scaramouche looking up at him again, eyebrows raised in confusion, fingers trembling against the doorknob as he waited for Childe to continue. How was he not shivering?

“I’m actually not quite ready.” It was said like a confession, the words a bit small and embarrassed, as Childe kicked at something against the ground, idly. “I need to shower before we go. Give me an hour to get ready?”

Scaramouche made a small ‘ click ’ with his tongue, leaning into the doorway to glance at the clock on his microwave. 4:23 p.m.

“An hour is good.” He paused, turning back to him. “I’ll… get ready, too.”

Childe practically beamed. He immediately stepped towards his own front door, reaching into his pocket to find the key. “Cool. Okay. I’ll be back in an hour.” Unlocking the door, he disappeared into his apartment, leaving Scaramouche standing in the rain for another moment, almost in a bit of disbelief at what he’d just agreed to.

He closed his door quietly, lingering beside it for another moment before moving back to his bedroom to get ready. What was he even getting ready for? It wasn’t a date, but it also didn’t feel quite as casual as lounging around his house with Kazuha, so his current attire wouldn’t cut it.

He briefly thought to text Kazuha, both to curse him out for getting him into this and also to ask him what he should wear. He quickly decided against that thought, figuring he would read far too much into it. Signora probably would, too.

It took him fifteen minutes to decide on a pair of black jeans and a fitted long-sleeved shirt, also black; most of the clothes in his closet are black, really. He pulls on a short-sleeved, cropped t-shirt over that, and then layers it with a black jacket, trying to make it seem like he’d put in some kind of effort.

He had finished getting dressed within less than half an hour, quickly deciding to kill more time by combing out his hair and swapping out his earrings, deciding on gold, four-point stars, before deciding to wait the rest of the hour out on the couch, scrolling through his social medias.

Childe knocked on his door at exactly 5:23, and Scaramouche couldn’t help but snort at his punctuality as he got up to open it.

“Hey.” Childe sounded almost breathless, and Scaramouche could only assume it was from rushing, choosing to ignore the way blue eyes trailed over his body. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He stepped outside, pulling his door shut behind him. “You driving?” It was asked with his back turned, focus shifted to locking his door.

“Of course, your chariot awaits.” Childe gestured for them to descend the stairs. “Don’t worry. If you slip again, I’ll happily catch you.”

Scaramouche couldn’t help the small, stubborn scowl that came to his lips. He was never going to live that down, was he?

“I’m not that clumsy, you know. You just met me on an off day,” he insisted, the slightest bit of a pout seeping into his voice as he stepped down the stairs carefully, one hand holding onto the railing while the other was tucked away in the pocket of his jacket with his phone.

Childe laughed. It was warm compared to the biting chill of the air around them, of the stinging raindrops that soaked through both of their clothes far too quickly; it almost made Scaramouche feel warm inside, but that bitterness that haunted his body was far too persistent.

“I don’t know. I could have sworn you’d almost just slipped again.” His teeth showed as he grinned, raindrops accompanying the freckles scattered across his face.

A car sped through the parking lot in front of them, giving Scaramouche a reason to look away as he turned to the vehicle that was already distancing itself from the complex.

“Fucking maniac,” Childe muttered, shaking his head in exasperation. His car beeped as he unlocked it, headlights flashing twice to indicate where it was parked— right next to Scaramouche’s own. Of course, they lived right next door to each other, after all. It made sense that their parking spots were side-by-side.

“Yeah, people around here drive crazy.” He lingered by the passenger door, waiting for Childe to climb into the car first before he followed, settling into the seat. “Got in an accident last year down the street, because someone ran a red light.”

The engine rumbled as the ignition was turned, headlights automatically turning on, and it was only then that he realised just how dark it was. The sun had already set, and the moon was nowhere to be seen.

The concern was evident in Childe’s voice as he spoke, “Shit. That sounds really scary. Were you okay?”

Scaramouche shrugged, glancing out the window as they pulled out of the parking space. “Got a new car out of it, but it was hardly worth the weeks in the hospital.” He leaned his elbow against the door, propping his chin in his hand as he watched the familiar sights go by. “I had a broken rib and a concussion, and some scrapes and bruises, but nothing too bad, surprisingly. I just missed a lot of schoolwork. It was hell catching up with everything.”

Blue eyes glanced from the road, to Scaramouche, and back again as Childe drove, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his phone in his lap, GPS pulled up with directions to the restaurant. “Were your professors not understanding?” he asked, the squeak of the windshield wipers paired with the raindrops pelting against the glass nearly drowning him out.

“No, they were. They gave me extra time, but I still had to make everything up.” A shiver ran up his spine, and he tucked his hands under his thighs for warmth. “It was just difficult doing missed work on top of the work that was due for the current week, but I managed.”

There was a beat of silence as Childe glanced over at him, before reaching over to turn the heat up, silently cursing himself for not having done so sooner. It didn’t go unnoticed by Scaramouche, but he didn’t think anything of it, figuring that Childe must have been cold too.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay now.”

“Yeah.” Scaramouche hummed, and it took everything not to let his mind drift back to thoughts of the terrible, horrible, no good place he had been during that time last year— when he wasn’t glad he was okay, because maybe things would have been simpler and easier if he hadn’t been.

The rest of the drive was relatively silent. Childe turned on music at some point, letting it play quietly against the rain. He commented on songs that he liked, sung some of the lyrics, and Scaramouche occasionally pointed out songs that he knew, but there weren’t many. He used to love music when he was younger, but he didn’t find himself listening to it very often nowadays.

He didn’t realise that they’d arrived until Childe turned the car off, setting his parking break as he turned to him. “I have an extra jacket in my trunk if you want it.”

Scaramouche was still shivering. He hadn’t even noticed, but he quickly shook his head in refusal, willing himself to stop as he reached for the door handle. “I’m good, but thanks.” He climbed out of the car first, pulling his own jacket tighter around him as he stepped onto the curb.

He silently thanked whatever god was out there that Childe had parked close to the door. The rain was coming down hard .

Childe opened the door for him as they walked up, corners of his mouth pulled into a small smile. “After you.”

It was warm inside, and Scaramouche was more thankful than he thought he’d be. He didn’t know what was up with him lately. He didn’t used to get cold so easily, now all of a sudden, he was wishing he had a fucking winter coat in nothing but rain. Sure, it was heavy rain, but it was hardly anything for him to be fussing over.

They were directed to a small booth in the corner within minutes. The lighting was dim, but warm, and they settled into the faux leather seats comfortably as the waiter excused himself, giving them some time to look over the menu.

“My friend from class said she’d tried this.” Childe pointed to a dish on the menu. “The vegetable… um…”

“Yakisoba?”

“Yeah, that one! I didn’t wanna butcher it.” He laughed a bit, flipping the page to glance at the other options. “She said it was really good, so I might try that… I think they have an option with meat, too.”

Scaramouche felt Childe’s gaze on him then, and he looked up to meet his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He flipped his own page, puffing out his cheeks in thought as he scanned over the options. There were so many, it was almost overwhelming. “I might do that, too… but without meat for me.”

“Oh? Are you vegetarian?” Childe asked, folding his menu closed and setting it aside.

Scaramouche was quick to shake his head, doing the same. “No, just not a fan. I prefer seafood, but I’m not in the mood for it.” He shrugged, reaching over to set his own menu atop Childe's, his mind made up. It was easier than having to sift through the overwhelming amount of options the menu presented to him.

"Ah, that makes sense." Childe flipped Scaramouche's menu open again, idly looking it over once more. "I've only had seafood in the dishes my mom would make back home. My dad was always big on fishing and stuff, so she'd use them for cooking, but the kind of dishes on the menu is beyond my expertise." He glanced up at Scaramouche, head tilting to one side. "What would you recommend? You know, since you blatantly refused to give me coffee recommendations earlier... Not that I'm hurt or anything."

There was that same smile that Scaramouche already felt himself becoming familiar with again, signalling to him that he was only teasing, just as he often seemed to do. Scaramouche quickly looked away, snatching his menu back to look over it again, determined to give Childe an answer this time— for a reason even he was unsure of.

"Well, have you tried sushi?" He asked, one eyebrow slightly raised as he glanced at him quickly, gaze returning to the menu before the other could even meet it.

Dampened, ginger strands fell into his face as Childe shook his head, humming softly. "Nope." He popped the 'p' as he spoke. "I've heard good things, but haven't tried it myself."

Scaramouche hummed in acknowledgement, looking over the menu for another moment before pushing the menu toward him again, pointing at a specific image. "This one is good to start with." He pulled his hand back quickly, almost as quickly as he'd reached it out, and Childe stared for a moment before nodding firmly.

"Alright. I'll get that then." He looked up to see if the waiter was nearby, catching sight of him bringing the drinks they'd ordered when they'd been seated. "If you're setting me up for failure, I'm totally making you get the bill."

The corners of Scaramouche's lips pulled up slightly, so slightly that it was far too easy to miss in the dim lighting of the restaurant, and Childe did miss it as he turned to he waiter as he set their drinks down; a water and a lemonade, and two straws.

They both ordered respectively, and Scaramouche reached over to take the menus from Childe's side of the table, carefully handing them to the waiter who thanked him in return. He nodded in acknowledgement, tapping his fingers against the table idly, almost anxiously, and the small habit didn't go unnoticed by Childe, who reached a hand out towards his. He stopped just short of touching him, his longer fingers inches away from Scaramouche's own.

"You alright?" Childe asked, ducking his head slightly and leaning in a bit in an attempt to catch Scaramouche's gaze.

He stopped moving his fingers, blinking a few times at Childe before nodding, looking off to the side for a moment. He tried to think of something to say. He wasn't good in situations like this, he quickly realised, and once the thoughts seeded themselves in his mind, it was hard to rid of them. That was why he avoided hanging out with anyone other than Kazuha and Signora; he didn't have to try with them. They'd been around him for so long already that everything between them was just second nature. It was natural. This didn't feel natural— quite the opposite, actually. No matter how kind Childe was or how hard Scaramouche tried, he couldn't get comfortable. Part of him didn't want to get comfortable.

"Scara?" Childe's voice broke through his thoughts, and Scaramouche inhaled deeply as he turned his attention back to him, lifting his glass of water to his lips to take a long sip, allowing himself another moment before he had to speak. "Are you okay?" The question was asked again, his tone more serious this time, and Scaramouche swallowed roughly as he forced himself to nod again.

"Yeah." The answer came out smaller than he'd anticipated, and he removed his hands from the table to rest them on his thighs instead, absently tapping against his skin through his jeans. "Sorry. I spaced out for a second. I'm good."

Childe watched for another moment, as if he didn't believe the words— Scaramouche didn't blame him. How could he? It's not like he was being very convincing.

"You're still shivering. Are you cold?"

It was warm enough in the restaurant, but Scaramouche's hands were cold. They always were, he knew. Signora had yelled at him for it countless times, telling him that he always felt like he had hypothermia. She was being dramatic, of course, but he became hyperaware of it in that moment.

"I'm good." He repeated the words, slipping his hands under his thighs again in an effort to warm them up. He noticed the uncertainty that still lined Childe's features, and he wanted to say more to convince him, but he wasn't sure what. He wasn't good at this. He wanted to go home, but he couldn't just say that; that would hurt Childe's feelings, surely.

"Alright." Some of the tension in Childe's expression seemed to dissipate as he sat back again, straightening out his spine as he looked around for a moment. He offered a smile, nodding towards somewhere behind Scaramouche. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick. Be right back." He waited for Scaramouche to nod again before he got up, slipping out of the booth and walking off.

A silence fell over him as he sat there. The ambiance of the restaurant was quiet, too quiet to drown out his thoughts, to distract him from his anxieties. God, he probably scared Childe off or something. He probably freaked him out and he probably left, leaving Scaramouche to walk home, or to get an Uber, or to call Kazuha or Signora. Was he acting that weird? He wracked his brain, trying to remember what he'd said or didn't say; what he'd been doing. He sighed, leaning forward and hitting his forehead to the table, inwardly cursing himself for whatever it was that put Childe off from him.

Childe wouldn't just leave him, though, right? No, he was too nice for that. Then again, Scaramouche would just leave himself, so he couldn't blame him if he did.

He sat like that for a few minutes, hoping that no one would come bother him until he could muster up the courage to lift his head up again or until Childe returned, whichever came first. Five minutes passed, and then ten minutes, and there was still no sign of Childe. Scaramouche squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment before he pulled his phone out, holding it in his lap as he typed out a text to Signora, asking her to come pick him up.

Just as he was about to hit send, a plastic bag crinkled as it was placed on the table and the scent of food hit his nose. He looked up, indigo eyes meeting dull blue ones as he blinked once, twice, before his gaze dropped down to the bag in front of him, then shifted back up again.

"Sorry I took so long. I was thinking we could go back to one of ours instead? Or we can eat in the car. I'm not too picky." Childe towered over him, and Scaramouche briefly thought that he should feel intimidated, but he didn't. "Oh, and here." A worn, grey hoodie was held out to him, and he only stared at it for a moment, as if not knowing what to do with it. It was evidently well-loved, with one singular hole in one of the sleeves, the same size as one of Childe's fingers.

When Scaramouche didn't take it, Childe carefully draped it over his shoulders, stepping back with a small smile. It took him a moment to move of his own accord, but eventually, Scaramouche wriggled his arms through the sleeves; the thing practically swallowed him. It was almost embarrassing how big it was around his frame.

"Wanna go?"

Scaramouche looked down at his phone, at the unsent text to Signora, before shutting his screen off and tucking it into the pocket of the hoodie he now wore. It was warm and it smelled like orange blossoms, somehow, despite having been fished out of the trunk of Childe's car mere moments ago. He climbed out of the booth, standing up and turning toward the door when Childe gestured for him to.

"Did you already pay?" Scaramouche asked quietly. He looked even smaller now than he did before, and Childe had to turn away to hide the endearment creeping into his expression.

He nodded quickly. "Yeah, I did. Tipped well and everything." It's said with a smile, Scaramouche can tell even without looking at him.

"I'll pay you back."

Childe's quick to shake his head, opening the door for Scaramouche on the way out. "Don't worry about it. I invited you out, so it was on me." He turned slightly, waving a hand at the hostess as a silent 'thank you' before letting the door shut behind him, digging his free hand into his jacket pocket for his car keys.

“No, that’s—“ Scaramouche’s brows furrowed as he spoke, pretty features pulling into a frown as he turned to look at the other over the top of the car. “This isn’t a date. You don’t need to pay for me.”

“I know.” Childe was quick to speak, unlocking the car and pulling his own door open, waiting until Scaramouche did the same to climb inside. “I wanted to, though. That’s what friends do, right?”

Indigo eyes looked to the side, and he pulled the passenger door shut as he settled into the seat. He crossed his arms over his chest, cheeks puffed up with air as he thought.

Childe was right. That is what friends did. Kazuha, Signora, and himself did it all the time, but this felt different. He barely knew Childe. They were hardly friends. ‘Acquaintances’ was more accurate. There was no need for him to be paying for anything of Scaramouche’s.

“I’ll get it next time then.” He settled on saying, directing his gaze to look out the window.

He didn’t see the way Childe’s expression lit up beside him. There’ll be a next time?

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The drive back to their complex was silent, for the most part, with Childe humming the songs that played once again, and Scaramouche staring out the window. It was mostly trees that passed by— either ones that were strong enough to survive the frigid cold that an approaching winter was bringing, or ones that had already died weeks ago. He was more like the latter, he thought quietly; if he were to be faced with death, he would lie down and take it. He would let God or the grim reaper do with him as they pleased, so long as whatever came for him took him quickly.

It wasn’t that he was suicidal. He wouldn’t dare take his own life. It was just that if death came to find him, he didn’t think he had any right to run from it— if his name was carved into a marbled tombstone, who was he to deny the grave of its occupant?

Childe was the former, he decided; he would be strong enough to survive the frigid cold, to make it through winter and into spring unscathed. The annual coming of the sun would surely welcome him with open arms, greet him with an embrace warm enough to melt the frostbite away, and send him on his way to face the scalding heat head-on. In the back of his mind, Scaramouche wished he could be the same, but he had long since accepted that he wasn’t.

“Scara?” The sound of Childe’s voice, gently coaxing his attention to him, abruptly pulled him back to reality. He blinked a couple of times as he turned back to face him, realising the car was parked in front of their apartment once more. “Did you want to sit here and eat? Or we could go inside and watch a show while we eat, if you’d like— your apartment or mine, whichever you prefer. I’m up for whatever.”

Scaramouche took a moment to think, turning his head to glance toward the doors of their respective apartments in contemplation. He didn’t want Childe in his apartment. He knew that much already. He didn’t bring people home— when he hooked up with someone, he preferred to go to their place, to lose himself beneath them and in their sheets before ghosting them the next morning, and never once having to worry about them knowing his number or where he lives. It was easier that way. It made his and their lives simpler.

Not that he was going to be hooking up with Childe, he quickly interrupted his own thoughts to clarify as much to himself. He would not be fucking Childe. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to go into Childe’s apartment either. He wasn’t going to fuck him. He wasn’t going to ghost him after. It all felt too… comfortable, too intimate .

“We can just sit here,” he said, after too many moments of silence. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “My apartment is a mess.” As if he owed Childe an explanation.

Childe was already reaching into the backseat to retrieve the bag of takeout. The plastic crinkled noisily as he set it on the center console, taking out a small, cardboard container and passing it to Scaramouche, and then setting his own plastic container in his lap.

“Yeah, mine too. Boxes everywhere. I don’t even have a couch yet.” He laughed a bit and handed Scaramouche a pair of wooden chopsticks, wrapped in paper, then reached back into the bag. “For you, and for…” A second pair of chopsticks sat between long fingers as he retrieved them from the bag. “… me.”

The small, slightly amused smile that tugged at the corners Scaramouche’s lips was inevitable as he noticed the way the other’s face seemed to fall at the sight of the utensils, and he suppressed a sound of amusement as he glanced over at him, already tearing the paper off of his own pair. “What? Never used chopsticks before?” The words were teasing, a bit of amusement seeping into his voice.

“I have so used chopsticks before! Well, like, once, but it counted.” Childe defended, a bit playful before he suddenly turned sheepish. “I was just really bad at it. So don’t laugh.” He pointed his chopsticks toward Scaramouche, nearly poking his nose with the end.

Scaramouche almost snorted at that, batting the utensils out of his face and discarding the paper from his own chopsticks in the plastic bag. “I’m sure you won’t be laughable . It’s not that hard.” He opened his carton of food, breaking the chopsticks apart and glancing over at Childe, who had yet to even unwrap his. “They won’t hurt you, Childe, come on.”

The gentle coaxing and the sound of Scaramouche saying his name had Childe’s heart skipping, and he simply stared at him for a moment, almost positive that there were hearts in his eyes, before snapping himself out of it. He unwrapped the chopsticks carefully, discarding the paper just like Scaramouche had, and broke them apart with a wince.

There were already noodles swirled around Scaramouche’s chopsticks, and he briefly wondered how he’d done that so quickly, so easily, before looking back down at his own food. He took the lid off of the container and clumsily started to try to pick a piece of sushi up, lifting it between the chopsticks.

It fell into his lap within seconds.

The sound Scaramouche made was the closest thing Childe had heard to a laugh from him yet, and he almost completely forgot about his own embarrassment in favor of being grateful to have made him laugh at all. He looked over at him, giving an over-dramatic gasp and sulking playfully. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna laugh!”

“I’m not laughing, and even if I was, I never said that.” Scaramouche corrected, a small smile upon his pretty lips as he looked down at the mess in the other’s lap. With an amused sigh, and after another glance spared to Childe’s sulking face, he set his own food on the dashboard, making sure it wouldn’t fall, before he retrieved some napkins from the takeout bag. He handed them to Childe. “Here.”

He watched as Childe cleaned himself up as best as he could with the napkins, discarding them and then dropping the piece of sushi into the bag. “These places should really give forks to the chopstick-inept like me.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, reaching out to snatch Childe’s chopsticks from his hands. “They do . If you ask for them.”

There was no time for the ginger to do anything before Scaramouche was gracefully picking up a piece of sushi between the chopsticks and lifting it to his mouth.

“Open.”

Childe did, obediently. Scaramouche shoved the entire piece into his mouth before setting the chopsticks back down on the small container in his lap.

At first, a face of not-quite-disgust, but definitely-not-pleasure crossed Childe’s freckled face, and then he hummed happily as he chewed, giving the other a thumbs up.

“Good?” Scaramouche said with a small smile, picking up his own carton of food again to eat.

“Yeah.” Childe covered his mouth as he spoke, voice slightly muffled as he chewed. “The texture kinda threw me off at first, but it’s really good.”

“Mhm. Told you that one was safe to start with.” He took another bite of noodles, watching as Childe chewed and waiting until he noticed he’d finished before he perched his carton in his own lap. He reached over to grab Childe’s chopsticks again, taking another piece and lifting it to his mouth.

Childe took it gratefully, covering his mouth again as he chewed. “Thanks.” He let himself laugh a bit, leaning back against the door as he turned to face Scaramouche a bit better. “My sister would totally be making fun of me if she saw me right now.”

There was a moment of oddly comfortable silence as Scaramouche took the time to chew and swallow before he even thought about speaking again, sparing a look at Childe. “You have siblings?”

He was quick to nod, tapping his fingers against his thigh idly. “Yeah. I have a really big family. Lots of siblings, older and younger.” He took a napkin and wiped his mouth with it. “You?”

Scaramouche shook his head immediately. “No, no siblings here. I’m an only child.” He stared down at his chopsticks as he swirled them around, picking at a piece of broccoli.

“Was it lonely?” The question was asked before Childe could think to swallow it down. He almost retracted it, nearly stammered over his words and tripped over himself to take it back, but he felt as though that might, somehow, make it worse.

A moment hung in the air then, heavy like the clouds that hung over the sky, that engulfed the moon and the stars and coated them in a pitch black nothingness. Nothing but the sound of the rain outside, hitting against the windshield, passed between them. Childe stared at Scaramouche. Scaramouche felt Childe’s blue eyes on him. In that moment, he wished he could drown in them. He wished they would swallow him like the ocean and drag him so deep down, there would be no chance of him ever resurfacing.

He thought of telling the truth, only for a moment. He thought of confessing to Childe that, yes, it was lonely. His mother was always working. She didn’t care. Whoever his father was had left before he was even born. He never knew him. He didn’t know his name or what he looked like. He wasn’t even sure if the man knew he existed. He thought about telling him that he grew up in a grand house, with high ceilings and marbled floors, with big double doors at the front and a patio overlooking the city at the back; his childhood home was just short of a fairytale, if only the child who was trapped within hadn’t been caught in the storm that took it apart from the inside out.

“It was fine.”

The walls he’d put up years ago were too thick and high for the truth to ever slip through. The only person who knew the full truth was Kazuha, and Signora knew what she’d managed to piece together over the years, which Scaramouche had a feeling was far more than she ever let on.

“That’s good.” Childe hummed, barely audible over the rain.

 They continued like that for a while. Scaramouche fed Childe his sushi until it was gone, taking bites of his own food in between. Idle chatter was passed between them, comfortable conversation and silence alike— Childe found out that Scaramouche was double majoring in physics and philosophy, made some joking comment about him having both beauty and brains, and then shared that he was a marine biology major. They talked about the classes they’re taking and how Childe is enjoying living there so far— he’s enjoying it a lot, insisting that the area is nice and the location is convenient. They talked about the weather. The rain, in specific.

“Does it always rain like this here?”

Scaramouche was quick to shake his head. “No. I mean, we’re near the coast, so it is overcast a lot, but…” A shiver ran up his spine, and he shook his head to shake it off. “It’s never been like this before. The thunderstorms came in unexpectedly a couple of days ago and just haven’t left yet.” He shrugged, looking out the window again, eyes following the drops of water that slid down the glass.

He could see Childe nodding out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah. I’m used to snow, but the rain is different. It’s a lot… gloomier? Duller.” The ginger shrugged, tucking his empty food container into the makeshift trash bag. “Still beautiful, just different.”

Scaramouche only hummed. He didn’t know if he agreed. What beauty was there to it? He’d never seen snow, but he couldn’t imagine it had much beauty to it either. Rain was wet and the scent was unpleasant, paired with the irritant that was the lightning streaking across the sky, the crashes of thunder that followed after. Snow was cold and undoubtedly messy, nothing but white powder that clung to black fabric. Both would only leave him drenched and drowning as one fell and the other melted; their beauty, to him, was amiss.

He didn’t say that, though. His phone buzzed at just the right moment, giving him an excuse to check it, to excuse himself from needing to reply.

It was a text from Kazuha.

Party on Friday

The small chat bubble that indicated that he was still typing moved on his screen for a second before another message popped up, in all of its white and blue glory.

Bring Childe <3

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, quickly typing out a response.

no

He shut off his phone before he could see Kazuha typing again and ignored it when it buzzed in his hand with his reply. Scaramouche turned to Childe then, clearly wanting to say something, hesitating for a moment. He didn’t want to be rude, that was all.

“I should go.” He finally excused himself, tucking his trash into the plastic bag too. “It’s getting late and I have some homework to finish before class tomorrow.”

Childe was already gathering up the trash bag, a smile on his face as he faced him, expression kind and understanding. “Yeah, me too. I have another eight a.m. Fingers crossed I actually make it on time tomorrow.” He laughed, opening the driver’s side door and climbing out.

Scaramouche did the same. The cold rain hit them both immediately, and a chill ran through his body, prompting him to pull the oversized jacket further around himself. “You can always use the weather as an excuse if you don’t.”

“You’re so right. I should have thought of that this morning! My professor totally glared at me on my way in… What does he even care? It’s my education and my money, right?” Childe walked behind Scaramouche as they ascended the stairs to their apartments, one hand slightly outstretched, as if prepared to catch him if he fell. It wasn’t enough for the other to notice.

They stopped at their doorsteps. Scaramouche fiddled with his keys to unlock his front door and Childe watched him as he did, a small smile still on his face.

“I had fun,” he said, and for a second, thinking the other didn’t hear him, he reached out a hand to touch his wrist. He stopped short when Scaramouche pulled his hand back, shoving his keys into his pocket as the door opened. Childe stepped back, shoving his hand into his own pocket in an attempt to mask his embarrassment. “We should do it again sometime.”

“You asking me on a date?” Scaramouche laughed then. Childe thought it was the first time he’d heard him laugh— a full, proper laugh. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. He wanted to hear it again, if Scaramouche would be so kind as to grace him with that honour.

“And if I am?” He didn’t know if he was being serious or not. They’d only just met a few days ago, only spoken a handful of times— but if Scaramouche wanted to call it a date, then Childe would be determined to make it the best date in the world.

Scaramouche’s face fell in an instant, any bit of amusement or teasing washing away with the drops of rain that slid down his flushed cheeks. “I don’t date.” He crossed his arms, a small scowl on his face as he squinted up at Childe, bottom lip drawn between his teeth for a moment. As an afterthought, before he could properly think the words through, he said, “We can fuck, though.”

Internally, Childe was stunned. He swore he did a mental and emotional double-take, but he didn’t let it show in his expression. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, smiling at the other with a tilt of his head, and said, “Goodnight, Scara.”

Just as Childe was about to walk inside, Scaramouche stepped forward, just slightly, just enough to catch his attention. “Wait.” His eyes were wide as he realised what he was doing and he quickly turned away again, shrinking back towards his own door, possibly thinking of backtracking entirely. “There’s… a party on Friday. If you want to come. If you’re even into that. I’m going with a few friends, so…”

Childe grinned, damp hair falling into his face with a nod. “That sounds fun. Count me in.”

Scaramouche only faltered for a moment, before nodding and reaching for the doorknob. “I’ll let you know the address and shit when I get it.”

“Sounds good. It’s a date.” Childe winked and ducked into his apartment with a laugh, just barely catching a glimpse of the way Scaramouche huffed while his cheeks blushed an adorable shade of pink once more. “Night, Scara!”

Scaramouche only rolled his eyes, sighing to himself as the door slammed shut. “Night.” He stepped into his apartment too, closing the door behind him and locking it.

Fuck , he quickly realised, about two steps into his apartment— he’d forgotten to give Childe his jacket back. Whatever . He was sure he’d see him again sooner than later. They lived right next to each other, after all.

Besides, he’d have to see him before Friday, for sure.