Chapter Text
at the end of the day, it wasn't fair.
scaramouche didn't have a hydro vision. he was definitely not one to have a good perspective on what was right or wrong, what was just. if anything, he was someone who was one of the least reliable in that aspect.
but scaramouche had a knack for finding all of the faults in his own life, and complicating them beyond repair.
and perhaps it only made sense, for him to see aether as a fault, because he wanted nothing more than to complicate that boy.
it just wasn't fair.
it wasn't fair how it was practically everyone but aether that had forgotten him, how scaramouche's name was something known only by aether, how it felt like every part of him had been exposed bare to the traveller.
it wasn't fair how every single part of scaramouche was all for him, and yet he couldn't make aether all his.
it never changed. because scaramouche had the freedom to someday decide he has had enough, to one day leave aether in the dust and forget about him.
scaramouche was a fool, however, because just like how he had the freedom to leave... he also had the freedom to stay.
amber eyes trapped him as if he was nothing but bones encased in the substance, stuck there for eternity, lost in time. scaramouche didn't think himself capable of leaving. he would always find himself seeking the blonde, seeking his attention, because it was simply in his nature.
he hated being attached. all of his actions meant nothing in the end, after all. the only thing he ever got in the end was a vision to count as his heart. his friend's all met their cruel fates, no matter how much scaramouche interfered. aether would always leave him, no matter how much scaramouche could plead him to stay.
he didn't understand. was he not enough? aether was the sun, so why was he so hesitant to let scaramouche be his moon? why was he so desperate for his sister, who clearly wanted nothing to do with him?
he didn't understand the obsession with family. his own mother didn't want him, and scaramouche took the hint quite well. he didn't understand why aether wouldn't just do the same.
they didn't need blood. not when they had each other.
...but scaramouche knew the real answer. he would never be enough. he would never do enough. as much as he kept on that egotistical attitude, stomped lowlifes down beneath his feet, called everyone scum and mere insects, he knew that deep down it was all never enough.
none of it fucking mattered, if he was going to just leave in the end anyways.
scaramouche wondered why he ever bothered trying in the first place.
"kuni?"
the broken fragments of a name, forgotten by all but him. scaramouche was a fool again and again, always allowing himself to be consumed by the other man.
if only the roles had been reversed.
"is there something... interesting about this tree? you've been awfully entranced by it," aether is saying in that awfully calm voice, dropping to a crouch right next to him. all scaramouche can do is spare him a glance before shrugging, staring back at the cherry blossom that appeared to reside inside of the teapot.
"it's a suitable enough backdrop for me to lose myself in," he decides to reply, playing with the feather that hung from his vision.
aether is only giving him a small smile, finally dropping fully on the ground, playing with some of the grass below. "i figured that with all the travelling we'd be doing, you might still find yourself aching for something a bit familiar. even if you don't have the... best memories of inazuma, it's still nice to carry a bit of it with you."
scaramouche could only stare at him, dumbfounded. "be careful, aether. it almost sounds like you like me or something," is all he manages to snark out as a reply, desperately hoping his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. it didn't make any sense — was he projecting his lack of sentimental items onto him? or... was this a genuine act of kindness?
it was disgusting. foreign.
"i know you're incapable of accepting acts of kindness," and he's rolling his eyes as scaramouche is essentially read for all he is, "so i'll take that as a thank you." he's being lightly punched in the arm as aether looks back at the tree, seemingly unaware of how scaramouche was looking at him in that moment.
because scaramouche would never understand that to aether, scaramouche truly was like a breath of fresh air. he was easy to get lost in, easy to spend time with, even when they bickered over the smallest things just for an excuse to fight.
yeah, the wanderer was irritating, constantly drove aether mad, got under his skin like nobody else could — but he also wasn't afraid to rile him up, wasn't scared of the side of him that wasn't a doormat, wasn't hesitant to psychoanalyze him for all that he was worth, make him question his own motives, and tell it to him how it really is.
scaramouche didn't know, but he held parts of aether that he wouldn't dare expose to anyone else. there was a part of aether locked away, and only the former balladeer had the key.
it was a sort of mutual exchange, one in which the wanderer was entirely unaware.
aether constantly cursed himself for getting attached, berated himself because he knew they were bound to go down in flames. it was hard, because the more he travelled throughout teyvat, the more he became tied to it. he just wanted to find his sister. he wanted to escape together, travel together like how it used to be.
scaramouche's words echoed constantly in his brain like a reminder, but he still held onto the hope he had left. anything for her.
he failed to realize scaramouche was more than a rope tying him down. he was pierced right into his heart, hook line and sinker.
even if puppets weren't capable of love, scaramouche would find a way to deny his nature. he'd do it again and again and again, just for aether. just for him, because as aether sat next to him, proved that he gave even the slightest shit about scaramouche, the anemo user felt his resolve harden.
there was all the reason for aether to be the one to destroy him like this.
especially when it was clear that the wanderer was destroying him right back.
a small smile graced his lips as he playfully nudged aether back, not once breaking his gaze from the cherry blossom in front of them. he watched as a stray petal floated from the tree, drifting it's way right onto aether's head.
perhaps it was twisted, to find himself elated at the news that he was slowly destroying someone, but scaramouche never claimed to be sane.
all he knew was that everytime he saw aether smile, or swear, or make any sort of face with those bright, expressive eyes, scaramouche was gone. he was so far gone, and he cursed it himself for it but at the same time...
he could come to terms with it, because there was no way in hell he would be letting aether leave him that easily. not by a long shot.
the blonde was his, and scaramouche planned to never let go.