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“You’re staring again.”
Scaramouche snaps up from his seat, his back ramrod straight, and turns to level a glare at the pair of jade-green eyes currently boring into his.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Get your eyes checked.”
“I have twenty-twenty vision,” Nahida says matter-of-factly, tapping the end of her Pompompurin pencil against her right temple. “And even if you weren’t staring, you still had your head facing the counter instead of your assignment for the past three minutes. What do you say to that?”
His eye twitches. The words fuck off almost shoot out of his mouth in a knee-jerk reaction to getting steamrolled in an argument, but Scaramouche manages to hold his tongue, because said steamroller is also ten years old. “Just do your homework,” he says, scowling.
Nahida huffs. “I’m the one who should be telling you that.” Paper crinkles under her fingers as she shoves her notebook into his face, rows upon rows of pristine handwriting filling the pages. “See? I’m almost done. You haven’t even gotten through one page of your algebra because you’ve been so busy staring at — ”
“I’m not,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, and curse fate for making the one child he agrees to babysit the smartest fucking grade schooler to grace the entire earth.
Nahida peers at him from over the top of her notebook, clearly unimpressed. “Then why did you bring me here in the first place?”
If it were any other time, Scaramouche would’ve simply opted to look after the girl in Mrs. Rukkhadevata’s house. But he’s chosen to take them to Puspa Café today, because —
Well, it's definitely not because he heard Lumine would be picking up the afternoon shifts at the counter for the month. No, that’s ridiculous. An absolutely preposterous thought.
“They… have a Christmas menu,” he says instead. He kneads an eraser between his thumb and forefinger, looking very pointedly down at his algebra assignment. “The desserts on there are only available once a year, so I thought I would treat you.”
Nahida frowns. “We didn’t even order any desserts.”
Scaramouche opens his mouth. Closes it.
“That’s besides the point,” he says.
“You are a terrible liar,” Nahida pats him on the shoulder, her tone pleasant. “But it’s okay. I know the truth. The only thing I don’t understand is why you won’t just get up and go talk to her if you — ”
“No,” Scaramouche glowers. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
Nahida pauses, seeming to contemplate the warning. Then she looks him directly in the eye to continue speaking. “ — if you like staring at her so much.”
Scaramouche’s eye twitches for the second time that day, and he’s about to launch into another round of bickering with a ten year old before a voice stops him in his tracks.
“Hey, you two!”
He jumps — fucking jumps in his seat, his heart shooting up into his throat as he suddenly registers the presence of a certain someone standing right behind him.
“What the — ” he whips around to face Lumine, spluttering. “When the hell did you get here?”
Lumine raises an eyebrow, a tray of two drinks in her hands. “Hello to you too, Scaramouche. I didn’t think you would be so caught off guard by someone just doing their job.”
“Fuck off,” he snaps on reflex.
“No F-words!” Nahida chides, and that makes the corners of Lumine’s lips twitch into a smile.
“I have to wonder how such a nice young lady ended up in the company of someone like you,” she hums, setting down a glass of coffee on one side of the table and a mug of tea on the other.
Scaramouche scowls at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” Lumine replies, her voice as snide as it is charming, a melodic lilt masking a layer of mockery, and it makes the pit of his stomach boil with equal parts hatred and sickening fondness. His fingers curl around the grip of his pen, nearly hard enough to snap it in two. “Right, and before I go — Nahida, was it? Here, I have something for you.”
Scaramouche blinks, momentarily taken out of his fuming. A ceramic plate settles onto the table with a soft clink, a little iced cake with frosted flowers sitting on top of it. “You like ajilenakh nuts, don’t you? You can have this cake on the house,” Lumine says.
Nahida’s eyes go wide. “H-Huh? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly…” She tries to push the plate back, waving her hands.
“No, I insist.” Lumine gently nudges the dish forward, placing a silver fork on its rim. “You’ve been working very hard, so you’ll need the energy. Just promise me you’ll keep at it, okay?” She smiles kindly, and Scaramouche feels his heart do a funny little flip at the sight. Disgusting.
“Um… but…” Nahida hesitates for a moment longer, before she finally sinks back into her seat, looking bashful. “Okay. Thank you, miss. You shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, Lumine,” Scaramouche rolls his eyes, his arms crossed over his chest, because he likes people being nice to Nahida, but he also likes the thought of the little midget getting her due penance after the conversation they’d had earlier. “You really shouldn’t have.”
Lumine only offers him a withering look. “What’s with you now? Jealous you didn’t get a gift too?”
“Tch,” he turns his head away from her, indignant. “As if.”
“Oh, you’re totally jealous,” she jabs, and she leans down, wearing a little smirk that’s so unlike her usual demeanour. “Well, speak up, then. What do you want?”
Infuriating — she’s infuriating. Scaramouche feels his eye twitch for the third time today, and he thinks he might need to see a doctor soon. “Has working here finally made you lose your mind, jackass?” He seethes. “Is that why you’re hearing things? I never said I wanted anything. As if I’d be delusional enough to — ”
“What about your phone number?” Nahida says.
And then there’s silence.
A long, excruciating silence that stretches on as the both of them freeze in place, as still as statues.
“Wh… What?” Lumine is the first to break the quiet, her voice faint. “I don’t — come again?”
Nahida stares back at them with her big, jade-green eyes, utterly unfazed. Then she takes a bite of her cake like she wasn’t responsible for the conversational bombshell she just dropped. “Your phone number,” she says as she chews. “Why don’t you gift him that?”
Slowly, Lumine turns back to look at Scaramouche, her face twisted into a concentrated, thoroughly-stirred mixture of mortification and disbelief. He’s not sure what expression he’s wearing himself, but he does think that now would be a good time to keel over and die.
“I,” she starts. Stops. Then starts again, “I need a minute.”
Then she runs away.
Scaramouche sits there, hand still clenched into an angry fist, mouth still hanging open.
“Hmm,” Nahida says. She takes another bite of her cake.
Scaramouche launches himself at her. Grabs her by her tiny, evil little shoulders and shakes. “Are you trying to kill me,” he hisses, on the verge of hysterics.
And she has the audacity to look surprised. “No? I was doing the opposite, actually. You like her, but you never take the opportunity to get closer to her. So I did that for you.” She taps her chin, looking confused. “Isn’t asking for someone’s number a common tactic in starting romantic relationships?”
“I never — where did you even — ” He stumbles over his words, more than overwhelmed, before his brain finally seems to give up the fight and just shuts down. “Oh my god,” he says, burying his face into his hands. “She’ll never talk to me again.”
“She will,” Nahida declares, closing her notebook with an air of confidence. The multitude of Sanrio characters printed on its cover seem to laugh at Scaramouche with their soulless, beady eyes. “I think that if she wanted to, she would’ve rejected you right then and there. That’s the kind of person Lumine is.”
Scaramouche glares at her through his fingers. “And you’re so sure of that after psychoanalysing her once.”
Nahida gathers another chunk of cake on her fork. “I just have a feeling.”
“A feeling. A feeling. Fuck.” He closes his eyes, frankly devastated. “My life is over.”
“You’re only twenty-one,” Nahida says reassuringly. “And this is for the best. Otherwise, you’re just going to spend the rest of time staring at her from afar. Are you really satisfied with that?”
Scaramouche never asked for a ten year old to be his de facto therapist, but it’s happening now and he hates it. “At least I’d never fail if I did that,” he groans. “Like, do you honestly think someone like her would ever — ”
A strip of paper is thrust into his view before he can finish that sentence.
He blinks, once, twice. Then looks up to see Lumine holding on to it, her ears pink and her gaze very determinedly focused on the trashcan in the distance.
“My number,” she says, her voice strained when he doesn’t react. “Are you going to take it or not?”
Scaramouche looks back down at the paper, feeling a little dazed. “You’re serious?”
“I could do worse.”
“Fuck you,” he says, and he takes it.
Now empty-handed, Lumine pins her arms to her sides like she’s not sure what to do with them. “So. Um. How does next Friday sound?”
Scaramouche blanks. “For what?”
Lumine looks like she’s in physical pain. “Jesus Christ. A date, dumbass, what else? Have you never asked someone out before?”
“I — of course I have,” he scoffs, lying through his teeth. “Next Friday is fine. Where do you want to go?”
The pink on Lumine’s ears turn a shade darker, as if it’s only hitting her now that this is actually happening. “I don’t know. Anywhere’s fine. Coffee, arcade, movies — whatever, you pick. Just text me the details, okay?”
“Okay.” The paper feels warm in his increasingly sweaty hands.
“Okay. Good. Now. I have work to get to.” Stiffly, she takes Nahida’s empty plate from the table, managing to muster up a wobbly smile for the girl, and then she walks off.
“I like her,” Nahida says as soon as she’s gone. “Can we come here again?”
Scaramouche melts into the back of his chair, his face burning and heart beating out of his chest.
“Absolutely not.”