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SCARAMOUCHE’S HEART COULD only hold onto so much. Anatomically speaking, there was a hollow void where his heart was supposed to be but when looking at him metaphysically, there was something that occupied that space; you.
Whether he had a heart or not, you never defined him for such a thing. Naturally, the problem delved deeper than shallow debates of whether or not he was truly a person or just another discarded toy of the gods’; no… You made him realize that there was more to his identity than mere vengeance and hatred. That he can be loved, he can be treasured - like any other human.
Two broken individuals found each other, clinging in one other’s arms as a means to rediscover what it means to love someone. Engagement, let alone love, never entailed just blissful happiness. There was a lesson in love that went deeper than simple attraction; some sort of self-discovery and mutual understanding. It was not perfect. The love between the two of you was anything but perfect.
But even so, Scaramouche would never ask for anything more.
When his violet eyes fell upon you, an inexplicable feeling relaxed his muscles and a smile came naturally to his lips. He treasured you, though such words of pure affection never came so easily to him. He would hold you close - the familiar rhythmic thrums kept his breathing steady with yours. Fragile, he cradled you in his arms as if you were a doll made of porcelain.
Scaramouche would press kisses to your forehead, just above your eyebrows. He followed the natural curve of your face, trailing down to the corners of your lips before pulling away to admire the way your lips parted with quiet breaths - to see the way your chest rose and fell. He felt human, being with you.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me…?” He whispered quietly, fingers brought to your face to brush away the wisps of your stray hair. Surely, if Scaramouche had a heart - it would be racing. There was no doubt in the mind of his feelings for you. Wholly, entirely. He was enraptured by you.
He learned of your antics and behaviors. You often keep your guard up in fear of others taking advantage of you. Only moments like this were you the most vulnerable, exposed. Naturally, this meant that you were susceptible to uncertainty. Humans are fragile beings, and as strong as you always try to be, you are not immune.
A small noise left your lips, followed by a string of incoherent words. He watched as your eyebrows knitted together before a strangled cry caught his attention–
“Don’t–!”
Beads of sweat gathered on the side of your face. Your once tranquil rest transformed into something terrifying. The fear that gripped you from childhood never seems to leave you alone even in your most peaceful moments.
“Hey.”
His fingers entangled with yours, squeezing it gently in hopes of you feeling his touches even in your dreamscape. From his own research, he had learned this to be the best way to aid you through your unconsciousness but even so, Scaramouche never quite knew what to do in these situations. He wasn’t naturally gifted with empathy and had only started to familiarize himself in your behavior. After some time, he had grown used to these night terrors.
But even so, moments like this seized his chest with anxiousness. He would hold you close, whisper quiet affirmations that he was there with you; all in hopes you would open your eyes.
“Don’t… leave…” He heard you say. Your voice is broken, raw. He felt wetness against his skin, pulling away just a bit to see tears pooling at his closed eyelids. His chest tightened at the sight.
“I won’t.” Scaramouche answered, praying that you would hear him. He squeezed your hand tighter, breathing hard when he heard a strangled whimper leave your lips. “I’m right here.”
He knew waking you would cause you to thrash and attack him out of sheer panic. Based on past experience, he knew it was best to remain as calm as he could be to draw you from the nightmares that held its claws onto your consciousness. Even so, he felt unsure of his actions.
“It’s okay.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay…”
He felt the tears roll down his face and his stomach dropped. Even so, he persisted with his verbal affirmations.
“Make it stop…! Make it stop…! It hurts– it hurts so much…!” Your words pained him deeply. Knowing that both in your waking and hours of respite, you continue to suffer; it made him feel helpless. It was the way your words carved him invisible wounds.
“I know… I know…” As much as he had grown to learn of you, there were many unspoken events of your past you were avoidant. He assumed this to be one of them. Uncertain of what to say, he resorted to letting you know of his presence, hoping that would be enough to soothe you - even just slightly. “I won’t leave you… I swear on it…”
Relief washed over him when he watched your eyes flutter open. Your glassy stare made his stomach twist but before he could get a word out - you had thrown your arms around his neck, sobbing into the fabric of his shirt.
He whispered your name after a few minutes of you crying in silence. You slowly pulled away from him, sniffling as you rubbed your swollen eyes. “I… It happened again…”
Scaramouche assumed you meant the night terrors. It has begun more frequently in recent months. Most of its latent content eludes you by the time your mind cleared itself of the terrors; leaving you heaving for air that your lungs desperately sought.
“You need to stop overworking yourself.” He scolded you quietly, rubbing circles against the expanse of your back. “The healers said not to over-exert if you’re tired. You haven’t fully recovered yet.”
You winced at his words. There was logic to his words, you knew that. It was for that very logic that you detested how right he is in berating you for overworking yourself.
“I know…” You leaned against his touch, sighing deeply. “You and I know that better than anyone…”
“Mm,” he hummed quietly. “If you know, then I won’t say anything else.”
Tender moments like this were fleeting, rare. More often than not, the two of you were often separated due to work; leaving you to have to deal with your night terrors alone. But you were grateful for the times when the two of you could be together; for the moments spared when he demonstrated his affection through actions.
“Do you have work?” You asked, breaking the silence with a comfortable hum of relief when you felt his arms embrace you from behind.
“I do.” He answered, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck. “But you are my priority first and foremost.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his words, nodding along. “Then can I compel you to stay with me? There’s an opera that I would like to see.”
Scaramouche sighed but nodded in agreement. He felt you relax in his arms, prompting a smile to grace his soft features. He held you closer, hoping to feel the rhythmic thrumming of your heart to draw upon references to humanity he had grown used to.