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“So, what makes you two so aggressive towards each other?”
Scaramouche leaned back, his fishnet covered forearms crossed on his stomach. Childe let his eyes blankly wander to the wall next to him, feigning guilt. They both remained annoyed and silent.
The counselor gritted his teeth and slammed his aged hands on his desk as he stood. He walked to the door and sighed, turning to glare at the boys.
“If you don’t have this sorted out by the time I’m back you’re both suspended.”
Scara scoffed and rolled his eyes. The door was shut.
“What makes you so bitchy, huh? If you didn’t make everything such a big deal then we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Scara slowly turned, his big, angry eyes already speaking a thousand words.
“No, if you didn’t fuck with me every goddamn chance you get we’d be just fine.”
The purple haired boy was standing now, trying his best to tower over the ginger. Childe annoyedly threw himself back in his chair, sliding a little down the back of it.
“Learn to take a joke, jeez.”
Scara’s speedy hands gained contact with the taller male’s collar, pulling him close.
“Just stop bothering me, it’s not that hard!” He crossed his arms and looked off to the side, cocky, “And I’m not the one obsessed with what everyone thinks of me so I couldn’t care less about getting suspended.”
Childe knew the boy was right. He cared significantly more about his image than Scaramouche did and wasn’t willing to get suspended as his academic performance had already been struggling lately. This all meaning that he’d have to come to an understanding with Scara. Hell, maybe all he needed was to vent a little and he’d be back to his usual self, getting high grades and whatnot, actually being pleasant to have around. But every time he looked at Scaramouche’s smug baby face he got pissed off again. He forced a deep inhale.
“I’m sorry… I guess. I’ve been shitty to you recently.”
Scara’s eyebrows scrunched up in a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
“I guess I’ve been using you as a way to destress since my parents haven’t been around. They’ve been leaving me in charge of all my siblings, like, seriously why don’t they take care of their own kids? I have a life too!”
Childe’s weakened expression hurt Scara for some reason, making him sigh and slowly lower himself back into the seat he formerly sat in, gripping onto the arm rests and resting his feet on the counselor’s desk. Something was eating at him too.
“Tch. At least your parents like you enough to trust you with their kids. My mom stopped caring about me all together since she had my sister.”
The shorter boy pulled back one of his feet and slammed it hard into the desk in front of him, his fiery glare locked in on the impact.
“It got even worse once she found out I’m trans. Annoying bitch, I’m surprised I haven’t been kicked out.”
Childe offered a weak, pitiful gaze to the smaller boy, shifting to face him. He reached out his hand but Scaramouche stood before he could try to comfort him.
“Not everything can be fixed by your fake charm, idiot.”
“Wait!”
Childe grabbed the boy’s hand, both already flustered by the sudden vulnerability.
“You seem like you need someone to talk to…”
“I have friends.”
“Well, yeah but…”
Childe couldn’t find a way to word his thoughts properly but somewhere deep inside Scara felt comforted that someone actually cared. Scara ripped his hand out of the ginger’s grasp and grabbed his bag. He stopped in the doorway before leaving.
“God, you’re nosy!” He snapped in Childe’s direction, harshly glaring, “If you’re so desperate to hear me talk then let’s go, I could feel your sad puppy eyes staring into the back of my head.”
Childe scrambled to close his bag and took off in Scara’s direction, who had already left for the school’s exit.
The walk to Scara’s house was awkward, not that either of them found that surprising. Childe struggled to explain why he wouldn’t be home for his siblings over a call and Scaramouche quietly buried his nose in his phone, doing nothing in particular, mostly swiping around the home screen.
The boys took off their shoes and silently walked upstairs, no “I’m home” or happy faces or excitement from getting off school, just cold, dead silence. Scaramouche stretched, dropping his bag on the ground, and fell down into his black desk chair.
“You can sit on the bed or whatever.”
Childe slowly did what he was told.
“Uh… Shouldn’t we have told the counselor we were leaving?”
“You could’ve stayed to do that,” Scaramouche was flipping through a purple hardcover book on his desk and already wearing an earbud, displaying subtle grimace, fitting for him, “But you didn’t.”
Childe pulled out his phone and chuckled.
“You invited me over.”
“You prompted me to.”
The two locked competitive eyes for a moment before Childe’s sigh broke the silence.
“Y’know, I came over to listen to you, not fight, if you don’t have anything to say I’m leaving.”
Scara grumbled.
“I’ve already told you more about my home life than anyone else.”
Scara still wasn’t giving his all into the conversation but he closed his book and directed his attention to Childe.
“What about you, how open are you about being a daddy’s boy?”
Childe looked to the floor, slowly shaking his head. Right then they found their commonality, neither of them could open up.
“Well anyway-”
Before he could finish Scaramouche caught notice of the rough state of his fingers and quickly lost interest in whatever he was planning to say. He spun around in his chair and pulled out a bottle of black nail polish.
After more painful silence Scara sat, gently gazing at the new coat of polish on his nails.
“Why are you staring?”
Childe’s eyes scurried around the room for a second before realizing that Scara actually was talking to him.
“I didn’t notice I was. My bad.”
Scara doubtfully looked over, still holding his hand at a display-like angle.
“Huh.”
He judged Childe from afar, before the smallest smirk curved the very edges of his lips up.
“Come here, I’ll paint yours too.”
“Uh… Alright.”
The taller of the two knelt on the floor and rested his hands on the table in front of Scara. He didn’t particularly want to have his nails painted but at the same time he already invited himself over so maybe he was subconsciously turning over a new leaf.
Scara gently dipped the brush into the bottle and slid the excess polish off. For some reason looking at Scara didn’t set Childe off this time.
“Eww… It’s cold…”
“Well suck it up.”
-
Childe stood at the front doorway.
“Well, thanks for having me over, I guess.”
“Yeah. Um… See you.”
Childe nodded as the door was slowly closed in front of him. By no means were the boys close now but they developed some form of understanding, which Childe couldn’t complain about if it kept him from getting suspended. But maybe he wanted more than a clean record. He looked down at his hands, his nails, and thought about Scara. Getting to know him wouldn’t be so bad.
He caught a glance of his watch in his peripheral and halted.
“No way, it’s already eight! How long was I over there?”