Chapter Text
“So you’re done..?”
“I… yeah.. I’m-”
“Forget it. Fuck off.”
~
“Come on, Scara! Come to the game with me tonight!”
“Why?” Scaramouche spat glaring at the blonde woman in front of him.
“‘Cause I said so. And it’d be pretty beneficial for you y’know? You get to come on campus and get a feel of the place and you won’t have to ask for directions when you enroll.” The woman explained taking a sip of her peppermint mocha, quickly realizing it was too hot at the moment.
“Yeah, cause you decided to go on a trip..You bitch.” Scaramouche retorted, stirring the foam in his cup watching it dissolve into the drink. “Love you too, Scara.” She teased, tapping her nails on the table in a rhythmic manner. “You’ve been to football games before, I haven't.” She continued. “..So you want a guide so you don't act as foolish as you look.” Scaramouche responded.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You're the one continuing the conversation.”
“Smartass.”
“I pride myself on that factor.” Scaramouche smirked, clearly entertained by Signora’s frustrated demeanor. “So are you coming or not?” Signora questioned. “...Fine. Only for my own benefit, not for yours.” “You wouldn't be the Scaramouche I love and hate if that wasn't your reason.”
A brief moment of silence was left between the two before Signora spoke.
“Did they put these drinks in the fucking sun? They're still piping hot.” She spat. “Right? Let's take them to go.” Scaramouche suggested. “Alright. Time for college shopping for you, even though I don't know who the hell waits this late.” She mumbled.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“... You're the one continuing the conversation.”
“Touchè.”
Signora shoved the last bag into her trunk. “Nothing like seeing $2,000 just vanish into thin air.”
“It’s not wasted,” Scaramouche retorted, “I’m making a statement with my dorm, and I need art and school supplies. I'm not cheap.”
Signora slammed the trunk shut and asked, “Is there anyone else you know majoring in art?”
“Do I look like I keep tabs on those insufferable heathens?” Scaramouche shot back, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Kazuha’s going to our college, but he’s majoring in English. And Heizou is all the way across the state for law studies. Who am I supposed to gossip with over tea at a café like Fontaine girls now?”
“You’ll figure it out,” Signora said,smirking. “Life’s not always about being a hater.”
“I love hating,” Scaramouche said with a grin.
“Oh, I know. I’m a victim,” She said dryly, making her way to the drivers side.
“Just take me home, loser.” Scaramouche snapped as he slid into the passenger seat.
“Careful, or I’ll make you sit in the back.”
The ride back was mostly quiet, broken only by a few sarcastic remarks exchanged like clockwork.
When they pulled up to Scaramouche’s house, Signora cut the engine. “We’re here, asshole,” she said, pulling the keys from the ignition. “ I’ll help with the bags, then I’m heading out.”
“Fine.”
They carried the bags inside, only to freeze when they heard footsteps on the stairs.
“Hi, Miss Raiden…” Signora muttered, suddenly uneasy. The tension was mutual, Raiden Ei had never been particularly fond of Signora, or any other of the few friends Scaramouche managed to make.
“Hello, Mom,” Scaramouche said, exhaling.
Raiden Ei’s voice was cool and composed. “You didn’t mention you were bringing someone over.”
“She’s not staying,” Scaramouche replied. “We were out shopping for college, since you never took me when you said you would.”
Raiden's eyes flicked between the two, her expression unreadable. “I see,” she said evenly. “Make sure you don’t leave a mess.”
Signora shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Scaramouche. “I should get going.”
Scaramouche rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for the ride. Don’t crash on your way back.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Signora muttered, before giving a quick nod toward Raiden. “Have a good night, Miss Raiden.”
Raiden simply hummed in response, her gaze still lingering on her son.
Once the door closed behind Signora, the air in the room felt heavier. Scaramouche grabbed one of the bags, heading for the stairs. “Well, I’ll be in my room. Packing.”
“Scaramouche,” his mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned to face her, his grip tightening on the bag strap.
“What?”
“You’re not as subtle as you think,” Raiden said, folding her arms. “You can try to avoid me all you want, but we still need to have that conversation.”
Scaramouche tensed. “About what?”
“About your future. Art school isn’t exactly what I had in mind for you.”
His jaw clenched. “Well, it’s my future, not yours. I didn't take your opinion into account and don't plan to.”
Her tone softened slightly, but not her resolve. “We’ll talk when you’re ready. Just know I’m not going to disappear.”
I wish you would.
Scaramouche let out a frustrated sigh and turned on his heel. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”
He stomped up the stairs, leaving Raiden standing in the foyer, her cool composure unshaken. As he reached his room, Scaramouche tossed the bags aside and collapsed onto his bed.
The ceiling blurred. The silence rang.
A phone buzz cut through the stillness.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, reaching for it.
—--
Heizou:
Guys I need help
Scaramouche:
No
Kazuha:
What's the problem, Sherlock Holmes?
Heizou:
Why are you calling me that?
Kazuha:
For Halloween
Scaramouche:
Bitch it's fucking July
Kazuha:
Close enough
Heizou:
Okay William Shakespeare
Scaramouche:
What am I
Kazuha:
Queen of hearts. “Off with their head!”
Heizou:
The Grinch
Scaramouche:
Fuck you
Heizou:
When and where bbg
Scaramouche:
I'm glad you moved, I feel safe
Heizou:
Remember I can drive I'm coming for them cheeks
Heizou:
Okay back to my crisis
Heizou:
I have to go to a party.
Kazuha:
Fun!
Heizou:
No, Kazuha, not fun. Loud, crowded, overstimulating. And none of you are here to save me.
Kazuha:
I think you'll do just fine! I suggest buying earplugs, tune out the noise.
Scaramouche:
Just don't go
Heizou:
I like Scaras idea
Kazuha:
Scaramouche I will come rip out your hair stop giving bad advice
Scaramouche:
No
Heizou:
You should, his hairlines suffering anyway
Scaramouche:
You literally wake up looking electrocuted, learn what a comb is.
Heizou:
Mall. 5pm. We fight.
Scaramouche:
Not driving across town for all that.
Scaramouche:
I'm going to sleep I got a fucking summer college football game to go to bye gay bitch bye Kazuha
Heizou:
YOURE THE ONE WHOS DATED A MAN
—--
Scaramouche sighed, tossed his phone aside, and got ready for bed.
By late morning, regret had already set in. He should’ve never agreed to the game. Football had always been unbearable, and the college crowd wasn’t promising either.
He shuffled around his home, groggy and annoyed. He wasn’t even a fan of football, and the thought of spending an afternoon surrounded by loud, excited fans felt more like punishment than fun. Still, Signora had been persistent, and despite his better judgment, he’d caved.
A text blinked on his screen.
—
Signora:
You better not bail on me, Scara. I’ll be waiting at the entrance.
—
He rolled his eyes but typed a quick reply.
—
Scaramouche:
I’m coming, don’t get your hopes up
—
The sun was too bright, his mood too sour. It didn’t take long to find her, her pale hair was impossible to miss.
“There you are! I managed to buy us last minute tickets, Now what?” Signora spoke to him. “...You go to the fucking stadium did you by the tickets to hear the game from outside?” Scaramouche spat utterly astonished by her lack of common sense.
“Okay fuck you too then. Let's go.” Signora began to walk off to the stadium, Scaramouche unfortunately trailing behind.
It didn't take long for them to find their seats, and just in time for them to start announcing the players. “They never announced the players at our highschool.” Scaramouche thought aloud. “No shit, I wouldn't want everyone to know my team has a generational loss streak.” The blonde commented. “Real shit.”
Most of the names flew over their heads, before they both nearly choked on their own saliva.
“And now, this year’s rookie, Tartaglia!” the announcer boomed.
Scaramouche froze. His pulse spiked. The name echoed, followed by a face he’d spent years trying to forget.
On the screen: freckles across the big screen, grinning like he owned the place, chaos personified.
“No way,” he whispered, feeling heat rush to his face. His heart raced as if it had been yanked out of his chest. “What the actual, why is he here?”
His throat tightened as memories he’d tried to bury came flooding back, unwelcome and relentless. His ex. Here. At an arts school, of all places. He sank lower in his seat, trying to disappear, mortification written all over his face.
Just as Scaramouche tried to steady his breathing, a familiar voice sliced through the noise.
“Well, isn’t this a sight,” Signora smirked as she slipped into the seat next to him, her eyes immediately locking onto the screen where Tartaglia’s stupid, freckled face still grinned at the crowd. “Didn’t know he was playing this year.”
Scaramouche’s heart sank deeper. Of course, she would recognize him too. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned.
“It’s not every day you run into your high school ex, right?”
Scaramouche glared at her. “Can you not? This is already a nightmare.”
Signora chuckled, leaning back in her seat, clearly entertained by his distress. “Come on, Scara, you dated the guy for what, a year? This can’t be that bad.”
“Exactly. A year of my life that I’d prefer to forget,” Scaramouche muttered, his eyes flicking back to Tartaglia on the field. He felt his face burn as memories from high school flooded in, the late-night conversations, the arguments, the break-up that had been a mess of emotions neither of them had the maturity to handle.
Signora tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You really thought you’d never see him again?”
“Honestly? Yeah,” Scaramouche muttered. “He’s supposed to be on some military academy track or whatever, not showing up at an arts school.”
Signora hummed thoughtfully, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe he’s here for you.”
Scaramouche’s head snapped toward her. “Don’t even joke about that.”
She smirked. “Relax. But seriously, you’re not going to just sit here and pretend he doesn’t exist, are you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t need a reunion.”
Signora shook her head, still grinning. “Scaramouche, you and I both know He’s definitely going to come find you,” She leaned in a little closer, her tone more serious. "he always does."
“Is it too late to cancel my application and go to a school in Mondstadt?”
“You've got a dorm and class schedule already, you're trapped.” Signora stared down at him, finding amusement in his suffering.
“I'm going to kill myself.”
Signora suddenly squinted toward the field. “Is he...holy shit, he’s staring at us.”
Scaramouche followed her gaze, his heart sinking. Tartaglia was indeed staring straight at them, his ocean blue eyes locked on Scaramouche with that same cocky smirk that he’d always found infuriating.
“Oh my fucking Archons,” Scaramouche groaned, sliding further into his seat, practically half off the chair as he covered his face with both hands. “Why is this happening to me?”
Signora didn’t even bother to hide her amusement. “Oh, this is priceless. He’s totally staring at you, Scara. What are the odds?”
“Don’t. Even,” Scaramouche hissed from behind his hands. “I swear, if he comes over here after the game, I’m disappearing forever.” "Good luck with that.” Signora chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos unfolding. “You’re going to have to face him eventually. Might as well be now, right?”
Scaramouche peeked through his fingers, catching another glimpse of Tartaglia on the field. His stomach flipped as he realized the ginger was still watching them, eyes never leaving his. “I’m not ready for this,” he muttered, wishing for the millionth time that he could simply vanish into thin air.
The game dragged on, but Scaramouche barely paid attention. Every now and then, he’d peek through his fingers, hoping Tartaglia had shifted his focus. But each time, the ginger was still staring, even when he was supposed to be paying attention to the field.
“This is a nightmare,” Scaramouche muttered, sinking further down into the chair. “Why is he still looking at me?”
“Because you’re the one that got away, obviously,” Signora teased, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her hand as she watched Tartaglia's movements like it was the most entertaining thing she’d seen all week.
“I have a plan,” Scaramouche declared, finally removing his hands from his face. “The second the game is over, we get up and make a beeline for the exit.”
Signora’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “And you think that’ll work? Tartaglia’s probably got eyes on the exits too. It’s like you’re in a game of cat and mouse.”
Scaramouche shot her a look that could’ve melted glass. “If he catches me, I’m done for. I don’t need a dramatic reunion right now.”
The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game, and Tartaglia’s team was celebrating. Scaramouche’s heart was pounding as he scanned the area, trying to gauge how crowded it was at the exits.
“Alright, let’s make a move,” Scaramouche said, rising from his seat and grabbing his bag.
Signora followed, still smirking. “Good luck with that. I’m going to enjoy watching this unfold.”
Scaramouche darted through the crowd, his eyes darting around for any sign of Tartaglia. He and Signora navigated through the bustling arena, Scaramouche’s anxiety rising with every step. Just as they were about to reach the exit, a familiar voice called out behind them.
“Scaramouche! Hey, Scaramouche!”
Oh Archons, help me..