Chapter Text
This was it.
This was the end.
He was definitely going to die from the impending encounter.
Why did the Gods hate him so much?
“Told ya so~” Signora sang, her tone full of smug amusement.
“Signora, shut the hell up,” Scaramouche hissed, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.
Just then, Tartaglia’s voice rang out, far too close for comfort. “Hey! I almost lost you!”
Scaramouche flinched as Tartaglia jogged up to them, stopping right in front of the duo with that infuriatingly enthusiastic smile. “Tartaglia…” Scaramouche muttered, his voice low as he stubbornly avoided meeting his ex’s intense gaze.
“Hi, Childe. It’s been a while,” Signora chimed in smoothly, clearly enjoying herself.
“Hi, Signora!” Tartaglia replied, flashing her a friendly grin before his eyes drifted back to Scaramouche, still clearly waiting for something more.
Scaramouche swallowed, wishing for the ground to swallow him instead.
“It’s been a while. How are you doing?” Tartaglia asked, his voice softening as he focused on the smaller male.
Scaramouche kept his eyes trained on the ground, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Fine,” he muttered, barely audible.
Tartaglia frowned slightly, clearly picking up on the tension but not sure how to ease it. “Glad to hear it,” he said, his usual cheerfulness dimming as he realized just how awkward this encounter had become.
Signora, sensing the tension but too entertained to let it slip away, gave Scaramouche a light nudge. “Come on, Scara. Don’t make it weird.”
Tartaglia’s expression softened, his playful demeanor fading. “Look, I didn’t mean to make this hard for you. I just... wanted to see how you’ve been.” His voice was quieter now, more serious. “I thought we could at least say hi after everything.”
Scaramouche shifted uncomfortably, torn between wanting to bolt and the genuine look in Tartaglia’s eyes. He finally glanced up, meeting Tartaglia’s gaze for the first time, though it was brief. "Yeah, well, you’ve seen me. I’m fine. So…"
The awkward silence stretched for a moment before Tartaglia took a small step closer. "I get it. This is weird. But maybe we don’t have to leave things like this? We could grab a coffee sometime, talk it out?" His tone was hopeful, but Scaramouche could hear the uncertainty underneath.
Scaramouche blinked, unsure how to respond. Part of him wanted to refuse, to keep the wall between them, but another part of him—one he hated to admit existed—was curious. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe. I’ll think about it."
Tartaglia gave a small, tentative smile. “That’s all I ask.”
Tartaglia sighed softly, backing off a little. “No rush. I’ll let you go for now, but seriously—hit me up whenever.”
With that, Tartaglia gave him a final nod before turning to leave, disappearing into the crowd.
“Now that wasn’t so bad was it?”
“It was absolute 17th century European torture. Let’s get out of here.”
Signora chuckled amused, following close behind him. “Not gonna for where your dorm is? School starts next week y’know.” Signora spoke up as they maneuvered their way through the leaving crowd.
“Not in the mood for that anymore.”He snapped, shoving past someone to make it to the entrance of the parking lot.
“I need to pack for my trip, and you should probably start getting ready for college,” Signora said, halting on the sidewalk.
“Don’t remind me!”
“You’re already on fucking campus.”
“That doesn’t matter!”
“ You are so special sometimes.”
The two went their separate ways, Scaramouche resisting the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel as he drove back home.
—-
Scaramouche:
I need help
Heizou:
Mental help, we know, I’m so proud of you for accepting it
Kazuha:
You shoved me earlier :(
Heizou:
HE WHAT
Scaramouche:
Oh shit that was you okay anyway
Scaramouche:
Tartaglia goes to our college.
Heizou:
Man alive
Kazuha:
Tartaglia doesn’t seem like the type to go to an arts school
Scaramouche:
Yeah but hes playing for the fucking football team and chased me down and I agreed to go catch up w him
Heizou:
Man alive
Heizou:
Why would you agree to tht you know damn well getting back tgthr w ur ex is never a good idea
Kazuha:
I am surprised you didn’t say “no” for once
Scaramouche:
I was panicking and wanted to go away stfu
Scaramouche:
And youve been saying man alive since middle school wtf does it even mean
Heizou:
Man alive = man alive
Kazuha:
It is an expression of surprise
Kazuha:
Do you plan to actually meet up with Tartaglia?
Scaramouche:
No, but he goes to our fucking school he’ll confront me damn it
Heizou:
Meet up n keep everything strictly platonic don’t even bring up the past if he does be vague and switch the topic you pick the meet up spot so you can be more comfortable then you can js be acquaintances at school yknow like a nod in the hallway, if he wants to meet up he clearly isn’t upset w u or anything
Scaramouche:
Oh my Archons, you can actually give good advice?
Kazuha:
I’m also surprised, you’re always foolish
Heizou:
PARDON?
Kazuha:
I suggest getting this over with as soon as possible
Scaramouche:
Will u go undercover n make sure im safe
Kazuha:
That was a one time thing
Scaramouche:
Fucker
Scaramouche:
Thanks for the advice ig
Heizou:
Aww look at you being all soft, you’re very welcome
Kazuha:
Man alive
Heizou:
Dont steal my line grrrr 👹
—
Scaramouche sighed, shifting into a sitting position on the couch. Reluctantly, he opened Instagram and navigated to the blocked users section.
He clicked on Tartaglia's profile, briefly noticing the new posts but choosing to ignore them. Instead, he unblocked him and prepared to send a message.
It really didn’t help that their last conversation had been an argument right before the breakup.
–
Kuni_ku:
Hi
–
He groaned as the “typing…” bubble appeared instantly.
–
Tartarsauce:
Hi!
Kuni_ku:
Why did you change your username to tartar sauce.
Tartarsauce:
I don't know
Kuni_ku:
..Okay
Kuni_ku:
Do you want to meet up at that one cat cafe
Tartarsauce:
Sure!
Tartarsauce:
Tomorrow at 9am?
Kuni_ku:
You know I hate mornings.
Tartarsauce:
Alright I’ll make time just for you, 3pm.
Kuni_ku:
Okay.
Kuni_ku:
Bye.
–
Scaramouche immediately shut off his phone, placing his head into his hands.
“Just for you..”
“You have got to be kidding me..” He mumbled out feeling the heat rush to his face, he hated every second of this.
Hated how his literal ex is treating him so nicely.
Hated how said ex was going to his college, the place that was supposed to be his fresh start.
He especially hated how after a whole year, that stupid ginger could still give him unfamiliar feelings that made him want to die in a hole.
The next day came quicker than he would’ve liked. By the time 3 pm. rolled around, Scaramouche found himself standing outside the café, heart racing despite his best efforts to stay calm.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, the soft chime of the bell signaling his arrival. The familiar scent of coffee and the low hum of cats meowing filled the air, reminding him painfully of how often he and Tartaglia used to come here.
And there he was—Tartaglia, already seated at a small table near the window, a warm smile spreading across his face the second he saw Scaramouche.
“Hey, you made it,” Tartaglia greeted, waving him over.
“Yeah.” He sat down, resting his phone on the table. “So... how’ve you been?” Tartaglia asked, breaking the silence. His voice was casual, but there was a hint of genuine concern behind it.
“Fine,” Scaramouche said quickly, staring down at the menu as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He could feel Tartaglia’s eyes on him, though, and it was making him uncomfortable. “Just fine?” Tartaglia pressed gently.
“Am I supposed to say anything else?” Scaramouche snapped, shooting weak daggers at the male in front of him. Tartaglia only gave a weak smile as the server walked over to take their orders.
“I’ll have that limited summer drink and some apple cinnamon rolls.” The ginger told the waitress.
“Chicken wrap with a black coffee.” Scaramouche spat.
The lady quickly left, leaving the two men in their small corner of the cat cafe.
“Why’d you want to catch up?” Scaramouche asked, breaking the silence that hung between them. His voice was tense, filled with suspicion.
Tartaglia hesitated for a moment, his usual confident demeanor faltering. “It’s been a while, and I saw you at the game so...” He trailed off, avoiding Scaramouche’s cold, calculating gaze. It was as if Scaramouche was trying to dissect his thoughts, searching for some hidden agenda.
“That really doesn’t answer my question, you’re a shit liar.” Scaramouche sighed, rubbing his temple. “ “...I know we ended off pretty badly, but... when I saw you there, it just brought back a lot of memories. I guess I wanted to see if we could…” A brief pause. “Fix things? Or at least let me apologize, I don’t know.”
“You think drinking coffee will fix things?” Scaramouche scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “No, not at all.” Tartaglia ran a hand through his hair. “I really just want to apologize and make things right,” He looked him in the eye. “I’m not asking for a second chance, I know I messed up. But I want to make it right.”
“And if it can’t be fixed or made right? If I want nothing to do with you?”
Tartaglia’s gaze faltered for a moment, and he let out a slow breath. “Then I’ll accept that,” he said quietly, his voice more subdued than before. “If you want nothing to do with me, I won’t push. But I just didn’t want things to end the way they did, with both of us hating each other.”
Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening. “Hate? You think I hate you?” He leaned forward, his voice sharper now. “If I hated you, I would’ve told you off back at the game.”
“Then what is it?”
Scaramouche opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.
What was it? What did he feel towards Tartaglia?
Was it frustration? Definitely.
Anger? Of course.
He was certain he didn’t still love the boy, archons no—not after everything. Not after the arguments, the painful silence, the way they tore each other apart piece by piece. He couldn't possibly still love him.
Yet, he couldn’t ignore the tight knot in his stomach or the way his pulse quickened when Tartaglia’s gaze met his. Those lingering feelings he’d shoved into the back of his mind, the ones he’d sworn were long gone—crept back in without permission.
Scaramouche scowled, running a hand through his hair, refusing to acknowledge the butterflies he had felt on his way here. He wasn’t some lovesick teenager anymore.
Tartaglia was watching him closely, waiting for something—an answer, maybe, or at least a sign of what was going on behind the cold, guarded expression he adored.
“I don’t know what it is.” Scaramouche admitted.
Just then their food arrived and after briefly thanking the server, they were put into silence once again.
“What do you want from me, Tartaglia?” Scaramouche spoke up, breaking the silence.
“Nothing, I just want to try and make things right, I don’t want to leave things how we left them, Scara.” He responded, never breaking eye contact.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The low hum of the cafe filled the silence, the soft meows of cats padding around them barely registering in Scaramouche’s mind. He was too focused on the storm of emotions swirling inside him—emotions he thought he’d buried long ago.
Finally Scaramouche spoke: “I’ll think about it, forgiving you.”
Tartaglia perked up with a smile, a curve of his lips unlike his usual dorky and cocky confidence. It was pure and genuine. “That’s all I ask.”
I’m not making any promises,” Scaramouche warned, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Don’t expect you to,” Tartaglia replied softly. “As long as we’re not enemies .”
Scaramouche let out a short, bitter laugh. “Enemies? You think I’ve spent the last year thinking about you like that?”
Tartaglia blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking.”
“Good,” Scaramouche smirked. “I like to be unpredictable.”
“Y’know, Scara..” Tartaglia started. “You’ve really calmed down since high school.”
“..What do you mean?”
Tartaglia’s grin softened. “You’ve changed, you know. Calmer. Still sharp as ever, but… softer around the edges. It suits you.”
“It’s different, but it suits you.” He gave him a small, but genuine smile with the tilt of the head.
He hated that his face burned at Tartaglia’s smile.