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What is love, and how could he be sure he was even capable of feeling it?
That was a question he asked himself every day. How could he be so sure that his feelings weren't just some pre-programmed settings? How could he know that they were real? Were any of his feelings even real?
He knew what anger felt like - the sensation of his blood, or whatever the liquid in his body was, boiling. He also knew pain all too well. Well...how could he not? He had felt so much pain in his life - or rather, what he considered his existence, since he wasn’t truly alive. Not even a living being. But none of these feelings compared to 'love', right?
He hadn't even been meant to be created with feelings. He was a puppet. And usually puppets were meant to be guided completely by their puppeteer, weren’t they? He shouldn't even really have his own consciousness. All he was made for was to serve as a vessel for the Electro Archon, his creator. At least that had been the plan - until she had discarded him, as if he meant nothing.
And that happened because he had emotions. Because he’d shown weakness. Because he wasn’t as strong as she wanted him to be. But if emotions were a weakness, then love was the greatest weakness of all...
Once, he’d been told that when you love someone, just looking at them makes your heart beat faster. But when he looked at Childe, his chest remained calm. Too calm. He didn’t feel any vibration. He didn’t feel his pulse speeding up. But then again, he didn’t have a heart, nor a pulse. So how could he know?
People often said, “They feel it in their heart,” or talked about “conquering hearts.” But how could one conquer a heart without even possessing one?
Others said you needed to learn how to love, that love and trust didn’t come naturally without effort. He knew he trusted Childe. Even too much, perhaps. But was that equal to loving him? No, not at all.
All of this was such a strange and unfamiliar concept to him. Something he had never even wasted a thought on before. He hadn't even considered it relevant. At least not until he had met Childe...
He slowly opened his eyes. The room was almost pitch-black, the only light coming from the moon casting faint shadows on the opposite wall. He could feel two warm arms around him from behind, holding him close as if they could shield him from every danger in the world. He had noticed before - whenever they slept, Childe would instinctively pull him closer without even realizing it.
Scaramouche only noticed it on nights like this one, when he tried everything and still couldn’t fall asleep. Not that he needed sleep, but his system still seemed to require rest sometimes. Over time, he had gotten used to spending the nights close to Childe. But whatever he tried, often his mind was plagued with doubts, keeping him from even closing one eye.
Still, he tried not to move. Childe was holding him so tightly that even the smallest shift could wake him up. He didn’t want that. He knew Childe would just start to worry or even ask questions. Childe was always worried. Sometimes, it seemed exaggerated, almost out of character for him - at least for those who only saw his brutal side. The ones who never saw him as the caring older brother he could be, the one who would do anything to make a smile appear on the faces of his little siblings.
Once, Scaramouche had asked him why he worried so much about him. After all, he wasn’t one of his siblings, not even related. Childe had simply answered: Because I care.
There had been more than one occasion when Scaramouche questioned him - why he did certain things, why he was always there, why he was so nice to him. And every time, he got the same response.
"I care."
But what did 'care' even mean? Was it the same as love? You only cared for people with whom you had some kind of connection, right? But Childe helped everyone, even those he didn’t particularly care about. So maybe he wasn’t that special after all.
Ugh, he didn't want to hear him say those words ever again. Childe said them so often that they felt meaningless now - just like all the other empty compliments humans threw around without really meaning them. Humans were always trying to manipulate each other, even through words meant to comfort. It was rare for such words to be genuine.
It was almost as if these two words didn't even belong in Scaramouche's vocabulary. They stood right beneath love, their meaning nothing but a void - Destined to never be filled, while at the same time impatiently waiting to finally find a meaning.
He tensed when he felt a small movement beside him, already fearing that he had woken Childe after all. But Childe only seemed to turn over in his sleep, his arm tightening around Scara’s waist, pulling him even closer until his head rested just beside Childe’s chest.
He could hear his heartbeat. A slow, steady pulse. He had heard it race before, when they were sparring, when Childe was out of breath. But did it speed up when he looked at him? When he thought of him?
Scaramouche didn’t know.
No. He had to stop. Now he wasn’t just questioning his own feelings - he was questioning Childe’s, too. But Childe loved him. He had said it before. So it had to be true… right?
"Scara..."
He was pulled from his thoughts when a sleepy, sluggish voice whispered his name. Great. So he had woken him after all…
"What's wrong? Why aren't you sleeping?" Childe opened his eyes further, letting out a small yawn. Even in the darkness and his back turned to him, Scaramouche could picture his blueish eyes shimmering.
"It's...nothing" He murmured. "Go back to sleep."
He barely had time to react before Childe shifted, rolling him over with ease until they were face to face. He stretched out his hand to softly caress his cheek with his thumb. The slow, gentle movement was unexpectedly soothing, and Scaramouche felt something inside him loosen - something he hadn’t even realized was tense in the first place. Unconsciously he leaned into the touch. The feeling of Childe's warm fingers on his cold skin was strangely comforting for him. But the moment he noticed what he was doing, he stiffened.
Childe didn’t stop. If anything, he seemed to have noticed. "I know it's not nothing," he whispered, voice gentle but laced with tiredness. "Talk to me, Scara. What's keeping you awake?"
Silence settled between them, thick and almost suffocating. Scaramouche’s thoughts tangled in his mind, words slipping away before he could shape them into something coherent. He didn’t want Childe to worry - but it was too late for that now, wasn’t it? He hesitated for another second. What would Childe think of his doubts? How could he explain it to him?
"What does loving someone feel like?" He hated how vulnerable the question sounded to his own ears. But now it was too late to take it back. What was said, had been said.
Childe’s hand froze mid-motion, the slow circles he had been tracing on Scaramouche’s cheek coming to a halt. He slowly withdrew his hand, turning onto his back. He crossed his arms beneath his head and stared at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought. For once, Scaramouche had caught him off-guard.
"Well..." He started, his voice was softer than usual - something genuine laced within the clear sleepiness. "The first thought when you wake up and the last thought before you sleep belongs to them. No matter what you do, you can’t get them out of your head. Whenever you're apart, you can't stop thinking about them... worrying, because you know you aren’t there to protect them."
Scaramouche took a moment to process what he had just said before asking "You feel that way about me?" His voice was tinged with skepticism - maybe even a hint of hope.
"Yes" Childe’s answer came without the slightest bit of hesitation. "Yes, I do."
He pondered over his words, the room falling into silence once again. The only sound to be heard was Childe's calm, slow and regular breathing. Scaramouche wanted to scoff, brush it off as one of those meaningless words he had heard before. But something inside him stopped him. The certainty in Childe’s voice unsettled him. Childe had spoken with so much affection.
"When did you realize that you loved me?" he asked instead, as if out of nowhere.
Childe let out a small chuckle. "What is this? An interrogation?" He sighed, leaning back against the pillow. His voice still carried a hint of sleepiness, reminding Scaramouche that he had unfortunately woken him - and that it was still the middle of the night.
Scaramouche shot him a glare before shrugging it off. "Just…answer the question." His fingers twitched slightly, clenching and unclenching against the sheets. The impatience in his tone was clear, but underneath it lurked something else - uncertainty, doubt, maybe even a bit of hope.
He was so unsure what to think and feel anymore. He hated how much this was bothering him. How much he was clinging to the hope that whatever Childe would reply, it maybe would make it easier for him. That it would mean something.
"Okay, okay" Childe relented, amusement laced in his voice, though he seemed to recognize the actual weight of the situation. "Honestly, I don't really know when it happened. I just remember seeing you for the first time - maybe at a banquet or something? We didn’t even talk. I had just become a Harbinger. But I saw you. Your indigo hair, the way you used your hat to hide your face... and then, for just a second, our eyes met, and-"
"That sounds like something out of a stupid fairytale," Scaramouche interrupted, scoffing. He couldn't believe that this really was the moment when Childe realised his feelings. It sounded too unrealistic. Too perfect. He hadn’t even known him back then. Childe had had no idea who he was or maybe just knew him as one of the Harbingers because of his reputation.
"You asked, and I answered. It's the truth, Scara" Even in the darkness, he could imagine the smirk on Childe’s face; he knew his tone too well. "And fairytales aren’t stupid. There’s always a bit of truth in them." He added, his voice a little more defensive.
Scaramouche exhaled slowly. The way Childe described it - it almost sounded like love at first sight. But that was ridiculous. That didn’t happen in real life. It was a fantasy, a meaningless illusion.
…Or was he just seeing it from the wrong perspective?
"But… how?" His voice was quieter now, filled with raw disbelief. "How could you have fallen in love with me - when you didn’t even know who I was?"
They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling. The silence between them stretched out once again. He guessed that it had started to snow outside, because he could hear the quiet, rhythmic sound of the snowdrops at the window. But each drop sounded heavier in his ears than the last. Just as heavy as his thoughts. It almost hurt his ears.
"You sound as if you think it's impossible," Childe mused, a small chuckle escaping his lips.
"Because it is impossible," Scaramouche snapped back, frustration creeping into his voice. His fingers curled deeper into the fabric of the sheets without him even realizing it. He hated this. He had been so sure Childe’s words would help, that they would ease his doubts - but instead, they just stirred up even more questions his mind couldn't stop circling around.
"No, not at all!" Childe protested, shifting slightly so he could lay more comfortably, his head against the bed frame. "It’s true, I didn’t know who you really were back then. But I just… fell in love."
Scaramouche turned his head slightly, his eyes tracing the faint outline of Childe’s face in the dim light. Oh, how he wished he could actually believe him. How he wished his doubts would just disappear - like magic, like in those fairytales Childe seemed so fond of. Just a snap of the fingers, and everything would make sense. But life wasn’t that easy. Especially not his. If it even counted as a life at all.
"But why me?" The words spilled out before he could stop them, breaking whatever fragile control he still had left. "I'm not even human. You can’t even be sure I have feelings at all, and—" The wall he had carefully built around himself - around these thoughts, these fears - had cracked. And now, it seemed as if it could no longer withstand the weight of those cracks.
Before he could say more, he felt an arm slip around him from behind, pulling him closer until his head rested on Childe’s shoulder. A finger pressed gently to his lips, silencing him before he could retort.
"No." Childe said firmly, not giving him any more room for doubts. "You know this is nonsense."
The finger that had quieted him now brushed against his cheek again. Scaramouche’s skin tingled under the touch—whether it was because of the warmth of Childe’s finger or the coldness of his own skin, he couldn’t tell. It felt strange, but at the same time welcome.
"But-"
"Scara, listen", Childe's voice had shifted to a more sterner tone - one Scaramouche never had never heard from him before. He was usually more composed, often even playful, but now, there was a hidden intensity behind his words. It almost startled him. "I know you have feelings - emotions, whatever you want to call it. You like to deny it, but we both know it's true. You aren't as soulless as you try to make yourself appear."
"How can you be so sure?" Scaramouche raised his voice, a muscle in his jaw twitching uncontrollably. He buried his fingers deeper into the sheets, clenching them into fists. His whole body seemed to tense under the weight of it all.
"Scara." The way Childe said his name made him pause and he finally forced himself to turn in his direction. There was something in the way he said it - so much warmth, so much affection. The kind of voice that managed to break through all of his defences with ease.
"Why are you even asking me that?" Childe’s voice was soft. He was watching him with a smile on his face - not the mocking, evil grin Scaramouche had seen so often on countless other faces, but one that spoke more than a thousand words. It was a smile full of care... and something else. Something deeper. Could that be true?
"If you really didn’t have any feelings, you wouldn’t be worried about them in the first place," he murmured, tilting his head to the side. "Because you know, worry is a feeling, just like any other too."
Scaramouche clenched his fists tighter. He wanted to argue back, to tell him that he was wrong and that this proved nothing. But he couldn't. Because he knew that Childe in fact wasn't wrong. He could feel the pressure of his worries on his chest, almost crushing him with their force. The doubts that clung to him and had much more control over him than he wanted to admit. They were feelings ... weren't they?
"I know that it is! I'm not stupid!" Scaramouche hissed, even more defensive than before. His tone was sharp, his words struck like small blades. But they weren't aimed at Childe. No, they were fully aimed at himself.
Childe was right. He knew he was worried at the moment - actually, he was so damn worried. But agreeing with Childe's words was just as difficult as accepting that he was right. Maybe even worse than that. It was a part of himself that he had never quite tried to accept and that had mostly always remained untouched. Just a thought in the back of his mind that he usually pushed aside and that only sometimes came up on nights like this one.
"Scara..." There was that soothing, calm tone again. Childe hadn't flinched at all at his sudden outburst, instead he just stayed where was, his expression soft.
Scaramouche couldn't decide if he wanted to strangle Childe right now with the pillow or lean more in his arms, hoping the other never would let go of him again. Rather the second...
"Your emotions - your feelings are real. I know they are." Childe’s voice was quieter now, but not any less certain. "And even if you aren't a human, this also doesn't change anything about my feelings for you. It never has."
"Why would you-" He started, but the words died on his tongue as Childe's hand suddenly cupped his cheek, gently turning his head toward him. They were close. Too close. He could feel Childe's warm breath on his skin, he could see the way his chest was rising and sinking steadily - maybe a bit faster than before?
"Why would I what?" Childe questioned, his voice only a soft whisper. "Love you?"
His fingers wandered to Scaramouche's chin, tilting it up just enough so their eyes locked. Scaramouche couldn't spot the usual firm and confident look in his eyes. It was replaced by a softness that only he could see sometimes, full of quiet admiration and affection. A softness that almost made him forget his doubts in an instant - well, only almost.
"You never need a reason to love someone, you just...do it," he continued, his stare not any less intense.
Childe's gaze flickered lower. Just a little bit down his face. Lingering on his lips. Then in an instant Childe's eyes drifted up again, meeting Scaramouche's. A silent question within them. Scaramouche couldn’t move, frozen in place by something far stronger than just doubt. The air in the room felt strangely pressing, like an invisible weight laying on his shoulders.
He nodded. Barely.
It was such a small movement, but Childe didn’t hesitate for even a second more. He leaned in, closing the last bit of distance between them and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Scaramouche’s eyes fluttered shut the moment they collided, his body instinctively leaning towards him. Childe felt so warm, grounding, safe, making him wish this would never end.
Too soon, Childe pulled away again, though their faces still remained close. His hand still rested on Scaramouche’s cheek, fingers warm against the bare skin.
Something strange yet undeniable spread through Scaramouche's chest and seemed to travel slowly through his whole body. It tingled under his skin, a warmth he couldn't explain, a feeling too real to ignore. It was almost as if his mind couldn't contain the force of the emotions coursing through him.
When he opened his eyes again, he blinked dazed. His mind was struggling to comprehend the moment. It wasn't as if he'd never kissed Childe before. He had - so many times. Their kisses had been longer and more intense, too. But this one... this one had been different. It had been with so many... emotions.
His feelings felt real. So real that he felt like he could pluck them right out of the air. This couldn't be some pre-programmed state in his head. It simply couldn't be.
"So, can we both agree now that you do, in fact, have feelings?" Childe teased, voice light but eyes unwavering. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from Scaramouche’s face.
Maybe it didn’t matter if he had a heart. Maybe what he felt was enough. Maybe it had always been enough. Maybe his inhumanity never had mattered. At least it clearly never had mattered to Childe...
Somehow, Childe always managed to make Scara feel better - no, not just better. His words weren't just the kind of words that were comforting one time and then lost all their meaning the next. No, his words were the kind of words that, once you heard them, stuck in your head and would never go away, no matter what he tried. A hopeless case - and yet somehow full of hope.
"You're a big idiot." The bite in his voice had softened, hesitation lingering in the way his fingers twitched against Childe’s shirt. Like he was still debating whether to pull away or lean further in. But in the end, he sighed, giving in. He buried his face just a little closer to Childe - against his chest, right over his heart. Childe took the hint without a word, wrapping his arms around him, holding him steady.
"An idiot who loves you." Childe murmured.
...
The silence that followed was a rare, peaceful one. Scaramouche finally allowed himself to actually enjoy the embrace. The warmth. The lulling feeling of security that came with it.
Right now, he couldn't care less that he wasn't a human. That he didn't have a heart. That he wasn't made to love. Because in Childe’s arms, he felt something close to it. A sense of humanity.
A ridiculous thought. Nonsense.
He didn't want to be a human. He had told himself that for so long. Humans were weak, foolish creatures, they weren’t any better than gods. Which to be fair wasn't unexpected. And yet, tonight he couldn't shake off the feeling of humanity. The thought somehow clung to him.
What if he was a human? Would everything be different then?
No, no...no. He didn't want that. He didn't want to be one of them. Why had this thought even crossed his mind? He had literally buried it for centuries. Right next to his entire faith in humanity. But maybe Childe was actually capable of shaking his entire world view...
"Now that we’ve cleared everything up, how about we actually get some sleep?" Childe’s voice was laced with exhaustion, despite his best efforts to hide it. He did a terrible job at that. "Unless, of course, you prefer staring holes in the wall while clinging to me like your life depends on it." He added, his lips curving up.
"Ugh, don't ruin it" Scaramouche scowled, briefly considering to pull away. A small part of his mind still told him that it was the right thing to do. But his heart told him otherwise. So he just stayed where he was and didn't move an inch.
"Ruin what?" Childe let out a small chuckle.
"My patience with you" he retorted, but they both knew that wasn't true. Childe had indeed been the one who had been so patient with him that night. No, not just that night, but almost always. At least whenever he used his brain and didn't let his recklessness get the better of him. And Scaramouche had definitely learned to be patient with Childe too, or at least he was starting to learn how to be patient with him. But his teasing sometimes just hit the wrong nerve.
Childe's laugh filled the quiet room. It was such a warm, welcoming and genuine sound. Maybe he actually liked hearing it... but only in situations when Childe wasn't using his laugh to make fun of him. The other leaned in, whispering. "Just call it training."
Scaramouche rolled his eyes. That was all the response Childe was getting. But he felt himself actually relax. Some of his worries were still there, but so far away in his mind that it felt like they were completely irrelevant in that moment. However, it was only a matter of time before they probably would haunt him again... But for today, this conversation had eased his mind. Childe had eased his mind.
"Goodnight" Scaramouche mumbled.
"Night, Scara" He got as reply. Childe’s voice sounded as if he was about to fall asleep any second. "Next time you can't sleep, just wake me up directly."
They both knew he wouldn't do that. As always, his stubbornness would stop him.
Scaramouche listened as Childe’s breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. His heart no longer beat faster, even when he was near him - not that it really mattered. It was more of a mental note that he made.
He stared at him for a long moment. With his eyes closed, Childe radiated a calmness that he usually never did. His ginger locks looked a little more disheveled than usual. His cheeks were slightly flushed - Scaramouche wondered why.
Then, suddenly, before he could overthink it, he whispered, "Childe?"
A soft, sleepy hum in response and Childe opened his eyes again briefly.
"I...love you." The words felt foreign on his tongue. But also, somehow, right.
A silence hung in the air. Then, beneath the blankets, fingers curled around his own, softly intertwining their hands. A small comforting squeeze of his hand and a drowsy chuckle. "Bout time."
Scaramouche scowled, already regretting saying anything. But before he could snap back, Childe murmured, even softer, "I love you too."
For once, Scaramouche let the words sink in. He was tired. So tired. It seemed as if now that the tension was gone, all the exhaustion would suddenly fall on him without mercy.
Finally, he closed his heavy eyelids, letting himself sink into Childe’s warmth and security. His arm around him tightened slightly. The thoughts in his head finally were quiet and for the first time in a while, sleep came easily and fast.