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The desert is quieter at night.
Not silent—never truly silent—but its noises were softer, almost peaceful, accompanied by the stars that stretch endlessly above him, scattered across the sky like a painting. Sethos should find it beautiful like he usually does, but something in his chest won't stop aching, which stops him from feeling anything.
He sighs, pulling his legs closer to his chest so he can rest his chin on his knees, the coldness of the desert biting his skin under his clothes, but he doesn't have it in him to care about it right now. He glances back up at the sky, the stars above being stubbornly bright, feeling like they're way too radiant for the darkness he feels consuming him right now.
Sethos decides to close his eyes and listen to the quietness surrounding him instead, hoping it will ease the ache he feels, but it doesn't work. The quiet around him is the kind that echoes, heightening the pain he feels.
He knows he shouldn't have left without a word after Cyno went through so much trouble to organize a surprise birthday party for him with the rest of the Sumeru crew, but it got too much for him to deal with.
He was having a good time, really. There was laughter, gifts, delicious food, and even a cake that was decorated beautifully, and he was surrounded by the people he cares about, but at some point during the party, he turned around to show his grandfather a gift that got him very excited—Alhaitham had gifted him a book that he has been looking for ages but couldn't get his hands on until that moment—and that's when it hit him: Bamoun isn't there anymore, and something in him cracked.
He thanked Alhaitham for the gift with a big smile that didn't reach his eyes, and then he waited for everyone to get distracted to slip out at the back so no one could try to stop him or ask what's wrong.
And now he’s here, in the middle of the desert, after letting his feet guide him without any thought, where he doesn't feel like he's suffocating or like his heart isn't being squeezed too much. Where no one can see how much he misses someone who isn’t coming back.
His fingers shakily curl slightly into the fabric of his pants as he exhales again. The wind brushes past his cheek, cold and dry, like the memory of a hand that used to rest there with so much warmth during his childhood.
He was sure that his grandfather's death didn't affect him as much as he had thought it would. He had come to terms with it before it happened, after all, so when Bamoun passed away, it didn't hurt as much. He was sad, yes, but he was doing just fine besides the emptiness he tried so hard to ignore. He was okay.
Or that's what he wanted to believe, at least.
He never actually had the time to sit down and process everything that happened because his life changed drastically overnight, and he became too busy trying to adapt to his new life and his responsibilities, so he suppressed his feelings as best as he could.
And he thought that had been enough. That if he kept moving forward, the ache would eventually fade into something dull and disappear. But tonight proves he's wrong. The ache is loud. Unbearably loud.
He bites the inside of his cheek and lets his head fall back so he can stare up at the stars again. Bamoun would have loved tonight’s sky because the constellations are so clear and easy to identify.
Sethos used to come here often with his grandfather to camp so they could stargaze together, especially when he was a child. Bamoun liked to point to each constellation and tell Sethos about them, patiently answering each of his excited questions or explaining things he didn't quite understand yet. Sethos had memorized everything he had been taught because he was so fascinated by all the information.
He still whispers the constellation’s names under his breath sometimes, like if he says them enough, maybe the emptiness in his heart will loosen.
It doesn't. It never does.
He searches for a familiar constellation. Bamoun’s favorite one. And he finds it—just there, a little above the horizon, the one his grandfather used to point out the most when they stargazed together. He can still hear his voice, hoarse with age and knowledge, telling him stories that only him as the leader of the Temple of Silence could know about.
He wishes he could hear that voice telling him those stories one more time, even if he can recite them from memory now.
Sethos' throat tightens, and he quickly looks away.
A soft crunch of sand reaches his ears shortly after. It's faint, careful, like whoever it is doesn’t want to scare him.
His heart stutters once at being caught like this, but he doesn’t startle. He doesn't even need to look to know who it is because he can feel it.
“So this is where you’re hiding, little bee.” Says a familiar voice, quiet and steady, not scolding or teasing like always, just... sincere with a hint of concern. Undeniably him.
Sethos squeezes his eyes shut. Of course, Scaramouche found him this time, just like he's always the one who finds him in his secret spots.
“I’m not hiding.” He murmurs after a while, opening his eyes but still not looking over. “Just… needed some fresh air.”
Scaramouche doesn’t say anything right away because he can tell Sethos needs time. He walks over, his footsteps soft against the sand. When he reaches Sethos, he just sits beside him, close enough that their arms nearly touch. His presence is grounding, alleviating the ache in his chest that was starting to spread all over his body.
The silence stretches over them without them pressing into it. They don't feel the need to. And somehow, the quietness feels different now. Not echoing anymore. Not hollow. Just starting to become warmer.
“You vanished from your own birthday party.” Scaramouche breaks the silence, his voice low. “The others are worried, you know? Cyno is halfway to blaming himself for pushing you into it.”
Sethos doesn’t respond right away to that comment, the guilt eating at him.
The stars blur slightly above him, but not from tears, not yet. It's from the weight in his chest that keeps pressing down, making it hard to breathe.
He swallows. “It’s not like I don't want to celebrate. I did. I still do. I was really happy, and I'm grateful to Cyno, but I… needed a break from it. I wasn’t trying to ruin anything.”
“I know.” Scaramouche’s voice is even, no edge to it. Even his eyes are softer now. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
Sethos draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, like he’s afraid if he speaks, the ache will spill out with everything else he’s been holding back for a while now.
“It just hit me.” He begins explaining, his voice barely above a whisper. “How much I miss him. How much I wanted him to be there tonight."
He pauses, and his voice drops again.
“I forgot about it for a second. One moment, I was smiling, excited about the book Alhaitham gifted me, and then… I turned around to show it to my grandfather and realized he’s not there anymore. He's never going to celebrate another birthday with me. And I just… I couldn’t stay after that.”
He presses a hand to his chest. The ache is still there, low and hollow, even if Scaramouche’s presence helps him feel better. “I thought I was over it. That I’d already grieved him and accepted his death. But I was wrong. It feels like part of me is missing."
Scaramouche nods in acknowledgment and only watches Sethos with a gaze that doesn’t demand anything. He just waits. Patient and understanding, with a gentleness only a few rarely get to see.
Then, finally, he speaks. “Maybe you accepted it. But grief isn’t something that you get over. It just… stays with you forever. But you learn how to deal with it.”
Sethos presses his lips together. His eyes sting now, and he blinks up at the sky to keep anything from falling. He searches again for the constellation—Bamoun’s favorite—and finds it in the same spot, feeling comforted by it as if it's his grandfather shining his light down on him. Scaramouche’s words help with dealing with the pain that felt overwhelming minutes ago.
“But you’re not alone anymore. You have people who care about you, and who can help you deal with the grief.” Scaramouche continues sincerely, leaning even closer to him.
Sethos hums softly, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky above as if anchoring himself with it. The ache is still there, yes, but it doesn't feel quite as sharp now. Doesn’t feel like it’s going to split him apart. Remembering that he's not alone in this feels freeing.
“... Does that include you?” He asks, voice hoarse. He’s trying to sound teasing, but it comes out soft, almost unsure.
“Hah.” Scaramouche scoffs, rolling his eyes at that, but there's a faint blush on his cheeks. “You think I’d come all the way here just because I felt like taking a walk in the desert in the middle of the night?”
Sethos huffs a breath that’s not quite a laugh but not quite a sob, either, but a tiny smile flickers at the corners of his mouth. He takes a deep breath, letting the comfortable silence settle over them again.
Having Scaramouche beside him makes everything better. His pain doesn't feel so isolating anymore.
“Thanks for coming after me.” He says eventually, not quite looking at him because he knows he will tear up again if he does.
Scaramouche shifts beside him, trying to school his expression into something unreadable, but there's a hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. He almost looks fond. “Tch. I wasn't going to let you brood alone in the middle of the desert on your birthday.”
Sethos snorts softly, knowing that's Scaramouche’s way of comforting him indirectly.
A beat passes. Then, in a quieter voice, Scaramouche adds. “Just… don’t disappear like that again. Not without telling someone first.”
And, without thinking, he reaches out, his hand hesitating mid-air before brushing lightly against Sethos’ knuckles with a tentative touch. He doesn't grab onto it, not yet. He just offers the touch, leaving the decision up to Sethos.
Sethos is surprised for a moment, glancing at him with wide eyes at such an intimate gesture, but he intertwines their fingers after he manages to compose himself. His cheeks feels warmer than seconds ago, and the cold doesn't bother him anymore.
Above them, the stars keep shining, as they always have. But with Scaramouche beside him, it doesn’t feel quite so cruel anymore.
He even thinks that they look beautiful now, like he usually does. They probably even look prettier to him right now.
Maybe he’ll go back to the party in a little while and apologize to everyone for leaving without saying anything and for making them worry. Maybe he'll even tell them that he wants to celebrate with them again, but for real this time.
But, for now, just for a moment longer, he lets himself just be in the moment.
Sethos leans even closer to Scaramouche to seek his warmth, letting their shoulders touch, and he rests his head onto it comfortably. The desert is still cold and the sky is still vast and bright, but it doesn’t feel so lonely anymore. And that’s enough for tonight.
Maybe this is how his healing journey begins.