Chapter Text
Saturday, October 4.
Lumine’s party — Scaramoche recognized the name from overheard gossip — was what everyone had been talking about all month, and probably what everyone would be talking about for a few weeks more until everyone moved on to the next party. Scaramouche wasn’t fond of parties, no matter how much he enjoyed alcohol and cigarettes after a long week. That was, of course, because he hadn't gotten an invite, a text nor even an affirmation assuring him that he was welcome there, which, speaking frankly, he probably wasn't. Thankfully, he wasn’t outright rejected and screamed to leave, which calmed that little voice telling him that that was exactly what would happen the moment he went through those fancy gates. Nonetheless, he had gone to the party. A fairly big one too, next to the only mall their damned town had, with shiny LED lights draped over the external walls, ABBA playing in the background, and the smell of weed and alcohol — both things Scara was fond of, but also the loud music that pierced his ears and people laughing too loud — both things Scara was not fond of, and outright hated.
The only reason why he had agreed to come to the party in the first place was because of Kazuha, his current boyfriend, who was a pretty nice guy — nice enough to date anyway, even if he was high most of their time together, which wasn’t long. He didn't even remember how they had started dating because he was high too (courtesy of Kazuha’s joints), but he didn't mind. He enjoyed reading the poems Kazuha wrote about him, although he didn't feel like he deserved those words. He couldn’t quite grasp what they meant. Maybe they meant something he hadn't discovered yet. Was he allowed to try to understand them, or was it just supposed to be natural? Something you were born with, maybe?
They hadn't even gotten inside the house when Kazuha told him to wait there for a second outside on the porch. He stood there for a while, maybe a minute or two until Kazuha returned with a drink on two red plastic cups, offering one to him too. Beer, he guessed by how it looked. He didn't really like it but kept silent since Kazuha looked tense. He locked eyes with Scara, awkwardly fidgeting with his drink. Scara returned the look expectantly, silently telling him to start talking. When Kazuha hesitated before talking, Scara knew what the next words would be.
"We should break up."
It would be a lie to say that he had been expecting it. Nevertheless, he had guessed it in the last ten seconds of the relationship, which was still better than not knowing at all. He slowly nodded once to indicate that he was waiting for an explanation. He thought he had been a pretty okay boyfriend: he read the poetry, smoked the weed and occasionally started the make outs. What else could Kazuha ask of him?
"I suppose you want an explanation.” Scara nodded, and Kazuha inhaled like he was preparing to let something off his chest. “Somehow, my words can’t reach you, no matter how much I try. Have you, perhaps, built a wall so tall around you that no one can see what’s inside? Can you see what’s outside? Don’t mistake my words, since I can see the frown on your face when you read my declarations of love, dearest: you cannot comprehend those because they can’t reach what’s inside you, if… There even is something inside." When he finished, he exhaled, as if the words had blurted out naturally.
The bright lights reflected on his hair, casting a warm look even when the air was cold. Scara fixed his eyes on the red strand of his hair, the one that looked like it had stolen all of the color from Kazuha: pale face, pale eyes and pale soul. Maybe it had stolen all the color from him too. His words flowed like poetry from a book Scara was unable to understand, a book he hadn't even read. Wasn't it nice, having a poet for a boyfriend? He had always loved how Kazuha was able to talk — as if the words came just by breathing. Life had to be easier that way, when only those like you could understand you, and you could discard those who couldn’t.
Scaramouche nodded and looked away, not knowing what to say. How did you react when your boyfriend broke up with you at the start of a party you didn't want to go to?
"Are you high?" Were the only words that he could muster.
Kazuha gasped and, to Scara's surprise, looked genuinely hurt, so that was probably a no. He muttered a few words that he never thought he would hear from a poet and stomped away, entering the party, making it clear that Scara wasn't welcome there after all. Maybe he should’ve stayed home, avoiding the party and everything that came with it. Sadly, the real world wasn’t like that, and the breakup would’ve arrived nevertheless, party or not. It was written in Kazuha’s face, now that he thought about it: it was always meant to happen, they weren’t the starstruck lovers Kazuha hoped for, anyway.
He sat down on the backyard stairs: the ones that were slightly scruffy with overgrown grass on the sides, and picking on a dandelion that was growing alone, he watched as everyone came in and out. He grabbed his phone and texted Mona, asking her if she could pick him up, since he had probably lost his only ticket way home. He sighed and looked at his almost gone drink. When did he even drink it? He couldn’t remember the exact moment, but felt the bitterness of the drink in his mouth. He thought he liked poetry and books, but, at his core, he felt relieved. He wasn't even able to understand the words that came out of Kazuha's mouth most of the time. He probably wasn't made to be a poet. Or be around poets. He decided at that exact same moment that he hated poetry. Hate was something he knew and had mastered, unlike poetry.
A few minutes passed like that: people walking around him and not even sparing a glance at him, all busy with their own teenager problems. It didn't matter, he had never talked to anyone there except for the occasional shouting match in the hallways, mostly with the rugby team, sometimes with the rugby team admirers. He felt like a loser, but how else were you supposed to feel when you were a loser?
After a while, his drink was now empty and his fingers were getting numb from the cold. Who even threw a party like that in October? It would be slightly more understandable if they lived in the south, maybe, but they didn’t. The temperature had quickly dropped since late September. It just felt silly. The cold air made him shiver and want to go home, so he just clutched his glass tighter and breathed in and out. Hopefully, Mona would see his texts and retrieve him from the party soon enough like his knight in shining armor.
When the sounds of the people started to blend in with the music — which was Paramore, way better than ABBA — and he could only hear them from an open window, he overheard some shouting. A girl yanked the back door open, startling Scara and almost tripping when she hopped off the three steps, completely ignoring Scara's presence, seemingly not even noticing it.
She was wearing a long mauve mermaid dress, her blonde hair tied back in a bun with a few strands sticking out. Her face looked flushed and he could see a few droplets of water… Tears, probably, near her eyes. They looked glassy and her expression looked painful. He faintly recognized her from school, but had never bothered to actually talk to her. Somehow, her name was on the tip of his tongue. After her entrance, a boy also came out, running after her and grabbing her wrist to stop her. He identified him better: Ajax, golden boy, leader of the rugby team — typical jock... A face that was difficult to forget, simply because he was very hot and if you were attracted to men you had to double take at least once. He was simply wearing some trousers and a plain black shirt that he was pretty sure was wet, clinging to his chest and rumpling a little bit. The girl suddenly turned and looked at Ajax, and Scara could tell that she was on the verge of tears now.
"I can't believe you, God! How can you be so... So stupid?! Am I even your girlfriend at this point?!" She cried, wrenching her hand free and clenching her fists.
The boy took a few steps back and looked away, sighing and grabbing the edges of his shirt so it wouldn't get sticky on his chest.
"I told you already, Signora dropped her drink on me and was drying my shirt. What's so difficult to understand?" He grumbled, kicking a rock that was next to him. He looked like a kid getting scolded.
"Oh, right, that's what that was, wasn't it? 'Cause I'm just the fucking crazy girlfriend. She was hitting on you, and you were letting her."
He let out an exasperated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair, frowning again.
"She's my best friend, you can't be serious."
The girl inhaled and exhaled, a few tears rolling out of her eyes. Ajax quickly went to dry them with his finger, but she stopped him with her hand, laying it open, her palm facing him.
"It's not just that, Childe. It's not just about the girls. Do you even like me?" She said lowering her hand.
"Don't say that. Lumi, you know I do."
"No. Do you enjoy talking to me? Hanging out with me? Do you view me as a person or just as your stupid girlfriend who constantly demands attention from you? Most days, it doesn’t even feel like you like me more than any other one of your friends."
Scaramouche suddenly realized that, after all, what he was doing was still classified as eavesdropping, and if he was seen it would be hard to explain. He sighed and rested his back to the wall, his feet on the same step as it, waiting for the fight to resume.
"Well, I obviously like you, you're my girlfriend... But, you know, sometimes you just act as if I always need to be with you...” He paused and gave her a crooked smile. “And that is being demanding. Come on, let's just... Go back inside, mhm?" He held out his hand. Scaramouche noticed that his tone was the one you used to talk to a kid when they were being unreasonable and silly.
She looked at him completely baffled and opened her mouth, then closed it and opened it again.
"Fuck you.” She said, the words harsh and loud even if they were said in a sigh. “We're breaking up. Seriously. Don't ever call me again. You’re free to do as you want now, so fuck a hundred girls for all I care. Fuck Signora too, while you’re at it. Bye, Childe. Have fun at my fucking party."
After saying that, she turned on her heels and walked around the house to the main entrance with loud steps. Ajax looked at her and, when she entered the house —which was obvious because of the loud bang on the door— he sat down on the stairs, a meter or so away from Scara, not even noticing that there was someone next to him.
He closed his eyes and threw his head back, opening them after a few seconds.
Someone opened another window and the music turned louder now, making him focus on the way the guitar sang instead of on the boy that was sitting next to him. At the same moment when Scara forgot about Ajax, Ajax noticed him, tilting his head, looking at him and then looking away. After a few seconds of thought, he decided to talk.
"Hey there, emo boy, didn't see you there... I assume that you saw me getting ditched."
Scaramouche gazed at him and nodded before answering.
"Yeah. It was pathetic." He simply said, plucking a flower from the grass.
Childe opened his mouth, probably wondering why Scara had said that, since "emo boys" (for the record, Scara wasn’t emo. He wasn’t even close to it) like him usually didn't fight back and just scowled. After a few seconds of staring, he started laughing. Loudly and annoyingly, blending in with the music that came from the window. Still Paramore.
Some things just, some things just make sense and one of those is you and I.
Some things just, some things just make sense And even after all this time...
"It actually was, huh? Wait... I know you! You're Kuni, aren't you? You're the dude who's always screaming at my friends."
Scara frowned and rolled his eyes, letting go of the flower and placing his hands on the step next to his legs.
"My name isn't Kuni, it's Scaramouche."
"I'm pretty sure your name is Kuni."
"I'm pretty sure I know my own name. And your friends are assholes, so I’ll scream at them as much as I want.”
Childe shrugged and scooted closer to Scara, wrapping his hands around his knees and tilting his head. The light of the streetlight got his side profile and highlighted his face, making every little detail visible: his lashes, his freckles, the small smile you were only able to notice if you paid attention...
"What are you doing here, anyways? I've never seen you at a party." Ajax questioned, squinting his eyes a little bit: Scara could only notice because of the light.
"I got dumped. Like you, but without the whole fight shit. Mostly."
"Who dumped you? I didn't know you were dating anyone."
"Kazuha." Scara pushed a bit after seeing the lack of reaction. "Light, long hair? With a red streak...?” Still no reaction. “The drug dealer."
The last phrase made Childe get the response he was waiting for. He watched as his eyes lighted up when he recognized the person Scara was talking about, and then his brows knitted with confusion.
"The drug dealer? Thought he— she was a dude. You into girls taller than you?" He joked, his grin revealing his fangs.
"He is a dude."
What came after that could just be called the most uncomfortable silence of the whole party. Of course, that was for Ajax, since Scaramouche couldn't care less what other people thought about him, or that was what he told himself.
Childe immediately straightened and looked at Scara, gaining a serious manner that he hadn't even noticed during the fight. He nodded slowly, as if he had to be careful around the idea of someone being queer. Bullshit, thought Scara.
"So you're...?" He started, letting the question sink into the air.
"Gay?" Scara continued, and Childe just nodded, as if talking would make him gay too. "Yeah. You're not?"
"What? No. I'm... No. I just broke up with my girlfriend. I'm not that... I mean, it's fine if you are, but I'm not." He retaliated, putting a bit of distance on the two of them.
Scara shrugged and he settled, resting his legs on the same step, so that way his back touched the other wall. He was constantly looking at Childe now, which was amusing, since now Ajax was the uncomfortable one.
"Well... Why did he break up with you? Your boyfriend, I mean."
Scara shrugged again. "A bunch of bullshit. Something about... Walls, I think. He got pretty mad though."
"Why?"
Scara hesitated before answering, not knowing if he should confide so much in someone he just met, especially someone like Childe.
"Well... He broke up with me and I just asked if he was high." He mumbled, suddenly feeling too aware of what he said.
Childe looked at him and chuckled. What was at first, a chuckle, slowly transitioned into a full on laugh, where he was clutching his stomach with his hand while Scara just whispered many "shut up" or "stop that" when people turned to look at them.
"So... You're waiting for him?" He questioned, grinning playfully.
"No." Childe looked like he wanted a continuation, but Scara didn't want to tell him that he was stranded there.
"What are you doing then? You should go home."
"I'm waiting for Mona to pick me up."
Childe nodded and then paused, reflecting for a while. After the break, he spoke again.
"I thought the tarot girl was doing readings here tonight. Pretty sure I saw her at the start of the party." He replied, leaving Scara with the doubt.
He had heard that, but Mona talked so much that he just filtered important and unimportant things, and since getting dumped there wasn't in the plan, he had filtered it as unimportant. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, muttering a soft "fuck".
"Where do you live?" Childe looked at him with attention, opening his eyes to see him clearly.
"Not telling."
Childe huffed and lightly smacked his arm. "Come on, tell me. I can drop you off."
"You have a car?"
"Yeah-ish. Kinda."
Childe grinned and stood up, reaching out his hand to help him stand. Scara ignored his hand and stood up by himself, brushing his clothes.
Scara thought of rejecting his offer, but then immediately remembered what his options were: leaving with Childe, hoping that he would just drop him at his location or waiting for Mona without even knowing if she was there. On the cold looking pathetic. He obviously chose to go with Childe, following him to the entrance, where a few cars and motorcycles were parked. Childe immediately approached the motorcycle, patting it a few times with pride. A Yamaha R6, completely black except for some silver streaks in it.
"Meet Lyudmila! So? What do you think? Doesn't she look amazing?" He asked, grabbing two helmets and throwing one to Scara.
"Fuck... Can you even drive it?"
Childe shrugged and gave him a half smile, hopping on the motorcycle and giving the seat a few pats so that he hopped on too. Scara put on the helmet and did as indicated, grabbing tightly on the sides of the bike.
"Don't do that, emo boy, you're going to hurt yourself. Put your arms around my waist." He said while gesturing for Scara to do so.
"Aren't you scared that a queer like me is going to take advantage of that?" He joked, immediately regretting it after remembering how Childe had reacted to him being queer.
To his relief, a smile tugged at the corners of Childe's mouth and angled his head.
"I mean, I'm not worried. If you’re trying to flirt, it’s not working. I’m also not interested in emos."
Scara couldn't help but to grin too, answering that he was not emo at all, and finally placing his hands around Childe's waist and gently moving his head so that it was resting on Childe's back. The motorcycle roared loudly — probably just Childe making sure everyone heard it, fuck being discreet — and immediately started the way. Scara could hear ABBA playing again in the background while people screamed the lyrics: perfect time to leave. Scara fucking hated ABBA.
The travel started oddly nice, apart from the occasional time when Childe sped way too much. Sadly, that seemed like the norm now. Childe was going 80 km/h, accelerating and doing weird unnecessary turns every time he saw a car get too close. He drove like a madman, laughing every time Scara angrily demanded him to slow down.
"You're a cretin! You're going to get me killed! Is it that hard for you to drive like a normal person?!" He screamed, gripping Childe tighter and pressing his cheek against Childe's back. He was embarrassed about how high his voice was getting, but it felt like a life or death situation. He would rather be embarrassed than let his body be found next to Childe’s. Maybe after the investigators talked to their friends they’d think it was a double suicide, considering they had gotten dumped the same day. He hoped Childe wasn’t planning a double suicide.
After a good fifteen minutes of screaming with the only response from Childe being chuckles and infuriating “calm down”’s, the trip came to an end. Childe loudly braked the motorcycle and dropped off the bike with ease while Scara fought with his helmet. When he finally managed to take it off, he threw it to Childe as hard as he could after that trip — which wasn’t too hard since he still felt a bit wobbly — and got off the bike with a loud thud from his boots.
"Asshole." He muttered, fixing his jacket.
Childe grinned and leaned on his bike, watching as Scara turned away and started walking.
"You're not inviting me to come inside?" He screamed.
Scara didn't even say anything. Without turning back he gave him the middle finger. He should've stayed at the party, or even better, not have come at all. The cold air dissipated as he entered his house, and when he finally turned back, the door still open, Childe was on his bike, giving him a wave and quickly leaving. Scara frowned and closed the door angrily, the sound resonating loudly.
He hated parties.
He looked at himself through the mirror. His eyeliner was smudged — probably because Scara pressed his face on Childe’s back to assure that he wouldn't fall most of the ride. He was getting angrier every time he thought about it. How could he have been so stupid? It was obvious that Ajax didn't care about getting him home safely, he just wanted to laugh at him. How funny, he must have thought, hearing the “emo boy” scream for his life. I mean, his friends were all assholes, of course he was one too. He rolled his eyes and grabbed his phone. There, in bright letters it said “MONA: 4 messages unread”.
00:57 am: “hey i'm sorry for not answering, i was doing the readings”
00:58 am: “are you home yet? i don't see you here”
01:14 am: ”scara what did you do?????”
01:14 am: ”Kazuha came to get a reading and started crying??? literally kill me i hate this job”
He huffed and looked at his phone, typing a quick “everything's ok” and closed it, laying down on his bed. The sheets were soft — he guessed that the housekeeper must've changed them that day — and he sank his head on the pillow, resting on his stomach.
He kicked his Doc Martens off, hearing how they dropped loudly and felt the need to muffle a scream. Who was there to hear it anyways? He had no idea where his mom was; probably working late or with her new partner of the month. He didn't quite care, but it made the house feel empty. When did it start feeling that way? He couldn't remember one time when the house actually felt like a real house and not a place where Scara just came to sleep and left in the mornings. Everything was just shades of grey. The lights were aggressively cool and they made the place feel like a hospital, which was, at the moment, making him feel mental — more than he already was after that night, anyway. He turned back and slowly closed his eyes, the sleep starting to kick in. He shouldn’t go to sleep in his outside clothes, and with the lights open, but he was so, so tired…
Suddenly, his phone started to ring. When he turned back to turn it off, he saw the words "WITCH ALERT” in big white letters, — something stupid he had programmed for when Mona called. It seemed to annoy her, so it was worth the hours of tutorials. He answered the phone, Mona's face immediately appearing. She was wearing a purple headband and was removing her makeup. She grabbed her phone and looked at him through the screen.
“What the fuck happened.” She said, pronouncing every syllable distinctly.
“Kazuha broke up with me.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
She didn't seem satisfied with that answer and moved to her bed, laying there.
“You do know.” She said.
Scara remembered then how everything was way easier with Mona, since he knew that he didn't need to lie in order to look “normal”. She knew everything about him and knew why he did everything he did, but still asked why because she knew how good it felt to finally tell someone why. She sat down and listened to everything Scara said, nodding and narrowing her eyes and actually looking like she cared, because that was the kind of person she was: a person who cared. After a good thirty minutes of Scara rambling, she tapped her lower lip with her finger and sighed.
“Ajax is an asshole. A really fucking hot asshole, but an asshole nonetheless. The party girl… Lumine… Yeah, Lumine was really sad. I saw her crying next to Ayaka. You know her, right? Which is pretty sad too, because I'm like, a hundred percent sure that she had a crush on Lumine. I'm not sure about it now, though. I saw her talking to the girl that sells the fireworks at the start of the party, and they looked pretty cozy. So I think that maybe… ”
She started to ramble, her voice turning into background noise. Scara was listening to her, or at least trying to, but after a while, the exhaustion of the day started to fully kick in, and he felt how his eyes started to close against his will. After a few minutes of trying to remain awake, he decided to stop fighting it and just closed his eyes.
Mona, who was still talking to herself in the call, noticed how Scara’s eyes had fully closed and she chuckled, sighing at the sight of her best friend completely drained.
“Am I that boring that you fell asleep? And you didn’t even bother taking your eyeliner off, huh? You’ll regret it tomorrow.” She smiled and looked at him for a few seconds. “Night, Scara.”
That night, Scara dreamt of neon lights, loud music that made his ears buzz and something else. He sensed the smell of sweat, alcohol and weed. Even in the dream, he could feel that something was missing. The absence of a certain voice, a warmth. A cocky, stupid, annoying voice.