Chapter Text
You weren't suppose to be watching him. You were supposed to be checking the set list against the monitoring cues, counting the minutes until the group's next costume change, and keeping water bottles handy for breaks.
And yet, you eyes kept landing on him from the sidelines from time to time...
Scaramouche moved through the stage like he owned the air around him. It was the kind of presence that demanded attention and made even the grown fans other than the teenage girls scream.
However, you knew a side fans never got to see.
Working under him was, to say the least, less appealing than being a bystander in the crowd. Snobby, arrogant, and rude: those were his true colors.
Just three weeks in, and you had already been a victim of snide comments, pointed glares, and reprimanded like a dog as if you were nothing more than the dirt on his shoe. Nevertheless, you couldn't help but be captivated by his performances. Even if he wasn't the most joyful to be around, there was no denying the talent he possessed. Let alone the group as a whole.
From the center of the stage, Scaramouche who stood alongside the two other members of the group, Durin and Albedo, could pick out every phone and camera pointed in his direction. He could also hear every scream of his name and "i love you"s.
But...
None of them mattered.
What did, however, was a certain section of the side wing of the stage, half-lit by a monitor, where you stood looking down at your tablet instead of him.
This irritated him more than it should have.
He hit the next formation a bit sharper than usual with his voice sliding lower in the bridge.
He then glanced sideways. Yet, you still hadn't looked up, still doing whatever the hell you did on that damned tablet every show. Still treating him as if he were nothing more than the scum in the crowd and not like he was currently sweating hard under the lights and rigorous performance—like he was unworthy of all your attention.
He told himself it didn't matter. And that your attention wasn't worth much more than the fans spread throughout the staidum to which he couldn't care less about...
Then, on the final chorus, you glanced up.
Just once.
However, it was long enough for your eyes to meet across the stage. Your body tensed as if you hadn't meant to. And he couldn't help the greedy satisfaction this caused to shoot through his own.
His mouth curved into a smirk.
Not for the cameras.
But for you.
Though it was gone as quick as it came. You looked down at the tablet, cheeks warming ever-so-slightly. He didn't know if you had seen it. If you had seen him. But, deep down in a part of him he never wanted to expose, he hoped you had.
The song ended and the crowd roared with aplause.
He ignored it all, wiping the sweat from his brow while breathing heavily. His eyes cut back to the stage's side wing one last time before the encore break.
But you were gone.
Not far, of course. You were now communicating with another team member of management. Even so, something in him soured at the fact that your back was turned to him.
Truly, it shouldn't have mattered, he'd keep telling himself as much. He was Scaramouche, the center of one the greatest pop idol groups of the year, HexVibe. He had plenty of girls, an amount that could make a small army, fawning over him and giving him just what he desired. He didn't need you.
Besides, he didn't even like you for crying out loud! You were annoying and too dumb for your own good, always messing up a simple task given to you.
Yet...
As he sat there and stared at you from afar, he was already mentally prepping for the encore performance; he was calculating what note to hold just a bit longer and what move to put more emphasis on. All just to see if it'd drag your attention on him.
In the end, you were going to look at him.
And only him.