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Ever since he was a child, Scaramouche had always been a light sleeper. The slightest of disturbances would have him up for hours, a good characteristic for a harbinger but on usual nights it's just irritating.
Sadly, having his lover next to him has done nothing to change that fact.
He glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 3 a.m, pitch dark and Mona is sleeping soundly, her soft breathing tickling his ears. On some nights he just watches her sleep next to him, watching her sleep so peacefully was by far his favourite way to let time tick by.
When the stars come out to play and the evening takes on that sweet flowery scent of the night, when the crickets sing just for the sake of singing, his bed awaits with his lover as his pillow. He loves the softness, the quiet, the sense of rest. For those hours he's just Scaramouche, a weak boy in love, thoughts come in slow as a beautiful carousel, each dancing like those lanterns on a Liyue sky.
His fingers lightly graze her cheek, every person needs a harbour, a secure attachment of love. If he didn't have her he would be so lost, life would continue being a torture he's supposed to endure.
The window next to their bed is slightly open, even though the breeze coming in is calm the clouds are darkening. The wind has always been free, chaotic even, yet it too has its path, even if there are infinite possible destinations yet it can only choose one. Even if Scaramouche was given the power of electro, in this moment, the wind resonates so deeply within him.
He feels Mona move and snuggle into him as happy as a cat under the warm duvet, ready for her starry dreams. A light laugh escapes his lips, his eyes dropping on her with a fondness his peers would never see. She was the one who glued the screaming pieces of his heart together, pieces of his heart that had been struggling to fit into the world, these became so quiet when cuddling with her; it was as if they had found peace.
Were it not for you, there would be no relief, no emotional morphine. Of course I am addicted to you - but for every reason that is pure and right. You are safety and love, an anchor I hold onto, that I tether myself to because I want to.
Even so lately he feels like a child. All behaviour is communication, and screaming is perhaps the most desperate form, crying out for the loving nurture that will save their brains from pain. So why can't he do something so natural? It feels as if he's a child that can't express it itself with words but then he can't cry out or scream. Wouldn't it be nice if love could solve all his problems?
Unfortunately the relief she brings him is so temporary, it's like a star burning out that is meant to fall from the gentle sky onto the rough world.
"Scara the stars are beautiful aren't they?"
"Hm? They're just rocks, stupid mage."
"How unromantic of you, aren't they like sprinkles on a chocolate cake?"
How he wishes that at that moment he could have told her that the stars were nothing compared to glittering eyes in front of him. When she spoke of the stars she probably meant her eyes because there's no way the stars weren't embedded in her eyes. His fingers brushed against her cheek, pressing a kiss on her forehead then he stared into her eyes.
Stared into her eyes.
Scaramouche's cheeks were suddenly kissed red like a burning rose, the blooming colour so cute against his skin. He turned his back on her and pretended to go back to sleep as Mona's giggles flowed into the room, slowly her arms circle around his waist, a light kiss pressed on the side of his neck.
"I love the way you look at me." She whispers so quietly it almost goes past his ears, he can feel her smile pressed against his back, this moment had a slightly warm flat feeling, yet, her words threw his heart into turmoil.
"How do I look at you?" His words came out quiet, slightly nervous to hear her answer, deep down he knew. Of course he knew, wasn't it obvious? The entire night he had been looking at her like this, the reason they were like this was because of this.
"You look at me like you love me."
Scaramouche froze, not expecting to hear the words. They hadn't actually said those words to each other before but it seemed like something Mona had been waiting for. His eyes widened, and he turned around to face her again. Mona had her face buried in the pillows now, her eyes closed. The silence was prolonged and her heart dropped at the lack of reaction, the least he could do was call her stupid, right?
"No," he started as he drawed her hand to him with a touch that was as light as a feather, his eyes fixated on her hands,the girl's hands were as soft as her heart and as open as her soul. "It's not 'like I love you', I do love you, Mona."
Scaramouche was so selfish for saying what his heart felt, especially when his loyalty laid with someone who would bring only sadness into Mona's life. He can't imagine the problems that would arise in their relationship later on because of his occupation, the fact his death could happen on any of his missions, the fact he could never give her the safe heaven she was for him.
Please, hurry, leave me. I can't breathe .
Every person needs a harbour, a secure attachment of love. Scaramouche was one of those people, yet, he simply didn't deserve it.
He would never be good enough for her.
Please don't say you love me.
For Mona his rough hands were her medication, she loved him for who he was as a person. Yes, he did horrible things and maybe their love was wrong, especially since their first meeting was where he wanted to kill her friend. But they didn't see the gentle smile, the light touches that he gave in public, the way his eyebrows furrowed whenever he saw her on the brink of death because of her hunger, that he walked her to her home every day just so she got there safely, the way her name sounded on his lips late at night nor his eyes that shined so brightly as if they contained millions of stars as he looked at her.
"I love you too."
Her words came out stronger than before, lifting up her head so she was looking down on him. So what if she was wrong for loving him with the circumstances that surrounded them? Her feelings, no, their feelings were real and she would do anything to keep these feelings safe from the eyes of the onlookers.
Mune ga hachikire-sōde.
The onlookers who are plenty, who have never felt the brutal sting of love, the kind that shatters all logic, Scaramouche only feels pity for them. He's sure if any of them experienced love, if Tsaritsa could love again, they could all be happy. For weakness isn't so bad sometimes just as strength isn't so good sometimes, and for these hours of the night, Scaramouche would gladly be weak.
Even if it ended up burning like a star, the light of their love would leave its marks for as long as the world existed.