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This was getting out of hands.
He had known exactly what he was getting himself into the first time the door to Scaramouche’s room fell shut behind him.
Or so he had thought. Truth was, he had had no idea.
Scaramouche had caught his attention the moment Ajax had run into him in a hall and their eyes met for the first time.
He had heard plenty about the 6th Harbinger, but no one had told him how breathtaking he was.
When only a few weeks later, their weapons clashed, their elements merged into chaos around then, and Scaramouche towered above him with a smug grin on his face, he realized that he had fallen long before the other had pushed him onto the ground.
They sparred often, always with the same outcome; either Ajax or Scaramouche ended up pinning the other down, only that with every time, more seconds passed before they eventually got up.
When one day after another defeat, Scaramouche leaned in, Ajax wasn’t even surprised. He tasted copper, and it was the most delightful he had ever felt on his tongue.
That day, he entered Scaramouche’s room for the first time.
Many others followed, and soon, he lost count.
Even the days they hardly saw each other ended with their lips desperately claiming each other, their hands seeking the touch of the other’s skin, and their voices growing huskier as the night advanced.
He learnt to read him, started to take note of the small shifts in Scaramouche’s usually so expressionless feature, the gestures, as imperceivable as they were to others, to memorize the few moles on the endless pale skin.
Before he knew it, Scaramouche had become a constant element in his unpredictable life.
And it freaked him out.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
There was a reason they never woke up next to each other.
And that was fine.
It had been fine. Because no matter how hard Ajax tried to deny it, more often than once had he reached out at night only to be met with the absence of Scaramouche’s warmth.
While the other’s scent still lingered on his sheets, he had left a void, Ajax didn’t know how to deal with.
“If you keep spacing out, I’ll take offense.”
Scaramouche’s dark eyes studied him.
Shit.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t you think this is getting too real?”
Ajax gestured between them, earning a raised eyebrow.
Scaramouche sat up, his knees burying in the mattress next to Ajax’s waist.
“We’ve been sleeping with each others for months. How more real could it get?”
Ajax bit on his lower lip.
“I mean...”
Scaramouche frowned.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“No...”
“What’s your problem then?”
Ajax sighed. He lifted his hands in an urge to touch Scaramouche’s knees but put them down again.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
The frown deepened.
“Lot’s of things weren’t supposed to happen. The Archon War, you and me ending up with the Fatui... What does it matter?”
Scaramouche’s voice had become a little lower at the end.
Ajax looked up at him and into these dark blue eyes he had become so familiar with.
Scaramouche leaned in a little.
“It feels pretty real to me...”
The other held his gaze as if he was waiting for an answer, something that told him that he hadn’t been wrong. He wasn’t, but Ajax had no idea how to put that into words. Instead, he pulled him down and closed the gap between them.
That night, the void finally closed.