[ TODAY, TOMORROW ] SCARAMOUCHE.

scaramouche is pouting—you can practically feel him sulking from across the room. 

and you’ve tried a good number of times to coax the reason out of him, but he’s every bit as stubborn as he’s always been. you can feel the daggers he stares into your head even with your back facing him, and you can feel the waves of his petulance radiate like they’re meant to aim at you. 

scaramouche is entirely too difficult for his own good—he always says one thing and means another, leaving you to read between the lines to really figure out what he says. he grumbles and protests at every chance possible, and sometimes you wonder if it’s on purpose to make your life harder. you think if you go left, he’ll always surely go right, but in the end, he always finds his path back to you—and even though you know he doesn’t like to admit it, he enjoys the warmth of your body next to his, feels almost incomplete without it. so, with a soft sigh and a calculated risk, you make your way over.

“alright,” you hum, poking his cheek—if it were anyone else, he might consider slicing the appendage off. but the gentle prod of your finger is one you get away with, only making his lips curl further, earning you a huff as he angles his body away from you. “c’mon, just say what’s wrong already.”

it’s kind of cute, the way he glares at you—it’s not very menacing when he’s got pouty lips and crossed arms, almost resembling a child told no more than an ex-harbinger that once turned god.

“nothing,” he mumbles, “quit asking.”

“c’mon, kuni,” you sigh, sinking beside him, leaning your cheek against his arm as he grumbles under his breath. “i know it’s not nothing. did i say something?”

“no.”

“did someone else say something?”

“no.”

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