❝ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ.❞

╰──➤ 𝙎𝙆𝙀𝙏𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙔𝙊𝙐

After your fight with Ajax, you ran up to your room and shut the door while you choked back the tears that threatened to burst through. You could hardly breathe, but you tried to steady yourself and regain your composure so you could face Teucer and tell him everything would be okay. You hoped Scaramouche was doing a decent job of comforting him.

You thought back to what you said to your older brother and winced, though you were sure it hurt him much more than it hurt you. What made it worse was that you weren't too caught up in your emotions or anything of the sort. You thought about what you wanted to say to him, and you knew how it would make him feel, but you didn't care. You didn't want to consider his feelings.

Salt burned your eyes as the tears finally escaped and dripped down your face. Your breaths were jagged and uneven as you muffled your quiet sobs with your hand. You shut your eyes tightly, forcing out a few more tears.

After a minute or two, you wiped your eyes and took deep breaths, trying to calm down. Once you were well enough, you went to your door, intending to go see Teucer. You felt more guilty for yelling so loudly that your little brother could definitely hear. All you wanted was for his childhood to be better, but you were unintentionally making it worse.

You reached to grab the doorknob, but the door swung open before you could touch it. You instinctively took a step back as you saw Scaramouche in the doorway. Seeing him, you were confused.

"What-"

He cut you off by wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer, capturing you in a warm embrace. Your eyes widened the slightest bit before you gripped him tightly, burying your face in his shoulder. He kept one hand on your head while the other rested on your back.

"Teucer's asleep," he muttered.

Hearing that, your knees buckled and you dropped to the floor, dragging Scaramouche with you. He used one arm to reach backward and shut your bedroom door while your tears stained his shirt. He didn't mind it, since you mattered more than his clothing. Your body quivered with every short breath you took.

"I'm such a horrible person," you sobbed. "Did you hear what I said to him? Oh god, did Teucer hear?"

"I don't think he could tell what you were saying," he replied. "You're not a horrible person, Y/n."

"Yes, I am!" You cried. "Even now, I'm gonna get you sick-"

"I don't care about that."

"I do...!"

He sighed and pushed you back slightly so he could look into your eyes, "Y/n, stop talking like you're the worst thing on the planet. You're one of the nicest people I know; this one thing doesn't make you a horrible person. You're dumber than I thought if you really think that way."

"Did you just try to comfort me by calling me dumb..."

"I'm not good at this, okay?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm just... I'm trying."

You gave him a half-hearted smile, happy that he was attempting to help you but still upset because of the events that transpired. Suddenly, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against your forehead, kissing it softly. He quickly tugged you closer again so you wouldn't be able to see his face, but you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. You were surprised by this, but you welcomed it.

"I feel like... I've been trying to love Teucer, but I've been suffocating him instead."

"That's not true."

"But I've been doing all this for him, and instead of helping, I only made it worse by fighting with Ajax... I don't know what to do anymore."

"...Talk to both of them and figure out a way to make things work without forcing you to do all the heavylifting," Scaramouche stated.

"I've talked about it plenty of times, though..."

"Well, maybe this was a wake-up call for Ajax, too."

♕︎❯────「♕︎」────❮♕︎

"Have you talked to him yet?" Scaramouche asked.

"No," you sighed. "I'm still trying to recuperate. I'll talk to him once I have all my thoughts together... But what's in the bag?"

After work the following day, Scaramouche brought along a bag of supplies that you still hadn't seen yet, despite inviting him into your room. It rested on your bedsheets, next to you, while your back pressed against the headboard.

"I'll show you in a second. How's Teucer doing?"

"He's... not taking it very well," you answered. "When I was with him downstairs this morning, he could barely look at me. Probably angry..."

"I doubt it."

"...Show me what you brought," you demanded.

"Sure," he muttered, pulling out a few items from the bag. Two sketchbooks, a vibrant collection of colored pens/pencils, and a few stensils with various designs.

"So you're gonna draw in front of me while I sit here, bored to death?" You chuckled.

"I will if that's what you want," he replied. "But no. I thought maybe... helping you make art would be a good distraction from... all this."

"...Well, why not? I've already probably gotten you sick," you shrugged. "C'mere."

You patted the space beside you on the bed and he narrowed his eyes before hesitantly climbing onto the mattress, positioning himself against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him. He passed you the items you'd need, keeping one book to himself. You flipped open the pages to find them empty.

"Aw, I was hoping to see some of your masterpieces in here," you said, though a small smile graced your lips.

"Nope," he snickered. "Try again next time."

"Fine then, I will," you decided. "...What am I supposed to draw, though?"

He hummed before giving you his response, "Just create whatever you feel."

♕︎❯────「♕︎」────❮♕︎

"Is this supposed to be a galaxy or something?"

"No, it's just colors."

"...Not exactly what I expected," he said, looking down at the paper, filled with an assortment of colors from top to bottom.

You gently punched him in the shoulder, "Don't judge me, I don't know how to draw stuff! If it took any specific shape, it would've been so much worse."

"I wholeheartedly believe you," he stated. "What did you think of drawing?"

Tapping the edge of your pen on the paper, you hummed, "I thought of a rose."

"Okay then," he nodded, flipping the page in your sketchbook to a blank one before resting his hand atop yours.

An electrifying spark fizzled as his skin brushed against yours, causing heat to rise in your face. He moved your hand, pressing the tip of the pen against the paper and drawing the start line. He continued this for a few more minutes, with barely a word spoken between you both. Once he finished, he pulled away and allowed you to gaze at the picture. He'd drawn the base lines of a rose, without any color filled in.

"You can decide what color it is," he said.

You wordlessly grabbed the red pen from the box and colored inside the lines of the actual flower, making sure to keep your strokes gentle. You couldn't get your mind off the feeling of when he took your hand, no matter how earnestly you tried. Once you finished the flower, you used different shades of green to fill in the stem while adding a few of your own leaves. You completed the picture and held it, tilting your head slightly as if it would give you a different angle.

"Not too bad," he said, glancing over at you.

"Thanks. It was all my hard work."

"Oh, please."

♕︎❯────「♕︎」────❮♕︎

Scaramouche vigorously erased a few lines on the paper, furrowing his brows as he replaced them with cleaner strokes of his pencil, creating a more defined line. Suddenly, a knock on his door startled him and Makoto opened his bedroom door.

"What?" He sighed, rolling his eyes with annoyance.

"I was just wondering how you're doing..." She said.

Seeing her sincere eyes, he bit the inside of his cheek and let his expression relax, "I'm okay. How are things with the wicked witch?"

"The usual," she said looking to her feet. "Um... What are you drawing?"

He glanced down to his sketchbook before meeting Makoto's gaze once again, "Nothing."

"...That sounded defensive," she raised her brow, curious to know what he was hiding. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm sure."

"...Hm," she hummed before stepping out, closing the door behind her.

He exhaled and rested his eyes upon the sketch he had finally finished. A small smile pulled at his lips.

It was an image of you from earlier in the day, with his sketchbook pressed up against your legs and a colored pen in your hand. Your hair was hanging in front of your face, and even from your side profile, the intense focus in your expression was evident.

A small chuckle left Scaramouche's lips and he gently ripped the page from the book, preparing to pin it on the wall.

[IM SORRY I TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE THIS AND APOLOGIES IF IT SEEMS RUSHED, I'LL TRY TO MAKE THE NEXT CHAPTER BETTER]