Work Text:
9:00am
Scaramouche, once the mighty Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui and now the Dendro Archon's helper, has been keeping his birthday a secret from you.
Although the both of you had been together for quite a while, he had given no indication that his birthday fell on the third day of the year, and if it hadn't been for Nahida's intel, you would've never guessed.
You straightened your back, wiping the sweat from your forehead as you examined your handiwork. A couple small sausages lay on the chopping board in front of you, the bottom half of them sliced into eighths. They looked just like the pictures in the recipe you were using (if you were willing to look past the fact that the cuts were uneven), and if the instructions were correct, the ends would curl up when they were put to fry.
Such was the magic of squid sausages - and you were hoping your boyfriend would love it.
Being no good at cooking, Scaramouche had designated himself to be the household chef, claiming that even as a puppet, he was not immune to food poisoning. That didn't stop you though.
Knowing that Scaramouche had hidden his birthday away from you probably meant that he had never celebrated it in his life - or maybe he never had a reason to. But now that you were in his life, you were determined to bring a smile to his face - starting with breakfast in bed.
You filled the heated pan with some oil and put the sausages into it, biting back a yelp as the oil began to react violently. You watched with bated breath as the ends of the sausages began to curl outwards, and you switched off the stove after a few moments, too afraid that the sausages would begin to burn. Turning to the bento box sitting on the counter, you began to organize its contents carefully, folding the fried eggs into rolls and shaping them into hearts. You positioned the sausages to lie face up, placing the bacon you had made earlier on top of them to make it look like a blanket.
When it looked perfect in your eyes, you took the bento into one hand and a glass of juice into the other. and made your way to your shared bedroom. You walked as lightly as possible, being careful enough to not accidentally spill the juice, but it still quivered dangerously in its glass as you opened the bedroom door. I'm shaking it way too much...
Looking up, you almost dropped the bento to the ground. Before you, Scaramouche lay on his back, hands behind his head - clearly wide awake. At the sight of you, he cocked his eyebrows.
"Good morning! You're awake," you said cheerfully, shaking out of your initial shock. You dropped the bento and the glass on his bedside table, taking a seat next to where he was lying.
"Well it was sort of hard to stay asleep with all the ruckus you were making," he mumbled, his voice still hoarse with sleep. "Didn't I tell you to stay out of the kitchen?"
"Well yeah, but I didn’t," He sat up, and you took the bento into your hands, placing it on his lap. "Bon appetit, sweetheart."
He poked at the food with his fork, taking a bit of the eggs into his mouth. You clasped your hands together, awaiting his response, but he remained silent.
"Well? How does it taste?"
"...It's quite good actually. You've improved a lot." You beamed, and he reached up to tousle your hair.
"Aren't you wondering what the occasion is?" you asked. You knew Scaramouche wouldn't forget his own birthday – right?
"Not particularly," he responded. His attention was laser-focused on his breakfast, and you almost felt like he had forgotten. Almost. But you knew better than to fall for his poker-face.
You touched his shoulder, and he looked up, finally glimpsing the serious expression on your face. "Come on, don't act like you don't know. Today is your birthday, isn't it?"
He paused his chewing, wide eyes locked on yours. So Nahida was right - it really was his birthday.
"Who told you? It was Nahida, wasn't it?" His eyes glinted, like a deer caught in headlights.
"Yeah, but why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I don't like following stupid human customs,” he replied nonchalantly, popping a squid sausage into his mouth.
"I knew you would've said something like that. But I'll show you how amazing our 'stupid human customs' can be!"
He paused his chewing. "What are you thinking about doing?"
You stood up from the bed quickly, your excitement beginning to bubble over. "I'm glad you asked! I have a lot of things planned for us today-"
"Absolutely not. Ignore what Nahida told you."
His rejection meant nothing – you had many cards up your sleeve, cards that would have him succumbing to your plans in a second. You sat back onto the bed, looking at him with pleading eyes as you pulled your lips into a pretty pout. "Please? Do it for me?"
"...Fine. But at least let me wash the dishes. You’ve already cooked."
"No! It's your birthday!"
"If you don't let me at least wash the dishes then I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Okay! The dishes are yours to handle."
11:00am
"Here we are!" you said, pointing to the low-ceiling building in front of you. It was a Sumerian restaurant, one that had opened recently. Its roof was tiled with vibrant green, and patterned, red cloth was hung from each of the four posts at the corners of the restaurant. It looked even better than the last time you saw it.
"And what is this?" Scaramouche deadpanned. He looked up at the restaurant with no kind of amazement.
"A restaurant, obviously."
"But we just ate."
"Well all that traveling has got me hungry! Besides, I've been wanting to take you here since they first opened. Let's go!" you said, pushing him towards a seat on the outskirts of the pavilion.
As soon as the both of you sat down, a waitress approached your table, smiling cordially. "What would you guys like to order?"
Scaramouche opened his mouth (no doubt to tell the waitress off for rushing the both of you), when you leaned over and touched his forearm. His attention now fully focused on you, you took his distraction as an opportunity to intervene.
"Yes, we'd love to order now. I'd like to have the Aaru Mixed Rice, and he'll take the Tandoori Chicken, please."
"I don't think I've ever heard of that dish in my life," Scaramouche mumbled under his breath.
You patted his hand reassuringly. "Don't worry, I know you'll love it."
"Okay!" the waitress said as she finished scribbling in her tiny notepad. "Your food will be ready in fifteen minutes tops!"
"I'm going to the washroom, I'll be right back," Scaramouche said, getting up from his seat as the waitress departed.
You leaned back in your chair, feeling its cold metal digging into your skin. So far, things were going well, and your boyfriend hadn’t been reacting negatively. As a matter of fact, he wasn't giving any type of reaction. You knew he wasn't often the excitable type, but you were beginning to wonder if taking him out was the best idea. He wasn't easy to appease, and while you enjoyed teasing him, you didn't want to upset him.
Maybe there's a reason why he never shared his birthday with me, you thought.
You both had your fair share of baggage, but Scaramouche's past was darker by far - there was no doubt he hid it from you without a good reason. You sighed, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth, when a large shadow loomed over the table.
"Scara, are you-" You turned your head, and the words died on your lips.
It was your ex, a smug smile plastered onto his face, like a pirate who had found some thousand-year-old treasure. The look sent a shiver down your spine. What was he doing here?
"Well, look who it is. It's been a long time, hasn't it? What are you doing at a restaurant like this?" He reached out to touch your hair, and you instantly recoiled.
You straightened your back, giving him a dirty stare. "That's none of your business, Earl."
He let out a hearty laugh, but you knew he was less than amused at the situation. It only masked his anger at being talked back to, if anything.
"Seems like you grew some guts since the last time we saw each other," he said lowly, his gaze traveling to the empty seat across from you. "And it also looks like you're here with new company. Your better half, maybe?"
Earl cackled again, attracting the attention of a few customers nearby.
"And who the fuck are you?" a voice laced with barely restrained anger echoed from behind Earl, and you heaved a sigh of relief.
Although Earl was probably a full foot taller than your boyfriend, his confidence seemed to wither under the ex-Harbinger's stare.
Your ex grit his teeth, trying in vain to maintain his confident exterior. "I'm the ex. Who the hell are you?"
You saw a muscle tic in Scaramouche's jaw. "I'm the boyfriend. Now scram."
Earl gave him one last look before turning awkwardly on his feet, scurrying as quickly as possible in the other direction. Scaramouche took his seat across from you silently, as if nothing had happened.
You cleared your throat. "I'm so sorry-"
He waved his hand in dismissal. "It's fine. Let's move on."
You nodded, and a comfortable silence settled over your table gradually. Scaramouche’s purple eyes ventured out of the lookout point and beyond the city, and you followed his gaze.
It was basically a perfect view of the landscape of Sumeru, luscious green stretching on for miles and miles into the horizon. The sounds of laughter and talking along with the clatter of cutlery in the restaurant provided a busy sense of comfort, and for a moment you knew this was right where you needed to be – even if you had been accosted by an asshole mere minutes ago.
You looked back at Scaramouche, only to see him already staring at you. A sharp intake of breath escaped through your mouth.
"Well? How are you enjoying the view? I believe this is the best seat outside," you said hurriedly, taking a sip of your water to hide how flustered you were. Even though the both of you had been together for a considerable while, his purple stare never ceased to send your heart into disarray.
"It's...actually beautiful. Nice job," he replied, his gaze not once flickering back to the scenery.
Chuckling shyly, you pulled your hands into your lap. You opened your mouth to reply when you saw the waitress approaching your table at the corner of your eye, her hands filled with platters of food.
"Enjoy your meal!" She put the dishes on the table carefully, departing soon after. To say the food looked delectable would have been an understatement. The Tandoori Chicken seemed to be cooked perfectly, its golden skin shining under the sun. The rice you ordered was piled onto the plate, its colors varying as much as the ingredients used to make it. Both dishes smelled absolutely delicious, and your mouth watered as its aroma filled your nose.
"Taste it and tell me if you like it!" You took a bit of his chicken with your fork, and brought it to his lips.
He scowled, but it didn't hide the deep red coloring the tips of his ears. Taking the food into his mouth, he began to chew slowly. You watched as his eyes gradually lit up, and he swallowed.
"Well?"
"It's definitely not bad." You chuckled, knowing that that was probably the biggest praise he would probably ever give. From the way he was eating, you could tell he was enjoying the food.
After a few moments, he spoke again. “What’s next on the agenda?”
Deciding to be a little playful, you said: “Agenda? Who told you we were going anywhere else?”
Scaramouche put his fork down and glared at you, his mouth twisted into a frown. “You said you had plans – plural.”
You laughed; he was so easy to tease it was almost ridiculous.
“Don’t worry about that right now. Just focus on eating.”
2:00pm
By the time the both of you had paid the bill and left the restaurant, the sun had risen to its station in the sky, watching over Sumeru with a burning glare. People who had initially decided to eat outside fled from the scorching heat, and you yourself had taken off your jacket, already beginning to boil as well. Scaramouche, as expected, didn’t give any indication that he was bothered by the heat.
“Where do we go next?” he asked, as the both of you continued along the path leading deeper into Sumeru city. It was probably the fifth time he had asked since the both of you left the restaurant.
“Oh? Are you, by any chance, excited about our next destination?” You hooked your arm through his.
He rolled his eyes at the smile plastered onto your face, but didn’t say anything to deny it. “To answer your question, we’ll be going to a spot right outside the city, to do something I think you’ll enjoy. But we have to make a stop over here first.”
You pulled him towards a pair of large, brass doors, the steep, rounded stairs leading the both of you to the Bazaar. It was as busy as expected, shop owners clamoring loudly as customers bustled through stalls. The air was thick with the aroma of spices and flora, and dancers practiced on the large stage, their costumes glimmering under the bright spotlight.
You led Scaramouche to a stall on the right, being careful not to bump into the crowd. “What could you possibly want from here?” He asked, raising his voice over the commotion.
“You’ll see!”
Eventually, you reached a small stall at the corner of the Bazaar. Two shelves at the back contained row after row of bouquets, all in the most elaborate vases, and flower vines wrapped around the posts holding up the canopy of the stall. Behind the counter sat an old lady with kind eyes hidden behind thick glasses.
“Mrs. Li! I’ve come to pick up my order.”
“You’re here, finally. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up,” she got up slowly, making her way to the back of her stall. Mrs. Li was a gardener who hailed from Liyue, who decided to travel to Sumeru to partake in the market of selling plants and flowers. You had met her on your own travels to Liyue, and when you heard that she was opening a shop in the Bazaar, you knew you needed to check it out.
You turned to Scaramouche, who was shuffling from foot to foot. His face harbored no expression, but you knew he was less than pleased at the crowd.
You took his hand in yours, rubbing circles onto his knuckles soothingly. “Don’t worry, we don’t have much longer. I just need to grab something from here and we’ll be on our way.” You gave his hand a light squeeze and felt him squeeze back.
“Did you buy me a present from this stall?”
Before you could reply, Mrs. Li reappeared behind the counter, holding a simple yet beautiful bouquet in her hands. She winked and smiled at Scaramouche sweetly, before handing the flowers to you.
“Here you are. Enjoy!”
---
Back outside, you dragged Scaramouche to the first empty corner that you spied, eager to let him examine the bouquet more closely. You had placed the order for a custom-made bouquet an entire month before his birthday – and Mrs. Li surely delivered.
“Here you are,” you said, thrusting the bouquet into his hands. You leaned over and pecked his cheek. “Happy birthday, handsome.”
His ears reddened at the nickname. “Thank you.”
“Look here,” you reached over and opened the pristine, white card attached to it. Written in gold lettering were the names of the flowers included in the bouquet, along with their respective meanings. “The pink bluebells signify everlasting love, the gardenias represent joy, the balloon flowers mean endless love and honesty…”
Scaramouche said nothing, but you knew he was listening attentively. He stared at the bouquet, his eyes slightly glazed over.
“Well? Do you like it?”
“I do.” His voice was quiet. He reached up and plucked one of the balloon flowers from the bouquet. You opened your mouth to protest, but not before he could lean over and bury it in your hair.
“These mean endless love, right…?” He said nothing more, but the implications were clear. The tips of his ears were red again, but this time you also felt a familiar heat creep into your cheeks. Even though this was his day and you were supposed to be treating him, he still found ways to make you fall in love all over again.
Patting his shoulder, you whispered, “Thank you.”
He looked away first, clearing his throat. “...Anyways, let’s go to the next place.”
4:00pm
The both of you walked in silence to the city gates, his left arm holding the bouquet close to his heart, and the other linked with yours. There was a certain bounce in his step that told you the gradual quietness of the atmosphere had improved his mood significantly, and with the way he was holding the bouquet, you knew he wouldn’t be parting ways with it in a hurry. He always made it a point that he detested sentimentality with every fiber of his being, but you knew him for too long to know that that wasn’t true.
Eventually, the both of you came across a clearing where a park had been installed. The grass was short but still thrived, and the rustle of the leaves overhead was more than enough to send a pleasant wave through your body. There were a few wooden tables evenly spaced out in the clearing, and lucky for the both of you, they were all empty. You led Scaramouche to the table closest to the trees and under the shade, and rested your satchel onto the table as you took your seat.
Scaramouche sat opposite to you, still clutching the bouquet of flowers to his chest. He looked around the empty area, the wind tousling his hair.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to have another meal,” he said flatly, watching as you rummaged through your satchel.
“No, actually. Although I do have some sandwiches in case any one of us gets hungry.”
You pulled out a dark brown, wooden box from your satchel and placed it onto the table, its cover painted with gold patterns. You opened the cover to reveal an abundance of potted paints and a variety of paintbrushes. Your boyfriend’s eyes widened at the sight of it, and you smiled.
Not long after he began working under Nahida, he had picked up the art of painting. He had spent endless hours working colors onto canvases – but he had never once showed you any of his artworks. Once day, while the both of you were walking along the streets of Sumeru, you noticed how the embellished wooden box of paints had snagged his attention, and he didn’t seem to take his eyes off of it until the both of you had rounded the corner.
“I know you seemed particularly interested in these paints the last time, so I decided to get it for you before they all sold out. I hope you like it.” Just like before, his eyes stayed glued to the box as you slid it towards him on the table. “I also brought some canvases. I thought we could try a little something.”
You reached into your satchel and pulled out two small canvases, along with two matching easels.
“I’ve been seeing a lot of other people doing this and I thought it might be interesting…let’s try painting each other!”
He put down the cerulean blue paint pot he was examining and focused his full attention on you. His eyes narrowed. “Is this your excuse to take a peek at one of my paintings?”
You threw your hands up in defense. “No! I just wanted you to try the paints out, and we can spend some quality time together while you’re at it.”
He hummed, probably only half-convinced, before taking up one of the easels. “Let’s get started then. Sunset is close.”
And so it began – your journey to capture the essence of your beloved’s soul onto a canvas. It puzzled you how Scaramouche – usually abrasive and snappy – could take up such a hobby, which required time and patience. Glancing over at him, you could see that his eyes, which were usually stormy, were now peaceful and clear, and the seemingly permanent scowl on his face had melted away. His paintbrush danced across his canvas in long and short strokes, and his palette was already filled with a myriad of mesmerizing colors.
You, on the other hand, were struggling.
The colors you chose looked off together, and you never seemed to choose the right paintbrush to do the job. If you were in any other situation, you would’ve been pissed, but the most important thing was that Scaramouche seemed to be enjoying himself. That alone was enough to keep your mood from plummeting.
“I’m done. What about you?” he asked, setting his paintbrush down.
You were busy trying to fix the head you had painted for him, which looked more like a lopsided egg than anything else. You were about finished with the general painting, but nothing looked quite right.
“Uh, I need more time,” you mumbled, painting over his bangs.
He nodded slowly, reaching over in your satchel to have a sandwich. Sitting back, you examined your painting from afar. If you squint a little, it doesn’t look so bad…
“That’s enough fixing. Let’s see your rendition of me.” You jumped, startled at his loud voice.
“Fine…It’s not any good, but in my defense, I don’t think I’ve ever held a paintbrush in my life…” You turned the easel towards him, watching his reaction closely.
His eyes widened into a look of horror, before his eyebrows twitched into a frown – but then, he did the unthinkable.
Scaramouche slapped his hand over his mouth and let out a full-bodied laugh, loud enough to echo through the park. He bent over his seat, his cheeks red and splotchy as tears began to stream down his eyes. You stared at him, shocked by his reaction. Was your painting really that hideous?
Finally, he calmed down, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes.
“Well? I hope I did your handsomeness justice,” you said lightly, playing off your incompetence as a joke.
He took the canvas from the easel and smiled – one of the biggest you had seen in a long time. “...It needs some work. Maybe I’ll teach you some basics in the coming days.”
You smiled, before your gaze slid to his own canvas and easel. “You’ve had your fun, now let me have mine. I want to see your painting.”
He seemed to hesitate, his eyes lingering on the picture, before turning his easel towards you. You gasped.
To say it was breathtaking would’ve been an understatement. He had painted a picture of you smiling so deeply that your eyes were closed, and your hair seemed to blow in some imaginary wind. It didn’t even seem that he had pulled together such a piece in only two hours.
“Oh wow…” You breathed.
“I take it that you like it?” Scaramouche’s voice wavered a bit, and you looked up. His gaze was laser-focused on the wooden table in front of him, and a light blush dusted his cheeks.
“It’s absolutely amazing! I’m just surprised that you showed me your painting with so little convincing. You’ve never done that before.”
He shrugged. “It was the least I could do, especially for the paints.”
You reached over to give his hand a light squeeze. He squeezed back, and you smiled.
The sky overhead was beginning to turn purple, and you got up, taking a deep stretch. “The sun is starting to set, so let’s get going now.”
He stood up as well, packing away the supplies. “Are you done with your little tricks, or are we actually heading home now?” There was no bite to his words, and his lips were curled into a small smile. You held out your hand to him.
“Nope! I have one more place to take you. I have a feeling you’ll love this one the most.”
7:00pm
The sun had fully dipped below the horizon by the time the both of you had arrived at your last destination. Although the journey had only taken half an hour, you were panting by the time you made it up the hill.
“Here we are! Our final destination,” you spread your arms, taking your last few steps onto the plateau of the hill. From your location, you could see the entirety of Sumeru City in all its glory at night – a mix of warm glowing lights and stunning architecture. It was truly a sight to behold.
You turned around, feeling the absence of Scaramouche’s warmth by your side. He was standing a few feet away from you, moonlight shining onto his face. He was still holding the bouquet and canvas, but his eyes held a faraway look.
“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, walking towards him again. He shook his head and took a deep breath, coming out of his trance.
“Isn’t this the place where we…?” He didn’t finish his question, nor did he have to. You knew what he was talking about.
Months ago, when the both of you were still hiding your infatuation for the other under a moth-bitten veil, you had journeyed up that very hill with him to star-gaze. A study of the constellations quickly turned into a confession, and the next thing you knew, his soft, inviting lips were on yours. It wasn’t a day you had ever forgotten, and by the looks of it, it hadn’t slipped his mind either.
You looked out at the city again, a small smile creeping onto your face at the memory. “It is. Do you mind being here?”
He shook his head, and followed you to where you stood at the plateau. You took a large cloth out of your satchel and spread it across the stony ground, taking your seat next to him. It was usually so easy to forget what a small place you took up in the world with everything going on around you, but with your gaze elevated towards the stars, all your worries melted away.
From next to you, you felt Scaramouche’s hand slowly creep onto yours, your fingers intertwining. You looked towards him and smiled, reaching up to run your fingers through his soft hair.
“How do you like the view?” You whispered. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes.
“It’s just the same as I remembered it,” he opened his eyes suddenly, and a serious look crossed his face. “But didn’t I tell you the stars in the sky were fake?”
You rolled your eyes at him, your gaze turning towards the sky once again. The stars seemed to have been thrown randomly throughout the sky, some bigger and brighter than others. Some also appeared to be twinkling. Even if your boyfriend was right, and the stars really were fake, was it not enough to appreciate the night sky as it was?
You turned to Scaramouche, only to see him staring back at you.
“Frankly, I don’t care if they’re fake or not. What really matters is whether or not you enjoyed your birthday.”
He turned his face away from you, obviously hiding a smile. “Well? Did you?” You reached around his neck, dragging him towards you so that your forehead was against his.
“Of course I did, idiot. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here now.”
You sighed, relief flooding your chest. “Well, that’s a relief. I was wondering if all my careful planning would be a waste.”
He leaned over and gave your cheek a light peck, before the both of you settled into a comfortable silence. However, something still lingered at the back of your mind, only beginning to resurface now that your surroundings were quiet.
“Scaramouche.”
“Hm?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your birthday?”
In your arms, you felt his body tense up, before he pulled away from you. His eyes were shadowed with an indescribable emotion, and he edged away from you, the few inches of space between you now feeling like miles and miles of cold nothingness. You could feel him mentally pulling away from you, and you knew asking such a question was a huge mistake.
“It’s okay! You don’t have to answer…Just pretend I never asked.”
With his face angled towards the ground, it was difficult to gauge his expression. After a few agonizing moments, he finally shook his head, turning to face you.
He was crying.
Tears streamed down his face, and his breaths came in short gasps. It was nothing like a few hours earlier, when he had laughed so hard he started crying – these were real tears, glistening with sadness and hurt.
“I’m so sorry! Please, don’t cry…”
Comforting others wasn’t usually your strong suit, especially when it came to Scaramouche. He would always request that you leave him alone whenever he was facing another one of his nightmares, always desiring to put up a strong front. But you could always see in his eyes how much he needed you there by his side, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.
However, in that moment when he turned to you, his energy was different. His usually hard exterior had totally shattered, leaving nothing but a broken boy. He was broken, but he was still beautiful.
Tentatively, you reached out to wipe the tears from his cheek. He leaned towards you, burying his neck in your face, and you wrapped your arms around his shaking form. A few minutes passed with the both of you huddled together like that – or it could’ve been hours, you weren’t sure – before he finally pulled away, his cheeks still red and splotchy.
“I’m sorry…” He sniffled, and you felt your heart breaking all over again.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for anything. It was my–”
“No.” He inhaled deeply and straightened his back, his eyes hardening with a new resolve. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You stared at him in silence for a few moments, before he continued. “I’ve never celebrated my birthday. Before I met you, before all of this, I hated myself. I didn’t see the point in my creation – my mother had found me defective, and tossed me out like trash. I had spent years suffering and consequently making others suffer because I hated myself. But now–”
He took your hand gently, caressing your knuckles. “Now, because of you, I don’t feel like that at all, and it’s almost scary. I’ve been hating myself since I existed, and now I can’t bring myself to feel like that again…It’s so scary.”
You pulled him into a hug again, and he wrapped his arms tightly around you. In the crook of your neck, you heard him whisper: “I don’t deserve this kindness…”
You pulled away from him to look him in the eyes, wiping away the extra tears that had fallen. “No, you do. Even if you don’t think so, you have good in you – you are good.”
He began to shake his head, but you took his face into your hands, making sure that he had nothing else to focus on except you. “Yes, you are good. What about all those times you insisted on helping me around the house? And when you defended me earlier today? You might not think of yourself as kind, but everyone else can clearly see it. Although I can’t speak for anyone else, I for one am glad that you’re here with me, even after everything you’ve been through.”
One of your hands came up to rest on his chest, where his heart should’ve been. You leaned over giving him a small peck on his nose. “Don’t cry, okay? It’s called happy birthday for a reason.”
He couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto his face at your analogy.
“If you don’t mind, can I ask you something? How did you enjoy your first birthday celebration? I know you said birthdays were stupid…” You chuckled at the memory from earlier, and he followed suit. You were glad to see him smiling again.
“Of course. Didn’t I tell you before? If I didn’t like it, I would’ve left a long time ago. And you were so kind, doing all these things…” He stole a glance at the bouquet and the canvases peeking out from inside your satchel.
You released a sigh of relief, the weight on your shoulders lifting. “I’m glad, then.”
You pressed your lips to his, and he reciprocated, deepening the kiss. You pulled away first, leaning your forehead against his. If you weren’t sure earlier, you were definitely now – he was the one you wanted to be with at the end of your days.
The moon was already deep into its journey through the sky, but you didn’t want the night to end. You just wanted to see him happy for as long as he existed.
“Happy birthday, Scaramouche.”