Work Text:
"Wait, Scaramigo! Where are you off to?"
Scaramouche's hand stops just as he's about to open the door, and he turns his head. Itto's looking back at him with a concerned expression.
"I still have a few things I need to go pick up," he sighs, hand moving back down to rest at his side, fiddling idly with his key. Itto's eyebrows furrow as he looks around them.
Scaramouche's new apartment isn't anything fancy, but it's definitely an upgrade from bunking with Ajax for another four years. It took a lot of time and work to save for his own place, but, thankfully, he had never been asked to pay for rent during that time, so. Small blessings.
And he has pretty much got all of his stuff.
Mostly.
Itto looks back at him, still confused.
"You have more stuff to get?"
Scaramouche puts his hands in his coat pockets, hit with the realisation that he's obviously not going to be leaving any time soon. He focuses his gaze on a blemish on the wall that looks very interesting, suddenly.
"The group home called. Said they still had stuff in storage that they hadn't given back." Scaramouche shrugs. "Things I had left behind and they had just… forgotten about, until recently."
It's not exactly a secret that he grew up in a home, that he only lived with Ajax in the first place because he was basically kicked to the curb as soon as he aged out (though the other reasons have mostly been kept between just him and Ajax), but he tries not to talk about it. And, usually, there's no reason for him to.
In his peripherals, he sees Itto wince.
"Oh. Yikes, dude," he says awkwardly. It makes him want to laugh, honestly, seeing someone as grandiose as Itto so lost for words. He rolls his eyes.
"I'll live. Make sure the others don't make too much mess while I'm gone, okay?"
Having a housewarming party wasn't even his decision — Ajax had more or less shoved himself into Scaramouche's business when he learnt he wasn't doing one and decided to invite people over regardless. He doesn't mind Itto and his friends being here, necessarily; he's spent more time with them ever since him and Itto started dating, and he's surprisingly come to actually enjoy their company, Shinobu's especially. Ajax's friends, on the other hand?
Yeah. Best not to leave them unsupervised for too long, or he might not even have a place to come back to.
Scaramouche turns back around to step into the snow, but a hand on his arm makes him stop. With a sigh, he turns back to Itto, who offers him a half-hearted grin.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
He blinks.
And—yeah. Maybe he's been dreading going back ever since he got the call. Even thinking about the impersonal cream walls and the noise and blue hair—
It makes an involuntary shiver run down his spine. And maybe he hasn't exactly been discreet about how much he hates the place, who can blame him?
So Itto offering the company is—sweet. He's sweet.
Scaramouche blames the heat rising to his cheeks on his coat's fur lining.
He shrugs noncommittally, and Itto immediately grins, shouting over his shoulder to tell the others they'll be gone for a little as he grabs his shoes from the entryway.
Scaramouche doesn't want to go back. Regardless, he's a big boy now, and he knows better than anyone that sometimes you have to do things you don't want to.
Despite dating for several months now, being alone with Itto in such an enclosed space is… strange. Not bad, per se, but he can practically feel Itto's body heat emitting from the passenger seat as he slumps into it. Maybe it's just the fact that there's usually someone else with them, or that they're not usually cramped together like sardines in Scaramouche's shitty Honda.
"That snow is no joke, huh?" Itto says with a sigh, teeth still chattering slightly as he relaxes into the leather. Scaramouche feels his hands clench around the wheel subconsciously as he stares out into the layers of white ahead, face blank.
"I suppose. I don't feel it that much."
"Right, forgot about that. Man, that's kinda freaky!" He catches himself as Scaramouche turns his head, beginning to gesture wildly. "Not that—not that you're weird or anything, but, y'know," he makes a vague gesture with one of his hands, seeming to struggle with the words.
(He is. He's doesn't know why Itto hasn't figured that out yet.)
"I know what you meant."
Itto seems to get even redder at that, balling his hands into fists on his lap. "Right! Yeah! Cool! Cool."
Scaramouche just huffs out a laugh as he starts reversing the car out of its parking space. The sound of tires crunching against the gathering piles of snow and frost soothes him slightly, though dread still pools in his veins.
It's hard not to at least feel slightly anxious about going back. His memories aren't exactly… pleasant. Sure, he can hold his own now, and he's pretty sure he heard in passing that it's not even run by the same people now, so. It should be fine.
Itto rolls his shoulders before pulling out his phone.
"Hey, d'you mind if I put some music on?"
He shrugs. "Do whatever you want."
"Sweet!"
There's a couple minutes of Itto just fiddling with his phone before he hears the first few notes of a song play through the car's speaker. It sounds vaguely Christmas-y, he supposes. Fitting for the season.
As the first lyrics are sung, he sneaks a glance at Itto.
"English?"
"Yup! Thoma showed it to me last week," Itto explains, an easy grin on his face.
Scaramouche makes an affirmative noise, eyes still focused on the road. "I've never really listened to songs in English before. Though," he amends, "I also don't listen to music much in general, either."
"Woah, really? No offense, man, but that kinda sucks."
He shakes his head with a playful scoff, and the silence returns. The song Itto put on actually sounds decent, honestly, and he finds himself lightly tapping his fingers against the wheel to the rhythm. Speaking of tapping, Itto's gone back to his phone, brows furrowed in concentration.
Suddenly, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He spares Itto another cursory glance.
"You?"
Itto nods, face solemn. "Since it's such a tragedy that you don't listen to music, I went through the ache and trouble of making you a playlist." He places a hand over his heart, leaning back with a pained expression. Scaramouche rolls his eyes fondly at the dramatics. "No need to thank me, cutie."
Heat rises to his cheeks, and it only gets worse when he sees Itto failing at fighting down a smile in his peripherals.
"Thanks. That's… thoughtful of you. I'll listen and let you know what I think."
(He ignores the pang of guilt he feels for wasting even more of Itto's time.)
"You better!"
The grinding of wheels against gravel makes Scaramouche's nerves swirl uneasily in his stomach. It looks just like it did when he left it, except now with the addition of lights and a bit of tinsel hanging around the door. It looks pleasant to anybody who isn't aware of—
He really thought he wouldn't have to ever come back. Fuck whatever stuff he left here. They can have it.
Itto's eyes burn holes in the back of his head as they get out of the car, and he has to stop his hands from shaking as the two of them trudge through the snow up to the door.
He practically jumps out of his skin when something brushes his pinky.
When he looks over at Itto, he's met with a serious look that looks so out of place for him, and—an outstretched hand, red and trembling slightly from the cold.
"We've got this."
His breath catches dangerously in his throat, and he interlocks their hands with a speed that surprises them both, if the rapid blinking he receives is any indication.
"Yeah," he chokes out, before he clears his throat with a cough. "Yeah, we do."
Itto's hand is warm.
Scaramouche wraps his free-hand's knuckles against the door before he can procrastinate. There's a voice inside that tells them to wait a moment, and Itto gives him a reassuring smile as he tucks their bodies even closer together.
Even with his lack of expectations, the door opening to reveal a short woman he doesn't recognise wouldn't have been high on his list.
"Sorry about that, I just had to take out something from the oven," she explains in accented Japanese, expression bashful. Scaramouche can vaguely smell whatever it is, the scent of sugar and baked goods settling over him. "My name's Nahida."
It takes him a moment to remember that, right, new owners, but it still makes him stumble mentally. Luckily, his guardian angel is plastered to his side.
"No biggie! The names Arataki Itto! And this is Scaramouche—but you, ah, probably already know that part, huh? It's cold as hell out here, though, sooo…"
Nahida laughs, the sound melodic, and Scaramouche feels his muscles relax slightly. Itto squeezing his hand afterwards means that, embarrassingly, he also noticed. The thought almost makes him want to pout — which, somehow, is even more embarrassing.
The house's warmth wraps around him like an embrace as they shuffle awkwardly inside, and it's—hard. Because the home was never this warm or inviting when he lived here, and it's making complicated feelings flutter in his ribcage.
It looks lived in. Loved. There are a few toys left in a pile by the wall — and even the wall has changed, Kami — and the scent of baked goods lingers in the air, and it's—hard, is what it is. And completely unfair.
Scaramouche inhales a steadying breath, suddenly feeling a little dizzy.
He's sat on one of the couches in the living room before he can even register they've moved. Itto's hand is still slotted into his, and he's drawing featherlight circles against Scaramouche's thumb. His shoulders feel lighter and it takes him a moment to realise his coat is laying over his lap, his free hand lazily fidgeting with the fur. Did he put it there? He doesn't remember doing that.
He turns his gaze slightly to his left and sees Itto in the same predicament. Ah.
"Sorry for dragging you out here with the weather like it is," Nahida says as she walks in, a plate in her hands that she sets on the table between them. She takes her own place on the recliner opposite, tucking her legs under her with a sigh. "We would have saved this until later, but it gets so busy around here that we were bound to forget a second time," she shrugs with a small smile.
"It's no bother," Scaramouche replies, tongue like lead in his mouth. It is a bother. Of course it's a bother, he doesn't even want to fucking be here— "Besides, the snow hasn't gotten too bad, yet."
"Yeah, isn't it supposed to get worse next week?" Itto interjects, shaking his head. "Jeez. Some… ice God or something seems to have it out for us," he snorts.
Yeah. Some deity really does have it out for him, for shoving in his face the one thing he never got to have. Un-fucking-believable.
"So. This place is certainly… a home." Scaramouche winces at the venom that accidentally slipped into his words, but he doesn't say anything else. The responding silence feels suffocating. Itto shifts in his seat.
"I understand your hesitance. What happened here," Nahida starts, tentative, "what happened to you — what they did to you—" (Scaramouche almost flinches) "—and those other children…" She suddenly looks sick, an intense expression of disgust on her face. "It wasn't right."
Shocker.
"I'm aware."
"Good," she says, and she really does sound relieved. It makes irritation spark in his gut. It makes him want to cry. "The children living here now are in much better hands, if that's something you're worried about."
(It is. He's spent one too many sleepless nights thinking of the familiar faces that he never saw again after he left. He didn't have friends here, not really. Never let himself get too close to anyone before he met Ajax on that random park visit. But the idea of the situation he had left them in made—makes his stomach churn.
These children being treated better — actually being cared for — is—good. Great, even. Yet, he can't help but feel…)
Scaramouche's breath stutters and he conceals it with a cough into his fist.
"Where did you say my things were?"
Nahida face falls. She gives him a sympathetic look and it makes his skin crawl. Itto's stayed silent, and he can only imagine just what the other probably thinks of him now. After a long moment of her eyes searching for something in his face, her lips quirk into another smile. He can see the strain in it.
"Trying to run away so quickly, hm?" she teases, and Scaramouche goes to defend himself, but the sound of her snorting stops him. "I need a second opinion on my ghraybeh before you leave, if you don't mind?"
Scaramouche squints. "Ghray…beh?" he enunciates, the words clunky and unfamiliar on his tongue (he's never been good with other languages). Nahida nods, pleased. She lifts the plate with the cookies, and Itto gasps, immediately going for one. He's already raised it to his mouth when Scaramouche places a hand on his elbow.
"There's no soy in those, right?"
Itto's hand stills, eyes wide. He looks at Nahida with horror dawning on his face. The sigh that comes from Scaramouche is long-suffering.
"Itto," he says, tone flat and unimpressed. To his credit, Itto at least has the decency to look embarrassed.
Nahida laughs.
"No, no! They're sort of like…" She seems to struggle slightly with the word. Likely trying to remember the Japanese translation, if Scaramouche were to guess. Then, she snaps her fingers. "Shortbread! So no, no soy."
"Oh, thank Kami." He immediately stuffs it into his mouth, moaning at the taste. Nahida shakes her head fondly at him as he reaches for another. Before they all get eaten, she picks one up and offers it to Scaramouche.
"Ghraybeh?" The circular cookie sits in her palm, and Scaramouche shakes his head.
"No, thank you. I'm not a big fan of sweet things."
Her eyes dart to Itto for a split second before looking back, the corners crinkling as she smiles. "That's alright. Everybody's different," she says as she settles back into her seat. The mood suddenly feels a lot lighter and he's grateful for it. "The box is upstairs when you're ready. Do you remember where the office is?" Scaramouche nods curtly. "It's in there."
They sit there for another ten minutes as Itto and Nahida finish off the cookies between them. He learns more about her during that time — namely, she's actually much older than she looks, and she's from the Middle East. That's where the cookies are from too, apparently. She's pleasant company, all things considered, and he feels much less tense by the time the last cookie is finished off.
Itto stands and dips into a bow as he apologises for the crumbs with a red face, but Nahida just waves him off.
"Children live here, Arataki-kun, a couple crumbs isn't the end of the world."
Scaramouche can't help the tiny snort that escapes him, and Nahida's smile softens. She stands up with them, stretching her arms with a groan as she slowly wanders off to a room Scaramouche doesn't remember the purpose of.
"I'll be down here if you need anything. Oh, and," she adds, as if she's just remembered, pausing in her tracks, "the children are out visiting the stalls in town, so you won't be bothered. You two should go when you have the time, I heard they're quite good." With that, she vanishes behind the corner.
Itto squeezes his hand (he honestly forgot they were holding hands, truth be told) and nods towards the stairs.
"You ready?" he whispers, and Scaramouche rolls his eyes, shrugging his coat on properly with his free hand.
"Please. It's not as if I'll die because of all of this." He sighs at the unimpressed, raised eyebrows he receives. "Really, it's—not that big of a deal. I've been through worse than sorting through old belongings."
Itto looks less than pleased with that and opens his mouth to respond, but then shuts it, holding his tongue on whatever he wants to say. Instead, he just grins half-heartedly.
"You lead the way then, boss!"
For as foreign and disconcerting as the rest of the house feels, the office is practically the exact same. A little cleaner, yeah, and definitely looking like it's seen more use than he remembers it having when he lived here. But it's still nothing when compared to the rest of it.
It's a nice change. Gives him way less uncomfortable feelings that he probably needs to work through with a therapist one day (whenever that day comes (never, if he can help it)).
It still gives him that weird, icky feeling everything else has, don't get him wrong, but—something about the way it's practically stuck in time is—well, comforting isn't the right word. Nothing about the house parents' office has ever been comforting.
Just like Nahida said, on top of the desk sits a medium sized cardboard box with his name written on the side facing the door (he promptly ignores the poorly scribbled out Kunikuzushi he sees under it — its colour is much darker compared to the faded words under it, so it must've been a recent job).
Itto whistles as he enters the small space, looking over all of the storage cabinets and boxes with blatant interest. Scaramouche trails behind, closing the door gently.
"There's a lot of stuff in here, huh?"
He shrugs as Itto peeks into one of the partially open boxes. "Well, you kind of need a lot of supplies to take care of a group of children. Half of this is just paperwork anyway."
The other hums, moving away from the boxes to hover near the storage cabinet. Scaramouche fiddles with the ends of his box as he pulls it closer.
The thought of opening it is… daunting.
"Like…" He can basically hear the way Itto's brows have furrowed in concentration across from him. "Legal stuff?"
"Medical documents, identification, tax forms, whatever." He looks up. "So, stuff you're probably not legally allowed to look at."
Itto immediately rips his hand away, face pale. He coughs into his fist.
"Right! So, what have we got here, then?"
Scaramouche sighs as his focus is once again returned to the sole reason for their visit. He knows it doesn't have anything that important in it — he triple checked that when he was packing to leave — so its content eludes him. And yet.
"Scara?"
Itto's looking at him now, and he shakes his head.
May as well rip of the bandaid.
The top is haphazardly taped together, so it's easy to catch the ends with his fingers and rip it open in one smooth motion. It's a lot shallower than he expected, only filled halfway, and—
Oh. Hello, old friend?
"Ooh! What's that on top?" Itto asks, tone eager.
"My binder," he responds, actually pleasantly surprised. Huh. This is much better than unleashing some unspeakable trauma monster. "The first one."
Itto gasps, grabbing it and cradling it gently in his hands, a look of wonder on his face.
"A relic!" He makes a noise that warms Scaramouche's face. "It's so little!"
"Yeah, well, I was fifteen."
"Baby Scara," Itto whispers, and Scaramouche rolls his eyes, face hot.
"That wasn't even that long ago!"
It makes sense why he left that here, at least. He's surprised he hadn't thrown it out or donated it by then, honestly, having grown out of it within a year. It didn't help that he had ordered it in the wrong size, but it's not like that matters now at his big age of twenty-two.
And, hey. He doesn't even need one anymore, anyway. Thank Kami for top surgery (sure, Ajax might've paid for it, but it's not like he was going to say no, regardless of the hit his pride took).
The next two layers are just old cards and notes, mostly from Ajax, but there are one or two from the other kids he lived with. It's weird, reading their names and barely remembering their faces. He doesn't quite know how he feels about it.
He sets them on the desk, but Itto immediately picks everything up to look through it. The cooing he does as he reads is mortifying, and Scaramouche has to take multiple breaks to mentally pray for patience (inwardly, he's just counting his blessings that this whole situation hasn't scared Itto off yet).
The next few layers are just miscellaneous things that obviously didn't matter enough to him to be a part of his new life; mostly a lot of old essays and workbooks from when he was in school. He spares the workbooks another cursory glance, debating on taking them just because, but he doesn't really have a use for them.
Just as he's beginning to think he's pysched himself up for nothing, he notices the last item. At first it just looks like another piece of paper, but the glossy look of it combined with its size puzzles him. It takes him a second to realise it's a photograph, and he reaches a tentative hand out to turn it over.
He's barely registered the sharp red eyes staring back at him before he's shoving the box away, watching it clatter to the floor.
Itto jumps, eyes wide. He stands slowly, as if not wanting to scare a frightened animal.
"Scara?"
It sounds like Scaramouche's underwater, his head full of cotton. There's a building pressure behind his eyes that he tries to blink away, to no avail. A weak noise rises from his throat and he kicks the box even further away. All it does is make the picture of him and Zandik slip out onto the floor. The sight of it is practically taunting him. He can taste bile in the back of his throat.
"I wanna go home," he says, leaving the room and speed walking down the stairs before Itto can respond.
He thinks he hears Nahida's voice behind him as he throws the front door open, but it's hard to think over the sick feeling rising in his gut. The wind is ferocious against his ears, the change in temperature disorienting. He squats in the snow covering the sidewalk, dry heaving with his face buried in his palms. Tears burn behind his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall.
He remembers the day they took that photo — those few months during the first year where Zandik and the owners at least pretended to be normal to keep up appearances, before—before they—
Fucking hell.
Despite how sick he feels, nothing comes up. He can't even find it in himself to be glad.
Footsteps approach carefully and he quickly swipes at the tears that have gathered at his lashes. The reminder of what just happened sobers him up a little, and at least now he's less at risk of throwing up on himself. For now, anyway.
"…Hey. You, uh… okay?"
Itto's voice is soft, and Scaramouche hears the snow crunch as he kneels beside him. Somehow it makes him feel even worse that Itto hasn't realised how much of a freak he is yet. Wasting time on Scaramouche of all people is—it's stupid. He should be dating someone without so much emotional baggage, someone who won't run away because they saw a picture—
"It's okay if you… don't wanna talk about it," Itto says, before pausing. Scaramouche feels his body jostle as he shakes his head, their shoulders knocking slightly. "Actually, no, it's not, not really," he amends, and Scaramouche can't help the way it makes his heart sting.
There's another moment of silence before Itto begins again.
"I want you to talk about it—to feel like you can come to me with… whatever this stuff is. Whatever it was that upset you—ever upsets you. I'm not gonna, like, act like I know what to do, but I've been told I'm a pretty good listener?"
Scaramouche doesn't respond, but he shifts slightly so he's also kneeling and presses their knees together. The snow seaps into his leggings in a way he knows is going to feel gross when they get up. An arm wraps around him to pull him even closer until his head rests on Itto's shoulder.
"Even outside of the whole boyfriend thing, I still really like you, you know? You're my bro," Itto teases, before his voice once again takes on a heavier tone. "And I know that I can be pretty dumb at times — and I'm only gonna admit that once, so savor it — but, I… I've picked up enough context clues, and I don't think I—that I like what I'm thinking?"
"That makes two of us," Scaramouche whispers before he can help it. Itto pauses for half a second before his grip on Scaramouche tightens.
"Yeah, I," he inhales deeply, "I thought so. Do you wanna talk about it? With me?"
And there's the dilemma. Because he does. But he still can't help the thought that, if Itto learns how fucked up he is, it really will be the final straw. He's somehow put up with his less than desirable personality for this long already, but there's no telling how he'll see Scaramouche if he knows the truth. He couldn't bear for Itto to look at him with disgust in his eyes.
So, maybe it's selfish to ask, but—
"Promise you won't think any differently of me if I—if I tell you," he pleads, suddenly feeling so much like his younger self it's dizzying. His hold on Itto's hand tightens imperceptibly, and he sees a glint of determination in Itto's eyes, along with something else he can't discern.
"I promise."
At some point, Itto sprawled onto his back, with Scaramouche's head resting on his chest.
Feeling Itto tense at different intervals as he recounts his life at the home, of Zandik, especially, is—validating. He didn't think he needed someone to outwardly tell him it was fucked up until now. It's not like he didn't know, but to have someone supporting him—
("We're burning that picture, by the way," Itto says, voice completely serious, and Scaramouche can't help but laugh. He agrees wholeheartedly.)
—is… nice.
And he does feel lighter after saying it, even though he should probably feel guilty for bombarding Itto with all of this on what he thought was going to be normal day.
Whatever. That's what he gets for dating someone as undesirable as Scaramouche.
(He learns more about Itto, too. About how his parents died when he was young, so;
"We're kinda similar with that, you know," he teases after Scaramouche admits his mother is dead to him, fingers carding through the silky strands of Scaramouche's hair, face stained with tears. "Two peas in a pod."
And even though their situations aren't even that similar at all outside of that one thing, Scaramouche still feels fresh tears well up in his eyes at the thought of someone who understands.)
It's odd, being so open with another person. The only one who knew anything about him before was Ajax, and—yeah, maybe it's embarrassing as hell to admit, but he can't say he minds. He feels a lot less like excess baggage now that he's finally got it off his chest and still has the reassurance that—
("Can I tell you something?" he whispers after a couple minutes of silence, listening to Itto's heart beat in his chest.
"What's up?"
"I know we've never said it, but I do love you." Hearing the rhythm of Itto's heart get even faster brings a gentle smile to his face. "You mean a lot to me. Even if I act like an asshole."
He lifts his head and stretches forward to place a kiss on Itto's chin, relishing in the way the other goes completely red. But he only has a second to act all satisfied before he's being pulled into a proper kiss with a yelp.)
—they'll be okay.
"You know," Itto says as they lay there, clothes rumpled from half wrestling, half kissing eachother. His tone is slightly hesitant as he continues, "I do think you should try therapy."
Scaramouche groans into his neck. "You're such a turn-off, you know that? Kami, why do I even like you?"
"Because I make you happy?"
And—his tone is so hopeful and earnest that Scaramouche finds himself softening instinctively. He sighs, kissing the warmed skin with more fondness than he would ever admit out loud. For now, at least.
"Yeah."
"Oh, laying on the snow was not a good idea."
Scaramouche looks over and winces at Itto's still damp coat.
"It's been on the radiator since yesterday, how isn't it dry yet?" He hovers a hand next to said radiator, and, yeah, it's still working, so the wetness of it eludes him. Itto shrugs, eyebrows furrowed as he dumps his coat back on it.
"Maybe it's because of how long we were laying on it? I mean, little sprout had to literally drag us inside so we wouldn't get frostbite!"
Scaramouche groans. "Stop calling her that. Just leave it there, I'll sort it out tomorrow." He goes to leave back to his bedroom, but the offended gasp he hears makes him pause.
"Tomorrow? Christmas day, tomorrow?" Scaramouche's eyes narrow in confusion.
"Yeah?"
Itto gasps again, and he rolls his eyes.
"We're not children, Itto. Why are you so out of sorts about my Christmas plans?"
"You're not doing anything else? Sweetheart," he whines, and Scaramouche feels his face flush. He promptly turns around and practically stomps to his bedroom, the other following close behind and flopping onto his back on the sheets with little grace. "I'm serious! That's kinda sad, babe!"
Scaramouche scowls at that particular nickname and Itto puts up his hands placatingly.
"Okay, okay, just—hear me out, okay?" He inhales deeply, sitting up and patting the bed for Scaramouche to sit with him. When Scaramouche relents, he slots their hands together and sways them playfully. "You, me, the gang maybe if they want—"
"As if the esteemed Arataki gang would do anything without their gracious leader."
"—all of us get some fried chicken to share between us and watch movies? If we're really lucky, there might even be some cake left—ah, but knowing our luck, probably not…"
Oh. Hm. That does sound kinda of tempting, actually (though, Itto mentioning cake as if it sweetens the deal is kind of funny).
He raises a brow. "And if I say that I'm not doing this unless it's extra spicy chicken?"
Itto's face visibly falls and he swallows nervously, before attempting a confident smile. "Your wish is my command?"
Scaramouche snorts. "You're such an idiot. Sure."
Before he can react, he's pushed down against the sheets, Itto peppering kisses all over his face. A laugh escapes him unwarranted, and his face heats up as he pushes Itto's face away.
"Love you! You won't regret this, I promise!"
No, he probably will. But he finds he doesn't mind too much.