ᶜʰᵉʷ ᵃᶰᵈ ˢʷᵃˡˡᵒʷ!

scaramouche yearns like the notion burns him to no end. it drives him mad. he becomes intimately familiar with all the letters you write to him—rereading over and over until his eyes remember every stroke, allows himself to stare at you a little longer than necessary—one glance then other and other, offers you anonymous gifts under the impression he is doing you a favor in your lackluster life, strains himself to the point of struggle when he catches a merchant of no importance trying to pursue you with lavish gifts, and resists the urge to pull you right back to his side. it is all futile attempts, he knows. you will find another to cling on to—because isn’t that how humans are? temporarily? disposal? but there is something in his chest that aches with ignition at the thought. he knows the feeling, but doesn’t want to confront it. oh how humiliating this is. the rope he tied around you and him grows tighter, yet he pulls back as if loving you meant that he will face the fact he will ultimately care again.

Cute