#(hmm.)

prior to meeting (y/n), broke boy scara had an idgaf mentality regarding his financial situation. it could be worse! he could have been on the streets homeless but he isn't - and that makes him grateful enough. sure, he doesn't have wi-fi, but that's not something weekly load can't fix. and maybe he doesn't have full, hearty meals every single day - but isn't that the average experience of a college student? gucci bags, caviar, diamond-encrusted earrings, etc., are luxuries for a reason! he doesn't need any of that nor is he tempted to.

predictably, his tune changes after your first meeting with him.

scara had to pick up his jaw from the floor because the whiplash of social difference he experienced after he took one step inside his university campus was jarring. of course, what did he expect? it's a state university, after all! there was no way that the place wouldn't be crawling with nepo babies and children of the country's politicians, all with dirty money paying for the full price of the hefty tuition fees.

you're one of them.

standing tall and proud with perfectly done hair, sunglasses protecting your delicate eyes from the harsh sunlight that comes with dreadful morning classes. dainty hands that have never known labour are decorated with rings topped with stones that he can't even identify. pierced ears adorned with bangle hoops made from gold, all while dressed in chanel and Burberry from top to bottom and finished off with jimmy choo heels. you are pretty, unfairly so.

you're surrounded by two other girls that are dressed in similar splendor, all smiles and giggles as you walk toward your first class.

money... talks.

to his surprise, scaramouche meets you again, as it turns out you share the same first period as him. he eyes the open seat next to you, debating if he should bite the bullet. his hesitation must be glaringly obvious as your eyes flit up to meet his. he flinches.

your nose scrunches up as you giggle, your bracelet-laden hand pats the seat as if to entice him. "come sit, i don't bite!"

he cautiously moves around your designer bag resting on the lecture room's floor, and even narrowly avoids stepping onto a gucci shopping bag just behind - it would be a great misfortune if he got himself into debt on the first day of his college semester like those kdramas he watched.

scaramouche sits up straight and keeps his hands to himself while waiting for the professor to arrive. silence wafts though the air, though he can't help but sneak glances at what exactly you were writing down on your ipad - he's reluctant to make conversation, still wary if you'd be offended at the prospect of a brokie like him (disregarding the fact that you were the one who invited him to sit).

and you seem content to be left to your own devices, so... he lets it be.

it isn't until the end of the lecture did you actually talk to him. amidst him picking up his slingbag to go to his next class, halfway through the room, a distinct voice calls out,

"hey, indigo-head!"

scaramouche freezes, his foot stilling in mid-air as he slowly turns around, unsure if he was the indigo-head you were referring to. he dumbly points to himself, and you nod enthusiastically, even giving him a big thumbs up for good measure.

he tries his best to still his accelerating beating heart.

"what's up?" he asks once you're near him, trying to play it cool.

"just wanted to say hi and introduce myself! my name's (y/n)," you reach out to dramatically shake his hands in exaggerated motions, and he hopes you don't feel the sweat that has built up in his palms.

"oh, guess you can call me... kunikuzushi. but just shorten it to kuni if you want," he shrugs, looking anywhere but you.

"got it, got it!" you let go of his hands, and the loss of your touch stings for some reason. "sorry to hold you up on your next class, see you around!"

"yeah, sure." scara cooly nods, watching you walk ahead of him until your figure is swallowed by the sea of students bustling around.

he doesn't want to admit it, but you leave disappointment in your wake. he was hoping for something more - like an offer of friendship, not an obligatory introduction of names. but perhaps that was his wishful thinking speaking - it's unrealistic to hope that would happen, you seemed to be surrounded with more than enough friends anyway.

you, with your perfectly done nails and easy confidence - evident of how you never had to experience insecurity or worry growing up, because you yourself are the person most people wanted to be.

right, right... why would you want to be friends with someone like him? realistically speaking, you're probably no different from those whiny, spoiled brats with shallow personalities. what a joke.

hah, maybe he really should lay off the kdramas.

a box of chocolate sits atop of his self-chosen desk the next time enters the class he shares with you. it screams wealth from the packaging alone, accompanied by a european-sounding brand name, and is that real gold?

"it's for you," your voice cuts through his inner monologue, and scaramouche looks up with indigo eyes wide in disbelief.

"what?"

you blink once, "i said, it's for you?"

"no, i heard you right the first time", scaramouche can't help but roll his eyes, "i meant - what for?"

"oh! it's nothing much, just a peace offering. i mean, you're my desk neighbour now, right? i don't know what you like but my dad got those chocolates from his trip back in belgium! heard it was custom-made by a renowned chocolatier or something." you smile, eyes urging him to try it.

scaramouche blinks, hesitant. "i hate sweets."

you gawk in disappointment before going back to being easy-going. "it's okay! you can just give it to your siblings or throw it away! as for my peace offering... hmm."

you snap your fingers and ask him, "what do you like?"

he frowns, "what?"

"let's go shopping after your classes ends, i'll take you wherever you want!" you excitedly explain, decorated soft hands grabbing his callous ones. "my treat!"

scaramouche stutters then, pink dusting his ears, "y-...you don't need to all this, are you insane?"

but doing all of this for him... he struggles to fight back the smile threatening to break through his face.

you shake your head vehemently, still holding onto his hands, "it's no matter for me, so don't worry! i use my dad's credit card, after all!"

reality crashes down on him... right, this is probably nothing for rich kids like you. spare change, even. going around, doing acts of kindness using daddy's card... you'd probably do this 'peace offering' regardless if he weren't seated next to you - that this is just how you are as a person. you're not doing this because of him specifically.

and that thought stings. it eats him up more than he'd like to admit.

still, he agrees. he tells you he likes to play video games in his spare time (a lie, he doesn't have the means to do so).

you gift him a ps5 in turn.

and the wealth and social discrepancy between the two of you makes it even more apparent to him. he goes to his bed that night with thoughts of 'what-if's.

by the time the second semester of university hits, scaramouche's routine have greatly been altered - all thanks to your eventual friendship with him, of course.

nowadays, he obsesses with fervor. he barely even touches the ps5 you gave him. he barely touches the things you gift him in general.

he views them as something sacred. to be touched by him is sin.

the first thing he does after waking up is opening his phone to look at your instagram account, with your wealth there's no doubt that you've probably added a new story pertaining to an impulsive purchase or impromptu getaway. next up is twitter, checking to see if your following and followers are the same or decreased/increased.

every day he worries that you might be hiding a secret boyfriend from him. someone who is able to stand with you on a podium - someone who matches you not only in terms of wealth but in extrovert nature as well. scaramouche thinks he'd die the day he finds out you've fallen for someone that isn't him.

he eats breakfast soon after, the taste bland and lacking flavor. not because of the ingredients he used but because he's not eating with you. scaramouche finds that life with you not around is boring and dull. once he's done eating, he puts the dishes in the sink to wash.

he showers, dresses up, and exits his small apartment. it's only when he's a street away from the campus does his blood start buzzing in excitement. it's only then does scaramouche start to feel alive.

sometimes, if he's lucky, scaramouche will encounter you walking in the open fields and he'll speed up his pace just so you both can enter the lecture room together. you, with long acrylic nails that probably costed more than his monthly rent, would playfully pinch him in greeting. he has to push down the shiver of delight that crawls up his spine every time.

the bad days happen when he wakes up late, indigo hues heavy with eyebags, and movements tinged with fatigue. it's rare, but sometimes he wakes up late because he was busy thinking about you the night before. and when he's late, there's a good chance that the lecture room is already packed and his self-assigned seat next to you is already taken by someone else.

he hates it when it happens.

lunch break is a gamble for him, sometimes you're spending it with your other wealthy friends so he's left eating alone in the campus cafeteria. sometimes, you plead and beg with him to let you treat him to some high-end restaurant that's 30 minutes away from campus. in the beginning, he strongly refused out of a sense of embarrassment. but now, his raw need to constantly be around you is stronger than any shame he can possibly feel.

during your lunch breaks spent with him, scaramouche can't help but hope that the people around you two thinks that you're a couple. it happened once, during him accompanying you on a shopping trip and the words still rolls around in his mind.

boyfriend.

he wishes.

after lunch, he drives the both of you back to campus (you used to have a designated driver, but scaramouche soon offered to drive instead) using your car. you go on your separate ways, different classes and all. with you gone, the world loses its color once more.

he releases a sigh at that.

after classes, scaramouche walks several blocks to his part-time job. it's night by the time he returns to his apartment, body utterly tired. still, he pulls out his phone to check on your accounts once more.

he smiles when he sees himself in your story post.

scaramouches eats his measly dinner, eyes raving at the gifts from you that he accumulated while he chews. he still ponders on how he can pay you back on your generosity. what can you give to someone who has everything?

he settles into his twin-sized bed. he wonder then, how can he seize control of your life that's so above his? what leverage can he pull for him to be yours?

scaramouche closes his eyes, letting the sleep take hold of his mind.