pairing scaramouche x reader

he opens up to you for the first time since you knew him.

tags established relationship, hurt/comfort, late-night feelings, internal conflict

warnings none

you don’t notice at first. you think he’s just quiet again, one of his moods where he drifts around the room like he’s borrowed someone else’s body. but then you hear it. the way he exhales like something inside him has cracked.

you turn toward him.

he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands limp. and his eyes—god, his eyes are somewhere you can’t reach. somewhere he’s spent years trying not to go back to.

"scara?" you whisper.

no answer.

you take a step. just one. he flinches like you slapped him.

“don’t,” he rasps, voice small and raw. “please. just… don’t come closer.”

your heart almost caves in on itself. he never asks like that. never begs.

“why?” you breathe out.

he let's out a sound that isn't really laugh. not really anything. he pulls his legs close to him, head lowering in defeat.

"i don't want it to happen again. i can't let it happen again."

you kneel slowly, keeping distance, but lowering yourself to the floor so you’re not towering over him. “can’t do what?”

he drags a hand over his face. “lose something i thought I didn’t care about.”

your breath hitches. he squeezes his eyes shut, and for a moment he looks like a child—terrified, furious, emotions to big to handle.

“scara, i’m not leaving—”

“yes, you will. you always do. everyone does.”

“i’m not everyone.”

“that’s what they all said,” he sighs.

his voice cracks at the end. not dramatically. not loudly. just enough to sound human in a way that terrifies him.

you move closer, only enough that your knees brush his.

he doesn’t move away this time. but he's trembling, it looks like it hurts to breathe.

“look at me,” you say, soft, pleading.

he does.

and the look in his eyes—empty, desperate, terrified of needing you—shatters something you didn't know could break.

“i don’t know who i’m supposed to be,” he admits. “i don’t know how to be… real. i don’t know how to exist without waiting for the next person to decide i’m not worth it.”

“i would never—”

“don’t lie to me.” he says it with tears in his voice, even if none fall yet. “don’t tell me i matter. don’t tell me you love me. don’t tell me things people say before they disappear.”

your throat tightens painfully. “i’m not disappearing.”

“you will,” he repeats, like he’s convinced the universe has already decided. “you’ll realize i’m too much. too broken. too wrong. and one day i’ll look over and you’ll be gone, just like—” his breath shudders. “just like everyone else.”

you climb onto the bed cautiously, your hands shaking. he watches with wide, frightened eyes, like he doesn’t know whether to run or fall into you.

you cup his face.

he stops breathing.

“i’m not leaving,” you whisper.

his voice is barely audible. “don’t promise that.”

“why?”

“because if you break it…” his mouth twists, trembling. “…i won’t survive it.”

the honesty hits you so hard you it hurts. this is scaramouche—sharp, cold words, storms in his chest—and he’s looking at you like you’re the last star in a sky that keeps burning out.

you pull him into your arms.

he resists for half a second. then he collapses.

not gently. not gracefully.

he just breaks.

his fists clutch your shirt. his forehead presses into your shoulder, so hard it's sure to leave a bruise, it's almost as if he’s trying to bury himself in your ribs. his breath stutters, catches, shivers—tiny, fractured sobs he tries and fails to swallow.

“i can’t lose you,” he chokes out. “i don’t know how to do this but i’m trying, i’m trying so hard—”

you hold him tighter. as tight as he needs.

“i’m right here,” you murmur, voice thick. “you’re not losing anything.”

“don’t let go.” it comes out strangled. “don’t let go of me.”

“never.”

you feel him shake harder. you feel the way he clings like he’s been waiting centuries for someone to hold him together like this. he’s crying silently now—breaths shaking, shoulders trembling, tears soaking your collarbone.

“you always see too much,” he cries out. “you look at me like i’m someone worth loving and i don’t understand it. i don’t—i don’t deserve—”

“stop,” you warned, pressing your forehead to his temple. “you deserve everything. every bit of love i give you. every soft thing in this world. every good moment you never got.”

he gasps—a sound of pain, of disbelief, of something inside him finally giving up the fight.

you wrap your arms around him, warm and reassuring, like arms he can actually come home to. the candle burns low. the night presses in. his breathing slowly steadies against your chest, still shaky, still wet with tears.

but he’s holding you like he’s afraid to let the world touch you. as if you’re the only thing keeping him together.

and when he finally whispers, “please stay,” it’s the most honest thing you’ve ever heard from him.

you kiss the top of his head.

“i’m staying,” you whisper. “even when it hurts. even when you push. even when you’re scared. i’m not going anywhere.”

he exhales, a long, shaking breath that sounds like surrender.

This new trend I've been seeing of people cutting out the toxic magats in their lives is so cathartic.