An elegy for the furure we buried — Scaramouche
Light Angst, Modern Au, Fem! Reader
cw: character death, poorly written, ooc scara, poor timeline (i tried my best) inaccurate definition ofthe illness
summary: the first time he saw you, you look good as the sun bathe your skin. the last time you were ten feet below him
originally titled as The day she said goodnight- but i changed it hehehe.
The air in the university cafeteria was always loud and smelled like old grease—a noisy mess that Scaramouche, absolutely hated. He sat across from Kazuha, picking at his lunch with a bored look on his face. That wasnt the first time he saw you. You were laughing, throwing your head back in a way that seemed way too bright and happy for such a gloomy room.
A sharp feeling of recognition hit his chest. I know those eyes, he thought, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his chopsticks but he couldn't place it. The memory stayed just out of reach.
The time he saw you was completely by accident. It was a clear Saturday afternoon, and he happened to walk past a dog shelter event. There you were, sitting right in the middle of a bunch of messy golden retrievers. Your clothes were covered in muddy paw prints and stray fur, but with the afternoon sun hitting you, he thought you looked absolutely beautiful.
"Are you always like this" Kazuha said quietly, giving him a knowing look as they walked.
Scaramouche snapped his head away, his face turning bright red. "Shut up. I just find the dogs cute" But as he stole another glance, it finally clicked. The school grounds. Months ago. You had been sitting on the grass, soaked in the midday sun and that was the first time he saw you. He had been completely stuck on you then, and he was completely helpless now.
For once, he got lucky. Kazuha casually mentioned that you were his classmate in one of his subjects. Scaramouche didn't waste any time finding your name, though your social media was a dead end. Your Instagram was completely empty—you posted maybe once in a blue moon but Scaramouche was not a patient man. He hated waiting.
He didn't want to play games, so he liked your latest story and immediately slid into your direct messages. Luckily for him, even if you didn't post, you used the app all the time to text your friends.
Day by day, the awkwardness faded. He learned everything about you: your favorite things, what you liked, and what you hated. Soon, texting turned into real life. Whenever you passed each other in the school hallways, you would give him a big wave and a smile that made his heart beat fast against his ribs. He started texting you "good morning" and "good night" every single day, along with random memes that always made you laugh.
Then, you caught him completely off guard by inviting him to one of your volunteer events. It really wasn't his thing. He hated crowds, he hated dirt, and he didn't care about charity. But for you? For you, he would do absolutely anything.
When he arrived at the park, you were already there, struggling under the weight of a massive canvas backpack.
"Give it here," he muttered, acting rough but gently pulling the heavy straps off your shoulders. "Are you trying to carry the whole world, or just this heavy bag?"
You laughed, and the sound instantly made him feel relaxed. "Just dog food and toys, Kuni. Thank you."
The next few hours were a mess of barking dogs, but Scaramouche only had eyes for you. He just listened to you talk, loving the sound of your voice. Suddenly, you stopped a passing volunteer and handed them a digital camera.
"Let's take a picture together!" you smiled, pulling his sleeve.
Scaramouche stiffened, instantly looking away. "I don't do photos."
"It is for the memories please!!!!" You looked up at him with wide, begging eyes.
He sighed and gave in, letting out a small huff. As the person raised the camera, you pressed your shoulder against his. Without even thinking, his arm moved on its own. He threw it over your shoulders and pulled you close to his chest. Mine, his brain whispered.
Later that evening, as you were both walking to the nearest train station under the dim streetlights, he couldn't keep his feelings in anymore. He stopped dead on the sidewalk.
"I like you," he said bluntly. It wasn't smooth or romantic, just completely honest.
You stopped and turned around. For a second, it was totally quiet. Then, you broke into a sweet laugh. "Took you long enough, Kuni. I was wondering when you'd finally say it." You stepped closer, smiling up at him. "I knew what you wanted. I was just waiting for you to tell me."
The courting started right after. He did it in his own quiet ways—leaving your favorite hot drinks on your desk, waiting for you after your classes, and making sure you never had to walk home alone.
The day you finally said yes to being his girlfriend was completely ridiculous. You were standing in front of a vegetable stall at an open-air market, picking out a head of cabbage for a dinner you promised to cook for him.
"Alright, fine," you said casually, dropping the cabbage into a basket. "I'll be your girlfriend."
Scaramouche froze, almost dropping his bag of tomatoes. His eyes went wide with pure shock. "Here?!" he whispered-shouted, his voice cracking a little. "In the middle of a vegetable market? You're saying yes to me next to cabbage?!”
You giggled, your cheeks turning pink. "You look so cute right now”
He was so incredibly happy that he forgot about his pride. He stepped forward, took your face in his hands, and kissed you right there in front of the stall while the vendor just stared. Scara felt like he is luckiest man alive.
Your relationship with Scara was incredibly smooth. You two almost never fought. He changed his entire school schedule just to make sure he could walk you to your classes or take you out. You two did everything together: late-night movie marathons under one blanket in his apart, eating cheap street food, and long walks home in the dark.
But when you softly told him that you wanted to introduce him to your parents, absolute panic hit him.
"I can't do it," he muttered one night, pacing around his room and looking anywhere but at you. "I'm terrible with parents. What if they hate me? I'm not exactly a nice guy."
You caught his hands, rubbing his tense knuckles. "Kuni, look at me. They will like you because I love you. Just be yourself."
The day came, and Scaramouche’s hands were completely shaking. His palms were sweaty as he held a bunch of lilies for your mom and a box of pastries your dad liked. When the front door opened, your big smile immediately calmed him down.
Before he could say anything, you leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Stop shaking," you whispered. "You're going to do great."
Inside, the house felt warm and full of life. Your mom waved from the kitchen where she was cooking, and your dad was setting up the table. "Welcome! Sorry, give us a few minutes, the rice isn't done yet," your mom called out nicely.
"We'll be in the living room!" you called back, pulling a rigid Scaramouche away.
The second you got to the living room, he set the gifts down and grabbed your hand like his life depended on it. You squeezed his hand back, over and over, telling him everything was going to be fine. When dinner was ready, he handed over the flowers and pastries with a stiff, formal bow that made your parents smile.
The nervous tension quickly melted away. By the end of the night, Scaramouche was actually sitting on the living room floor next to your dad, holding a screwdriver, listening intently to a long explanation on how to fix an old, broken television. From the kitchen sink, you watched him, your heart melting at how seriously he was trying to fix a piece of junk just to make your dad happy.
From that night on, he was basically part of the family. Your mom packed him extra food, and your dad gave him random tools. Everything was perfect.
It happened slowly, then all at once. You became incredibly cold. Your bright laughs turned into fake, empty smiles. The warmth in your eyes was completely gone, replaced by a sad, blank look.
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded one night, his voice a mix of fear and anger as he confronted you in his apartment. "Please talk to me”
"I'm fine, Kuni. Just tired," you whispered, looking at the floor.
After almost a week of argument you finally tell him. You sat him down, your hands squeezed tight in your lap, refusing to look him in the eye. "I'm moving abroad. I'm going to live with my aunt in another to finish my studies."
Scaramouche felt his heart drop into his stomach. "Abroad?" he whispered, his voice turning dangerously quiet. "What about us? I'll come with you. I'll transfer university—"
"No," you cut him off, your voice completely flat and empty. "I can't do a long-distance relationship, Kuni. Please let me go.”
The fight that followed was horrible. Scaramouche, hurting deeply, said the meanest things he could think of.
"You're a coward!" he screamed, his chest heavily moving up and down, tears of anger stinging his eyes. "A liar and a coward! Did you ever even love me, or was I just a game to you?!"
You didn't cry. You just sat there, taking his angry words with a quiet, heartbreaking look that made him even angrier. The breakup was final. It was over.
You never went abroad, it is just a reason for him to hate you. At the same time, you blocked his number and all of his social media. Angry and hurt, Scaramouche did the exact same thing. He swore he would forget you ever existed. He packed his things, moved to a tiny, cheap apartment miles away from anything that reminded him of you, and transferred to a completely different college so he would never have to hear your name again.
But life became an absolute nightmare. Eventually he stop going to university because he cant manage it. Kazuha was the only friend who didn't give up on him, constantly showing up at his messy apartment to force him to eat or drag him outside.
Three years dragged by. Three horrible years where time didn't heal anything. You were still the only thing he thought about, a ghost that haunt every single day.
It was a gray, rainy afternoon when Kazuha practically forced him to go to the cemetery. "A friend of mine died," Kazuha said quietly, looking incredibly sad. "I just want to visit him. Come with me, Scara. You need some fresh air."
Scaramouche hated the idea, but the walls of his apartment were driving him crazy. He stood a few steps back, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, watching Kazuha talk to a grave. Feeling restless, his eyes started wandering over the grass and the rows of headstones.
He walked aimlessly until his eyes locked onto a clean white stone a few feet away. He instantly stopped breathing. There, carved clearly into the cold stone, was your name. Your birthday and a death date from exactly two and a half years ago.
The entire world went dead silent. His brain completely froze, unable to process what he was seeing. His vision went blurry. The sound of the wind disappeared, replaced by a loud ringing in his ears.
No. This isn't real. I'm losing my mind, he thought, his knees shaking violently. You're in another country. You're studying. You hate me. You can't be dead.
"Hey! Scara?" Kazuha’s voice broke through the silence. He ran over and grabbed Scaramouche’s stiff shoulder. That touch brought him right back to reality.
"What is this?" Scaramouche whispered, his voice sounding completely cracked and broken. He pointed a shaking finger at the stone. "Kazuha... what kind of sick joke is this?"
Kazuha closed his eyes, looking completely crushed. "She never went abroad, Scara," he said softly, his voice cracking. "She begged me not to tell you. She wanted you to hate her... because she thought it would be easier for you to be angry than to watch her die."
Scaramouche didn't scream. He didn't get mad. He just stared blankly at your name carved in the stone, his eyes wide and completely broken. He couldn't breathe.
Kazuha drove him back to his apartment, leaving him alone in the quiet room. Scaramouche sat on the edge of his bed for hours, completely frozen. His throat ached with a sob, his chest was tight, but no tears came out. The pure emptiness was eating him alive.
With shaking fingers, he pulled out his phone. He went to your old Instagram page and unblocked you. The very last picture you posted—was a picture of the dog in front of the hospital—was covered in comments from two years ago.
“Rest in peace, beautiful.”
“You fought so hard until the end.”
A choked sound came out of his throat. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a faded photo—the very first picture you two took together while walking the dogs. He stared at your laughing face, his thumb gently rubbing your smile. "You liar," he whispered into the empty room. "You absolute liar."
He spent the next week completely locked away, ignoring the world. Every corner of the room reminded him of you. Finally, needing to know the truth, he went to your parents' house.
When your dad opened the door, he looked completely shocked. He looked so much older now, his face lined with deep sadness. But he stepped aside and let Scaramouche into the warm house that now felt completely empty.
They sat him down and put a hot cup of tea in front of him, though he couldn't drink it.
"She had leukemia," your dad began, his voice thick with tears, his hands gripping his knees to stay steady. "Right around the time she told you she was leaving. It was really fast and really bad. Her mom... her mom begged her to tell you the truth but she refused, she said you loved her too hard. She knew if you found out she was dying, you would ruin your own life to sit in the hospital with her. She wanted you to be mad at her, Scara. She thought hatred was easier to deal with than watching the person you love die."
Your mom came into the room, her eyes completely red. She was holding a wooden box and a digital camera, placing them gently in front of him. "These are for you. She wrote them in the hospital and the camera... she took pictures of everything she wanted you to see."
That night, alone in his room, Scaramouche opened the box. The tears finally came. As he pulled out the first letter, he started crying uncontrollably, the tears streaming down his face as he sobbed into his hands. He cried until his chest hurt. He cried until there is no left tears to cry.
Days turned into weeks. Every single morning, he read one letter. Some were short notes written on hospital paper; others were really long. He could see your handwriting getting worse and worse—the letters becoming shaky and faint as you got sicker. But you were still you; you kept trying to make stupid jokes in the letters just to try and make him smile.
He took the memory card from the camera to a local shop and had every single picture printed out. He bought a leather album and filled it with your pictures—your bald head covered in bright beanies, your skinny arms making a peace sign at the camera, always smiling for him.
In one of the middle letters, you had written:
"I know you, Kuni. You're probably not eating and being a grumpy mess. I'm telling you right now, stop it. Eat your meals on time. You have to keep living, even if it's just to spite me."
Finally, one day he reached the last letter. The paper was wrinkled and stained with old teardrops.
I want to say I'm so sorry for lying to you. I wanted you to hate me because hatred is easier than grieving. I loved every single second we had together. You made me so happy and so loved, like I was the luckiest girl in the whole world. I think by the time you read this, I'll already be gone, haha. Just always rem—”
The sentence just stopped. The pen had dragged violently across the page, leaving a messy black line across the paper.
He flipped the page over, and there was a short note written by your mom:
“She fell into a coma while writing this line. She passed away three hours later. She never woke up to finish it.”
Scaramouche pressed the paper against his chest, burying his face in his knees as he shook with quiet, painful sobs. "You are so selfish," he choked out, his voice breaking completely. "To not let me hold your hand... to leave me with a sentence you didn't even finish... how could you do this to me?"
Grief was a horrible thing. It didn't go away; it just became a permanent weight in his chest. But with Kazuha always there, patiently checking on him, Scaramouche slowly started to fix his life. He went back to university, forced himself to eat, and started living again.
He created a new routine. Every other weekend, he went to visit your grave. Sometimes Kazuha came along, standing far back to give him space, but usually, he went alone.
He would set down containers of the street food you used to love, light a candle, and put fresh flowers by the stone. He would sit on the grass, his sharp eyes softening as he talked to the empty air. He told you about his day, complained about bad professors, and talked about random things.
On his last visit before graduation, the sky was perfectly blue. Scaramouche knelt in front of the headstone, looking very serious. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it, showing a simple silver ring with a blue stone that looked just like the night sky you two used to watch. He had worked for months to save up for it.
He set the box down gently on the smooth stone.
"I was going to ask you to marry me after graduation," he said quietly, his voice steady even as a single tear ran down his cheek. He reached out, his fingers gently touching your carved name. "I'm leaving the city for a bit. I got a job in the capital. I have to make a living, just like you told me to in your letters."
He stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants. He looked down at the grave, a small, sad, but incredibly gentle smile appearing on his face—the exact smile you had spent years trying to get him to show.
"Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily," he whispered, his voice shaking just a little as he turned around to leave. "I'll be back. Rest well, ai”
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Note: this took forever to write. Im so sorry for another angst please forgive me🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 anyways im so sorry this is a delayed post because im having a writers block.
Tags: @pjselee, @xmmilaeon, @justag00ber
