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Taking a deep breath in, holding it, then releasing the breath out, Scaramouche readied himself for his final exams. He’d studied tirelessly and poured over the content, making absolutely certain he would be prepared to pass. Not only pass—ace it. Everything was shaping up to be exactly how it should be. That was until he woke up before his alarm went off feeling entirely unwell.
He sat up quickly, wincing at the soreness in his muscles. He was exhausted. Dammit… This is what he got for staying out late with his dumb little situationship. If there was one person he needed to avoid being around, it was Childe. Scaramouche could swear that just being near the bastard would kill off brain cells. Yet the two of them drank a bit, and he caved. Just like he always did. Then of course… Childe dropped the bomb that he’d been sick for the last couple days.
Scaramouche huffed and scowled. Now he was sick. Not only because of his devotion to studying, but because of his devotion to playing around with his college fling.
Running a hand through his damp hair, he picked up his phone to check the time. Ugh, he only had an hour before his alarm would sound. That wouldn’t be enough time to get any more meaningful rest. In addition to that annoyance, another one manifested itself in the form of a text message from Childe.
U left ur sweater here. guess u gotta come by tonight and get it ;)
Scaramouche was fuming. He’d left Childe’s dorm around one in the morning after they’d finished their activities for the evening and scurried back to his place. Was it irresponsible? Probably. But he was stressed. He’d been studying nonstop and knew he needed to blow off some steam. It was only fair, really.
He knew his roommate would already be gone by the time he woke up. He had a last minute study session with his friends before his own exams. Scaramouche could not even fathom wasting his time being that social when he could just learn it all himself without any interruptions.
He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and groaned, rubbing his eyes with his palms. He had two finals today. Just two. He’d finish them up, grab some medicine from the campus pharmacy, and head home to rest. He winced at a sharp cramping in his stomach and put a hand over it, kneading into it to try and soothe the discomfort. He could make it through this. The finals wouldn’t even take him that long. And as soon as he was done, he could leave. He just had to keep reminding himself of that as he stretched his sore muscles and got ready for the day.
Considering how he was feeling, he didn’t make too much of an effort to look presentable, but certainly wasn’t going out in public looking like a slob. His other classmates could, but he wouldn’t. He was leagues above them anyhow.
He took a quick shower, brushed his hair, and put on the most comfortable pair of pants he owned with a light sport jacket. Shit. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he realised this jacket wasn’t his. It was… his. Whatever, it was comfortable despite being baggy on him. Childe had finals at a completely different building on campus, so Scaramouche didn’t worry about the guy’s dumb face when he saw Scaramouche wearing his jacket.
Besides… It really was comfy. And it smelled just like him…
Ugh, Scaramouche shook his head and refocused. No way he was letting that loser get to him any more than he already had. It was time to lock in. He was going to pass these tests with flying colours.
He gave himself one last onceover before he paused when his stomach cramped again, letting out a low groan.
“Ugh… dammit…” He muttered in annoyance. He must’ve just been hungry. That was all. It had nothing to do with how unwell he felt overall. He headed for the kitchen and grabbed an apple. That would be good enough for the time being.
The walk to his class was uneventful. He was glad he’d grabbed the jacket, as the cold morning air was surprisingly cutting for it being early summer. He held the front of the jacket closed rather than zipping it up and continued on. There were quite a few people around, all abuzz with discussions about their finals and their missing assignments.
Scaramouche usually tuned everyone else out anyways, but today was different. He didn’t have to make any effort to shut out the sounds around him. A strange feeling had slowly eclipsed over him and made everything around him sound rather static as he stared dizzily at the walkway ahead. He knew this feeling. He was not well. But there was no way he was missing exams over a little tummy ache. Just get in, do the work, and get out. Simple as that.
He finally noticed when he was nearly to his destination that he hadn’t eaten any of the apple he’d grabbed. With a tired exhale through his nose, he took a bite and headed into the building.
Everyone was as lively in the classroom as they were outside. It was painfully irritating. Scaramouche silently made his way through the groups of other students to his seat and got out a pencil, ready to get this damn thing over with.
Behind him, a word caught his attention. ‘Jacket.’ He turned his head slightly to hear better, and sure enough, two girls were speaking to each other in what they probably believed were hushed voices.
“That’s definitely his,” one said.
“Why’s the shut in wearing the captain’s team jacket?” The other asked, judgement prevalent in her tone.
“Maybe they hooked up.”
“Ugh. What a lame way to earn social points. Now he’s parading around his jacket like it’s some status symbol? Like everyone I know has hooked up with at least one member of the football team. That guy isn’t special.”
The girl then laughed. A grating sound against Scaramouche’s already infuriated mind. He gripped his pencil tighter and tried to will himself to ignore their words. He happened to know that Childe was not nearly as promiscuous as the rest of his team was. If what they had was just a simple hookup, then why did Childe text him all the time and follow him around like a puppy? Scaramouche doubted anyone had Childe on his knees and at his command like he did. Those girls were idiots. Just like everyone else.
Despite how ridiculous he told himself they were being, he was feeling a bit more fragile than usual, and for a second—just a second—he wondered if maybe they were right. He was pulled from those thoughts when his stomach twisted up in pain again and growled angrily. He panicked, quickly continuing to eat the apple. His stomach could not make all that noise during the exam when everyone else was quiet. He would absolutely die of embarrassment. He took a swig of his water bottle and kept his arm clenched over his midsection, hoping to muffle the noisy organ.
“Welcome, everyone,” the professor greeted curtly. “You have eighty minutes to complete the exam. This is a closed note test, so I’d better not see any notes or textbooks, understood?” Everyone murmured their agreement. “Please take your bathroom breaks now. Anyone who leaves this room for any reason will not be permitted reentry until after the exam has concluded. So take these last five minutes and use them wisely. We’ll begin at exactly 8:15.”
Scaramouche took another deep breath. He’d be out of there by 8:45. He was sure of it. A few students got up to attend to any last minute concerns before everyone returned upon the exam sheets being passed out. A student had attempted to return to the room at 8:16, but was denied access. Scaramouche smirked at her misfortune. Should’ve been here on time… He thought to himself.
His professor once again reminded everyone that this exam was closed note/book. Scaramouche didn’t have any issues with that. He’d actually studied the material and committed it to memory. All it would take was—
Guuuurgle…
His face turned red as he wrapped his arm tighter over his midsection. He quickly grabbed his water bottle and took a few sips of it, trying to settle the rapidly forming nausea. This could not be happening.
Grrrnnnnnn…
He’d drawn a few eyes at this point. Now he had to get through this exam even quicker than he’d originally intended. He lowered his head, hiding his face behind his bangs and zeroing in on the exam sheet in front of him.
Question one through seven were child’s play, but eight is where things were picking up. Dammit… He remembered reading about this… Why couldn’t he recall the answer?
Grrrrwwwwlllll…
His body tensed as a couple more people turned to look at him. He felt like he was going to die. With the jacket he wore being so oversized, he was thankfully able to subtly rub his sore belly without drawing anymore attention.
This was horrific. He couldn’t remember the damn answer to the eighth question on the exam and his stomach wouldn’t shut up. He felt a light churning sensation that thankfully didn’t make too much noise, but it was clear he was going to be sick very soon. He took slow, steady breaths, trying desperately to will the nausea away, but it was a losing battle.
How many questions did he have left? He flipped the paper over and felt his soul leave his body when he saw the final question was number ninety-nine.
He quickly turned the paper back over and gulped. He could do this. He’d be alright. Once he was past this question, it would be a breeze.
And of course, he couldn’t have been more wrong. As he struggled through question after question, he soon realised he was feeling disoriented and very light-headed. It was no wonder he couldn’t remember anything. Gods, though… He would rather die than throw up in front of all his shitty classmates. Dammit…
He bit back a whimper when the apple he’d eaten sloshed around sickeningly in his gut, a twisting, cramping sensation getting stronger by the second. He had to just accept at that point that his stomach was going to be loud. He’d tried coughing or clearing his throat to mask the groans, but that only drew more attention
Dammit… He was going to murder Childe for getting him sick. But that had to wait… An absolutely awful sounding growl bellowed from his stomach and had nearly every head in the lecture hall turning towards him. He stayed hunched over, focusing on nothing but the exam.
He’d gotten to question fourty-three when he began feeling a bubbling sensation rumbling up his throat. He covered his mouth and tried to muffle it, but despite his efforts, a powerful belch punched out of him. By now, he genuinely was considering just running to the restroom and saying screw the exam, but he’d worked far too hard to give up now.
“Dude…” Someone muttered nearby him after another angry gurgle filled the room.
Scaramouche’s face was completely red. Not just from embarrassment, but from the fever that was growing stronger with every passing second.
Question seventy-seven came and went without much issue. He was nearly there. He kept an arm gripping his stomach like a vice as he breathed steadily and answered the questions to the best of his knowledge. He was thankfully confident with most of the questions, but a few of the answers evaded him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to contain another sickly burp. His mouth was beginning to water and his throat tightened. He had to finish this exam. He couldn’t give up yet.
Suddenly, a jabbing pain manifested itself in his gut and actually caused him to audibly wince. He couldn’t handle this. He wanted so badly to finish his exam and get out of there, but he had to take his time and make sure he was getting everything correct. The sharp cramping suddenly released into a low, angry growl. It was a menacing and very clear indication that he wasn’t gonna be able to push back the nausea much longer.
“Are you good?” A classmate beside him whispered.
While Scaramouche wanted to tell him to fuck off and leave him alone, he couldn’t form the words through his clenched teeth.
“No talking!” the professor shouted from her desk.
“This guy needs a doctor or something,” the classmate explained.
Scaramouche nearly snapped his pencil in half with how hard he was gripping it. He was sweating profusely and his mouth watered all while being excessively dry at the same time. He looked up slightly and locked eyes with his professor, who suddenly looked very concerned.
She beckoned towards him. “Come here, please.”
No way… This could not be happening. He couldn’t handle this. As expected, all eyes were on him now. His legs felt like jelly as he rose from his chair, his bookbag slung over his shoulder and his exam in hand. As quickly as he felt he could manage, he hurried down the steps towards the front of the lecture hall, his head low as he approached his professor.
“Hand me your exam please,” she spoke sternly but with a soft edge to her tone.
Scaramouche reluctantly passed the paper over to her, his hand trembling. “I… haven’t completed it—“
“Come back during my office hours and finish the exam. You need to go home and rest.”
Scaramouche looked at her with a panicked, frustrated expression. “But…”
“You’re white as a sheet. Visit the medical building if you must.”
There was no use arguing. Scaramouche watched helplessly as she opened her binder and slid the unfinished quiz into one of the pockets.
He wanted to be grateful. In fact, he believed he should’ve been. But he’d been dreading this exam and wanting so badly to get it over with but also ace it. It looked like that would have to wait.
He nodded in defeat and quickly turned to leave the lecture hall. He rushed past the student who’d been locked out of the classroom and towards the building’s exit. He needed to get home. He felt dreadful.
As he hurried along, he was shocked when he bumped into someone, causing him to stumble back slightly.
Scaramouche furrowed his brow and glared up at whoever wasn’t watching where they were going. Of fucking course… He knew that red hair anywhere. “Sorry about that— Oh, hey there…” his stupid voice was smooth and nonjudgmental, but it still had Scaramouche’s blood boiling. “What’s the matter? You’re not looking so good.”
Scaramouche tore the jacket off of himself and shoved it against Childe. “Take your stupid jacket.”
“Oh, thanks! I was wondering where that was.”
“Damn you…!”
Childe raised and eyebrow. “You can have it back if you want, I’ll just need it a few times this month for game days.”
“I don’t want it back. You. You got me sick. I made a fool of myself in front of the entire class and didn’t get to finish my exam. All because you chose to hook up when you knew you’d been sick.”
Childe raised his eyebrows and frowned. “Oh, shit… I’m really sorry, Scara. I… I thought I was better so…”
“Thanks to you, I have to— h-have to…” Scaramouche’s voice trailed off as his stomach nearly roared in discomfort. Oh gods, he didn’t have time to even process what was happening before he was already doubled over and retching onto Childe’s pants and shoes.
“Woah, shit!” Childe exclaimed as he took a step back, unfortunately too late to escape the splash zone.
Scaramouche wanted to disappear in that moment. At least it wasn’t in class, but… Everyone outside the lecture hall was looking his way and making comments. He held a hand over his mouth to try and regain some control over the situation, but he was unsuccessful in holding back another wave of vomit as it sprayed between his fingers. His legs felt so weak, but there was no way after all this embarrassment, he was going to fall to the ground. And yet, it seemed his body had other plans. He felt his legs give out and braced for impact.
He opened his eyes in shock when he felt himself being caught before he could hit the ground. He was wrapped in an embrace and carefully led to a nearby restroom. Of course it was Childe. Scaramouche wanted to be pissed. He was the reason this all happened to begin with. And yet, he was so relieved someone was there to help get him out of there and away from prying eyes.
Scaramouche also noticed Childe speaking softly and comfortingly to him. Dammit, this guy was the worst…
They entered the restroom and headed towards the sink. Childe looked down at Scaramouche. “Do you think you might be sick again?”
He shook his head, avoiding meeting the taller man’s gaze.
“Alright then, let’s get you cleaned up. I can give you a ride back to your dorm too.”
“N-no…” Scaramouche’s voice was so strained, the word barely came out.
Childe sighed, turned the sink on, and held Scaramouche’s hands under the water. “You’re really gonna be stubborn? Even now?”
“Y-you’re the reason I’m in this mess.”
Childe frowned, but continued washing the vomit off of the shorter man. “You’re right. I… I really am sorry. I thought I had gotten better.”
There was a genuineness to Childe’s voice that Scaramouche didn’t often hear. While he was obviously still pissed at him, he eased up a bit. “Just… don’t be so stupid next time.”
The taller man had a light grin on his face now. “Got it.”
As promised, Childe did actually clean Scaramouche up. All before he even so much as regarded the mess on his own pants and shoes. When he finally did, he was sure to keep an eye on Scaramouche should anything go awry.
While vomiting did ease some of the nausea, Scaramouche’s head was still spinning and his stomach gurgling in distress. He groaned softly as a particularly loud growl and put a hand over his sore middle.
“Still not feeling better?” Childe asked as he grabbed a stack of paper towels and continued trying to clean himself up.
“I’m fine… I just want to go home.”
“I told you, I can take you.”
Crossing his arms and furrowing his brow, Scaramouche exhaled deeply through his nose and cast his eyes downward and away from the other man.
“Scara, come on.”
“Why do you call me that?”
Childe blinked, surprised by the sudden question. He recovered quickly and smirked. “I always use nicknames with people I’m close with. Not to mention your name is kind of a mouthful.”
Scaramouche shot him an annoyed glare. “I’ll give you a mouthful…”
“Promise?”
“Shut the hell up…”
Childe laughed gleefully at their banter. Scaramouche hated how much he loved that stupid laugh. And his stupid smile on his stupid, beautiful face. There was no way he was actually falling for someone so… irritating. And yet, he completely folded and wound up letting Childe bring him back home, help him inside, and even drew him a bath.
“If you want some company in there, let me know…” Childe grinned with a knowing wink.
“You’re just going to sit out here? In my dorm?”
“I’m gonna make you something to eat and look after you.”
“…Why?”
“Because you did it for me. Besides, I care about you, ya know?”
Scaramouche didn’t answer. He could not believe this guy. The audacity to just invite himself in and take for Scaramouche like he was some sick little kid. It was infuriating. And yet… so sweet. Ugh, stupid feelings…
Scaramouche made his way to the bathroom, shed his clothing and approached the bath. He carefully dipped his hand into it, pleasantly surprised at the temperature. Childe had gotten it exactly how he liked it.
Hmph… Lucky guess.
Carefully easing himself down into the tub, Scaramouche exhaled in relief as the warm blanket of water enveloped him and soothed his muscles. He closed his eyes and took a deep, relaxed breath. Then, came the thinking. Those kind of deep, annoying thoughts that made his heart flutter. Childe had done something really nice for him. He had made a conscious effort to get to know him before they hooked up for the first time. Allegedly, if the rumour mill was to be believed, Childe was not seeing anyone and hadn’t been since he started pursuing Scaramouche. Obviously, that would need to be verified but… If it was true, that was… also kind of nice.
So he had a list of things to go over. One, Childe was annoyingly attractive. Two, he was kind to the point of it seeming like a facade. Despite that, Scaramouche had no reason to believe he was being deceptive. In fact, Childe actually had always been very straightforward with him whether he liked it or not. Three, he was… quite adequate in bed. Four, he cooked for Scaramouche. And even though it was a bit shit, he tried making Scaramouche’s favourite dish. Not easy to do, especially considering he was just something white guy trying to make Inazuman cuisine. Still…
Thoughts flying and scattering all over the room had Scaramouche feeling even dizzier. No time to entertain these thoughts any longer. Was Childe potentially someone he wouldn’t mind getting closer with? Sure. But just like every relationship he had, romantic or otherwise, he was cautiously optimistic.
He cleaned himself thoroughly after soaking for a bit and got out of the bath. He shivered as he headed to grab a towel to wrap up in. But of course, there was no towel to be seen. He’d left it in his bedroom that morning after he’d showered.
He stood there, shivering and irritated. Obviously Childe had seen him naked before, but the context was different. Not to mention he was not in the mood to do anything but be curled up in a blanket and be left alone.
He carefully moved to the bathroom door and opened it just a crack, poking his head out. The air outside the room was even colder. He looked around for Childe but didn’t see any sign of him. Eyes frantically scanning the room, he readied himself to make a run for it.
3… 2… 1… And he was off. Hunched over and hugging himself in an attempt to keep warm. He took a look around the main room and still didn't see him. Where the hell had he gone? Sharply rounding the corner into his bedroom, he gasped as he crashed right into none other than the red-headed bastard himself.
“Ugh—!” Scaramouche grunted.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Childe began before his eyes immediately lowered. “Hm…”
“Shut up and move,” he muttered as he pushed past Childe and into the room.
Leaning against the doorframe with a cheeky grin, Childe got a good look at him before he reached his towel and wrapped himself up. “Forgot a towel?”
“I wouldn’t have if I weren’t too sick to realise I left it in my room…”
Childe sighed. “Gonna hold that against me forever?”
Scaramouche ignored the question. “What the hell were you doing in my room?”
“Making your bed. Is that okay?”
Scaramouche tightened his grip on the towel and lowered his head. “…No…”
This of course had Childe cracking up. “Man, you’re really a piece of work sometimes, ya know?”
”You chose to be here. You can leave anytime if I’m really too much to handle.”
Childe lowered the arm he had braced against the doorframe and slowly made his way to Scaramouche. He looked down at him with an affectionate expression. “You’re not too much to handle.”
“Then what the hell do you want?”
Something in Childe seemed to finally give and he finally said what he’d been meaning to say. “To look after you! I care about you, alright? I really, really like you. Not just for sex. Although that is really nice… But not the point. I feel this like… pull towards you that I can’t…” He gestured wildly as if it would make the words come to him. “I just seriously like you a lot. You don’t have to believe it right away, but it’s true. Just… take your time if you need to. But…” He sighed and let his arms drop. “I would really like it if we could get more serious.”
Now there was nausea taking over Scaramouche that was more than just the sickness. His eyes widened and he clamped his hand over his mouth. Childe looked panicked as he quickly looked around the room for any receptacle Scaramouche could use.
“Shit, do you have a trash can?!” he asked, sounding exasperated.
Scaramouche took a deep breath and shut his eyes tightly, keeping a hand over his mouth as he willed away the nausea. His stomach made a low gurgling sound but seemed like it was beginning to settle again. “Mmgh… I’m… M’fine…”
Childe’s hands remained raised in front of him, not entirely sure they were in the clear yet. He watched Scaramouche shuffle over to his bed and sit down on it. With a nervous chuckle, Childe scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “M-man… Don’t think I’ve ever had someone almost throw up at me asking them out.”
Scaramouche glared at him. “It’s… not that.”
Childe tilted his head slightly, his heart pounding as he awaited a response.
Pulling the towel over himself tighter, Scaramouche sighed and looked down at the floor. “I just haven’t dated in a while. Like a while. I don’t… I don’t know if I’m ready.”
“That’s okay,” Childe replied quickly. “That’s okay. I don’t wanna pressure you. I just… wanted to let you know how I felt. If you wanna just stick to hookups, that’s totally fine. I just like being around you.”
A pang of guilt and fear formed in Scaramouche’s chest. He truly didn’t know what to do. He’d already come to terms with the fact that he didn’t dislike Childe. But now? Being something more than that seemed… stressful. “I… still think you’re annoying as hell.”
Childe laughed despite himself. “Okay, fair. Is there a ‘but’?”
“But, I don’t necessarily dislike the idea of dating you.”
Heart fluttering and eyes lighting up, Childe nearly looked like an excited dog. “Y-you don’t? Seriously?”
Scaramouche was quick to clarify. “I really don’t think I’m ready. Not… yet anyways.”
“I’ll wait. I don’t mind at all. Just… take your time. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
Shooting him an annoyed look, Scaramouche crossed his arms. “Oh, really? The golden boy of the school is gonna wait around for someone who could take years to decide if he’s ready?”
Childe nodded. “A hundred percent.”
“You’ve got waves of girls falling at your feet, desperate to even talk to you, and you won’t change your mind?”
“Well, I’m into guys so no.”
“Okay… same logic but applied to guys.”
With another confident nod, Childe scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll wait.”
“…These are supposed to be the best years of your life. Don’t waste it waiting around for someone who might not even decide to go through with this.”
“Scara…” Childe sat on the bed beside him, putting a hand over his. “Until you tell me you for sure don’t wanna go out, then I’m gonna keep waiting.”
Looking back at the taller man, he saw nothing but sincerity in his deep blue eyes. “…Fine. But don’t blame me if you end up wasting your time.”
“I won’t.”
Gods, this guy was so annoying. Annoying and sweet, much to Scaramouche’s dismay. “Whatever. I’m going to sleep.”
“You want me to stay?”
“And watch me sleep? No thanks.”
Childe chuckled at the familiar scrappiness of his companion. “Maybe another time. You gonna be alright though? Really.”
“I just need to sleep it off.”
“Alright, make sure to drink plenty of water.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get out.”
With a smile, Childe stood up and grabbed his bookbag. “Yeah, I should probably wash up too. See you tomorrow then?”
“…I don’t care.”
“Great! See ya, Scara. Feel better.” He exited the bedroom with that stupid smile of his and a gentle wave before leaving the dorm completely.
“Dammit…” Scaramouche covered his face with his hands. There was a lot to think about. But it was going to have to wait until after he got some rest.
Dating Childe though…
He glanced over at his desk chair and noticed Childe’s jacket hanging over the back of it. Standing up and heading for his closet to get clean clothes, he sighed.
Being in a relationship with that dumbass jock. As agonising as it was to admit, he really didn’t hate the idea.