"you're so scary, scaramouche. feels like your gaze is scarring my skin."
scaramouche looked at you with siren eyes, rolling them at your obvious observation. he watched as you fiddled with the ropes and fabrics on his chest, looking at him with faux innocence in your eyes. "i'm the shogun's puppet and a harbinger. what did you expect, a boy filled with puppies and rainbows?"
"well, no," you giggled and cupped his cheeks, your cheshire grin growing as he leaned further into your palms and squinted his eyes. "but i do expect some smiles. c'mon, it's not too hard!"
you pinched his cheeks and pulled at them, stretching his lips to form a distorted smile. he would kill anybody who dared to be within arm distance, but he allowed you. of course he would allow you.
you're the one person who makes the hidden heart in his void of a chest beat: you make him complete, human.
he grumbled delirious vulgar insults and empty threats, coherence an afterthought. your hands fell to his chest as laughter bubbled up and escaped your throat.
he watched you for a second, analysing how your eyes crinkled up when you laughed, how your fingers were so delicately placed upon his chest as if you trusted him more than anything ever, how your pupils were so dilated and full of love and happiness and...
when did he become so weak?
when did he become so fragile, for a human no less? whenever you are around him, there is a longing, trembling feeling in his bones he cannot shake. he doesn't think he'll ever be able to shake it off.
in his eyes, you are a saint. no matter how many times you may have had blood stain your hands, or how many times you have glared upon others with slit eyes like his (he had never seen you do either, he never will. you're an angel, his angel): he is the sinner in this game of life the two of you play.
should i tell you? he wonders. should i tell you how your name haunts my every waking movement? i lie awake with nothing but your name plaguing my thoughts, oh what a name it is. you are something more honest than love. and perhaps you're more hollow than pure joy.
"i love you." is what he says when your giggles quiet down ever so slightly, your fingertips gently scratching his scalp as his eyes fluttered to a halt.
because what else is there to say than that?
he will be sure to thank the moon tonight, for whatever fate or luck or pure coincidence to have him being led to you. bless the moon, the stars, and whatever the fuck else is up there.