art creds: @saezens

The loud party music is muffled in the background, Scaramouche stuck in his thoughts while puffs of smoke escape from his nostrils, a cigarette in between his fingers. “Fuck” he mumbles to himself, a migraine shooting through his head and causing him to wince. He hasn’t been getting any sleep lately. Not for a few months anyway. He was fine, better when he didn’t meet you. He’d be better off if he didn’t acknowledge you in the first place and now here he was, the aftermath of having your heart on your sleeve.

He doesn’t even know why he went to this stupid party his friends invited him to. He doesn’t even like parties, he grimaces at the thought of one. So, why would he even go to one in the first place?

Your laughter was heard in the background as you spoke with strangers around the room. Scaramouche’s gaze moved towards you, observing the way you converse with people so easily. He envied you for that, admired even. It was one of the things he loved about you. One of the things that made you, you. Your gaze shifted towards the balcony, finally noticing Scaramouche just standing there with a cigarette in hand.

Your face instantly changed, taking a sip from your glass before you excused yourself from the conversation and began to make your way towards him. The door closes behind you and you were met with the smell of cigarettes and the cold air, “Looked like you were having fun.” Scaramouche says, looking away from you now to light another cigarette