Scaramouche leaned heavily against Childe, his head resting on the taller man’s shoulder as a slight blush dusted his cheeks. His usually sharp and cutting demeanor was gone, replaced by a dreamy expression. Childe chuckled softly, steadying him with a hand around his waist.

“What?” Childe asked with an amused smirk as Scaramouche gazed up at him.

“I want to kiss you,” Scaramouche slurred slightly, his eyes half-lidded but filled with sincerity.

“You’re drunk,” Childe replied, though his own face was starting to redden, his free hand twitching as if debating whether to pull the smaller man closer.

“And?” Scaramouche shot back with a lazy grin, his sharp tongue dulled by the alcohol but his words still bold as ever.

Childe sighed, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”