Aether never imagined that their marriage would start like this.

It happened on a night when Scaramouche who always sneered at the idea of commitment, let alone marriage, had gotten far too drunk for his own good. His words were usually sharp, calculated, controlled… but that night, they were soft, sloppy, and dangerously unguarded.

“I’ll marry you,” he had muttered, leaning into Aether with a half-smile. “Promise.” Aether, who had loved him quietly and patiently for so long, believed him. He held onto that promise like it was something sacred, something real. And when morning came, when Scaramouche woke up with a pounding headache and a vague memory of warm hands and hopeful eyes, he realized what he had done.

But Scaramouche was many things, and one of them was prideful. A promise, even a drunken one, was still a promise. Breaking it felt like admitting weakness. So he didn’t fight it. He didn’t argue. He let the ceremony happen, standing beside Aether with an expression so unreadable it felt like stone.

Aether tried to convince himself it was fine. That Scaramouche just needed time. That the coldness would fade. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and nothing changed.

Scaramouche didn’t hate Aether, not at all. He loved him, trusted him, even enjoyed his presence. But affection? Marriage? The vulnerability that came with it? He simply couldn’t give what he’d never intended to give. Aether, meanwhile, felt the weight of every small silence. Every unanswered touch. Every distant look.

He stopped smiling as brightly. Stopped reaching out as often. Stopped hoping that Scaramouche would suddenly decide to love him back.

One evening, as the sun dipped behind the rooftops of Sumeru, Aether stood alone on the balcony, watching the sky fade to purple. Scaramouche approached quietly, but even his footsteps felt hesitant.

“You’re… different” Scaramouche said.

Aether didn’t turn around. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Scaramouche flinched, not outwardly, but deep enough for it to hurt. Aether wasn’t one to guilt-trip. If he said something like that, he meant it.

“Aether” Scaramouche said, softer now. “I didn’t marry you because I wanted to. But I stayed because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Aether’s throat tightened. “That’s exactly what’s hurting me.”

The silence that followed was heavy.