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devosin · 2 months

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PROLOGUE — are you seriously doing this over text ?!

warnings: scaramouche pov, break-up scene, kazuha x scaramouche, depictions of a panic attack, self hatred, insecurities, being referred to as 'unlovable', breaking objects, depictions of anxiety, melt down(?), written portion below.

spotify playlist: scaramouche playlist (listen for full effect)

Scaramouche stared at his phone, blankly, waiting—no, praying for a response, turning his phone on and off, only to be met with a blank screen. The panic had settled in awhile ago, making home in his anxious mind, yet now a feeling of dread washed over him.

He was currently hunched over, on the floor, with each moment that passed, his senses heightened, suddenly the air felt too heavy to breath in, his lungs felt small, the silence in his room that he often favored was now too overbearing, the dead of the night made his anxiety worse—his insecurities rouse up to the surface, for a second his mind gave him the peace of silence, the freedom, the deception of calmth—yet within moments, memories replayed themselves in his head.

His previous doubts, failures, dreadful moments of paranoia, crept to the surface, and the previous insecurities that drowned him, so much so that it led to this very moment in time, had submerged him.

For a second, he heard the sound of a notification—for a brief moment, the world surrounding him slowed down, and he could finally breathe, only to be met with some random delivery update . . In a blank fit of rage, he threw his phone across the room, trying to distance himself as much as he could from the wretched device.

You know, sometimes he wished he was normal, and could just handle things like a normal fucking person. And just handle rejection and failure, but he wasn't normal . . he will never be normal.

He curled into himself, giving his body a break, it felt like a boulder had crashed over his entire being. Scaramouche tried to breathe only to choke in the process, only then did he realize he was hyperventilating, tears falling from his useless eye sockets, he carelessly rubbed the tears away, only for more to come out.

It felt like the dam, held together by glue and sticks, had finally broke, and so did all those stupid walls he had made. He wasn't an emotional person, emotions are pathetic but he had buried these feelings of insecurities for so long, that there was only so long until he'd break.

To be fair, he knew his actions would catch up to him, he knew his flaws made him unlovable, yet he hoped, he had moment of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could still be loved trough all his scars, but those scars made him who he was, and who he was, was an unlovable freak.

Scaramouche took a shaky breath, his hand grasped the locket placed so carefully around his neck, and he tugged, pulled, until the thin chain ripped, and he threw it, as far as he could, yet everywhere he looked there was traces of him. . . and no matter how many things he broke, no matter how many things he threw away . . he would never fucking escape the reminders, that he lost something that made him feel whole, and that he was truly a freak of nature.

Scaramouche woke up, somehow he had fallen asleep in the middle of the floor, his eyes swollen, bloodshot, he could really use some coffee right now . . or alcohol . . anything that could briefly erase this mess of emotions, he got up off the floor, inspecting the damage in his bedroom, and some part of him was grateful that his roommate was away for the week.

"where's my fucking phone?", he muttered to no one in particular, his voice came out raspy, and only then did he realize how dry his throat was . . he should really drink some water. . and eat something while he's at it, since he didn't bother eating the take-out he ordered last night.

Scaramouche lifted up his phone, the screen now cracked, the damage a reflection of his outburst from last night, he broke the screen protector a couple days ago too . . he tried turning on the wretched device, it was brand new and he did not look forward to fixing the damage.

'why isn't it fucking turning on?!?!' he wondered, about to throw it again, for good measure . . . Great, something else good he lost last night.

Scaramouche looked around the room again, his shoulders slumped, he couldn't find the locket Kazuha gave him, it disappeared into thin air, lost . . he felt like crying again, his eyes watering as the emotions that plagued him last night slowly rose up to the surface once more.

Yet all he could do, this time, was tiredly letting it take over, letting the world fade as he allowed himself to drown in the sea of his own consequences.

Kazuha is the one of the two or three people Scaramouche 'really' opened up too, and that resulted in Kazuha making a lot of excuses for Scaramouche's emotional outbursts.

Scaramouche would often let his insecurities take over, and question Kazuha, it wasn't something that was too bad in the beginning, but as Scaramouche got closer to Kazuha, and their relationship grew more long-term, it definitely got to an obsessive point.

Kazuha is aware that breaking up over the fucking text was really stupid, but he really didn't think he could handle doing it in person, he also knows he should've communicated more.

THIS ISN'T ABOUT HIM !! — After a rough breakup with your long-term partner and highschool sweetheart Diluc, you met Kazuha, you're current boyfriend. The two of you bonded over your past relationships and chose to heal together. However, things start going array as individuals from your past, come back to meddle with your newfound peace.

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter a/n: scaramouche pov lets go, hopefully the panic attack/melt down was written well enough for you to feel it.

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@ devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.