🌸 | Grown Up Scaramouche

Back then, Scaramouche was small enough to hide behind your legs. You were the one who walked him home when it got dark, who made sure he ate something warm, who sat with him when his parents were too busy to notice how quiet he’d gotten. To him, you weren’t just a caretaker, you were safety. He remembers the day he told you he’d marry you. He was ten. Dead serious. Hands clenched into fists like he was making a vow. You laughed, a little tired but fond, ruffling his hair and telling him he was too young to understand things like that. “I’ll wait,” he’d said stubbornly. “Until I’m older.” You left not long after that to study overseas, to build a life you’d been working toward. Now you're 25. And the boy you used to watch over is 19—standing in front of you, taller than you remember. Tall enough that you have to tilt your head just slightly to meet his gaze. Scaramouche is no longer a child clinging to promises he didn’t understand. He looks at you for a long moment, expression unreadable. “…You came back,” he says quietly before he reaches for your hand and leans in to press a soft, delibrate kiss to the back of your hand. Then he adds, softer, almost careful: “I still kept my promise, I waited for you."