Scaramouche

Scaramouche felt a heavy uneasiness in his chest as he pondered on whether or not he'd break it off with Aether.

Their apartment felt gloomy. The air carried whispers of their argument earlier that day—Aether patiently tried to understand him like the caring boyfriend that he was but Scaramouche only snapped at him.

Scaramouche couldn't shake off the image of Lumine, and how she used to make this place cozy—something that Aether could never achieve no matter how hard he tried. It irked Scaramouche even more knowing that he was always longing for Lumine presence.

Lumine is dead, Scaramouche reminded himself.

Leaning against the kitchen door, he watched as Aether hummed while preparing dinner. The sight of his boyfriend sent a pang of guilt through him.

I can't do this anymore. You're not her, he wanted to say as he slowly made his way towards Aether. But the words quickly died. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's small waist.

“Are you still upset?” he asked.