what happens when a certain troublemaker approaches the vice head prefect of a school, with the intention of stealing her heart? and even more so, what trouble will stir when a ginger-haired boy and a sister are added to the equation?
"you're utter...
for prom, you dressed up nicely. not because your date was tartaglia, but because you wanted to look good for you. after all, you were sick and tired of being dull. no matter tartaglia's reasons for going with you, you didn't really care. you didn't admit it to yourself, but the tiny reason laced between your thoughts was scaramouche.
you wanted him to stare. to be the type of girl to make him gawk.
of course, that was but a silly dream. the scaramouche you knew wouldn't. never. he would just laugh in your face and tell you you looked ridiculous. so you pushed that thought to the back of your mind. after all, tonight, you were going to enjoy yourself. you were going to have a good time for once.
slipping into your dress, you grin, satisfied, gazing at yourself in the mirror. you did look stunning, if you commented on your looks now. the midnight black dress was sleeveless, its ruffles sequined with gems. something that made you stand out. (for context look below!)
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with satisfaction, you walk out of your house, feeling so good about yourself. in that moment, it didn't matter if others envied you or gawked at you or thought you looked strange- you felt good. that moment where you think you look so good you have a crush on yourself. that, in your humble opinion, was happiness.
"yo, comrade! looking good!" childe called out, smiling. one thing you liked about childe-he didn't attempt to stare at your chest first thing when looking at you. he looked at your face and smiled- something that made you comfortable being friends.
nodding, you walked to him. "yup. care to explain why you paid so much for this stupid dance though?" you raised an eyebrow questioningly, wondering what on earth would be a good enough reason.
"oh! I'm playing matchmaker. silly old scaramoochy has a crush, so I'm trying to set him up!" childe replied cheerfully. for some peculiar reason, your heart dropped.
dropped as in it fell to the bottom of the grand canyon and smashed into millions of tiny little shards.
why was it such big news? it was illogical, really. "ah, a crush? okay. so... what does this have to do with me?" you asked, swallowing hard. there was a lump in your throat, and you could feel it. it was incredibly unsettling.
"well. you think you'd look good in a suit?" he grinned.
"what?"
"this plan of mine is two parts, you see. you think you could pull off a suit?" he elaborated, though not enough. "explain," you said deadpanned.
"okay, so scaramoochy thinks i have a crush on you or something. I'm going to make you prom queen, and judging by this dress? you'll pull it off just fine. then here's what i need you to do. after prom, during the summer festival three weeks later, wear a suit. dark academia. you'll do just fine. got it? ill pay you more, how's another 200? scaramoochy will think that since I'm pampering you who's supposedly mine, he'll be motivated to pamper his girl too!"
before you could reply, he cut you off. "yes you can, miss vice head prefect. you know why you can? scaramouche is dancing with your sister tonight. so prove to the whole fucking school you're better, alright? his crush isn't your sister, she's far better. so you have to show him that if i can get you, he has to aim for higher than your sister too." childe smirked, saying "get you" with his fingers forming inverted commas.
gritting your teeth, you sighed. so be it then. you'd... comply.
you were better than your sister. you would prove it to him, make him truly regret the words he had said to you at the library.
as you stormed off into the car with new determination, childe rolled his eyes, smirking. "my, my. these two are too easy."
the important part he didn't mention was that you were the one his dear friend scaramouche had to aim higher for.
----
childe danced with you in the hall, his arm wrapped around your waist, as his eyes strayed to scaramouche. an irk mark formed on scaramouche's face, he scowled, his grip tightening around your sister's waist as well. you could tell-scaramouche's pride was wounded. for what reason, you didn't know. he had gotten the better sister in everyone's eyes, after all.
as childe glanced at you, you nodded, understanding childe's intentions. taking in a deep breath, you danced more skilfully and at a faster pace now, childe leading almost perfectly.
childe's doing all this for scaramouche to get his crush? pretty extreme, you thought.
--------
"############?" you had whispered curiously, holding the kindergartener's hand as you clumsily danced together. or more like, he danced gracefully while you stumbled. "##########. get it right, dammit," the young boy had rolled his eyes in annoyance, glancing at you. "your name's [name]? you're famous," he had scoffed.
"famous? you're more famous. you're like, the smartest kid ever!" you had said with wide eyes, grinning. "hah. as if. you're famous around here for your art. its really an overstatement, its not that good," he had snarkily replied. "well, where do you think i can improve on? i'd like to hear your opinion."
"improve on your dancing before you ever ask me that question," the boy had looked away, avoiding the question.
you couldn't quite remember the boy's name.
------
"[name]. [name]?" childe's voice brought you back to reality. shaking your head, you looked up at him. "ah. sorry. yes?" you gazed up at him, using your eyes to indirectly apologise to him for your spacing out.
"the song's over, time for us to switch partners. ill leave you with Mr. scaramoose, okay!" he exclaimed, pushing you to scaramouche as he scampered off to talk to zhongli. "what the fuck?" you cursed under your breath, dusting off your dress.
"ah. you."
"yes, me. what about it? dance," you snorted, taking his hand and dancing with him. with a hint of reluctance, he reciprocated, his hand finding its way to your waist and the other's fingers interlaced with yours.
"your dress... its decent. at least you don't look like satan after having burning pillows and waking up to find his wife fucking his brother. you're better at dancing, chérie.(darling)" he whispered, letting out a breath which had been held in.
"chérie? what does that mean?"
"fool. you're not educated in french? it means stupid idiot."
you remembered the boy's name. the only boy at the kindergarten that could speak french, the art teacher's son. scaramouche.
.
.
.
you lied. you knew french.
"vieil ami. (old friend)" you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
his eyes widened, then he scoffed, looking away, averting your gaze.
"vieil ami? pshh. you think too highly of us. mon vieil ennemi,(my old enemy) you're simply a bit better at dancing now."
"you think? then kindly tell me what you thought i could improve on with my art," you replied cooly, taking scaramouche off guard.
"oh? you still remember that silly promise? i thought you could improve on your art by doing absolutely fucking nothing," he muttered.
with that, the music ended, and he disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you alone with your thoughts running rampant and your heart- your stubborn heart that refused to stop racing.
