Hate - A ChiScara fanfiction

Chapter One

   Scaramouche had hated Tartaglia, and Tartaglia had hated Scaramouche. That was how it had always been. So why, now, was Scaramouche feeling such emotions towards his accomplice? Why was he even feeling this way towards a man? He had lived his whole life not feeling any sort of attraction, romantic or sexual, towards anyone, not even women, and he had learned to live with it. Although, with all of the negativity shone upon same-sex couples, he had seen it as bad to the public. He didn't want to be bad to the public. His entire life, he had never cared about public view, yet being seen in such a way disgusted him, even scared him, to be brutally honest. He was a puppet, sure he had been created to be a vessel to a heart, yet he hadn't recieved one since he had joined the Fatui, which promised him the ability to feel emotions. He had thought of emotions such as happiness, fear, even sadness, yet never something as unappealing as love, but whenever he thought of the ginger he had despised for so long, he couldn't help but gain butterflies, especially when he would dream of hugging him, of kissing him, cuddling, even touching him.

   Scaramouche stopped his thoughts from going any farther, and although incredibly difficult, it worked, until he had dreams about said situations. Whenever he would, he woke up with a hard-on, and shamefully granted himself pleasure to Childe at the expense of his pride. Was it worth it? He couldn't tell. He felt a burning hate for Childe, for this emotion, even for himself. He despised his own being for this reason, constantly wondering when this feeling would cease, or even decrease. Any kind of lessening to this self-pity and self-pleasuring was welcome, but he wouldn't even think of his last resort.

He would take this secret to his grave.