Scara Modern AU

part 1

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Scaramouche and Chiori had become inseparable since their first year in fashion school. Both were known for their sharp aesthetics—Scaramouche, with his edgy, dark sense of style that screamed "untouchable," and Chiori, who combined elegance with avant-garde flourishes that made her a stand-out. Together, they were like twin flames of couture, critiquing each other's designs mercilessly yet always coming back with fabric swatches and pins, ready to craft the next big thing.

They kept up their image: Scaramouche was infamous for his cutting remarks, Chiori for her cool reserve with anyone not in her inner circle. But between themselves, they were surprisingly down-to-earth and supportive, often staying up until dawn, stitching together last-minute details for each other’s projects. Despite their reputation for being aloof with others, they had each other's backs.

One morning, on the way to campus, Scaramouche and Chiori were deep in conversation about an upcoming assignment involving avant-garde sportswear—a theme they both felt was painfully basic. Chiori was halfway through a dry remark about their instructor’s taste when they turned a corner and collided—almost literally—with a tall, broad-shouldered guy with messy red hair and an easy grin. He was dressed in a well-worn varsity jacket and joggers, like he’d just come from an early workout.

“Oh—hey, sorry!” he said, steadying himself and flashing them a sheepish smile. He seemed momentarily taken aback when he recognized Scaramouche’s trademark stare. "Didn’t mean to block your path.”

Scaramouche glanced at Chiori, who gave him a knowing smirk. “Just another sports jock,” her look seemed to say. But this one was…well, undeniably handsome. Chiori could sense Scaramouche's mild intrigue, though he’d never admit it.

“Are you new here?” Chiori asked in her usual polite, but distant, way.

“Sort of,” the guy replied, scratching the back of his head. “I’m here on a sports scholarship. Name’s Ajax…but everyone calls me Childe.”

Scaramouche arched a brow, muttering, “Who’d name their kid ‘Childe’…” before his friend nudged him sharply.

Childe laughed it off. “And you guys?”

“Chiori,” she introduced herself smoothly. “And this is Scaramouche. We’re both in fashion.”

“Oh, nice, you’re the fancy types,” he grinned, clearly oblivious to Scaramouche’s barely hidden disdain.

For a moment, there was a flicker of recognition in Childe's eyes when he looked at Scaramouche, as though he sensed a familiarity. But he shrugged it off and suggested they exchange numbers, a casual offer that surprised Chiori. Yet Scaramouche didn’t argue, even if his own surprise was concealed beneath his usual disinterested expression. They exchanged numbers and, with Childe waving goodbye, went their separate ways to class.

Later that day, on their walk home, Chiori nudged Scaramouche. “So…what did you think of him?”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. “The same as I think of every jock with biceps and no brain. But…I know him. Or at least, I knew him in middle school.”

“Oh? Did he also have a weird name back then?” Chiori teased.

“Actually, no, he was just Ajax back then,” Scaramouche replied with a smirk. “But he was so different—scrawny, loud, didn’t have that ‘hero-complex’ aura about him. But he clearly doesn’t recognize me. Not that I care.”

Chiori laughed, nodding as though she understood. But she could see a faint hint of intrigue in Scaramouche’s eyes as they continued their conversation.

Later that evening, Scaramouche was back at his apartment, idly scrolling through his notifications when he saw an unknown number pop up.

^ "Hey, this is Childe :) Just wanted to say, you look amazing today. I'd love to get to know you better—how about a date sometime?"^

Scaramouche almost laughed out loud. His initial reaction was to ignore the message, but a thought struck him. Leading him on could be entertaining, and besides, he wasn’t one to turn down admiration.

> "A date, huh?" he typed back, keeping his tone cool. "Sure, I guess."

It was almost too easy. Childe was immediately enthusiastic, texting back details of where and when they could meet up. Scaramouche played along, committing just enough to keep Childe’s interest piqued.

When the date rolled around, Scaramouche didn’t show. He ignored his phone until he got a string of worried messages from Childe. When he finally replied, he kept it simple.

> "Sorry, something came up. Had an emergency."

Childe, the poor guy, bought it without a question, replying with a genuine, “Hope you’re okay. Let me know if we can try again?”

Scaramouche smirked, putting his phone down, half-amused and half-bored. He’d thought it would feel more satisfying, yet the message stirred a faint pang of something he couldn’t place. Maybe he was just unused to someone actually caring whether he showed up or not.

Over the next few weeks, Scaramouche kept Childe on a string, feeding him excuses whenever they set up a time to meet. He couldn’t quite figure out if he was annoyed by Childe’s persistence or if he enjoyed the attention. After all, it was rare for someone to look at him with anything other than intimidation or confusion.

One evening, while working on a project at Chiori’s place, he got yet another text from Childe.

> “I know you’re busy with fashion stuff, but if you ever have time, I’d love to just talk or even watch you design.”

Chiori glanced over at him, noting the small frown on his face. “You know, if you’re actually interested, you could give him a chance.”

Scaramouche scoffed. “Please. He’s just another jock who’d probably lose interest the second he realizes I’m not as ‘cute’ as he thinks.”

“Or,” Chiori replied, “maybe you’re afraid he’d like you even more.”

Scaramouche fell silent, caught off-guard by the suggestion. He glanced back at the message, feeling a weird sense of anticipation stirring. Despite his reservations, he texted back.

>^“Maybe I’ll let you watch sometime. Just don’t get in my way.”^

He shut his phone off, leaning back, half-annoyed and half-curious to see what this little game might lead to.