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“The enormity of my desire disgust me,” Scaramouche mumbles to no one but himself as he stares down at the bird has stupidly decided to perch upon his hand. He thinks of all the ways he could crush it, should he close his palms, blood and bones against unblemished skin; he thinks of all the ways he could strike it down with lightning if it ever chose to fly away.
With a caress of the wind in his cheeks, the chimes of bells on his hat, he turns to Venti landing on his toes touching the soft earth. Venti who was like the center of the universe - the embodiment of sun that he would burn and burn again to touch like Icarus, raze himself to ashes just to be near; Scaramouche would do it with hellfire for he is all that is warmth, the only one Scaramouche would come to know. For he has only seen an endless cloudy sky filled with looking thunder. He is the bearer of storms.
But if Venti was the sun, his mouth turns to a frown as he eyes those immaculate wings folding on his back, then like the darkness within him that seeks to engulf all things, he wants to hide it all for himself. Scaramouche wants and wants and wants, and endless desire from a hole in his chest where a heart should've been that seeks to be filled.
His non existent heart doesn't know if he wants to be like Venti or love Venti. Venti who is everything he aspires to be, Venti who is his dream breath into life.
But he's sure of this: to be loved by him was the breath of the sweet afternoon air in his lungs.
He dreams of freedom, from all things tying him down to the muck and dirt that is his past filled with sins and tears. He dreams of tearing Venti's wings from the bone of his back so he never flies away, he’d keep it far away like a hidden treasure so no one can sew it back on him.
In the depths of his mind, in the passing moments, he wants to drain his blood for it to be the same as the anemo that pulses through Venti’s, how he wants to crawl under his skin.
Scaramouche who wants to be free but won't let himself be so he chains Venti down and drags him to the depths of hell where he resides like the monster he truly is, despite the other’s insistence. There’s a perverse sense of pleasure in it, his hand itching to make it a reality.
“The enormity of my desire disgust me,” Scaramouche thinks, watching the other smile and laugh like twinkling bells; without expecting anything from his companion because he knows Scaramouche loves his company anyway. Throughout the frown, throughout the harsh remarks and throughout the sheer denial.
The one flaw: he could never hide his emotions - affection.
And maybe that’s why, poor Venti who’s come to accept a future where he might as well be a caged sign bird in the dark, because he’s taken pity on this lonesome creation’s depth of loneliness. Because he knows what it's like to long to be human and things that he can't have or be.
And if all else fails Scaramouche is the one who can stay for eternity, maybe even long after he's gone back to the wind.