Chapter Text
Signora:
hey scara, sorry but I actually cant ride with you
im just gonna drive to the airport on wednesday and fly up :((((
childe is still planning to ride up with you tho!!!!
These could probably compete for the worst three consecutive text messages he's ever received (don't ask about the other contenders). Scaramouche threw his phone onto his bed, immediately regretting it as it not only bounced off the bed, but smacked into the bed frame hard on the way down. Just his luck. He grabbed his phone with a sinking feeling, only to confirm that the screen was cracked. At least it seemed mostly functional still. Fuck. Now he would get to spend three days in the car with Childe and his phone was damaged.
He typed out a quick response and shut off his phone. He just needed to focus on packing. He was packing for a tropical vacation after all, he should at least try to be happy about that. It wasn't like he had to talk to Childe on the trip. Three days of not speaking seems like a lot, but Scaramouche was sure he could pull it off. On the other hand, this meant that Childe would have more time to talk incessantly, as he usually did. He would almost definitely take the other's silence as a challenge, and it might get worse than usual.
Stuffing the remainder of his clothes in his bag without folding them, he zipped it up tight and tossed it into the corner of the room. That would be a problem for tomorrow morning.
Well, it turned out to be more of a problem for tomorrow afternoon. Because Childe was late. Of course.
The plan had been to leave Scaramouche's place by 9 AM, but instead, he found himself waiting by his own door until 12:17. That bastard. Scaramouche officially gave up on his resolution to remain silent the while time. There was no way he wasn't going to berate Childe, he was hurrying up his driveway at that very moment.
"Scara, hey, so sorry I'm late!"
"Late!? Childe we were supposed to leave three hours ago! Have you ever read a clock in your life?"
"I got here as fast as I could. Something came up, I couldn't leave when I wanted to." In Childe's defense, he did look like he'd rushed there. The ginger hair on top of his head was more unkempt than usual (which is saying something), and he looked a bit out of breath. But Scara wasn't so quick to buy excuses.
"What came up?"
Childe looked away. "Family stuff. But I'm here now, so let's go." Before Scara could probe further, he made his way to Scara's car to start loading it up. Begrudgingly, Scaramouche followed. Yelling at Childe, as cathartic as he found it, could not bring back the time they had lost, so the next best plan was to move quickly now.
They got in the car, Scara in the driver's seat.
"Are we sure it's safe for you to drive? Can you even reach the pedals?" Childe laughed. He was laughing at him in his own car.
"First of all, no comments about my height this trip. Got that, you dumb ginger? And secondly, it's a long drive, so I think we should switch off every few hours."
"I dunno about the first rule, but the second one sounds good."
The first three hours of the trip turn out better than Scaramouche expected. Childe is actually pretty quiet, mostly looking at his phone or reading off navigation instructions. Even the traffic is okay, although they haven't reached any nice scenery yet. Scaramouche is content to listen to the radio quietly playing in the background.
His peace was shattered when Childe brought up stopping to eat.
"Let's just get lunch and then I'll take a turn driving."
"But if we wait just a couple more hours, we can just get dinner instead," Scaramouche protested. It was Childe's fault they were so off schedule. And now the entire meal schedule would be thrown off too if they stopped now.
"Scara, I'm hungry. And don't you want a break from driving? We can just get something small even, just like pull into a convenience store and get snacks or something?"
With an exaggerated sigh, Scara agreed. Childe routed him, and soon they were pulling into a gas station with a convenience store attached.
"Kind of a sketchy place," Scara said. Childe nodded in agreement. It looked a bit run down, with bars on the windows, and the number of surveillance cameras seemed a bit higher than one would expect for a convenience store. A balding middle-aged man was standing by the entrance, smoking.
As they walked towards the entrance, the man sneered at Scaramouche in particular. "You a girl? Or just one of those homos I see on the news?" He stepped towards them. Scara stopped in his tracks. "If you were a girl, I wouldn't mind taking you into one of the bathrooms in here and --"
He jerked backwards, holding his nose with his hand, and it took Scaramouche a second to process that Childe had just punched him.
"Come on, Scara. We're gonna go somewhere else." Childe turned to leave, and noticing Scara's stillness beside him, he grabbed his hand to drag him along. They walked quickly, the man's shouting and cursing growing fainter behind them.
They made it back to the car, and Childe opened the passenger door and waited for Scara to get in before going to the driver's side and getting in himself.
"You okay Scara?"
Scaramouche stared for a second; he had never heard Childe use that tone before. It was softer than his normal, somewhat overly excited tone. "Umm, yeah, thanks... Is your hand okay?"
Childe smiled, holding his hand up for inspection. To Scara's surprise, it doesn't look that bad. "I have good technique."
Childe adjusts the seat back (a lot), and they take off again. Scaramouche can't help but glance at Childe as he drives. He watches his hand, but doesn't see any signs of swelling. Thank god. He would feel guilty if he did, and the last thing he wants is to feel guilty for Childe's sake. Well, he still does feel a bit indebted.
While he doesn't see swelling, he does see that Childe's hands are pretty big. Much bigger than his own hands. And they are clean too, well manicured. He had never really looked at Childe's hands before (why would he), but now that he's looking, he can't help but think that they are very nice hands. He wonders if those hands are soft too. Or maybe they'd be a bit rough.
Before Scara can stop himself, he's picturing those hands in too many ways. How they would feel on Scara's bare skin, in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. Maybe he could use those hands to hold Scara's head down. How easily would they be able to wrap around his--
"You good? I told you my hand is fine, you don't have to keep staring at it."
Scaramouche clears his throat. "Yeah, no I'm good. I'm glad your hand is fine." He paused for a second, unsure of how to continue. "Uh, do you still wanna get lunch? I feel like I owe you lunch now."
"We can get lunch, but you don't owe me anything. How about this sandwich place up here?"
Scara agrees, and Childe pulls into the parking lot of the sandwich place. Before he can get out of the car, Scara grabs his arm, pulling Childe's hand towards him. He turns Childe's hand is his grasp, and he hears Childe suck in a breath. He glances at him to see if that sound was from pain, but Childe doesn't look like he's in pain at all. He's staring intently at Scaramouche, his mouth hanging open. Scara looks back down at Childe's hand, trying to gauge if there's any swelling or discoloration.
"Does this hurt?" He presses along each of Childe's knuckles on his fingers.
Childe stares at him for a minute. "Uh, no." Scara moves to let his hand go. "Wait, actually, my pointer finger is a bit sore I think."
Scara raises an eyebrow, taking Childe's hand back in his own. "Doesn't look any different than the rest of your fingers..." He marveled at how long those fingers were, how much bigger Childe's hand was than the one holding it. With a huff, he pushed Childe's hand away, turning to get out of the car. "I'm getting some lunch."
The sandwich restaurant is nicer than Scaramouche expected, although maybe that was just relative to the convenience store fiasco. They both ordered their sandwiches and find a booth near the window to sit down at. As they eat, Scaramouche makes an active effort not to look at Childe's hands. Or really Childe in general, but most especially his hands. What the fuck was wrong with him? He shouldn't be thinking about his hands that way.
"Soooo, uh. What's up with you today?" Childe asks.
Scaramouche stares out the window. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you feel guilty or something? Because I punched that guy who was harassing you?"
That must be it, Scara thinks. That explains it, he feels guilty. "I guess."
"S'that why you were so weird in the car? Examining my hand?"
"Well you were weird too," Scara glares. "Your fingers were obviously fine, but you told me one of them hurt."
Childe smirked, sipping his soda through his straw. "I dunno, it was kinda cute," he muttered.
To his horror, Scaramouche felt his face warm up. He hoped Childe didn't notice, but Childe's laughter made it obvious that he did.
"It- I just wanted to make sure your hand was okay, dumbass. That's all," he seethed.
"Yeah I know, that's why it was cute. You can pretend you hate me, but I know you don't."
Scaramouche played idly with his straw, trying his best to fight off both a smile and a barrage of curses. Since when was Childe like this? Sure, he had teased Scara before, but he had never called him cute. And now that he saw what reaction that got out of Scara, he was almost sure to keep doing it. "Just eat your lunch, dumbass."