Tags & trigger warnings: Emetophilia, vomiting, sickfic, hurt/comfort, caretaking, spoilers for Scaramouche's real name.

Summary: Following a visit back home for the holidays, Childe finds himself sick. (Part 3 of the Chiscara agenda series)

Posted to Ao3: November 30th 2021

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Childe groaned softly as he opened his eyes slightly, only to close them again curling further in on himself. His arms wrapped tightly around his stomach as shivers racked his body. His blankets lay discarded at the very foot of the bed, Childe having kicked them off earlier in the night.

Childe had awoken sometime around midnight a few hours ago feeling just as awful as he did when he first went to bed. It was completely and utterly disgustingly hot, leaving him feeling as if he were being cooked alive. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, uncomfortably clinging to Childe's skin in a way that left him feeling smothered.

His stomach was in agony a deep almost unbearable ache squeezing his stomach as if he were being repeatedly punched in the gut. Waves of intense dizzying nausea washed over him making the room sway sickeningly before his eyes and he squeezed his eyes closed once more swallowing thickly when his stomach gave a loud sickening gurgling noise.

As much as Childe hated to admit it he was clearly very sick with something. Something he more than likely picked up from one of his siblings or other family members when he'd visited them for the holidays a few days ago. Coming from a big family it was almost routine for Childe at this point that if one of his family members got sick eventually everyone would've caught it before the sickness went away.

Hell, if Childe didn't feel as if he was dying at the moment he may have felt slightly nostalgic but he did so all he felt was miserable.

Sniffling Childe cracks his eyes open slightly, he can feel a headache beginning to come on, a slight dull ache settling at the base of his skull. His breathing is labored and harsh which isn't helped by the waves of nausea crashing over him that leave him feeling breathless and dizzy.

His gaze goes up to the cup of water he'd placed on the nightstand that sat beside the medicine he'd grabbed when he first woken up. He hadn't attempted to drink it yet nor had he attempted to take the medicine because soon after he'd retrieved the items his stomach pain and nausea got worse. So much so that even the thought of trying to drink it has him squeezing his eyes shut as nausea slammed into him like a truck.

Taking a deep breath in an effort to get his body under control even slightly, Childe eventually begins moving. He props himself up halfway, leaning back on his hands before he slowly reaches over, grabbing the medicine off of the nightstand as well as the water. Honestly, he's pretty sure he should be going to Dottore considering the state he's in, but he just does not have the energy nor the mental capacity to deal with Dottore's usual antics right now.

He tosses the pills in his mouth struggling not to gag at the texture and rich bitter taste of the pills. Childe takes a small hesitant sip of water, and while it does have a sharp pain shooting across his stomach it doesn't immediately come back up so he continues drinking.

Setting the now empty glass on the nightstand Childe sighs, grimacing as he stretches arms over his head and a dull ache shoots through his limbs. Childe is used to the soreness that he typically got after a good sparring or training session, that he could deal with. Whenever Childe got sick however the soreness and ache that settled in his limbs was entirely different.

It was an ache that weighed down his limbs, slowed down his movements, made them imprecise, weakened him, and that was what he hated about it. But Childe also knew that there wasn't much he could do about it, humans got sick it's just the way things were, hell considering Scaramouche and La Signora both could get sick not being human wouldn't really fix the issues either.

Scowling Childe looked towards the window of his room, if he was correct it was late in the afternoon. While Childe tried to, ever since he was fourteen Childe often had trouble keeping track of time from day to day, not things like whether it was afternoon, night, or daytime but more so the number, after all, it's not like he could just check what exact time it was while he wandered the abyss.

He found his mind turning to Scaramouche, he'd offered to spend the holidays with him by going out to have some fun since he'd figured, well he'd known, that Scaramouche would've been alone during that time. Scaramouche had scoffed in his face and said something to the effect of 'as if I need your company', Childe had brought back some gifts for him just in case however although he'd shortly found himself sick and hadn't had the chance to give them to him.

Not only was Childe sick he was also bored which in his opinion was slightly worse. He had been laying in bed for the last day or so, and that made him antsy. He looks towards his room door, maybe he could go train for a little bit just enough to burn off the excess energy building up inside of him, plus it would help calm him down a bit, give his mind something else to focus on besides the violent churning in his stomach and the ache in his limbs. Besides, he'd already taken the medicine so he'd be fine.

With his decision already long made up Childe begins getting out of bed, he has to pause when he moves so that he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand going to his stomach when it makes a harsh almost ominous gurgling noise as if warning him that this was a bad idea.

Swallowing thickly he ignores it, he ignores the way he can feel his stomach practically writhing beneath his fingers boiling like a pot of hot water, he ignores the rush of dizziness that hits him when he manages to get onto his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. He convinces himself that things would be fine, he's definitely had faced worse, and learning to bandage your own wounds at age fourteen because some forsaken eldritch esque entity literally stabbed you in the back was worse in Childe's eyes.

Childe manages to get dressed somehow, although he has to pause for a moment in the doorway to his bedroom when his stomach suddenly sloshes and he gags emptily into his hand. Groaning, Childe takes a deep breath closing his eyes for a moment before he gathers his strength and continues walking.

His house is quiet surprisingly, and it takes him a moment to remember why considering the fever and headache muddling his thoughts. He'd allowed all his servants to go home for the holidays to spend time with their families. Childe didn't have too many servants to begin with, definitely not as many as La Signora or Scaramouche as he knew how to clean up and what not and often liked doing it, just seeing it as something that needed to be done.

But the servants he did have often tended to his house while he was away on missions, especially if he was going to be gone for at least a week or more. Besides that Childe tended to keep his house rather clean on his own so he didn't need to use them that much.

Childe walks through the kitchen, his breathing even more labor, he's practically panting at this point and he pauses leaning against the nearby countertop, blinking quickly to clear his vision when it seems to blur for a moment or two. He is dizzy beyond belief and he shakes his head slightly wiping the sweat from his face before he continues walking.

His stomach is in agony, and his nausea has reached unbearable levels to the point that he begins hiccuping, Childe stops walking and reaches out gripping a section of the countertop as he clamps a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes. He can feel the bile bubbling at the back of his throat, the burn it brings making him swallow rapidly but no matter how much he swallows the saliva building up in his mouth refuses to clear.

He lowers his hand from his mouth taking shuddering breaths as he tightly grips the countertop, his hands shaking as he squeezes his eyes closed. He's trying to fight against the nausea that just keeps growing inside of him, stubborn was practically Childe's middle name.

But even he is aware when he's fighting a clearly losing battle, and he becomes aware that this is one such fight when the saliva filling his mouth takes on a strong metal taste nearly overflowing in his mouth making some of it trickle down his chin.

Giving a shuddering, almost panting breath Childe moves carefully until he's standing in front of the kitchen sink. He leans over it, bracing his hands on the countertop on either side of the sink before opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out, allowing the drool building up in his mouth to drip into the sink. Thankfully the sink is empty so when Childe needs to clean it he won't need to worry about the dishes.

"C-come on, just...get it over with," he mumbled as if trying to encourage his body to give in, his words slurring heavily with nausea.

His breath suddenly hitches, a low growl traveling from his stomach up his throat, and a loud, wet rumbling burp tears itself from his lips bring with it a thick surge of lumpy, off-white, and beige-colored vomit, the wet oatmeal-like slurry splattering heavily against the metal of the sink.

It comes out with such force that it drips out of Childe's nose as well leaving him coughing wetly and spluttering, each cough ending in a wet almost violent gag that has threads of drool dripping from his mouth like a faucet and tears gathering in his eyes from the force.

Childe flinches when pain grips his stomach as if twisting it in a vice grip as his head throbs in time with his heartbeat. Childe's legs shake beneath him and he feels incredibly dizzy. Even though Childe is moderately prepared and his mouth is open in anticipation, threads of drool and bile dripping from his lips, he still wasn't prepared for the violent, guttural, gurgling retch that tears from his throat making him lurch forward and his stomach sloshes violently with the motion.

The noise sounds almost inhuman, as it practically claws its way up from the very pit of his stomach bringing with it an enormous wave of that same lumpy off-white vomit. It's incredibly thick and smells similar to spoiled milk, everything is practically coming up undigested as it congeals into a slurry in the sink.

Childe's stomach is killing him, spasming as he attempts to choke up every single last thing that's been practically boiling in his stomach since last night. Blinking away the tears in his eyes as he gasps for air, Childe's eyes widen in complete surprise when his legs collapse beneath him and he falls to his knees one of his arms still stretched upward, his hand still gripping the edge of the countertop.

Before he can even attempt to pull himself to his feet a wet hiccup leaves his lips a surge of vomit gurgling up his throat on the tail end. It's semi watery at this point which means he's more than likely just brought up the water he drank minutes before along with the medicine.

"S-shit," Childe gasped out in between his coughing. He swallows thickly, threads of drool and bile still dripping from his lips and into the rather large puddle of vomit on the floor.

He shakes his head as he takes in shuddering breaths but they do little to calm the intense dizziness he's feeling. Childe sits back leaning back against one of the kitchen cabinets, sickly hiccups bubbling out of him as he lays there, staring at the room almost absentmindedly as it swims before his eyes. Childe is exhausted in every sense of the word, his thoughts hazy and slipping through his fingers before they can even form.

A cold chill prickles along Childe's skin and if he wasn't so out of it at this point he may have actually appreciated the brief but welcomed relief from the searing heat of the fever. Before Childe's sluggish mind could pick up on what was happening to him he had already passed out.

~~~

Scaramouche gives a huff of irritation as he walks down the hallways of Zapolyarny Palace, towards Childe's office. The man had apparently returned from his trip to visit his family in Morepesok, but neither Scaramouche nor any of the other harbingers had seen him.

While they didn't have a mission or any important work to do at the moment, Scaramouche found it incredibly strange. While he did think Childe was a bit of an idiot he was well aware that Childe was the last person to shirk his duties, Childe was nothing if not stubborn and strangely resilient for a human at least by Scaramouche's standards.

At the same time, although Scaramouche would never ever admit it to anyone or himself, he was a bit worried by Childe's prolonged absence.

"Least that asshole could do is tell me where he was going," Scaramouche mumbled under his breath, giving another irritated huff as he stopped in front of Childe's office.

"He's not there."

Scowling Scaramouche turns around, his eyes narrowing as he looks up at La Signora, absolutely hating how the woman always towered over him with her impressive height; she was just as tall as one of the mirror maidens.

"Of course he isn't," Scaramouche huffed, his irritation growing.

La Signora chuckled. "I take it, you don't know where that fool is?" She asked, crossing her arms.

Scaramouche looked at her as if he couldn't believe what she was asking him. "Do I look like his keeper to you?" He practically growled.

La Signora gave a soft snort, a smirk stretching across her face. "Well, you keep him in your bed, I know that for sure."

For a few moments, Scaramouche was quiet simply staring up at the woman with narrow eyes. Him and Childe weren't exactly secretive about their relationship, but typically those who knew hardly ever said anything or were too afraid to do so. La Signora though wasn't a person who ever shied away from the chance to prod at Scaramouche's insecurities and actions.

Scaramouche gives her a smile full of false sweetness. "And yet you have nobody warming your bed. Why is that?" He asked almost calmly, taking great pleasure at the way the smirk seemed to evaporate from La Signora's face in an instant.

As it is replaced with a cold yet fierce rage however Scaramouche begins walking away. It's not that he couldn't easily take the woman in a fight, but he had more important things to do like finding his idiot human.

There was one final place Scaramouche hadn't checked one that was incredibly obvious but he just hadn't thought to do so. Childe's home, which was a decent journey away from the palace.

It wasn't as if Scaramouche hadn't been there before, he often went over when Childe decided he wanted to have dinner with Scaramouche, often saying that it was easier to bring Scaramouche over than to cook the food and go find him to give it to him.

Scaramouche could cook and not being human had certain interesting perks such as not needing to eat or sleep for quite a while if he wanted to. Lately though thanks to Childe he found himself eating practically every day, especially things like chocolate and cookies since Scaramouche had a sweet tooth.

It truthfully wasn't as irritating as he first believed, and as much as he would begrudgingly admit it Childe was a good cook.

There was something else that Scaramouche had been ignoring as well, or rather, something he was afraid or unwilling to admit to himself that'd been lurking in the back of his mind for a while now, especially since Childe had found out about his greatest fear and weakness. His fear of Dottore and by extension illness in general.

He was afraid to admit that he may have liked Childe a bit more than he felt comfortable with. That maybe he was growing fond of having that idiot around him, or that he perhaps even loved him.

And admittedly it terrified Scaramouche deeply, for multiple reasons. He was a person who valued his independence and his own abilities above all else, and yet when he was at his weakest moment not once but twice Childe had taken care of him, expecting nothing in return and even kept his secret.

Trust was not something that came to Scaramouche easily, especially not after everything he'd gone through in his life, but maybe just maybe he could allow himself to trust Childe if only a bit more than anyone else.

Scaramouche looks up with a scowl as the car he's in stops in front of Childe's house. He says nothing to the driver as he climbs out of the car, adjusting his coat with his free hand and carrying his hat in the other.

Snezhnaya was always so cold a stark contrast to the warm and humid, almost tropical climate of Inazuma it had taken Scaramouche quite a while to adapt to it.

Scaramouche isn't surprised to find the door unlocked, after all, anyone who would break into a harbinger's home, especially one as unpredictable as Childe, was basically a Darwin Award waiting to happen.

Scaramouche frowns as closes the door behind him and hangs his hat and coat up on the nearby coat rack. The house is strangely quiet, almost eerily so, its usual warmth and coziness nowhere in sight.

While Childe can admittedly handle himself, he was human at the end of the day, despite that monster-like form he used in battle, and Scaramouche knew just how fragile humans could be.

Worry begins welling up in Scaramouche's chest and he pushes it down feeling irritated. Gathering his elemental energy to his fingertips, he allows a small amount of electro to spark along his fingertips.

While he didn't think Childe would be weak or stupid enough to lose to some random dumbass, it was better to be prepared in Scaramouche's eyes.

The first place Scaramouche checks is the living room but finding nothing strange or out of place, he walks upstairs to Childe's bedroom.

The first thing he notices when he enters the bedroom is the distinct scent of illness, such as that left behind when someone has a fever. That has that worry blooming in his chest once more, alongside something else. Fear.

That sensation only grows when he notices the empty cup of water and the package belonging to cold medicine and fever reducers right beside it.

"Hey, where are you, you idiot," he called out but he gets no response back which doesn't help his current state.

It is at that moment that he notices that Childe's boots are missing from beside the bed. And Childe's vision, delusion, and the Fatui mask that was always kept with him was not on the nightstand, nor was it anywhere among the messy blankets or under his pillows.

Scaramouche pauses for a moment, a deep frown on his face. Surely Childe wouldn't be stupid enough to try training or fighting while sick, especially in the training room in the basement let alone outside.

Then Scaramouche sighed because Childe definitely would, and it wouldn't have even been the first time either.

Muttering curses under his breath he leaves the bedroom and goes downstairs stopping for a moment in the living room, but eventually decides to go to the kitchen since it led to both the back door as well as the basement door.

The first thing that hits him when he enters the kitchen is the sharp almost rancid scent of vomit, and that just has Scaramouche's fear reawakening with a new ferocity, causing his once steady hands to begin trembling.

The second thing he notices is weak labored breathing filling the room. Scaramouche quickly walks over to where the noise is coming from, but he freezes his eyes widening at what he sees.

Childe is sitting on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets, his head bowed and seemingly unconscious.

Scaramouche is at his side in an instant kneeling beside him, briefly noticing the vomit on the front of Childe's clothes, as well on the floor in front of him and in the sink.

For a brief moment, Scaramouche's eyes rove over Childe, taking in his incredibly pale face, the sweat coating his skin, and the raspy, weak, panting breaths leaving his mouth. Taking a deep breath he reaches out and grabs Childe's shoulder, he's almost shocked at the sheer heat rolling off of Childe's skin and he takes another deep breath before giving him a shake.

"Hey! Wake up, can you hear me," he called out as he shook Childe. But Childe shows no sign of having heard him nor waking up right now.

Scaramouche's heart is pounding in his chest, the hand still gripping Childe's shoulder trembling. He doesn't know what to do, humans got sick he knew this, and yet why did it feel so wrong, so terrifying that Childe of all people was sick.

His first thought is to take him to Dottore, but his mind immediately viscerally rejects the idea. He couldn't go to Dottore, not because he wouldn't treat Childe but because of the fear that Scaramouche held of the man that was practically conditioned into him at this point.

Childe suddenly gives a weak groan, coughing before he opens his eyes slightly, his normally sharp dark blue eyes are glazed over, glassy and unfocused.

"Hey, you're okay right?" Scaramouche said. He knows it's a stupid question when Childe seems as if he's on the very edge of delirium but he's trying to calm his own panicking and fear. He doesn't know why, he doesn't understand why he's panicking like this over one insignificant human.

Childe blinks slowly as his eyes briefly rove around the room before he looks at Scaramouche.

"An...thon?" Childe mumbled his words slurring.

Scaramouche frowns, if he remembered right Anthon was one of Childe's younger siblings. Scaramouche opens his mouth to correct him but stops at the warm genuine smile Childe has on his face, his eyes widening in surprise. It's not his first time seeing Childe's genuine smile, although Scaramouche had never been on the receiving end of it.

It's warm, comforting even and Scaramouche finds himself wanting to see more of it. But he also knows that he won't, which stings for some reason he doesn't understand. A sense of longing welling up in his chest.

His hands ball into fists as he looks away, then he swallows his pride. This was fine, if only for a little bit. It's not like Childe would remember it later anyway. If this is what it took for Childe to look at him like that then he didn't mind pretending to be someone else for a little bit.

"Y-yeah...it's me, you're really sick you know that right," Scaramouche said softly.

And Childe gives a small soft laugh, before giving a shuddering sigh and wincing. "Stomach hurts," he mumbled with a scowl.

"I know," Scaramouche muttered. "Let's get you cleaned up and in bed."

It is difficult for Scaramouche to remember how he used to talk before the Fatui found him, especially considering how many years had passed but he thinks this is the right way.

Childe slowly nodded, and Scaramouche carefully helped him to his feet, steadying him when he sways. While Scaramouche could definitely carry Childe to his bedroom if needed, the height difference between the two would make it very difficult.

Childe groans, massaging his temple with one hand as a soft hiccup leaves his mouth. "My head..."

"I know, I'll help you upstairs," Scaramouche told him gently as he grabbed one of Childe's hands.

Childe simply gives a soft hum in response as he allows Scaramouche to lead him.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Childe mumbled with a soft sigh.

"It's fine. I was up anyway," Scaramouche told him as he glanced up at Childe. He quickly glances away, however, feeling strangely upset, irritated almost, it mingles with his fear and worry putting him on edge.

It felt incredibly wrong seeing Childe in such a weakened and docile state, that usual flame of stubbornness all but extinguished and Scaramouche despises it.

Sighing as they entered Childe's bedroom Scaramouche guides him to sit down on the edge of the bed. Childe is mostly quiet, seemingly on the verge of dozing off as Scaramouche changes him out of his dirty clothes and into clean sleeping clothes.

Scaramouche pauses in the middle of taking Childe's vision and delusion off of him when Childe grabs his wrist almost tightly enough to bruise. Wincing as a slight sting ran across his wrist Scaramouche looked up at Childe, Childe's eyes are hazy and unfocused if he hadn't been blinking, albeit slowly, Scaramouche would've believed he'd passed out sitting up.

Childe grabbing his wristed seemed more instinctual than anything.

Childe looks at him for a moment and they lock eyes but it's as if Childe is looking past him at something that really isn't there. Eventually though after a few more moments of silence Childe releases Scaramouche, who gives a sigh of relief.

He doesn't know what Childe may have seen in his fever-induced hallucinations but whatever it was or whoever it was he seemed to trust them enough to let them touch his vision and delusion.

Once Childe is dressed and cleaned up, Scaramouche guides him to lay down, pulling the covers over him. Childe watches him the whole time, giving him another warm smile when Scaramouche steps back.

It is only when he is about to leave that Childe speaks. "Did you want another story before you go to bed, Anthon?"

Scaramouche pauses at that, his gaze on the floor. There is a question nagging Scaramouche in the back of his mind, one he would never ask if Childe was lucid enough to recognize him. Besides, even if he got the answers he wanted there was no guarantee that they would be the answers he wanted to hear. And yet he needs to know if for no one else's sake but his own.

Taking a deep breath Scaramouche returns to Childe's side of the bed. He opens his mouth but pauses, unsure of how to phrase what he's wondering. Eventually, though, he finds a way.

"Can you tell me more about the guy you work with? The one from Inazuma?"

A look of mild surprises flashes across Childe's face for a moment before he scowls. "Scara? I was going to bring him here to meet everyone but..." Childe shakes his head slightly.

Scaramouche nods slowly absorbing this information, the nickname Childe's given for him sounds strangely right. He finds himself not minding it too much truthfully. What stunned him though is Childe wanting to bring Scaramouche to meet his family, especially considering how Childe did his damnedest to keep his work and personal life.

Childe chuckles before yawning. "Scara means well deep down...he may seem like a bully sometimes but...he's a lot like me you know. He's lonely...I don't mind keeping him company," Childe said as he struggled to stay awake. "I...really want to...show him everything the world has to offer. Hopefully...he'll come next time..."

Scaramouche is silent as he stares at Childe, then he's reaching out gently, taking one of Childe's hands in his own doing his best to ignore the way his hand was shaking and the slight burn stinging his eyes. "I'm sure he'd like that. Get some rest, I'll be right here," Scaramouche told him softly, giving Childe's hand a small reassuring squeeze.

Childe nods slightly as his eyes slip closed, it isn't very long before he's asleep.

Scaramouche draws back sniffling as he rubs at his eyes. Giving a soft huff he stares down at the floor for a moment or two with a scowl. "So annoying," he mumbles although there's no sign of irritation or anger in his words.

He picks up Childe's dirty clothes, placing them in the laundry basket in the corner of the room before he leaves to go downstairs. He has a lot of cleaning to do, which he finds annoying, and yet at the same time, it feels as if a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders so he doesn't mind it as much as he should.

~~~

Childe has no clue what time it is, what day it is, or even where he's currently at, but he does know a few things. One it is unbearably hot, so much so that he feels like he's burning from the inside out. Two despite being asleep for Archon's knows how long his body still feels sluggish and exhausted, his limbs weighed down. And three his head and stomach are killing him, although that unbearable nausea he'd felt before has dulled considerably.

Groaning softly Childe shifts slightly more and more of his awareness gradually coming back to him. He's laying on something soft and something soft yet slightly heavy is wrapped around him. Childe whimpers and something cold yet soft touches his face gently running over it, and Childe can't help but lean into it, the cold feeling amazing on his burning skin.

The cold also helps wake Childe up further and he finally opens his eyes halfway, narrowing them, his vision blurring slightly before focusing. The first thing he sees is Scaramouche sitting at his bedside, a scowl on his face as he cleans the sweat from Childe's face with what he realizes is a wet washcloth. A bowl of water is sitting on the nightstand right beside what looks like a bottle of medicine and a glass of water.

"Well look at that, the dumbass is awake," Scaramouche sighs as he draws back.

"How long have I been out?" Childe asked as his eyes roved around the room. He's still at home, in bed and he's still sick. Childe could've sworn he'd gotten up earlier. Had that been a fever dream? "Why are you here?"

Scaramouche gives a soft huff placing the washrag in the bowl of water before he turns back to Childe, crossing his arms, his eyes narrowed. "I knew you were fucking stupid, but I didn't know that you were this stupid. What kind of dumbass are you to think that trying to train with a fever of 103 is a good idea," he snapped.

For a few moments, Childe just looks at him with wide eyes shocked by the sudden tirade, especially the ferocity behind it. Scaramouche sounds legitimately pissed but also worried and Childe frowns. So Childe had gotten up to go train, at least Scaramouche had confirmed that for him but he still had no clue why the other man was here.

Childe slowly sits up watching silently as Scaramouche continues muttering insults and curses under his breath as he grabs the bottle of medicine and opens it.

"Here take these," Scaramouche told him holding out the medicine and glass of water to Childe. Childe takes them, still staring at Scaramouche with a frown.

"Why are you here? Did I let you in while I was out of it?" Childe asked as he brought the water to his mouth, taking a hesitant sip. Once he's sure his stomach won't instantly reject it he takes the pills and drinks the water.

"I got bored and I couldn't find my stupid human so I had to go look for them," Scaramouche mumbled glancing away shaking his head. Childe can see something similar to worry and fear visible in Scaramouche's eyes.

"Your human?" Childe said a smile spreading across his face although it's strained.

Scaramouche shoots him a glare but there's no true malice behind it. "Be quiet, you're lucky I'm not electrocuting you for making me do all this work just because you were too stupid to think you could train with a fever like that," he grumbled.

Scaramouche goes quiet, his gaze on the floor, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath willing his body to calm down. Childe was fine, he was conscious, lucid, and moving which was amazing considering his fever had only lowered by one degree.

And yet he's still sick which makes it hard for Scaramouche to look at him for an extended period of time. It felt like something he wasn't supposed to see almost.

It is Childe who eventually speaks first, breaking the silence. "Oh right! The thing I brought back for you is in the closet. To the back," Childe told him.

"Thing you brought back for me?" Scaramouche asked with a scowl.

Childe nodded, chuckling softly. "I figured I'd bring you something back since you didn't want to come with me to spend the holidays with my family."

Rolling his eyes Scaramouche gets up, despite his dramatics he can't help but feel happy at Childe's words. As he goes to the closet and retrieves the package in question he sees that it's wrapped neatly in blue and purple wrapping paper.

Scowling he returns to his chair and sits down feeling Childe's eyes on him the entire time as he unwraps the package and opens the decently sized box beneath.

"Wha..." Scaramouche said, sounding completely dumbfounded. He reaches it to the box pulling a medium-sized blue and white stuffed animal, a blue whale with a white horn. "A...narwhal?" He mutters as he gives the plush a slight squeeze, it's incredibly soft and clearly made with care. The stitching is perfect and so are the details.

Noticing the small white tag tied around its tail, Scaramouche looks at it. "Ajax?"

Childe chuckles which makes Scaramouche look up at him. "It's my name. I made it while I was visiting my family. I figured you'd be lonely when I'm not here, especially if you get sick, so my sister suggested I give you something that'll remind you of me."

Scaramouche gives a soft snort. "Oh, great now I have two idiots to watch over," he said although Childe can tell that he's joking.

For a few moments, Scaramouche is silent, simply staring at the narwhal as he squeezes the plush gently.

"Ajax... it's a nice name. It suits you. Mine is Kunikuzushi," Scaramouche eventually said, his voice barely above a whisper, if Childe hadn't been paying attention he wouldn't have even heard him. Childe sees a small yet warm, almost gentle smile briefly cross Scaramouche and Childe can only stare at him in shock.

In all the time he's known Scaramouche he's never, ever seen him smile like that and he's pretty sure no one else had either. While Childe is still staring at him in complete shock, Scaramouche gets up, tucking the plush under his arm, and leaves the room.

He is hungry and exhausted so Scaramouche should probably try and see if he can cook something for both him and Childe.

Scaramouche pauses in the hallway and glances back at Childe's room with a slight smile.

Maybe just maybe, putting his trust in Childe wouldn't be so bad after all.