The clouds rolled in sometime around fourth period.

By the time the final bell rang, it wasn't just overcast, it was angry. The kind of storm that didn't wait politely to announce itself. Rain slammed against the school's windows like it had a personal vendetta, and thunder snarled low in the distance.

You stood at your locker, hoodie hood pulled up, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, and a firm sense of nope rooted deep in your chest.

'I hate rain...' you mumbled to yourself, leaning against a wall and putting in your earbuds to listen to music. Something to pass time and distract you.

Childe rushed by in a frenzy, shouting something about needing to "save the drama club's banner from getting waterboarded," and Mona was clutching a folder to her chest like it was made of gold. Meanwhile, Fischl posed dramatically under her umbrella, refusing to let the aesthetic die even in hurricane conditions.

And then you saw a figure inching closer to you, familiar purple hair, Scaramouche.

Leaning against the wall like he'd been there for hours, hands tucked into his coat pockets, hair slightly frizzed from the humidity.

"You need a ride," he said. It wasn't a question.

"I was gonna call Zhongli—"

"He's stuck in a meeting," Scaramouche cut in. "I already checked."

You frowned. "How do you even know that?"

He didn't answer. Just nodded toward the parking lot. "C'mon. We're living together anyways it only makes sense don't be a dumbass"

⸻

The rain was unrelenting, and your shoes made unpleasant squelching noises by the time you reached his car. He unlocked it wordlessly opening the door for you trying to minimize how soaked you were getting , and you both climbed in.

Silence settled for the first two minutes.

Water streamed down the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up. The inside smelled like clean linen and something faintly spicy... whatever cologne he wore that clung to everything like a signature.

You glanced at him.

He glanced at you.

Then flicked the aux cord toward your lap.

"Pick something," he muttered.

You raised a brow. "You trust me with the music?"

"No. But your moping is louder than the rain, and that's saying something."

You plugged in your phone and scrolled. Eventually landing on something soft. Gentle chords. Mitski... your goat.

Just background noise for overthinking. The rain pattered steadily against the roof. You both sat in silence. And then you decided to ask him something you've been thinking about for a while

"Why are you so protective?"

He didn't look at you. Didn't answer right away.

"I'm not."

"Liar."

A long breath escaped him.

"I just... know what it's like. To feel like everything could fall apart at any second. Like the world's got you by the throat and you're supposed to smile through it. I'm not overprotective. Just... I don't know"

He turned his head, eyes flicking toward yours.

"I know what it's like to have no one come back for you."

That silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Honest. You swallowed hard. The storm outside matched the one churning in your gut.

"I'm scared all the time," you admitted.

Scaramouche leaned back in his seat. You guys were already parked in-front of his house, but the rain wouldn't let up. There was a silent mutual agreement to just.. stay

"So am I."

You didn't know who reached out first. Your fingers brushed his. Neither of you pulled away. The music shifted to something slower, a piano instrumental you didn't recognize.

The rain kept falling.

You turned your head toward him, hoodie still up, eyes beginning to droop from the soft rhythm and warmth of the car. You were comfortable in the silence.

He didn't say anything. But you noticed the way he glanced at you. Twice. Then a third time.

And you noticed less after that, because your eyelids began to flutter. Your body leaned sideways.

And by the time your head dropped onto his shoulder, you were already slipping under.

Scaramouche tensed like he'd been struck.

His entire body went rigid, breath caught in his throat. For a solid ten seconds, he just sat there like a mannequin, absolutely panicked, eyes wide.

Unsure what to do he contemplated moving you or even telling you to get off him.

But then, slowly... He looked down. And saw you.

Head resting against his shoulder, brow unfurrowed, the softest expression on your face that he had ever seen.

The panic faded. He let out a quiet, shaky breath. He smiled. Small. Brief. But real.

⸻

30 minutes later, you stirred. He thought maybe he could ease you awake gently. But instead

Smack

Your hand flailed and landed directly on his chest as you startled up.

"Euughhhhhh" you blinked slowly, waking up little by little. "Sorry... wa-wait was I drooling?! Ohmygosh I am SO SO SO sorry I'm so sorry"

Scaramouche blinked at you, deadpan.

"Only a little."

You covered your face with both hands. "Kill me. Please. Drive us into the nearest ditch."

He rolled his eyes and smiled softly.

You looked at him again and saw it, that tiny smirk he always tried to fight down.

"You're never going to let me live this down," you groaned.

"Nope." But then, softer "You looked peaceful."

You blinked. He looked away quickly, ears tinged pink.

"Shut up. Let's get you home."

And for once, you didn't argue.

⸻

At the estate, the rain had slowed to a drizzle.

You opened the car door and stretched, backpack slung over one shoulder again.

"You coming in?" you asked, looking back at him.

He stared at the steering wheel for a second. Then nodded. The walk inside was quiet. But not tense. Not uncomfortable. Just... Settled.

Like something between you had clicked into place. Neither of you said a word as you passed through the hallway and up the stairs. But as you reached your room, you turned around.

"Hey," you said softly.

Scaramouche paused, halfway to his door.

"what."

You smiled faintly.

"Thank..you.. for you know everything you guys are doing for me and stuff"

He held your gaze for a second longer than usual. He nodded and disappeared into his room. Your door shut a second later.

your heart felt a little less heavy.