Intense.

Chapter 1

"Can you, who have such intense desires, be considered a heartless being?”

...

"No matter how much you look at it, Scara, it's not going to magically improve or change, you know? Are you supposed to paint on the canvas instead of just looking at it?" Venti asked, in a playful tone of voice, with a half smile on his face.

Scaramouche snorted, rolling his eyes. Yeah, of course he knew that, and the comment was something that only someone like Venti might say, Scaramouche thought. But he bit his tongue, because he didn't need to make him feel so bad...Venti was his weak point, although he didn't dare to admit it.

"Something's missing," the blue-haired man replied, sighing. He turned to look at Venti. They were both in a somewhat secluded area of the local park, a few blocks from the university.

Scaramouche likes it was much less bothersome to paint in front of the curious eyes of strangers than to have to deal with with her mother's comments. She wasn't bad at all, nor violent, but with

His excessive overprotection, sometimes the minor just wanted to scream and lock himself in his room. Although he didn't, of course. Scaramouche's life was an endless cycle of repressing feelings and anger - especially the latter - and then letting it all out, painting.

It was a pleasant routine, now. That's how they'd met, almost a year and a half ago: Scaramouche painting, and Venti posing for him. Of course, it was much more rigid back then, since there was a note for Scaramouche, and some money for Venti. They both needed something back then, which they would get after the activity. Now, it was simply because they both enjoyed it. Or so it was assumed.

"You paint to relax, right? Then there's no point if you're just going to end up frowning in front of the canvas. It doesn't have to be perfect."

"But it has to be." Scara countered, carefully resting the brush on the wooden support. "It's not relaxing if I make a mistake. And..."

Venti raised an eyebrow, smirking. He knew that expression. "And?"

Scaramouche looked at the canvas again. It was barely a sketch, but he wasn't satisfied. It wasn't what he was aiming for. Even if it was just a sketch, just the beginning of a painting, he didn't like it. "l'm painting you... It can't be anything other than perfectly."

Venti smiled sideways. Yes, maybe Scaramouche wasn't very good at telling people openly and expressively how much he loved them, but he could tell...because of things like this. The way Scaramouche looked at him, and never said anything rude to him, even when he got upset. Of course it was rough, but in reality, Scaramouche was a great attention to detail.

"Why don't we stop for today? The sunlight's fading, and the lanterns aren't giving much light," Venti suggested, getting down from the wooden table he was sitting at and walking to his side. "I'll help you carry the easel.

"l can carry the easel by myself."

Knowing that he wouldn't change his mind just yet, Venti decided to give up, and as Scaramouche arranged his paints and gathered the canvas and easel, he couldn't help but ask.

"Why do you like painting me so much?" Venti asks then, slowly.

"What?"

"Why do you like painting me so much? | know the first time | needed money, and your class needed a model to use as a reference for painting, but after that, you asked me to continue being your model, and little by little it became what we have today." Venti murmured. "Why don't you paint someone else?"

The question threw Scaramouche off balance, and he straightened, his medium-sized suitcase of paints slung over his shoulder and the easel on the other side, holding them with his arm. Out of inertia, Venti carefully picked up the canvas before his opponent could grab it. Scaramouche snorted.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"| don't know," Scara answered, as the two of them began walking through the park. They always left Venti first, his apartment came first, and of course, Scaramouche's mother couldn't find out the two of them were still seeing each other. The first time hadn't gone so well, to say the least.

"It just felt right. You were the finest model. Your features, the haircut... somewhere between cute and elegant, | think.”

"Me, elegant?"

Scaramouche snorted, half-smiling. "Clearly I'm not referring to your life or your home. It's different. Has it ever happened to you that when you see someone, they give you something special? When | saw you, it was like...feeling the wind."

The wind. That was a description no one had ever given him before. Venti felt his cheeks heat up.

"You could write poems if you wanted to," Venti murmured, smiling slightly. "Though you're going to say no, because painting is your thing, right?”

Scaramouche nodded. The setting sun, causing the light to gradually fade, gave the situation a special, romantic touch.

"I'm good at a lot of things,” he said, sounding boastful. "But putting my feelings into words isn't, and probably never will be. You're better at that.”

"| suppose you're right. Although, | think you could if you tried." Venti dropped the subject as they walked down to the side of the road. "Do you think I've changed much since | was your model? Since you pay attention to details, you should know."

Scaramouche nodded gently. "You've certainly changed. You're...fuller," he replied, clearing his throat. His cheeks were slightly red now. Venti found it endearing that, even when they were now dating, he was so embarrassed to compliment him. "You're curvier, that's what | mean. Your hips are wider, your thighs more...squeezable?...it's barely noticeable, so don't worry. | like you better this way too."

"So I'm 'fuller'? That has to be your fault. When we go out to eat, you always insist | eat dessert. Am | a hamster to be stuffed?"

Scaramouche snorted, amused. Imagining Venti as a hamster with stuffed cheeks was adorable.

"Well, that's because you look cute," Scara added. "You look happy when you eat. And...it's not that you weren't cute before, but | prefer someone with meat, than someone scrawny. It's a matter of personal preference."

"I look happy because I'm eating with you, not because of the food itself. Although, you take me to very good restaurants, everything tastes delicious, always. But if | continue like this, it will soon be a problem for my clothes."

"Of course," Scara replied, almost disgusted. "How could | take you to eat at an unpleasant place? If we're together, and | have the money, then you deserve the best. I'm not a rat. And if it's my fault that your clothes stop fitting, then I'll take care of it. So don't worry."

Venti was about to speak when he noticed they were almost at his building. He didn't really want to leave yet, but knew they had no choice. They both stopped when they reached the door, and Venti gave the canvas back to him.

"Okay. Are you sure you can't stay?"

Scaramouche sighed, "| want to finish this painting, and | don't want to have to answer to Mom, about why it took me longer than expected. Even though I'm an adult, | live with her, so..."

Venti leaned in, gently pressing his lips against each other's, and smiled against his lips upon noticing his hot face, and his flushed cheeks. They had been together for more than six months, but Scaramouche still reacted to his kisses like the first time. It's not that they may have just kissed and that's it, but Scaramouche seemed especially sensitive to the them.

Venti watched him leave moments later, and went up to his apartment. Mona was asleep on the couch, when she wasn't... She was still dressed, so she probably had recently returned from seeing Fischl. Of course, it didn't concern him too much, Mona and he got along normally, but they weren't best friends either. A middle point, they got along well enough to rent a shared apartment.

He went straight to his room, and while changing into somewhat more comfortable clothes, he looked at the mirror. Had he really gained a couple of kilos? It is true that the long stockings, which they reached mid-thigh, they were a little tight lately, but even so, It didn't seemed so bad. Maybe Scaramouche was exaggerating a little...