respect
"You and your significant other need to understand that you are each unique people with individual interests and needs. And even if you don't love all the same things that your partner loves, in a healthy relationship you respect and accept your differences."
The first time you entered Scaramouche's apartment, he implored you to close your eyes while he was leading you to his sofa.
"What are you hiding in here?" you teased.
"Nothing," he quipped from across the room, where you heard clattering and the sound of drawers being slammed.
As much as you were curious, your respect for him was overwhelmingly powerful, so your eyes remained squeezed shut.
"You can open your eyes now," he announced.
When your eyes were able to focus, you found yourself in a small living room. The sofa beneath you was royal blue, with a velvety consistency to match the curtains that framed his window. The furniture surrounding you varied in colour, but they were all dark shades of blue, or a charcoal black, starkly contrasting the white walls.
It was so overwhelmingly reminiscent of him that you had to repress the urge to giggle.
"Why are you being so quiet?" he interrogated. "Do you.... not like it?"
"No, it's a very elegant place," you responded honestly.
"It's a bit lifeless, but I have never figured out how to make it more... human."
You made a mental note to add decorations to your list of potential birthday presents in your phone.
"What do you want to eat?" he asked as he walked over to his kitchen, where an impressive amount of black marble countertops laid.
"Anything you have," you replied. "You can pick."
"Alright. You can stay there... if you want. There's a remote on the table beside you if you want to watch something on TV."
As you aimlessly flicked through the channels, you shivered slightly.
"Oh, and there's a blanket on my bed. First door on the left down the hallway."
"Were you looking at me?"
"No."
You heaved yourself off the couch and wandered down his hallway. You noticed that his walls were depressingly bare, no pictures of family or friends or even pieces of random artwork were hung up. You decided you needed to move 'decorations' up in the order of gift priority.
Once you reached the door he mentioned, you hesitated with your hand wrapped around the doorknob. It felt weirdly intimate to be going into his private room - you blushed profusely, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of your damning thoughts, and twisted the handle to enter the room.
The open door revealed a modest bedroom - a double bed was placed right in the middle, with teal bedding. You realised that it was the first pop of colour you had seen in Scaramouche's house; you supposed it fitted him, having a cold exterior with a kind heart hidden underneath.
You quickly spotted the aforementioned blanket sprawled over the duvet, so you grabbed it and shrugged it over your shoulders to warm up.
As you spun around to return to the living room, you spotted a figure out of the corner of your eye that resembled a small child. You yelped, jumping back in fright.
A clang could be heard from the kitchen area as Scaramouche dropped his cooking utensils to rush over to you (with more urgency than he would admit to).
"What happened?" he yelled as he ran into the room, only to find you cackling to yourself on the floor.
"I thought that was a child!" you exclaimed in between your laughter, pointing at what you now recognised as a puppet resting on the floor by his bed. "I was worried I was dating a psychopath who keeps children locked in their bedroom. You could've warned me!"
Scaramouche's cheeks coloured. "I didn't know I left him out."
Your incessant laughing only became more violent. "I like this little fella. What's his name?"
"Pulcinella, but he is referred to as Mr Punch in the famous puppet show he's from. I use his Italian name because I like the commedia dell'arte that was the inspiration-"
He suddenly cut himself off. "Um... I did mean to put him away though."
"Why?"
"Because...." he averted his gaze from you. "It's weird that I own puppets, I guess. Most people would be freaked out, so I didn't want you to see."
"Puppets is plural... is that what you were doing when you made me close my eyes? Putting the rest of them away?" you asked as you connected the dots.
"Yeah," he admitted, feeling foolish because he was caught. "I didn't know you were coming over today, so I left Arlecchino and La Signora-" he cut himself off once again, face reddening after realising he referred to them by name.
You had an unreadable look on your face as you wiped your teary eyes from the laughing fit that had finally subsided.
"Do you... do you think I'm weird?" he asked hesitantly.
Your heart sank at his tone. You figured he must have been made fun of before for having an unconventional hobby, and your heart broke imagining that he must have been hiding his passion ever since.
"Not at all," you reassured him, and for a moment he looked surprised. You decided to continue, ushering him to sit next to you on the floor as you said, "I actually think it's pretty cool that you have a unique interest. I've never met someone who is into puppets before. You seem to know quite a bit about them... can you tell me about yours?"
Scaramouche held himself back at first, attempting to calmly explain how the hobby originated from his interest in human-like but non living sculptures and art. However, as soon as he moved on to talking about the ones he owned, he could not quite mask the excitement he felt about having someone to tell about his interest. There was a sparkle in his eyes, almost cartoon-like, and you found yourself wrapped up in his passionate speech, occasionally chiming in with a question you had or gasping when he explained something cool.
He then gestured for you to follow him back to his living room, where he opened the drawer he had stuffed his other puppets in to show you. Your reassurance gave him a confidence boost he wasn't consciously aware of - after explaining the characters, he left them out unintentionally, instead of hiding them away.
"You could write a whole thesis on this!" you remarked once he finished talking. You had never seen him express himself so animatedly, and you willed yourself to be able to capture the image of his wide smile so you could remember it forever.
"Well... it's kind of stupid, so maybe not," he scratched his neck, embarrassment about the way he let himself go in front of you flooding his mind. "I didn't mean to talk for so long, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it, it was really cute. Having a nerdy boyfriend is actually kind of hot now that I think about it-"
"Shut up," Scaramouche cut you off, scowling at your comment.
After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "Are you sure you don't secretly think I'm weird now? You're not going to break up with me, are you?"
You laughed at the desperation in his tone. "Of course not! Why would I! All that this has changed is that I now need to remember that when we live together, I need to reserve a shelf for your collection."
Before you could notice his crimson face, Scaramouche whipped his head away. "The food is probably ready," he commented nonchalantly.
"You're cute when you blush."
"I'm not blushing."
"You so are."
"I'm not, it's just hot in here."
"It's the middle of winter-"
"Sit at the table and wait for the food."
"Don't cut me off!"