Work Text:
“Scara!”
“What?” Scaramouche sighed, trying to contain his annoyance. He glanced up, shifting his gaze towards Kazuha, who smiled down at him. He held a basket in his arms, filled to the brim with a variety of Scaramouche’s favorite home-baked sweets.
Scaramouche blinked, caught off-guard. The way to quickly get onto his good side was through desserts, and of course, Kazuha knew that. He just wasn’t expecting this. What was the occasion? There wasn’t any reason for Kazuha to make him this stuff.
Still, he appreciated it. Working on Fatui business day and night was draining, taking a toll on his mind. He wanted—practically needed—a break. What better way to relax than this? He felt the tension melting away from his shoulders, and he sighed, offering Kazuha the tiniest of smiles.
“Thanks,” he said. “But what’s the deal?” He tilted his head, and Kazuha smiled, shrugging. “What? I can’t do something nice for you?” He retorted teasingly, coming to sit on top of Scaramouche’s desk.
“Of course you can.” Scaramouche grabbed a dango, sinking his teeth into the sweet. He chewed for a moment, swallowing after a brief pause. “I’m just wondering why.”
Kazuha’s expression softened. He leaned closer, and Scaramouche shifted to meet him, capturing their lips together in a kiss. He wasn’t big on affection, but Kazuha made him want to open up to the idea of it. Everything about Kazuha eased the bitterness and torment he felt inside. Kazuha helped him in more ways than just one.
When Kazuha finally pulled away, he hummed, tapping Scaramouche’s hat affectionately. “There was no reason,” he said. “I just wanted to express how much I love you.”
Scaramouche tensed, glancing down at his hands. While Kazuha frequently expressed his love, Scaramouche could never bring himself to return the favor. Kazuha made no secret of his feelings; he laid his heart out on his sleeve, but Scaramouche wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be like that, even if he wanted to.
He wanted to say that it made him feel guilty, but most days, he couldn’t even comprehend guilt, either. Instead, it just filled him with a familiar emptiness, an icy bleakness gripping his chest. He dug his nails into his palms; suddenly, the dango didn’t seem as appetizing. He had no need for food to begin with, as a puppet of the Shogunate. What was he thinking, acting as if he were a human?
“Scara?” Kazuha leaned closer, squeezing Scaramouche’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. Keep eating.” His tone was so reassuring. He shouldn’t have to comfort Scaramouche, and yet he was. It made the puppet scowl, his gaze falling to rest upon the ground.
I don’t know why you love me.
♥ ♥ ♥
“Hi, Scara. Good morning.” Kazuha appeared at his side, startling Scaramouche, who had been working.
“Dammit, Kazuha. Can’t you see I’m busy?!” He snapped. He gripped his pen so tightly it nearly broke in half. He realized he was allowing his anger to overpower him, and so he focused as much as he could, taking a deep breath to control himself. There was no need for him to lash out at Kazuha like that.
“I’m sorry. You’re busy, I see.” Kazuha smiled at him, but there was a hint of sadness within those red eyes. Scaramouche’s chest tightened. As a vessel without a heart, he shouldn’t be able to comprehend emotions such as regret, and yet . . . Something within him wished he could take back what he said.
“No. I — I’m not,” Scaramouche lied. Of course he was busy, he was swamped with paperwork and countless missions. But none of that was important. His work wasn’t as important as Kazuha. Kazuha mattered more to him than anything and anyone else.
“It’s alright.” Kazuha dipped his head, strands of pale hair falling into his eyes. “I didn’t need anything, anyway. I just wanted to visit and tell you that I love you.”
Scaramouche faltered, unsure of what to say. How did he respond to that? His mouth parted and then closed, and he was certain he resembled a fish out of water. For a moment, he simply stared, unable to speak even as Kazuha began to walk away.
He knew what he was supposed to say. I love you, too. And yet he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t rise to his lips, and instead, all he could do was watch as Kazuha slipped away.
The door closed gently behind the samurai, leaving Scaramouche alone to his own devices.
He hadn’t felt lonely before, but now, he was hyper-aware of his surroundings. Kazuha was the only one who ever kept him company. Kazuha was the only one who ever seemed to genuinely care about him. So why did Scaramouche continue to push him away?
He cursed, burying his head in his hands. What the hell is wrong with me?
♥ ♥ ♥
“Hey, Scara. Do you remember how we first met?”
Scaramouche hummed. He had decided to take a short vacation from his Harbinger duties. While vacations weren’t typically allowed, he didn’t care. He would have taken time for himself either way, with or without the Tsaritsa’s approval. He wasn’t her dog, despite what the Cryo Archon believed. He wouldn’t slave away for her like the other Harbingers did; he wasn’t her damn puppet.
He chose to spend his time off with Kazuha. There was no one else he wanted to be with. The samurai always knew just what to say, and when to say it. He was an exceptional company, and Scaramouche couldn’t see them ever being apart. He wondered what his life would be like if Kazuha wasn’t there — probably horrible.
If he’d never met Kazuha, he would probably be in a terrible state. Even more angry and irritable, furious and hateful with the world. But Kazuha managed to teach him how to enjoy life; Kazuha made things more bearable. With him around, nothing was as bad as it usually was. It was manageable.
He turned, glancing over to meet Kazuha’s gaze. Did he remember how they first met? Of course he did. How could he forget?
“You were drowning,” Scaramouche murmured. “I had to pull you out of the water. You were an absolute idiot. What kind of person just somehow falls into the ocean? You didn’t even try swimming to shore.”
Kazuha smiled, tilting his head back. He let out a soft laugh, and the sound reminded Scaramouche of bells chiming, or perhaps of a hymn, sung by only the most expert of performers. How was everything about Kazuha so indescribably perfect? Between them, Scaramouche was the divine entity, and yet Kazuha was more flawless than him.
“Ah, you’re as humorous as ever, Scara.” Kazuha giggled, turning to eye Scaramouche affectionately. “You never fail to amuse me.”
“Is that so?” Scaramouche murmured, leaning his shoulder against Kazuha’s. “Well, I’m glad, I guess.” He stared up at the sky, watching as it faded gradually to night.
Kazuha kept his attention focused on Scaramouche, however. He moved closer, entwining their hands. “I love you,” he said quietly. “Thank you for that day. You really did save me. I owe you my life, and for that, I am eternally grateful. I promise that one day, I will repay the debt which I owe you.”
Scaramouche blinked, fixing Kazuha with an incredulous stare. “Debt? You don’t owe me anything, Kazuha. You just being with me is enough. Stay by my side. That’s all I ask of you.” He squeezed Kazuha’s hand tightly, and the boy smiled, squeezing his hand back.
“Okay. If you wish.”
♥ ♥ ♥
“Tada! Look, Scara!”
Kazuha appeared before him, and Scaramouche hummed, popping one eye open. He had been trying to rest; his head was throbbing after an intense day of planning. He had a long list of things to do, but all of that could wait — for now, at least.
“I tried to paint. Art isn’t really my area of expertise, but I hope you like it.” Kazuha presented the painting he’d made to Scaramouche, who hummed once more, regarding it closely. Well, Kazuha was right about one thing. He wasn’t a painter.
Usually, Scaramouche wouldn’t have hesitated to insult such a poor painting. The colors clashed, the strokes were messy and undignified, and the art was moderate at best. But this was no random piece of artwork; this was something Kazuha had made, which instantly turned it into something brilliant.
It didn’t matter if Kazuha created the worst art in existence. To Scaramouche, it would shine brighter than the sun itself. It was perfect because Kazuha had made it, and that was all that mattered. Kazuha had put time and effort into this, so he would appreciate it and cherish it dearly.
“I like it,” he murmured. “It looks good.”
Kazuha giggled. “I can smell the deceit on you, Scara. It’s okay if it doesn’t look good.” He leaned closer, planting a gentle kiss across the Harbinger’s cheek. “I’ll keep painting so that I can get better at it, all for you. One day, I want to make a painting of us—a really nice one.”
“You don’t have to.” Scaramouche frowned. “I’m not forcing you—”
“I’m not being forced, silly.” Kazuha chuckled, seeming amused. “I want to do this because I love you, and I want to make something we can smile at. I want to make something we can remember. If there ever is a day where we should part, I want you to be able to hold a piece of me with you.”
Scaramouche didn’t say anything for a long moment. He stared down at the painting, at the splashes of color—purple and red. It was him and Kazuha in the picture, overlooking a sunset. His throat closed up, and he couldn’t find the strength within himself to respond.
“That’s what love is about, after all.”
♥ ♥ ♥
“Scara, today is a very special day.”
“Oh? And why is that?” Scaramouche didn’t look up from his desk. He was busy working, as usual.
Kazuha walked inside without any further warning, humming to himself. Scaramouche’s subordinates all knew Kazuha at that point; they gave him a wide berth and didn’t speak with him unless absolutely necessary. No one batted an eye at Kazuha’s presence, lest they wanted to be on the receiving end of Scaramouche’s wrath.
“Today is the day of the Lantern Rite.” Kazuha sat down on Scaramouche’s desk, obscuring his view of his papers. The Balladeer finally looked up, fixing Kazuha with a disinterested expression.
“The what-now? What the hell is a Lantern Rite?”
Kazuha looked at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “You don’t know?” He inquired, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. “It’s a tradition in Liyue, where at the start of every new year, they send lanterns up into the sky. It’s quite beautiful. I’ve always wanted to experience it, but I’ve only ever been able to hear stories.”
“A Liyue tradition?” Scaramouche scoffed. They were in Inazuma; of course no one was going to care about antics and traditions in the neighboring nation. He sighed, rubbing his temple. Of course it would be typical of Kazuha to take an interest in a foreign practice. He should have expected this.
“Well, it’s not as if we can go.” The wraps around Inazuma were tight. Barely anyone was allowed in or out. It wasn’t as if Scaramouche could just take Kazuha wherever he wanted to go. Even Harbingers had limits, especially since Kazuha was a wanted criminal. It took all of his power just to keep Kazuha safely sheltered with him.
“Oh, I know. But I was thinking—maybe if we go to a high enough cliff, we could see the lanterns in the distance? Or perhaps we could just set our own lanterns free!” Kazuha’s eyes glittered with childish excitement, a wondrous tone filling his voice. “Oh, please, Scara! It really does sound like a lot of fun.”
Scaramouche sighed. What other choice did he have, really? It wasn’t as if he could just turn Kazuha down when he looked like that.
“Okay, fine.”
And that was how the Sixth Harbinger ended up standing with his lover atop a cliff, overlooking the scenery far below. This definitely wasn’t on his to-do list, but he supposed he could fit it into his schedule.
“Kazuha.” Scaramouche huffed, squinting as a gust of wind nearly blew him over. “Can we get this shit over with already?” He grumbled. As a puppet, he couldn’t feel the cold, and while he wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, he definitely wasn’t content.
“Hmm.” Kazuha hummed, grinning slightly. His vision glowed, and a moment later, the winds parted around them. Scaramouche couldn’t hide his relief; he was worried for a moment that his hat might have blown away, which would have been a downright nightmare. (It had happened a few times before, but stopped once he met Kazuha.)
Together, the two sat down at the edge of the cliff. Kazuha’s feet dangled freely, and he swung his legs around, smiling giddily. He looked just like a little kid; perhaps this stupid tradition would do him some good. It was nice to see him look so happy again.
“How does this work, again?” Scaramouche muttered, looking down at the lantern he held in his hands. Kazuha had bought them both some—Scaramouche didn’t know from where, and he didn’t ask—but the quality seemed to be quite good. He wondered how Kazuha managed to afford everything, but he knew the samurai had some amount of mora.
“You think of a wish you want to come true more than anything else,” Kazuha said, staring up at the sky. “And then once you’ve thought of it, you set your lantern free. Your lantern will carry your wish up to the heavens, and Celestia will answer your prayers. Or at least, that’s what I was told.”
Scaramouche scoffed. “Wishes? Celestia? What a bunch of bull—” he paused, biting down on his tongue. He held himself back. Even if he had his own qualms with the gods, Kazuha wasn’t involved in any of that. He didn’t want to ruin his lover’s tradition, and so he forced himself to fall tactfully silent.
“It might be nothing more than nonsense, but I do think it’s a nice thought,” Kazuha murmured. “Don’t you?”
“Mm.” Scaramouche hummed, regarding his lantern warily. “I suppose so,” he muttered, just to appease Kazuha.
The boy laughed suddenly, gently nudging him. “You are so bad at lying,” he giggled. Scaramouche huffed, sending him a deadpan expression, and Kazuha grinned back at him. “There’s no need to look at me like that,” he said playfully. “I’m only teasing, Scara.”
“Now let’s set our lanterns free!” Kazuha beamed, raising his lantern excitedly. “Make sure to think of a good wish, Scara!”
A good wish . . . ?
He faltered. What was something he wished for? More than anything else, as Kazuha had put it.
He didn’t know. As a puppet, he was merely a vessel. He wasn’t supposed to have wants or desires, he wasn’t allowed to wish for anything. But that was in the past, and he only had the future to look forward to, now. So what did he want for that future? What was something he craved most of all?
I want back what was stolen from me. My creator took my heart. My purpose was to harbor the gnosis, and yet now, I’m nothing more than an empty shell. A mere husk of what I once was. I want to reclaim everything that I was robbed of.
But I also . . . Want to dance. I’ve seen humans do it, time and time again. There were days where I did that, too. With a friend long gone from this world. I would like to dance again. To feel the wind whip through my hair as I twirl, to practice the moves and flow so effortlessly. I would like to dance with someone else again, too. Perhaps with Kazuha, if he was willing to.
Kazuha . . .
I never thought I’d meet someone like you. But I’m grateful for it. I’m happy that our paths crossed that day, and I don’t regret saving you. I don’t regret keeping you around, even if you are a wanted fugitive, you mean the world to me.
Perhaps that’s foolish of me. Growing attached to a mortal is a sign of weakness, I know that, and yet I can’t help it. I’ve fallen prey to the same mistake countless others have made before me.
I guess my greatest wish would be to keep you at my side for an eternity, Kazuha. I don’t want to ever let you go.
“Did you think of your wish?” Kazuha’s excited voice pulled Scaramouche from his thoughts. He blinked, shaking his head to clear his mind. Glancing towards Kazuha, he managed to nod slightly, finding his bearings once more.
“I did,” he mumbled. “What did you wish for, Kazuha?”
“I can’t tell you that!” Kazuha smiled. “Otherwise the wish won’t come true. You have to keep the wish to yourself or else it will never happen!” He turned away, looking towards the sky. “So make sure to keep your wish a secret, alright? I wouldn’t want it to never come true.”
He set his lantern free, releasing it from his hand. Scaramouche copied his actions, watching as his lantern joined Kazuha’s in the air. For a moment, the lanterns simply floated idly side by side, bouncing along a nonexistent breeze. Scaramouche watched them closely, considering Kazuha’s words.
Kazuha suddenly leaned forward, flicking his hand. With a fluid movement of his wrist, his vision activated, and a burst of wind sprung forth, carrying the lanterns along. Scaramouche watched as they drifted off along the wind, twirling gently into the distance. They glowed within the otherwise darkness, as if they were a pair of beacons.
“It’s beautiful,” Kazuha whispered, leaning back. His hair spilled out around him, cascading down his shoulders, and Scaramouche’s breath hitched. Suddenly, the lanterns weren’t nearly as interesting.
“Not as beautiful as you.” He spoke without thinking. When he finally comprehended just what he’d said, he cleared his throat, looking away awkwardly. If he was capable of blushing, then he was positive his face would be an inferno of red. Since when did he say such mushy, sensitive things? He was getting weak. What would the other Harbingers think of him? How would they react?
However, his doubts slipped away when he saw Kazuha’s smile. The boy’s face lit up at the compliment, a genuine brightness shining within those sunset red eyes. He sat up, leaning closer to rest his head against Scaramouche’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I love you, Scara.”
Scaramouche swallowed past the lump that had formed within his throat. I . . . I . . . He couldn’t bring himself to say anything back.
But Kazuha knew. He always did.
♥ ♥ ♥
“I wrote something for you, Scara.”
“I’m afraid I’m not terribly good at haikus, but I can admit that I tried my best.” Kazuha smiled sheepishly, lifting a piece of paper towards Scaramouche, who accepted it without another word.
“Ah, don’t read it aloud, please. It’s embarrassing.” Kazuha cleared his throat, a light blush painting his face. He turned away, kicking gently at the ground. It was rare that Scaramouche ever saw Kazuha grow so flustered. He smirked slightly, tilting his head.
“There’s no need to be so embarrassed,” he said. “You know I love anything you make.”
Kazuha blushed even darker at that, swallowing. “I-I know, I just . . . Oh, just read it! I’m going to go outside.” He suddenly rushed out of the room without saying anything else, leaving Scaramouche by himself, but the Harbinger had partially been expecting such a reaction.
He unfolded the paper with care, gazing down at the contents. While Kazuha’s painting admittedly wasn’t the best, his writing was always beautiful and never once disappointed. Scaramouche was never one to read much, but thanks to Kazuha, he started investing into literature just a bit more.
Hearing our love song,
the birds flew and interlaced
love is in the air.
Scaramouche smiled, his lips twitching slightly. He brushed a thumb against the piece of parchment, closing his eyes. Even though Kazuha wasn’t here to say it, he could feel it. He could feel Kazuha’s love for him just through this simple haiku, and that was enough.
Scaramouche had never known what it was like to be loved or cherished, not until he’d met Kazuha. Now, he never knew a day where he wasn’t loved. Kazuha reminded him time and time again, in every little way shape and form. He refused to let Scaramouche forget, and who was Scaramouche to protest?
He wished he could recuperate all of Kazuha’s efforts, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not now. He just didn’t have it in him. He needed time. He just needed time.
But he knew Kazuha was patient. He knew that Kazuha would wait for him, for however long it took. It was reassuring to know that Kazuha never rushed or judged him. He would always have Kazuha’s love, no matter what, and that fact comforted him.
He set the paper down on his desk, right beside the painting Kazuha had made of them. He’d have to find Kazuha and thank him later; perhaps they could go out on a walk. Kazuha always liked to go on hikes.
Scaramouche sighed, running a hand through his hair. I’m getting soft, aren’t I? He wondered to himself. Damn it.
♥ ♥ ♥
“I have to go out for a mission.”
Scaramouche stood in front of Kazuha, who watched him closely, glimmers of concern shining within his eyes. “A mission?” He repeated, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The news seemed to dawn on him, and he blinked, nodding slowly. “Oh.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Scaramouche stepped closer, tilting Kazuha’s head up. He stared into the boy’s eyes, meeting his gaze evenly. He tried to express his honesty, and Kazuha seemed to sense that he was telling the truth, for some of his tension faded.
“I see. You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Kazuha murmured, and Scaramouche nodded. “I will. I promise,” he muttered. Usually, he acted recklessly on any mission he received. He had no reason to be careful; it wasn’t as if he could die. No mortal could harm him. And yet now—he had a purpose, a reason behind acting just a bit more cautiously. If he kept being so brash, then Kazuha would get upset.
The other Harbingers took delight in mocking Scaramouche about his relationship, but he kept Kazuha as far away from them as he could. His affairs with Kazuha were private, and he didn’t want the Fatui knowing about anything. Besides — he was worried that Kazuha would end up hurt because of them somehow. The Fatui were dangerous, after all, and Scaramouche couldn’t protect him all of the time.
“I’ll see you soon, then.” Kazuha moved closer, wrapping his arms around Scaramouche. He held onto him tightly, clinging onto him for dear life. His grip was almost stifling, but Scaramouche didn’t mind. He squeezed Kazuha gently, peering down at the boy who stared up at him.
“Be careful,” Kazuha whispered. “I mean it.” He leaned up, kissing Scaramouche, and the Balladeer returned the gesture, moving his lips against Kazuha’s.
When they finally pulled away for air, they simply stared at each other for a long moment. Scaramouche memorized every last detail of Kazuha’s face; he didn’t know when they’d next see each other. He wanted to keep a perfect image of Kazuha ingrained within his mind.
“Good luck. I love you,” Kazuha murmured, stepping away from him.
Scaramouche didn’t bother responding. Even if he wanted to, there was nothing left for him to say.
♥ ♥ ♥
“Do you still love me now?”
Scaramouche turned to face Kazuha, who met his gaze evenly. He had returned from his recent mission covered head to toe in blood. He’d killed innocent people; he’d collected debt from people who didn’t deserve what had happened to them. And despite that, he felt not a shred of remorse.
Kazuha stepped closer, reaching towards him. He brushed his thumb against Scaramouche’s blood-stained cheek, exhaling heavily. For a moment, he didn’t speak, and Scaramouche wondered if Kazuha really didn’t love him anymore.
But then Kazuha smiled. His expression was one of sadness, though it was a smile nonetheless. “Don’t say things like that,” he whispered. “Of course I still love you. While I don’t agree with what you’re doing, and I don’t believe in senseless violence, that doesn’t change my love for you. Nothing and no one could ever change how I feel about you.”
Kazuha tugged gently on his hand. “Come on,” he urged. “You reek. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He guided Scaramouche towards the bathroom, and the Harbinger followed him silently, his movements feeling robotic. What had he done to deserve someone as precious as Kazuha?
As Kazuha scrubbed the blood and grime from his skin, Scaramouche remained perfectly still, lost in his own thoughts.
Kazuha loved him more than he had ever thought possible.
♥ ♥ ♥
Scaramouche opened his eyes to see Kazuha gazing down at him. He blinked groggily, furrowing his brow. It was only when Kazuha reached out, wiping something from his cheek, that he realized he’d been crying.
So he still shed tears in his sleep? He thought he’d outgrown such a thing, but his past always had its way of catching up with him.
Kazuha didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. The boy’s gaze was still hazy with sleep, and he seemed exhausted, stifling a yawn. His hair fell in disheveled waves across his back, and when he moved closer to Scaramouche, he practically fell on top of him.
He wrapped his arms around the Harbinger, pressing against his side. Scaramouche slowly moved to embrace Kazuha, staring silently up towards the ceiling.
“Scara . . .” Kazuha’s voice was nothing more than a disoriented, tired mumble. “Goodnight. I love you.”
It didn’t take long for him to fall back asleep. Scaramouche watched him, he watched the steady rise and fall of Kazuha’s chest, he watched the way the boy breathed. He swallowed, brushing strands of hair away from Kazuha’s peaceful face.
Rest well, Kazuha.
♥ ♥ ♥
The sound of faint sobbing made Scaramouche sit up, frowning.
“Kazuha?” He muttered, rubbing his eyes. His vision quickly adjusted to the darkness of the room, and he found his lover sitting on the floor, hunched over something.
He moved closer to the boy, sitting down beside him. Kazuha’s tears dripped down onto the cold, pale surface of a dead vision. He gripped it tightly within his hands, his sobs only worsening when Scaramouche reached out for him.
The Harbinger was terrible at comforting people, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. For Kazuha, he would do anything.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled. Kazuha buried his face into Scaramouche’s chest, sobbing even harder. His tears stained Scaramouche’s shirt, but the Balladeer ignored that for now. Kazuha’s well-being was more important. He stroked the boy’s hair, trying to soothe him.
He knew Kazuha had been through terrible things. Things that no one deserved to experience. He wished he could make all of his pain go away, but he couldn’t. All he could do was hold Kazuha and try to make things better — but that was enough.
“I love you,” Kazuha choked out, his voice hoarse from his sobs. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying; Scaramouche reached out, gently dabbing at the inflamed skin.
“I love you so much,” Kazuha hiccuped, and Scaramouche clutched him closer, sighing softly.
“I know, Kazuha. I know.”
♥ ♥ ♥
“Kazuha. Why do you tell me you love me so much?” Scaramouche asked one day, glancing up towards his lover, who smiled back at him.
“Hm? Well, the answer is simple, really.” Kazuha left the painting he had been creating, coming to stand at Scaramouche’s side. “I learned a while ago that every moment is fleeting. You won’t be able to recreate the same memory twice. People you hold dear can slip away at any given time.”
Kazuha reached up, cupping Scaramouche’s face in his paint-stained hands. “That’s why it’s best if you tell them you love them whenever you can,” he said. “Because eventually, you won’t get another chance to. When that happens, you want them to know that you loved them, because you won’t ever be able to tell them you do again.”
Scaramouche’s throat tightened, and his vision blurred briefly. He blinked, ignoring the way his chest suddenly ached. He leaned into Kazuha’s touch, gripping onto the boy’s hands with his own.
“Do you speak from experience?” He whispered, and Kazuha hummed. “I do,” he replied quietly. “You could say that I’m learning from my mistakes,” he murmured. “I told myself I won’t do what I’ve done in the past. Not ever again. I won’t make the same mistake again, not with you.”
“I see.” Scaramouche bent down, capturing Kazuha’s lips in a kiss.
He didn’t — he thought he did. He thought he understood what Kazuha was saying, but he didn’t. Not quite.
♥ ♥ ♥
Kazuha.
Kazuha.
No, no, no.
Scaramouche gazed around him in horror. He had expected this day to come, just not so soon. Not now. Not now, of all times.
The Abyss Order was waging its war against Teyvat, and all across the seven nations, people were banding together to fight.
Scaramouche didn’t want to. Let Teyvat fall. He couldn’t care less. The only person he cared for in this wasteland was Kazuha; he was the only one that truly mattered. But Kazuha didn’t feel the same way. His sense of justice was far too strong, unlike Scaramouche’s. He had morals, and that was something that got you killed.
Kazuha valued freedom above all else, and if something jeopardized that freedom or anyone else’s, he wouldn’t hesitate to fight back. And so of course, in the end, he joined the war against the Abyss. Scaramouche should have expected it; he really should’ve.
In the distance, he could see countless people fighting. Civilians were running and screaming—some of the fighters were trying to help get them to a safer place, but it was no real use. Blood and corpses littered the ground, forcing Scaramouche to watch where he was walking.
He was terrified that at any moment, he’d find Kazuha amongst the bodies. But he didn’t. No, Kazuha was nowhere to be found.
Scaramouche was growing agitated, his movements becoming frenzied and impatient. Abyss harolds and mages flung themselves towards him, but he killed them without a second glance. They were no match for him. If he really wanted to, he could probably save hundreds of lives here, but he was only interested in saving one person.
Only one person mattered to him.
Kazuha, where the hell are you?
As his agitation mounted, his blows became more sloppy. His grip was slipping, his focus skewering, and that allowed for an abyss mage to get the jump on him. He didn’t even realize an icicle was flying straight towards his chest — not until it was too late.
But he didn’t need to worry. He couldn’t die, his body could be destroyed, but he could be rebuilt. He would be fine, he would be—
His breath hitched when a familiar figure dove in front of him, taking the blow in his place. He distantly registered crying out, blood splattering his face and body, blood that wasn’t his own.
“No.” Scaramouche caught Kazuha within his arms as the boy fell, staggering back into him. The abyss mage was killed without a second thought, incinerated into nothing but ash by a careful blast from Scaramouche’s lightning. But the damage was already done; and it was irreparable. Such an insignificant opponent had managed to take everything from him.
Scaramouche sunk down onto his knees, cradling Kazuha close to his chest. “No, no,” he repeated frantically. He didn’t often understand human emotions—Kazuha usually had to help him comprehend them—but he registered this feeling as panic. It washed over him in waves, forcing his body to go entirely numb.
“Why did you do that?! Why?! You fucking idiot! Why?!” Scaramouche cried, staring down in anguish at Kazuha.
He pressed his hands against the boy’s wound, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. The icicle was lodged deep within Kazuha’s chest, causing his every breath to rattle. Blood leaked past the samurai’s mouth, his lips pale and ashen already. The lips that had smiled, that had laughed, that had kissed Scaramouche more times than he could properly count.
“Why?” Scaramouche whimpered. He felt something damp trailing down his cheeks; tears. He never cried whilst he was awake. Never. Not until—not until—
Kazuha reached a hand out; his fingers shook, stained red with blood as he brushed them against Scaramouche’s wet cheek. He smiled weakly. Even in the face of death, he had the strength to smile.
“Because I love you,” he choked out.
Scaramouche gripped Kazuha’s hand tightly, holding onto him for dear life. “I’ll fix this,” he promised. “I’ll fix you. I can save you. I won’t let you die. I won’t let you leave me. You can’t leave me!”
Please don’t. Please don’t leave me. That’s my only wish. Please gods, please don’t take Kazuha away from me. You’ve taken everything from me. Don’t take him too. You can have anything else, just not him. Anything but him.
Kazuha’s touch faltered, his grip weakening. His eyes dulled, and he coughed, blood spraying through the air from the action. It splattered against Scaramouche’s face, streaking his pale skin crimson.
“Please — let me go,” Kazuha whispered.
Scaramouche shook his head frantically, but Kazuha didn’t say anything else. His gaze faded, his body falling limp within Scaramouche’s arms. The Balladeer could barely react, his mind going numb.
It wasn’t real, was it? This was all some long, everlasting nightmare. Any moment he would wake up now to Kazuha at his side, smiling, telling him how much he was loved.
But this was no dream. This was reality.
Scaramouche’s tears dripped onto Kazuha’s lifeless face. The boy had traded his life for Scaramouche’s when he didn’t need to; he’d dropped everything to rush to Scaramouche’s aid when he shouldn’t have. He was too selfless for his own good. What an idiot. What a stupid, pathetic idiot. He was weak, weak, and that was why he’d died—
Scaramouche sobbed, gripping tightly onto Kazuha. Before now, he had never sobbed before. He hated it. He cradled Kazuha’s head close to his chest, embracing him tightly. He didn’t want to let go. How could he let go?
“I love you,” he choked out. I love you. I love you, so please, please come back.
♥ ♥ ♥
In the end, the Abyss Order was defeated.
Countless lives were lost within Inazuma, but even more would have died if it wasn’t for Scaramouche. After Kazuha’s death, he’d gone on a rampage, wiping out more than half of the Abyss Order’s forces.
Of course, when it mattered, he wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t even protect the one he loved most.
Scaramouche stood alone in his office, clutching a painting and a haiku tightly within his hands. If he listened closely, he could hear the faint sound of laughter. He could see the ghost of a familiar smile.
A tear slid down his cheek, spilling onto the floor below.
“Scaramouche.” A voice called out to him, but he didn’t bother looking up.
“Scaramouche, it’s been years. You need to move on. Let him go, would you? If you keep dwelling over the past, it’ll get you killed. You’re already growing weaker. Your position as a Harbinger could be in jeopardy—”
Scaramouche looked up, lashing out. A bolt of electricity struck dangerously close to Tartaglia, who fixed him with a saddened stare.
“Look, I know how you feel. It hurts. Trust me, I know, but he’d want you to move on—”
“Get out,” Scaramouche snarled. Tartaglia hesitated, but when electro energy filled the air again, the Eleventh wasted no more time in leaving. Once he was gone, Scaramouche collapsed, burying his head into his hands.
Scaramouche grit his teeth, willing himself to stop crying. Deep down, he knew Tartaglia was right, he knew that, and yet—
I can’t let you go, Kazuha. I love you too much.
Please come back to me.