Chapter Text
The next time Scaramouche meets Kazuha, it’s completely unplanned.
Is that the right word to describe it? Calling it ‘unplanned’ would imply that there was a plan to begin with, and that is absolutely not true. Scaramouche has definitely not been thinking about meeting Kazuha every day since their initial reunion. Not at all.
Well, okay. Maybe he has been planning something.
In the weeks afterwards, Scaramouche had slowly begun to receive intel from Tartaglia. As reluctant as he was to cooperate with the man, Scaramouche was out of options, and had thus struck a completely professional business deal with him.
(“Tell me about Kazuha and I’ll cover for you slacking off.”
“That’s it? I feel like Kazuha’s worth a little more than that. What about… treating me to dinner tonight? What about that?”
“...”
“O-okay, never mind, I was just kidding! You can put away the knife now.”)
As such, the information he’s gathered thus far is as follows: Kazuha fled Inazuma after his friend died, spent a few months travelling with Captain Beidou on the Crux Fleet, has a strange obsession with maple leaves and poetry, and is now travelling with none other than the traveler himself.
Scaramouche still hasn’t quite made sense of all of it yet. Tartaglia had been frustratingly vague, stating that Kazuha was the one who’d left out the smaller details, and so Scaramouche was left to his own for interpretation. A dead friend? Who the hell was worth enough to Kazuha to get him to leave Inazuma? Who is Captain Beidou? The maple leaves and poetry thing hasn’t changed, unsurprisingly. But it’s the last part that really complicates things…
Not that Scaramouche was at all surprised. Aether was known for recruiting vision holders on his journeys, so he was bound to attract the attention of one Kaedehara Kazuha at some point. And there wouldn’t be any reason for Kazuha to reject the offer - not when Kazuha has always been good, has always been the angelic one between them.
Kazuha’s on the good side; he’s on the bad side. That’s always been the pattern, hasn’t it?
He faintly remembers dragging the other boy out in the middle of the night, against both their parent’s wishes; remembers convincing the other to help him steal one more snack from the vendors; remembers dragging him into the forbidden parts of the Inazuman forests; remembers the initial reluctance on his face each time, before sighing and acquiescing, then later using his way with words to get them both out of trouble.
Kazuha had always been his better half. And he had been stupid enough to let him go.
It’s no wonder Scaramouche ended up in the Fatui.
It’s no wonder he now stands on the opposite side, catalyst drawn, directly facing the boy who’s been haunting his dreams.
“Kazuha!”
Scaramouche is filled with a rush of elation upon seeing his friend. How long has it been since he last saw him? Five years? Fifteen? It doesn’t matter anymore, not when Kazuha’s finally here, in front of him.
Except… something’s not right.
Kazuha’s face is steeled into an expression of indifference. His eyes are colder than Scaramouche has ever seen; Scaramouche flinches when the piercing gaze is steered right onto him. This isn’t Kazuha.
Or at least, it’s not his Kazuha.
“What do you want?” Kazuha’s words are curt, sharp; they carry nothing of the poetic tone Scaramouche has thus associated with him, and it all feels so wrong, and Scaramouche somehow feels both insulted and guilty at the same time.
“Wh - Kazuha?” Scaramouche attempts a smile. The chuckle that escapes him is more nervous than he had intended. “It’s been so long, don’t you have anything to say to me?”
Kazuha’s eyes narrow, nose slightly scrunched in mild disgust. “Why would I have anything to say to you?”
Scaramouche feels his heart drop at the words. What is happening? This wasn't how their reunion was supposed to go. “Kazuha, it’s me. It’s Scaramouche. It’s been so long - it’s been too long -”
Kazuha scoffs, cutting him off. “I think you made everything clear seventeen years ago.” (Scaramouche flinches again, because of course Kazuha remembers the exact time. Has it really been that long?)
Kazuha averts his gaze, stares down at the gravel on the ground. Scaramouche follows his gaze, but now they are looking at the wooden planks of the Kaedehara house, because that was where Scaramouche had always insisted they meet; his feet are dangling off the ledge, and he feels like he’s twelve again.
“You made yourself clear when you abandoned me.”
Kazuha’s words are soft, but Scaramouche thinks they’ve never been harsher.
And he looks back up at Kazuha’s face, and the bright red begins to blur away, and Kazuha is blending in with everything else, getting sucked up into nothing, and Scaramouche feels like he’s falling -
Scaramouche awakes with a start.
He beelines to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and convinces himself that he’s never remembered his dreams.
Kazuha doesn’t look surprised to see him. And though it hurts a little, Scaramouche has long since grown used to it, because he can’t surprise Kazuha anymore. Because even though it’s been years since they’ve last interacted, Kazuha still knows him better than he knows himself.
Scaramouche had pulled out his catalyst from pure instinct. Upon noticing the presence of another, he had expected an ambush, or some Treasure Hoarders, or -- Archons forbid -- some of his Fatui underlings coming to him to ask irrelevant questions, but he was instead met with a wave of equal parts nostalgia and dread.
And for the second time in the past month, Scaramouche panics.
He had only been on a daily patrol. As boring as the job was, it was the unfortunate result of saying he was ‘suddenly sick’. The Tsaritsa had been more displeased than she was letting on, he knew; he suspected that the sudden influx of dull tasks was his rightful punishment.
So what in Teyvat were the chances that he’d run into Kazuha now?
“Hello Scaramouche,” Kazuha says.
His catalyst hand falters at his voice. It’s him. Same lips, same voice, same person. The melodic lilt in tone, the faint ghost of a smile, the friendly yet guarded posture. This is the Kazuha that Scaramouche knew. This is his Kazuha.
The urge to run up and hug the other is strong, stronger than Scaramouche would like to admit, but he feels the weight of his Delusion in his pocket, and is reminded of the positions they are currently in. He is Scaramouche, the esteemed Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers; Kazuha is amongst the ranks of the traveler, making him a potential threat to the Tsaritsa. There is no room for comradery now.
He forces down the rapid emotions and musters a snarl. “Where is the traveler?”
“... Aether has gone with the others to complete commissions.”
Scaramouche squints. “Why haven’t you gone with them?”
“Ah…” Kazuha’s gaze shifts to the ground beside them. His left hand subconsciously goes to fiddle with his ear, which Scaramouche recognizes to be a sign of bashfulness. (The smaller details haven’t escaped him. Not yet.) “I have been… how did Aether put it? ‘Momentarily benched’.”
Scaramouche studies the boy, wondering why Kazuha has suddenly been rendered so embarrassed. He takes notice of the way Kazuha is hiding his right arm from view, notices the way Kazuha’s weight is mostly on his left foot, notices the slight wince when Kazuha moves his shoulder.
His hand twitches.
“Who injured you?” Scaramouche’s voice is low, his underlying anger evident in the slight waver in his voice.
Kazuha’s gaze flits back up to him before returning to his fixation on the ground. “It’s nothing, I just got careless. I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”
Scaramouche growls. He dismisses his catalyst and steps closer to the other, voice a little more insistent. “You aren’t answering the question. Who injured you?”
Kazuha just stares.
“You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days, you know that?”
“In my defense, they attacked first. I simply did what had to be done.”
“Still. You could’ve handled it more carefully.”
“Maybe I just want you to take care of me.”
“... There are better ways to get my attention.”
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“...”
“...”
“You can always ask me. Just… not like this.”
I don’t want to see you hurt. Not ever again.
Kazuha wonders if he’s been cursed.
For what it’s worth, Scaramouche’s appearance had actually caught him off-guard. Kazuha had simply been lucky enough to detect his presence earlier, giving him time to prepare.
Well, maybe ‘prepare’ wasn’t the right word. ‘Panic’ would be more fitting a term.
Kazuha’s first instinct had been to run, because he definitely wasn’t ready for whatever was about to happen, but upon realizing that his ankle was not taking him anywhere soon, he had finally accepted his fate.
After all, this is what he’s been dreaming of, hasn’t it? Reuniting with Scaramouche was all he’d ever wanted. No point in backing down now.
He remembers how Aether had described Scaramouche to him.
“He had been friendly enough at first,” Aether had admitted. “Fischl and I were both fooled. I thought he was just like the rest of us -- a friendly wanderer. It wasn’t until Mona told us that we learned that he’s one of the Fatui Harbingers.” Aether had paused, then added as an afterthought: “Although, in hindsight, maybe I was just fooled by his giant hat.”
(Kazuha hadn’t known what the term ‘giant hat’ had entailed until now. Indeed, it was difficult not to notice the adornment.)
Kazuha knows that Scaramouche is different now. He is a member of the Fatui, reportedly one of the most dangerous organizations in Teyvat, and with Kazuha’s injury still fresh, Kazuha may or may not be minutes away from certain death right now. Scaramouche has always been stronger than he lets on, after all. With the added power of the Delusion given to the Harbingers, Kazuha is almost certain he’d lose in a one-on-one challenge.
And yet…
As he studies Scaramouche’s face, Kazuha still recognizes habits from when they were younger. The way his left hand twitches in discomfort, the way his eyes blink twice due to the bright sunlight. And maybe, just maybe, Kazuha lets himself believe that the boy in front of him might still be the same boy that he had followed so long ago.
“The Fatui.”
Scaramouche’s gaze snaps back up to Kazuha. “Pardon?”
He’s startled to find Kazuha staring right at him. The eye contact is jarring, and it takes a stronger will than Scaramouche would like to admit for him to not look away.
“The Fatui injured me,” Kazuha explains, and Scaramouche stills.
“What?”
“An electro Fatui Skirmisher, to be specific. I didn’t escape the shockwave in time.” At this, Kazuha looks back down at his ankle, as if expecting it to be magically healed again. “Though it bears repeating that I wasn’t paying close enough attention. On a normal day, I would’ve been able to dodge.”
Scaramouche wonders if it’s against his job description to kill one of his underlings.
“It’s nothing serious. In truth, I likely could have accompanied Aether today, but he had insisted I stay behind. That’s just the kind of person he is, I suppose -”
“I’m sorry.”
Kazuha stops rambling. “... Pardon?”
(Scaramouche feels something akin to tears welling up in his eyes, but he ignores it; the Fatui don’t cry, Scaramouche doesn’t cry, and he isn’t about to cry now. )
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
Kazuha lets out a small chuckle. “Whatever for?”
Scaramouche doesn’t answer right away. Because what does he even say to that? What is Scaramouche sorry for? Sorry for seeing Kazuha again? Sorry for leaving? Sorry for meeting him at all?
“Everything.”
His voice is quieter than intended. But it serves to hide the river of emotions threatening to spill out.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Scaramouche.” Kazuha says, like it truly is nothing, but Scaramouche knows better. Knows that it is anything but nothing.
The dam breaks.
“I have everything to be sorry for!” Scaramouche shouts. “If I hadn’t left, you wouldn’t be hurt. You wouldn’t have had to leave Inazuma. You’re a wanted man now, Kazuha. I - I’ve been nothing but a burden. You’d be better off having never met me.”
His voice dwindles with each sentence. Scaramouche feels himself getting smaller, smaller. When had his knees fallen to the ground? When had the tears started?
He’s too scared to face Kazuha. Too scared to see the inevitable look of disappointment. (Too scared to see Kazuha actively agree.)
“Scaramouche.”
(The way Kazuha says his name feels like being bestowed a blessing from the Archons.)
He keeps his gaze stubbornly downwards. It isn’t until he feels something under his chin, feels his head slowly being tilted up, that he sees Kazuha’s smiling visage. Scaramouche duly notes that Kazuha’s smile is radiant even through the blur of tears.
“I’ve never blamed you. Not once.”
“Why?”
“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. You were only ever forced to do things; anyone would have done what you’d done, had they been in your shoes.” Kazuha’s hand has shifted to cup his palm. The way his thumb runs across Scaramouche’s cheek feels like a promise. “That’s why I’ve never blamed you. I’ve only ever hoped that you stay alive and happy.”
Scaramouche had once thought that receiving his Delusion was true freedom. But hearing Kazuha’s words, knowing that he has truly been forgiven for all the horrible things he’s done -- it feels like ascending to Celestia.
Kazuha’s smile is bittersweet, tinged by the tears that are welling up in his own eyes.
Scaramouche thinks he’s never been more beautiful.
“Kazuha!”
Aether returns to the camp, Childe and Xiao following closely behind. “How are you doing?” He asks. “Are you feeling any better? Does your ankle still hurt?”
Childe’s hand clamps onto his shoulder. “You worry too much, Aether.”
“I just don’t want the injury to get worse! If I don’t force him to rest, he’s going to do something… reckless… again…?” Aether halts his thoughts upon noticing the sight before him.
Xiao hums. There is a faint lilt of amusement in his voice. “It seems you were worried for nothing.”
Aether can only agree.
(In front of them, at the base of their little camp, Kazuha is sleeping, curled up next to an equally unconscious Scaramouche, both their expressions the most peaceful Aether has ever seen.)