Chapter Text
Throughout the many years that had blended into a blur of red and black, there wasn’t anyone that shined like those crimson eyes, no one that sent a shiver running under Scaramouche’s skin like he did, the rush of battle dulled in comparison to the playful spars they used to have that felt like a lifetime ago. Scaramouche never would’ve thought he’d even set foot back onto the little island that he once called a prison, yet it was the place where he glowed brightest in his memory, a warm sun that used to consume his entire being.
Uyuu restaurant seemed to have been protected from the flow of time. While the doors of many other shops were forcefully barred or had changed to nearly an unrecognizable appearance, the restaurant still stayed true to his recollection. It was ironic how the mat that Scaramouche was currently seated on had changed less in the last decade than he did. His veil hat was cast away at his side.
Scaramouche wasn’t one to hang onto his promises, he was no Liyuean after all. Even if he did, the trait would’ve weighted him down within the ranks of the Fatui, binding him to the rank of Sergeant, maybe a Lieutenant at best. All the walls he had built, all the promises he broke were thrown out the window as he returned back to square one, back to the place where he had made the promise he held dearest to his heart.
Though he felt undeserving of what he yearned for, Scaramouche dared hope. Hands that were tainted with the blood of countless souls clasped over one another as he waited, and waited. Each second felt like a lifetime in itself when—
“Balladeer! Is that you?” A voice like the gentlest summer wind drifted from the entrance of the restaurant.
Scaramouche froze.
Footsteps grew louder until he felt a palm land on his shoulder, as soft as a fallen leaf. He subdued his instinct to bat it away before he finally turned around. Kazuha’s maple red eyes were as vibrant as he remembered, they were practically glowing as they met with his blue-lit ones.
“You really kept your promise! It'd been so long, I missed you.” He drank up the warmth of the body that leaned in for a tight hug. His tongue that was often laced with barbed remarks stilled. Scaramouche dared not make a sound that may allude to the burst of warmth that coursed through his lean figure.
“You’ve gotten taller. And I go by Scaramouche now, remember?” A decade was more than enough for Kazuha to have hit his growth spurt. Scaramouche’s sitting position didn’t stop him from noticing Kazuha towering over him with ease or the lean muscles that were visible beneath the other’s billowing sleeves.
Kazuha shot him an apologetic smile before plopping down on the mat beside him, “It’s mostly thanks to Beidou for making me climb to the ship’s mast too often. You remember Beidou right? I mentioned her sometimes in my letters.”
Beidou was an infamous name even amongst the Fatui, a woman whose crew blurred the lines between being part of the Liyuean navy and a pirate ship. According to one of the rare letters that managed to get past the stifling cold of Snezhnaya and Scaramouche’s need to constantly travel due to his position as Harbinger, Kazuha had managed to hitch a ride on her ship several years back. The piece of paper remained stored securely in a drawer beside Scaramouche’s table.
Scaramouche smirked, “Ah yes, if I were to try and name all the Fatui vessels she attempted to sink in the past year, we would be here all day.”
Kazuha chuckled, “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind taking a Harbinger as an extra passenger.”
He winced. Turning his head away from the hopeful smile the other sent his way, he tried to muster on a usual steeled expression, used when glaring down at some recruits or kneeling at the foot of an ice-encrusted throne. It melted away after a glance at the white-haired man beside him whose grin was starting to waver.
“Balla— Scaramouche, is everything alright?” Kazuha edged the slightest bit closer to him, his shoulder bumping against Scaramouche’s.
Scaramouche opened his mouth before faltering. Nails dug into his palms beneath the table before he replied, “Nothing of your concern.”
He stomped down the feeling of guilt churning at the bottom of his gut at the sight of Kazuha biting his lip. In reality, it was his concern, but maybe it was better to keep his mouth shut.
As they ordered and waited for their meals, Scaramouche allowed himself to be doused in the familiar warmth that always seemed to radiate off of Kazuha despite him being an Anemo user. He drowned in the other’s stories of fighting sea monsters, traveling aboard the Crux, and stepping foot onto various nations of Teyvat. It was a joy to watch the other ramble on, he would rather hear the lighthearted ventures of Kazuha than taint their conversations with his distasteful exploits in the Fatui.
Suddenly, he felt a gentle clasp of a heated palm against his own. Looking up at the white-haired man beside him with a raised eyebrow, he was met with the fainted tint of red that matched Kazuha’s scarf.
“I just wanted to feel you, to make sure that you’re real.” Kazuha’s voice was no more than a whisper.
Scaramouche could hear the beating of his heart in his head as he reciprocated by taking the palm into his own, lacing their fingers together. He raised his cup of tea to his lips to hide the blush on his own cheeks. Here he was, the 6th Harbinger of the Fatui blushing like a teenager as he held hands with his childhood friend. The thought only worsened the blood that was rising to his face.
They were interrupted by the clack of porcelain bowls placed on their table. Reluctantly, their hands parted to grasp wooden chopsticks. Not only did the restaurant’s appearance remain unchanged, the food was also as delightful as he remembered. The nostalgic taste of Inazuman cuisine was a hug from home. Scaramouche envied the Tsaritsa’s power over Cryo. He wanted to freeze this moment, the feeling of elation in his chest, Kazuha’s smile that warmed him like the sun. Yet, the metallic purple of his Vision served as a reminder of what the future held for him.
As they finally placed their chopsticks back down onto its rest, Kazuha turned back to face him.
“We need to head back to the Crux soon, if we stay for any longer, the guards might detain us.” Kazuha reached out for his hand, pulling it towards him.
“No.”
A confused expression thinly veiled the nervous gaze behind maple red eyes, “What do you mean ‘No’? We need to get going Ba— Scaramouche, please?”
Scaramouche jerked his hand out of Kazuha’s, “I said no.”
“Why? Is this about your job? I already told you, Beidou won’t mind. If she did, I’ll leave with you. Please, Balladeer, I’ve been waiting for a decade, you promised—”
“You thought I would actually keep that? Hah. Did you not age a single year since leaving this island?” Scaramouche flashed a practiced grin at him. He thought it’ll be less painful for him this way, yet the words felt like a knife was slicing at his throat.
“Lie to me all you want but you can’t hide behind your mask.” Kazuha reached out a hand, about to place it on his shoulder, but retracted it last second, “What’s holding you back?”
Scaramouche looked away from those maple red eyes, “You’re wasting your time.”
“My time is never wasted when it comes to you.”
He sighed, “You’re a stubborn fool, you know that?”
“It’s something I’m proud of.” Kazuha raised the corner of his lip.
He couldn’t help but smile drily at this idiot who tore down the walls he had built up over his time in the Fatui in less than an hour, this idiot who would drag out even the smallest of smiles whenever a thought about him resurfaced in his mind, this idiot who had him at his knees in no way the Tsaritsa could ever have. He deserved to know.
“I’m not here to join you. I’m here on a solo mission for the Tsaritsa to steal Baal’s Gnosis.”
Kazuha’s grip on his trousers tightened, “Have the Fatui turned you mad? Stealing an Archon’s Gnosis, in their own domain no less. That’s practically a death sentence!”
Scaramouche couldn’t help but chuckle at the truth in Kazuha’s words. It was undeniable that the Tsaritsa no longer had a use for him.
Kazuha lurched up to grab his collar, “And you’re just going to let yourself die like this? What about us?”
“What is this ‘us’ that you speak of? Can’t you see you’re clinging onto a dead man, Kazuha? Even if I were to run away with you, the Fatui won’t stop until they hunt me down, silence me. A life of peace isn’t possible for the two of us, so you should at least go live out your own.”
“No life is worth living without you by my side. When will this get through that thick skull of yours?”
Their conversation had bordered on the edge of a shouting match, eliciting several turns and whispers from the other customers. Scaramouche swiftly slammed down a hefty bag of mora, more than enough to cover the cost of both of their meals before dragging Kazuha outside.
The instant they made their way over to the alley next to Uyuu, he pushed Kazuha against the wall.
“If you try to follow me, I won’t hesitate to incapacitate you and forcefully thrown you back onto that damned pirate ship of yours.”
“And if I were to win over you?” Kazuha snapped back.
Scaramouche sneered, “You can try.” He let go of his hold on Kazuha’s shoulder, causing the other to stumble slightly before returning to an upright position.
By the time he was about to step foot back into the lights of the Inazuman streets, the warmth had disappeared.
It returned no longer than a week later as he laid at the feet of the Archon who had granted him the Vision that now laid shattered a fingertip away. His subconscious grasping at what minute memory he had of the smile that swallowed him whole with its heat, sending his heart racing. Yet it felt like a gust of wind slipping through his hair as he wheezed for breath. The bright zap of Electro energy was, he dared say, nearly as bright as his sun, snuffing out his longing for the person who was once at his side.