Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Kaedehara…?"

Scaramouche stood in the half-opened doorway to a medium-sized bedroom, eyes widened. 

Kaedehara… was here…?

They weren't meant to end up in the same inn.

Much less the same room.

And yet here they were, almost complete strangers with the distance that had grown between them since their last meeting. Kazuha wasn't the jovial, shy boy that Scaramouche had met all those years ago in his youth.

This Kazuha had melancholic eyes and a wistful tone as he slowly turned to face the Harbinger, only the slightest widen to his eyes showed any hint of surprise at seeing his old companion. 

"...Shin." 

Scaramouche almost didn't recognize that name. A nickname Kazuha had given him when they had only been children, a replacement for his real name, of which at the time he could never seem to pronounce. Shin'Yu . 

Scaramouche stood frozen in the doorway, clutching loosely at the hem of his Yukata. He couldn't explain it, but just the sight of him had sent his head spinning. He could barely think straight, and he couldn't tell if the burning in his chest was anger, or- 

“What in the name of the Tsaritsa are you doing here…??” The initial shock of seeing Kazuha in the room that was supposed to be his had started to run off, and now he felt an actual wave of anger wash through him. 

Kauzha was seated at the edge of a freshly made bed, seated next to a large open window that faced the very center of Inazuma city.It had a perfect view of the statue of the electro archon, the statue’s hands standing still against the howling winds outside.

 Scaramouche was perplexed to see him here. Not only because it had been so long since their last meeting, but also because it had been extraordinarily unusual to see him in a public place such as this. 

Wasn’t he a wanted criminal? 

That’s what he had heard, at least. 

He didn’t bother concerning him with most of the matters in Inazuma. In fact, he rarely visited.  He was too busy taking care of matters within the Fatui to give more than a second thought to the country he once called his home. 

Kazuha’s white hair was undone and swept over to one side, leaving the back of his neck exposed. He seemed to have been in the middle of changing into a more casual outfit for the night, a scarf and plates of armor discarded on the sheets next to him. He spotted his shoes sitting by the door, along with a folded towel that had been placed just outside for the inn's employees to pick up the next morning. 

Scaramouche felt a blush rising along the back of his neck, and he clenched his teeth, crossing his arms across his chest tightly.

“Do you usually strip when someone enters a room?” He snorted, pushing his growing blush away. He stared intensely at a crack on the floor, keeping his eyes from snapping back up to the criminals exposed back. 

In response to his question, Kazuha simply smiled, and pulled the sleeves of his shirt over his shoulders, standing up to face his visitor. 

“My apologies, dear friend.” He said. The melancholy tone that had been present when he had greeted him was even more prominent now. Every word sounded like the embodiment of wading through honey. “I hadn’t been expecting a visitor, although the winds had been telling of change today.” He gave Scaramouche another one of those sickly sweet smiles as he tied his Yukata. 

“What brings you here, Scaramouche?”” 

He hadn’t expected to hear his new name come out of Kazuha’s mouth. 

As if he was reading his thoughts, the fugitive nodded his head slightly, his lips quirked into a half-smile. “That’s what you go by now, if my sources are correct?” Scaramouche only managed a stiff nod, his lips pursed into a defensive frown. 

Kazuha chuckled. “I never thought that my good friend would find their way into the likes of an organization such as the fatui.” He said, hints of contempt creeping into his voice. But there was also curiosity there, as if he wanted his old companion to tell him more about what could have brought him to this point.

Scaramouche could not help but sneer, “I did not expect that Kaedehara Kazuha would be a wanted criminal, running like a scared puppy from the vision hunt decree.” 

Kazuha chuckled again. “The same spiteful spirit as ever, I see ‘Yu.” 

There it was, that name again. 

Damn it, even Scaramouche himself didn’t know what he wanted Kazuha to call him.

He crossed his arms tightly. “What are you doing in my room?” He demanded, watching as Kazuha’s eyebrows rose. The most emotion he had shown in their entire interaction, and it was over Scaramouche asking him what he was doing rather than seeing his face after countless many years. Tch.  

“Your room..?” He repeated, tilting his head to the side. He really did look like a lost puppy. 

Kazuha let out a perplexed laugh. “When did you arrive here?” He questioned. “I’ve been here for several days, my friend..” 

This time it was Scaramouhce’s turn to be surprised, his eyebrows shooting up in confusion. “Then why in Tevyat did the receptionist refer me to this room???” He demanded. 

“Perhaps it was fate that brought us here,” Kazuha replied calmly, a soft smile upon his lips. “While you’re here, you might as well make yourself at home.” He continued, vaguely gesturing with his left hand around the room. “This monsoon has been biding its time long enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if the winds decided to change rather soon…. I believe we’re in for quite the storm.” 

Scaramouche simply stared at him from the open doorway, perplexed. What was he talking about….? Did this man only speak in metaphors? He tsked.  

“I don’t want to stay in the same room as you.” He protested. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he hadn’t noticed it, but his nails had been digging slightly into his skin. He loosened his grip, not having to look at his arms to know that he had left dents. His head whirled. 

Why was seeing Kazuha here bringing out such a visceral reaction in him???

 He hadn’t seen this man in years. The last time they had met, they had been completely different people. Scaramouche had been naive, weak, susceptible to anything. He cursed himself for ever allowing himself to be that pathetic. It didn’t matter if he had been a child then, it had been a window of weakness and he had been a fool.

Scaramouche clenched his teeth. Kaedehara being here represented a part of his life that he never wanted to go back to.  A part that he had purposefully tried to leave behind forever. 

So why was his heart beating so fast?

He clenched his jaw again, trying to push the pounding in his chest away. 

“Surely there are other empty rooms in this place.” Scaramouche pressed, scowling. The inn house was huge, one of the largest in Inazuma. And being in the center of the largest city in Inazuma, it didn’t come at a cheap price. The odds of all the rooms being filled up was-

Kazuha shook his head. “Every inn in town is like this.” He explained. “The vision hunt decree made sure of that.” Scaramouche watched as his gentle smile faltered, the corners of his mouth curling down into the beginnings of a frown. His eyebrows furrowed and Scaramouche heard a faint sigh as he continued speaking. 

“I don’t know, nor do I understand what kind of eternity the Raiden Shogun is reaching for. But I cannot agree with the loss of hundreds of innocent lives by her hand.” His tone had dropped from its former softness. The look in his eyes was no longer guarded and whimsical, it was raw and real, a strange anomaly from the flowered words and strange poetry that he had been formerly spouting. 

Scaramouche’s skin prickled. He didn’t think he would want to hear more of that foolish poetry, and yet here he was, wishing that those empty words would come back. 

“You’ve grown soft, Kazuha,” Scaramouche replied, ignoring the lump in the back of his throat. 

Kazuha broke into a soft laugh, the melancholic look returning as if it had never been gone. “And what of you, Scaramouche…” He simply said, giving him a curious look. “What is the Vagrant of Inazuma doing with his days now?” 

He let out another soft chuckle, giving Scaramouche another one of those sickly half-smiles. “It seems like our roles have been switched, doesn’t it Shin?” 

Scaramouche reeled. “We are nothing alike.” He retorted. His face was growing hot and that only sent more anger through him. Kazuha simply chuckled again, dipping his head ever so slightly. "We are more alike than you might realize,  old friend."

He suddenly started to walk towards the Harbinger, and,  caught off guard, Scaramouche's hands flared to life with electricity. "What- what are you doing?" He demanded, the purple sparks crackling and snapping in his clenched hand. The dim room flared to life from its purple glow. 

Kazuha halted. 

“An….electro vision…” He said, his voice lowered to a deathly whisper. His eyes were wide, and he looked… well, vulnerable. If Scaramouche wanted to, he was sure he could kill him right here, right now, and leave without a single scratch. He was frozen like he was glued to the floor, and- his hands, were they shaking? 

His hands. 

It was the first time he had clearly seen both of the criminals' hands. 

That shouldn’t mean anything. 

It shouldn’t mean anything if it weren’t for the scars. 

Burn marks, twisted, red, and angry, as if they had just been left there moments before. They ran up the length of his right forearm, upwards towards his elbow. 

These had certainly not been here the last time he had seen the wanderer. 

That unexplained rage rose within Scaramouche once again, and without even knowing what he was saying, he demanded, “Who did this to you???” 

Kazuha stumbled back, finally moving from his fixated state. 

“My hands…” He was staring at the floor, his pupils dilated. “Ah… yes.” 

Just like that, the wistful look was back. Kazuha slipped Scaramouche a smile, acting as if nothing had happened between the two in the seconds before. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you, my good friend.” He said, putting his hand over his heart to emphasize his sincerity. His left hand . Scaramouche could not help but notice. 

“You’ve already heard of my criminal status.” He continued, his head slightly dipped. “Perhaps it might make more sense to you now. You’ve heard of what happens to a vision once its bearer is lost, I presume?” 

Scaramouche was taken aback by the bluntness of his question. He was supposed to be the one who caught unsuspecting rabble by surprise, not this… 

Kazuha smiled a bit, seeming to notice that he had taken his companion aback once more. “Do you think Tomo would be proud of the people we’ve become, Scaramouche?” 

Tomo?? Did he mean that tall, bumbling animal magnet that always used to follow Kazuha around like he was a living snare? 

Scaramouche faintly recalled the sound of the blonde’s laughter as the three of them traveled the mountains of Inazuma together. He recalled the disappointment on his face when Scaramouche had announced he had left, the cold stare Scaramouche had given in return before he had disappeared for what he thought would be forever, seduced by the offerings of the Fatui. 

Do you think Tomo would be proud of the people we’ve become, Scaramouche? 

Those words swam through Scaramouche’s head once more. 

Did that mean that Tomo was- 

The realization hit him and his stomach lurched. 

Why should he care? 

He cursed himself. Why did he care… 

He wasn’t able to process his thoughts for long. 

“My apologies.” Kazuha’s soft voice rang through Scaramouche’s head once again, breaking him from his thoughts. 

“That was very forward of me.” He said, shaking his head at Scaramouche. “My intention was never to put stress on you..” 

Scaramouche was baffled yet again. Put stress on him ? The traveler acted as if he had not been the one shaking and fixed to the floor just minutes before. 

His lips were curled into a frown as Kazuha asked, “Would you like to join me in the baths?” He offered. “I’ve heard the hot springs in this particular inn are famous around all of Inazuma.” He gave Scaramouche a smile. “I was planning to go alone, but if you wish I can request some extra Sake for you. It will be nice to connect with an old friend again.” 

Scaramouche felt his face flare once again. His words came out in sputters as he replied, “No, I don’t want to join you-” He cursed himself for the obvious blush that was rapidly spreading across his pale face. “I never asked to be stuck in the same room as you in the first place.” He continued, his voice rising as he spoke. But if Kazuha was disheartened by his impassioned response, he did not show it. He simply nodded his head, his expression unchanging as he replied.

 “Of course. It was not my intention to force anything on you. Still, my offer stands. If you change your mind, I will be downstairs.” He smiled. “If not…. then goodnight, Scaramouche.” 

There was something about the way Kazuha had said his name in his parting, the way the sound of it brushed against his ears. It was different from when they were children. And it was certainly different from the way the ranks of the Fatui uttered his name.

 He had relished in their disdain, fed and encouraged their hatred of him while still retaining his place as a harbinger. If it had been anyone else who had spoken his name the way Kazuha had… they would have ended up fried on the floor where they stood. Scaramouche relished in fear and hatred, but he did not appreciate rebellion. If they were lucky, they’d make it out alive. But if they weren’t…. 

Scaramouche stood in the now empty room, clutching at himself in frustration. Why did things have to end up this way ? He repeated to himself, walking over to the tidy bed and sitting near the end. He stayed as far away from Kazhua’s things as possible, and yet he still found himself staring at them out of the corners of his eyes. I had my entire life set out. I was doing just fine.  He ran a thousand curses through his head. 

He had thought that joining the Fatui was enough to leave his past behind, but it seemed that he was wrong. The feelings were still there. 

He clenched his fists angrily. “DAMN KAEDEHARA!” He shouted. He knew the walls were thin. He didn’t care if Kazuha heard him. 

If anything, he wanted him to hear him. 

His hair had begun to stand up, lifted by the static that had begun to cultivate around him. It cast an eerie purple glow along his skin, running along his fingertips, twisting around his arms. It began to fill the room, crackling dangerously and sending imposing shadows across the walls. Some of it brushed his skin, but he felt nothing. 

He took several deep, heaving breaths before he was able to calm down. The lightning slowly faded away, leaving the room dark and silent once more. Without another word, Scaramouche stood up once more, glancing towards the bedroom door. 

Part of him was waiting for something to happen. For Kazuha to appear in the doorway once more, asking Scaramouche why he had heard his name shouted from the second story floor. 

Scaramouche, who was not supposed to have feelings, known for being ruthless, inhospitable, and apathetic, was letting his emotions take over him.

He stood there for several more moments, in complete silence, staring at the wooden floor, fire in his eyes. His stare was so intense, it looked like it was only moments away from burning a cavern straight through the foundation of the building. He grit his teeth. 

You’re stuck in a room with him anyway. He thought. It doesn’t matter whether or not you decide to go to the onsen with him. Either way, you’re going to have to sleep with him anyway-

He cut his own thoughts off, anger flaring through him once more. No. I am not going to do anything of the sort . He retorted, disgusted. Nothing is making me get any closer to him than I have to. He felt that sickness in his stomach once again and he pushed it down. 

Fine. He would join Kazuha in the hot springs. There was nothing between them, and he knew that. Kazuha knew that. They weren’t children anymore. Neither of them had time for unnecessary feelings. 

But what if they had? 

In another life, a place where their paths were different, would their fates diverge? 

He shook his head as he exited the room.

If things had turned out different, Kazuha would have ended up with Tomo. It wasn’t him being jealous, it was just a fact. Even before Scaramouche had devoted himself to the Fatui, he knew that Kazuha was infatuated with the older teen. He had been jealous then. 

But after he had left, he didn’t think anything of it. In fact, he practically pretended it never happened. It was simply a childish crush, and nothing more. His new position did not allow for such trivial things, and after a short time, he had all but forgotten that he had ever felt that way. 

Well, he supposed he had been wrong. 

Before he knew it, he had already arrived on the lower floor of the inn. He didn’t have to look around to find the entrance to the onsen, it was the largest door on the bottom floor, leading directly outside. Kazuha had been right, the springs were huge. Just from the small area that he could see, several pools led well into a faux wooded area, stacked like stairs and surrounded by carefully cut stones. It was well lit by oil lanterns, and even though it was rather late into the night, there were still many people seated inside, enjoying the springs. 

But where was Kazuha himself? Scaramouche scoffed a little. If Kazuha had been lying to him to see how he would respond to his request, then Scaramouche was a fool. He headed towards the shower area, silently cursing Kazuha’s slyness. You better be there, Kaedehara.  

Upon entering the showers, he looked around one last time. Again, Kazuha was not there, and in fact, Scaramouche was the only person that occupied the room. He supposed that the rest of the people who planned to use the springs had already entered.

 That made sense. After all, they were closing soon, and if Scaramouche didn’t hurry, he might be kicked out of the area before he could even enter. He felt his heart pick up at the thought, and he quickly stripped and showered, leaving his clothes in one of the empty lockers on the other side of the wall. He dried his hair and quickly grabbed another towel, wrapping it around himself as he walked back outside to the springs. 

He didn’t have to look around for long before he came across Kazuha. He was seated in an area that had been hidden from the hotel’s lobby, nestled in a corner of one of the lowest pools in the onsen. Next to him was a small bowl of Sake, half full and positioned where he could easily grab it without having to leave the pool. Scaramouche sneered a little. 

“Aren’t drinks against the rules in the springs, Kaedehara? Surely you of all people should know that.” 

Kazuha turned to face his visitor, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. But his expression soon turned into yet another smile, and he laughed softly. 

“Don’t worry, Scaramouche. I don’t intend to get myself drunk. I thank you for your concern, however.” He said, dipping his head. There had been a twinkle to his eyes as he had replied, and Scaramouche had to wonder, had he been teasing him? The harbinger rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I even decided to arrive, Ronin.” He responded. 

The criminal laughed again, a gentle sound that was a stark contrast to Scaramouche’s constant glower. He looked up at the harbinger. “However long you choose to stay, I will make sure to make the most of it all.” He gestured to the empty water around him, smiling. “I’m honored to be able to share moments with you again.” 

Scaramouche must have been hallucinating, because he could have sworn that Kazuha’s cheeks had the slightest flush of red to them. He felt his own face warming and he tore his gaze away from Kazuhas. It took all of his strength not to let his mind wander at the bare figure of his old friend, and the ronin’s unintentionally flirtatious musings were not helping his case. He grit his teeth, subtly clearing his throat before even daring to face Kazuha again, glaring at him from the corner of his eye.

“Are you sure you aren’t drunk, Kaedehara?” He scoffed, acutely aware of the still-fading blush upon his cheeks. “You seem to be delusional.” 

At this Kazuha let out a full-out laugh, not like his usual soft chuckles. He dipped his head low to hide his face, his white hair falling over his shaking shoulders. He came up after a few more seconds, his face bright red from the strain of his laughter. 

“Shin’Yu….” Scaramouche was jolted by the use of his old name once again. “I would never lie to you.” 

He had cooled down now, and the soft smile was back. But the sparkle in his eyes was still there, and Scaramouche realized it was the first time he had seen him look like this since their unlikely meeting had begun. He looked like how Scaramouche had remembered him. 

Kazuha had held out a hand to him, and Scaramouche stood there looking at it, frozen. 

“What are you doing-?” He demanded bluntly, and Kazuha gave him a bemused smile. “You said you would join me.” His fingertips brushed against Scaramouche’s wrist, sending a jolt up his arm. 

Just this mere touch had sent his heart hammering. 

How far had he fallen…? 

“I’m perfectly able to do it myself.” Scaramouche snapped, wrenching his hand to his side. 

In response, Kazuha gave him a perplexed look, but after a moment simply nodded, withdrawing his hand. “Of course.” He smiled. “Join when you’re ready, then.” 

Scaramouche bit back the sick feeling in his stomach and lowered himself into the water feet-first. The temperature of it made him withdraw for a split second, but after a moment he lowered himself again, submerging himself up to the chest in the steaming liquid. 

Even though he hated to admit it, he felt instantly more relaxed. The tension in his shoulders released, and he found himself subconsciously leaning back against the edge of the pool. He let out an involuntary sigh before he could stop himself, and then grit his teeth in embarrassment. 

“You can allow yourself to be vulnerable, Scaramouche.” He heard a soft chuckle from Kazuha, and his embarrassment only deepened. He hated that Kazuha found it amusing. Kazuha knew that he was a person who valued his pride, and yet he still seemed to relish in the moments where Scaramouche let that confidence slip. He rolled his eyes. “You talk too much, Kaedehara.’’ 

The Ronin smiled, grabbing the Sake bowl from off the rim of the pool, holding it out to him. “Would you care for some?” He asked, seeming to ignore the Harbinger’s previous remark.

Scaramouche glanced from Kazuha’s outstretched hand to his face, pondering. He hadn’t tasted genuine Inazuman Sake in many years, the only access to high-quality alcohol he had was in Sneznayan firewater. 

Eyes slightly narrowed, he nodded, stretching his hand out to receive his offer. Kazuha smiled and handed it to him, grabbing a second bowl from the small tray that the previous one had been seated in. There was a small bottle of Sake placed in it, and he poured some of it for himself. Tipping the dish to his lips, he watched Scaramouche expectantly, waiting for him to take a drink. 

Scaramouche took his own drink, staring into the opaque liquid before tipping the entire dish into his mouth, taking it like a shot. 

He saw Kazuha’s eyes widen out of the corners of his vision, and his lips quirked into a triumphant smirk. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself…” Kazuha said, his eyebrows furrowed together. Scaramouche cackled. “Don’t worry your pretty face about me, Kaedehara.” He smirked at him, taking another sip. "This is nothing compared to the firewater of Scheznaya." He slipped another smirk at Kazuha. "Perhaps you should join me sometime,  Kazuha."  He laughed. "Or are you too scared those useless soldiers in the decree will catch you?" 

Expecting Kazuha to be offended, Scaramouche was caught off guard by Kazuha smiling once more. "If I were to die tomorrow, I would have no regrets.” Scaramouche watched as Kazuha closed his eyes, placing his hand over his heart. “I’ve been trying to awaken Tomo’s vision for many years, Shin.” He let out a wistful sigh, half-opening his eyes. “Over the years I think I’ve come to realize that perhaps I was wrong in my judgment.”

He glanced at his companion. His cheeks were flushed, and he was looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Scaramouche wondered again if Kazuha had lied about being drunk, with all the nonsense he had started speaking. 

Idiot. He, better than anyone should know the dangers of having too much alcohol in his system while in a hot spring. Scaramouche could stomach his liquor, but something told him that Kazuha was not the same. He scoffed, but Kazuha continued speaking. 

“The winds never told of your arrival, Shin.” 

“You and Tomo are not the same.” A chuckle. “Not in the slightest…” 

“But it has made me realize… I am not able to change the past. Tomo died for what he believed in. He wanted nothing more than to witness the majesty that was her Excellency’s eternity. I….am in the wrong for wanting to take that from him.” 

Kazuha closed his eyes once more.

 “I need to protect what is in my life now. I still do not agree with her Majesty’s methods to eternity, but… there is no use in reminiscing over times past. Just like the seasons, I need to learn to move on. There is no growth without pain, and there is no life without death.” 

He closed his eyes once more, leaving a gaping silence between them. Scaramouche felt his skin prickle, and he clenched his teeth. Say something, you damn idiot!  

He didn’t know whether he was begging Kazuha or himself. 

Suddenly, he felt a burn at his neck and jolted when he realized electricity had begun to form around his head, sending a low hum through his ears, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. 

A wave of unease went through him. If he kept losing control like this and the electricity touched the water….. he wouldn’t be affected, but...

His face paled. “I need to get out.” He told Kazuha abruptly. The traveler stared up at him as he climbed out of the pool, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “So soon…?” 

His voice trailed off. 

“How are you doing that without a vision..?” 

So he finally noticed. 

Kazuha had finally noticed the growing electric energy around him, even without a vision anywhere in sight. He couldn’t just explain this with another lie. He was not that strange Traveler from a distant world. He had connections to elemental energy. Just not in the way the Ronin had thought.

 Scaramouche ignored his questioning, turning away from him so he didn’t have to see his face any longer than was necessary. He knew Kazuha could see the symbol of the Tri-commission on his neck. With the electro energy that was still accumulating all around him, the symbol was practically glowing.

But at this point, he didn’t care. 

Maybe now that he knew about his relations to the Raiden Shogun he would snap out of whatever fantasy he was trying to live. He would never want to have relations with someone who had ties to the Tenryou commission. Especially not a puppet made by the Shogun herself. He didn’t even think he could begin to explain that to Kazuha if he tried. 

Continuing to ignore Kazuha’s questioning calls, he hurried to the showers. With all the electricity concentrated around him, the water should have shocked him, leaving him dead on the floor. But he once again felt nothing. 

He would have wished to stay there longer, to simply drown all his thoughts away with the sound of the rushing water, but the possibility that Kazuha might try to find him haunted him. He quickly found his robes, pulling them back on and hastily tying them together, not caring if he looked presentable or not. 

Part of him wanted Kazuha to chase after him. Part of him never wanted to see that idiot’s face again. And there was another part of him that wanted…

He didn’t even know. 

He was selfish for even thinking for a moment that Kazuha would chase after him. But no matter how desperately he tried, he could not erase the memory of feeling Kazuha’s hand against his, even if it had been for just a moment. He couldn’t erase the way he had noticed Kazuha’s eyes light up when he had arrived to join him in the hot springs, the way his stomach sank when Kazuha had been frozen in fear in front of him. 

He wanted more moments with him, but he didn’t deserve them. 

Quickly drying his hair, he headed back up to the second floor.

 He knew he had to face Kazuha again, but he hoped that he would at least have just a moment of time to himself. He needed to cool down, the electricity had only continued to grow as time went on. It followed him now like a hazy cloud, down the hallway, and into their room as he slammed the door open. 

It was completely empty.

 What else should he have been expecting? That Kazuha could have somehow magically made it to the room before Scaramouche? What would he have even done then? He had just told himself that he didn’t want to see his face for as long as was possible. He was so worked up that he couldn’t even think straight if he tried. 

Damn Kazuha.  

For a moment, Scaramouche simply stood in the middle of the room, his head reeling. He put his palm to the back of his neck, subconsciously pressing against the purple Tri-commission mark that was magically etched into his skin. It radiated with heat, and he kept his hand there until he felt the heat slowly dissipate, his skin returning to its normal temperature. The electric energy around him began to fade away, and he was left once again in the complete dark of the room.

Now that the electricity was gone, the room grew deathly silent. The only remaining noise was the sound of his own breathing, still labored and panicked. His heart drummed in his ears, and he grimaced. 

He hated this. 

Not bothering to light a lantern to see, he fumbled around in the pale moonlight until his shins hit the low rising edge of the bed. He winced, but some part of him appreciated the pain. If his lightning wasn’t able to hurt him, the least he could get was this little bit of pain. 

He laid back against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. With the darkness of the room, it hurt his eyes to gaze for too long into the pitch blackness that was the ceiling, and he closed his eyes irritably. 

You could’ve killed him . 

The thought raced through his head once more, unprompted and unwelcomed by the overwhelming silence. If you had just stayed for a little bit longer, he would have been dead at your feet. 

Rage coursed through him once again, and he sat up aggressively. He wanted to shout again, to tell the voice to shut up, but the last thing he wanted right now was to bring more attention to himself. Still, he felt the shout rising in the back of his throat- 

“Shin.”

The sound of Kazuha’s voice wrenched him back to reality, and Scaramouche’s head snapped up. 

Kazuha was standing in the doorway to the room, holding a lamp in his free hand, the other still placed upon the door. His hair was wet, hanging limply over his shoulders, and his Yukata looked like it had been tied in a careless hurry. His eyes were wide, but he looked tired, completely different from the reserved energy he had before. 

Scaramouche felt a blush spread across his face, infuriated at being caught in such a vulnerable moment, and he grit his teeth. “Don’t call me that.” 

Kazuha ignored him. “...Shin.” He said again, stepping towards him. Scaramouche felt his heart start to pick up again.

He glared at Kazuha. “I don’t see why you can still want to associate with a person that has relations to the god who killed your friend." Our friend. The voice in his head blared. But he held his tongue.

Kazuha looked exhausted. 

He couldn’t ignore it, every time he found himself able to look at his face, Kazuha’s drained expression stared back at him. When he opened his mouth to speak again, the flowered words were gone and it was simply just Kazuha speaking. 

He was standing in the middle of the room now, clutching at his unbandaged hand like it was a lifeline. His gaze never dropped from Scaramouche and the harbinger found it harder and harder to continue to look him in the eye. He grit his teeth. 

“Are you going to say something??? Spit it out!!” 

He watched as Kazuha’s lips quirked into a smile. A pained, forced expression, but a smile nonetheless. 

“I don’t blame you for something you had nothing to do with.” 

Scaramouche baffled at him. 

“You would say something like that without even knowing anything about me?” He scoffed, “You’re so naive, Kazuha” 

Kazuha stared into his eyes once again, the intensity of his stare felt like bullets through Scaramouche’s chest. “You haven’t given me a reason not to trust you, Scaramouche.” His hand hovered near his chest. “Is there something I should know?” 

Scaramouche grit his teeth, breaking his gaze from Kazuha’s. “No. I don’t want anything to do with that god.” He felt his breath catch in his chest. He willed himself not to get worked up again. “ She made the choice to cast me aside. I have no need for her eternity.” 

At this, Kazuha gave him a soft smile. This one seemed more genuine, and it sent a jolt through Scaramouche. He seemed lighter, as if Scaramouche confirming his association with Baal had lifted a weight from his shoulders. It perplexed him.

 Kaedehara should hate him. He would hate him if he was in this situation. Scaramouche was known for feeding upon hatred, so why couldn’t this lone wanderer seem to figure that out for himself? He irritably studied the ronin’s face, but there remained nothing. 

Scaramouche felt his face heat and he pushed it down. “Aren’t you worried I’ll do the same, Kaedehara?” His lips curled into a scowl. “Afraid the ruthless Balladeer might…. lose control..?” 

Kazuha showed no fear. 

If anything, his eyes softened. 

“There are things in all of us that we can’t control, Shin’yu.” 

Scaramouche stared at the wanderer, perplexed. 

“I believe you have more control in yourself than that of your kin.” He said, gazing warmly at Scaramouche. “If you do not have a desire to hurt me, then I have no reason to be worried about such an event happening.” 

Scaramouche felt his fingers curl in irritation at Kazuha’s reassuring words. No need to be worried??? What has made you so naive as to believe I am trustworthy, Kazuha?? What makes you so absolutely sure that I am a good person?

Anger coursed through Scaramouche once again, but he realized it was not at Kazuha. It was at himself. He knew that he wasn’t trustworthy. Kazuha was the one being ignorant, and yet Scaramouche could not bring himself to detest him for it. He could have slapped himself. Never before had he let his personal feelings affect him so. 

“Beelzebub is not my kin.” 

Of all the things he wanted to reply at that moment, that is what he chose. He decided to continue.

 “I want nothing to do with that wretched daemon, and I don’t want to be associated with her in any way. I want to be my own person.” He clenched his teeth slightly. “You of all people should understand that, right, Kaedehara?” 

Scaramouche locked eyes with the ronin, able to hold his stare for the first time since their conversation had started. “You wouldn’t want to be known as a criminal. The one who defied the will of the ‘’Almighty Shogun” and lost what was most dear to you in the process.” 

The words “Almighty Shogun” tasted sour upon his tongue, and he could have spit. 

“I’m right, aren’t I, Kazuha?” He asked again, his stare unwavering. He wanted a clear answer from him, just one time where the criminal didn’t evade his answer with bullshit poetry. He wanted to hear the words from Kazhua’s lips, it didn’t matter if he answered yes or no, he just needed to hear it. 

And he was granted that wish. 

Kazuha dipped his head, smiling once again. “Your brilliance amazes me, Scaramouche.” He put his hand to his heart, taking another step towards the harbinger. The Balladeer instinctively took a step back. 

He was getting too close now, too comfortable. 

Would it be only moments more until they were close enough to brush shoulders? Brush fingers? Brush lips?

Scaramouche’s mind reeled at the sudden unwelcome thought. His face heated rapidly, so much so that he was sure it was visible to someone even as dense as Kazuha. He cursed his mind for making him imagine the thought in such great detail. He tried to shake the image from his head, but it was burned beneath his eyelids, bright and blaring against the rest of his common sense. He was so caught off guard, that he almost did not hear Kazuha’s response to his own question. 

“Indeed, I do not wish to be known as any of those things.” His voice, muffled against Scaramouche’s blaring thoughts, slowly became clearer as he regained his connection to the real world. “However.” 

Scaramouche snapped fully back to reality at the addition. 

“I don’t hold hate in my heart for those who want to address me as such.” Kazuha momentarily closed his eyes, letting out a small chuckle. “After all, it is a part of me, and it is not something I can simply let go.” 

The ronin shook his head, looking back up at Scaramouche with sympathetic eyes. “However, I can see how you would wish to be different.” His voice was soft against Scaramouche’s ears. The poetic veil had returned. “If you wish to be separate from the Raiden Shogun, if that is your solemn wish, then I shall only treat you as such.” 

Kazuha paused for a moment, simply smiling that eerily pensive smile at Scaramouche. The moments before he spoke again felt like eons, they sent Scaramouche’s skin prickling in anticipation. 

“Besides, even if I had known this information beforehand….I would still only think of you as my beloved childhood friend, Shin’yu.”

He said it again, that wretched name. And yet, somehow, Scaramouche did not hate the sound of it against his ears. Shin’yu . 

He ran the name over in his mind, again and again until it felt foreign. Shin’yu. 

Beloved . 

The other word raced through his head, faster than he was able to process it. Beloved .  

He was overthinking things. Kazuha had always been one for using words of grandeur to powder his sentences. They had just been but youthful ignorants then. They only possessed childish feelings, they had known nothing of the world or the concept of love. Feelings. Love. 

Accursed things. 

Scaramouche stared up at Kazuha again, once again vainly attempting to push down the blush spreading across his pale cheeks. “You shouldn’t throw around such extreme words so easily, Kaedehara.” He wished desperately that he could force a scowl onto his face, but still, he was trapped with the dumbstruck expression plastered on his face like the idiotic weakling he was. 

He didn’t know what he had been expecting Kazuha to say in reply.

 But whatever it was, it was nothing close to what he received. 

“I mean them fully, Shin’yu.” 

Balladeer’s eyes shot open, his face turning yet another deep shade of red.

“What???” 

Kazuha let out a small huff, nodding his head silently. He smiled gently at Scaramouche.

 “It might be bold of me to say. In fact, I may be completely wrong in my judgment.” He continued. “However, I am willing to accept that I may be wrong.” 

The ronin took several more steps towards Scaramouche. Frozen, the harbinger half-expected him to continue walking until their noses were almost touching, preparing himself for whatever was about to happen. 

Even though he himself didn’t even know what that outcome was.

 However, he turned away, and landed himself in front of the bedroom window instead, gazing out towards the full moon.

“Shin’yu- Scaramouche.” 

Kazuha seemed to correct himself, unsure of what name was proper to use against his old companion. He stood against the window in silence, pressing his forehead against the opaque glass. He glanced at Scaramouche from the corner of his eye, and the harbinger felt his heart pick up once more.

  Gods- was he going to continue? The suspense between Kazuha’s sentences and the vagueness of every word felt like they could rip a hole in his chest at any moment. 

Finally, when he felt like he might burst from the anticipation, Kazuha spoke again, lifting his head from the window. 

“Come, sit with me.” 

What? 

The wanderer sat on the corner of the bed facing the window, gesturing for Scaramouche to sit next to him. The harbinger felt panic rise in the back of his throat, and he almost refused. However, his own anticipation got the best of him and he slowly took a seat next to Kazuha. He left a considerable amount of space between them, and yet his skin still tingled at their proximity, he felt his fingers twitch where they rested next to Kazuha’s.  

Kazuha was staring into his eyes again, his expression unreadable, as it always was. But suddenly, he gave Balladeer a smile. 

“I’m sorry. This must seem extremely sudden…” Kazuha chuckled quietly. “But then again, this entire situation is rather sudden.” The ronin put a hand to his heart, his right hand. Scaramouche was able to see the burn marks again, and they sent the same unexplained rage and panic through him as it had the first time he had seen them. Kazuha spoke again. 

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t even know how to feel when you first stepped foot through my door…” He chuckled again. “But I think my feelings became pretty clear as this night went on.” 

Suddenly, Kazuha was holding his hand out to the Harbinger, showing more of those wretched marks. It was even worse on his palm, they were angrier and had healed much worse. Scaramouche realized what they must have been, and bit back the beginning of a retch, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Kazuha seemed to have noticed his discomfort, but he thought it was for the wrong reasons. He slowly put his hand away, smiling in what he must have thought was reassurance. “My apologies. Again, I never wanted to force anything upon you. I, too, have troubles… reaching out to people.” 

For once, the ever talkative traveler seemed to be at a loss for words. Scaramouche stared at him. It was such a strange experience to see him like this. 

His gaze wandered from his still face to his unbandaged hands, now awkwardly placed by his sides as if he was unsure where to put them. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. His heartbeat hammered in his ears, like a rushing current smashing against the cliffs of the sea. It drowned out all his rational thoughts. No matter how hard he willed it to stop, it only got louder. He knew there was only one thing he could do to silence it, but he still fought the losing battle against himself. His body moved on its own and before he knew it, his hand was wrapped around Kazuha’s wrist.

“That’s not the reason I pulled away.” He said firmly. He willed his voice not to shake. He must’ve grabbed the criminal’s arm a bit too hard, because he watched Kazuha’s eyes widen and wander to their hands. His gaze drifted back up to Scaramouche. 

This hadn’t worked. The pounding in his ears had not disappeared, it was even louder. He grit his teeth, feeling that unwelcome panic start to return. 

Kazuha’s gaze was weary, Scaramouche could tell he was utterly unsure of what to do. 

Usually, Scaramouche relished in this kind of panic. Look at your face! He could practically hear himself yelling, his own egotistical cackle ringing through his ears. 

But not this time. 

“You never struck me as this bold, Scaramouche.” 

The harbinger was surprised to hear him speak again, fully believing he had stunned both of them into silence. He stared at the wanderer once more. 

The ronin’s voice was breathy as he spoke, and Scaramouche was almost sure he could feel his arm shake in his. And yet, he maintained a steady gaze into the harbinger’s purple eyes. 

“Usually, I would have a poem for this. I would try to cover up my feelings with vague words and musings of nature…” He paused for a considerable amount of time before speaking again. “But this time,” A chuckle. “It seems that I am at a complete loss for words.” 

Scaramouche felt a chill go up his arm and he realized with a jolt that Kazuha had placed his other hand upon his arm. It was just like before, in the hot springs. His hand was barely touching him, nothing more than a brush of skin, and yet it was enough to send tingles through his entire body. 

His instinct told him to pull away, but he didn’t.

“So, if you don’t mind…” 

Kazuha’s hand had traveled slightly more up Scaramouche’s arm. They were both grasping at each other like lifelines, neither one of them seeming to be willing to let go. Chills went down the harbinger’s arm, he didn’t think he could move if he tried to. 

“Are you about to kiss me, Kaedehara?” Scaramouche managed a single snarky remark from the depths of his panic. 

Of course, he expected the traveler to say no. 

But something in the ronin’s eyes changed. “Would you allow me to…?” 

Scaramouche jolted. “W-what..??” 

Kazuha’s gaze was dead set on Scaramouche. “I’m not good with feelings. I… don’t think either of us are.” His hand moved further up Scaramouche’s arm. The harbinger shivered. 

Kazuha smiled another sickly sweet smile, and Scaramouche watched as his eyes slipped to Scaramouche’s lips. He could tell he had not wanted the Balladeer to notice, quickly moving his eyes back up to meet his, but he had. He had noticed. In any other situation, he would have laughed. This idiot wanted to kiss him so badly. But there was no laughter upon his lips now. 

A wave of nausea washed through him, his stomach churned and his throat felt tight. He found himself beginning to panic again, but the sound of the pale-haired traveler’s voice brought him back to stability. His skin still tingled where Kazuha’s fingertips brushed against his arm, but he forced himself to ignore it. Determinedly, he held Kazuha’s stare.

The ronin gave him a soft smile. His eyes were dark, and yet bright at the same time. He seemed hopeful, and yet still as reserved as he had always been. There was something behind those enigmatic eyes, but no matter how hard he tried, Scaramouche could not, for the life of him, figure out what that thing was. 

Trying to understand this man’s emotions was like trying to unlock one of Sumeru’s most complicated puzzles. But it was a puzzle he was determined to solve. 

“ Well if you’re going to kiss me, you might as well do it already .”

Scaramouche’s voice sounded hundreds of decibels too loud as it cut through the prolonged silence that had settled between them. It rang through his ears uncomfortably, and he immediately wished that he had not said anything. 

He knew he sounded irritated. 

Part of him wanted to see how far he could push Kazuha. 

How far could he push this criminal until he realized he was making a mistake? 

But the ronin did not falter. He gave Scaramouche a smile as he dipped his head. “Thank you for allowing me to express what it seems simple words cannot.” His hand slowly lowered from Scaramouche’s arm, and the harbinger found himself feeling bare in the empty space that his fingers left behind. 

“I don’t know what may come of this, perhaps nothing. But, if you are willing, I am prepared to find out.” 

Scaramouche’s pulse thumped against his ears. 

This was just some kind of sick trick Kazuha was playing. Perhaps a ploy to get more information on him, to use him to try to infiltrate his ranks in the Fatui. It was bold of him to play with a harbinger’s feelings like this. 

Idiot . He cursed him. This dumbass knew exactly what would get to him- 

Scaramouche let out a strangled sound, wrenched from his own thoughts, and was met with the warm press of Kazuha’s lips against his. 

Even though he should have been expecting it, the Balladeer’s eyes widened, and his shoulders tensed reflexively, hands hovering around Kazuha’s waist, unsure of where to go. Should he grab him and pull him closer?? Or leave his hands by his side??

Kazuha didn’t know what he was doing, either. Scaramouche could notice that as soon as their mouths had collided. His lips were clumsy against the Balladeers, hesitant. With both of their lack of experience combined, their first kiss was sloppy and messy. It must have discouraged the ronin, because he began to pull away. 

Scaramouche’s heart jumped at the motion. 

No. 

He didn’t want this . 

Clumsily, he brought his hand up, not even thinking as he brought it down around Kazuha’s neck. He pulled him closer, back against him, until their lips met again and he could feel the wanderer’s breath against his. 

Their second kiss was more confident than before, but still just as amateur. The ronin tasted like sake, his breath was hot and the smell of fruit wafted through Scaramouche’s nose, making his head spin even more than it already was.  The both of them fumbled awkwardly together, trying to make sense of something that was so foreign.

Suddenly, Scaramouche heard a soft chuckle. 

Confused, he wrenched his eyes open. He didn’t even know when he had closed them, but upon opening them again, he reeled, seeing Kazuha’s shoulders trembling with laughter.  

Laughter. The wanderer’s eyes were half opened, his lips curled into a smile against Scaramouche’s mouth. When he had laughed, it sent chills down Scaramouche’s spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as if it had been electrified. His breath caught in his throat, he had to break away for a moment to catch it. 

He wanted to hear that sound again. 

The hammering of his heart was deafening, the roaring sea in his ears even louder than before. But this time, it was welcome. It drowned out his thoughts once again, but the silence was blissful, it was exhilarating. He wanted to experience this white noise forever, to have it constantly fill his ears and muddle his thoughts, if it only meant that Kazuha would always be here, this close to him, just as it should have been all those years ago. 

Archons, he was enjoying this too much. 

There were no words spoken between the two of them, but there wasn’t any need for it. 

Just the two of them together, pressed against each other as if their lives depended on it. Their hands locked together, perfectly linked in stark contrast to the nervous exchange of kisses across each other’s lips.

They broke off from each other for a moment, eyes fixated on the other’s face. Kazuha’s free hand had wandered up to Scaramouche’s cheek, his thumb caressing his skin and sending those forsaken chills down his back. They sat there, silently, simply staring into the other’s eyes as if they did not know what to do next. Scaramouche knew his face was redder than fresh spilt blood, and yet this time, he barely made any attempt to change it. 

Had he done too little?

The thought raced through his head, prompted by the silence. 

 He had practically let Kazuha push him around the entire time. He didn’t want the ronin to think that he had made him uncomfortable, archons no. He felt a bout of panic begin to envelop him for what must’ve been the thousandth time that night, and before he could let the fear overcome him he wrapped his wrist around Kazuha’s neck once more, pulling him back against him and initiating the kiss for himself. 

He heard Kazuha let out a barely audible gasp as their lips locked for the second time, and for a split second Scaramouche feared that he had made the wrong move, his shoulders stiffly tensing as he prepared for Kazuha to push him away, to scold him, anything really.

 But once again, he could not have been more wrong. He found himself caught off guard, once again, by the feeling of Kazuha smiling against his lips, watching as he unlocked their hands and placed them around the harbinger’s waist. It was his turn to pull him closer, and they were so near to each other now that Scaramouche could have sworn that he could feel the pulse of Kazuha’s heartbeat against his chest. 

No, he could feel it. 

It thumped against Scaramouche’s bare torso, a steady, reassuring rhythm that matched the racing pace of his own pulse. At first, they were two separate songs, melodies complementing each other. But slowly, the two lines converged, and the panicked choruses became one steady hymn. Kazuha’s pulse matched the balladeer’s, and Scaramouche’s to the ronin’s. It seemed like eons had passed when they finally pulled away.

Kazuha had been the first one to pull away once again, his warm breath tickling Scaramouche’s lips as he slowly leaned away from the harbinger’s body. He stared at him for a moment, unmoving other than the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was several more moments before he spoke again, a soft smile breaking across his lips as he chuckled again. “Scaramouche, my hair..”

It took the balladeer a moment to process before he realized what Kazuha was talking about. His right hand was tangled roughly in Kazuha’s silken hair. The hairs along his neck and the top of his head were sticking to his arm, and Scaramouche felt a jolt of embarrassment, swiftly pulling his hand away. However, he had been too hasty, and ended up pulling Kazuha’s hair somewhat harshly. He saw the ronin wince, and he cursed himself. 

Dammit, I got too excited. He felt heat rise to his face once more. Are you that determined to kill him? 

If the ronin was upset, he didn’t show it. In fact, he began to laugh, pointing to his frizzy hair. “I look rather funny, don’t I?”

He laughed again, and Scaramouche felt his chest seize at the sound. Here he was thinking that kissing Kaedehara would nullify the effect that he had on him, that it was simply his attraction to Kazuha meddling with his mind, and yet he still found himself folding to something so mundane as a laugh. 

Scaramouche clenched his teeth. He shuffled awkwardly on the bed until his back was facing the Ronin, desperately trying to ignore the burn of his stare against his back. 

“Why doesn’t it bother you???” He found himself asking again. He knew he sounded like a broken record, but the pool of anger that bubbled within him didn't allow for those thoughts to stop him. 

“I am a living representation of everything that you stand against, and yet you act as if I am nothing other than another human to you.” His anger swelled further and further up his chest, until he couldn't contain it anymore. "WHY AREN’T YOU AFRAID OF ME, KAEDEHARA??” 

He heard Kazuha hesitate. A small, contained sound, indicating his mouth opening and closing as he treaded over what words he should say. It was clear that Scaramouche had caught him by surprise, turning hostile so soon after they had just shared their affections with each other. The feeling of Kazuha’s lips still tingled upon his skin. 

“Scaramouche….” The ronin began. 

At the sound of his name, Scaramouche glanced at Kazuha over his shoulder. The ronin’s eyebrows were furrowed, a foreign blemish upon his typically serene features. He held his scarred hand tightly, his shoulders lightly taught as he stared at the Harbinger. He opened his mouth to speak once more, but no words escaped. 

Scaramouche couldn’t help but sneer.

 Seems he’d run out of creative lies to fill his ‘beloved’s’ head with. 

“That’s what I thought.” He retorted, after another moment of silence. He turned his back to Kazuha once more. “Don’t lie to me in order to make me feel better, Kaedehara. I’m a Harbinger. I can take people being afraid of me.” A small smirk crossed his lips. “In fact, I enjoy it.” 

He knew he was being childish as he crossed the room and sat on the floor, turning his back towards Kazuha yet again, but he didn’t care. He could hear the ronin say something to him from his spot across the room, and the tone of his voice sounded desperate. But Scaramouche simply grit his teeth and blocked it out. 

Maybe the runaway would get the message. 

The floor sent chills through Scaramouche’s body as he lay down upon it, grabbing a spare blanket from off the bed. He could still feel the burn of Kazuha’s gaze against his back as he temporarily moved towards the bed, but he pushed the feeling down. Deep down, to where he hoped it wouldn’t plague him anymore.

Dammit, he just wanted to sleep .

He closed his eyes forcefully, willing his body to save him the agony of having to share another second with Kazuha. His feet curled against the frost of the floor, and he shivered. He wouldn’t be in this embarrassing position if it weren’t for Kazuha. 

No. He wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for his pride. 

He didn’t know how long it was, minutes, hours, days, until he felt the pull of darkness against his skull. The soothing lull of sleep took over him, and his body relaxed. 

“ Kuni .”

“ Kunikuzushi .” 

Scaramouche jolted violently. 

Who was saying that name? 

The image of a boy blared through his closed eyelids. 

A large smile was plastered upon his face, hand reaching out to Scaramouche, who was looking at him from below. 

Was he on the ground? 

He tried to assess his surroundings, but his gaze had been fixated on the figure above him. As much as he twisted and turned his head, his view of the strange dream he was having remained unchanging. 

The boy called his name again. 

“It's Kuni…. Kuzui, right??.....Kuushi?... no, that doesn’t sound right….. Ku...zu...” The boy stumbled over his words, trying his best to pronounce the long name. It took him a couple tries, but he eventually settled upon “just Kuni”.  He grinned at Scaramouche again, apologizing for his bad pronunciation, and Scaramouche found himself trying to open his mouth to reply. Don’t apologize . The words rang through his head. And he found himself reeling. Since when have I been one to reject apologies??

The boy's smile had sent pangs through him. Pangs that he had only felt once before, caused by one other person. 

His head reeled, and he looked at the boy again. 

Silken white hair, red eyes, dressed in simple traveling clothes. 

Kazuha.  

Almost all at once, the roaring in his ears came back as the realization hit him. 

He was dreaming about Kazuha. 

Or was this a memory?

 Everything from his time before his time in the fatui was blurry, a faded image at best. The longer he spent there, the less and less he had remembered from his time as Kunukuzushi. And, up until now, he had wanted to keep it that way. 

Now….

His head whirled as he desperately tried to latch on to anything, even the smallest moment he could remember, but there was nothing. The world around him became blurry, and the more he tried to reach out to some shred of recollection, the more the washed out whites of the horizon bled into the figure of himself and- 

KAZUHA. 

He was walking off, his back completely turned to the abandoned harbinger, as if he had never been there in the first place. There was another figure next to him, one that had not been there before, and with a jolt, Scaramouche knew its name.  Tomo. 

Knowing that their old friend was dead now…

Scaramouche felt his teeth clench. His legs moved on their own, finally free from whatever magical hold had been placed upon him in this dream world, and he ran. And, typical of dreams, time seemed to move in slow motion, his legs straining with every step he took forward. He felt himself stumble, and in a desperate attempt to hold on to the fading images of times long lost, he reached his hand towards their distant figures. 

He was shocked to feel a weight against his wrist. 

A hand. 

Kazuha??? 

That was his first thought. It was an insane thought, he had just seen him leave… and yet, this was a dream- 

Scaramouche turned to face whatever had grabbed his hand, and stumbled back when he was faced with...

Himself. 

To put it more accurately, it was a past version of himself. 

Long hair, cut to match the Shogun’s, a simple yukata that was two sizes too big draped upon him and tied with haste. And his eyes….

Empty, the eyes of a puppet. And yet… 

The eyes were somehow looking at Scaramouche with scrutiny. 

“Kunikuzushi.” Scaramouche spoke for the first time in this twisted dream world, his voice sounding muffled and distorted against his ears. The name felt weird upon his tongue, a word that he had not uttered in years upon years, something that almost felt foreign. 

The doll nodded. His expression remained blank, but Scaramouche could see the slightest narrowness in his eyes at the mention of his name. “Scaramouche.” 

It was even stranger to hear his own voice come from someone that was not him. Scaramouche’s confusion washed over him, and came out in the form of anger. “What do you think you’re doing here???” He shouted. He knew it was absurd, shouting at himself, but he didn’t care.

 The puppet simply met his eyes steadily. “I’m you.”

Scaramouche didn’t remember his past self being this cocky. He felt a scoff rise in the back off his throat. 

“I’m not you anymore.” He retorted. 

Kunikuzushi stared at him. “If not me, then who are you?” He replied, his voice monotone. There was a bit of… childishness to it. Scaramouche stared at himself, disgusted. 

“You are a puppet. Discarded like a piece of trash to be thrown out with all the other rubbish. You are a shell of something that not even the gods wanted, a failed prototype, an outcast. I am a real person, who can choose his own path, who has no need for a master to tell me what I can or can’t do.” Scaramouche sneered. “You are a disgrace to my freedom and a disgrace to me.” 

The puppet stood silent for a moment, seeming to process what Scaramouche had told him. But when he did speak again, his face still remained unemotional and unfeeling.

“So what are you? No longer a puppet for the gods, but a puppet under new strings. Number six of the Fatui harbingers, Scaramouche, Kunikuzushi , freed from one bond only to be tied to another. Awakened by a harbinger, to become a harbinger, nothing but a science experiment for twisted minds….can you really call yourself, yourself?” 

Kunikuzushi stared at Scaramouche with his dead eyes, and the harbinger felt his skin prickle as the puppet’s words began to sink in. They echoed in his skull, ugly, intruding thoughts that he couldn’t keep out. 

By a harbinger, to become a harbinger.

Scaramouche’s skull screamed as images flooded his brain, images he had long blocked out. He clutched his head confusedly, gritting his teeth as the unwanted memories invaded him.

A masked face, with the grin of a shark and devilish syringe in hand, grabbing a young Scaramouche by the hair. Syringes pressing into cold skin, the feeling of becoming conscious and discovering pain, the glow of electricity as it lit up the room, the sound of his agonized screams filling his ears as the masked man, Dottore , cackled and brought other harbingers into the room, the way they pointed at him like he was some animal on display. He remembered their grins, the word gnosis floating around the room in whispers they thought he couldn’t hear. 

That had been the awakening of the harbinger now known as Scaramouche. No longer a discarded puppet but a vessel with purpose, influenced by the cruelty of the Tsaritsa and her followers, the slow evolution from a scared boy with no home into a ruthless killer with a fetish for fear. 

A puppet who had been repurposed. 

Wrenched out of his memories, Scaramouche was thrust back into the dream world with his chest heaving, his shoulders shaking as if he had actually been reliving the events that he had just witnessed. “Kunikuzuhsi” was still standing in front of him, now hovering over him as Scaramouche was hunched over himself. He said nothing, but the dead look in his eyes almost looked mocking. Anger filled Scaramouche, at being in this vulnerable position, at literally kneeling to his past, to have it stare blankly at him in disgust as he cowered at its feet. 

He grit his teeth, an infuriated scream rising in his throat. He tried to shout out at the illusion of himself, to tell it to fuck off and stop muddling with his head, but once again he found himself unable to make a sound.

 He stumbled to his feet, desperately reaching out towards the robe of the puppet to pull him down, to get him back down to his level so he could look him in the eye and tell him just what he thought of him, but his hand swept emptily through the air, meeting nothing. The illusion of himself- of Kunikuzushi- was gone, leaving him just like the figures of Kazuha and Tomo had done. 

Scaramouce’s throat burned. Come back you coward he screamed in his mind. It was more like a plea at this point, a desperate attempt not to be left alone with his thoughts and his crumbling sense of identity. Scaramouche sank to the ground once more, grabbing fistfuls of what felt like grass in his hands, digging his hands into the ‘dirt’ until his nails felt like they were being ripped off. He wanted the pain, he wanted to be reminded that he was human, that he wasn’t a puppet. He was himself, he was himself, he was himself-

“Shin!!” 

Scaramouche jolted awake, eyes wrenching open to the sight of the blurry ceiling. 

His back was slick from sweat, and it soaked through his skin into the cloth of his yukata. He was still curled up against the floor, but he seemed to have tossed and turned in his sleep, because he was now facing the center of the room, the blanket he had taken from Kazuha’s bed tangled impossibly against his body. But the most shocking thing of all to him was, against his face he felt…. tears. 

He shot up from the floor, the room spinning for several moments as he tried to get his bearings. 

What the hell had just happened to him...

A wave of pain went through him, and he gripped his hair.

His head, it hurt….  

Suddenly remembering that he wasn’t alone in this room, his gaze shot up and darted around the room, almost immediately landing upon Kazuha. And, gods, he looked almost more of a mess than Scaramouche did- 

The ronin was leaning over Scaramouche’s hunched figure, his hands hovering shakily over the balladeer’s shoulders. His creased eyebrows and deep frown sent yet another jolt through Scaramouche, but the harbinger wasn’t able to get a single word out before Kazuha spoke over him. 

“Are you…. alright?” 

Obviously not. 

But Scaramouche held his tongue. 

“I'm fine.” He said through his teeth, ignoring the splitting pain that clenched down on his skull. Kazuha offered a hand to him, and he begrudgingly… alright, gratefully accepted. Shakily he pulled himself to his feet and mumbled his thanks, only able to spare swift glances as the distraught wanderer next to him. 

“You were shaking and mumbling in your sleep.” Kazuha said, taking a seat on the bed. Scaramouche remained standing.

 “...That must have been a nasty dream you had.” Now that he knew Scaramouche was ok, the ronin seemed to have calmed down, at least slightly. His shoulders relaxed, and his frown slowly dissolved back into the same melancholic stare that Scaramouche knew so well.  But Scaramouche also noticed that for once, Kazuha seemed to be the one who could not hold their gaze. 

“Scaramouche… you never let me answer your question.” Kazuha’s voice was soft, softer than usual, which Scaramouche didn’t think was possible. He sounded exhausted, and when Scaramouche looked at him again, he was taken aback by just how rough he looked. 

Just how long had he been stuck in that dream? 

The ronin looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair mussed and eyes shadowed by fatigue. And yet, Scaramouche felt like he had only been asleep for two minutes. 

Had he been watching Scaramouche toss around all night? 

Scaramouche felt a blush of embarrassment creep up his face. Now that he was coming back to his senses, he remembered just why he was in this situation in the first place. 

“That’s right.” He said flatly, pretending the red upon his cheeks was not continuing to spread as they spoke. “Does that mean you’re not scared of me, Kaedehara?” He forced a condescending smirk upon his face. It doesn’t matter what you say. I know the real answer. 

He expected Kazuha to smile, to force another pretty lie upon him like he had done so many other times, but the ronin simply sighed. 

“I know you don’t believe me when I say I’m not afraid of you, Scaramouche.” For the first time since he had shaken the harbinger awake, he looked him straight in the eyes. “I could say it a hundred different times, in a hundred different ways, and you still wouldn’t believe me.” 

His unbandaged hands squirmed uncomfortably in his lap. Scaramouche hated seeing those hands. The scars, the shrieking reminders of a part of his heritage that, no matter what he did, he wouldn’t be able to be free of. The death of a friend. 

He felt those waves rising again. The water filled his ears, drowning out the sound of Kazuha’s voice and even the sounds of his own thoughts. It crashed against his skull, relentless pounding against rocks that wouldn’t let up, amplifying every pulse of pain that coursed through his head until he couldn’t take it anymore. It was not welcome like before, it was not the soothing waves that had come with kissing Kazuha. It was angry, and it was relentless. 

Godammit.

Godammit. 

Godammit. 

Scaramouche felt his chest hitch, and before he knew it, he felt the waves spill over his cheeks, uncontrollable waterfalls out of his eyes that no amount of cursing or teeth clenching could stop. “ I’m sorry. I’m sorry . ” 

He said that out loud.

He screamed curses in his head. He looked so weak . Every muscle in his body ached, every shred of common sense that was left in his brain was screaming at him to get the fuck up, to stop groveling like a child, and yet no matter how hard he tried, the flood coming from his eyes would not stop. 

He couldn’t see Kazuha’s face. His eyes were too damned blurry for all the tears in them, but he could guess what the look upon the ronin’s face might’ve been. His hands hovered over Scaramouche’s shoulders, hesitant. His hair, untied from its usual tight ponytail, lightly tickled Scaramouche’s face. The harbinger’s shoulders would not stop shaking, and it took every muscle in his body to not just fall onto the floor and never get up. 

He screamed more and more curses in his head, to the point where they almost blocked out the sound of waves crashing in his brain. If anything, it joined the noise, clashing together to create an ugly melody of self-hatred and pain that cut through his skull like a rusted blade. 

He was so caught up in his own misery that he didn’t notice Kazuha’s arms gently grab him. He was shocked out of his stupor by the sensation of Kazuha’s face against his neck, his eyes going wide. 

Kazuha’s voice was strained. 

“Scaramouche-” 

“ Don’t call me that .”

 Scaramouche had gasped out the words before he had even known what he had said, his chest seizing. Suddenly, the name felt like poison on his tongue, the mere mention of it enough to send waves of anger rushing through him. 

He felt Kazuha hesitate, and there was a moment's pause before he spoke again. “Kuni…” 

Scaramouche clenched his teeth, resentment filling his chest at the mention of that name too. 

“Just- just call me that nickname you gave me.” He choked out, a blush of embarrassment spreading across his face. It had only been hours ago that he had been telling Kazuha never to use that name with him. And yet, here he was…

Kazuha’s confusion practically radiated off of him, but after another moment's pause, Scaramouche felt him nod against him. “Shin’yu…” His voice was soft, more of that sweet poetry that he always spouted. But this time, Scaramouche found himself leaning in to it. 

Kazuha’s hand pressed into Scaramouche’s back steadily, his steady breaths and sure hands a stark contrast to the harbingers still-trembling chest. 

“Shin, I don’t know what you’re apologizing for… but what I do know is that it is a burden upon you.” Kazuha slowly leaned away from Scaramouche, making sure he could stand before standing to face him, meeting his eyes with his ever-present gentle gaze. But somehow, it seemed more sincere. 

It was the same gaze that sent those forsaken chills through the harbinger. And this time was no exception. 

Scaramouche tried his best to hold Kazuha’s gaze with uninterested neutrality, but he knew the damage had already been done. Kazuha had seen him break down, seen him at a low point almost no man had seen him in before, or at least, had seen before and lived . There was no reason for him to keep of his act of superiority, and yet he still found himself trying. 

“I….” Kazuha broke off and shook his head, temporarily dipping it coyly. “I try to come up with metaphors for everything, but now, I think my loss for words is in my favor.” He looked at Scaramouche with his head slightly tilted. Scaramouche’s confusion slowly grew. 

“What are you talking about?” The harbinger snapped, it seemed his usual cockiness was beginning to come back. “Are you about to confess to me again?” He asked sarcastically. Kazuha chuckled, lifting the chilly air that had settled around them, if only just a little bit. 

“No, no…” He shook his head. “I was just trying to say … you’re…. fighting.” It took the ronin a moment to come up with the right word. “You might not want to admit it, but… I can tell that you’re fighting with yourself….. in some way. Your identity as a harbinger… your relations to the shogun… it can only be an uphill battle for you.”  He held his gaze with Scaramouche, but this time he smiled a little. “You’re a lot more like me than you think, old friend.” 

Scaramouche stared at Kazuha. Old friend. After everything that had gone on that night, Kazuha still seemed to insist on the emphasis of the word ‘friend’. 

Why did that irk him so?? 

What would it take for Kazuha to address him as anything else? Hell, would it take Scaramouche sleeping with him to get him to call him anything different? 

Scaramouche’s face went beet red, and he clenched his teeth in embarrassed anger. That was the stupidest thing he had ever thought of. He forcefully turned his attention back to Kazuha, crossing his arms. 

“You’re insane, I hope you know that Kaedehara.” He shook his head. “You try your hardest to see the good in me, a murdering harbinger. I’m ‘burdened’???? ” He laughed, shaking his head. “You make me laugh.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll give you that.” Even as he spoke, insulting Kazuha for what felt like the 100th time, his heart still pounded. Some part of him knew that he wasn’t really saying what he wanted to say. 

Still, he held his tongue. 

“I’m going back to sleep.” He said forcefully, desperately trying to force down the blush that refused to leave his cheeks. He’d come to realize he was absolutely horrible at doing so. 

“I’ll be leaving in the morning. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be and I don’t think you want to be here with me any longer either.” He knew that couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Goodnight, Kaedehara.” 

He turned his back towards the ronin, staring to make his way back to his spot on the floor, but he felt the burn of the white-haired boy’s gaze upon his back, and he turned back towards him irritatedly. 

“What is it??” He demanded. The ronin slipped another smile at him, this one more unsure. “I know you wouldn’t like it, but I can guarantee you would be more comfortable sleeping on a bed…”

Scaramouche involuntarily felt the heat come back to his face and he glared at Kazuha. “Well, if you haven’t noticed, there’s only one of those in this room.” He practically scowled at Kazuha. “And you happen to be occupying it.” 

The ronin smiled warmly, a bit of pink rising to his own cheeks. “I’m aware…” He began, dipping his head slightly. “If it really troubles you that much, I can trade places with you, and I will sleep on the floor.” He slipped Scaramouche a small smile. “It would just be cruel of me to leave you alone on that cold surface. And… perhaps a more comfortable space will ward off those troubling dreams of yours.” 

The young ronin stood awkwardly a few feet away from him, waiting for Scaramouche to give him a response. It was really the first time he had seen him this flustered; even just before they had kissed, Kazuha had somewhat kept his ever-present serene composure, leaving Scaramouche to be the stupidly flustered one. Now, it seemed the tables were turned. 

Scaramouche stood staring at Kazuha for a moment, or perhaps several moments, before he finally folded, rolling his eyes and sighing. “Don’t bother.” He said, still able to maintain a bit of his usual snarky tone. “I’ll sleep with you.” - Bad choice of wording…- he snarled to himself. “But it’s still only for tonight.” He added quickly, crossing his arms tightly. “Got that, Kaedehara?”  

The ronin smiled. “Of course, Shin’yu.” 

The name, no matter how many times he heard it, felt like silk against Scaramouche’s ears. In fact,  the more Kazuha said it, the less foreign it sounded to him, and the more it made him never want to stomach the names Kunikuzushi or Scaramouche again. 

But it didn’t matter. He had to ignore his own personal feelings, no matter how much they tried to invade his brain. He wasn’t going to let Kazuha get to him any more than he already had. 

But gods he wanted to. 

Gathering his thoughts, he walked over to the other side of the bed where Kazuha was already seated. The ronin slipped a smile at him, and Scaramouche turned a cold shoulder to him. Damnit Kazuha, he scowled. You’re making it way too hard to want to leave. 

Facing away from the ronin, Scaramouche laid down against the soft mattress, immediately letting out an involuntary sigh. He hated to admit it, but Kazuha had been right. This was thousands of times better than lying on that retched wood floor. He sank into the mattress until he felt comfortable, and almost instantly felt his eyes begin to grow heavy. 

He had always had bad associations with sleep. As a puppet, he had put himself in a deep sleep to escape the loneliness that came with his outcast. When he woke up, his travels were long, all-day endeavors that lead to more lonely nights in whatever shelter he could find, city hotels, domains buried deep in the woods… he hardly ever got a single good night’s rest. 

And… when he had left Kazuha and Tomo for the Fatui...

That had been another kind of nightmare.

One that, now that he had remembered, he wished he could forget. 

Scaramouche squeezed his eyes shut angrily. Just for once, he wished that he could have a peaceful moment of rest. He shuffled against the sheets restlessly, hoping that if he found a position that was more comfortable, he might be able to force himself to drift off. But to no avail. 

Damnit. He thought. Guess there was no point in trying to get sleep in the first place. 

He began to sit up, preparing to slip off of the bed unnoticed. What was he thinking, anyway? Sharing a room with Kaedehara Kazuha? Kissing him? 

If the harbingers could see him now, they would cackle at him. Scaramouche scowled at the thought.

He might as well leave. 

He was going to be leaving in the morning anyway, he doubted Kazuha would miss him. He would speak nothing of this to the Fatui, and everything would go on as normal in his life. He let out a frustrated sigh and lifted his leg to slide off the bed.

What he hadn’t expected, was to be stopped yet again by the feeling of a hand against him.

Scaramouche jolted, immediately jumping to his defenses, and turned his head to the source. His face turned beet red. 

Kazuha, who had previously been laying several feet away from him, his back facing the opposite way, was now rolled over to face Scaramouche, their noses only inches apart. Somehow, his hand had ended up thrown over Scaramouche’s waist, as if he was nothing more than another pillow on the bed. 

Scaramouche’s heart pounded. 

Even though they had been kissing only hours before, much closer than they were now, somehow the intimacy of this interaction sent more chills through Scaramouche than any interaction they had had before. The slow rising and falling of Kazuha’s chest, the way his face looked so serene, even while he was asleep, the way his silken white hair fell messily around his shoulders…..

Scaramouche’s ears rang. 

He was so unsure of what to do, trapped by Kazuha’s hold on him and unwilling to wake the sleeping ronin…

Only seconds before, he had been dead-set on leaving as fast as he could and never looking back. But now… the sight of Kazuha’s sleeping face sent all of those thoughts careening down, faster than any bolt of lightning the Raiden could send. His heart raced. 

He supposed it couldn’t hurt to stay a few more hours. 

He shifted in place, trying to find a position to lay in that was comfortable without leaning into Kazuha, but it was nearly impossible. He ended up facing him, somehow closer to him than he had been before, their faces were practically touching now. Scaramouche felt the tickle of Kazuha’s soft breath against him, and he couldn’t notice how, well, holdable he looked. 

All it would take was for him to reach his arm over the ronin’s waist, pull him closer until they were able to hear each other’s heartbeats, just like before. So what was stopping him? 

My pride . He knew the answer. 

No matter how strong his feelings for Kazuha were, his damned pride would always be in his way, shaming him for having even a shred of compassion for the wandering samurai in front of him. No matter how many times he tried to fight it off, it would always come back to rear its ugly head at him. It made Scaramouche scowl. 

Maybe he didn’t want to give in to his pride anymore.  

Hands shaking, he reached out towards Kazuha, his fingers just barely brushing against the cloth of his casual yukata. It was still enough to send shivers down him, and it almost made him draw away. But he grit his teeth and stayed put, placing his arm around Kazuha’s waist and beginning to pull him towards himself. He didn’t get very far before he felt Kazuha stir beneath him. 

“Mmhh…” The ronin’s voice was groggy, as if he had been sleeping for several hours rather than only a few minutes. 

His eyes opened slightly, but widened more in confusion when he saw Scaramouche so close to him, and began to register whose hand he had felt pulling him by the waist. He pushed himself up slightly, looking in bafflement and embarrassment at the way they had ended up holding each other. He almost immediately drew his hand away, dipping his head apologetically. 

“I am sorry, Sc- Shin..” He corrected himself.

 “I had no intention of making you uncomfortable in any way.”

Once again, Scaramouche noticed the slightest of pink against the ronin’s otherwise pale face, and the sight of a flustered Kazuha almost made him laugh. But Scaramouche was flustered himself, not anticipating Kazuha to wake up halfway through Scaramouche trying to pull him closer to him for his own selfish desires. He felt a blush rise to his own face, as well, and turned his head slightly from the fatigued samurai.

 “Don’t apologize.” He said shortly. He’d come to realize that he hated people who apologized for almost everything they did. It made them look weak, and he knew Kazuha was not a weak man. ‘’I said I agreed to sleep here. I understood the consequences that could result.” 

The consequences ? Scaramouche baffled at his own words. What the hell was he even saying…? 

Kazuha looked as confused as Scaramouche felt, staring at the harbinger from his position only inches away from him. He watched as the ronin stole a glance back to where Scaramouche’s hand had been, before quickly snapping it back up. It was obvious he hadn’t wanted Scaramouche to see the motion, but he did, and he could practically able to see the wheels in his brain turn against each other. It was several moments before he spoke again, his light eyebrows furrowed against each other. 

“Do you… want me to h-...” The ronin broke off, his gaze temporarily leaving Scaramouche’s as he scrambled for the right word. The longer he paused, the further the harbinger felt a blush rising on his face, and a burst of urgency rushed through him as he blurted. “- Yes .”

Somehow, Scaramouche’s interjection seemed to have reassured Kazuha, as his face softened and he gave the harbinger a small smile. “It really should have been that easy, huh?” He joked, chuckling softly. Scaramouche could feel his own panic begin to fade, and instead, embarrassment set in, at just how silly they must have looked at being so flustered to cuddle with each other. Were they really both so bad at emotional connections that kissing was no issue, but something so simple as holding each other was? Apparently, it was so. 

Scaramouche’s heart pounded as Kazuha’s arms wrapped around him once again, this time with purpose and not by some coincidental accident. 

The ronin pulled him closer to him, pressing them together until there was practically no space in between them at all. Their legs tangled against each other, jolts of cold rushing through Scaramouche’s skin with the contact. The Harbinger expected his heart to race again, for him to get flustered about their closeness and push him away like he always did.

But this time, there was only a wave of calm, washing over him and cleansing his muffled mind. 

For the first time that night, his head felt clear, and there was no clamoring of seas against rocks, no unbearable screeching that erased any rational thought.

 It was just… them. 

The gentle pattering of rain against their bedroom window matched their steady heartbeats, the only other sound in the room. Kazuha’s hands were still steadily wrapped around Scaramouche’s waist, clinging to him as if he was a lifeline. 

Scaramouche felt inclined to return the favor. He was still hesitant from the last time he had been so bold, but he had gotten sick and tired of being hesitant. Damnit, he was going to make his own decisions for once. Pushing his doubts down until he couldn’t hear them anymore,  he slowly wrapped his own arms around Kazuha’s waist. He pulled him closer to him -if that was even possible- and buried his nose into the ronin’s neck. 

He felt Kazuha jolt at the sudden movement, and for a brief second, he allowed that familiar sense of dread to fill him. God’s, had he gone too far again???? But his dread was soon diminished, as after a short moment of time he felt the ronin’s chest shake gently with laughter. “I never expected you to be… clingy, ‘Yu…” He teased.

Scaramouche’s face heated, and he glared at Kazuha. “ I am not clingy .” He retorted in a huff.

Kazuha simply chuckled, and pulled away from Scaramouche slightly, giving him that fond look that shook the harbinger so. 

He studied his face for a moment, his scarlet eyes soft and difficult as ever to read. It was only another moment before he leaned down again, using his free hand to grab Scaramouche’s chin. He pressed a gentle kiss against Scaramouche’s jaw, smiling softly against his skin. “You’re fascinating, Shin’'

Without another word, he laid his head back down on the bed and closed his eyes. “I’ll stop bothering you, my friend.” He said, using that forsaken word once again. “I’ve kept you up enough tonight, and I’ve caused you enough anxiety as it is.” A soft smile crept upon the ronin’s lips, and he opened his eyes slightly for a moment to look at Scaramouche again. “I imagine you will be wanting to leave early tomorrow morning.”

 He paused a moment before continuing.

 “I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t be sad to see you go, but I understand.” Kazuha let out a soft sigh. “Just like the winds, both of our lives are forever changing, and we must follow them wherever they take us.” He smiled his sickly soft smile. “I just hope that wherever it might take you, one day it might bring the two of us back together, by some chance of fate.” 

Leaving Scaramouche stunned out of words and acting before the harbinger could get his bearings, he placed another light kiss against the bridge of Scaramouce’s nose. “Goodnight, Shin’yu.” 

His arm grew limp against Scaramouche’s side, and, almost as if by magic, it seemed that the ronin had already fallen asleep, his breaths slowing to a drowsy rhythm once again. He left Scaramouche to ponder his words alone, eyes wide against the warm skin of Kazuha’s neck. 

Damn Kazuha .

He found himself scowling again.

But... it was different this time. His heart did not feel in it like it had before. The insults felt foreign against his tongue in a way they never had.

Always speaking in tongues…

He didn’t feel tired, and he didn’t want to fall asleep. But, hell, he would be lying if the feeling of Kazuha against him didn’t make him question that fact. It would be so easy, to close his eyes, lean into Kazuha’s embrace… 

He felt the pull of darkness begin to envelop him, and he barely tried to fight it. The sound of the two stranger’s breathing melded with the soft wind outside, creating the perfect melody to drift off to. 

Fine, this wasn’t so bad. 

The darkness continued to envelop the corners of his vision, the sounds of the room growing quieter and quieter until they were practically non-existent. Scaramouche’s own breathing slowed, and he pressed his face deeper into Kazuha’s neck. 

“ Fine. ” 

He whispered, the sound of voice muffled against the crook of Kazuha’s neck. 

“ Maybe… you can convince me to stay .” 

That was the last thing Scaramouche remembered before drifting off to sleep. 

That, and the feeling of Kazuha’s arms wrapping tighter around his waist.