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The very edge of Seirai Island had always been his favorite spot to revitalize himself. It calmed him; the quietness, the soft sand, the cool water, the purple clouds that gently rumbled overhead. He would just stare out into the ocean and contemplate. He would think about himself, his past, his future. And he’d always leave with a fresh mind, determined to take on the next step of the new beginning the universe had so kindly offered.
Though, this time it was different. His mind was racing and his thoughts were unorganized, stressing him out and sending panic through his veins. His lungs were straining, choking him up, and overflowing as pathetic tears that rushed down his cheeks.
Kazuha hadn't been there when he awoke. Because of how comfortable he had become with having Kazuha’s company, he was not prepared for the day when he wouldn’t awaken to his warm touch that alleviated the menacing pain he endured in his dreams. The bed was cold the moment he sprung into a sitting position, screaming until his throat was raw. It hadn't been this bad in months.
So he ran. He ran out of the house, straight to his spot. He didn't even think about looking for Kazuha. He felt like his whole body was going to explode, like the archon herself was finally tearing him up into the discarded puppet he should've been. His vision was dimming and his head was spinning. His bare feet sunk into the chilled sand, running forward without hesitation, without a single thought. Once he reached the edge of the beach, he didn't sit. He didn't rejuvenate and ponder as he usually would. He headed straight for the water, toes freezing at the touch and shivers running up his spine. He dipped his slender hands into the sea. A reflection stared back at him.
A reflection he despised. A reflection of a pathetic creation that undeservingly cried. Puffy, bloodshot eyes jabbed straight into his soul. He cupped his hands, briefly observing them before splashing the water onto his face. The hands stilled, holding him. Whose hands were these? Whose face was this? Whose body did he parasitize? He shut his eyes and focused on the slow movement of water droplets running down his hands and neck.
But when he finally let his arms drop and eyes open, instant regret surged through every part of him.
It was back.
The void.
He shuddered. Endless blackness, nothingness, darkness. The emptiness surrounded him. He stood, frozen, in the emptiness, legs shaking under his own weight. He took an unsteady step forward. His leading foot sunk, as if he were still wandering the beach’s sand. But it sunk into the darkness. He began to walk, quickening the pace with every sinking move. He was running down an endless, invisible staircase. He was screaming into the boundless void that he was being consumed by.
Something became visible as he continued sprinting. Bubbles. Small bubbles enwreathed the space around him. His pace was becoming slower. Why was his pace becoming slower? He looked at his legs, eyebrows furrowing and eyes widening. It felt like he was attempting to run through water. But the void contained nothing. No water, no life. Nothing but the peculiar bubbles that he’d never seen before. Pressure started to build in his lungs. He gasped and choked, gripping onto his chest with his trembling hands. He couldn't breathe. All his senses were being torn from his grasp; first it had been his sight. His ability to move and breathe was quickly slipping out of his possession.
Scaramouche had experienced the void before. He had experienced it many times back when he was first awakening. It was a mental realm, an escapism when he was faced with total panic. He’d heard of Ei’s Plane of Euthymia among locals and concluded that the void he had dealt with for so many years was a failed mimic of her mental realm.
It had never been this bad though. Usually it was voices, memories, hallucinations. He had never dealt with pain in the void. It had always been a tremendous fear of his; reliving the pain he had endured in his past. Kazuha and him had once spoken about it, what would happen if he ever had an episode like this. Kazuha would save him. Kazuha would wake him. Kazuha would be there to reassure him that everything was fine. But it wasn't fine. Kazuha wasn't here. And his lungs were filling to the brim.
“Scaramouche, wake up!” Kazuha screamed, dragging the feverish boy out of the water. He had come just in time. Scaramouche had been drowning.
“Scaramouche!” He yelled again, tapping his face and shaking his body desperately. Kazuha reached for his wrist, feeling for his pulse. He sighed with relief when he felt his slow heartbeat. Wrapping his arms around him, he pulls Scaramouche close, resting his head onto his shoulder. His body was frigid and limp. He rubbed his back as he normally would in their bed. But this wasn't the same. They were not in their safe home. Kazuha was practically holding onto Scaramouche for dear life, repeating quiet prayers in hopes that he would be released from the void.
When he finally awoke, he could only open his eyes and cough weakly.
How long had he been out? How long was he in the void? When did Kazuha get here? Had he… unconsciously attempted to drown himself?
Kazuha gave him a minute to take it all in, to breathe a long breath he thought he wouldn’t be able to get a hold of again. Tears formed in his eyes as he stared up at the frantic boy holding him. He saw the fear, the worry that welled in Kazuha’s eyes. A hand reached to wipe the tears, though he should've been wiping his own. His hand unsteadily touched Kazuha’s face, barely making contact. He weakly smeared a tear from under his eye with a forced, painful smile twitching across his cracked lips. Kazuha took his hand and pulled his body closer to him.
“Are you okay?” He whispered. His voice was like honey; soft, smooth, comforting as always. But the worry in his tone struck his heart like a freshly sharpened blade. Scaramouche inhaled, taking in Kazuha’s consoling scent and the faint smell of sea water. His chest throbbed, as if his lungs had never tasted oxygen before. He choked out an inhuman noise when he seeked to speak.
“‘Am… okay.” He croaked, decrepitly coughing after finishing his words. Scaramouche wrapped his arms around Kazuha’s neck and harbored his face into his neck. “Can we go… home? Please?” His voice quavered. Without a word, Kazuha picked him up, supporting his back and legs carefully. A benign kiss was placed onto his forehead.
“Of course. Relax, I’ll take care of you.”