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Kazuha always thought he would be the first to go. Between him and Scaramouche, he was the one who went out on riskier expeditions. Scaramouche had the power of limitless life- or so both thought.
Kazuha never thought he would be the one knelt on the ground beside his dying love. Beaten up hat aside, Scaramouche’s head laid upon his lap. Scaramouche had several bleeding wounds, but the worst was upon his chest. A hole from a blast had gone right through him, leaving his source of life vanquished. His nose and forehead bled, eyes weakly trained on the man holding him there. Kazuha had tried to apply pressure upon his torso wound, but his fingers went right through and he knew there was not anything he could do.
A battle lingered around them, fighters of all the lands at war. Diluc swung his sword and Kaeya flung his blade. Venti shot his arrows and Lisa sent out bolts. However, all of that noise was tuned out to Kazuha. “Stay with me,” he whispered to his partner, a bloodied hand, stained with blood not of his own, resting against the dying man’s cheek.
“As soon as the hilichurls lighten up and we get your bleeding a bit more under control-” before he could even finish, Kazuha felt a bleeding hand reach up and touch the opposite cheek from the one he was holding. The white and red haired male just locked his gaze onto the other.
Scaramouche was weak in the voice. He simply just cracked a signature smile and let his eyes keep upon the other. “J-just let me go, my love.”
The words tore through Kazuha’s chest just like a boar thrashing through a wall. The hand upon his own cheek began to get weaker. “Scara, we can get you out. Trust me!” His voice was full of desperation.
The shorter shook his head lightly, struggling to keep afloat. “You would be d-doing me a favor…to l-let me go with me pride.” Pride. For the couple, it meant two things, both symbolic and close to their chests.
Kazuha realized in the moment that the best thing to do was let him go. The hand upon his chest slowly drifted away, now bloodying up his side. He, however, did not let the hand fall from Scaramouche’s cheek. A quote the man had grown up with was simple.
‘When you love someone, you would let them go.’
Kazuha did not know how long he knelt like this, their hands on each other’s cheek. Scaramouche’s breathing became uneven and Kazuha began to whisper soft, comforting praises over and over.
“Kazu,” he began, but his voice drowned out weakly.
“Yes, I am here, love.”
“I love you.” Scaramouche simply stated that, desperately looking at the other.
Tears beginning to finally come to the corners, he replied back. “I love you too, Scara.”
With that, Scaramouche’s chest heaved upward, but never went back down. Kazuha wished he could pound his chest, fix the whole with magic, or breathe the breath of life right back into him. He knew that would not do a thing but break his own beating heart more. The tears fell, and burying his head into the shoulder of the dead man, he cried.
No day had been the same. No battle had been the same. Scaramouche was buried underground in a small cave-like area. His casket was made to preserve his body and have a viewing glass enclosure, something he had went to a Sumeru based ‘doctor’ for. Every day, Kazuha returned from battles and kept himself alone with the casket, talking to his dear lover and laying flowers on top. While Scaramouche had been the one to die that day, Kazuha had lost a good chunk of himself on that battlefield.