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Scaramouche’s breath came out in a series of short puffs as he waited impatiently for the water to boil, knuckles white as they clung onto the sleek countertop and his face gaunt, tears threatening to spill down their cheeks. In this state he couldn’t even remember what had set this off, all he knew was his throat was tight and sore and they needed a hot drink.
The water wasn’t even fully boiled when he snatches it off the stovetop, rushing to pour it into his teacup, accidentally pouring the hot liquid onto his hands in his haste, causing him to quickly set the teapot down with a pained hiss. He hiccuped quietly through his tears and slowly backed away, clutching the red hand to his chest as he tried to accept the pain without making any noise. His senses felt like they were starting to block out, the thought of that only making Scaramouche fall further into his panic as his hyperventilating grew sharper and sharper.
Maybe focusing on a drink wouldn’t help.
Staggering towards the darkened couch, Scaramouche fumbled to find his phone in one of his pockets, clicking the first contact he saw without checking the name.
‘i’m r eally sorry for mesaging lik e this but clkd you come ovee?’
The typing was crude and imperfect, but tears were slowly crowding Scaramouche’s vision more, and he found he couldn’t get himself to correct it as their thumb hovered over the send button.
They should just do it, right? Nobody would mind, right?
No, they couldn’t do it.
Scaramouche cast the phone aside without pressing send, choking out a sob when he heard what was probably his screen shattering against the tile. All he had to do was wait this out, right?
It was far easier said than done, considering how their worsening hyperventilating was starting to make them lightheaded. Scaramouche felt their vision blur and darken slightly as they collapsed onto the couch, curling in on himself.
As Scaramouche pulled his knees up to his chest, all the noises that had been slowly quieting began to grow far too loud, and he was suddenly surrounded by the constant ticking of the clock on his wall, and the loud windstorm that roared outside his curtained window. It was all he could do to cover his ears and sob, wishing his pitiful tears and sporadic heartbeat would drown it all out.
And for a while, Scaramouche completely lost track of everything. He didn’t know how long they had been crying there, cradling a burnt hand, until he heard the door slightly opening. The sudden noise only made him cower further, choking slightly as he gasped for air between sobs.
When he read the received message, Kazuha had to do a double check on the name. Scaramouche? Kazuha was very lucky to be nearby, only a few miles, a quick drive.
Kazuha was reaching to knock on the door, and he heard himself gasp slightly when the door swung open upon impact. But now was no time to hesitate because he could hear sobs even from outside the room, and his concern was only growing. With a deep inhale, Kazuha pushed the door fully open and stepped inside, expression falling when he took in the scene.
Scaramouche was sat unmoving on the leather couch, face hidden and tucked into knees that were pulled up to his chest. His phone lay discarded on the floor face-up, and Kazuha noted that the screen was shattered.
“Scaramouche?”
When he got no response, Kazuha slowly stepped forward until he could sit by Scaramouche, not knowing what to do other than take one of his hands into his own. He noticed Scaramouche seemed to be injured, but he couldn’t take care of that until Scaramouche was consoled.
“Okay, Scaramouche,” It was a fight to keep his voice steady. Kazuha had grown rather fond of Scaramouche, so to see him so deathly pale and choking on his breath? It had Kazuha’s breath hitching nervously. “You don’t have to move, just squeeze my hand if you can hear me, okay?”
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he felt a tiny que ese from Scaramouche, and he subconsciously rewarded it by rubbing a thumb over the skin of Scaramouche’s hand.
“Good job. I’m here, alright?” Again, another breath when he got a response. “Are you hurt? Can you show me?”
A soft sob resonated from Scara, who raised his free hand, the skin red and blistering ever so slightly. Wincing, Kazuha carefully pet over Scaramouche’s uninjured knuckles, quickly trying to remember what to do for burns.
“Okay. You’ll be okay.” He wasn’t sure whether that comment was for himself or Scara, but it certainly seemed to help Scara breathe a little easier, “Will you be okay if I go and get something?”
Scaramouche seemed to hesitate before he squeezed, hand lingering against Kazuha’s as he slowly let go of the grip. Pausing to make sure Scaramouche was stable, Kazuha stood up and made his way to the bathroom, hoping desperately that there was a medicine cabinet.
To his great relief, he found a wall mounted cabinet that contained burn cream and bandages, and he took them along with some pain meds, just in case. With those under his arm, Kazuha walked back through to the living room, grateful to see that Scaramouche seemed to be breathing a tiny bit easier, though his sobs made it evident that he hadn’t calmed down that much.
“Here, I’m gonna sort out your hand, okay?” He spoke softly as he approached, knowing that if he grabbed Scaramouche’s hand with no warning, he could set him off again. When he received a nod, Kazuha got on one knee and carefully took the injured hand into his own. “You’re doing incredible, I’m so proud of you.”
It was a quick job, and before he knew it, the burn was bandaged and soothed, and Scaramouche seemed to have stopped panicking quite so badly. Gratefully, Kazuha sat back down next to him, ready to work on calming his friend down when-
“Scara-?” Scaramouche had turned and buried himself into Kazuha’s chest, shoulders shaking slightly with sobs. Kazuha couldn’t bring himself to object, instead, he brought one hand to Scara’s hair whilst the other wrapped around him. “You okay?”
In response, he felt Scara nod, and he sighed a little in relief.
“Wanna talk about it?”
For the first time that evening, Scaramouche raised his head, and Kazuha felt his heart crumble a little. Contrary to his usual neat appearance, his face was pale and blotchy from the tears that still poured from his eyes. His hair wears unruly and ruffled, Kazuha’s hand resting in the indigo locks.
Kazuha shifted slightly, sitting back and pulling Scaramouche in front of him, before grabbing a nearby blanket and wrapping it around both of them. From there, he took Scara’s hand in his own.
“Go on, you can tell me.”
“It’s just…” Scaramouche paused, turning his head slightly as fresh tears clouded his eyes. “It’s my mom. She messaged me again, drunk and saying she wished I was never born.”
Kazuha’s eyes softened as he pet over his hair, pity lacing his words when he spoke, “I’m sorry. I really am. Listen, I’m here for you, whatever you nee-“
Before he could finish, Scaramouche leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Kazuha’s lips. It was short, but the second he had pulled away and was starting to apologize, Kazuha pulled him back into it, something in his brain just clicking. Neither of them knew where it came from, but they both melted into the embrace easily, quickly getting lost in the feeling of their lips against each other with Scaramouche’s arms around Kazuha’s neck.
When they finally separated, they rested their heads against each other, expression shocked as they tried to process what had just happened. It was Kazuha who spoke first.
“Hey, Scara, wanna tell me what that was about?”
He watched in satisfaction as Scara’s blush darkened, face burrowing into Kazuha’s shoulder, who just chuckled slightly and gently pat his head; he wasn’t really looking for an answer, he just wanted to be a tease, Though, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy that.
It made sense to him now. Why he’d grown so fond for Scara, why his pain hurt him too, why he was so concerned and ready to help. That kiss was just the final piece.
Well, if he thought Scara wouldn’t accept his offer before, he definitely would now. Kazuha chuckled, turning to kiss Scaramouche’s head, and sighed. He was still worried about what would come, but Scara was tired, so he wasn’t going to push. Maybe sleep would do them both good.