Chapter Text
It had been difficult to take Kabuki away from Tatarasuna. He'd spent a short two months there on summer camp but it had left a deep impression Kabuki explained, with a bright smile, talking about the many 'kind and amazing people' he'd met. He'd learned new skills such as theatre performance, sword dancing, playing the guqin and more laborous handywork such as ore processing.
He was proudly showing off the calluses on his hands as Wander tugged him gently but determinately towards the car. Wander quickly thanked the camp instructor, a brown-haired lady with a jovial smile, and strapped Kabuki in with the seatbelt before the chatterbox even realized they were on their way out.
Wander knew how Kabuki could get. After making new friends, he had a hard time saying goodbye. Predictably, Kabuki threw a very short-lived fit - he didn't dare misbehave much in front of him -, and he'd settled on sulking quietly in the passenger's seat all the way home.
Scara was equally upset that he would have to share the room again with Kabuki, who he was rooming with. Entirely against his will.
Kabuki had taken his geta sandals off and bounded up to their room to deposit his bag. It hadn't taken long for the screams to start, with Scara's voice booming through the hallway and Kabuki's shrill rebuttals following.
Wander couldn't be bothered to listen in to the shouting match. Scara would calm down soon enough after realizing it was futile to try to kick Kabuki out of their room.
At dinner time, the two appeared in stoic silence and took a seat on opposite sides of the couch. Wander was already digging into his food while watching the news on channel 5.
He raised an eyebrow at Scara as the boy aggressively heaved a few servings of ham and cheese macaroni on his plate, splattering some against the corner of the low coffee table in front of the tv.
"You're going to clean that up," he said.
Scara barely acknowledged him, muttering 'whatever' and turned his attention to the tv.
Kabuki shuffled closer but then lingered on the spot, clutching his plate with a subdued look on his face. He would have to cross Scara to get to the macaroni pot.
Wander sighed. Taking pity on Kabuki, he got up and took his plate. Filling it up, he beckoned for him to sit at his side in the loveseat.
As Kabuki squeezed in and happily dug into his plate, Wander turned to Scara.
"You know, you could try being nicer to him."
Scara choked mid-bite, quickly clearing his throat as he started throwing accusations, " He started it-"
"I don't care," Wander pointed a spoon at him threateningly, "You better end it."
"Not my fault he's a crybaby. Look at him, always going crying to you," Scara sneered at Kabuki over Wander's shoulder, whose eyes promptly started watering.
" Am not -" he shrieked.
"Enough," Wander raised his voice, pushing Kabuki back into the couch and out of Scara's eyesight.
"Both of you, eat your dinner and shut the fuck up."
Silence followed, only broken by the sound of chewing and the news anchor's voice.
Wander was providing for this household on his paycheck so they'd better do things his way and learn to coexist.
—-
It had been a trying week. Wander's twin headaches were not adjusting well to the rooming situation. They were like oil and water.
They'd roomed for two months, but Kabuki had been away for the same amount of time and they reverted back to square one. Scara had had a taste of freedom again and he was holding on to it like a rabid dog to a stick.
He'd raised numerous complaints with Wander, which had all been rebutted with the argument 'I'm the oldest ergo I pick the room.'
Kabuki was home alone. He was the newest member to be added to the household, and he was told he needed more time to learn human behavior and culture. That had been part of the reason to enroll him in the summer camp.
He had been rescued only four months ago. It had been shortly after his awakening since he virtually had no memories of the factory. From his model number, however, it was clear he belonged to Project Balladeer.
Truly, he regretted arguing with Scara. He didn't even mind sharing the room. After all, he hated being alone.
Kabuki swore he wasn't even trying to provoke him.
Wallowing in self-pity, he spotted Scara's wardrobe and gingerly opened it up on a whim. He found a bunch of oversized hoodies, soft with nice-smelling fabric softener, and pulled out a dark purple one. His mood brightened.
It was one Scara wore a lot and Kabuki had thought looked cool on him.
He pulled it over his head and took a look at the wardrobe mirror. Hmmm. Not as cool as Scara. It was missing the devil-may-care glare to go with the look statement.
He struck some poses in the mirror, whispering "you wretched vermin" to it like he'd heard Scara yell into his head mic while playing one of his games.
He nodded to himself, satisfied. He had his mannerisms down pretty well.
Bounding down to the living room, he took a seat in front of his craft desk which had currently been repurposed as a vanity table. A round plate-sized mirror was propped up on a stack of books, and at its side a desk light.
He pulled a headband with bunny-shaped loops out of one of the drawers, and used it to push his dark bangs back. Opening another drawer, he pulled out a deep golden container, a pot with red liquid and a brush.
Upon his return from camp, Kabuki had asked to take up theatre classes on a regular basis. He had a creative mind and had been itching to learn more, about things, and about people.
He also seemed to take well to being the centre of attention.
He needed to practice applying the performance make-up. He started with the white powder in the golden container. Coating the complementary puff in it, he pressed it against his cheeks, chin, and forehead. Some of it floated down to the front of his hoodie.
Hmm. Surely that wouldn't stick.
He was about halfway through the eyeliner when he heard the front door slam. He sat at the vanity desk, frozen in surprise.
Holding his breath, he flinched as loud footsteps approached. His elbow flew into the pot of viscous liquid, and dunked red all over the hoodie sleeve.
"Kabuki, can you-", Scara turned the corner, his words cutting off abruptly.
He took one wide-eyed look at the hoodie, flabbergasted, and then took in the red stain blooming wider on the hoodie sleeve.
"Are you kidding me?"
He stalked closer, cold fury in every step.
"What is this," he hissed.
Kabuki tried to explain, "I'm practicing putting on make-up."
"In my hoodie?"
Kabuki looked at the mess of powder and liquid on himself, "I didn't mean to-"
He pinned him with a glare, "You're fucking unbelievable."
"And you look stupid," he grabbed at the headband and yanked it off, simultaneously pulling at Kabuki's hair.
Kabuki moaned in surprise, clutching at his head. Scara paid it no heed and stormed off, scrunched headband in hand.
Kabuki watched him go. He knew he wasn't supposed to go through his stuff. He'd been told so a million times in all manners of tones and threats, some more explicit than others. But it had been tempting, and he had wanted to rebel a little bit.
He hadn't intended to ruin the hoodie though. Could those bulky rotating machines with water in them not fix it? Scara hadn't seemed to think so by his reaction.
He hadn't even subjected him to a verbal torrent of name calling. He'd just left. He must be really upset, Kabuki realised.
Shuffling to their shared room, he found Scara at his desk with headphones on. He was immersed in a high-paced shooter game on his screen.
Kabuki was well-acquainted with and well-attuned to Scara's moods, and his survival instinct was warning him to stay away. But he felt bad.
Going against his senses, he bravely approached. Scara tensed but continued to pointedly ignore him, talking on the headset intermittently.
Kabuki didn't like being ignored. Taking a breath, he jumped into the deep.
He closed the distance and swung a leg over the chair, dropping his weight on Scara's lap and blocking the screen. He wrapped his arms around Scara and pushed his face into his neck stubbornly.
It was a risky strategy. But sometimes it paid off to take Scara by surprise. And sometimes it resulted in bodily injury. Only one way to find out.
Scara sputtered, too stunned to say or do anything but yank his headset off, alarmed.
Kabuki didn't like being ignored, and he wasn't above begging.
"Stop being mad," Kabuki whined, dragging out the vowels, "I know I shouldn't have taken your hoodie. I'll find a way to fix it."
He continued, more softly and genuine, "I'm sorry. I swear I won't touch your stuff again."
Scara deflated, the tense muscles under Kabuki's body relaxing.
"Alright, get off me already," he pushed Kabuki back far enough to disentangle his arms. At Kabuki's twitching, he held his forearms to prevent him from reattaching.
He stared him down, violet eyes electrified as they bore into Kabuki, "How can I not be mad when you're using my favorite hoodie as a face towel."
Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed Kabuki's face and mushed his cheeks together, "Repeat after me. I am an idiot sandwich."
Kabuki obliged, mumbling miserably and barely able to form the words, "I am an idiot sandwich."
A sharp, gleeful grin took over Scara's face, "And don't you forget it."
"Also," his grip lost strength, palms cupping his face. "You didn't look stupid. It kind of suited you."
Kabuki perked up in surprise, "The make-up?"
"The hoodie," Scara corrected, expression souring on the next words, "The make-up needs work."
But Kabuki didn't seem to have heard the follow-up. He was already imprinting the compliment into his mind to replay it later.
Kabuki beamed up at him, a plain contentment coming over his features. Scara promptly shoved him on to the floor.
Scara looked at him strangely before continuing, "Now go wash your face."