Archive of Our Own

Niwa hears people speak the name Scaramouche so often, when he presses his ear close enough to the door. 

They speak in reverence, in respect of a superior, and Niwa wonders if Kabukimono was some sort of ruler like in the books, a noble along men who looks down on his inferiors. When people address Scaramouche, it is Kabukimono's voice he hears in response. Niwa wonders why he is the only one that knows that he is Kabukimono, the only one to call him so.

Perhaps it was some sort of title, he figures as he presses his head against the stilted door, the only object preventing him from actually leaving. Scaramouche.

The name feels foreign in his own mouth and he prefers to call him Kabukimono to Scaramouche, nor had he ever been ordered to call him so.

Kabukimono, he had told Niwa to call him when they first laid their eyes upon each other, Niwa still confused and awkward in his new awakening.

And when he had repeated said name dutifully, the smirk on his face is enough to make Niwa wonder why he was so pleased over a simple name. 

There are gaps and holes in Niwa's memory, as if a blank slate had overtaken all these memories and only Kabukimono was left carrying them, unable to differentiate the current reality that Niwa found himself existing as, to the past.

Niwa wonders if he is simply a copy of the previous being before him.

A puppet modeled after a man that Kabukimono could not have in grasps, so he is a simple puppet, made to exist solely on Kabukimono's control. Niwa wonders if the name he had been given truly belongs to him, this existence of his a fleeting moment, where he would be so easily disposed of, lest the original Niwa suddenly change his mind upon a whim.

At the very least, Niwa hopes that his name that been bestowed upon him by Kabukimono was wholly his, that he had been given the grace of being given a new name from his counterpart.

*

Kabukimono kisses him, harshly and feverently, an act of affection turning rough and painful, like he's prone to doing to most things.

Kabukimono takes things that are precious, deforms it into something unrecognizable, and it is only then does Kabukimono finally enjoy it. Niwa does not know why, perhaps it was better to enjoy of such pleasures knowing no one envied you for it. 

Kabukimono revels in those brutish kisses. He smiles like he's gotten the taste of victory, as if claiming Niwa's lips was something that Kabukimono had won. However, at times, on the rarest of occasions, when Niwa meets Kabukimono's eyes, there is something pained in them, as if hurting Niwa in this rough manner had hurt him on the inside. 

But despite it all, he never stops his harsh and brutal kisses and Niwa merely accepts it, taking from his own source of contact, the only person who made Niwa feel like he exists.

Why was Niwa's pain a source of pleasure and pain for Kabukimono, he wonders. What should he do, for it to only leave happiness and contentment behind for Kabukimono and no such pain.

"Niwa," Kabukimono murmurs into his mouth, before sharply biting roughly onto Niwa's lips, to the point of drawing blood that smear Kabukimono's own mouth. It's artificial blood, a mere replication of a component of humanity, but Niwa bleeds all the same, and it hurts all the same. 

To replicate a human means replicating all their faults and weaknesses. Niwa wonders why, if puppets cannot have the best part of humanity.

When they pull back, Kabukimono's lips are smeared in blood, the liquid smudged into streaks and in the dark light, Kabukimono looks like a fearsome ghost, vengeful in his motives and the dull stinging pain on his lips feels like this was just another form of such revenge.

It is night time now, Niwa can tell because the outside it quieter than usual and the usual silver of light peeking beneath the door is faint. Only the dim lamp illuminates Kabukimono and his entire being looks shaded in soft orange.

"Yes, Kabukimono?" Niwa answers dutifully. He wipes his own blood and he wonders if he mirrors Kabukimono in the eerie looks of a monster covered in blood. 

And at his words, Kabukimono draws closer, tightening around him just a little more, to the point his arms wrapped itself entirely around his waist and Niwa could feel his chest against Kabukimono's. Niwa wants to call it a hug, but he's hesitant from calling it that when it's as crushing as it is, a frantic movement.

"Niwa," He whispers, more to himself because he does not seem to want for Niwa to respond as this time, he steals another kiss but it is more tender than the previous, a little more soft and a little more fond.

Kabukimono pulls back to observe the carnage he had left in his actions. Niwa does not know what emotions or opinions he had of doing such actions, but all he offers is an inscrutable look and he presses his fingers against Niwa's lip in a slow drag across.

"You're finally mine now."

Niwa wonders why he had phrased it in such a way. There was never a time where he wasn't Kabukimono's.

*

The first time Niwa sees him, he's awoken from nothing but darkness. 

He stands there with an air of arrogance and commanding respect to those who laid their eyes upon, but when he finally lays his eyes on Niwa, there is a hint of something else. 

He leans forward and the starry veil of his hat falls forward and he looks at him as if he had the answer to the world. 

"Your name shall be Niwa," He tells him. 

*

At times, Kabukimono has fits of rage, muddled of his perception of reality.

Sometimes, he talks to Niwa like he is someone else, someone who shares his name but not his experiences nor memories because none of what Kabukimono says to him ever ignites any memories within. 

The moments Niwa enjoys the most is on a borrowed identity and memories. There is specific ways Kabukimono wants him to act, as if he were replicating something so sharply in his mind. Once, Niwa had been made to take his knuckles and brush it against Kabukimono's cheeks, the flicker of his fervid look and joy, as if Niwa's simple action had been all he had wished for.

Niwa exists as a capsule of nostalgia and past regrets corrected by Kabukimono's carefully woven intentions. 

But with such a position, especially as a mirror to someone seemingly has wronged Kabukimono in some way, is as if juggling fragile glass. Once, Niwa's question about the outside world has triggered such intense, suffocating emotions from the other.

He had read about such marvels in the books that Kabukimono had gotten him and he had been curious enough to ask about it to Kabukimono, because he had not wholly understood from whatever scraps the book had offered. Some sections were smudged into obscurity and the visuals they offered were sparing.

The dissolving of Kabukimono's lax expression into something hateful had left Niwa frozen in shock for the few moments, struggling to even move, much less amend the situation. 

"Why are you asking about such things?" Kabukimono questions.

Niwa had not even considered such a simple question. He works up the courage to ponder and answer straightforwardly. "Well, I just was curious about them. I haven't ever seen one."

Laughing, Kabukimono throws his head back and the accessories dangling on his clothes and hat create a sound almost reminiscent of the tinkering of bells. His laugh, though, is the most overpowering of all sounds and Kabukimono never truly laughs for the joy of things. "How moronic, you wish to participate in useless activities of mortals."

"I was merely curious," He quickly tries to amend.

"Don't act daft, Niwa," Kabukimono growls as his hands reach out to grab at his arms, putting it in a death grip. "You've been to many festivals."

Kabukimono's voice, when cornered, always mirrored a sort of wild animal, ready to attack anyone, unable to differentiate prey to ally-- however Niwa does not know what he is supposedly to Kabukimono. Blinking foolishly, Niwa looks upwards towards Kabukimono shaking his head to signify his innocence.

"I haven't," Niwa tries to say, his face contorting as the pain from Kabukimono's grip made him squirm. Why was such a puppet like he designed to feel such amount of pains, he faintly wonders. 

Rolling his eyes, Kabukimono scoffs harshly, the sound making Niwa feel insignificant and like a foolish thing. "It doesn't matter. You can't leave this room anyways. Don't ask about things you'll never see in your lifetime."

"But..."

"Niwa," He says and when Niwa meets his eyes, they are unfocused like they usually are in his sporadic fits. "You're just like me. You're a puppet, no longer a human. You only belong to me now, you have nobody else to fall back to, no one else but me."

His finger grip into Niwa's flesh, digging into it with such harsh strength that Niwa cannot help but look away from Kabukimono and towards the harsh fingernails, if to see the damage it causes, but that turns out to be the worst course of action as Kabukimono instantly snaps at him. 

"Look at me!" 

Niwa obeys instantly, his head lifting upwards and meeting Kabukimono's eyes. He cannot find himself to like Kabukimono's eyes because despite the fact that they were of the prettiest shade, like midnight upon a hazy purple backdrop of stars, they always looked at him, as if they were seeing someone else. 

"You never look at me," Kabukimono says and those eyes disappear altogether from Niwa's view as he closes them with an inscrutable expression. 

How strange, Niwa thinks as he mulls over his words. If anything, it was Kabukimono who never properly looked at Niwa. For Niwa, there was only Kabukimono in his life, there was no one else to look at, no one else that he could talk to, but for Kabukimono, there were many others for him to replace Niwa with. 

Kabukimono lifts his face, most of his expression shadowed by his strands of hair and Niwa wants to properly meet those eyes, he wants to properly see the face of a man who is such a disparity, a contradiction of hate and love, making Niwa feel assured one minute and shameful the next. "You never cared about only me. Niwa, this time, I won't let you know anyone else."

"Kabukimono," Niwa says slowly, finding the small inkling of courage to ask the question that had been on his mind for the entirety of his time together with Kabukimono. " I don't recall any of the events you speak of."

"Of course you don't, you don't have your memories."

Niwa purses his lips. "Are they truly my memories? Or am I a replacement to someone who had them?"

Instantaneously, Kabukimono grips the opening of his shirt, surprising Niwa, as he pulls him closer. The tug is not harsh but it is dominating enough that it makes Niwa's body unconsciously lean towards the pull.

"Don't be foolish. Replacement? Perish the thought, I would never give a single care to something that is a mere copy. You have his heart."

"His heart?" Niwa repeats in surprise, blankly staring.

"You simply don't have the memories of the body, but your heart is the same, transferred over," Kabukimono says and for the a split second, the immense relief that Niwa feels overpowers all other feelings, that fear he had unknowingly built up relieving. 

"That means all the sins of your past are yours to hear," Kabukimono finishes and that relief Niwa feels is on hold at that admission of his guilt. 

He was the guilty, but he did not know of whatever sins he had committed. 

And Kabukimono can be quite cruel to the ones who have done him wrong. 

Sometimes though, there are moments where it is just them, taking in each others presence, with Kabukimono being all that Niwa ever had and Niwa wondering if he were all Kabukimono had as well.

It feels like it, in those moments though, when Kabukimono runs fingers through his hair and peacefully undoes every knot, combing through hair that Niwa would otherwise leave untouched. 

He doesn't offer the same allowance to Niwa, conversely. When Niwa had offered once, there had been a look for something indecipherable in Kabukimono's face and the hesitation had made Niwa almost think he would be allowed to as well, but it had been shut down with a pull of the lips and a wave of a hand, as if what he said were so foolish.

What a pity, he thinks, accepting the impossibility of certain things. 

*

The heart beating inside him is quite strange.

No matter how much Kabukimono lashes out, there is no fear or hatred, but only distress and care, like a worried parent over a child, as if Kabukimono was someone it deathly cared for. 

Niwa wonders why it loves someone as cruel as Kabukimono, but this heart is apart of him as a functioning thing, so this is something he feels, yet somehow, it is separate.

Niwa wants to go to the outside world and explore the entire planet.

His heart beats with the intentions of staying by Kabukimono's side.

There is no guilt towards Kabukimono as Kabukimono wills him to feel, but indulgence and helplessness. Simply put, Niwa deciphers that it loves Kabukimono. Perhaps, not completely in the same way that Kabukimono does however. It loves Kabukimono in the way that it doesn't want pain or suffering to exist in Kabukimono.

It wants to be a pillar, a comforting touch and something idealistic.

It doesn't want to kiss Kabukimono in the way they do, instead it wants to lead him by the hand to the joys of existence, as if they were some sort of family.

Unlike his heart though, Niwa doesn't have any sort of familial feelings towards Kabukimono, for their relationship is unequal and Niwa as the one on the lower end. He had been born later than Kabukimono, clumsy in his gaps of knowledge and memories so it had been him who had been led along the way this time around. 

Sometimes, the emotions were far more reliable than memories. Sometimes it were the memories.

Sometimes, it was neither. 

*

"You traitor," Kabukimono calls out to him and Niwa feels guilty, lowering his head in shame. 

Niwa knows that he had failed to escape when the hand on his shoulders pulls him back, right in front of his door to freedom. There is something so cruel about being dangled that semblance of freedom in front of him, only to be pulled back by someone that Niwa should hate but could not find himself to. 

"I... didn't mean to..."

And he truly hadn't. He had not truly planned for this, but all the same, guiltily, he had wanted this and had seized the chance when offered. 

"Didn't mean to leave? Should I take this as some sort of accident? Do you take me for an idiot?" Kabukimono hisses, his voice like poison and the grip on him tightens so much.

"Why can't you ever just sit still!" Kabukimono shouts. "Even back then, you were always leaving me behind."

Memories of the past always made Niwa feel insufficient, but for once, Niwa wishes he knew less about such a past. 

It takes Niwa awhile to realize that Kabukimono is crying because his eyes had not given away any sadness, and he only realizes it when tears form and when he cries, and there are droplets of tears falling down porcelain skin.

"Kabukimono..."

"Just live your life at my side. Even if you turn into a puppet, you won't ever listen to me."

Niwa's facial features scrunch and he doesn't know why a life of a puppet would entail only mere obedience if he had been given all the existence of a puppet replicating a human. "But, I... I want to see festivals. I want to see butterflies and I want to see dandelions from Mondstadt. I want to see everything, Kabukimono."

He does not know what he had been hoping for, but the sheer amount of hatred in Kabukimono's eyes makes Niwa almost want to shrink in on himself, retract his statement so they go back to the precarious relationship that they previously had.

"You wish to see those pathetic things over me? Tell me, am I worth less than those damn fleeting commodities?"

Quickly, Niwa shakes his head in dissent because Kabukimono was all that Niwa had known and cared for. "No, I just wish to... be free..." 

"Free? How funny, Niwa. For your lifetime, all you should be thinking about is how to make it up to me, to cleanse yourself of your crimes!" 

Holding back tears of his own, Niwa shakes his head. "I don't know, Kabukimono. I don't know what crimes I've committed, you never tell me anything. I want to repent, but I don't know how, nor will you allow me to do so."

"You repent by staying with me for eternity."

"Staying is simple, but your methods are just so cruel," Niwa says with clenched fists at the thought of his familiar room, one he was not allowed to leave. Merely staying by ones side did not mean to become their entire existence. "Kabukimono, I rather die than live like this."

"Then die," Kabukimono screams and his voice is hoarser, more harsher, and more distant. "I'd rather you die than let you leave!"

Niwa stands before Kabukimono, watching as such cruel words leave his mouth on such a depraved face, one filled with so much wretched misery that it feels like if Niwa were to watch underwater, unhearing of all sounds, it would be as if he were the one who had said such cruel words. And maybe, he had, for Kabukimono had treated his willingness to leave as if Niwa had skewered him with a blade. 

"If I were to die, will you forgive me?" Niwa finally answers. He does not know what guilt he carries, what his beating heart had done to warrant such hatred to Kabukimono, and he wonders if this sinful heart finally laid to rest, if then will his sins be truly absolved. 

He meets Kabukimono's eyes, with much more resolve than any of the other times, and he means it. 

Conversely though, at his words, Kabukimono falls to his knees with a thud and the covered view of his hair spilling over his face does not prevent Niwa from noticing the droplets of tears falling down.

The sound of the collision makes Niwa's eyes flicker and Kabukimono had collapsed, like a crumpled puppet, abandoned by its owner. With Kabukimono kneeling, it feels strange, because despite their differences in height, never once had Kabukimono felt so small as he did now, so fragile and someone who didn't have Niwa's life in his grasp to pull around. 

For once, Kabukimono is the one unable to meet Niwa's eyes, his fingers on his face, digging into flesh as if he were attempting to skewer through his face and pull it back, as if clawing his way to somehow stop the tears. It does not work though, because Niwa sees droplets of tears that flow in between his fingers, some directly hitting the floor and others trailing down his hands, wrapping around his index finger..

"Niwa," Kabukimono pleads. "Don't leave me. Not even in death."

It was quite ironic coming from the very man who had told Niwa to die, but this vulnerability makes Niwa freeze. For a second, Niwa hesitates.

At the slightest bit of hesitation that Niwa shows, Kabukimono's face morphs into rage, as tears drip down his face, flowing down the curve of his cheeks as his teeth grinds together and his eyes, glare so hard and it's one of such immense anger, but for the first time, Niwa likes Kabukimono's eyes because for once, they are looking at Niwa without the hazy filter of the past. 

"If you leave me, I'll ruin your life," He growls, as tears continue to drip like an onslaught. "I'll kill anyone you talk to, anyone you try to grow close to. And then, I'll chain you. I'll lock you up because you're just a puppet. You have no right to try and befriend humans." 

"Scaramouche," Niwa says his name slowly, and he's so used to calling him Kabukimono that it feels almost strange in his mouth, foreign and unfamiliar, and yet, it had fit far more than Kabukimono ever had on his lips. 

At that, Scaramouche's eyes flicker upwards, the fury in his face dissipating just a little in lieu of his confusion. "What did you call me?"

"Scaramouche," Niwa repeats. He takes a step forward and his hands reach out towards one of Scaramouche's clenched fists. He unfurls the fist, to which Scaramouche easily lets him do and traces his fingers against the fingernail indents that were left on Scaramouche by his clenched fingers. "I am not your Niwa. Kabukimono is not mine either."

"You have his heart," Scaramouche growls. "What do you mean you're not him?"

How simple would it be, if Niwa to take on the previous Niwa with simply his heart. 

"This heart loves you. No matter what you do, it tells me it loves you. But, Scaramouche, I don't wish to." The painful spike in his heart tells him of the response to his words.

"What..." Scaramouche eyes widens as he grips the grass beneath him and the anger seems to have been forced out of him because all signs of tenseness in his face disappears as he only looks, helpless and lost at his words. "You don't... love me?" His tears are the only thing that remain unchanged, as they rush down in droves down his cheeks, covering his flushed face. 

"This heart loves you unconditionally, but I just wish to... I just wish to..." Niwa doesn't finish his words because he's not quite sure of what he wishes. He kneels downwards, towards where Scaramouche was kneeling, matching his eyes, that were soaked in tears. He reaches a hand out and he wipes it away and despite the words that he had said, that he had wished to not love him, it did not change the fact that he did at this moment.

"I wish you didn't cry," He eventually finishes with a small helpless smile as he brushes a tear out of Scaramouche's eyes. Any tears of Scaramouche's made Niwa's own heart hurt and Niwa thinks that in the past, it is Scaramouche who had been deeply treasured by this heart.

And then, in response to the pangs of his heart, he places his hands on Scaramouche's cheeks, pulling on it lightly so he can land a soft kiss on his cheeks. They're wet from his tears and they don't taste like anything, lacking the saltiness of human tears. 

"Niwa..." Scaramouche says as his hands reach forward to grasp at Niwa's wrist. He places them softly around them and his touch is the gentlest it ever has been. 

Smiling, Niwa lets the hands wrapped around his wrist stay. He wonders if he could start anew with Scaramouche, not as shells of their former past, but as new ones. They may have the same heart, but Niwa wants to take his own pace with Scaramouche, filling gaps of his memories with new ones and perhaps, everything he ever wanted to experience could be experienced together with another being besides him, one that his heart had loved so much that it could not bare to part with him.

"Scaramouche," He responds with a whisper. 

Then the gentle hands on his wrist tighten so roughly that Niwa almost lets out a cry of pain, as when he tries to pull back, he finds himself unable to leave the tight grasp. 

"You think that changes anything?" Scaramouche growls as his grip only becomes tighter and tighter everytime Niwa tries to flail around, his gentle fast morphing back into his fury. "Hate me all you want, but you can't ever leave me. I didn't make you into a puppet just so we can relive the days of when I was a foolish puppet. Unconditional love?" Scaramouche laughs loudly. 

"Your lack of memories make you look foolish, Niwa. The one person who wanted me dead the most was you. You sent me to my death, but you should've made sure that I actually perished because now, look at where that brought you."

"Scaramouche!" 

"Kabukimono, Kabukimono, Kabukimono," Scaramouche repeats, laughing, creating a strange dichotomy of his tears and his crazed laughter. "Burn it into your memory, your flesh, your existence. You named me, so you have to use it. This'll be the only name you'll ever know."

"We don't have to do it this way! I'll stay with you, we can travel together, I don't want to stop being with you!" 

Contrary to his words, Niwa struggles desperately, attempting to worm Scaramouche's grasp off, as if he did not do such a thing, he would forever be sunken into the darkness, his very existence cut off into nothingness.  

Scaramouche ignores him, as he forces Niwa upwards, yanking him from the ground. He no longer seems to respond to any of his words as he talks to himself, seemingly lost in thought. "I'll make Dottore tweak you. Yes, then I'll try again. This time, I won't ever lend you any of those damn books, feeding you those silly ideas."

"Scaramouche," Niwa simply says, yanking on his arms, pleading. "Stop this."

His face distorts, clearly signaling his dissatisfaction. "And I'll have to make the entire area off-limits. I'll make sure you never hear that name ever again."

Niwa doesn't say any words of resistance anymore. Scaramouche no longer heard a single word that he had said, so he no longer bothered to waste his breath on it, he merely focused on attempting to struggle out of Scaramouche's grasp, but perhaps he was made with intentions of human weakness because nothing he did made Scaramouche even falter. 

"I despise you." Niwa finally says, in a much quieter tone, but it catches Scaramouche's attention far more than any other of his pleads had. The heart in his chest falters, nearly causing him to suffocate in the onslaught of pain and Niwa almost cannot breathe. 

"Take it back."

Despite the fact Scaramouche had acted so assured in Niwa's hatred in him, it seemed as if he could not accept it simultaneously, that Niwa's words shattered that illusion he held in his own heart.

Struggling through the backlash of his heart, Niwa does not back down. "I-If you do anything, I'll grow to despise you even more. This heart will only grow to hate you from now on."

Growling, Scaramouche forces him against his own body and his body was cold, inanimate and without warmth to signify life. "It never loved me from the start."

"You're wrong. You've never lacked love from this heart. It loves you and you're going to be the reason why it no longer will."

"You won't remember a thing."

Niwa glances at Scaramouche's eyes and despite the harsh words, there is expectation within his eyes. "It remembered your Niwa's emotions, it'll remember mine."

"Then what do you propose I do?" Scaramouche says with a mix of helplessness, irritation, and shock. He somehow simultaneously believes that Niwa loves him and hates him.

"We can go together. Please?"

"I refuse." 

Scrunching his features, Niwa says, "Your Niwa w--"

Laughing in interruption, Scaramouche shook his head. "My Niwa? What makes you think that you aren't mine. If anything, you're mine far more than you ever were as a human."

"You just don't listen," Niwa mumbles and the feeling of helplessness washes over him. 

"If I did, it would change nothing."

Finally, Niwa shows his small growing irritation. "You're unbearably cruel."