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Scara was bored. Kazuha had been busy all morning with “sword maintenance” and asked that the puppet not disturb him for a little while. But what was he supposed to do? Wait around like some pathetic housewife? So, of course, he had to bother the samurai.
The entire scenario reminded him of his time in the Fatui, spending long hours with Dottore in his lab. Scara would wait what felt like an eternity while The Doctor was busy with an experiment, or pouring over results of a test they had just run. Inevitably, the puppet would grow restless in his boredom and end up pestering Dottore one way or another until the fellow harbinger had enough and snapped at him.
He would “punish” Scara by hitting him, or cutting him open, or calling him a series of colorful and degrading names. But Scara never minded those “punishments”. Secretly, he craved them. In those moments, he always had The Doctor’s full attention. No matter what insulting words and names were thrown at him, he loved them all. Because they were his. Scara had never gotten a proper name, so he would take anything he could get.
The puppet wondered if the same method would work on Kazuha. If he bothered him enough, would the samurai “punish” him too? He decided it was worth a shot. It had been a while since he craved such strong attention, and it had already been hours since Kazuha went into the other room to polish and sharpen his blade. Apparently, it had some kind of spirit trapped inside of it, so it required special attention. But Scara required special attention, too!
Without further hesitation, he pushed open the wooden door to their little makeshift blacksmithy. Instantly, Kazuha’s head whipped around at the intrusion.
“Scara, I thought I asked you not to disturb me,” the samurai said calmly. He wouldn’t be an easy one to break.
“Yeah, so what? You expect me to listen? I’m bored ,” Scara whined. He started fiddling with the smithing tools on the workbench, picking them up and playing with them before putting them back down in a different place.
Kazuha was very orderly when it came to the tools, so the puppet knew that the action would get on the samurai’s nerves. However, Kazuha surprisingly remained unflinching, merely letting out a light sigh.
“Please don’t touch those. I’m almost done, so just wait outside,” he said in his usual gentle tone.
Scara was unsatisfied. Shouldn’t he be getting annoyed by now? Dottore always hated when he messed with his stuff, he assumed most humans would be no different. That would have been more than enough to set The Doctor off by now. Maybe Kazuha just needed an extra little push.
The puppet walked over, draping himself across Kazuha’s body and leaning into him. The samurai sat with his sword in his hand, and from the added pressure was forced to double over at the waist. He merely grunted, but made no move to push Scara off or smack him like the puppet expected.
“I’m not gonna leave until you play with me. Haven’t you given the stupid sword enough attention already?” he grumbled from on top of him. As he spoke, he increased the pressure on the other’s back.
“I only need a few more minutes, I promise,” Kazuha told him gently.
Now Scara was the one getting annoyed. Why wasn’t Kazuha getting angry? Why wasn’t he caving? Was Scara so inconsequential in the samurai’s eyes that he wasn’t even worth getting upset over? Frustrated, he reached down and yanked the red blade out of Kazuha’s hands before chucking it across the room.
“No, I want you to be done now ,” he spat bitterly. He didn’t know why he was getting so angry. He was supposed to be the one pissing Kazuha off, but the samurai’s indifference stung even more.
“Scara!” Kazuha finally cried in exasperation once his sword had been tossed away. But he still didn’t sound irritated, more like surprised. Just how much patience could one person have?
“What’s the matter with you?” Scara couldn’t help but ask.
Kazuha looked back at him in confusion. He finally stood up so that they were facing each other. “With me?”
“Yes! Why don’t you push me off? Or call me names, or smack me, or-”
“Is that what you want?” Kazuha asked, still perplexed.
“I just want you to do something, anything , but you won’t even acknowledge me! I-”
He stopped talking, because in an instant Kazuha had wrapped him into a hug. It was tight, but not suffocating. Soon after, Scara felt a soothing hand running up and down his back.
“What-”
“I’m sorry,” Kazuha interrupted him in a whisper. The words brushed the puppet’s ear, making their way to his non-existent heart where they settled like an anchor.
Scara couldn’t even reply because he was too busy choking back a sob. Subconsciously, his own arms raised to wrap around Kazuha and return the hug just as the first tear slipped free. From there, it was like the floodgates had opened, and suddenly the samurai’s shoulder was drenched.
“It’s okay,” Kazuha said softly, “I see you, darling.”
And that only made Scara cry harder. He had just received his first precious name.