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Blades of grass rolled over the hill, leaves loosely stolen from the wind dragging along until they would inevitably land in the river’s face. The tip of black sandals kissed the river, ripples spreading loosely before they were swept away by the rushing water. Bandaged fingers capturing a leaf between his fingers, deep wine eyes flickering along every bump and curvature it supplied.
Kaedehara Kazuha pinched both ends, chastely pressing his lips to it as his eyes fluttered shut. He enjoyed the fresh scents surrounding him, the wind rustling in his hair as he exhaled deeply. A shrill yet melodic note filling the air and joining the music the wind would supply.
He dangled his feet off the ledge of a slope, the river rushing below as from a few paces from him was a bridge. The scorching heat brought a subtle burning sensation at the single touch to his sandals. Kazuha paused, the strongest gust of wind tearing away the leaf from his gasp as he briefly screwed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as it whipped through his hair. Snapping it undone. The wind slowly came down, Kazuha’s eyes fluttering open as silvery strands fell onto his shoulders.
Time seemed to slow in that instance.
Across the river in the distance beneath a Sumeru tree lay a beauty, a red parasol similar to Inazuman design covering his resting face. Kazuha swallowed thickly, pushing himself backwards to steadily return to his feet. How could someone sleep so peacefully in the wild like that?
Kazuha glanced about, aware of how many predators could have found the beauty unguarded. He took a few steps forward, lost in his daze that he practically forgot the river before him. Kazuha pursed his lips, hoping rather gracefully as his sleeves elegantly waved behind him, a gust of wind bringing him up with the slightest leap, maple leaves falling into the water below to be carried away like the lost memories of his past.
Kazuha landed onto the grass gracefully, cupping his hand over his eyes to shield them from the blistering sun. Rishboland Tigers slept lazily on overhanging branches, though unbothered by the wanderer’s footsteps on the path. As he grew nearer, he could recognize the subtly messy indigo hair flowing gracefully in the wind. The pattern of his clothing is quite different from the usual sumeru or even inazuman citizens. The sky blue patterns on white-and-black bases are darkened by the parasol’s shadow. The parasol bore a design that was distinctly familiar, a dark violet with designs reminiscent of a certain kimono design.
Kazuha stopped a few paces before the beauty, dropping to his knees to examine him. Boyishly beautiful, his lips were parted with every breath and long eyelashes fluttering slightly as though partaking in an enjoyable dream. Cheeks slightly flushed by the heat that today brought them, Kazuha couldn’t help but feel the burning desire to stay. He didn’t mind the way that when he dipped down to check if the beauty had a fever, silvery strands fell from his shoulders-- bringing him to realize that his hair tie had genuinely been broken off from the wind. Perhaps wear and tear brought it down that easily? The back of his hand pressed cautiously against porcelain skin, breathing out a sigh of relief when he realized the beauty wasn’t running hot.
“What the hell are you doing?” A voice snapped Kazuha from his daze, the beauty’s grasp tightening over his wrist. Kazuha blinked back surprise, shaking his head briefly.
Kazuha tilted his head with a careful smile, pulling his arm away but inevitably the beauty didn’t let go, “I was passing by and saw you laying here. I was worried you passed out.”
Deep indigo eyes narrowed, “If I passed out, it would look different from someone who specifically set up a parasol to sleep without risk of being burnt by the sun easily.”
Oops. Kazuha wiggled his wrist free from the beauty’s grasp, “I am Kaedehara Kazuha, a wanderer from Inazuma. I didn’t think we’d meet in such an awkward circumstance…”
The beauty sat up, ducking closer under the shadow of the parasol. “I’m Scaramouche,” He mumbled lowly, “You can call me that, at least.” The mention of Kazuha’s name brought a subtle grimace, though Scaramouche’s facial features grew more relaxed afterward. In all honesty, he seemed stern as well. Dragging his knee to his chest and resting his arm on top of it.
Though the pair were quiet, they both shared a mutual interest in the rich nature Sumeru brought. Kazuha reached into his pocket, dragging out a water container and offering it to Scaramouche-- who swiped it like a cat. He couldn’t help but compare Scaramouche’s scent to most he has met, while the Traveler’s stayed in the back of his mind he could feel the beauty was most pleasing.
It reminded him of days where he could sit, legs crossed in front of the table, and drink freshly brewed green tea. The fusuma doors were drawn open as hyacinth and lavender petals blew in from the wind. Though the scene felt a bit far fetched, it was true. Scaramouche’s lips pressed against the opening, a droplet or two rolling down his chin. Kazuha reached forward, and in a way to allow Kazuha the gesture Scaramouche set the water aside. His thumb grazing over the beauty’s bottom lip and dragged down his chin, wiping away the traces of water.
“You know,” Scaramouche began with the subtle quiver of his voice, “You’re odd. Thinking you can up and touch me on our first meeting-- I can’t decide if you’re a freak, a pervert, or just weird.”
Kazuha blinked back in surprise, “A what?” He felt a smile tugging at his lips nonetheless, leaning back in a chime of laughter that brought Scaramouche’s cheeks to a deeper red.
“That wasn’t supposed to be funny, you know!” He shouted with a stern glare, watching as Kazuha crossed his legs under the parasol’s shade.
“You know.” Kazuha finally seemed to calm down, “I think you’re quite the interesting one, too. I believe that having you join my travels… would be just about the best thing to me.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhmm…”
The two merely sat, watching the rolling clouds overhead as countless dusk birds crossed the sky like an elaborate painting made just for the two of them. Kazuha liked the way Scaramouche sounded so confident and yet held undertones of kindness through the facade of a stubborn and rude person. Scaramouche liked Kazuha.
Kazuha traced his finger over the beauty’s palm, retelling a few stories from his travels as Scaramouche listened with a subtle twinkle in his eye. Yet every time the wanderer looked up, he would smile knowingly, “You know…”
“Hm?”
“I think your eyes are beautiful,” Kazuha admitted sheepishly, “Every time I meet your gaze, it’s like staring at the ocean in the dead of night. The stars beckon you to look up, and yet you’re entranced by its pool.”
Scaramouche tucked indigo strands behind his ear, red blooming across his face like a field of spider lilies swaying with the wind. And that’s what Kazuha liked best.
The twilight sky stared down at the pair, their fingers hesitant as they intertwined together. Sheepish and shy were the two words closely compared to them, Scaramouche’s head resting on Kazuha’s shoulder. Every few minutes, their fingers squeezing tighter together as though this would be the last time they would be in each other’s presence.
And that much was true.
Kazuha reached over, delicately running his fingers through indigo hair as he prayed to every archon he could think of that Scaramouche would come across him once more. Kazuha leaned down, lips grazing across soft porcelain skin. He was fast asleep, and yet the wish of giving more to Scaramouche was something he’d forever desire. Lost wishes were plentiful. And yet there was nothing in the world he desired most than Scaramouche.
In this instance, he’d assume he would receive a vision. Cupping Scaramouche’s cheek as the other hand supported his head, he carefully lay the other down to rest. Leaning in closer as their lips connected in a sweet, affectionate kiss. A parting gift that would remain in the back of Kazuha’s mind.
----
Morning lights filtered into the room, groggy eyes blinking open slowly. The room was still and quiet, nobody present to his relief and yet at the same time, his dismay. Scaramouche’s gaze fell to the night stand, a letter resting on top with a maple leaf taped to it. They were all the same. And yet Kazuha felt painfully more present.
Scaramouche sat up, a dizzying sensation brought to his mind and a lurching in his chest. What was this? He grasped the fabric of his shirt, heat filling his face with a soft sob. His eyes stung. Yet as his vision grew all the more blurry, he knew exactly what the feeling was.
His fingertips grazed along familiar tapestry, bringing it to his nose. The scent of maple trees. Damn it all.
Scaramouche’s heart lurched, bringing his knees to his chest and the haori coat all the closer. It was fun while it lasted.