Work Text:
Kazuha slammed the hammer on the scalding hot metal, sweat dripping down his forehead. His small ponytail was coming undone, but he couldn’t acknowledge it. He had already stripped to nothing but his thin undershirt, soaked in sweat, and his shorts and leggings. His bare arms screamed under the heat and buzzing pain of repeated force against the metal.
Kazuha knew he was running out of time: the metal was losing the orange glow of heat he needed to shape the weapon. Inexperienced in the creation of the curved, magic-wielding objects that are catalyst weapons, he wasn’t in the best shape.
Slightly panicking, the boy ended his hammering and began trying to shape the metal. He would normally have a mold for that type of thing, but the specific pieces needed to create the weapon had to be hand forged.
With the metal cooling, Kazuha accidentally snapped a thin piece off, leaving an unflattering chip in the relatively smooth, sharp metal edge. Cursing at himself, Kazuha attempted to finish off the U-shape he was going for. The orange heat in the metal fully cleared away just after Kazuha managed to force it into the right shape.
Dragging his forearm across his head, Kazuha glared at his creation.
“You’re doing it wrong,” a voice came from somewhere behind Kazuha.
Turning, the Inazuman looked over the shop’s counter to see a short man. Wiping sweat from his face once again, he approached the counter to get a good look at his critiquing customer.
“And who are you to say?” Kazuha asked.
The man wore mostly purple and black attire, with accents of red in his ridiculously large hat. Kazuha swore he had seen the man once upon a time, wandering the streets of Inazuma city.
The man, in response, simply scoffed:
“I’ve had enough experience from some old… friends, to know this isn’t correct.”
“This technique is unique to my family, and has been for generations,” Kazuha began defending himself. “I don’t know what you think I’m doing wrong, but I’ll inform you, my technique is special and should be different from the normal.”
“Not matter the technique,” the man glared. “You're hitting it too lightly, and the steel cools before it can be fully forged.”
Kazuha mumbled something to himself.
“In addition, you bend the metal too slowly. While I understand your intent is to be careful, the metal cools faster than you seem to realize, and adapts to the new shape before you finish bending it,” the stranger pointed out.
“...is there anything I can do for you?” Kazuha asked him, trying to recover from the stab at his pride.
“I was looking for the owner of this place,” the stranger replied, going along with Kazuha’s turn in discussion.
“That would be me,” Kazuha nodded.
“Isn’t there someone more…” the man glanced around. “Experienced? Older?”
“Just me,” Kazuha smiled gently. “My father, the previous owner, passed away nearly a year ago.”
“So it’s just you?” he questioned.
“Yup.”
“...damn,” the hat man sighed. “Guess I’m dealing with you, then. You’re my only option.”
“For what?” Kazuha asked.
“My name’s Scaramouche,” the man introduced. “And I find myself in need of a weapon.”
“Of what sort?” Kazuha inquired.
“Catalyst,” Scaramouche replied.
“Well that’s quite unfortunate,” another new voice interrupted their conversation. “This one, as it seems you’ve observed, is an awful catalyst forger.”
“Tomo! This is not helping me make business,” Kazuha hissed at the new man, who walked up to the counter beside Scaramouche.
“He’s the only smithy around who has the option to purchase a catalyst, so I guess I’m stuck here,” Scaramouche grumbled his explanation.
“Well, no matter the challenge, Kazuha should be able to figure it out,” Tomo smiled. “Right, Kazu? Keep the Kaedehara technique blazing.”
Scaramouche seemed to freeze at this.
“Kaedehara?” Scaramouche asked.
“Right on the sign,” Kazuha pointed to a small sign hanging over the outcropping of the roof, which stated ‘Kaedehara Forgery’.
“Oh,” was all Scaramouche managed. “...sounds professional.”
“I guess?” Kazuha looked at Scaramouche. “Anyway, while I haven’t perfected my technique, I will serve my customers to the best of my ability. What is it that you need? Specifically, that is.”
“A catalyst weapon, not that shit I see for sale, though. Something powerful,” Scaramouche elaborated.
“...For a friend?” Kazuha questioned, noting the lack of a vision on Scaramouche.
“It doesn’t matter,” Scaramouche scoffed. “You’re being paid by me, you aren’t supposed to ask questions.”
“Excuse Kazu, he’s a strange one. Kazuha, basically dooming any customers who come along with fancy language and sucky jokes, asks too many questions,” Tomo grinned at Kazuha.
“Says you. Also, you aren’t helping, just leave,” Kazuha glared at his friend.
“Fine, I’ll leave and never return,” Tomo sighed, walking away.
“Good!” Kazuha shouted after him. “Anyway, sorry about him, Scaramouche. Do you have any designs for your catalyst, if you want it custom?”
“A design?” Scaramouche questioned. “I thought you were supposed to do that part.”
Kazuha chuckled.
“Let’s make one, shall we?”
And thus, Kazuha brought Scaramouche to a table near the counter where he had scrolls of blueprints. He quickly sorted through the assortment and kept a few on the table.
“These are a few custom orders from the past,” Kazuha rolled out a blue scroll, showing a sleek metal circle in the center, and thousands of dimensions, measurements, details, and more around the edges.
“I want something that enhances normal attack, and speed,” Scaramouche mentioned.
“Then we’ll need to use crystal,” Kazuha contemplated. “After the element it used, I’d suggest a higher increase in damage, does that sound good?”
“Yeah,” Scaramouche nodded, peering as Kazuha unrolled more scrolls.
“Then fungi might work, or specters…” Kazuha muttered. “Fatui sigils could add to the stacking bonus…”
Scaramouche watched as Kazuha took out a pencil, clearly sharpened by a knife and made by hand, and began noting details onto a large empty blueprint. He added potential ingredients and some specifics of what Scaramouche had asked for.
“I want it to not be the usual ring shape,” Scaramouche added, hoping Kazuha wasn’t already planning on something of the sort.
“Then I’d suggest something like this…”
The two contemplated pages of paper and books of notes from previous generations. They spent at least two hours simply planning materials before Kazuha was called by another customer.
“Keep working,” Kazuha told Scaramouche as he stood and approached the counter.
“‘Keep working’,” Scaramouche imitated, making his voice a higher pitch to mock the other.
Kazuha was busy running around the shop looking for something, so Scaramouche decided to plan the overall shape of his future weapon. He had contemplated something longer than the average, and a single structure, instead of multiple components. He wanted it to be interesting, unique, and loud, and blue.
He traced out a cube-like shape, with the bottom curved in on itself. Deciding it looked like a butt, he changed it around a few times, before he got an interesting shape he liked.
“Sorry, I’m back,” Kazuha greeted the other, plopping into a chair. “Their sword was finished a while ago, but I must’ve misplaced it somewhere in the shop. Took me a while to find it.”
“I didn’t ask,” Scaramouche snarked.
“Okay, okay,” Kazuha rolled his eyes. “Uh… what’s that?”
“My weapon,” Scaramouche glanced at his outline.
“For someone who seemed to know some things about smelting, this looks like shit,” Kazuha laughed.
“Eloquently put, ass-hole,” Scaramouche grunted. “Says the one who can’t even forge a weapon correctly.”
“You have never seen me make a sword. And anyway, this design seems to be impossible structurally,” Kazuha noted. “The energy can not travel around the power-housing core with so much blockage around it, and the creation of a mold of this shape would require inventions not imagined yet-”
“Oh, shut up,” Scaramouche argued. “If you’re so smart, make it yourself. You know what I want. I need to go, anyway.”
“Go where?” Kazuha asked.
“None of your business, bitch,” Scaramouche turned and left the shop.
Kazuha only laughed to himself, then erased Scara’s drawing.
—
For a week, Scaramouche came to Kazuha’s smithy and helped plan his weapon every night. One time, the two even stayed up until 2am, and Scaramouche fell asleep in his chair.
He’d never admit it, though.
“Hey Scara,” Kazuha greeted the shorter man as he approached the shop.
“I said stop with the nicknames, Kaedehara,” Scaramouche hissed.
“Scara, I think I finished the plan last night,” Kazuha continued anyway.
“Last night?” Scaramouche questioned. “But we were up until midnight working on it, and you said about four more hours until you could calculate the correct formula.”
“Yup!” Kazuha smiled. “Admit it, you’re touched I spent four hours working on your weapon, and have sleep deprivation because of you.”
Scaramouche tsked, pretending to be annoyed. He was, in reality, but because of another reason other than the teasing: Kazuha was right. Over their time together, Scaramouche couldn’t help but admit that Kazuha’s dedication to him was sweet. Too nice, if you asked Scaramouche, but still sweet.
“Anyway,” Kazuha turned around and reached for a shelf, in which blueprints for many different customers were held. “What do you think?”
The image in front of Scaramouche, laid on the plain, wooden table, displayed a weapon similar to what Scaramouche had hoped for. He didn’t want to admit it, but Kazuha was able to work around Scara’s design perfectly.
He added the colors Scaramouche had wanted, and kept the overall shape. It most closely resembled a silver dinner bell.
“Cool, when will it be made? Tomorrow? Or are your skills still so shitty it’ll take you another month?” Scaramouche pretended not to be impressed.
“I admit; my catalyst skills are not the best. But the reason it’ll take longer than tomorrow is because we still have to acquire materials,” Kazuha smiled sweetly.
“‘We’?” Scaramouche questioned.
“You could do it yourself if you want-”
“No,” Scaramouche interrupted. “I mean, you’re a professional, so you know where the materials are.”
“Perfect,” Kazuha clapped his hands together. “I hope you don’t mind: when we’re journeying together, I tend to write poems out loud on accident. Also, you’ll have to be okay with getting wet with me.”
“Wet?” Scaramouche felt his face heat up for a split second.
“Yeah, Specters tend to splash water all over in fights,” Kazuha shrugged.
Scaramouche let out a breath of relief.
—
The two acquaintances stood together on a boat, watching as Serai island’s blurred image drew nearer. Kazuha insisted that to make Scaramouche’s weapon, they needed the best specters, and they populated Serai and Watatsumi in large numbers. Serai was closer, so the two departed the next day.
Scaramouche didn’t know what to say about this whole interaction with the blacksmith. Kaedehara was the only one around with some skill, but his catalyst skills were awful. He bet the rumors were false in the first place, and he also sucked at swords. He probably didn’t even have a tragic past to blame on his lack of skill.
Oh wait, hah. Scaramouche ruined his whole family clan and basically doomed Kazuha to be the last heir. At least he doesn’t seem to realize, lmao.
“Want to go below deck?” Kazuha suggests. “I’ve never been on a boat before, and I probably will not in the future, but exploring it would be fun.”
“Isn’t this work? Not fun?” Scaramouche turned to look at the other.
He immediately wished he had not. The wind was tustling his hair, his cute kind of nervous smile made Scara’s heart leap. He looked wobbly on the uneven and slippery deck of the ship, and the vulnerability of it made for a new side of the man exposed.
“Work should be fun,” Kazuha said in all seriousness. “If you don’t enjoy your work, then experience life further, doing the things you truly do enjoy. If one is unable to balance fun and work as equals, then they should probably find an occupation they can enjoy. Life is meant to be enjoyable.”
“Honestly I thought you’d be some quiet depressed smithy boy,” Scaramouche remembered the rumors and fact that his whole family died. “Didn’t think you’d enjoy life.”
“Hey, I didn’t say I enjoy work, or have a healthy balance,” Kazuha smiled bittersweetly.
“So you ARE a depressed smithy boy,” Scaramouche pointed out.
“I would not say depressed, simply waiting for change,” Kazuha countered. “The winds are tugging. I think a season of change is churning within me.”
“Cut the poetry shit,” Scaramouche nearly, nearly smiled at Kazuha’s stupid (in his eyes) antics.
—
Kazuha started mumbling to himself in some poetic flowery way. Scaramouche couldn’t help but find it endearing. This man was certainly interesting. But it was not like Scaramouche specifically ever found anyone interesting. Nope. Especially not in that way. In your dreams, maple boy.
While absorbed in his thoughts, he suddenly felt a hand block his path. Looking up at Kazuha, who had reached an arm over his path to prevent him from moving further, he scowled.
“What are you doin-”
“Shhh,” Kazuha hissed.
It was completely silent, except for the distant sound of lightning and wind. And… footsteps?
“Fatui skirmisher, two others accompanying it, moving at slow pace, one probably dragging the rest behind due to injury,” Kazuha muttered, smelling the air and feeling the winds. “We should hide in that bush.”
“Why?” Scaramouche asked.
“So we can jump them and steal their sigils,” Kazuha explained with a small smile.
“Well I could just tell them to hand them over,” Scaramouche shrugged.
“What authority do you have over Fatui?” Kazuha chuckled in a whispered way.
“None, the Fatui are crazy, nobody like me could control them,” Scaramouche insisted. “But I’m not afraid of ‘em.”
“It’s smarter to just surprise them from a bu-” Kazuha shut himself up, the Fatui had rounded the corner.
“Time for work!” the skirmisher, a hydrogunner, grinned as it spotted the two.
“Scaramouche, get back,” Kazuha insisted, his voice raised in a commanding way as he took out his sword.
“Bitch, I can fight better than you,” Scaramouche argued as the fatui entered battle stances.
Kazuha ignored him and rushed into battle, immediately activating his anemo vision. Springing into the air, the Fatui are helplessly dragged into a convenient pile of bodies. Crashing back down and swirling with the slight drizzle of rain Scara failed to notice, the fighting boy severely damaged them.
Scaramouche was aghast as Kazuha enveloped his sword in anemo and slashed at the skirmisher until it fell to its knees, dead, then he took out the rest, snatching sigils as he walked by their corpses.
“A day in the work of a smithy,” Kazuha smiled, displaying the sigils. “These will make up the outer shell of the bell.”
“Your fighting skills need improvement,” Scaramouche critiqued to hide his awe.
“Admit it, you were impressed,” Kazuha only chuckled and continued walking.
“Why are you like that?” Scaramouche hissed.
“Like what?” Kazuha questioned, still facing away. Scaramouche followed him.
“I don’t know,” Scaramouche thought for a moment. “You’re all serious in fights, and then you’re randomly mysteriously poetic. And then you go along and start laughing at me. What type of bipolar shit is this? It’s so annoying.”
“I’m naturally poetic, am serious in battles because I don’t want to die, and laugh at you because you blush when I do,” Kazuha explained, turning his head to look at the shorter.
“No I don’t,” Scaramouche narrowed his eyes.
Kazuha didn’t respond, instead he looked forward again and kept walking.
“Hell’s wrong with that guy?” Scaramouche muttered, trying desperately to get the image of Kazuha smiling at him out of his brain.
—
“YOUR LEFT!” Kazuha shouted.
Scaramouche didn’t reply, he turned toward his left and began fist fighting the specter gaining on him.
Apparently, the two boys fought perfectly together. Scaramouche had proven himself able to handle battles, so Kazuha stopped protecting him and more so depended on him. Scaramouche was a catalyst-user, albeit he doesn’t have a vision (yet), but he knew having a catalyst weapon without a vision wasn’t possible by normal standards (Puppet powers aren’t widely accepted in society), so he simply pretended to be punching (though they were secretly backed by catalyst attacks).
The two attack styles, one rather strange and the other including a lot of swirling, wouldn’t seem like a good pair… but the two predicted each other’s moves perfectly and created an amazing team.
After the two were thoroughly coated in specter juice and blood, they decided they had gathered enough materials and began heading back, until they realized it was dark out.
“We should probably set up camp here,” Kazuha proposed as they neared a relatively flat area.
“Huh?” Scaramouche asked, a sudden boom thunder drowning out Kazuha.
“I said we should set up camp,” Kazuha repeated as rain started to pour and yet another thunder blast interrupted him.
Scaramouche heard him this time, though, and ímmediately started complaining.
“We can’t make it back to Narukami? Why not?” Scaramouche argued.
Kazuha ignored him, already reaching into his material-gathering backpack (that framed his shoulders perfectly; the straps really exposed his biceps) and pulled out a tan blanket of fabric, presumably a tent.
“Who are you to ignore me?” Scaramouche hissed angrily.
Kazuha glanced at him, shot him an innocent smile, and began setting up the tent as the rain picked up.
Scaramouche watched Kazuha skillfully create their camp, soaking in the ever-increasing rain. Luckily his hat protected his hair, unlike Kazuha, who was completely soaked. He looked like a wet puppy. Plus, he was doing all of the work in these conditions.
Scaramouche scoffed at himself. No, he wasn’t going to help Kazuha. No matter how pitiful he looked. The fact that Kazuha wasn’t even asking for help and immediately did it himself, however, sent a small flinch of guilt through Scaramouche.
Grumbling, he wandered over to Kazuha and helped him lift the center stick of the tent into place, creating a canvas roof.
“Finally helping me?” Kazuha chuckled.
The wind whipped Kazuha’s brilliant white (now a wet, dull gray) hair around in his face. His clothes drooped and hugged his body, and yet his eyes were ever calm, calculating, poetically beautiful, and energized.
He looked sexy as hell.
Scaramouche didn’t dignify Kazuha with an answer and instead continued to help. Once finished, the two boys sat underneath their pyramid-shaped tent, hiding from the ruthless rain of Serai island’s ever-changing and sudden weather.
“Well, I think we’ve got everything,” Kazuha began a conversation, taking his backpack off of his shoulder and laying it out in front of him.
“Even if we have them, it won’t improve your smelting skills,” Scaramouche insulted him, just to see the other’s reaction.
Kazuha chuckled lightly. His soaked and wild wind-blown hair was stuck all at random places around his head, and the fact that he didn’t move to fix the few strays stuck to his cheeks annoyed Scaramouche. Was he teasing him, or was it just Scaramouche who felt the urge to move the hair from the welder’s face?
Scaramouche mentally slapped himself. No, of course he didn’t. He was just annoyed, not curious about how Kazuha’s cheeks would feel underneath his fingers.
“I’ll have you know, Scara, that-”
“‘I’m good at sword making, not catalyst, stop teasing me, wah wah,’ yeah shut up,” Scaramouche mocked.
“I do not sound that way,” Kazuha smiled amusedly.
“I’ve known you for over a month’s worth of late nights,” Scaramouche reasoned. “I know perfectly how you sound.”
Why did that sound low key dirty? Shit, he definitely should have worded that differently.
“That is beside the point,” Kazuha rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should prove to you that I can make a sword.”
“Sure,” Scaramouche shrugged. “Until then, you’re the worst blacksmith around.”
“Hey, the Isshin Art is truly-”
“‘Unique and specific,’” Scaramouche finished for him.
Kazuha only chuckled in response, glancing away from Scaramouche and focusing on his backpack.
“We’ve grown quite close, if you can finish my sentences in this way,” Kazuha glanced up at Scaramouche fleetingly.
“I guess,” Scara grunted, although the feeling of Kazuha looking at him in that way felt strange. “And your point?”
“Just observing,” Kazuha kept his eyes on his hands as he undid the leather straps holding the backpack shut.
Once he opened it, several specter pieces and Fatui sigils fell out. Scaramouche didn’t realize how much they had gathered.
“Do you really need that much?” Scaramouche asked, despite himself.
“Actually starting a civil conversation,” Kazuha observed. “We truly are bonding.”
“Shut up,” Scaramouche argued.
“Anyway- no, not really. But I got carried away fighting with you. Plus, what’s wrong with having extra?” Kazuha sorted through the materials.
The two sat in comfortable silence for a while. The rain seemed to reach a peak, and slowly simmered down to lighter rainfall from the previous downpour. Kazuha put all of the materials away and had settled on his back by the time Scaramouche decided he should probably sleep, too.
While he tried, and honestly he did, he couldn’t. Kazuha’s breathing quickly became slow and sleepy, but Scaramouche was restless.
The tent was probably 9x5 feet, but a triangle, so the two didn’t have much space. Thus, Scaramouche was too afraid to stretch out and get comfortable in case of touching Kazuha. Wait, afraid? He’s never afraid. At least, he laid on his back contemplating and convincing himself that he wasn’t ever afraid, nervous, or embarrassed when around Kazuha.
Eventually, he settled for a tight ball in the corner. His body refused to sleep, and his mind was buzzing with annoying activity, so all he could do was lay there, staring at Kazuha’s sleeping and listening to the rain.
—
Kazuha woke up first, having perfected his internal alarm to wake himself up at five a.m. exactly every morning (even on weekends- rip). When his eyes fluttered open, he was surprised to see Scaramouche so close to him.
Scaramouche had attachment, abandonment, and trust issues, you see. To get close to someone, he must first overcome trust issues. Somehow, deep in his brain without fully admitting it, he’d grown to trust Kazuha, breaking that barrier. Leaving just attachment and abandonment left, he seemed to be a bit more vulnerable and… cuddly. But he’d never admit it. He wouldn’t even believe it when Kazuha told him later. He wouldn't behave like that while awake: precisely why he was only in such behavior while unconscious.
Kazuha gently sat up. Scaramouche wasn’t wrapped around him as the thirsty fangirls would have wished, because this is real life, and perfect situations like that don’t happen. Scaramouche was only close, a few inches away, his breath warming Kazuha’s freezing nose, with his arm reaching and draping over Kazuha's.
Kazuha attempted not to disturb him while he rose to his feet. Once standing up fully, he turned towards their shitty little tent’s entrance and peaked outside.
The rain had mostly stopped. A light drizzle misted over Kazuha the moment he stepped outside; the sun wasn’t out yet, but a faint glow of light coated the Serai landscape from the brilliant moon. Kazuha let out a relaxed sigh. What better than perfect, chilling-ly refreshing cold temperatures, the soft shine of the moon, and the faint smell of Scaramouche?
“Morning,” speak of the devil, Scaramouche, greeted the other groggily.
“Slept well I hope,” Kazuha looked over his shoulder at Scaramouche, who had sat up and yawned.
“Nope, worst night of my life,” Scaramouche replied.
“Already grumpy and moody this early?” Kazuha joked.
“No time is the wrong time,” Scaramouche nodded, nearly smiling.
Kazuha chuckled to himself and turned back to his view of the purple cliffs and churning ocean. The two listened in silence to the wind and patter of rain. Of course, once and a while they’d glance at each other and hope the other wasn’t watching, trying to catch a reaction or conversation starter.
“We should-”
“I-”
The two paused. They’d spoken at the same time.
“You go first,” Kazuha insisted.
“No, it’s unimportant,” Scaramouche looked away awkwardly.
“Everything you say is important,” Kazuha smiled.
Scaramouche froze at that, feeling heat rise into his cheeks. Being good at self-control, he managed to stifle a blush. Since when did he feel emotion other than anger? Shit.
“Well if you insist,” Scaramouche muttered. “I was going to say your ponytail is falling out, so I could fix it, if you’d like.”
“What was that?” Kazuha asked for a repeat.
“Oh, you know what I said,” Scaramouche instantly grew annoyed.
Kazuha smiled at Scaramouche lightly, and then chuckled his signature poetic chuckle. How can a laugh be poetic? Don’t ask Scara, he’s the opposite of poetry, but somehow Kazuha’s chuckle flowed like the wind on a calm day.
“Nevermind, then,” Scaramouche looked at his feet.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Kazuha tilted his head in Scara’s direction. “You can do it if you’d like, it’d help.”
Scaramouche admittedly regretted his remark, but had to follow through with it anyway, so he approached Kazuha from behind. His hair tie was hanging on by a few hairs, so Scaramouche took it out and gathered Kazuha’s hair together.
He finished the ponytail quickly, and Kazuha immediately sensed something was off.
“It’s not centered,” Kazuha felt around the back of his head.
“Yeah, it’s on purpose,” Scara nodded.
“But it’s off-center,” Kazuha repeated.
“Yeah, I thought it was cute that way,” Scaramouche reasoned.
Kazuha turned towards the other, smirking.
“‘Cute’, eh?” Kazuha smirked. “Didn’t know Scara was such a charmer.”
“Whatever, take it out, then,” Scaramouche blushed lightly.
Kazuha didn’t reply, he just stopped messing with his hair and left it still. He stared at Scara. Scara stared at him. The silence was awkward enough that Scaramouche had to do something.
“Just- say whatever you were gonna say in the first place,” came the interruption.
“Oh, right- I was going to suggest we head back,” Kazuha continued. “But maybe spending extra time here with you would be more enjoyable, eh?”
Scaramouche looked up at a grinning Kazuha.
“Might as well just ask me on a date,” Scaramouche rolled his eyes.
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Kazuha didn’t wink, but it was almost implied.
“L-let’s just head back,” Scaramouche scolded himself- stuttering? The hell? Was he poisoned?
Kazuha didn’t protest, instead he stood watching Scara for a moment before heading to help disassemble the tent. A few minutes later, all of the supplies were packed, and the two wanderers were walking down a purple grass path.
“What do you think of the Raiden Shogun?” Kazuha asked while walking.
“Quite the random question,” Scaramouche contemplated. “But I personally do not support her.”
“Agreed. It’s hard to find many like-minded people out there; most Inazumans are too afraid to say anything,” Kazuha explained.
“So, you don’t like her either?” Scaramouche questioned.
“Well, I feel that she’s a threat to many things I love,” Kazuha nodded, then chuckled fondly. “Especially Tomo. That fool is basically a rebellion personified. He’s outspoken against her ways- something is bound to happen. I don’t want to lose him, or my life.”
“That’s reasonable I guess,” Scaramouche shrugged. “I don’t like her due to personal familial reasons.”
“Killed your whole family?” Kazuha questioned.
“Wha- no. How do you say that so casually?” Scaramouche glanced at Kazuha.
Kazuha only shrugged.
The two continued on in silence from then on. They only realized after their conversation that said silence was comfortable and friendly. Both of them weren’t used to it… but it was nice to feel as if someone shares their opinions and experiences. To feel welcomed, in a way.
The two finally reached the docks of Serai island, and then realized they had a few hours to kill before the transport ship arrived. The two simultaneously, without communicating, sat on the edge of the dock and let their legs hang towards the rippling ocean water.
Kazuha started muttering poetry, and Scaramouche didn’t care, so he instead focused on the sky. Well, at least, he thought he didn’t care. His ears seemed to have a mind of their own, you see, and they kept focusing on the soft gentle soothing voice of Kazuha despite the much louder rolls of thunder behind the pair.
“...alone no longer, hand of rain and soul of wave,” Kazuha was mumbling.
“What’s it about? Your poem?” Scaramouche asked, despite himself.
“Oh- uh,” Kazuha blinked and blushed. “Nothing.”
Scaramouche leaned closer to Kazuha and stared intently into his soul.
“You’re suspicious,” Scara noted.
“No, you are,” Kazuha remarked.
“That makes no damn sense,” Scaramouche leaned away and crossed his arms.
Kazuha didn’t respond, and instead decided to occupy himself by fidgeting with his anemo vision. Once bored of that, he took off his backpack and started counting Fatui sigils again.
Two hours later, the boat arrived.
Kazuha sat up immediately, hugging the backpack close to his chest, and turned to tell Scaramouche their ride was there. Although, the other was already up on his feet and walking away. Kazuha trotted to catch up so they could walk side by side down the slippery dock.
Suddenly, a burly man sprinted off of the ship with a huge cargo box blocking his vision. As if plot convenience really did exist, he crashed into Kazuha and then kept running the moment he got his bearings. Kazuha, meanwhile, toppled into Scaramouche, who toppled off the edge into the sea.
Thus, one maple man, one moody mariachi man, and a bag full of at least a week’s worth of straight up grinding collided with frigid water.
Kazuha’s first reaction upon surfacing was to check on Scaramouche, who’s short figure had yet to appear. Assuming the worst, Kazuha dived under the water, which was about eleven feet deep.
Scara had never learned to swim due to a traumatic past and lack of parental figures, so he was struggling to break the surface. Kazuha was swimming straight down towards Scara, before a glint caught his eye. A Fatui sigil floated a few feet away, the opened backpack following suit. All of their hard work was escaping. Kazuha halted. He could leave Scara to fend for himself and save the materials…
Cursing, Kazuha dove after Scaramouche instead, knowing he’d get scolded by Tomo and Scara later for losing their supplies.
Once Kazuha managed to help Scaramouche to the shore, a crowd had gathered around the dock. The man from before was nowhere to be seen, but Kazuha was never one for revenge, and focused instead on his friend, who thankfully needed no CPR.
The moment he was on land, Scaramouche started cursing his little heart out, and may or may not have punched Kazuha.
“What was all of this for?” Scaramouche hissed, a soaking mess of flesh and hat. “We spent so long getting those materials! Shit! Damn! Ass!”
“I don’t think that’s how you use swear words,” Kazuha pointed out.
“Nobody asked your stupidly calm ass, leave me to wallow alone,” Scara covered his face with his hands.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Kazuha reasoned. “Plus, I’ve got to warm you up.”
“No, you don’t, go back to your boring Isshin art and write some damn poetry,” Scaramouche protested.
“But I care about you,” Kazuha said calmly.
Scara didn’t say anything to that. Proud he got the other to shut up, Kazuha lifted the shorter man bridal style and began walking towards the boat.
“Wet angry raccoon coming through, watch your step,” Kazuha called out to the crowd as he approached the dock.
Man, what an eventful day.
—
Scaramouche sniffled, trying to ignore his cold. The boat was almost at Narukami island, and Scara was at a loss of what to do. So far, his ideas were to either kill himself, or kill Kazuha. Both made him extra mad, and Kazuha didn’t like that, so he brought him some sushi, as a good boyfriend would. I mean uh-
“We’ve got nothing,” Scara moaned and rolled in his bed.
“What about-”
“‘Each other’ yeah yeah cut the cheesy shit,” Scaramouche hissed.
“I was going to say a new understanding of people, a new friendship, a shared bond, experiences, et cetera,” Kazuha smiled. “I also get to see the complaintive pouty side of you, which I’m all here for.”
Scaramouche blushed.
“All of that is bullshit, all lies, none of it was gained,” Scaramouche covered up his sudden quiet.
“So, you won’t admit we’re at least friends?” Kazuha sighed and started to stand up from his chair beside Scara’s bed. “I thought I finally found someone who understood me, but I guess I’ll be alone forever.”
“Wait, I didn't mean it like that,” Scara rolled over and said to Kazuha. “You don’t have to be alon- OH COME ON.”
Kazuha was laughing.
“I hate you,” Scara stuck his tongue out at Kazuha.
“So, you do love me?” Kazuha grinned.
“Ye- NO,” Scaramouche mentally slapped himself.
Scara was just sick, that was all. That was the reason for his brain to feel a bit light and warm around Kazuha, and the reason his heart fluttered at Kazuha’s laugh. Diseases, amiright?
“Well, I love you too,” Kazuha sat back down to face Scaramouche.
“Y-your body heat is making the room hot,” Scara countered. “You should leave.”
“You sure it’s not the fact that you’re blushing?” Kazuha leaned forward in his chair and examined Scara’s face.
“I’m sure!” Scara insisted as Kazuha’s eyes neared his own.
“I hope you’re not mad at me for losing the sigils,” Kazuha muttered.
They were close. Very close. Scara couldn’t move, pinned by Kazuha’s apologetic gaze. Stupid cold! He never gets sick, why is this happening now, when Kazuha’s watching? Shit, since when did he care about what other people thought of him?
“You’re simply more important to me,” Kazuha was all seriousness as he continued.
I won’t describe the intrusive thoughts inside of Scara’s head, but here’s a hint: most of them rhymed with the phrase ‘kissing Kazuha’s stupidly cute face’.
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, what’s happening to you?
—
Two months had passed. Scaramouche lacked a catalyst weapon but was still visiting Kazuha every night. He didn’t know why. The plan was scrapped due to lack of money and supplies to head back to Serai, so why still visit?
Tomo soon became Kazuha’s second closest friend, especially after the hours he spent with Scara every night. Tomo would watch his younger-brother figure with a content smile: he’d been with Kazuha for a long time, and it was rare to see him so carefree and friendly with someone other than himself. Nobody knew, but utter trust on Kazuha’s side was rare, so the situation was remarkable.
One night, while Scaramouche dropped off his hat by the front door of the shop and strolled behind the counter like he owned the place, Kazuha was nowhere to be seen.
Over the last week, the two had been rather… intimate. A pat on the head, squeezing of a hand, and even comfortable hugs when Kazuha was a bit stressed on too many orders.
You know, average friend things like falling asleep on each other behind the counter.
Last night they’d done as much, and Scaramouche’s brain instantly went to that situation. Was Kazuha hiding because he was embarrassed?
“Hey,” Kazuha called from the entrance of the shop.
Worries settled, Scaramouche approached the counter from the employee's side. It was dark out already, and the sign to the shop was flipped to display a carefully written ‘closed’ in bright red paint.
“I have a present for you,” Kazuha smiled.
He was wearing his usual outfit, one that Scara hadn’t seen in a while. The heat of the forge overwhelmed Kazuha most of the time, so he worked in a tank top. Because Scara only saw him after closing hours, when the other was still focused on forging, he only really saw him this way.
“Better impress me,” Scara came out from behind the counter.
Kazuha reached out to Scaramouche with a woven basket.
“I don’t know what I’d do with it,” Scaramouche muttered.
“No, not the basket, inside the basket,” Kazuha chuckled. “You’re obliviously cute sometimes.”
“Shut up,” Scara blushed and opened the lid to the basket.
Inside was a silver bell-shaped catalyst weapon. Intricate designs graced the entirety of the structure, some incorporating Scara’s favorite shade of blue. A delicate handle, perfectly shaped for Scara’s hand, hosted a darker blue that matched the tassel on the bottom, showing true attention and care to color theory and unity.
There was no way a shitty catalyst-forger like Kazuha could have made it, unless he spent days straight- oh. Oh shit. Would he really?
“Do you like it?” Kazuha asked. “I put up a commission to collect the materials so I could still see you every night without disappearing suspiciously, which actually cost me a load of primoge-”
He couldn’t finish, interrupted forcefully by Scara’s lips on his.
The sensation was completely new, but nevertheless welcomed and warm. Scara backed away after a few seconds, and Kazuha immediately missed him.
Scara stood still, his arms wrapped around Kazuha, their faces only inches apart.
“If only all my other customers were this affectionate upon receiving their order,” Kazuha smiled through a rather vibrant blush.
“Shut up,” Scara whispered. “You can only kiss me. And the customer is always right, so no protesting.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Kazuha said affectionately.
The two stared at each other a while longer.
“Kazuha…” Scaramouche muttered, eyes trained on Kazuha’s. “Thank you.”
“It’s just a bit of metal,” Kazuha breathed.
“Not for that,” Scaramouche smiled lightly. “For everything. For being with me, understanding me- I’ve never had a friend.”
“Aren’t we more than that, now?” Kazuha grinned.
“Don’t get your hopes up, maple boy, or I’ll trademark the off-center ponytail,” Scara leaned in for another kiss.
“You’d never,” Kazuha accepted the kiss gratefully.
Ten minutes later, Tomo trotted into Kaedehara Forgery via backdoor to take inventory, expecting to find Kazuha and Scara sleeping in the back like usual. Instead, the forge was out, the lights were off, and nobody was around.
Tomo grew curious and approached the counter, but halted immediately. The two lovebirds were sitting on the customer waiting bench, holding hands. Scara was staring fondly at Kazu, giving the maple boy a kiss every once and a while on the cheek. Kazuha, meanwhile, was asleep, probably because he’d spent a few all-nighters making a catalyst weapon for a certain someone.
Scaramouche, ever observant, noticed Tomo and started blushing ridiculously hard. Tomo gave Scara a thumbs up and a smirk, then turned to leave.
Haha, gae.