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As Kazuha descends down the achromatic hallway, the chill of the air sharp against his skin, he unconsciously pulls his coat a little closer to his body. The smell hits him immediately — it’s a sickeningly strong antiseptic smell, and it calls forth memories he wishes to lose deep in the depths of his mind. The smell is so strong that he can taste it through his nostrils, and he can’t suppress a gag.
There’s the faint hint of metallic amidst the pungent smell of chemicals, but it’s so dull that it could have been mistaken for a chemical itself. Though, Kazuha’s keen senses cannot be tricked so easily — he is quite familiar with the scent of blood.
The hallways are fairly barren, with not many nurses about. So their understaffing problem hasn’t changed since the last time he’d visited the establishment. Many years ago, he’d considered becoming a nurse and working at this hospital, but he decided against it. Horrible memories linger here — ones he wants to forget, and working in the environment wouldn’t make it easy.
So instead, he donates to the hospital whenever he can. Their staff is clearly overworked and underpaid, so he hopes his contributions can make some sort of positive impact on their lives.
He waves to a nurse as they pass by, and they wave back to him. He still recognizes most of the staff, which is advantageous for him, because he’s sure they wouldn’t have let him in if they didn’t know him so well.
The bright fluorescent lights are harsh on his senses, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. Hospital air is gelid, almost like dry ice lingers amidst it. He stops in front of a room, almost automatically, and he swallows a lump in his throat.
It’s a room he knows well. One he’d visited every day for years back in high school. But memories that he isn’t ready to confront lie locked behind the door, and he can’t find it in himself to raise his chin in the face of grief, so he turns away. He lets out a long exhale, and it’s shaky, broken — but he can’t find the will to steady his violent tremors.
He closes his eyes to collect himself — to calm the tempest that is his thoughts. When his eyes open again, nothing around him has changed. His heart beats steadily, and his limbs feel strong enough to move, so he does. He turns away from his unreconciled past and starts toward his real destination.
He’s lost in his thoughts as his feet take him where his brain is dreading to go. His soft footfalls stop when he stands face-to-face with a copper-colored wooden door. He raises his fist and raps it against the door once, twice, three times. He doesn’t know why, because if his hunch is correct, then Scaramouche won’t be able to answer him anyway.
He’s surprised when the door is opened, but he’s greeted by an unfamiliar face. A new nurse, he thinks, because she seems not to recognize him either. She crosses her arms, judging him with her eyes, before giving an expectant look.
“I think you’re in the wrong place,” she says, unfurling her arms to put them on her hips. “I wasn’t told this patient was expecting any visitors.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, so she speaks again. “Who are you here for?”
“Scaramouche,” he says without a second thought.
She narrows her eyes, and he almost feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Aquamarine stares over at Ruby, both gazes sharp and resolute. “We don’t have a ‘Scaramouche’ in our system,” she says, and the word is foreign on her tongue. It just sounds wrong, not intrinsic like it is when he says it. Her lip almost curls in a look of something akin to disgust before she starts closing the door in a stupefied Kazuha’s face.
It finally clicks in his brain, and he sticks his arm through the crack in the door, forcing her to open it again. She peers at him expectantly from inside the room. “Wait. I apologize for the misunderstanding. I believe you may have him in your system as Raiden Kunikuzushi?”
She blinks, expression wiped off her face, before stepping out of the room again. Her expression is more docile and calm now, which vaguely confuses Kazuha, but he decides not to think too much about it. “I see. Raiden-san is sleeping at the moment, but may I have your name?”
“Kaedehara Kazuha.”
Once she comprehends what he says, she instinctively steps back, her eyes widening. He frowns. He doesn’t particularly like people being afraid of him, but he can’t blame them. A curse of having a high social status and a well-known name.
She laughs nervously, “O-Oh! I apologize for my behavior earlier, Kaedehara-sama,” she trips on her words, and he cracks a little smile. Even though he knew people were only excessively polite to him because of his status, it was still endearing.
“No need to be so formal.”
She nods hurriedly, quickly stepping aside to allow clearance into the room. “Please, go ahead. Do not let me take up any more of your time,” she bows, and he returns it, seeing a small look of surprise on her face. He gives a small parting smile before stepping into the room, closing the door behind him.
The feel of a hospital room is the exact same as it was all those years ago. First, dread. Second, discomfort. Last, caution. Emotions flow over him in waves, and he swallows thickly, taking a step over towards the hospital bed in the middle of the room. Kazuha stands in silence, save for the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor that stands tall beside the bed.
His heart sinks when he reaches the side of the bed. The boy that lies before him hardly looks like Scaramouche — there’s an IV in his arm, with dozens of other wires and clips attached to his body. His seemingly perpetual snarl is missing, replaced with a serene look as he sleeps. And yet, despite the unfavorable situation, Kazuha can’t help but admire the boy’s beauty. His hair is fanned out against the pillow, his bangs brushed aside, and his chest rises and falls cyclically.
Kazuha sighs, opting to take a seat on the chair beside his bed. Scaramouche’s hospital room has a beautiful view. It’s quite high up, which seems uncharacteristic of a room belonging to a patient who’s in for suicide, but Kazuha knows well enough that the windows don’t open. They can’t open, in fact.
Kazuha glances over at the heart monitor. It’s steady, thankfully, with almost no deviations in the pattern. It puts him at ease. When Kazuha first returned to Inazuma, he was confused. Scaramouche wasn’t anywhere to be found — not at his apartment, not at Kazuha’s, and none of his friends' places, either. Kazuha had never wanted to leave Scaramouche alone in Inazuma — but duty called, and sometimes duty can be as far away as Liyue or even Fontaine. Ningguang’s reach extended far beyond just a single nation. She has influence all across Teyvat, which, by extension, applies to Kazuha, as her son.
So, when he had to continue his schooling abroad in Liyue when he was a child, he had no grounds to refuse. Even as Kunikuzushi desperately begged for him to stay, he couldn’t refuse his mother. Nor can he refuse each time he, as an adult, has responsibilities to carry out far from home. Though he wishes not to stray so far from Scaramouche, the choice is not his. And yet, though he thought this would be another endeavor like all the others, something terrible happened while he was away. He supposed he hadn’t been closely monitoring Scaramouche well enough. He hadn’t noticed the change, but he, admittedly, hadn’t been putting much effort into looking.
Thankfully, one of Scaramouche’s friends informed Kazuha of his state after his return. Kazuha considers himself incredibly lucky that Scaramouche’s attempt had failed. He can’t help but blame himself. If only he had spent a bit more time on the other boy, then this whole situation could have been avoided.
Yet, Kazuha doesn’t like to dwell in the past. He prefers to savor the lesson he learns from his mistakes, rather than berate himself for making them in the first place. Besides, there’s nothing he can do in the here and now besides be there for Scaramouche. And that’s exactly what he’ll do — he’ll refuse as many business opportunities and travel prospects as he has to in order to stay by Scaramouche’s side.
He already messed up once. He won’t make the same mistake twice.
It’s not until the third visit that Scaramouche wakes up. He’s drugged — Kazuha can tell — based on the way his eyes are cloudy and he slurs his words. But he still registers Kazuha’s presence, and he’s surprised if his expression says anything.
“Kazuha…?” Scaramouche mumbles, his eyes still heavy from sleep. His voice cracks upon use, rusty from being out of commission for so long. He starts to sit up, but Kazuha shushes him, petting his hair.
“Shh… Go back to sleep, Kuni.”
Scaramouche scrambles to sit up, his eyes wide and unfocused, and his troubles are written all over his face. It shows. It shows in the once effulgent eyes that became dull and murky, and the once cocky and crude attitude that became meek and conflicted. When Scaramouche speaks again, his voice is still uneven, and the intonation is almost broken.
“No, no — Kazuha, you’re — you’re here. You’re back.”
Kazuha laughs and brushes the other boy’s bangs out of his face. His smile is cordial and real — he’s genuinely happy to speak to Scaramouche again.
“Yeah. I am,” he chuckles — abandoning his usual poetic nature — because it’s all his sleep-deprived brain can offer. Scaramouche stares at him, and their eyes meet, gazes intertwining in a mix of blue and reds, which entangle together to cast a soft purple glow over the room. Scaramouche’s gaze falters, and Kazuha hums, pulling something out of his bag. He hands it to Scaramouche, who looks at it in confusion. Like a deer in headlights, he tilts his head and looks back up at Kazuha.
“What is this?”
“It’s a Kamera,” Kazuha points to the lens, “A Fontaine-made device that records images. I already took some photos with it — take a look.”
Scaramouche turns his head down to survey the photographs that Kazuha places in his hand. He picks them up and inspects them, the beauty of Fontaine a little bewildering. Kazuha watches happily, content to simply observe Scaramouche in his still half-asleep state. After a moment, he drops the photos into his lap, and his gaze finds Kazuha’s once again.
“They’re beautiful…” he mutters, and Kazuha’s heart surges. He’s delighted that Scaramouche isn’t wearing a mask over his emotions — that he’s allowing himself to be honest and vulnerable in front of Kazuha.
“Truly. Although it was impossible to encompass all of Fontaine’s beauty in a photograph, I wished to preserve some of the memories I acquired on my trip. I hope these photos are to your liking.”
Scaramouche doesn’t respond. Kazuha doesn’t mind — he has all the time in the world to wait for Scaramouche. He’d wait for a millennium if it meant making him happy. Finally, he shifts again, and Kazuha’s met with his uncertain stare.
“...Aren’t you... mad?” Scaramouche mumbles so quietly that it’s almost a whisper, and Kazuha blinks in the face of confusion. Why would he be mad? If anything, it’s Scaramouche that should be mad.
“Kuni, I don’t have anything to be mad about. I am frustrated, yes, but things that happened in the past are left in the past. My anger cannot resolve anything, nor do I have a reason to be angry at you,” he reaches up to caress the boy’s face, and he melts under the touch. Glassy eyes, swollen lips gnawed to keep words from spilling through, limbs that tremble with exertion... it breaks Kazuha’s heart.
He pulls the other boy into a hug and lets him sob into his shoulder. And, at that moment, it isn’t Scaramouche that Kazuha sees — it’s Kunikuzushi. Young, calamitous Kunikuzushi, abandoned by his mother and doomed to wander the streets alone, nearly consumed by his fear and confusion.
And Kazuha knows that Kunikuzushi is still in there somewhere.
“Status quo?” Ningguang asks, not taking her eyes off her clipboard.
“I have persuaded the buyers in Fontaine, but Snezhnaya remains unconvinced.”
She sighs, her eyes finally snapping up from her clipboard. “Very well. I will send someone else to deal with the situation.”
He nods, letting a long silence hang over them. “Mother, may I speak to you about a personal matter?”
Her eyes soften, and she lets her hands fall into her lap. “Certainly. What troubles you?”
“These trips…” he starts, unsure of what he’s about to say. She gives him a nod when the silence lingers for too long. “They are quite vexing. Just recently, I had a mishap occur because I was away in Fontaine. It has been plaguing me through many sleepless nights.”
Ningguang’s expression is focused when she hums, taking a second to articulate her words. Kazuha knows that look all too well — she is clearly quite invested in the conversation. He is grateful that she is willing to take the time to listen to his ramblings and offer advice. Though Ningguang is a reserved woman, she is very experienced and intellectual. Advice from her is not advice that can be easily brushed aside.
“In the event that the current situation has caused you tribulation, I suggest you take a suspension from your current duties until you’re able to extricate yourself from your personal troubles.”
Two sets of ruby eyes meet, but one is less tainted from lack of sleep. They come to an understanding — one that doesn’t require words to be reached.
“If I may… do you care to share the conditions of the adversity you speak of?”
“Do you really have to go..?” Kunikuzushi hesitated, resolution too weak to meet Kazuha’s eyes. He still saw the nod that Kazuha gave through his peripheral vision.
“I do. I’m sorry,” Kazuha said, but his gaze already spoke all the words he wished to say. There were a thousand things on the tip of his tongue, but he found himself holding it, content to speak without words.
The gaze they shared spoke every word they wanted to say in every different language a thousand times over. And Kazuha nearly cracked under the pressure — nearly cracked when he watched violet eyes break under the weight of their emotions, tears spilling over like an overfilled glass of wine. And he rushed over to the boy, clutching him in his arms and comforting him. He squeezed so tight that it almost felt like Kunikuzushi would turn to dust the moment he let go.
So he didn’t. He didn’t let go for what felt like hours. They stood there in silence, the only sound being Kunikuzushi’s soft sobs into Kazuha’s sweater. He grasped him like a lifeline — because he was his lifeline, and Kazuha knew that leaving Kunikuzushi alone in Inazuma was a terrible idea. That, no matter what he did, something horrible was bound to transpire while he wasn’t there.
And yet, he did it anyway. He had no choice, after all.
It feels like almost an eternity until the quiet sobs muffled by fabric cease.
“Kazu-ha,” Scaramouche hiccups, voice hoarse and broken from his violent sobs. Kazuha hums at his name, but he stays still when Scaramouche makes no move to pull away. Silence looms over them like a threat of destruction, but Kazuha faces it without fear. And yet, he’s left thinking of every possibility — every line of inquiry that Scaramouche’s next statement can take them down.
“You have to leave,” the other boy chokes, but Kazuha can feel how Scaramouche’s grip on his shirt tightens at his own words. “Please,” he croaks, like the words struggle to come through.
“Why?” Is all Kazuha asks in return.
Scaramouche presses further into him, and Kazuha can feel his breath against the back of his neck. It’s not like the usual Scaramouche — no, not at all — but Kazuha has come to realize that the Scaramouche of today is nothing like the Scaramouche of any other day.
When he speaks, his voice is soft, barely even a whisper. Kazuha only hears it because it’s spoken into his ear.
“Because I can’t stand living knowing you’re wasting your life on me.”
No matter how much Kazuha wanted to freeze time at that very moment, he knew that nothing lasted forever.
“Kuni. I have to go.”
Kunikuzushi’s grip on his sweater tightened, his violent sobs wracking his entire frame. And, at that moment, they were just two teenagers. Two star-crossed lovers that the universe desperately tried to pry apart, because their love would inevitably end in tragedy.
Kazuha didn’t care. He’d be selfish for once, if only it meant being with the boy of his dreams.
Was such a simple thing so hard to ask for?
Kunikuzushi’s weight began to press into Kazuha more and more — the two becoming almost impossibly closer. The blond’s sweater was stained with tears, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. No, his heart ached too much at the harsh reality of the situation that he couldn’t find an ounce of care in himself for such a trivial thing.
Yearning. Lust. Desire. They all led to calamity. The desire of man was enough to tear the entire world asunder — it was a tragedy waiting to befall all the mortals who roamed the Earth. An intrinsic, man-made poison, caustic enough to erode both body and mind. Like a leaf blown away in the wind, Kazuha, too, succumbed to the poison.
“You — can’t fucking leave me like this, Ka-zuha,” Kunikuzushi hissed, though it sounded more like a hiccup, his words slurred and muffled by thick fabric.
“I know. I never wanted to,” Kazuha whispered back to Kunikuzushi, letting his head fall into the junction where neck morphed into shoulders. His tone was soft — gentle, even — like it was something he only wanted Kunikuzushi to hear. It made the other boy sob even harder.
“...I — I can come with you,” Kunikuzushi tried, though he knew it was futile. Kazuha was resolute in his decision.
“I’m sorry. But you can’t,” Kazuha’s voice stuttered, giving out at some points. His mask of indifference finally began to crack — emotions like heavy barbells weighing him down. Tears slid down his cheeks where Kunikuzushi couldn’t see, but he still buried his head further, simply wanting to hide away from the world. To flee from the harsh reality that he had to endure, even if the respite was fleeting.
Kazuha was the first to pull away, despite how his mind and body screamed to never let go. Kunikuzushi’s phantom touch still lingered, even in the absence of the true thing. He wiped his eyes free of tears that still streamed out of them before grabbing the other boy’s hands. Their eyes met, and Kazuha gave him a hopeful look.
“This isn’t goodbye. It’s a ‘see you soon’. When the autumn leaves start falling from the trees, I’ll return to you.”
Kunikuzushi laughed through the remaining tears. “You’re so corny,” indigo eyes rolled playfully, and Kazuha laughed back. They laughed together — despite the hardship the world threw at them, they laughed through it. Together.
Kazuha gave their entangled hands one last squeeze before his grip let up, and Kunikuzushi’s hands fell away. Kazuha couldn’t help the way that his hand snuck up Kunikuzushi’s jawline, cupping his cheek sweetly. He glanced at Kunikuzushi’s perfect lips, mouth parted slightly in a look of surprise. The other boy pulled him down to press their lips together in a gentle motion, tender and full of love and care. It overwhelmed them both.
The parting kiss they shared was bittersweet.
“See you soon,” Kazuha waved as he walked off, and Kunikuzushi returned the sentiment.
“I love you,” Kazuha whispered, though it was much too quiet for the boy of his affections to hear.
“Kaedehara Kazuha?” A nurse called, glancing around the room when her eyes lifted from the clipboard she held. She stood up, bowing his head in a polite greeting.
“May I speak to you?” She asked, gesturing him over to an alcove in the hallway, and he followed.
She didn’t speak for a moment, and he took the intermission to admire her features. Hazel eyes glistened against the fluorescent lights, twinkling like a shooting star in the boundless night sky. A mix of yellows and browns — and it put Kazuha at ease. He let himself momentarily forget the bad news he braced himself for.
“The news. Please,” he urged gently, and she nodded. Milky brown bangs fell over her eyes when she glanced back down. She took a deep breath and paced herself for what was to come.
“Kunikuzushi suffers from something called Borderline Personality Disorder. BPD is an illness characterized by intense mood instability and irrationality,” she hesitated, tapping her pen against her clipboard with a click of her tongue. “We can prescribe therapy or medication, but I’ll need you to sign some things first.”
“No,” Kazuha replied, without a second thought. He wanted more than anything for Kunikuzushi to get better, but he had to choose that for himself. Kunikuzushi’s betterment wasn’t Kazuha’s decision to make — and he wasn’t going to force anything on the other boy, either. People had issues — everyone struggled with something — and it was their responsibility to resolve those issues.
“That’s not my decision to make,” Kazuha stated simply, his voice lilted with determination.
“Please stop moving. You’re making it more difficult.”
Kunikuzushi winced as a salve was spread across the various cuts and bruises on his skin. It burned, but he bit his lip to hold back the whines that threatened to escape. Pain coursed through his body like a vitriol (visceral) poison, and he squirmed under Kazuha’s gentle touch.
“I fucking hate her,” he hissed, his voice strained. His blood boiled at just the thought of the woman and all the torture she’d subjected him to. He flinched when callous hands reached over to wrap gauze around his arm.
“Shh. It’s just me,” Kazuha comforted — or at least made an attempt to — in a soft voice. Kunikuzushi shivered — he wasn’t used to being treated so carefully: so fragile, so breakable. He’d always been everybody’s pawn — their puppet — to use however they desired in order to get their way. But with Kazuha, he was a human. A human being, with emotions and desires. And he treasured Kazuha’s companionship more than his own life — because, without Kazuha, he wouldn’t have a life.
“These wounds are really quite bad,” Kazuha remarked, using a swab to clean out a particularly nasty gash. “I thought I told you to call me when things got bad?”
Kunikuzushi pursed his lips, head hung in a mix of shame and embarrassment. “...I got carried away.”
Kazuha sighed but didn’t press the subject further. “You know I’ll always have a place for you. Whenever you need it.”
“I wish I could just stay here forever,” Kunikuzushi mused idly. It was a passing comment, one made without much thought.
“Me too,” Kazuha chuckled, but it was bittersweet. “Me too.”
Everything changed when they went their separate ways to college.
Kazuha had to get accustomed to not waking up in the middle of the night to the bang of dishes, not racing to be the first to use the shower, or not having to carry Kunikuzushi to bed when he passed out on the couch. It was lonely, all alone in his huge dorm, halfway across Teyvat. Silk fabrics and sparsely spun thread simply couldn’t satiate his heart’s longing. Hanging lights and five-star meals did nothing to quell the pain of his heart being torn from its desires.
Cashmere sweaters and sheepskin rugs weren’t even half as soft as Kunikuzushi’s touch.
He’d been so caught up in his studies and responsibilities that he’d forgotten to write to Kunikuzushi. Nor had he called him, though phones were still quite niche at the time. Kazuha had gotten one so he could easily communicate with Kunikuzushi — it hadn’t been a problem for him to get a hold of one, either, due to his status as Ningguang’s son and most trusted associate.
So, the moment he could free up some time, he made it his top priority to at least send a text to the other boy — Kazuha knew he didn’t fare well being alone, after all.
17 Missed Calls from Kunikuzushi
33 Unread Messages
Kazuha frowned, feeling a bit disappointed in himself for not being there when Kunikuzushi called. Nevertheless, he clicked on the unread messages — surely it’d be obvious what Kunikuzushi wanted to say to him by reading the messages, right?
He wasn’t right. He began to scroll through the messages, his eyes widening as he realized their true nature. It started normally at first, but as time went on, each one slowly devolved into something worse than the last.
Kunikuzushi: hey, I hope I’m not interrupting something too important
did you get there okay?
let me know when you see this
7:31 AM
Kunikuzushi: kazuha answer your fucking phone
stop ignoring me
2:22 PM
Kunikuzushi: i’m really sorry
i know you’re not ignoring me
i don’t know why i lashed out
i’m so fucked up in the head kazuha
im sorry you have to deal with my shit
11:01 AM
Kunikuzushi: I started doing it again
i’m so fucking useless
i can’t even keep one simple promise
i’m really sorry
3:49 AM
Kunikuzushi: kazuha please respond i know it’s stupid and annoying but i’m really worried
i can’t fucking sleep
1:17 PM
Kunikuzushi: hey
you probably won’t respond but i wanted to say thanks
for everything you’ve done for me
2:06 PM
Kunikuzushi: i just realized how weird that sounded
i’m not committing again
i promise
6:09 AM
Kunikuzushi: my wounds opened up again
7:54 AM
Kunikuzushi: i hate hospitals
i don’t know how you do it
staying with me every time i land myself in one
i don’t deserve any of the shit u do for me kazuha
9:29 PM
Kunikuzushi: she call ed m e
she fucjiong caled me
i cant fucking bre athe
i hate hjer guts
i hope she fuckning dies
10:24 PM
Kunikuzushi: im sorry
Kazuha’s heart cinched, and instead of responding to the messages, he opted to just call Kunikuzushi instead. He picked up in only a few rings, his breathing ragged and strained.
“Kazuha?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kunikuzushi seethed, and Kazuha braced himself to receive the brunt of the other boy’s anger. It was often that Kazuha was the subject of Kunikuzushi’s violent outbursts — and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t mind. But he endured it because he loved Kunikuzushi. He wanted him to be happy, and he knew that Kunikuzushi deserved it.
“Kuni,” Kazuha tried, keeping his voice calm and even, “this is a decision you have to make for yourself. It’s up to you if you want to get better.”
“Get better?” Scaramouche scoffed, “I don’t need to fix myself because I’m not fucking broken,” he snapped, indigo eyes dilated with that all-too-familiar rage. It set Kazuha's nerves on fire.
“I’m so fucking sick of people treating me like a toy. I’m not made of porcelain or plastic like a fucking barbie doll,” Kunikuzushi spat, and Kazuha tried not to let his expression portray his true feelings. He wore a mask — a facade of calm indifference — but in reality, he was scared. Scared of the future, scared of losing Kunikuzushi, but he wasn’t scared of Kunikuzushi. No, he knew that the other boy would never hurt him.
“Your anger is justified, but fruitless,” Kazuha sighed, and Kunikuzushi gave him a look that seemed to urge him to elaborate. “Your anger is destructive, Kunikuzushi. Incendiary — it solves nothing, yet tears down everything in its path. Yet, you only fan the flames. Why is that?”
“You know what, fuck you. I’m not gonna sit here and be your doll to feed your fucking ego,” Scaramouche hissed, and Kazuha instinctively stepped back. He needed to give the other boy his space — neither of them were in the right state of mind right then, so it was important that Kazuha didn’t act impulsively.
Despite how much he wanted to object to those obligations, he stilled, choosing his next words carefully. He didn’t want to convey the wrong message through the connotation of his words.
“I understand. Please consider what I said. If not for me, then at least for yourself,” Kazuha gently urged, his hand twisting the doorknob. There were so many other words he wanted to say — so many things on the tip of his tongue — but he didn’t. He stayed silent, his eyes unable to meet Kunikuzushi’s as he left the room.
He thought he heard quiet sobs on the other side of the door.
“What’s the occasion, Kazuha?” Beidou’s voice rings out, accompanied by a hearty laugh. She’s already tipsy, he can tell, but her carefree tone is comforting. “You usually never come drinking with me.”
He laughs, and although it’s forced and nervous, Beidou doesn’t comment on it. Her smile never falters, staying wide and comforting the entire time it takes Kazuha to respond.
He takes a sip from his drink, the practiced taste not even making him cringe. “I’ve been… busy,” are the words he decides on.
Beidou rolls her eyes, but the grin is ever-present on her face. “Ning’s really been putting you through the wringer, huh?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but she speaks first. “I know she’s real uptight about her work, but she doesn’t have to drag you into it,” Beidou’s saying, and Kazuha’s surprised she’s still talking sense at this point. Usually, she’s on her eighth glass and totally plastered by now.
It’s not totally his mother’s fault — he’s been overworking himself, too. But since he knows nothing will sway his other mother’s opinion, he just decides to change the topic instead.
“Scaramouche is in the hospital.”
“Scaramouche?” she asks, eyebrow raised in question. “That kid you always used to hang out with? Short, dark hair, anger issues?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say anger issues, but… yes. He, uh…” Kazuha tries, but he can’t form the words. He gestures vaguely with his hands, and Beidou thankfully seems to understand.
“What, Ning whisk you away on a business trip and you weren’t there to stop him?”
He nods solemnly because he secretly hates that she’s exactly right.
“Hey, if I were you,” she places a firm hand on his shoulder, and she reeks of booze, but he’s sure he does too, “I’d tell Ning to go fuck herself.”
He can’t help chuckling at that — it baffles him how people as different as his mothers can find solace in each other.
“Mother has been very understanding of the situation,” he tries, glancing over at his abandoned glass of wine. “She even allowed me time off to rectify the situation.”
“You know, when Ningguang first mentioned you working for her, I was completely against it. I eventually learned to accept it, but maybe I was right after all,” she looks over, and her gaze is crushing, like the weight of a thousand worlds on his chest. “This might not be the right thing for you, Kazuha.”