Work Text:
Scaramouche had spent nearly two hours pacing his room before sending the text.
He’d rewritten it eleven times. Deleted it. Rewrote it again. Stared at the blinking cursor until it felt like the screen itself was mocking him. Finally, he just typed:
“If you’re not busy, I suppose we could… hang out. Not that I want to, but you’ve been annoying lately.”
It was the closest thing to affection he could stomach writing. And before he could second-guess himself again, he pressed send.
The response came almost instantly.
“Of course! I was about to head out with a few friends, you should come along :)”
Scaramouche froze.
Friends?
He hesitated, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He could just say no. Claim he was busy. Pretend the message had been a mistake. But no — that would make him look like a coward, and he wasn’t a coward.
So he sent:
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
And that’s how the wanderer found himself regretting every decision he’d made in the last hour.
⸻
They were meeting at a café in Inazuma City — one of those outdoor spots with paper lanterns strung above, sunlight dappling the tables, and an obnoxious amount of laughter echoing around. Scaramouche showed up dressed neatly as always: black turtleneck, fitted pants, and that cool, detached expression that warned strangers not to even think about talking to him.
Kazuha, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of a poem. Loose white shirt, red sash, wind-tossed hair, soft smile. And beside him were the three people Scaramouche would soon consider his personal hell: Heizou, Itto, and Yoimiya.
“Kazuha! You made it!” Yoimiya called, waving excitedly. Then her eyes landed on Scaramouche. “Ohh, is this your friend?”
Kazuha smiled warmly. “This is Scara.”
“Scaramouche,” he corrected automatically, voice sharp as a blade.
Heizou smirked. “Scaramouche, huh? Sounds fancy. You from Fontaine or somethin’?”
“No,” Scara replied flatly.
“Wow, you’re short,” Itto said with zero hesitation.
Scaramouche blinked once. Slowly. “And you’re loud.”
Kazuha looked like he was silently begging the heavens to strike him down before this could escalate. “Why don’t we sit?” he offered quickly.
⸻
At first, Scaramouche tried. Really, he did. He sat stiffly beside Kazuha, sipping his tea, trying to ignore the fact that Itto was talking so loudly the entire café could probably hear him. Heizou was teasing everyone in sight, and Yoimiya had already nearly spilled her drink twice because she gestured too enthusiastically.
“So, Scara,” Yoimiya leaned over, chin propped on her hand, “you and Kazuha seem close. How’d you two meet?”
Scaramouche choked on his tea. “What—what kind of question is that?!”
“Oh, come on! You can tell us! You’ve been hanging out a lot lately,” she said with a grin that could only mean mischief.
Kazuha chuckled nervously. “It’s nothing like that. We met at the Archon’s celebration, remember?”
“Yeah,” Heizou drawled. “Where you were definitely not staring at him from across the room, right?”
Kazuha’s smile faltered, and Scaramouche’s ears turned pink. “I wasn’t staring,” he muttered.
“You were,” Yoimiya said cheerfully. “It was super obvious!”
Itto leaned forward. “Wait wait wait — Kazuha was flirting with the short, scary guy?”
Scara’s head snapped toward him. “Who are you calling—?! Never mind. Don’t finish that sentence.”
Heizou whistled. “You two bicker like an old couple already. How cute.”
Kazuha’s face burned, but he only gave a soft laugh. “You’re insufferable, Heizou.”
“Yeah,” Scaramouche muttered. “That makes two of you.”
⸻
The next hour was torture.
Scaramouche sat there, shoulders tense, quietly sipping his drink while the others argued, laughed, and made noise. He didn’t understand how Kazuha could sit among them so calmly — smiling, leaning into their conversations, even resting his chin on his hand as he listened to Itto ramble about some beetle competition.
“Do you guys ever shut up?” Scaramouche finally asked, unable to take it anymore.
The table went silent for three seconds. Then Yoimiya laughed. “Oh, you’re funny! He’s funny!”
“I wasn’t joking,” Scara deadpanned.
Kazuha sighed, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “They take some getting used to,” he murmured softly, just loud enough for Scara to hear.
“I don’t think there’s enough patience in Teyvat for that,” Scara muttered back.
But Kazuha’s gentle chuckle—light and airy like a breeze—made his irritation falter for just a moment. He didn’t even realize Kazuha was watching him fondly, eyes crinkling at the edges.
“Thank you for coming, Scara,” Kazuha said quietly when the others were distracted.
Scaramouche blinked, caught off guard. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who dragged me here.”
Kazuha smiled. “Even so, it’s nice having you here.”
And just like that, Scaramouche forgot how to breathe properly. He turned away quickly, pretending to adjust his sleeves. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you’re blushing.”
“I’m not—!” He stopped when he caught Heizou grinning at them from across the table. “Stop eavesdropping!”
“I wasn’t! You’re just loud,” Heizou said innocently.
“I will throw this teacup at you.”
Yoimiya clapped her hands. “You two are adorable!”
“Shut. Up.”
Kazuha just sighed, sipping his drink with that maddeningly calm smile, while Scara sulked in silence beside him.
⸻
Later that day, as they were all walking home, Kazuha lagged behind with Scara. The others were ahead, still laughing, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between them.
“You really didn’t like them, did you?” Kazuha asked gently.
“They’re loud. Obnoxious. Unpredictable. How do you even stand them?”
“They make life feel a little warmer,” Kazuha replied, looking up at the sky. “It’s noisy, but it’s… nice. You get used to it.”
Scara huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not sure I want to.”
Kazuha chuckled again. “You say that, but you didn’t leave early.”
Scaramouche stopped walking. Kazuha turned to look at him, expression patient and soft.
“Why?” Kazuha asked.
Scara avoided his gaze, kicking a pebble. “…Because you asked me to come.”
For once, Kazuha didn’t tease him. He just smiled, gentle and genuine. “Then next time, I’ll ask you to come somewhere quieter. Just us.”
“Next time?” Scara raised an eyebrow.
“Of course,” Kazuha said. “Unless you don’t want there to be one.”
Scaramouche looked away, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t say that.”
Kazuha’s grin widened. “Then it’s a promise.”
And as they walked side by side through the golden evening light, with laughter echoing distantly from their friends ahead, Scaramouche realized something he’d never admit aloud—
He didn’t hate this. Not the noise, not the chaos, not even the warmth that came with being seen.
He just hated how much he liked him.