Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kazuha

Babe: hi. you wish u was him ;) xx enjoy the show

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Brows drawing into a faint crease, Kazuha doesn’t even need to see it for himself, he simply knows what’s in the attachment, but he taps anyway. A video. Of course, it’s a video. His ex fucking someone else. Predictable.

Three years with Scaramouche taught him plenty—like how trifling the bastard could be. Which is pathetic, really. This is just his style. Petty, vindictive, and always looking for the most childish ways to lash out.

Kazuha feels nothing. Not anger, not hurt. Just the weight of familiarity. He’s seen this before, over and over. Scaramouche, the five-foot-five asshole with a sailor’s mouth and a temper to match. The same guy Kazuha had met by chance, gotten high with, fucked for fun, and eventually slipped into a relationship with—if you could call it that. A walking disaster, one may say. The kind of person you regret getting involved with, because once you’re in, you’re stuck. He makes sure of that.

The last idiot who crossed his ex is still rotting behind bars. A broken nose, missing teeth—and it didn’t matter that Scaramouche had started the fight. The guy had whistled at Kazuha, and Scaramouche had snapped. That was all it took. Then came the payoff—the power that comes with being from a rich, untouchable family. A wad of cash, no questions asked, and Scaramouche walked free.

The other guy? He’s just another casualty. Coming up on a year in jail. Meanwhile, Kazuha had only cleaned the blood off Scaramouche’s knuckles, watching the smirk on his face as they soaked in the jacuzzi afterward.

They’re filthy rich. Not just the usual kind of rich—obscenely rich. The kind of rich where you can score drugs and walk away untouched. The kind where you can put a bounty on someone’s head and not even flinch. Scaramouche’s mother is literally screwing the head of the school right now, and his aunts run an underground mafia. So really, pissing them off is a death wish. Want to get kicked out of university with no hope of getting into another? Go ahead. Want to risk being gunned down in broad daylight? Be my guest.

Kazuha isn’t exempt from any of that. Three years of this on-again, off-again mess with Scaramouche doesn’t protect him from the threat that hangs over anyone who dares get too close.

However, Kazuha is…Kazuha, and Scaramouche knows that. Oh, does he know it. That’s why the video ended up in Kazuha’s inbox in the first place. Scaramouche sent it because he’s fully aware that Kazuha always fights back. Always gives him something worth his time.

Leaning back on the chair, Kazuha takes in the scene—the video—feeling his dick twitching in his pants the moment he catches Scaramouche’s glazing twilight blue-eyes glaring up at the camera as if taunting him. “You wish you were him, right? You wish you were the one I’m fucking this hard right now…”

Too bad you left me. The unspoken words linger in Kazuha’s mind, heavier than the gray smoke choking the air in the dingy pub. It’s stifling—thirty degrees, at least. Sweat trickles down his neck, making him feel hot and restless, but it’s nothing compared to the sight of Scaramouche in that video. Pulling at some blonde’s braided hair. Kazuha can’t see their face, but the details are enough. Fair skin, a rosy ass, pink at the joints. Handprints bruising their thighs and narrow waist. Kazuha knows exactly who put them there.

He knows, because Scaramouche always leaves marks. That’s how he is. He bites, slaps, tugs, chokes. He claims you. And Kazuha knows it better than anyone—he’s been on the receiving end of it all. Once, that was him. Scaramouche did everything to him. They did everything together…

Now it’s someone else.

Kazuha tries to tune in, to focus through the thumping bass and the sultry beats of the nightclub playlist, drowning everything out as he waves for another round of shots. His ears catch the blonde’s moans through the video—loud, relentless, needy. The groans, the gasps, the choking sounds. Kazuha hears it all. It’s a string of mindless pleas that goes, ‘fuck me, yes, there, harder, harder, more,’ much like he hears the skin-to-skin slamming, and the spanking, and…fuck. Scaramouche looks so hot fucking someone like that, doesn’t he?

Yeah, I wish that was me.

Finally, Kazuha exits the video and replies to Babe: nah, you wish that was me <3

His drinks arrive shortly after. He nods at the server, then downs two shots in quick succession. As much as he’s tired and wants to leave, maybe crash at Heizou’s place, he can’t yet. He refuses to, anyway. He’s more in the mood of working himself up tonight, craving the slow burn of alcohol, the way it clouds his mind and makes him feel something, anything. For it to drive him utterly deranged. It’s been two days, after all. Two days of convincing himself he’s okay, that he’s moving on. Two days of lies, telling himself one thing while feeling another. Overall just being completely delusional.

Because the truth is, getting over that demon is impossible. That very demon shaking his ass on the dance floor right now, letting three guys grind against him, touching and groping him like they own him.

It’s not fair how easily Scaramouche still gets to him. Just a faint smile, a glance, and that undercurrent of malice—it’s enough to set Kazuha off. Every time.

He tears his eyes away as familiar faces pass by. People from the bar, a few from their college, maybe some he’s flirted with once or twice. He doesn’t bother remembering their names—they know his, though, and…he just…can’t…give…much of a fuck when he’s too damn preoccupied, too fixated on one person to care about anyone else.

His gaze snaps back to the center of the dance floor in a heartbeat. There’s Scaramouche, swaying lazily, moving his body with a kind of ease that Kazuha knows too well. This is the same ex he almost dropped out of college for. The one he’d imagined marrying, having a thousand kids with. Fucking Scara. He downs another shot of Jäger—it could be his fifth, his seventh, who knows—and spits on the floor.

How long has it been since they last broke up? Two weeks? Almost three. Normally, they’d split for a day or two, then one of them would come crawling back.

But this? This is the longest it's gone. And maybe…maybe this time it’s really the end.

Nn.

Yeah, right.

Because one look. One look from Scaramouche who throws his head back is all it takes, a smirk splitting across those lips… the second his eyes lock onto Kazuha from across the room. Kazuha, who is out of his chair before he knows it, bulldozing through the sweaty mass of grinding bodies. He doesn’t care about the men practically fucking his ex on the dance floor—they’re nothing.

He shoves them aside, unbothered by the manic laughter bubbling from Scaramouche’s throat, knowing full well that the bastard finds this hilarious. Amusing. Entertaining even, because that’s how much of a sociopath he is. A loon.

…Just another game to him. Always is.

Kazuha doesn’t pause, doesn’t think, just grabs Scaramouche by the arm and shoves him against the wall. The alcohol is hitting him to the hilt now, but he’s too wired to give a shit. Scaramouche stumbles, a flash of glare in his eyes, but it’s mere extinction compared to how Kazuha grips his shirt—the one they bought together months ago, a replica of the one Kazuha owns. His fingers tighten around the fabric, yanking it upward, exposing the expanse of Scaramouche’s collarbones and the bruised skin beneath.

Purplish hickeys. All over his porcelain chest, trailing down to his sweat-slick skin. Kazuha’s breath catches in his throat. He knew what he’d find, but seeing it still sparks something hot and ugly in his ribcage.

Scaramouche’s glare melts into a sly smirk, his lips parting as he lets out a long, teasing sigh, leaning further into Kazuha’s touch. Their bodies press together, crotches meeting, and the electric sensation surging between them almost knocks Kazuha off balance. His forehead drops to Scaramouche’s shoulder and, god, fuck, of course, he smells of expensive cologne and musky aftershave, a scent that drives Kazuha insane. He wants to sink his teeth in, devour him whole.

But he won’t. He can’t.

He can only pull back, meeting Scaramouche’s dark, mocking stare. His ex says something, but it’s lost in the thudding bass of the music.

Until Scaramouche leans in, his breath hot against Kazuha’s ear. “Well, aren’t you so weak for me, babe…”

Anger bubbles up fast, raw and fierce. “Yeah? But look at you. Submitting to me. So easily. You’re so easy.”

“As easy as that pretty boy I fucked last night—”

“Fuck…you,” he seethes through clenched teeth, adrenaline surging as he grabs a fistful of Scaramouche’s hair, yanking his head back. “Don’t talk. Stop fucking talking, whore.”

“Or what?” Scaramouche challenges, smirking menacingly.

Huffing a laugh, Kazuha tightens his grip on his hair and begins massaging his scalp. “…Or I won’t touch you ever again.”

“Oh?”

“Like this.” He cups Scaramouche through his pants, fondling him slowly, firmly. He watches as the boy’s eyes squeeze shut, mouth curving into a tight-lipped smile. And his eyes open once again, glinting under the flickering strobe lights, shining a foxy amethyst and midnight purple—heavy-lidded and striking.

The guy’s lips purse as if he’s stifling a laugh. Kazuha squeezes him more eagerly until he’s hard, until that smirk fades away and he’s just leaning against the post they’ve ended up at. Scaramouche’s hands find their way around Kazuha’s waist, the movement steady and deliberate, as though he’s in a rush to ride up Kazuha's shirt and plant his palms against warm skin. Kazuha doesn’t mind; they’ve explored each other’s bodies countless times. He knows exactly what sensations Scaramouche’s hands can invoke. Despite being taller, Scaramouche’s hands feel smaller against Kazuha’s, always soft, never calloused. They’re supple and warm, revealing a telling fact: Scaramouche has never worked a day in his life. Every inch of his skin is smooth, a testament to his sheltered existence.

And it’s intoxicating.

“Kazu,” Scaramouche’s broken voice rumbles, Kazuha’s name rolling out of his tongue deliciously. “Say, why don’t you just…come back to me? It’s been weeks… Just. Come back to me and I’ll let you meet every saint there is. I’ll fuck you so good, you’ll see heaven.”

Kazuha looks at him. Really looks at him. Even as he continues to fumble Scaramouche’s throbbing cock, their bodies tangled together in the chaos of the nightclub, memories of happier times crash into him, hitting him squarely in the gut. They were so…content with each other in those early years. Kazuha can’t pinpoint the moment everything shifted, especially as they approached their third anniversary. For some reason, obsession took root, twisting into rage-fueled jealousy, possessive streaks, and a flurry of name-calling.

Scaramouche speaks again, his words murmured in hushed tones, laced with seduction that makes Kazuha’s skin crawl. “Come on, Kazu. Babe… Baby. I know you missed it too. Missed me balls deep in you…”

“Mm… That may be true, babe,” Kazuha hums, his voice low and teasing. Using both hands, he plays with the button of Scaramouche’s pants, slowly teasing it open, reveling in the expression that crosses his ex’s face—something between wanton desire and pleading. Yes, beg for it. Beg for it, Scara.

Scaramouche grabs Kazuha’s wrist, the hand still resting on his jaw, and pulls it away, leaning forward to pucker his lips in a silent demand for a kiss. Kazuha turns his head, feeling Scaramouche's perfectly aligned teeth graze his skin, fully aware of the bitter grin that’s spreading across his face. “Aww, why’d you avoid it?” he teases.

Kazuha doesn’t respond to that. He unbuttons Scaramouche’s pants instead and slips a hand in his boxers, unsurprised that he isn’t wearing any underwear. He takes his cock and starts to pump. Lowering his voice, he asks, “Who was it?” I’m dying to know. Out of all the sexual activities he filmed with someone else to fuck with Kazuha’s head, this latest one is…different. It feels different and less scant. It seems rather more intimate like he’s fucking that braided blonde in amorous carnal. With more intimacy than force.

He watches as Scaramouche’s eyebrows lift slightly, then relax back into place, his lips curling in mild amusement. “Curious, are we?”

Kazuha continues to tug at his cock, unbothered by the playful remark or the skittish smiles and gleaming, daunting indigo eyes that watch him with challenge and allure.

“I’ll tell you,” Scaramouche drawls, “if you let me have my way with you in the dirty bathroom of this godforsaken place and come back to our flat afterward.”

And that… is where he has to decline. “No.”

The moment the word leaves his lips, the smirk fades from Scaramouche’s face, replaced by an acerbic glare that could cut through steel. His expression crumples as he sends daggers Kazuha’s way, his playful demeanor morphing into a defensive stance. “No? What do you mean no, Kazuha? I fucking own you,” he snarls, slapping Kazuha’s hand away. In a flash, Scaramouche zips up, swapping their roles; now it’s Kazuha who’s backed against the wall while the other, haughty and mad, slams a hand next to his face.

Kazuha can’t help but laugh, though it’s dry and sardonic. Fuck. This situation stings more than he’d like to admit. Usually, Scaramouche would brag about his conquests, retelling every detail of how he took care of them, leaving them in tears of pleasure by inserting his cock—

But this time, there are conditions, and Kazuha can’t accept that. Something feels profoundly wrong.

“You won’t even give me a hint?” he presses, ignoring the tantrum brewing in front of him.

“What hint do you need? You saw the video, didn’t you? All the clues are right there.”

“I’m looking for a name, babe,” he bites back.

“And you’re not getting one unless you let me in,” Scaramouche snaps, shoving at his chest, “unless you let me fuck you… unless you tell me you want me back!”

A snort escapes Kazuha, and he can’t help but find the absurdity of it all hilarious. “Then I guess this conversation is over.”

“What.” Scaramouche bristles, his gaze darkening, the light in his eyes diffusing. “You’re going to let me have a go with you, Kazuha… I want to.”

Just because he wants to.

Sucking in a deep breath, Kazuha feels insulted by the very notion. He frees himself with little effort, spitting at his ex. “I said no. Not tonight.”

An agitated growl escapes Scaramouche’s lips. “Why not?”

“Not when you just came in another man, you dick.”

“Fuck you.”

Kazuha shakes his head, stepping away from the corner. “Come on, time to go home. You’re sloshed. I’ll take you back to your—”

“Home…” Scaramouche cackles, his tone lacking empathy, distant. He reiterates the word as if it disgusts him. “What’s that? I don’t have a home. My home left me some time ago. I left home.”

Kazuha is awake. He’s been awake for quite some time, staring up at the ceiling where a fan hangs, bringing zero relief from the oppressive heat. Sweat pools around him on the sheets, a damp reminder of the night’s restless struggle.

He hasn’t slept in two days. Two whole days, and now he’s nursing yet another hangover.

How can he get any fucking sleep around here, anyway? He sprawls in bed alone these days—empty and broken—and can’t shake the image from his mind. His lover… or former lover, whom he still craves to this day, has likely found a new one. His replacement. The asshole even sent him a sex video yesterday, right in the middle of work.

Naturally, as a lone masochist, he watched it more than ten times, the twelfth view happening at the bar where he knew his ex would be.

He knew that going there would only rile him up further, make him want to gouge his eyes out and feed them to the next person he saw. But knowing how Scaramouche laughed at his misery, jealousy, and paranoia only drew him in more. He would go wherever Scaramouche was, wouldn’t he? It’s like a ritual between them. He’d hurt, and it would be painful for sure, but Kazuha would do it again. Again, again, and again.

It’s simple to grasp: once you’re involved with Kunikuzushi, there’s no turning back. That’s gospel. It’s the New Testament. He’s seen it firsthand; hell, he is experiencing it right now, grappling with an ache he can’t control. He latches onto Scaramouche the way the boy lets him, both suffocatingly tight and blissfully loose, just the way Kuni likes it…

“Oi, Kazuha. Get your ass out of bed, mate. You’re gonna be late for your first class.” Shinobu’s voice cuts through his thoughts as she pokes her head through the slight crack in the door. He catches only half of her face before she stalks off, wearing nothing but a flimsy white shirt and pastel blue panties.

Sighing as he rolls his eyes, Kazuha mumbles, “Yeah, I’m up.” He sits upright in bed, running a hand over his exposed chest. It’s truly fucking hot in here, unlike their—

Unlike at Scaramouche’s place, where the air-conditioner never turned off and was running 24/7.

Well, he’s got to get over that. He’s couch-surfing now, and he brought this upon himself.

He stays with Shinobu and Heizou for now. Shinobu doesn’t know, but her boyfriend and Kazuha have fucked multiple times just this week, the sole reason he’s here, to begin with. They were all measly drunken sex though, mostly Heizou giving him a blow job in the men’s comfort rooms at school, or in the backseat of his car, or when they would get high and try if their dicks would still tent in between their thighs, and then the next thing would be Heizou pulling down his pants and sitting gracefully down on his cock.

And Kazuha wouldn’t mind, he never did when he’d be more or less focused on the pipe and getting densely stoned, uncaring of the way his friend rode his dick tirelessly, kissing along his neck, clinging onto him in breathless pants and moans, proving that he definitely still hardened under the influence of drugs.

In truth, Kazuha has always known that Heizou wanted him. He wanted him the first time they crossed paths, he wanted him when Kazuha introduced Scaramouche as his long-time partner, and he seized the opportunity the moment Kazuha declared that he and Scaramouche were done.

And that’s fine by him. Heizou is cool, even if he gets annoyingly loud during sex sometimes. A hole is a hole, regardless of whether it’s warm or not, tight or loose. Besides, Heizou is insanely attractive, so who is Kazuha to turn him down?

As he passes by the living area, where Shinobu is nursing a steaming mug, Kazuha catches sight of Heizou smoking a cigarette on the veranda. Their eyes lock briefly, and Heizou exhales a stream of gray smoke, returning to his thoughts as Kazuha heads to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the shower, Kazuha strips off his clothes and steps under the spray, craning his head back to let the stifling water sprinkle over his face. He closes his eyes momentarily, trying to wash away the thoughts clogging his mind.

Yet… the same pair of eventide-blue eyes haunt him, accompanied by that infuriatingly cocky grin and cadence that only Scaramouche possesses. His Kuni looks drop-dead gorgeous as always, and Kazuha can’t help but feel like an idiot for letting him go.

But the breakup was necessary. At least, it had felt that way at the time.

…Though they’re always on and off, he doesn’t know if they’ll find their way back to each other this time. Perhaps not. It’s nearing the third week, Scaramouche remains the same douchebag, and Kazuha hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to reconcile.

But can he really keep this up until it’s truly dead and buried between them?

Kazuha mulls this over as he scrubs soap over his body, the latest bruises from Scaramouche fading now, remnants of the night before their hundredth breakup. …The memories of his ex, however, from that night remain alive, pumping and rattling in the crevices of his mind. Scaramouche had seemed utterly distraught, defeated, but at the same time, confident that Kazuha would come crawling back to him.

Maybe he was right; maybe he wasn’t. Neither of them can really tell what this latest fuck-up should entail.

But then again, it isn’t Kazuha’s problem anymore. He refuses to let it weigh him down. They both had their faults, but that doesn’t mean Kazuha is forbidden from seeking his own inner peace.

They just… had too many feelings, is the thing, and that was the crux of it. A chaotic storm of bottled-up emotions teetering on the edge, ready to explode at any moment. It was always the smallest things that ignited their fury—each foolish action, every word left unsaid, piling up like debris in their fractured relationship. Having lived together, their personalities revealed themselves, inevitably, both pretty and ugly. Mostly ugly. Scaramouche with his explosive anger issues, and Kazuha, growing increasingly indifferent, caring less and less each day, with each clash pushing them further apart. It became a vicious cycle of hurt and despair.

They fought. Oh, how they fought. Their arguments were venomous, fueled by jealousy and possessiveness, leading to frantic sex that was excruciatingly desperate and toxic. They would tear at each other in bed, then break down in tears, begging for forgiveness, only to repeat the same mistakes the next day. They whispered I love you as if it were a lifeline, like they’d run out of chances telling them… a plea to remind themselves of what they once had, but those words felt hollow now—an echo of their past.

It became suffocating. Strangling. And Kazuha was used to freedom. Before Scaramouche entered his life—a tempestuous storm that disrupted his once tranquil existence—Kazuha was the epitome of blasé. He was unimpressed, dispassionate about things he’d never experienced. But Scaramouche shattered that exterior, leaving Kazuha restless and on edge, as if his very core had been upended. No preambles, no pretenses—just an unexpected madness that turned his world upside down.

Scaramouche had broken him—wrecked him in every conceivable way: mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and sexually. Their intimacy was a drug, an intoxicating high that pushed them to the brink. There was a time when Scaramouche had to call a family doctor because Kazuha was on the verge of collapse. “Too much,” the doctor had said, shaking their head. “You’re doing it way too much.” It had been a wake-up call, but they were too far gone—too hungry for each other, spiraling into obsession.

Their last fight had forced Kazuha to pack his things in a frenzy and leave before Scaramouche could wake up to nag him again—or worse, stop him from going. He ended up at Xiao’s that night, spending a day there because he knew Venti was coming over, Xiao’s secret lover. Kazuha had always been aware of their affair, the fact that they were cheating on Venti’s husband, Morax—Xiao’s father figure and their school principal, of all fucking people for all of a year now.

Xiao told him he was hopeless, that depression was feeding off him, and then he confessed that he would die for Venti. It was in the midst of this emotional outpouring that Xiao kissed him unexpectedly during breakfast, stealing five solid minutes that made Kazuha temporarily forget Scaramouche and Venti existed in their lives. But when Xiao pulled away, their lips still hovering close, he whispered, “Leave, Kazuha.” So he did.

What happened between them didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Kazuha figured the kiss was a thank-you for listening to Xiao’s sob story and nothing more. Like he said, he’d die for Venti. So.

Kazuha emerges from the bathroom, towel draped around him, wearing nothing but a fresh pair of underwear. He pads down the hallway and catches sight of Shinobu straddling Heizou’s lap. He doesn’t comment on it, simply slipping into the guest room to get ready.

He grabs a slice of cold pizza from the island on his way out, putting in his earphones as he jogs down the stairs and exits the complex. He’s off to college.

He gets out of the subway at 8:19 AM, stopping by a nearby pub that currently operates as a Chicken Wings Stop, and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. It’s the last stick. He lights it up with Scaramouche’s Zippo lighter. Well, it’s technically theirs, but Kuni buys most of their things since he’s the one capable between them, and it’s never been an issue before. They share a lot of things… Shared a lot of things, including their flat that only Scaramouche now resides in because Kazuha chose to vacate. Sure, he misses him almost every day, but staying with him is not a priority right now given their current situation.

…Speak of the devil.

He takes a long drag, leaning against the brick wall as he watches his ex walk by. Suddenly, someone calls out, “Scara!”

Scaramouche looks back over his shoulder, and the voice belongs to a pretty boy from their lab class. What’s his name again? Albedo? What’s he doing talking to Kuni?

Wait a minute… is that him? The blonde guy from the video? Kazuha watches in stealth and huffs when he sees them hug before they start back toward campus.

He whistles as they pass him, catching Scaramouche’s narrowed gaze before balking upon recognizing Kazuha, a wolfish smirk spreading across his face. “Yeah? Need something?”

Does he? No. He doesn’t need anything from him. Kazuha plainly looks at him and then Albedo, averting his gaze as he flicks the cigarette filter from his fingers and breezes past them.

“Stop being a cunt, babe! Just come back to me!” he hears Scaramouche yelling after him. Kazuha flips him off.

He attends his first class, Language, but isn’t paying attention to his surroundings. He’s on his phone instead, searching for Albedo’s profile on the students’ website. His eyes set ablaze when he finds what he’s looking for. “Hm… An art student, of course… 1993? Okay, he’s older than me. Straight-A’s, grew up in Mondstadt, has a reputation for being a prodigy? Not bad.”

“Hi, Kazuha. What are you doing?”

He looks up to see Ayaka, her long icy hair pulled into a high ponytail, secured by a blue ribbon. She looks beautiful as always, prim and proper for someone who almost committed arson the last time they got drunk during a game of Truth or Dare. “Ah. Nothing much.”

She drops into the seat next to him and nudges his arm. “Do you have a partner for that assignment the professor gave us?” Her tone is jovial. Innocent. Kazuha bites his lip and returns to scrolling on his phone, mindlessly browsing.

“What assignment?” he quips, genuinely unsure. When she doesn’t answer immediately, he glances at her again.

Ayaka smiles at him. “You didn’t listen, did you?”

“No.”

“Oh, well. It’s about—”

“Be my partner, then,” Kazuha chirps, leaning toward her.

This startles her. He still has that effect on her… “E-eh? But I’m already partners with—”

“Me,” he grins.

Sending him another sweet smile, Kazuha holds her hand for good measure. He notices her swallow hard, cheeks flushing a lovely shade of rose. She concedes, murmuring, “Okay…”

“That’s a good girl,” he praises softly, squeezing her hand before letting go. “Where should we do it?”

“Oh, you mean today?”

“Yeah. Later. Why not?” he muses.

Her voice lowers, and she mumbles, “Well, my brother won’t be home tonight… We can maybe do it at my house…?”

“That’s settled, then.” Kazuha grabs his things and rises just as their teacher dismisses them, making a beeline for the exit.

“Wait, Kazuha! Will you call me?” she asks, hopeful and earnest. Oh, how Kazuha loves her type.

Nodding, he promises, “I will. See you later.” That’s enough to make her bite her lower lip and grin, her frosty blue eyes gleaming with joy.

Shaking his head, Kazuha walks out of the classroom and heads to the library. He has a hunch this is where he’ll find Albedo. He wonders what he might need to do to get his way with him. From the looks of it, Albedo isn’t an easy target. He’s a smart guy, and Kazuha might have a hard time dealing with him. Tch. He hates these types of people the most.

As he enters the library, he’s met with tranquility and a calm atmosphere. The area is sparsely populated by a couple of students, heads down and noses buried in books. He scans the room, searching for someone, feeling his phone vibrate as he receives a text from… Heizou.

Hei: Wru
Kazu: school. whats up
Hei: Want u.
Kazu: im busy
Hei: Still in class? What about later then?
Kazu: pass. ill be at the kamisatos later
Hei: Fr? Who? Ayaka?
Kazu: yea. shes doing our assignment
Hei: Ah
Kazu: gtg. be home 2nite tho
Hei: Aight

He slips his phone back in his pocket as he clears his throat, sitting on an empty chair beside his target that he thankfully finds here.

Albedo looks at him but doesn’t say anything, only returning to the book he’s reading. Kazuha leans over the table, wanting Albedo to acknowledge his presence, and knocks elbows with him.

The blonde doesn’t relent and stands, taking the book with him. Kazuha snorts a laugh and follows Albedo into the maze of bookshelves.

And he observes Albedo for a moment, quietly patrolling the rows of shelves. Kazuha takes a turn into the Non-Fiction aisle, slowly ascending until Albedo stands in front of him, grabbing another book from the shelf. This is his chance.

“Hi.”

Albedo doesn’t even look at him as he bluntly asks, “What do you want?”

“You.”

“You lie. What do you want?” he repeats, although his bravado remains peaceful. Undisturbed.

Kazuha tilts his head, taking in Albedo’s clear skin and turquoise eyes. The guy is undeniably attractive, which explains why Scaramouche took an interest in him. “I just want to be friends. Am I not allowed?”

“I don’t trust you,” Albedo replies quickly. Kazuha’s jaw drops in surprise.

“Okay…? That’s because you don’t know me yet. So allow me to introduce myself.”

This time, Albedo turns his gaze toward him, assessing him seriously. Heart pounding in his chest, Kazuha rounds a bookshelf to get closer, and Albedo looks him up and down, unease flickering in his aquatic blue eyes.

Just then—

“…Kaedehara Kazuha.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? That’s me. So, you know me.”

Albedo crosses his arms over his chest. “I do. Because of Scara. And this is because of him, isn’t it? Get straight to the point.”

Kazuha mimics Albedo’s posture, clicking his tongue. Smart people really are the worst opponents.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Did my ex fuck you… Albedo Kreideprinz?”

“He wanted to.”

“And?”

Albedo stares back at him, lips parting slightly. He sighs. “I didn’t let him.”

“Oh? My Scara got rejected? That’s news,” Kazuha mutters, intrigued by the prospect. He can easily imagine Kuni simmering with indignation.

“Whatever you’re thinking, that’s not it,” Albedo cuts in, interrupting his thoughts. He shrugs. “I turned him down because I know he’s crazy about you. That’s literally it.”

Kazuha’s heart lurches. “When was this?”

“Before you two broke up.” Just as he suspected.

“He was about to cheat on me…” Kazuha fumes. “Who was the guy in the video, though?”

“What video?” Albedo blinks back at him, his expression betraying no memory of what Kazuha might be referring to. Hm.

“Oh, you know. The sex video he sent me. Are you sure you don’t—”

“Ah, a sex video… Then I don’t know about that…” Albedo shakes his head, but Kazuha notices how his eyebrows knit together, as if this information affects him too. So, he’s innocent. He really has no part in it.

Which, fuck.

“Fuck.” Kazuha turns to leave, annoyed at the whole situation. Albedo doesn’t stop him.

So, who the fuck is that blonde, Kuni? Who are they? Why haven’t you brandished their name or face yet? Why do you protect them?

“Kazuha…” Long, slender fingers reach for his face, beseeching that he looks at her, shower her with his attention, but he’s too busy setting up the video recorder in his phone while power thrusting. Ayaka feels warm, she’s so wet and her walls are tight around him.

Finally, the video is rolling. He looks down at her and plants a kiss on her forehead, pushing in a hard thrust. She whimpers in what can only be classified as delight. “Mhm, smile for the camera, love,” he coos, fucking up against her some more, her fanned-out thighs and legs hugging him around the waist.

She arches her back as she clings to him, her round breasts getting squished in between their flushed torsos. Ayaka angles her head and then smirks seductively at the camera, prettily so, before her eyes roll at the back of her head, Kazuha doing the same, smiling up at the screen.

He locks his phone after filming for at least three minutes—just him fucking Kamisato Ayaka, one of the hottest girls on campus. It’s only fair that he returns the favor, right?

When it’s over and Ayaka hurriedly urges him to get dressed and leave before her brother comes home, Kazuha tells her to handle their assignment and put his name on the credits. She agrees, and tiptoes to the door to give him a quick kiss as she sends him off.

On his way to the subway, Kazuha taps away on his phone, sending Scaramouche a quick text along with a downloadable attachment.

she smelled divine. u know how much i love it when someone smells good. think i’ll do it again :)

Babe: where the fuck are you
Babe: COME HOME TO ME
Babe: kazuha i swear to FUCKING god
Babe: YOU’RE MINE
Babe: YOU’RE MINE!!!!!

Chapter Text

Kazuha

Babe: i will kill myself if u don’t come back to me this instant i’m being fucking serious right now
Babe: kazuha. FUCK
Babe: u know i own a gun, i’ll put this shit into my mouth and pull the trigger if u DONT FUCKING ANSWER!!!!!! FUCKCFJCK
Babe: WHY WONT U FUCKING ANSWER MY CALLS

38 missed calls from Babe

Scaramouche has been blowing up his phone all morning, but Kazuha can’t care less when all he can hear is the sound of Chris Martin’s smooth cadence and the low whirring of the fan as he passes the joint over to Xiao, their fingertips briefly brushing. He crawls across the carpet toward his companion for today, Xiao, his confidant, one of his closest friends—someone he kisses and flirts with because he can.

Oh, he can. And his obsessive, control-freak ex isn’t here to stop him.

Kazuha waits for the guy though; he waits until Xiao takes a long drag, letting the kush work its way through him before blowing a mist of thick, grass-scented smoke. Then, he leans in to catch the shotgun, stealing a chaste kiss on Xiao’s lips. Xiao’s puffy red eyes crinkle with a lazy grin, bobbing his head to the languid beats filling the small studio apartment, all while Kazuha’s phone keeps buzzing.

He…loves Scaramouche, really. He loves him a ridiculously huge amount actually, but the guy takes theater classes, where he majors in drama, so you can probably guess why a threat about some silly gun to his throat doesn’t faze Kazuha. He won’t do it. His Kuni is too much of a narcissist, he takes pride in living like a god, a king in his own palace, he loves himself to the core to end it all. So Kazuha is not going to answer his calls, no matter what he says, because Scaramouche is the best at lying, he’s the greatest manipulator there is, and Kazuha upon knowing all that is not going to fall for his traps anymore.

“Your phone’s been ringing. Gonna answer it or what?” Xiao asks, lazily blowing out another puff and passing the joint back.

Shaking his head with a sly smile, Kazuha takes the offered blunt that’s almost done to the filter, and consumes the last dregs, diffusing the embers in the ashtray; he tips his chin and leans in for another shotgun, and Xiao is generous enough to grant it without question, meeting him halfway. Kazuha grabs him by the nape as soon as their faces are near, and presses their lips firmer, parting his lips open to pass the smoke and lick into his mouth. Xiao releases lazy chuckles at his attempt at making out, but that’s exactly what happens next, the man cupping his cheeks and challenging him to kiss harder.

And it’s messy, sloppy, but Kazuha loves every second of it. Besides, they’re both too high to care, and Xiao—god, Xiao—he’s such a good kisser that it makes sense why Venti would risk a nine-year marriage with the Rex Lapis for him. The thought itself makes Kazuha want to revel in these fleeting moments they share, making sure to savor every bit of it. So, he devours Xiao’s mouth with his tongue, taking whatever the man is willing to offer because that’s all Xiao ever allows when they meet up.

They’re just pals.

At least, that’s what Kazuha tells himself. Ha. Just pals. No feelings, no strings—just a few shared kisses and some weed to smooth out the rough edges of their tragic lives. Kazuha never harbored real feelings for Xiao, despite how hot he is—despite his easy charm, his sharp wit, and how effortlessly sexy he seems. Maybe there was a tiny crush, but it’s nothing. He’s not about to get tangled up in Xiao’s complicated affair with Venti, that’s not his role.

He’s here for comfort, and perhaps the occasional making out. The good weed, snagged from shady dealers in the black market, just enough to blur the lines between reality and oblivion.

That’s all this is.

They’re here because of their trash lives, their trainwreck relationships—situationships, honestly. Xiao reached out, said he needed to forget for a while, asked Kazuha to bring the weed so they could get hammered together. Apparently, Venti hasn’t been able to see Xiao much lately because Morax, Venti’s husband, took a week off work. It’s obvious why—he’s spending time at home with Venti.

And Xiao? He can’t handle it. He’s lonely.

As lonely as Kazuha is, grappling with his unresolved feelings for Scaramouche, his ex continues to toy with him. Scara is still messing around with that nameless blonde—the one he wouldn’t even let Kazuha touch, let alone see the face of. And to top it all off, just the other day, Scaramouche had sent another video—the little shit—this time of him sucking the blonde’s dick, flaunting it like some kind of sick trophy.

And then there’s Ayaka. Poor girl. Suspended after Scaramouche leaked their sex video, the one where she was proudly displaying her breasts, letting Kazuha suck on them, playing with her nipples while she rode him. She even grinned at the camera, her face so clear, so recognizable to anyone who went to their uni. Now Kazuha’s life is in serious danger, because Kamisato Ayato, her brother, is coming after him.

But for now, in this little space, Kazuha pushes it all aside. Nothing wrong with talking to Xiao about all of it, right? And surely, nothing wrong with doing this either—Kazuha perched on Xiao’s lap, his head tilted for better access to Xiao’s mouth, tasting that same delicious kiss that makes everything else fade into background noise.

Except his phone.

The damn thing won’t stop ringing.

Xiao pulls away, breaking the kiss with a soft groan, and swiftly snatches Kazuha’s phone from the floor. He answers without hesitation, and Kazuha can only sigh, licking the remnants of Xiao off his lips as he drops his forehead onto the guy’s shoulder. He listens to the voice on the other end—Scaramouche’s voice—invading his peace.

“Yeah, this is. Yeah, he’s here. …Mhm, yeah. …Yeah. …Ah, very high. Yeah.”

Xiao ends the call and puts the phone down.

Kazuha groans softly, disappointed. “You told him I’m here,” he mutters with a pout, already imagining Scaramouche storming into the place any minute now, cutting short whatever freedom he had left to enjoy with Xiao. It means no more stolen kisses, no more moments of reckless indulgence.

“He asked, so.” Xiao simply simpers, and then he’s holding Kazuha by the hips and asking, “Now, where were we?”

Grinning, Kazuha recaptures his lips and they’re back at it again.

He feels Xiao inhale through the kiss, sucking his tongue and tightening his hold around his waist. Kazuha begins to grind down against him, their crotches bulging in bliss, can’t keep their hands to themselves. Kazuha has his fingers through Xiao’s downy locks, massaging his scalp as he deepens their kiss. They carry on doing just that until they’re five songs down and high on their wits, Kazuha’s libido pooling at his gut.

But then the door slams open, and Kazuha’s too fucking horny, too damn intoxicated dry-humping a hot friend that he doesn’t hear the wood cracking against the concrete. All he manages to catch within his peripherals is the hurtling phone that flew across the room as his ex barged through the flat, the thundering sounds of heavily orchestrated footsteps stomping on the floorboards. And the next thing is that he’s being ripped away from Xiao.

Scaramouche shoves at Xiao’s chest, who merely leans back with the heel of his palm planted on the carpet, pushed down by force. “Fuck off my man.” He sneers, and then he’s snapping at Kazuha soon after, yanking him by the hair as he spits, “You dirty little bitch, I said you’re mine.”

His ex captures his lips into a bruising kiss, and it happens so fast Kazuha couldn’t have turned away from it in time. Scaramouche is eager to lick into his mouth and get a taste of his tongue, which irks him the fuck out—his stupid fucking aggression pisses Kazuha off, so much so that he lets himself taste metal. Smell the nasty stench of blood that lathers onto the lap of his own tongue.

It’s rancid, but it does the trick, successfully getting Scaramouche to jump back with a bleeding lip. “You bit me,” the guy snarls, although he’s smiling wickedly as he wipes where it drips with the back of his hand. “Come on, up you go. You’re coming with me because I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be sorry for inflicting pain on me.” Scaramouche hauls him off the carpet without a care for his well-being—his usual. “On your feet, babe,” he adds, drawing it out darkly, the guy dragging him out of Xiao’s apartment by the arm.

If Kazuha wasn’t so stoned to care… he probably would’ve knocked his ex out cold the second he barged in. But right now, he’s too far gone to muster that kind of rage, everything swirling too fast around him, his brain too hazy to keep up.

By the time he’s sober enough to form words, he’s slouched in the passenger seat of Scaramouche’s sleek, silver Pagani, his forehead resting against the cool glass of the window. Outside, the city blurs past, but he barely notices. His voice, when he speaks, is heavy and drained. “So, who’s the blonde?”

“Why do you keep asking about him?” Scaramouche’s gaze doesn’t waver from the road, his tone equally distant.

“Because.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Then stop asking. He’s no one.”

Kazuha exhales, a long, quiet breath fogging the window beside him. But he knows better. Scaramouche always says the important ones are ‘no one.’

The moment Kazuha steps into the apartment, it feels like walking into a prison—one he’s familiar with, even comfortable in, but a cage all the same. The unit looks just like it did the last time he left, every detail frozen in time. The violet sofa, worn from countless nights of passion, sits in its usual spot, the TV and air-conditioner remotes strewn on top like they always are. The stack of magazines at the far corner hasn’t moved an inch. And, of course, the kitchen is spotless, thanks to Kuni’s obsessive cleanliness. Despite the emotional chaos he thrives in, Scaramouche’s obsessive-compulsive disorder ensures that his space is immaculate. Not a single germ stands a chance.

Everything in its place, everything perfect. It only makes Kazuha feel more trapped.

The soft mewl of Priscilla echoes from the bedroom, and instinctively, Kazuha drops to his knees, waiting for her to come bounding toward him. The second she’s in his arms, he clings to her, tears welling up in his eyes. “Sweetie, oh, sweetheart… I’ve missed you so much…” His voice breaks as he buries his face into her soft fur, his fingers curling gently into her little body, feeling his eyes water. She is… an all-gray Scottish Fold that Kuni got him on his twenty-first birthday, with golden canary eyes and the cutest damn thing on this planet, their one-year-old cat. Just another handkerchief to wipe his sorrows with. “Oh, Priscilla… Daddy’s cheating on me. He’s cheating on me… I’m sorry I left you with him. I’m so sorry.”

“Kazuha.”

A pair of warm hands find their way to his shoulders, turning him around. Kazuha barely has time to process it before Priscilla is set gently on the floor, and he’s pulled into a firm hug. The tears he’s been holding back pour out, and all the bottled-up pain hits him at once. He’s crying harder than he wants to, feeling like an idiot, but he can’t stop. It hurts too much. Scaramouche doesn’t love him anymore.

His Kuni. His babe. His everything.

Scaramouche wipes his tears away with surprising tenderness, his thumbs brushing against Kazuha’s wet cheeks. He looks as sharp and beautiful as ever—his signature red eyeliner framing his piercing indigo eyes, tattoos crawling up his arms, his dark fringe slightly longer than the last time Kazuha saw him. The choker at his neck pulls everything together, making him look treacherous and heartbreakingly intimate.

“When do you plan on getting back with me, Kazu?” Scaramouche’s voice is soft but serious.

He shrugs, downcast. “I don’t know… You’ve been a dick to me, baby, and I was an asshole to you. It’s suffocating, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, sure,” clips Scaramouche, letting out a quiet agreement. Then, without warning, he cups Kazuha’s face and kisses him, not the usual aggressive, possessive kiss from their countless fights. no. This one is soft, tender, and full of a longing that almost makes Kazuha believe they can fix things, making him fail to remember how this thing right here is just… beyond repair.

That may be the case, still, Kazuha lets his ex undress him, slowly, all while he offers his neck, jaw, collarbones… His throat, every inch of him being littered with fervent kisses. And until their mouths connect again, this time, moving against each other in a wild sense. Like they usually do it, where Scaramouche hefts him off the ground, and it will be Kazuha’s call to wrap his legs around the guy’s hips on pure instinct because then Scaramouche will bring them into the bedroom where he can have him, fully, no ado.

It’s where he gets thrown on the bed, ever so familiar with its distinct scent, with Scaramouche on top of him in seconds, hungrily coaxing his lips to part with a guttural groan so he can lick into his mouth and suck on his tongue, just like that. Wetly. With a pop. Invading him, his senses, his system.

But, “We shouldn’t—”

“Sshh. You’ll ruin it.”

He would, he’s right. So just this once, Kazuha zips it and instead allows the guy to remove the rest of his clothes, shoes, and socks, untying the strings of his joggers and chucking them off to the ground.

“God, I fucking missed this… I missed you, Kazu. My best sex ever,” Scaramouche murmurs, gawking down at him, the lust and keenness evident in his voice, the fact that he speaks the truth, that he missed this… He missed this too, just like Kazuha did.

Something he feels—too prominently—when Scaramouche captures his lips again, his tongue insistently probing for entry. And Kazuha gives in, meeting the kiss with equal fervor, his hands threading through Scaramouche’s hair, pulling and tugging with urgency. Their breaths mingle, hot and ragged, as their chests press together, rising and falling in sync. The kiss is intense, their need for each other spilling over in every frantic pull.

It takes a while before Scaramouche reaches for the drawers, whipping out a bottle of lube. “Here. Prep for me? I like watching you finger yourself open…”

Like I don’t know.

With a quiet huff and a roll of his eyes, Kazuha picks up the bottle and squeezes a dab over his palm, amused by the wink of affection coursing through him. Reaching for his hole, he does as he’s told—like clockwork. He inserts two digits into himself, working his walls loose, watching Scaramouche take his hoodie off in the background, toeing off his shoes and peeling his jeans off, freeing his cock, noticeably hard and pink at the tip. The kind that makes Kazuha salivate.

The very kind that has him letting go of his hole and sitting up on the bed, kneeling over the mattress and toward his Kuni…

It’s because of that beautiful dick. Big, neat, causing Kazuha to lose his mind and shorten his breath… He’s losing it…he’s losing it quickly. He needs to suck him off, he needs to suck him off now.

So he does. He does… while Scaramouche stands there, head tilted to the side as he stares down at him. With those heavy-lidded eyes, hand extended and fingers carding through his locks. The touch is—it’s doing things in Kazuha’s lower belly. Butterflies. Because alas, Scaramouche still sets him off as if they only met yesterday, as if they never exchanged hurtful words to each other, as if they haven’t been wounded and splintered, day after day, and fallen and broke.

Kazuha takes the guy’s cock into his mouth, like he means it (and he does), peering up at him because that’s just how they roll. Where Kazuha would give him head while they maintained eye contact, as per his sex-crazed Kuni’s demand, as per their practiced routine over the years. He loves it when Kazuha bends and kneels before him, loves it when he arches his back as he writhes underneath him, and loves it even more when Kazuha loses all senses and control.

…Loves it when Kazuha slobbers all over his shaft, like he is now, and when Kazuha chokes on it, right now, when Kazuha’s eyelashes dampen as he gags—

“You’re so hot, so good for me, baby,” Scaramouche praises, playing with the ends of his ponytail, twirling it with his fingers. Then he grabs a huge chunk of his hair, all of a sudden, fucking into his mouth, forcing Kazuha’s eyes shut at the impact, throat jabbed by the nib. But he remains unbothered, of course, he does, so Scaramouche does it again, and again, and until he fucks Kazuha’s mouth with his dick, imploring fatter tears spilling out of Kazuha’s eyes.

He doesn’t stop, he won’t fucking stop. Not unless Kazuha jostles him back with force to make him quit it. “Fuck,” Kazuha exhales, coughing off thick dabs of spit that connect a scintillating line to Scaramouche’s girth.

And a pair of lips chase him before he can recover, his ex practically devouring his mouth and cleaning every last drop of drool covering his chin, snout, and the corners of his lips. Just with his tongue, and that busted lower lip where he’d bit him off the first time.

It’s all hot and driving Kazuha insane, but what’s new? This is how they fuck, they’ve done it countless times before nothing is new to him.

He even foresees it—Scaramouche pushing him down to lie on the bed, solely so he can crawl on top of him, making the bed dip beneath their combined weight.

A strong grip around one of his legs wrenches it to get him scooting upward, right below Scaramouche, who lines the head of his cock across his pulsing rim, pushing in without grace. And all Kazuha does is moan through it, gritting his teeth at the first burn as he clutches the sheets… Come to think of it, Scaramouche is the only one who he lets fuck him like this, hence it’s always painful at the start. Some other times, it’s Kazuha who fucks other people, taking his dick, not him taking theirs. Kuni is the lone exception. Why’s that?

“Shit, Kazu… Shit. Best hole. Best hole…”

“Shut up and fuck me. Move.”

“Yeah, alright… Moving.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, Scaramouche tightens his hold on his leg, adjusting his stance a little. After seemingly finding an angle, the pounding begins, and Kazuha feels it all—the swift pushing and pulling, the inning and the outing. It’s just like all their other fucks, where Scaramouche takes care of him like he’s a rag doll. Rag doll that doesn’t mean shit. He wrecks him until he feels worthless, spanks his ass even when he doesn’t want it, and leaves trails of hickeys all over his flesh, marking him, bruising him like a peach when he specifically asks not to do it because he’d have to be in school or at work the next morning. Just another addition to the things they quarrel about, and it seems it hasn’t changed at all. “So warm, so tight… Fuck, I love you. I fucking love you.”

Do you, really?

The bed rocks underneath them, Scaramouche is doing it again—going too far with him again, but Kazuha will give him the benefit of the doubt, this time. It’s probably because they haven’t had sex in three weeks, right? That’s it. That’s the only reason he’s pushing it too far. Fucking Kazuha like this. It’s not like he hasn’t done it time and time again that they almost broke the bed once.

And, it’s not like they care, it’s not like Scaramouche would bat an eye should the bed actually fall apart when he’s a son of an unimaginably successful woman who would get him anything and everything he asks.

They never care… What matters is Scaramouche ‘finishing’ satisfied, that he gets Kazuha to come (otherwise his ego is tarnished), and he gets to fill him with his load to the brim. Until he’s satisfied.

“This is why I love fucking you the most… The fucking most… You… I…love—I fucking love you, baby.” Kuni has started blabbering now, muttering incoherence, not making any sense. He’s gone, and Kazuha only wants more.

Too bad he’s not going to last any longer. He can feel his untouched cock shooting any moment—

“Ahhh,” he groans out, reaching for Scaramouche to kiss him through his orgasm. The guy complies, easily, kissing him open-mouthed all while he winces in pain—and, oh. Right. The cut on his lip when Kazuha bit him earlier. Huh. Good riddance.

“I’m almost there… I’m almost there,” is the last thing Kazuha hears from him before feeling something hot and wet pool over his spent, overstimulated walls.

The guy drops over his heaving chest, heavily, exhausted, and Kazuha welcomes it, closing his eyes as he embraces his ex who nuzzles at the crook of his neck. “You smell so nice, Kuni…” Literally my favorite piece of you.

The answering grunt tells Kazuha he’s out.

Kazuha’s never been much of a singer, not really into music beyond the occasional song when the silence gets too heavy. But somehow, he learned to play the guitar—because of Kuni. Because Scaramouche, for reasons Kazuha will never fully understand, loves his voice. His singing voice, specifically. Said it was angelic once, like Kazuha had the power to soothe every storm with a melody.

So, of course, Kuni bought him a guitar. Stella.

She’s here now, resting in his hands, her tawny beige surface glowing under the low light. Kazuha sits naked on the bed, not bothering to dress post-orgasm, enjoying the cool air on his skin. He strums a few chords, tuning her carefully when something doesn’t sound right.

Across the room, Scaramouche watches him in silence, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers, his eyes half-lidded, dazed. He looks so… peaceful. Like he hasn’t torn Kazuha apart a thousand times, like his presence alone doesn’t still twist the knife in his heart. He looks at Kazuha with the same innocence as always, like he’s never messed with his head, when that’s all he’s ever done.

Kazuha starts to sing, his voice soft at first, careful. “Watching the video you sent me… the one where you’re showering with wet hair dripping. You know that I’m obsessed with your body… but it’s the way you smile that does it for me.”

He closes his eyes, letting the music pull him in, just like it did all those months ago. Back when they were happy. “It’s so sweet, knowing that you love me… even when we don’t say it. Just knowing I love you, and running my fingers through your hair… it’s so sweet.”

When he opens his eyes again, Scaramouche is still staring at him, the cigarette now forgotten. He looks so lost, so despondent, like something’s been broken inside him too. And Kazuha feels it, that same hollow ache in his chest. What happened to us, Scara?

He keeps playing, his fingers moving almost on instinct. “Watching the video where you’re lying… in your red lingerie, ten times nightly. You know I think your skin’s perfect, but it’s your eyes that pull me under…”

Did you mean it when you said you loved me earlier? Was that real? Is it still real?

The second chorus hits him like a punch to the gut. His fingertips sting from the strings, but the ache in his heart is sharper. This is the same song he sang to Scaramouche on their first anniversary. The night Scaramouche took him to that fancy restaurant when everything was so easy, so perfect. No fights, no drama, no heartbreak. Just love. They had even talked about the future—marriage, kids. Kazuha said two, but Scaramouche had smiled and said, “Why only two, Kazu? We’ve got the money, we can raise one more.”

Kazuha's voice cracks as he finishes the final line. “And I will gladly break it… I will gladly break my heart for you. And I will gladly break it… I will gladly break my heart for you…”

The music fades, but the silence is unbearable. All Kazuha can feel is the weight of everything they’ve lost. Everything they once dreamed of, everything that slipped away between their fingers.

“You know this doesn’t change a thing, right?” Kazuha murmurs, pulling his shirt over his head. He glances at Scaramouche, who sits on the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate, looking up at him through the steam. They’ve moved to the living room now, the TV on in the background, casting a soft glow over the room. They could easily put on a movie, pretend for just a little longer. Kazuha doesn’t have to leave.

But he will. Because, like he said, sex doesn’t fix anything. It never has. It only helps with the rush of serotonin, with letting off steam. It doesn’t change the fact that they’re broken, that their relationship—the one they don’t even have anymore—is careening on the edge, about to fall into something they can’t come back from.

Scaramouche doesn’t reply. Just sits there, staring into his cup. Kazuha slips on his shoes, glancing at his ex one last time, seeing the same emptiness in those eyes. Ready to watch him walk out that door. Again.

Without another word, Kazuha leaves the apartment that was once theirs.

Kazuha drags on his cigarette, flicking the butt into the sewer before kicking the sole of his shoe against the alley floor and heading into the flower shop. It’s the weekend, and while there’s no uni, he still has to work his part-time job, helping out here. The shop is peaceful, usually, and a far cry from his other gig serving milkshakes in a garish uniform at Mr. Draff’s.

He’s greeted by Kokomi’s polite smile—his coworker who seems to run on fanfiction and retro music. Then there’s Tighnari, his boss. The long-time crush Kazuha tries not to dwell on, especially since Tighnari is very much taken by Cyno, a cop who’s annoyingly attractive. Still, Kazuha can’t help it.

“Well, you look like shit,” Tighnari says, without looking up from the mantelpiece he’s rearranging, his keen eyes catching everything as always.

Kazuha smirks slightly, pretending not to feel the sting of reality in his boss’ blunt words. “Thanks, boss. And you look beautiful.” And Tighnari does. Every day. Always.

A faint blush rises on Tighnari’s cheeks, though his eyebrows remain furrowed in chagrin, like Kazuha has just insulted his plants. “What happened?” Tighnari demands, hands seeded firmly on his hips. “And don’t you brush me off this time. Did you even sleep?”

Kazuha shrugs, nodding. “I did.”

“You have new bruises,” Tighnari notes, eyes narrowing.

“Hickeys,” Kazuha corrects.

“Right… Now spill.”

Kazuha sighs, realizing he’s trapped. With a glance around the shop, his eyes settle back on his boss. “Come with me to the back. I’ll tell you everything.”

Tighnari hesitates, glancing over at Kokomi, who’s busy at the till. He furrows his brow but eventually nods. “Okay, but make it quick.”

Kazuha’s heart skips a beat. He grins wide, practically floating as he murmurs, “As you wish, boss,” following Tighnari to the back with his eyes glued to his boss’ ass, already daydreaming about the things he’d do with it.

And just like any other day, they have sex in the storage room, all while they listen to a song playing around the shop. He kisses Tighnari like there’s no tomorrow, just because he loves how he tastes. And he loves it even more that they do this to get revenge on police officer Cyno, who is allegedly cheating on Tighnari with a rollerblade waitress working two blocks away from their home, a woman who goes by Nilou.

Taking that into consideration, Kazuha thinks that doing this behind the cop’s back is justified. …Supposing that he cares.

“There, yes, right there… Kazuha, yes, fuck,” his pretty boss chants, preens, like a delicate flower, every joint in his amazing body flush pink, arching his back as he pushes his ass deeper to Kazuha’s cock, just as Kazuha fucks him conventionally from behind.

He reaches over, loving the view of his own boss in a doggy-style position right before him, and inserts two fingers into his mouth, letting the guy suck on them, wet and dribble all over them, just as Kazuha quickens his power-thrusts, because it’s supposed to be a quickie, it’s what Tighnari wants, holding the guy in place by gripping his lithe waist with his other hand.

It’s always a pleasure to be rendering Tighnari like this, whining his name past his lips, begging to be fucked even harder, harder, Kazuha, harder…when most days, he would scold Kazuha for either coming to work late or getting high during working hours, seeing as he’s still a student, technically. And Tighnari is probably like…five or more years older than him, so—it is a responsibility of his to make sure that a college part-timer like Kazuha isn’t doing anything suspiciously illegal, most especially not within the business premises, otherwise they both can get in trouble.

Which—

Which now is just a load of fucking crap, obviously. Considering Kazuha fucks his boss from time to time (and Tighnari has made it clear to him that they’re only doing this because he’s mad at his husband), none of that shit applies to him anymore, thank you very much.

Still, it’s fun to manhandle an adult like Tighnari. Aside from he’s one hell of a fuck, he’s a DILF as well. It’s like a dream come true, and Kazuha has yet to wake up. If only Kuni would—

“So are you gonna tell me now?” Tighnari shoots as they both wear their clothes one by one.

“There’s nothing much to tell, to be honest. It’s just Kuni being an ass, the usual.”

“What did he do this time?”

Kazuha fixes his wristwatch and checks his phone, in case he received any texts in the last hour. He didn’t. “Think he might’ve found someone, potentially replacing me,” he relays to Tighnari, absently.

“Oh. Do we know them?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, “I couldn’t see their face in the videos Kuni sends me. I have a feeling he’s protecting their identity because he knows I would fuck them up once I knew.”

“Have you got any idea though?” Tighnari proceeds to ask after they’re done fixing themselves up.

Shrugging, Kazuha reiterates, consideringly, “Mm… Just that they’re blonde, have a small waist, and are petite. Like a doll.”

“Huh… Okay.” His boss appears to be pondering, putting a hand under his chin.

Kazuha shakes his head with a smile. “Never mind that. I’ll get to the bottom of it. Your turn. How’s it going with Cyno? You do know he’ll kill us if he ever finds out we’ve been fucking behind his back.”

“I know. But that’s why you’ll keep your mouth shut.” Tighnari snorts as he raises a brow. “And haven’t we already established that he cheated first?”

“You don’t know that,” Kazuha points out, and…yep, he’s just struck a nerve.

His boss’ eyes set ablaze, and he staggers, already fuming.

“He visits that restaurant every fucking night, what do you mean I don’t know? I know so. He’s definitely fucking that waitress, there’s just no other explanation for it!”

“Well… Maybe it’s just a stop for him. You know how exhausting it gets, tryna catch criminals every day.”

“Kazuha,” Tighnari utters carefully, “This is a gut feeling, okay? I know he’s cheating on me. You won’t understand a married person’s instincts because you haven’t been married, understood? Let’s put it this way. It’s the same with you suspecting Scaramouche replacing you.” Tighnari sighs, running a hand through his hair. “If it wasn’t for his huge dick…”

“Huger than mine?” Kazuha quips, eyebrows furrowing.

And Tighnari perks up, eyeing him, blushing high on his ivory cheeks. “Oh, honey. As much as I love yours, and it is such a nice dick, don’t get me wrong,” the man recites as fast as one could, “but Cyno’s got a monster cock, so.” He beams.

“Fine.” Kazuha pouts, while Tighnari roll his eyes.

“Now come on, before Kokomi starts wondering what’s taking us so long.”

“Yeah, okay. Come here for a second.” Kazuha grabs Tighnari by his apron and steals one last kiss before emerging from the storage room.

Work at the flower shop is easy for Kazuha. He mainly has to monitor the flowers, make sure they stay fresh, regulate the shop’s temperature, and keep things organized. It’s so laid-back that he gets to slouch around whenever he feels like it, and Tighnari never complains. In fact, Tighnari lets him do as he pleases and even throws in the occasional raise. Not something Kokomi needs to know about, though—she’s too engrossed in her manga anyway.

“How’s Ayaka, by the way?” Kokomi asks casually, flipping a page. Of course, she knows. Everyone on campus knows.

“Dunno,” Kazuha mutters.

“You didn’t keep in contact after that?”

“No. Her brother literally wants me dead.”

“Understandable. You’re really playing with fire, huh?”

Kazuha glances at Tighnari, smirking. “Guess I am.”

Tighnari rolls his eyes from behind the cash register, but Kazuha catches a faint blush dusting his cheeks. It’s cute—sexy, even.

Later, Dehya swings by with Collei, Tighnari and Cyno’s adopted daughter. She’s a sweet girl with pear-green hair and periwinkle eyes, turning eight soon. The fact that her dads are too busy competing with each other doesn’t change that. Still, that won’t stop Kazuha from fantasizing about Tighnari—because, damn, the guy is too breedable to resist.

His phone pings with an MMS. It’s a picture of Scaramouche, naked, lounging on a balcony surrounded by scattered music sheets, with the message: missing u.

Kazuha doesn’t respond. Not when his eyes catch a foot in the background—probably the mystery blonde—and the place definitely isn’t their apartment.

So Scaramouche is with him, having a good time. Well, good for you, Kuni. Good for you.

He clocks out of work before seven, already exhausted by the time he arrives at Heizou and Shinobu’s place. Thankfully, Shinobu is home tonight—it’s her day off from the tattoo parlor—and she’s on dinner duty.

The mouthwatering aroma hits him before he even steps inside the apartment. He heads straight to the kitchen for a glass of water, where Shinobu has clearly heard about the drama at school, judging by her confused tone as she starts probing him.

“Wait, so… Isn’t that Ayaka girl gay? I remember her mentioning she has a girlfriend… What’s her name again? Yo… Yomi…?”

“Yoimiya.”

“There! Isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Or maybe she’s bisexual… Honestly, what is it with you straight people thinking there are only three sexualities or less?” Kazuha snorts, amused.

Shinobu chuckles along. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Expert on Sexualities.”

“Anyway…”

“What about you, then? Does that mean you’re bisexual? Since, you know, you had a boyfriend and now you’re running around with girls.” She leans in, genuine curiosity lighting up her doe-like eyes under the flickering kitchen light bulb—one that’s on the verge of burning out. Kazuha makes a mental note to replace it; it wouldn’t hurt to contribute to the lovebirds’ home.

“I’ll fuck anyone I want, love, regardless of gender, as long as they’re of age and I have their consent,” he replies, half-serious. He thinks about adding, and your boyfriend isn’t exactly straight either, but that’s a line he won’t cross.

“Ah… Damn. I’m so confused…”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got other things to focus on.” He winks at her.

“Right.” With that, Shinobu returns to her cooking, hopping off the counter.

Kazuha leaves the kitchen and plops down on the sofa, where Heizou has the TV running in the background, absorbed in cleaning his camera equipment with a towel.

They don’t exchange a single word, but Kazuha notices how Heizou keeps glancing toward the kitchen, ever the sneaky guy. When he’s sure Shinobu is fully absorbed in her cooking—singing softly as she fries something—Heizou takes his chance, placing a hand what’s between Kazuha’s thighs. Kazuha doesn’t protest. He’s grown used to this dynamic, and finds it comical that Heizou always initiates. Sometimes, Kazuha wonders if he should tell him off, but he never does.

Instead, he murmurs, “She might catch us, you know?” unlocking his phone to reread Scaramouche’s last message. He scrolls through it while Heizou’s hands start fumbling with his crotch through his shorts.

“Not a chance,” Heizou mutters back, his confidence almost laughable.

Kazuha sighs. He doesn’t mind the touching, but his thoughts are elsewhere—fixed on Scaramouche. He misses him, painfully so, especially when staring at the photo he sent. In the image, Scaramouche is sitting on a balcony surrounded by music sheets. Kazuha wonders what they’re for, but he can’t focus. He’s too distracted by the sight of Scaramouche, his ex’s beauty tugging at his heart in ways he wishes it wouldn’t.

It hurts that he can’t go back to him, no matter how much he longs to. No matter how much Scaramouche feels like the moon to his sun, orbiting so close yet always out of reach… But Kazuha had promised himself—he wouldn’t return unless Scaramouche changed. It’s not just him though; Kazuha knows he’s no saint either. He sleeps around when they’re not together, trying to fill the void, but he knows the truth. As long as Scaramouche doesn’t change, Kazuha won’t make any effort himself.

It’s a toxic tug-of-war, both of them locked in a cycle, waiting for the other to make the first move. But Kazuha’s pride won’t allow it. Not him. Never him.

He crawls into bed that night, craving comfort more than anything else. But finding peace is futile when Heizou sneaks into the guest room, slipping under the sheets and jumping him. Kazuha doesn’t resist—another night of using his single status to numb the emptiness, while the thoughts of Scaramouche keep swirling in his mind, refusing to let him go.

Maybe Kazuha truly seems like an asshole for fucking anyone who breathes since he and Scaramouche broke up for what he hoped was the ‘last time.’ But he knows he has good reasons for it. After all, he knows his ex-boyfriend well enough from their time together to understand that he isn’t crazy for seeking solace in the arms of others. Kazuha doesn’t feel guilty for leaving their shared apartment that day; because his suspicions had always been right.

He was valid for rebelling this way. He must admit he still loves Scaramouche, no matter how much he tries to shake it off, and it’s slowly but surely killing him.

“That’s for fucking my sister over,” Ayato snaps, towering over Kazuha as he sits on the ground, blood trickling down his face where Ayato’s punch landed. Kazuha had only wanted a new pack of cigarettes from the convenience store, but Ayato had been tracking him for days.

“Ayato… Shit. Guess I deserved that,” Kazuha grimaces, feeling the swelling already.

“You do. I don’t ever want to see your face again, or I don’t know what I’ll do to you the next time we cross paths.”

With that final threat, Ayato walks away, leaving Kazuha alone on the asphalt, nursing the pain in his cheek and trying to call Ayaka. His calls go straight to voicemail. “Hi! It’s Ayaka. Can’t come to the phone right now! Whoops. Leave a message after the beep. Beep!”

“Hey, it’s me, Kazu. Listen, I’m really sorry, Ayaka… I’m so, so fucking sorry. I fucked up; I know. Fucked up big time… But please, let me make it up to you… I hope you can still forgive me.”

He lowers his phone after the beep, staring blankly at it as the ache in his cheek throbs, a bittersweet reminder of his mistakes. God, he truly did deserve to be punched like that. Somehow, it felt good to release some of the pent-up frustration.

“Kazuha? What are you doing there?”

He looks up, startled to see Scaramouche pulling up in front of him. He swallows hard, instinctively hiding his face. But it’s useless; Scaramouche has memorized every inch of him, making it a losing battle. Kazuha can only watch as his ex steps out of the car, concern etched into his features. “What happened to your face?”

Before Kazuha can respond, Scaramouche’s fingers close around his chin, tilting his head to inspect the damage. Kazuha’s heart clenches. This is your fault; you leaked the video. I never leak yours, do I? Why did you have to fuck me over like this??

“Don’t touch me,” Kazuha snaps, pushing his hand away. The look on Scaramouche’s face is reminiscent of a child lost in a crowd, and it stings—scrapes at Kazuha’s heart—but he refuses to let that vulnerability show. Scaramouche just ruined Kamisato Ayaka, and he doesn’t even know.

“Who did this to you?” A growl escapes Scaramouche’s lips, but Kazuha can’t bring himself to answer. He won’t put this on Ayato.

“Just fuck off, will you? Leave me alone—”

“Scara? Do you have some music I can play?” a voice calls from the car.

Kazuha’s attention diverts, and he glances toward the car, then back to Scaramouche, who suddenly looks sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah, you can just, um, connect my phone…”

“Alright.”

Standing from the curb, Kazuha starts toward Scaramouche, unable to suppress the bitterness rising within him. “Who’s that?” he demands, gritting his teeth, “Is that him then? My replacement? I want to meet them. Let me meet them,” he insists, desperate to see the reality of it. But Scaramouche’s hand grips his arm, holding him back. It hurts too much. He’s exhausted from the cycle of love and pain. Everything is just…too much to bear.

“Please, Kazuha…” Scaramouche’s voice is low, pleading. Kazuha feels his heart twist.

But it’s too late; Scaramouche is already locking the car with a press of a button, and Kazuha’s world feels like it’s closing in on him. He shakes his head with a tight-lipped smile, turning to flee, accepting his loss.

“Let go of me,” he demands when Scaramouche grabs his arm.

“No… We need to talk—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? What’s there to talk about? We’re done, aren’t we?” You protect other people now! And what hurts even more is that you protect them from me!

“Fucking right, we are. You’re mine, Kazuha.” Scaramouche’s grip tightens, pulling him closer.

“I said, let go of me, prick!” Kazuha shoves him away, watching as Scaramouche stumbles back. Without a second thought, he turns and runs.

He doesn’t stop running. He doesn’t look back. He pretends he doesn’t hear Kuni calling his name, echoing through the night, a desperate plea that seems to resonate in the quiet streets.

But does he really still belong to Scaramouche—to anyone? Because it sure doesn’t seem like it anymore.

Chapter Text

Kazuha

Babe: kazuha, talk to me. who did that to you???
: fuck off. why do u even care? i thought u stopped caring long ago
Babe: i care, kazu.. still do. look, i know you’re upset bc of him, but the reason i didn’t want u to meet him is bc there’s no point
Babe: kazuha please..
: stop fucking texting me or i will fucking block u
: i’m fucking serious, kuni. leave me alone
Babe: as i am!!!! i’m being serious! you can’t keep running away from me, kazuha. YOU JUST CAN’T

Yeah? Watch me.

Kazuha lies awake in bed, staring at the aging ceiling as the humidity clings to him like a second skin—like it’s the source of all his fucking problems. He’s been at it for ten to fifteen minutes, dressed in nothing but his boxer shorts, his platinum hair brushed back to avoid the sweat pooling at his nape. Last night had been a shitshow; the relentless whirring of the broken fan had only added to the discomfort, suffocating him like a noose, leaving him tossing and turning, unable to find any semblance of rest.

But more than the heat and the broken fan, it’s the thoughts of Scaramouche that kept him awake. They invade his mind like an indefatigable tide, pushing out all other considerations. That voice—gentle and melodic—plays on repeat in his head, reminding him of all the little moments they shared. Kazuha remembers how Scaramouche had cockblocked him, locking the car doors as if to keep Kazuha from reaching the guy sitting in the passenger seat. The very seat Kazuha used to occupy.

Was it to protect that faceless blonde, or was it to shield himself? The thought of Scaramouche finding a replacement stings more than he cares to admit. If that were the case, Kazuha knows he wouldn’t stand a chance. Scaramouche is possessive, obsessive even, and he wouldn’t want anyone to distract him from what they once had. Only Kazuha could remind him of that—if only he made himself known.

Well, shit. Kazuha doesn’t want to be replaced. No matter how toxic and damaging their relationship had become, he still loves Scaramouche with all his heart. The mere idea of his ex moving on is unbearable. It would be a tragedy if they couldn’t work things out, if Scaramouche gave up on him.

He can’t imagine a world where Scaramouche doesn’t exist in his life.

He swallows the lump in his throat, guilt flashing across his mind as he recalls Scaramouche’s troubled expression… Kazuha clicks his tongue in annoyance. Why can’t he change the subject in his mind? It’s always about Kunikuzushi and—and that goddamn mystery guy.

Those thoughts occupy his mind when he should be focusing on his academics. His grades have been fluctuating, and the incident with Ayaka is sure to be the talk of the campus for weeks. She’s popular—everyone wanted her, and now they’re feasting on the scandal. Jesus fuck. Kazuha hasn’t even had the chance to apologize to her properly, and it’s been days. He knows he needs to step up and make amends, not just for her sake, but for his own.

No matter how drained he feels, he realizes he’s had a surprisingly good night’s sleep. Ironically, just when his heart feels the heaviest, his body has decided to recharge him. Now he’s energized—more than he wants to be because he would rather retreat into emptiness, crawl into a hole, and disappear than face the world when his own feels like it’s crumbling away.

Kazuha shifts in bed, picking at the edge of the pillow where his head lies, lost in memories of Scaramouche’s gentle habits. It’s the little things that cocoon themselves in his mind—the way Scaramouche would fiddle with the corner of his pillow, like this, until sleep finally claimed him after their exhausting fights. The shouting, the slamming of doors, the stubborn refusal to cuddle until exhaustion took over. What kind of sorcery made that habit so enduring? It’s maddening.

…But it’s comforting.

He scoffs a laugh to himself, bitterness curling in his gut. So this is the sensation, huh, Kuni? You adorable, grumpy gremlin.

But then his heart plummets as his subconscious chimes in, reminding him that Scaramouche doesn’t love him anymore. So you better stop thinking about him.

Bullshit. If Scaramouche didn’t care, then why the hell does Kazuha have twenty-seven missed calls from him? Only so he can apologize, trying to ease his own guilt. Nothing more. Don’t think you’re special.

Kazuha snatches a pillow nearby, hugging it tightly to his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as tears prick at them, a small whimper escaping his lips. It physically hurts to do this, considering he’s been at it for the past three weeks, and maybe he’s finally run out of tears to shed. He’s cried enough already.

Grabbing his phone, which lies haphazardly on the bedside table, he scrolls through his private gallery, stumbling upon snapshots of him and Scaramouche. He can’t help but laugh wetly at some of them, because don’t they look so in love? God, Kazuha, you’re going insane.

Each photograph is laced with painful souvenirs—images of them snuggled together, pressing kisses on each other’s cheeks. They fought or fucked before most of these were taken, nothing like the sweet, ‘normal’ significances a happy couple would capture to reminisce about later. Kazuha scrolls through them, his vision blurring with tears as painful memories flood back, each image a dagger to his heart. He knows he’s hurting himself, but he can’t stop—not when he misses Kunikuzushi, misses having him by his side, misses those moments when it was just the two of them against the world.

He stares at one particular picture where they both wear puffy red eyes, forcing smiles at the camera (Scaramouche’s camera, no less; he remembers vividly that they used his phone for this shot.) It was taken after a brutal fight in the kitchen—Scaramouche’s kitchen—when Kazuha came home late. Scaramouche had accused him of cheating, convinced that Kazuha was just looking for an excuse to end things. But Kazuha would never betray the love of his life. He couldn’t even glance at anyone else; Scaramouche made it impossible for him. He had caged Kazuha, turned him into a prisoner of his possession, controlling every move and word.

There was no room for either of them to breathe. They were toxic, consuming each other until they were both hollow.

Too bad this picture looks so deceptively radiant. Scaramouche, his Kuni, is so beautiful it makes Kazuha choke on his tears.

He shifts his gaze to the tiny blotches of dried blood at the corner of his brow—the remnants of their explosive fights, where glass shattered under their fury. Kazuha had gotten cut trying to stop Scaramouche from hurting himself while picking up the shards, and Scaramouche had a nasty gash on his palm from the same reckless act, all while accusing Kazuha of being a slut, a whore, a cheating skank.

“Why? Are you so fucking tired of me that you’d run around town fucking other people behind my back? Huh? You like that, don’t you? Wagging your tail like some cheap bitch, persuading strangers to rail you,” Scaramouche had spat, venom lacing his words.

And Kazuha denied it, burying his face in his hands as he slumped on the kitchen tiles, utterly drained and defeated. Later, when Scaramouche realized the gravity of his words, he’d wrapped Kazuha in his arms, claiming he overreacted, and Kazuha—blinded by love—had believed him. He let it slide. He was exhausted from working full-time at the bar, drained of energy to argue any further. So, he submitted to Scaramouche, and they ended up kissing, lost in a whirlwind of passion that left Kazuha dizzy, even as his mind processed the cruel accusations.

“Fuck. I was so dumb. So stupid,” he mutters, gritting his teeth as he rubs his eyes dry before swiping his phone again for another snapshot of them.

This one. Kazuha remembers so damn well what happened right before this was taken. How could he forget? He still has bruises from that night, bruises that came not from devotion but from the war that their relationship had become. Scaramouche had come home drunk, and Kazuha had been watching his favorite show on the sofa, lost in thought about their earlier scrimmage. He had no idea where Scaramouche had been, but when he walked in, Kazuha’s heart sank. Hickeys marred his boyfriend’s throat, and Kazuha’s mind raced with accusations, hurt bubbling to the surface.

“One fucking fight with me, and you jump into bed with the next person who shows you any attention? Are you fucking serious, Kuni? Answer me! I want to hear whatever pathetic lie you’re going to spit out.”

“I didn’t grab no shit! What the fuck are you on?”

“Bullshit!”

“Fuck’s sake. I’ve no time for this. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“No. We’re talking right here, right now.” Kazuha shot up from the sofa, dragging Scaramouche back to face him.

They screamed at each other for what felt like an eternity, all the pent-up anger from their previous fights spilling over, and then—well, the rest is history. They ended up breaking their knuckles against the concrete walls, unable to strike each other for how much they loved and cared deep down. But there was a moment when Scaramouche’s hand was wrapped around Kazuha’s throat, and for some twisted reason, it ignited something profound within him. A moan slipped out, and suddenly they were fucking against the wall, lost in a haze of frustration and yearning. Kuni had him pinned, his thigh lifted, both still dressed but caught in a whirlwind of desperation.

Scaramouche tasted of the liquor he’d consumed, and Kazuha reveled in the familiar scent of Bvlgari—his wealthy boy.

In that image, Kazuha could see the red mark of Kuni’s palm on his throat, while Scaramouche bore the evidence of his reckless night—hickeys from those who’d taken advantage of his intoxicated state. “I didn’t know… I was passed out drunk and woke up with them all over me,” Scaramouche had said.

Kazuha had believed him, trusted him.

The morning after was when Kazuha decided he’d had enough of the lies, packing his things in a bag, ready to leave Kunikuzushi for good. But the guy had cried, begged on his knees, pleading for him to stay. Kazuha had felt the urge to tackle him to the floor, to deliver just one punch for all the pain he’d caused.

He forgave him and took him back, which turned out to be his biggest mistake because just a week later, the cycle repeated itself. Kazuha finally realized: my Kuni isn’t going to change for anyone. Not even for me.

But did he leave after that revelation? Of course not. Because Kazuha was a fool. And maybe Kunikuzushi knew that, knows it. That’s why he still haunts him, stalking him through memories, willing him to return. With Kazuha, Scaramouche is free to do as he pleases, to gaslight and manipulate. He feeds off Kazuha’s affection, loyalty, and commitment, driving him slowly to madness.

But Kazuha can’t go back. He knows it, deep down, whether he likes it or not.

Moments into his solitude, Kazuha’s phone rings, jolting him from his thoughts. He catches a glimpse of the screen—a single word fills a portion of it: Babe. The same person who’s been trying to reach him ever since they broke up.

He answers. “Kazu.”

“Yeah.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll stop whatever thing we have, I’ll leave him. For you. For us.”

Kazuha scoffs, feeling the familiar sting of betrayal twist in his gut. He knows this game all too well. Scaramouche is still as toxic as ever, spinning his web of false promises. “Goodbye, Kuni.”

He hangs up, the finality of the action bounding in the silence of the guest room.

He gets ready for his morning class, applying ice to his cheek before wincing at the pain. As he puts on a band-aid, despite knowing it won’t do shit, at least it’ll signal others where not to touch him.

Passing by the living room, he sees Shinobu slipping on her stockings while Heizou studies at the table. The sight of his friends reminds him that he hasn’t even cracked a book for their test today. Which, fuck. Panic sets in; maybe he can bribe someone to let him copy their answers.

Arriving at school, he bumps into Ayaka at the front gates, and she deliberately avoids him, all while hearing the whispers rippling around them. He doesn’t care what people think about him; it’s her he’s worried about. She doesn’t deserve this kind of attention, not after everything. It’s all Kazuha’s fault—him and Kuni and their stupid scuffle.

“Ayaka!” he calls, trying to catch up to her as she bolts away. He needs to apologize, to let her know how genuinely sorry he is. “Ayaka, wait! I need to talk to you! Please!”

They race past the second floor, dodging bystanders who shoot them glares and murmurs as they climb another flight of stairs. But then Ayaka trips and falls to the ground, and Kazuha can’t reach her in time. She kneels there, sobbing into her hands. “Leave me alone! I don’t want to see you; I don’t want to talk to you!”

He drops down beside her and grabs her arms. Without waiting for her to look at him, he pulls her into a tight embrace. “I got you… I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry, Ayaka.”

She continues to sob, tiny whimpers escaping her lips as her body shakes like a leaf, sagging against him. Hearing her cry like this drives home just how deeply he’s messed up. This wasn’t part of his plan at all. He dragged her into his shit, and she’s the one paying for it. What an asshole. “I’m such an asshole,” he says, more to himself. Because of his petty revenge on his ex, innocent people are suffering.

“She broke up with me…” Ayaka says weakly.

“Who?” Kazuha asks, confused.

“Yoimiya. She broke up with me.”

Kazuha’s heart drops. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“I guess that serves me. I let someone else fuck me,” Ayaka sniffs through her tears. Kazuha doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is wait until she calms down, scowling at the onlookers who are no doubt enjoying the show.

After a moment, Ayaka pulls away, wiping her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, eyelashes damp with tears, and sweat beads on her forehead from all that running. Once she’s recovered a little, she gives him a glare and slaps him. Kazuha’s eyes widen at the sudden sting, and he silently thanks his lucky stars that she didn’t hit him where her brother got a solid shot in last night. “Ouch…” he mutters, blinking at her in surprise.

“That’s for sending the video to Scaramouche! You of all people should know how terrible that fucker is! Of course, the first thing he’d do is leak it because he’s a jealous brat!” she snaps.

Kazuha cradles his face where she just slapped him and smiles at her. “Yeah. That was stupid of me. I could’ve just told him I hooked up with a girl I find pretty. That would’ve really riled him up.”

Ayaka rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a blush on her cheeks. He helps her to her feet, watching as she dusts off her skirt. “Anyway… my brother wants to kill you. I told him not to. I wouldn’t want the handsome Kaedehara Kazuha to be buried six feet underground just yet.” She smirks. “That being said, don’t come near me again, at least until all this dies down.”

Kazuha nods. “Of course.”

Ayaka sighs, fixing her hair before walking off as if nothing had happened. Kazuha does the same, and they go their separate ways, each lost in their own turmoil.

He stands outside the classroom, where the professor asks him to wait until the class is over because she’d like to talk to him about… his academic status. Kazuha complies, he’s cool with it. He knows this conversation was coming; his grades have slipped, which is rare for him. The heavy gross in his stomach reflects his growing anxiety. He leans against the post, listening to her drone on about various subjects.

After a while, he hears someone click their tongue to get his attention. He turns his head a little to check, frowning when he sees who it is.

Arataki Itto, striding toward him, throwing an around his shoulders as soon as he reaches. “Heads up, boy! I heard what you did to our poor Ayaka. Daaamn, bro. Was she good, though?” He grins.

“Fuck off, Itto.”

Itto bursts into a loud cackle, the kind that draws even more attention from the remaining students in the hallway. “Relax! I’m just messing with you. But seriously, I know you only did that to get back at Scara for whatever he did to you this time. No wonder Ayato was fuming mad. Did he give you that bruise?” Itto prods at his cheek, pressing on the tender spot.

“Ow! I said fuck off, Itto!” Kazuha kicks him on the calf, causing Itto to hop on one foot, clutching his leg.

Before Itto can throw out another quip, their professor, Beidou, pokes her head out of the classroom. “Kazuha, get in here,” she calls, and he nods, pushing off the wall. He sticks his tongue out at Itto as he walks away, the burly guy groaning in mock pain.

As he enters the now-empty classroom, Beidou’s biting glare greets him. She folds her arms over her chest, looking unimpressed. “Kazuha. Just what the fuck happened? You’re one of my top students, and now you’re failing. I can’t believe this.”

Kazuha lowers his gaze to his shoes. “Just going through something, ma’am.”

“I heard about your breakup with Scaramouche, but that’s no excuse for your grades to drop like this! Sure, it’s a distraction, but the grading system here is absolute!”

“I know that, ma’am,” Kazuha replies quietly.

“Knowing it doesn’t seem to be helping. Instead, you’re messing around with other people and filming it. Did you know the head of the Kamisatos came here the other day to make amends with the school?”

His head snaps up and he gapes at her. “I didn’t… But Ayato did punch me in the face, and Ayaka slapped me this morning.”

“Deserved, I’d say,” Beidou mutters, and he frowns. “Well, you better fix this, Kazuha. You need to sort your shit out and know your priorities.”

“I will,” he promises, his tone earnest.

Beidou huffs in response. “I’m still escorting you to the guidance office, though. Principal Morax would like to have a word with you.”

Reluctantly, Kazuha follows her to the principal’s office, where Morax informs him that while he won’t be expelled, he’ll need to do community service starting tomorrow as punishment for the leaked video. Kazuha accepts this without much protest, feeling a bit downtrodden that it’s come to this.

The rest of his classes feel like a blur, his mind elsewhere as he tries to focus. By the time he makes his way to Heizou and Shinobu’s place, his phone is dead and overheating from the relentless calls coming in from Kunikuzushi. The anxiety builds in his chest, and he knows Kuni must have learned about the news of his failing grades.

Faintly, Kazuha can’t help but detest the reality of his situation. No matter what happens, Kuni will graduate alongside them, likely to succeed in life due to his wealth and power. Meanwhile, Kazuha is expected to excel academically; otherwise, he’ll have to face the harsh reality of sleeping outside, homeless and with nothing to his name.

When Kazuha grabs a garbage bag from the school committee’s room for his community service, he didn’t expect to find another student joining him. He’d been sure it would just be him; he even brought his earphones to drown out the monotony of the task with some music. But apparently, he was wrong.

Standing in the schoolyard is a tall guy with flaxen hair, gripping a garbage bag similar to Kazuha’s. They’re both picking up trash discarded by careless kids. Kazuha bites his lip and lets out a sigh. Here goes nothing.

He approaches from behind the steel, crisscrossed fences, starting his work while keeping to himself. Maybe he should just listen to some playlists on Spotify since he doesn’t know this person and has never seen them around this godforsaken campus. He won’t have to engage in conversation, either way.

Right.

Just as Kazuha whips out his phone to plug in his earphones, the guy acknowledges him, turning around. Kazuha freezes, his gaze drawn to their vibrant purple eyes, reminiscent of Kunikuzushi’s but lighter and brighter—his ex’s is more like a beautiful shade of blue.

The guy smiles at him broadly, dazzlingly, and Kazuha bristles at the sight because they’re quite stunning. Gorgeous. Who are they? How come this is the first time he’s ever seen them?

“Ah, another delinquent, aren’t you?” they say jokingly. “I’m Tomo. Nice to meet you—”

“Kazuha,” he supplies, but Tomo is already reaching for his hand and shaking it.

“Kaedehara Kazuha, I know. Who wouldn’t know you? You’re a famous man.” They grin, a brilliant, good-natured smile. They let go of Kazuha’s hand. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened, yeah? The video, I mean.”

“Oh, that’s o—”

“Don’t worry; I didn’t watch it.” They chuckle, scratching the back of their neck. “If anything, I had to grab their cellphones while they were playing it and throw them out the window from the fifth floor. That’s the reason I’m doing this: community service,” Tomo finishes with a laugh.

Kazuha snaps his mouth shut, nodding. “Alright. Thank you, I guess…”

“Hm? For what?”

“For… defending Ayaka and me?” Kazuha squints up at them as he responds.

Tomo grins. “It’s all good. Believe me when I say I would do that for anyone.”

“I see.” Kazuha proceeds to pick up trash off the grass, tossing it into his garbage bag. Tomo does the same, and they work in silence for a while.

It’s not until Tomo sparks up another conversation that the labor becomes resonant. They have a knack for talking, and Kazuha finds it endearing. In the short time they speak, he learns a few things about Tomo.

One was that Tomo once sold drugs on campus just for fun (and they mentioned wanting to do it again). It’s odd and ironic because, like Scaramouche, they’re also loaded. They don’t need the money, but they enjoy the thrill of selling illegal substances in a respectable university setting.

“You’re crazy,” Kazuha comments, shaking his head. He’s smiling now; Tomo’s sunny personality is contagious.

“Aren’t I?” Tomo sniggers. “Are you gonna tell on me to the teachers, Kazuha?”

He pretends to consider it, humming under his breath. Tomo’s jaw drops in mock horror. Kazuha giggles. “Nah. That’s a waste of my time.”

Tomo nods, dramatically, clutching their chest. “Good. My mother would have my head if she found out I’m fooling around at school. She’s so convinced her son’s a saint, you know?”

No, Kazuha doesn’t know, but he smiles. He stomps on a plastic bottle on the ground, grabbing it and shoving it into the garbage bag.

Suddenly, a commotion comes from the front gates. Kazuha perks up, apprehending the car entering the premises, presumably looking for a parking spot. He stops what he’s doing for a moment, while Tomo carries on, blissfully unaware of Kazuha’s shift in mood as he watches his ex’s Pagani find an available space.

When Scaramouche finally gets out, rounding the car to the passenger’s side, Kazuha feels his heart drop. It’s like fragile glass breaking. He can’t fucking breathe all of a sudden, his heart crawling up to his throat. Fuck… fuck. He’s going to—

He’s going to throw up. No. This is how he knows he’s jealous. He’s so fucking jealous that it feels like the emotion is desperately clawing out of his body.

Right there—that’s Kuni in all his glory, opening the car door for a beautiful blonde. And they’re stunning, holy shit. They have intricately braided long hair. Kazuha feels like punching someone, like gutting someone, slitting someone’s throat, stabbing someone in the fucking eye.

Instead, Kazuha does the first thing he can think of when he realizes Kunikuzushi and the pretty blonde are heading his way—here, where he’s looking like the tragedy he is, pathetic and miserable while doing menial community service, beneath them in this instance. He taps Tomo on the back and waits until they turn to face him. When they do, Kazuha tiptoes and hooks his arms around Tomo’s broad shoulders, pulling them down for an impromptu kiss.

He feels Tomo stiffen, and he can tell their eyes remain open in shock, but soon enough, Tomo melts against him, and they begin to kiss him back. Kazuha guides them to kiss him harder, making it seem passionate, not forceful, and as natural as possible. Thankfully for him, Tomo is a wonderful kisser, and their taste only enhances the moment, making it feel genuine.

They make out for some time until—

“Kazuha!”

He and Tomo pull away from the kiss, Kazuha still a little dazed—or maybe too dazed—because he completely misses the fist flying toward Tomo. It lands hard, sending the taller guy sprawling across the grass.

“What the fuck?” comes Tomo’s startled gasp.

Kazuha snaps back to reality, trying to process what’s happening, but everything is moving too fast. Tomo retaliates, and before Kazuha knows it, the two of them—Tomo and Kuni—are locked in a brutal brawl, fists flying and limbs tangled. Kazuha can hear the sickening crack of bones, knuckles pounding against flesh, low grunts, and his ex’s foul mouth cursing Tomo for, "Kissing my Kazuha!"

It’s all too familiar, this violent spectacle, so Kazuha doesn’t even try to stop it. To his right stands a blonde guy, eyes wide as golf balls, clearly stunned by the mess unfolding in front of them. Must be the first time they’ve seen Kuni like this.

“Hey,” Kazuha says, drawing the blonde’s attention.

“Aren’t we supposed to break them up?” the blonde asks.

“If you can, be my guest,” Kazuha says, motioning with his hand.

The blonde just clears their throat awkwardly, and Kazuha extends his hand. “I’m Kazuha. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Hi, I’m Aether.”

“Aether… I’ll remember that name. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you. Scara’s got a way of gripping people.”

“That’s probably why this is happening right now,” Aether mutters, looking back at the two guys rolling on the lawn, both covered in dirt, fists still swinging.

By the time security and teachers arrive, there’s blood smeared across their faces—Kuni has a cut on his eyebrow, dripping down his cheek where Tomo’s elbow connected. Tomo sports a black eye and a nasty bruise under his chin from one of Kuni’s uppercuts. They look like a pair of brawlers dragged in from a street fight, sitting side by side in the guidance office like a couple of criminals. Beidou shakes her head at the whole scene, while the head of the school rattles off her concerns.

“I didn’t start it this time,” Kazuha says defensively to Beidou.

“You didn’t, but you’re the reason it happened!” she shoots back.

Kazuha rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. What a drag.

Soon, they all get slapped with community service. Unsurprisingly, Kuni tries to bribe his way out, slamming a wad of cash on the guidance counselor’s desk like he always does.

Yae Miko, smiling patiently—no, sinisterly—looks him dead in the eye. “You think you can buy me, Scaramouche?”

Kuni leans forward, snarling. “I can buy anyone.”

Yae Miko laughs, covering her mouth. “Not Kaedehara Kazuha, apparently.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Kuni yells, slamming his bloodied fist against the desk, making Kazuha’s heart lurch.

Yae Miko, her smile barely wavering, says icily, “I’m adding another week of community service, or you’re expelled.”

“You can’t do that! My mother will hear about this!”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Yae Miko purrs, waving her phone in his face. “I’m already on the phone with her.” She smirks, pressing the phone to her ear. “Hello, darling… Yes, he’s here. He’s been a bad student. He nearly killed someone.”

“No, he didn’t,” Tomo pipes up from the other side of the room.

Ignoring him, Yae Miko continues with her call, and when she hangs up, her smile turns even sweeter. “Your mother says you’re doing community service. If not, she’ll cut your allowance and take away your car keys.”

“You fucking—”

Yae Miko raises a hand. “Nah-uh, Scaramouche. Swear at me again and you’ll see the real me. Neither of us wants that.”

Kazuha glances at Kuni’s fists—he’s gripping them so hard his knuckles are white, clearly on the edge of snapping, but he can’t push it any further, not with Yae Miko, who is dating his mother, Ei.

Even so, Kuni throws a fit, kicking tables and chairs across the office, glaring at Tomo, who is now sitting with an ice pack pressed against his swollen eye.

When they’re finally dismissed, Kazuha is the first to leave the office, already running through what he needs to do. Apologize to Tomo. And then—

“Get in here.”

Kazuha stumbles as Kuni yanks him aside, dragging him near the staircase. Kuni slams him against the post, the impact sending pain jolting through Kazuha’s back. “What the—”

“Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now, Kazuha?” Kuni growls, fury blazing in his twilight eyes. It looks like fire might ignite in the depths of his indigo irises, and… No, Kazuha isn’t happy at all.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he murmurs.

Kuni scoffs, wiping the dried blood from his mouth, his voice dripping venom. “Please, Kazuha. Stop bullshitting me. This is you trying to get even, right? Because I leaked your sex video with Ayaka!”

Kazuha flinches. Kuni’s voice echoes through the empty mezzanine, bouncing off the walls. It’s too loud. Too raw. But fortunately, everyone’s in class. No one is here to witness this ugly scene.

A long, tense silence follows. They just stare at each other. Kazuha has a feeling Tomo and Aether are listening from somewhere nearby. When Kazuha finally speaks, his voice is deliberate, steady as he looks Kuni straight in the eye. “This is why… I don’t want to come back.”

The words hit Kuni like a blow. His face crumples, something breaking behind his eyes. “Kazu,” he gasps, pulling Kazuha into a tight hug, a sudden, drastic shift in his mood. Kazuha knows about Kuni’s bipolar disorder, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Wordlessly, Kazuha lets him cling to him, feeling the tremors in Kuni’s body. “I just got so fucking jealous,” Kuni croaks. “Seeing you kiss him. I blacked out. I wanted to kill him.”

“You shouldn’t have. I’m free to do what I want, just like you’re free to fuck Aether all you want.” Scara doesn’t respond to that, just holds Kazuha tighter. “He’s beautiful, by the way. You’ve got good taste.”

“Stop.”

“I’d fuck him too, to be honest.”

“Kazuha, stop. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I bet he’s amazing in bed. Probably tastes—”

“Fuck! I said stop!” Kuni yells, pulling back slightly, but instead of letting go, he crushes Kazuha’s lips in a hard, desperate kiss. And like always, Kazuha finds himself kissing back, their mouths and tongues locking together. When Kuni finally pulls away, he’s panting, his voice ragged. “I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t care about Aether or anyone else. But you won’t let us go back to normal. Us, Kazuha.”

Kazuha feels nothing but exhaustion. “The normal you’re talking about isn’t normal. You suffocate me. You won’t let me live—won’t let us live and be normal.”

“But that’s us, isn’t it? Ride or die. For better or worse.”

Fuck. He just doesn’t get it, does he?

Kazuha shoves him away, his frustration boiling over. “Are you even listening to me? What I want? How can we live like this, Kuni? Is this what you imagined for us? For me?

“For once in your life, can you think about me too? Not just what you want!

“If we’re going to be in a relationship, there should be two of us deciding—not just you!”

He waits for Kuni to respond. To say something.

But when nothing comes, Kazuha turns and walks away, his entire body aching, most of all his heart. He doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Kunikuzushi

One And Only: why, kuni?
: you needed it
One And Only: you know i can save up and pay for it myself!
: what? with the little mora ur boss pays u with? that hardly even feeds you! I ON THE OTHER HAND CAN FEED YOU MYSELF, KAZUHA. CLOTHE YOU, GIVE YOU A HOME. you’re just too stubborn to admit it
One And Only: because if u can’t fucking tell, we’re over
: OVER MY ASS. OVER MY DEAD FCKNG BODY ARE WE OVER
One And Only: WE ARE, KUNI. YOU NEED TO DRILL THAT SHIT INTO YOUR THICK SKULL

Honestly! Fucking honestly! Kunikuzushi does one nice thing—pays Kazuha’s tuition—and what does he get in return? This attitude! It’s so typical, such a common occurrence in their daily life. Fuck. He throws his phone across the room, watching it bounce off the mattress before slumping down against the wall. Hands clutching his head as he slides to the floor.

He screams, letting it all out, his frustration gyrating in the room, just enough to stir Aether from his sleep. Thankfully, the phone didn’t hit him; that’s the last thing Kunikuzushi needs, Aether walking out on him like Kazuha did weeks ago. He’s so damn tired of people leaving him. His mother treats him like garbage, his stepmom nags him to death, and every day, he feels like gouging his own eyes out just to escape their incessant berating. Cringe boomers. Can’t he have one peaceful day?

And then there’s Kazuha—his main source of misery.

The Kazuha he used to spoil, the one who’d laugh at his impulsive decisions—that Kazuha is gone. Replaced by someone colder, harsher. Someone who fucks anything that breathes and kisses everyone he meets as if it’s a sport, like he’s trying to tear Kunikuzushi apart from the inside out.

Why did Kazuha leave him? He made so many sacrifices for him! He’s living like a nobody, renting a cheap place, when he could be in his mansion, living like a king. Kazuha’s the reason his own mother hates him now, cutting him off because he chose Kazuha over her. But what did she expect? Kazuha was always his top priority. The guy had him wrapped around his finger. There was no freeing himself from Kazuha’s grasp—and Kunikuzushi didn’t mind. In fact, he loved how Kazuha drove him mad, pushing him to do the unimaginable.

Kazuha brings out the devil in him, stirs the chaos inside, rattles his core. That’s why, despite everything, Kunikuzushi knows that the real Kazuha—the one who made him fall in love—is still there, buried deep. He knows that Kazuha can still twist him into knots, still push him to the edge of insanity, like only Kazuha can. It’s why he keeps a .45 caliber handgun hidden away, a symbol of how Kazuha could make or break him. Kazuha is the captain of the S.S. Scaramouche Ship, not him. Everyone thinks Kunikuzushi is in control, but they couldn’t be more wrong.

The moment he fell in love with Kazuha, he handed him the reins. Not his mother, not Aether, not even Kazuha himself can change that. This is the path Kunikuzushi has chosen, and he’s sticking to it, whether anyone likes it or not.

As for Kazuha—the monster that he is—well, Kunikuzushi has to deal with him, drag it out of him, by any means necessary. That’s the job now. It always has been.

Kunikuzushi lets out a long sigh and rises from the floor, clicking his tongue in vexation. He surveys the room, which is a complete mess, and starts tidying up, folding clothes with military precision, throwing dirty socks into the hamper, and rearranging everything into place. He can’t stand mayhem in his space; everything has to be perfect, spotless, controlled. If he didn’t hate people so much, he’d hire a maid, but no way is he letting some stranger live with him.

He glances at the bed where Aether is still sleeping and taps him on the arm. “Aether. Hey, Aether.”

The blond stirs, his eyes slowly blinking open. He looks so out of it. Did Kunikuzushi really fuck him that hard last night? Nah, it wasn’t even that intense—he was too tired after beating the hell out of that guy who kissed his Kazuha.

“Scara?” Aether mumbles groggily.

Kunikuzushi nods. “Time to go, princess. You weren’t supposed to sleep here, remember? I don’t do that unless you’re Kazuha.”

“Unless you’re Kazuha,” Aether repeats mockingly, rolling his eyes as he sluggishly pulls himself out of bed. He braids his golden hair, visibly irritated at being woken up so abruptly. Whatever—he’ll survive. Kunikuzushi’s rules are ironclad. They already agreed: no sleepovers. And Kazuha’s stuff? Off-limits. Aether can’t touch anything Kazuha left behind, not even by accident. The only thing Aether’s allowed is the passenger seat in the car, and that’s only because it’s a two-seater. There’s no other choice.

“Though, I must say, Scara…” Aether says, his voice breaking through Kunikuzushi’s thoughts.

“Hm?”

Aether smirks, sinisterly. “Your ex is really hot. No wonder you’re so obsessed with getting him back.”

Kunikuzushi scoffs. “It’s not about taking him back for his looks, idiot. It’s what he brings to the table that makes him worthy. He’s like a drug my body craves—an itch I can’t scratch without it consuming me entirely.”

Aether wrinkles his nose. “What an analogy. That’s fucking disgusting. You’re triggering my trypophobia.”

“Get over it.” Kunikuzushi waves him off and resumes cleaning, grabbing another windbreaker off the mat and leaving Aether to deal with himself. He’d slept on the living room couch last night, slipping out of bed because lying next to someone else felt wrong in a place still haunted by Kazuha.

As much as he wanted the comfort of another body, he couldn’t. He’d tried countless times, but every time he closed his eyes, all he saw were scarlet eyes glaring at him, lips silently demanding that he stand up and leave.

Why Aether stayed the night is beyond him—the guy has a way of staking claims that aren’t his to begin with. But Kunikuzushi doesn’t mind, not when Aether knows his place. This thing they have? It’s temporary, a placeholder while Kunikuzushi works to get his ex back. And once that happens, Aether will be out of the picture. Blondie knows the deal, even promised not to get in the way, so Kunikuzushi lets him do whatever, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his plans.

Aether has already proven his discretion. Like that time Kunikuzushi ran into Kazuha at the mezzanine near the head’s office. Aether lingered in the background but never interrupted, even when Kunikuzushi was unraveling in front of his ex. Later, Aether had the nerve to tell him to ‘get it together’ and actually listen to Kazuha. But what more could Kazuha fucking want from him? He’d give his life for that man! Kill and die for him!

Aether steps out of the bedroom, dressed in yesterday’s clothes—just jeans and a light blue t-shirt. With his pretty profile, toned body, and flawless skin, he doesn’t need anything fancy. Kunikuzushi doesn’t get why Aether’s involved himself in his chaotic mess when he could easily pull anyone he wanted, but whatever. It’s too late to care now. They’ve been at this for a month, and it’s working.

Besides, Aether’s useful. He’ll probably wait in the living room now, pick up his guitar, and they’ll continue working on the song they’ve been writing for Kazuha. That’s how they met, after all—music.

It was during one of those first bleak days after Kazuha dumped him. Kunikuzushi was at a bar, drowning his sorrows, when he saw Aether performing on stage. Their eyes locked a couple of times, and when Aether’s set was over, he made his way over and asked if Kunikuzushi wanted another drink. Naturally, he said yes.

One thing led to another, and before they knew it, they were in the grimy bathroom at the back of the bar, mouths crashing together as Aether's hands found their way to Kunikuzushi’s cock. He remembered Aether’s words, breathless and eager: "You’ve got such an attractive dick." Whatever that meant. They fucked that night, exchanged numbers, and… well, they’ve been at it since.

It’s not like Kunikuzushi likes Aether. The guy’s just convenient—a good fuck, nothing more. And Aether seems to feel the same. There are no expectations, no strings attached. It’s perfect. Kunikuzushi isn’t looking to replace Kazuha, anyway. No one could ever replace him.

Pathetic as it is, sometimes Kunikuzushi pictures Kazuha when he’s with Aether. He imagines his smooth back, the way he’d challenge Kazuha not to touch himself while he pounded into him. He thinks about Kazuha’s angelic face, the way it contorts in pleasure, his moans like music to his ears. Fuck. He hates him—hates and loves him so much it hurts. He mostly hates him for leaving.

Every time Kunikuzushi sees Kazuha now, he feels an overwhelming urge to yank him away, shove him in the trunk, and bring him back home. Handcuff him to the bed and make love to him until Kazuha’s back to his old self.

He exhales sharply, grounding himself. Patience.

This is fine. Everything is fine. For now, Aether’s here to keep him sane, though with every passing day that he fails to win Kazuha back, sanity slips further from his grasp.

He never quite figured out what drew him to Kazuha at first glance, but he knows exactly what hooked him—what made him obsessively, utterly consumed by the guy. Sure, Kazuha being Kazuha is enough for most, but it was more than that for Kunikuzushi. What drove him out of his mind was the way Kazuha let him be himself, without judgment. He let Kunikuzushi commit whatever twisted acts he wanted, even enabled it. He’d stand by, clapping as Kunikuzushi spiraled, encouraging him, and tolerating the lunacy. That’s what made Kunikuzushi fall for him, head over heels, hard.

What he misses most, though, is that feeling of being worshiped. Kazuha treated him like he was a god—a deity, royalty. Kunikuzushi was spoiled rotten, and now that it’s gone, he craves that sensation. He needs it back. But now, with Kazuha playing hard to get, acting cold and indifferent, wishing for it isn’t enough. He has to work for it.

This time, he can’t just wait for Kazuha to crawl back to him like he did in the past. He remembers those times—Kazuha banging on his door in the middle of the night, head lolling to the side, crying as he sat on the ground until his voice broke. “Please, Kuni, I’ve had enough! Just open the door. Let’s talk. I can’t lose you… I can’t.” Kunikuzushi would make him wait, make him beg, knowing Kazuha would do anything to be let back in.

The first time Kunikuzushi saw Kazuha, it had been raining hard, streets slick under the lamplights. He was starving after staying up all night gaming and decided to head out to the convenience store by himself. That’s when he saw Kazuha—white hair tied in neat braids with a streak of maple red, laughing with the cashier as he flirted his way through a purchase of cigarettes, Coke, and chips. It was obvious what he was doing, sneaking M&M’s into his bag while the lady behind the counter ogled him.

Kunikuzushi didn’t usually indulge strangers, but something about this guy caught his attention. As he grabbed his ramen and microwavable dinner, he made a point to nudge Kazuha as he approached the counter. Their eyes met—crimson, wide, surprised. Kazuha looked like he’d just been caught in the act, and Kunikuzushi couldn’t help but think, God, he’s beautiful.

Without a word, he paid for both his own and Kazuha’s items—excluding the stolen candy, of course. He didn’t want Pretty Boy to get into trouble. Kazuha stared at him, astonished, probably wondering why a stranger would cover his bill, and as Kunikuzushi collected his bag, Kazuha murmured a soft, “Thanks.”

That’s all it took.

Kazuha followed him out of the store, and Kunikuzushi told him not to thank him—instead, he owed him. His number, his time. And so, they started hanging out. Kunikuzushi learned all about him—his name, where he lived, the school he attended, and all the jobs he worked to get by. Kazuha was a poet, a server at a bakery, a bartender, a library assistant—a local favorite. Everyone knew him. He was adored, hated, charming, a thief. Just a boy, yet somehow so much more.

Kunikuzushi had never been satisfied with just friendship before, but with Kazuha, it was different. He wanted to know everything about him—what he looked like when he came, the expressions he’d make in bed. Kazuha fascinated him, and soon, Kunikuzushi wanted to know what face Kazuha would make when he was angry. He was always so happy—smiling, laughing, giggling. It wasn’t annoying; Kunikuzushi thought it was beautiful. He was a rose, full of thorns, daring Kunikuzushi to touch and bleed.

And so, he did. That’s how Kazuha became the boy Kunikuzushi wanted to break. There was something liberating about seeing him in pain, hurting. It was addictive, watching him wear something other than happiness on that perfect face. He couldn’t get enough.

Before things fell apart, Kunikuzushi truly loved Kazuha—so much that sometimes he scared himself with the intensity. He wasn’t always like this, wanting to choke the life out of Kazuha just to feel him struggle beneath his grip. No, in the beginning, he showered Kazuha with affection. They had their cheesy dates, shared laughs, and even lived together as if they were married. He spoiled Kazuha, complimenting him endlessly, making him feel like the center of his world. He even got them a cat, Priscilla, their little ‘child’ in their makeshift family. Back then, it was tender. Genuine.

But Kunikuzushi’s love was too much—too passionate. The more deeply he loved Kazuha, the stronger the urge became to control him, to cage him completely. The sweet, vanilla sex they used to have left Kunikuzushi feeling bored, unsatisfied. It stung his teeth like sugary indulgence gone wrong. But Kazuha didn’t know that. Kunikuzushi never told him how he truly felt. Instead, he took it slow, carefully pushing Kazuha into the darker side of his desires, marking him and making him his.

He built invisible walls around Kazuha—walls lined with barbed wire, trapping him so no one else could get close. The more control he gained, the more powerful he felt, and at some point, Kazuha was almost completely his. No one else could touch him. No one else even mattered. But now that Kazuha’s gone, all Kunikuzushi wants is that control back. He wants Kazuha back, more than anything.

Sitting on the couch, cradling his guitar, Kunikuzushi stares at the notebook in front of him, a few lyrics scrawled across the page. He murmurs them softly, half to himself, half to Aether sitting across from him.

I remember when I first noticed that you liked me back
We were sitting down in a restaurant waiting for the check
We had made love earlier that day with no strings attached
But I could tell that something had changed how you looked at me then
Kristen, come right back
I’ve been waiting for you
To slip back in bed
When you light the candle

He stops, frowning slightly. “I’m so tempted to just put Kazuha’s name here… Do I really have to use another person’s name? One that doesn’t even exist?”

Aether glances up, strumming his own guitar casually. “Then it would sound corny. The subtlety would be meaningless. But, up to you.”

“I want it to sound like I’m serenading him,” Kunikuzushi insists. “Not some random name.”

Aether shrugs, a motion he seems to do more than actually speak. “And let other people serenade him too? You’re planning to record this, right? Put it on Spotify? If other people sing it, they’ll sing his name.”

Kunikuzushi furrows his brow, realizing the dilemma. “Fair point.” He sighs, glancing back at his notebook. “Fine, I’ll just write the next verse.”

He continues, his voice a little quieter now:

And on the Lower East Side, you’re dancing with me now
And I’m taking pictures of you with flowers on the wall
Think I like you best when you’re dressed in black from head to toe
Think I like you best when you’re just with me
And no one else

Aether rises and walks over, peeking over Kunikuzushi’s shoulder to read the lyrics. “That’s good. But… it’d be better if that actually happened.”

Kunikuzushi jerks up, his brows raising in offense. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I never pampered him?”

Aether gives another one of his infamous shrugs, and the subtle challenge in his silence gets under Kunikuzushi’s skin. Feeling the need to prove himself, he stands up and moves toward the bookshelf, pulling out an old photo album tucked between some books. With a sharp thud, he tosses it onto the coffee table, scattering the lyric sheets.

Aether picks it up and starts flipping through the pages. There they are—pictures of Kazuha and Kunikuzushi together, moments frozen in time. One of Kazuha surrounded by flowers at a museum, his face lit up with a smile. There’s more—shots of them at the beach, playing in the snow, driving up to the mountains. They’d had so many memories together, and Kunikuzushi knows that’s why he can’t let go. He’ll never get over him.

He waits, expecting Aether to say something, anything. Eventually, Aether looks up from the album and mutters one word:

“Cute.”

“That’s it?” Kunikuzushi scoffs, noticing the faint blush creeping across Aether’s cheeks. He can see through him easily but decides to let it slide, not in the mood to comment on whatever’s going on in Aether’s mind now that he knows Kunikuzushi is capable of softness.

Aether sets the photo album down on the coffee table and retreats to the sofa, picking up his guitar and plucking out the chords to the song they’re working on—K, a tribute to Kazuha, named after the first letter of his name.

“I think… the only thing I can never get obsessed with is people,” Aether finally says. “I can be obsessed with a lot of things—food, clothes, a song, a place. But people? Nah.” He glances up, locking eyes with Kunikuzushi.

Kunikuzushi smirks, tilting his head playfully. “People, huh?”

Aether shrugs, a gesture he often relies on. “Yeah. But I guess, each to their own.”

Kunikuzushi doesn’t respond. He gets up and walks over to the piano instead, an instrument he rarely plays unless Kazuha is around to listen. Despite all the havoc and destruction in their relationship, music has always been their shared language—before and after every fight, every passionate night, every moment of screaming and breaking things they once thought were important.

He sits at the piano and spreads his fingers across the keys, testing their sound. Still perfect, still smooth. Priscilla, his cat, slinks into the room as soon as she hears the first few notes. She hops up onto a shelf, lounging like a queen with her tail swaying lazily, reminding him too much of Kazuha.

Ignoring her, Kunikuzushi closes his eyes and begins playing Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven’s melancholy composition is one of the few he truly cherishes. When he finishes, the room is quiet, save for Aether’s enthusiastic clapping.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could do that. Sick!” Aether whistles.

Kunikuzushi clicks his tongue in mild annoyance. “I can do more than that.”

“Oh? Then play In the Palace—the lamentoso one.” Aether’s eyes light up with excitement.

Kunikuzushi raises a brow. “You’re so fucking sappy.”

Aether crosses his arms. “As if you’re not.”

With a snort, Kunikuzushi gives in and starts playing In the Palace Lamentoso, a sad piece by Yoshihisa Hirano. His fingers move smoothly over the keys, the music flowing effortlessly. It lulls Priscilla to sleep and draws a hum from Aether, who sways gently along with the tune.

He’s just getting into the flow of the song when his phone rings, snapping him out of the moment. Irritated, he slams his hands on the keyboard and sighs, grabbing his phone from the couch. He glances at the screen, ready to curse, but then sees the name.

“Ajax,” he says, his voice softening slightly as he answers the call. Besides Kazuha’s scattered texts, this is the call he’s been waiting for today.

“Hey, so I did what you asked,” Ajax says.

“And?” Kunikuzushi prompts, slumping back on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Aether testing the piano keys, getting a feel for the instrument.

“Kazuha’s working two jobs,” Ajax says, and Kunikuzushi rolls his eyes. Useless. He already knows Kazuha is juggling two jobs—at a flower shop and some pub. What he needs is leverage, something that could shut those places down and force Kazuha into a corner with nowhere else to turn.

“Tch. I know that already, dumbass. Got anything actually useful?” Kunikuzushi snaps, his patience thinning.

“Well… there’s nothing shady at those jobs. You can’t get him fired,” Ajax replies, hesitating for a moment. “But…”

“But?” Kunikuzushi grits out, his blood boiling. “Hurry up and tell me, Ajax. Now. Or I swear to—”

“But did you know that Kazuha and the owner of the flower shop where he works are fucking?”

And just like that—the air leaves his lungs. He can’t speak, can’t breathe. Inhaling is too hard, and exhaling feels even more difficult. He can’t move either; it’s as if his world has screeched to a halt, his heart stops beating. He finds his footing belatedly, just when he feels his hands going clammy, his grip on his phone tightening in agonizing increments. “I… didn’t,” is all he manages to say before lowering his phone, still able to hear Ajax talking from the other end of the line.

“Well, that’s what I know. I visited just the other day, and I saw them disappear at the back. They were gone for a while and came out with these… weird, oddly satisfied looks on their faces, red from head to toe, like they just finished hooking up.”

“Anyway, there you have it. Just wire me the money, yeah? You know my bank details. Good luck, Scara.”

After calling Kazuha for the twentieth time without an answer, Kunikuzushi finally gives up. He still tries every day, hoping for a response. But after that conversation with Ajax less than half an hour ago, the urge to force his hand through the screen and drag Kazuha out of his phone has escalated to an overwhelming intensity.

Tighnari, huh? That quick-witted old grump Kazuha has mentioned at least once or twice in their conversations. Kazuha describes him as exquisitely charming, excellent at his job, intelligent, sly, and… impossible to outsmart. But everyone has their weaknesses, don’t they? Even the so-called genius Tighnari must have something he fears, something he treasures and protects—something that, with a single mistake or wrong move, could cost him his way of life. What could that be?

Think, Kuni. Think!

Kunikuzushi closes his eyes, trying to recall the two times Kazuha brought up his boss. He remembers Kazuha saying, “Too bad he married so young. That’s one of the rarest mistakes he ever made, I’d say. He’s with a cop too! Cyno—he’s cool. Badass, even, but… we aren’t really that close. He’s not around the shop almost 80% of the time. He drops by once in a while though, with their—”

Kunikuzushi’s eyes snap open. Of course. Tch. A surge of anger courses through him as he grinds his teeth. He knows what to do now, and despite the constrained rage stemming from Ajax’s call and the betrayal he’s just discovered, he suddenly feels the itch to take it out on Aether and make him kneel.

“Get up,” he orders, his heart devoid of emotion, all feelings draining from him. Aether looks up from what he’s doing—sorting through music sheets and scribbling notes in a notebook. Kunikuzushi doesn’t let him respond; he simply jumps him.

Lucky bastard, he curses in his head, as images of Tighnari and Kazuha prickle his imagination. What could they have done together? Who fucked whom? What faces did Kazuha make? According to Ajax, it was mostly done in a storage room. What did Kazuha think about while he was with his boss? Who proposed the idea? Was it Tighnari, or was it Kazuha himself?

Did Kunikuzushi ever cross Kazuha’s mind while he committed those traitorous acts?

Had they been doing it while Kunikuzushi and Kazuha were still together—

Kunikuzushi shuts his eyes, trying to lose himself in the bliss of rough, mindless sex with Aether. He grabs the guy’s braided hair, letting it tangle through his fingers. Aether moans, groaning his name, arching his back, and pushing his ass against him as if demanding more friction. Blondie… oh, blondie.

He’s just grateful Aether is here to patch up yet another wound. Without him, Kunikuzushi would have likely jumped off this forty-story condominium, missing the chance to fight for what’s truly his: Kaedehara Kazuha.

“Man… What’s gotten into you? You’ve left me with more bruises than last time.” Aether gathers his clothes off the carpet, putting them on one by one, red marks and hickeys decorating his throat, collarbones, and back. Kunikuzushi drinks him in as he finishes his second cigarette, adrenaline making his hands tremble as the minutes tick by.

Puffing the last dregs of his smoke, he flicks it off the railing and steps back into the living room, shutting the sliding door to the veranda. He grabs his jacket off the coat rack and shrugs it on, tipping his chin as he calls to Aether, completely bypassing his complaints. “I’m going out. You coming or what?”

Aether scoffs, clearly disoriented and irked. “Where to?”

“To a shop. A flower shop, to be specific.”

“Eh? Why? Gonna buy me flowers as a peace offering? Careful now, you’re gonna make me fall for you,” Aether jests, smirking back at him.

“No. I’m out for blood,” he snaps. “Besides, don’t push your luck. If you dare fall in love with me, I’ll—”

“Throw you away. Blah blah. Yeah, I know. Whatever.” Aether rolls his eyes, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He’s fully dressed now, though his hair is still a messy nest atop his head. “You overestimate yourself, you know that?”

Kunikuzushi purses his lips into a thin line and adjusts his watch, which twisted to the left during their earlier escapade. It bugs him. “I do, and that isn’t changing anytime soon,” he mumbles, his frustration emanating from Kazuha once again pissing him off. The fucker would really fuck anything that walks, wouldn’t he? Kunikuzushi needs him back before he screws everyone in town. It’s been a month since they broke up, which means—

Who else has he—?

Quickly, Kunikuzushi dials Ajax’s number as he speed-walks toward the door, Aether following closely behind him. They reach the elevator doors just as Ajax picks up on the fourth ring. “Kuni? Called so soon, huh?”

“Ajax. I have another assignment for you.”

“Ooohhh? Cool! Lay it on me!”

Kunikuzushi explains. He asks Ajax to ‘spy’ on Kazuha and find out who else his ex is sleeping with aside from Tighnari. Knowing Kazuha and his whoring tendencies, Kunikuzushi is certain there are others.

He bites the inside of his cheek, feeling hot blood rush to his head. He grows increasingly impatient each day; it’s not only been a month since Kazuha walked out, but it’s also been a month since he called it quits without even giving Kunikuzushi a say.

He never asked for this; he didn’t want them to end. There’s not a single moment he wished for it to happen. Kazuha is the one for him—he believes that wholeheartedly. He can see Kazuha walking down the aisle toward him, a bouquet in hand and a smile on his beautiful face. That fucking beautiful face that so many others have already had a piece of. Shit.

Shit.

Once they reach the basement, he charges toward his parked car, unlocking it and urging Aether to hurry up.

“Okay, okay, coming. Jeez. What’s the hurry?”

“Just get your meaty ass in the car!”

“Fine!” Aether slams the door as he climbs into the passenger seat, huffing indignantly. He buckles up, and Kunikuzushi drives out of the parking spot. Restlessness surges within him, fingers trembling as he grips the steering wheel, his mind focusing on one thing and one thing only: the confrontation he plans to have with Kazuha’s beloved boss, Tighnari.

At this moment, there’s nothing in his mind but the desire to humiliate the person he believes has humiliated him—by fucking his ex as if they’d been waiting for Kunikuzushi to be out of the picture. They really took advantage of the situation, didn’t they?

Both of them. Traitors.

He steps on the gas, catching the way Aether careens to the edge of his seat, immediately launching into a lecture about ‘maybe taking it easy’ and ‘being more fucking careful.’ But Kunikuzushi isn’t listening to the blonde’s complaints; his mind is too far gone, fixated on making someone else’s life as miserable as his own—hellish.

An eye for an eye.

“Seriously, Scara… can you fucking relax, bro? I’m still fucking sore, damn it!” Aether grumbles through a grimace. Kunikuzushi ignores him, too consumed by his rage to form coherent thoughts. All he knows is he can’t screw this up and risk another day of Kazuha tangled up with his boss, groping others but not him. If he wants to put an end to it, he has to reach Tighnari—he must get there fast before it’s too late.

“Fucking hell, Kunikuzushi!”

Their car screeches to a halt as he slams on the brakes, the drivers behind them expressing their irritation with a chorus of aggressive honks and shouts. Kunikuzushi is deaf to their sentiments, seeing nothing but red, and Aether is doing nothing to help! “Then get the fuck outta my car if you can’t handle a few bumps, how about that?!” he screams at Aether.

He’s breathing hard, blood pressure rising to his head, while Aether wears a doleful, dejected look, tearing his gaze away from Kunikuzushi to huff in displeasure as he folds his arms across his chest. He doesn’t retort after Kunikuzushi’s outburst, and the car lurches back into motion.

Kunikuzushi’s eyes lock onto the road ahead, his teeth grinding in uncontrollable pique.

If Aether wants to leave, so be it. If he wants to stay, that’s fine too. Kunikuzushi has sworn to be mindful of what he throws at Aether to keep him by his side, but it hardly matters. People like Kunikuzushi are easy to drop, easy to forget. This isn’t new to him, so it shouldn’t pose a problem any longer.

He pulls up in front of the flower shop Tighnari runs. It looks the same as before, smack in the middle of the town market, bicycles lining the pavement, street signs blinding against the night, and more often than not, it’s filled with sleazy crowds creating a cacophony of clamor and potency. It feels like being in a stuffy nightclub, only surrounded by commoners he couldn’t care less about.

A breath escapes from Aether next to him. “Listen, Scara, I’m sorr—”

“Save it for later, when I fuck you for riling me up. Tell me how sorry you are; repent for your sins, that’s what you do best, right? The likes of you.” He glances at Aether in the passenger seat, catching the golden gleam of confusion in his eyes. “And you… I want you to promise me you won’t get in my way again.”

Apologize to me. Apologize and beg, Kaedehara Kazuha.

“O…kay? Not sure what you’re talking about, but sure.”

Kunikuzushi steps out of the car without wasting a moment. He strides into the shop, pride mingling with an overwhelming sense of doubt and penitence. He blames himself for being too comfortable—too reliant on Kazuha and the promises they made to each other, vowing never to turn their backs. That Kazuha wouldn’t walk out on him, even if he got too cocky or demanding. That he would stay by his side, enabling Kunikuzushi’s reckless exploits until their last breath.

But that didn’t prevail.

He approaches the counter where a girl with pink hair reads a book. “Tighnari around?”

“Nari? What do you need from my boss?” she quips, her eyes glued to the page, ignoring him entirely.

Kunikuzushi snorts and gently pries the book from her hands, closing it. She finally looks up, furrowing her brows. “What your boss needs from me, you mean? Such as… my mercy.” He grins.

A blush creeps onto the girl’s cheeks. “E-excuse me?”

“Kokomi? Who’s that?” someone behind him asks.

“Ah! Boss Nari, there’s a man here looking for you. They said you need something from them. Something about mercy?” Kokomi relays, hesitance lacing her voice.

“Mercy? What?”

A smirk spreads across Kunikuzushi’s lips as he turns to face Tighnari, who approaches with a mixture of curiosity and caution. The pretty eyes and handsome face are familiar, seen from afar whenever Kunikuzushi dropped Kazuha off for work, but he never expected to stand face-to-face like this. “You must be Tighnari.”

“And you are… Scaramouche. In the flesh. I’ve heard a lot about you from… him.” Tighnari emerges fully from the storage room, where the real magic happens—where all the disloyalties are orchestrated.

Kunikuzushi hums appreciatively. “I see. Good to know. Saves me the trouble of introducing myself.”

“Uh, Kokomi? Do you mind? Give us the room for a sec.”

“Of course, boss.”

Kunikuzushi watches the pink-haired girl slip out the door behind the counter. Now it’s just him and Tighnari, an old song playing softly through the shop’s speakers.

“So,” Kunikuzushi starts, “I’ll go straight to the point. I’m here because, just like you, I’ve also heard a lot about you. But not from Kazuha—rather from my agent.”

“Agent?”

“Yeah. According to them, you’re fucking my man behind everyone’s back. Behind your husband’s back, who happens to be a cop. …Don’t you?”

Tighnari’s reaction is what Kunikuzushi hoped for: fear, guilt, shame flashing across his face for being caught red-handed. “Why are you here… and what do you want?” he asks, his voice trembling.

The patheticness sends Kunikuzushi into a fit of laughter, one so hysterical it makes the florist stagger. After a minute, Kunikuzushi finally regains his composure, a victorious smile on his face. “Ah, the agitation in your voice… Just what I yearned to hear.”

“Just get on with it—”

“Ah-uh.” Kunikuzushi raises a hand to cut him off, mirth lacing his tone. “Shall we discuss a few things that I want from you, Tighnari?”

“Few things… like what?” The florist glares, his apparent wrath tensing his shoulders.

Kunikuzushi blows out a sigh and nods, a teasing smile lingering. “Right, so. One—you’ll tell me where Kazuha is staying, and two—you’ll fire him. Immediately.”

“Why would you ask that I fire him?” the florist puzzles, narrowing his gaze.

Kunikuzushi supplies the answer without ado. “I need him to feel as helpless as possible so he has no choice but to come home to me.”

Silence.

“…Kazuha is right. You are a monster.”

The realization only broadens Kunikuzushi’s smile. “Is that what he told you?”

Tighnari scowls, and Kunikuzushi can practically feel the rage seeping out of him. “He said you’re evil. Vile. And many more.”

Kunikuzushi laughs, brushing aside the sinking feeling in his gut. It’s not from Tighnari’s words, but from the ache of missing the very person who gave him those titles.

“Whatever. I have no time for chit-chat. Are you going to do as I say, or should I tell your daughter that her beautiful daddy is cheating on her ‘mighty strong dada’?” He raises a brow at the florist, relishing the way Tighnari shakes with fury.

“Don’t you dare… speak of my daughter…” Tighnari mutters darkly, a menacing edge creeping into his voice. Kunikuzushi can’t help but feel a flicker of apprehension—man’s quite scary when riled.

He rolls his eyes, dismissing the threat. “Pft. Should’ve thought of that before trying to cross me. Me, of all people. Can’t believe Kazuha put you up to this when he knows exactly how I roll.” Kunikuzushi studies Tighnari, eyes flicking up and down his form before tilting his head slightly. “Now, I need a name.”

“What makes you think I’ll just hand that over?” Tighnari snaps, his voice low but filled with defiance.

Kunikuzushi takes a step closer, invading Tighnari's personal space, his smirk unwavering. “Because, Tighnari, deep down, you know that I’m not someone to be trifled with. You may play the saintly father and dedicated boss, but let’s not pretend you haven’t enjoyed your little skylarks with my ex. You’re smart enough to understand what I’m willing to do to get what I want.”

Tighnari’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back down. “And what exactly are you willing to do?”

Kunikuzushi chuckles, the sound dripping with confidence. “Let’s just say my methods can be rather… persuasive. You wouldn’t want the wrong people knowing about your little secrets. Would you?”

The tension thickens between them, the air charged with the promise of conflict. Kunikuzushi can see Tighnari weighing his options, the truculent in his eyes feuding against the realization that he’s cornered.

“Fine,” Tighnari finally relents, his voice strained but steady. “Kazuha is staying at Heizou’s. But I won’t fire him.”

Kunikuzushi’s grin widens. “Oh, but you will. I need him vulnerable, Tighnari. And if you care about your daughter at all, you’ll see that my way is the only way.”

“Is that a threat?” Tighnari’s voice is ice, but Kunikuzushi can hear the tremor beneath it.

“Call it what you like,” Kunikuzushi replies, his tone casual. “But remember, I’m not the one who crossed a line. You did that the moment you took him from me.”

Silence hangs between them, heavy and thick. Tighnari glances away, the anger in his gaze cooling to a simmer, and Kunikuzushi takes that as a victory.

“Consider it a deal,” Tighnari finally says, his voice low but filled with reluctance. “But if you hurt him—”

“Oh, please,” Kunikuzushi interjects with a wave of his hand, “I’d never lay a finger on him. That’s your job now.”

As he turns to exit, he can’t shake the feeling that this confrontation is just the beginning. But he’s not done yet; not until Kazuha is back by his side.

Kunikuzushi leaves the flower shop feeling a sense of purpose, clutching the information he needs about Kazuha’s current living situation and the people he’s entangled with. He strides back to his car, where Aether is still perched in the passenger seat, smoking a cigarette with the window down, the faint scent of tobacco hanging in the air.

“Done?” Aether asks, glancing over with novelty and concern.

“We’re going back to mine,” Kunikuzushi replies tersely, flopping into the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut.

He pulls out his phone and quickly shoots a text to Ajax with Shikanoin Heizou’s name and address. Your new assignment.

Got it! Oh, and do you want me to check whether your ex also works elsewhere aside from the flower shop? Ajax replies almost instantly.

Do what you must.

Roger that! 😉

Kunikuzushi fires up the engine, the low rumble vibrating through the car as Aether flicks his cigarette onto the sidewalk, watching the embers extinguish against the pavement. Kunikuzushi shifts into gear, the tires bellowing slightly as he pulls away, his mind racing with various scenarios.

Heizou… He knows Heizou well; they were friends once. Back then, Heizou had a girlfriend, a vibrant girl with green hair and amethyst eyes—a tattoo artist who had sparked Kazuha’s interest in art. He recalls Kazuha mentioning her name before, but it slips his mind, lost in the hue and cry of their recent crusades and breakups.

If his instincts are correct, there’s a solid chance that Kazuha is fucking around with either Heizou or that girl. Either scenario stings, and Kunikuzushi feels a familiar burn of jealousy creeping up his spine. He can’t let that happen; he needs proof, something he can use against them to force Kazuha out of that place.

The thought of Kazuha finding refuge with Heizou or anyone else sends Kunikuzushi’s heart racing. He can’t let Kazuha run to someone who isn’t him. If I succeed, Kazuha would have nowhere to go, he muses, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. And I’ll make sure he remembers where he belongs.

He knows the stakes are high. If he doesn’t act fast, Kazuha could end up with someone else entirely, and that’s not an option he can tolerate. He also considers that if Kazuha wants to escape the mess he’s found himself in, he won’t dare turn to Xiao for help. Everyone has skeletons in their closets, and Kunikuzushi is far from being a glorified soul who can expose anyone.

“I hope you’re ready for whatever comes next,” Aether finally speaks up, breaking through his thoughts, tone laced with genuine concern.

Kunikuzushi glances at him, his expression hardening. “I’m not stopping until Kazuha is back where he should be. He will come crawling back to me. He has to.”

Aether shifts in his seat, the mass of Kunikuzushi’s determination settling heavily in the air. “Just remember, pushing too hard might scare him away. You don’t want him to run off for good.”

Kunikuzushi shoots Aether a sharp look. “Scaring him away? Aether, you don’t know Kazuha like I do. He craves this—he craves me. This is all just part of the plan.”

Aether shakes his head but falls silent, and Kunikuzushi drives on, thoughts circulating with anger, pining, and fierce determination. No matter what it takes, he’s going to reclaim what’s his. This is just the inception of a much bigger game, and he’s not about to lose.

“Why did you do it?” is the first thing Kazuha asks when Kunikuzushi picks up the phone the next day, piercingly and accusingly, like he wants to reach through the screen and strangle him.

A yawn escapes Kunikuzushi, and he instantly regrets it, knowing it will only push more of Kazuha’s buttons. “Do what?” he replies, feigning ignorance.

“Get my boss to fire me! I know you’re the one behind it! What are you planning, Kuni?” Kazuha hisses, anger radiating through the phone. “I swear to fucking god—you’re trying to ruin everything for me!”

“Whoa, whoa! Such bold accusations, don’t you think? What did your boss tell you?” Kunikuzushi grips the phone tighter, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh. The sight of Kazuha’s fury, even if only through a screen, brings a smirk to his lips. Talking to Kazuha at this hour wasn’t what he expected, but he relishes hearing his ex’s voice, even if it’s filled with ire. He misses him more than he can admit.

“He didn’t tell me shit, but he didn’t need to! I know…it was you,” Kazuha whispers the last part, and Kunikuzushi can hear the strain in his voice. There’s a faint sound of sniffling on the other end, like Kazuha’s fighting back tears. “I just got an email saying I’m out. He wouldn’t even let me step foot in the shop to tell me personally. Something’s wrong, and I know it’s your doing… Kuni, why?”

“Why… Kazu, isn’t it obvious?” Kunikuzushi breathes out, pressing the phone closer to his ear as he curls in on himself, lying on his side on the bed.

“Huh?”

“It’s because I want you back.”

“You… want me back? You fucking want me back?! Then why do this? Why did you think getting me fired would bring me back?!” Kazuha’s voice rises, each word a stab to Kunikuzushi’s chest.

He lets out a heavy sigh, trying to collect his thoughts. “So you would have trouble with money and therefore need my help. Just—come back to me, Kazuha. I’m the only one who can help you now—”

“Don’t be fucking delusional, Kuni…! I’m not… I’m not coming ba—”

“Stop it!” Kunikuzushi sits up in bed, balling his fist as anger and desperation churn within him. “Don’t fucking say it, Kazu. I’m so tired of hearing you say that… We both know that’s a big fucking fat lie. I know you miss me too; you miss us.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know how I feel.”

“Yeah? Then what do you feel, Kazu? You don’t love me anymore? Right.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “You were practically handmade for me, baby.”

“Fuck off.”

Kunikuzushi bites his lip, a combination of anger and affection swelling within him. He loves when Kazuha swears at him. “You’re stuck with me, Kazuha. Just pack your things and come home to me. Or tell me where I should pick you up, yeah? Everything will be okay.”

“Quit…manipulating me!”

“I’m not. You know I’m not.” He sighs, lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling, resting a hand over his exposed stomach. “Look, baby…”

“Please don’t call me that. I really fucking hate you right now.” Kazuha’s voice cracks, and Kunikuzushi’s heart aches at the sound.

“That’s okay. As long as you ain’t saying you don’t love me no more. Which, you do. You love me so much, don’t you?”

“…”

“Don’t you, baby?” he presses gently.

Kunikuzushi catches the hitch in Kazuha’s voice when he speaks again. “Why are you doing this to me, Kuni? Why do you love making me suffer?”

He simpers, a pang of sadness twisting in his gut. Kazuha just doesn’t understand him. “Simple. Because I love you, silly. You’re mine, you hear? Always.”

A moment of silence stretches between them, and Kunikuzushi can almost feel Kazuha’s resolve wavering. It’s a small victory, but he knows it’s a step in the right direction. “Kuni…” Kazuha finally breathes, and Kunikuzushi can hear the vulnerability in his voice.

“Just come home. We can figure this out together,” Kunikuzushi urges softly, his heart racing at the thought of Kazuha in his arms again. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, and for a fugitive moment, Kunikuzushi dares to hope. Maybe this time, he can convince Kazuha to come back to him for good.

He eventually gets out of bed after a while, the long conversation with Kazuha having finally come to an end. After a quick shower, he throws on a fresh outfit: a raven hoodie and skater shorts, a black choker around his neck, and piercings lining his ears to match his black nail polish. He finishes his look with a maroon beanie and sprays himself with Versace.

His mom has always told him that his outfit isn’t appropriate for school, that he often looks like he’s headed to a party. But Kunikuzushi never listened. She doesn’t listen to him, so why should he listen to her? Just because she’s his mom doesn’t mean she gets to control his life. No one is allowed to do that—except for one person. But even that person doesn’t know he actually holds power over Kunikuzushi; he hasn’t instilled that knowledge in his mind. Not yet. Kazuha has to stand by his side and be his king again before Kunikuzushi can truly rule his world, and right now, he’s not that.

Maybe one day. For now, Kunikuzushi is playing a game that Kazuha wants them to engage in, and so far, he’s doing well.

…And what the hell is Kunikuzushi trying to look cool for anyway? He’s just doing community service today, right? Because of that stupid giant jerk from last time—the one he gave a black eye for trying to steal Kazuha from him. He thinks his name is… Tomo. Is it?

Whatever. He’s just some useless, meaningless garbage—not worth remembering.

Perhaps the only good thing that will come from this is that Kunikuzushi will see his ex there, also doing community service. He’ll have a chance to speak with him without the guy running away or trying to dodge him like he would through text or a phone call.

And the added bonus is that he can keep an eye out in case Tomo and Kazuha pull another stunt that would leave Kunikuzushi with no choice but to erase the guy from this world altogether. He hopes it doesn’t come to that; Kazuha would have enough trauma to deal with already, and it would be a shame if Kunikuzushi were the cause of it again. Come to think of it, Tomo should only be worth one wad of cash, shouldn’t he? Depending on Kunikuzushi’s mood, he might even feel generous enough to make it two.

“What do you say, Pris? Having fun lying around in there? Eat up. We don’t want your dad worrying about you… He’s got enough to worry about. Me.” He pets the cat’s head as he finishes putting on his shoes. It’s time to go.

Kunikuzushi walks out of his condo unit with just the essentials: his phone, wallet, keys, and car key, which he twirls around his forefinger. He rides the elevator with two men in tuxedos and an elderly woman who eyes him in awe. He smirks at her before slipping out of the lift and into the parking lot to find his car, revving out of the building and onto the main road.

The drive to the university coffee shop takes about fifteen minutes, tops, and before he knows it, he’s standing in line at the counter. He can’t function without his coffee at eight in the morning on a Monday, especially not on an empty stomach. So he orders two scones and a bagel with cream cheese, knowing Kazuha likes that. …He should probably order another coffee to go with it.

After that, he drives to the campus and parks his car in his usual spot, right at the back near the football field, close to the fences where he last caught Kazuha kissing that brat.

And there’s that same asshole he’s seen before, standing where Kunikuzushi spots him as soon as he climbs out of his car. The nerve of this guy… He’s not just going to give up, is he?

Kunikuzushi heads over to where Kazuha stands, clutching a trash grabber and a trash bag, engaged in a conversation with Tomo, who’s wearing sunglasses to hide the black eye Kunikuzushi gave him like the loser he is.

“Is this a place to flirt or what? I was told to come here to do community service, but I guess some people just can’t keep it in their pants, huh? Trying to make me puke, punk?” Kunikuzushi directs his words at Tomo, already preparing to launch himself at the guy, who’s a good head taller than him. But he can’t bring himself to care; he feels no fear facing him. To Kunikuzushi, Tomo looks more like a tiny, timid insect than anything remotely intimidating. They’re all the same. He’ll fight any git who tries to hit on Kazuha; his mind is set on eradicating every last one of them.

In fact, he should probably mess Tomo up even more—now—

“Kuni!”

His fist hangs in the air, suspended. Tomo backs up a step, but Kunikuzushi notices the balled fists at his sides, ready for any attacks he might send his way. Kazuha’s voice ringing out across the field has him stopping before doing anything rash, the short blackout he experienced fading away.

Then he feels hands pushing him back, their warmth sending chills through him and rendering him weak and soft in an instant. He blinks back at the one he dubs as his One and Only. “Kazuha…”

“Don’t, Kuni. Please… We’re just talking; nothing’s going on between us.” Kazuha shakes his head, frowning as he positions them away from Tomo.

Kunikuzushi lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry. I just got so mad. …I hate seeing you standing so close to him like that. But then again, you already know this; I can’t stand seeing you with anyone.”

Kazuha shakes his head again, his scarlet eyes downcast and searching. “I don’t understand. You have Aether now, Kuni. We both should be moving on.”

“He’s just someone I see, Kazuha. I don’t love him! You’re still the one. You’ll always be the one for me.” Kunikuzushi swallows hard, taking one of Kazuha’s hands and placing it over his heart. “It beats only for you.”

He stares at Kazuha, who keeps his gaze hooded and lowered to where Kunikuzushi’s hand is trapped in his own. Their pale hands mold together like puzzle pieces—Kazuha’s clean, plain nails against his black-painted ones. It feels like Kazuha just ended things yesterday. Holding his hand still feels as familiar as it ever was.

Kazuha bites his lip, nodding curtly. “What do you, um, have there?”

Kunikuzushi blinks and raises his other hand, gripping the handle of the plastic bag containing the coffee and bagel. “This? I got it for you.”

Carmine red eyes flick up to meet his. “Why?”

“I thought of you,” he answers quietly. “We’d be doing community service together, so…”

“Keep it. I don’t want it,” Kazuha responds, retracting his hand, leaving Kunikuzushi’s cold and rapidly seeking comfort. From Kazuha. Always from him.

“Kazu…” He takes a step forward to pull the guy back to him, but Kazuha is already turning away and heading in the opposite direction.

“Just… stay away from me, okay? We don’t have to talk to each other while doing community service. And I don’t want food from you. It’s not in the cards for us anymore.”

Kunikuzushi is left speechless. He feels discarded.

“Kaedehara Kazuha!” He runs after him, because that’s what he does—he chases after what he wants. Grabbing Kazuha by the arm, he drags him back to where he needs to be. “You’re really going to make me feel like shit now, is that it? Is that your plan, Kazuha? I’m trying here! Do your part!”

“No! You’re not! You got me fired, Kuni! Not even twenty-four hours ago. You’re not trying at all—”

“That’s because you’re fucking your boss! What am I supposed to do?! Just let you? Let you sleep with everyone who breathes? Everyone in this shithole town? You want me to stand back and watch? The love of my fucking life getting used by everyone? Fuck!” He yells in frustration, throwing the things he got from the coffee shop into the air.

“Me fucking my boss, or anyone for that matter, should not be any of your business, Kuni! We’re done! There is no more us! Why can’t you see that?”

“No. You decided that. I never said we’re over, Kazuha. You’re mine! You’re fucking mine, do you understand?!”

Kazuha points to his own head, leaning in to lock eyes with him. His lips part as he articulates slowly, “You’re sick. Right here. Get checked.”

Kunikuzushi chokes back tears, smiling through the pain. “…Like you’re not the reason I’m this way. You made me this way.”

Kazuha shakes his head, his mouth stretching into a sad smile. This is the saddest Kunikuzushi has seen him, and it churns his stomach. “You’ve always been like this. The only difference is I’ve seen and experienced it for myself. I endured it. I endured that side of you for years until I learned to stand on my own.”

Kunikuzushi isn’t sure what’s worse: hearing those words from the one he loves most or realizing he can no longer find the strength to push forward, to push their love further, just because it hurts. He’s hurting, and it’s becoming too much. He’s reached the pinnacle of despair, and Kazuha can’t see that. He still won’t give them another chance.

He’s running out of resilience to bring the most important person in his life back home. The very thought terrifies him. What would giving in to this agony mean for them? Would everything they had, everything they’d been through, go down the drain? Kunikuzushi can’t… he can’t give that up.

And now, he thinks he knows the answer to his question.

Both.

Because either way, he loses Kazuha. Any choice he makes results in the same outcome. The space between him and Kazuha has only grown over the past few weeks, and it keeps expanding every day. What he thought was something restrained—ingenious, something he could squash like a bug the next day—has turned into something real.

This is real-time Kazuha, who keeps straying farther away from him every day.

It’s not fair. All I want is for us to be whole again. I’m just so afraid to be alone. Why can’t you understand that? I’m nothing without you. I want to be something. With you, Kazuha. It feels like anything Kunikuzushi touches tends to shatter into pieces—hundreds, thousands, millions. This realization makes him laugh, his shoulders sagging and shaking with it. Even as he cups his mouth to muffle the sound, he can’t suppress the manic laughter that slips from his tongue, tears continuing to leak from his eyes.

“I get it now,” he rumbles through gritted teeth, fighting for breath.

“You… do?” Kazuha breathes out, and Kunikuzushi nods, a newfound clarity settling over him.

“Yeah, I do now. And—and you’re the one to thank. If it weren’t for you, I never would have seen what’s been right in front of me from the start. I don’t deserve you, Kazuha.” Kunikuzushi grins through his tears. “I don’t deserve to be happy. Everyone leaves. Even you. …I just don’t deserve to be happy, and it sucks.”

“Kuni… what…”

Kunikuzushi tunes him out. He can’t stay here. He can’t keep breaking down in front of others. But mostly, he can’t bear to see his perfect Kazuha sad because of him. If he sees him break some more, he’ll die this time.

If he’s the reason Kazuha gets ruined even further, he’ll die.

So he does what he should have done ages ago. He turns on his heel and walks away. Back to his car, back to where he came from. What he needs isn’t Kazuha’s pity but a cold beer in his hand and the stars and moon to watch him drown. Alone. Alone again.

Chapter Text

Kazuha

No New Messages from Babe

No New Missed Calls from Babe

And it’s been a week since. A week and two days to be precise. Kazuha counted. After all, when it comes to Scara, there’s not a single time that he’s not keeping tabs. But lately, it’s been complete radio silence. The occasional feeling of someone lingering nearby, Kunikuzushi’s hired watchers, has vanished as well.

The silence from Kuni is unsettling. He wonders why… It’s unusual for his ex, and Kazuha finds himself worrying more than he expected. The normal aftermath of a breakup—where they would usually return to each other, begging and crying, throwing their emotions into a chaotic whirlwind—has been replaced with this uncomfortable distance.

Not crossing paths isn’t normal for them. Kunikuzushi hasn’t reached out at all since their last fight, which is strange. Normally, Kuni would have done something rash—hunted him down, found out where he sleeps, banged on his door, and dragged him to wherever he thought they should go next. But instead, Kazuha is left questioning everything from the moment they broke up.

Are they truly done this time?

He covers his eyes with his free hand and exhales in dissatisfaction. Morning light filters through the window, but it does little to lift the heaviness in his chest. He can’t remember the last time he slept well; it’s been days since he’s had even a moment of peace.

…Which, speak of the devil.

His ears perk when he hears it—the sound of Heizou and Shinobu’s voices talking in the living room, gradually rising in intensity. He swallows hard, anxiety creeping in. “What’s happening?” he mutters to himself as he rushes out of his room. A loud crash makes him flinch—the sound of something hitting the wall and breaking.

Shinobu is quick to point a finger at him as soon as he steps into the living room. “You’ve been sleeping with that—that mess of a guy! What were you thinking?!”

Kazuha’s eyes widen in shock, heart slamming against his chest, a sudden coldness creeping over his skin. Because how… how did she find out? His mind races, desperate to piece together how this all fell apart so quickly. And then Kuni comes to mind, but… Kazuha can’t even bring himself to resent him; he feels guilty for it all.

Shinobu doesn’t give him a chance to speak, her voice cold and final. “I’m leaving. I want you gone before I get back.”

Kazuha’s world crumbles around him in an instant. He tries to say something, anything, but no words come. All he can do is watch as she turns away, the door slamming behind her, leaving him to drown in the heap he’s made.

Hours later, Heizou stands in the doorway, eyes red and puffy, watching him pack his things into a suitcase that feels heavier with every piece of clothing he shoves inside. The silence between them is thick, suffocating.

“Where will you go now?” Heizou’s voice is soft, almost broken.

Kazuha shrugs, trying to keep the weariness from his tone, but his heart isn’t in it. “I don’t know. Xiao’s, maybe.”

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know how she found out, I never said anything. We were careful, right? We made sure…”

“I know,” Kazuha murmurs, shaking his head. “I might have an idea how, but… it doesn’t matter. We’re at fault. It’s about time the truth came out.” His throat tightens, eyes burning with exhaustion and regret. He doesn’t want to explain any more than that. He’s too tired of running from the truth.

Heizou steps forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Kazuha… take care. Will I still see you?”

Kazuha closes his eyes, letting out a slow breath. “Yeah. Around. Maybe.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

He forces a small smile, but it’s empty, just like everything else. “Hush it. Just… fix things with her, yeah?”

Heizou’s voice cracks when he answers. “I’ll try.”

Walking toward the door, Kazuha doesn’t look back. He can’t. There’s nothing left for him here. Not anymore.

Kazuha sits alone on a bench in the park, the midday heat unbearable as the sun beats down on his back. Sweat clings to his skin, soaking through his shirt. He probably smells like shit, but it doesn’t matter. He’d rather be here, baking in the sun, than back at the apartment—caught between the wreckage of everything he’s ruined.

He sighs, wiping at his damp forehead, his heart heavy with liability. He knows he’ll have to apologize to Shinobu eventually, but not now. Not when the wounds are still raw and bleeding. She’s such a kind person, and he broke her trust, shattered something that should’ve been sacred. The weight of that truth crushes him, and before he knows it, his eyes burn as tears start to fall. He pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them like they might hold him together long enough to keep from falling apart completely.

Remorse floods him. Remorse for everything he’s done, every mistake he’s made, every person he’s hurt. He lets the tears flow, uncaring of the kids running past, who glance at him with curious, confused expressions. They look at him like he’s out of place, a grown man crumpled on a park bench in the middle of the day, crying like a child. But he doesn’t have the energy to give a damn about that anymore.

When the tears finally stop, and he feels a fragile sense of calm, he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He scrolls to Xiao’s name, his thumb hovering over the call button for a moment before pressing it. The line rings, and for a second, he wonders if he should just hang up.

But then—“Kazuha?” Xiao’s voice crackles through, sounding surprised.

“Hi, Xiao. Can I come over?” His voice feels small, hesitant.

“Uh… sure.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

There’s a muffled voice in the background, and Kazuha catches snippets of it. “Hey, Xiao?”

“…Is that Venti?” Kazuha asks, the ache in his chest deepening.

“Yeah. One second, love. I’m on the phone with Kazuha,” Xiao calls back.

Venti's cheerful “Okay!” in the background makes Kazuha feel even worse. Like he’s intruding. Disrupting something. Which, he probably is.

“Oh. Then… it’s fine, I’ll just—” Kazuha starts to say, but Xiao interrupts him.

“Kazuha, hey, it’s cool. Come right over.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He’s just about to leave anyway. Morax is coming back from his flight.”

“Oh. …Okay.”

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

The call ends, and Kazuha makes his way to the train station. His mind is numb during the ride, thoughts fermenting but none of them taking shape. When he finally gets to Xiao’s building, he stands outside the door, pulling his phone out again to check his reflection. His eyes are bloodshot, swollen from crying, and the mess of his appearance makes him cringe. He looks terrible, beyond help. …But Xiao won’t mind, will he? Xiao’s seen him like this a million times—broken, a complete disarray.

Shinobu was right. He is a mess.

The door swings open before Kazuha has the chance to knock, and Xiao is standing there. Without a word, Xiao pulls him into a hug, warm and steady, as if he already knew. Kazuha melts into him, not realizing how much he needed the comfort until he’s wrapped in it. Xiao always seemed to know when things were bad, even over the phone, and Kazuha can’t help but feel a blink of gratitude through the haze of his fatigue.

He sinks into the hug, too tired to say anything.

Kazuha sits at the small dining table as Xiao works quietly in the kitchen, the clink of pots and pans and the soft aroma of Xiao’s cooking filling the room. The warmth of the apartment is a stark contrast to the chill in his chest, but it’s a welcome distraction… They eat in silence for the most part, Kazuha lost in thought, barely tasting the food. Afterward, Xiao nudges him to take a bath, and Kazuha reluctantly agrees. He knows he needs it—he hasn’t felt clean in days.

As he sinks into the tub, letting the hot water wash over him, he can hear the quiet murmurs of Xiao and Venti from the other room. Their voices are soft, affectionate, sharing little laughs and whispers, their love tangible even through the closed door. Kazuha leans his head back against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes. It reminds him of what he once had. What he once thought he had, at least.

For a moment, he lets himself imagine it’s him and Scara out there, sharing those tender moments, laughing together like they used to. But the image dissolves quickly, replaced by the reality of their fractured, destroyed relationship. His chest compresses, and he realizes how much he misses it—not just Scara, but the feeling of being in a relationship. The fondness. The intimacy. He bites his lip, blinking back tears. There’s no text from Scara. No call. Just silence, like there has been for days.

That night, he curls up on the small bed Xiao prepared for him, staring at his phone until his vision blurs with depletion, barely just surviving. Especially since there are still no messages. No missed calls. Nothing. The quiet buzz of the city outside does little to repose him, and despite the snugness of the blanket around him, he feels cold. He falls asleep with tears wetting his pillow, his heart aching, still waiting for something—anything—from Scara.

Morning comes too quickly, the soft light filtering in through the curtains. Kazuha sits with Xiao at the dining table, a cup of coffee in hand, which he hardly touches. The silence between them is dense, but not uncomfortable, at least. Xiao watches him, concern in his amber eyes, looking like he wants to prod, but keeping patient.

Then, “I won’t be staying for long,” Kazuha finally says, quietly. “But… could you give me a week? I just need time to get myself together, go to school, and work at Mr. Draff’s. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Frowning, Xiao shakes his head. “You can stay however long you want, Kazuha.”

“I can’t do that to you,” he replies, firmly. “Not to you and Venti.”

As expected, Xiao’s deportment shifts, slightly, albeit there’s a hint of understanding in his eyes. “Is there a problem?”

And, Kazuha vacillates, swallowing hard. “Scara… He got me kicked out of Heizou and Shinobu’s place. Long story short, Hei and I messed around a few times… behind Shinobu’s back. I didn’t mean for it to go that far, but… my ex found out. And he exposed us.”

Xiao’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the weight of Kazuha’s words settle between them. Finally, he nods. “I see.”

Kazuha sighs, feeling the disgrace jab at his gut again. “And now… what you and Venti have, I don’t want to drag you into this mess. You don’t deserve that.”

“Morax can’t find out.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m sorry, Kazuha,” Xiao says then, gently.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Kazuha mumbles, shaking his head. “I got myself into this mess. I’m the only one who can get myself out.”

Xiao looks at him carefully. “Is Scara still after you?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he admits, staring down at his coffee. “He hasn’t bothered me in days. But I can’t let my guard down. Not with him. Not after everything.”

“Yeah, I get that. Scara’s the type to hit you where it hurts the most.”

Kazuha nods slowly, the truth of Xiao’s words sinking in. Scara always knew exactly where to strike, how to tear him apart in the ways that hurt the most. He thought the silence would bring relief, but now all it’s brought is uncertainty.

A pair of balmy hands cup his face, and Kazuha’s suddenly faced by Xiao—by the guy’s sincerity, empathy, and then the next thing he knows they’re closing the gap between them. It’s not the same as their flirtatious kisses, when they’re high, no, it’s just… It’s almost as if Xiao’s transferring relief into Kazuha’s system through their slotted lips. And it’s enough. Enough to motivate him for yet another day without Scara’s strangling existence serving as a noose he’d like to use on himself. When things get hard.

That said, he slips into a routine for that week—school, work at Mr. Draff's, and then back to Xiao’s place. It’s mundane as any, but it helps keep his mind off the shambles his life has become. He knows he can’t stay too long; the last thing he needs is Scara figuring out where he’s hiding out. So, he cooks up plans. Within the week, he finds somewhere else to go, landing on the doorstep of Kaveh and Alhaitham, friends of friends—Tighnari and Cyno’s, to be exact.

Kazuha doesn’t know much about them. Only heard bits and pieces—where Kaveh is eccentric and loud, Alhaitham is more reserved, serious. They’re roommates, friends, apparently. That’s all he knows. But after spending just a couple of nights in their guest room, Kazuha quickly learns there’s more to their relationship. The walls in their place are thin, and twice now, he’s woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of something unmistakable. Quiet moans, the soft creaking of the bed. They don’t seem to care that Kazuha can hear them, and he tries his best to ignore it.

Until one morning, Kazuha’s sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into his cup of tea, when Kaveh casually starts boiling water for his own.

“You’re single, right?” Kaveh asks out of nowhere, breaking the silence. His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of something more behind it. Intrigue.

Then again, Kazuha blinks, staggered by the question. “I… yeah.”

Kaveh nods thoughtfully, glancing over at Alhaitham, who’s seated across the table, sipping his own tea with his usual stoic assertion. “I think he is. Heard it from Nari.”

“And you’re probably not a virgin anymore,” Kaveh adds with a smirk, his voice teasing.

Kazuha frowns, not sure where this is going. “I’m not. Why are you asking?”

Kaveh leans against the counter, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Well, we’re kind of looking for another person to join us.”

“Join you?” Kazuha repeats, cocking a brow.

“You know.” Kaveh winks, his grin widening. Alhaitham doesn’t say anything, but Kazuha catches the way he glides his gaze elsewhere, clearly annoyed by the conversation but not doing anything to stop it.

It clicks. Kazuha stares at them, stunned. “Are you asking me to join you for a threesome?”

“Yeah!” Kaveh beams, completely unfazed by Kazuha’s shock.

“Oh… I…” he stalls, pausing, unsure of how to respond. He’s definitely not in the mood for anything like that right now. His mind’s still a mess, and he hasn’t even processed half of what’s happened in the past few weeks. But at the same time… he hasn’t been laid in weeks.

And that’s how he ends up here, in their dimly lit bedroom, Kaveh’s lips on his neck while Alhaitham’s hands roam over his body. They take turns, pulling him close, exploring him like he’s some prize they’ve won. Kaveh’s kisses are playful, teasing, while Alhaitham’s touch is more deliberate, almost possessive. They manhandle him, guiding his body like they’ve done this countless times before, and Kazuha lets himself get lost in the sensation, in the hotness of their skin against his, the rough pull of hands through his hair. It’s a distraction—one that he thought he needed.

Until Scara’s face flashes in the back of his mind.

He sees him as clear as day. His Kuni, standing there, staring at him with those piercing eyes before he turns his back. Walking away. Giving up… Kazuha sees him slipping further and further into the distance, that familiar, acute figure dissipating into the shadows until he’s gone for good. No more fights. No more desperate apologies or messy reconciliations. Just… silence. Like he’d been erased from Kazuha’s life altogether.

And it hurts. It hurts more than anything has in a long time.

Kazuha’s chest tightens, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he stumbles back from Kaveh and Alhaitham. The room tilts, his vision blurring with unshed tears. He mutters something incoherent before bolting out of the room, the air too thick, the pressure too much. He barely makes it to the bathroom before the nausea takes over, and he leans over the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach.

He slides down to the cold tile floor, pressing his back against the wall, curling into himself. He doesn’t even care about how pathetic he must look. He’s shaking, trying to hold back the sobs, but they come anyway. Kazuha pulls his knees to his chest, crying harder than he’s allowed himself to in days, maybe weeks. Everything hurts.

“What happened?” Kaveh’s voice is soft as he crouches beside him, sterling regard on his face. Alhaitham stands in the doorway, quite restrained, but he holds a glass of water in his hand and hands it over wordlessly.

Kazuha takes it, trying to calm his breathing as he shakily sips, but the tears keep falling. “I’m sorry,” he whispers between hiccups. “I—I can’t. I saw… a vision of my ex. He’s… he’s leaving me. For good this time. He’s turning his back on me.”

Kaveh’s hand lands on his thigh, palm cool. “Do you still love him?”

The question feels like a punch to the jaw. Kazuha grips the glass tighter, trying to stop his hands from trembling. “I… I do. Yes, I do. And it hurts so much.” His voice fissures, barely holding together. “It’s really hurting me so much.”

Glancing briefly at Alhaitham before anything else, as if he’d see the answer to his question there, Kaveh asks, softly, “Then… why not just go back to him?”

Kazuha lets out a bitter laugh, one that’s more torment than humor. “I wish it were that easy. But… it’s not.”

“Why not?”

“We’re broken,” Kazuha murmurs, hollowly. “We’ve been broken for a while now, and I’m afraid it’s not going to be easy to put us back together.”

“It’s that bad?”

Kazuha snorts, shaking his head. He looks up at the two, who gaze down at him—at his pitiable self. “You have no idea,” he whispers, “If you only knew.”

“Are you guys dating then? Nari told me you’re just friends,” Kazuha asks, breaking the silence that lingers after his breakdown.

“We are. Just friends,” Alhaitham replies curtly.

“Friends who fuck,” Kaveh adds with a smirk.

Kazuha raises an eyebrow. “No feelings involved?”

Both men glance at each other, and Kazuha catches the brief flush that spreads across their faces. They turn away almost in sync.

“No,” Alhaitham mumbles at the same time Kaveh scoffs. “Not a chance in hell.”

Kazuha chuckles softly, watching their flustered reactions. “I see.”

He observes them for a while, as they slip back into their usual banter, throwing playful jabs like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Alhaitham, though impassive on the surface, shows a certain tenderness towards Kaveh that wasn’t lost on Kazuha earlier, in bed. The way Alhaitham touched him, held him like he was something fragile, someone he cared for deeply—more than a friend would a friend.

It’s that tenderness that stings Kazuha the most. He used to have that, once—back when Kuni would hold him with the same kind of affection. Before everything between them fell apart. Toward the end, it changed. Scara grew distant, cold, like Kazuha had become… a lifeless doll. Someone he could manipulate, discard at will.

The memory hits him like a punch, and before he realizes it, his vision blurs. Tears slip down his cheeks silently. He doesn’t even notice he’s crying again until Alhaitham’s thumb brushes against his face, wiping away the tears.

Kazuha blinks, startled, shaking himself out of the spiral. But it’s too late. Kaveh is already out of his chair, wrapping him in a tight hug.

And that’s when Kazuha breaks. Again. The flood of emotions surges all at once, too overwhelming to contain. His body trembles in Kaveh’s embrace, the dam of hurt and longing spilling out. He presses his face into Kaveh’s shoulder, sobbing openly now, while Alhaitham stands close by, his hand still resting on Kazuha’s arm—a quiet gesture of support.

He figured he couldn’t stay any longer. He doesn’t want to be the third wheel in Alhaitham and Kaveh’s strange, delicate balance. No matter how much they reassure him it’s fine, that they don’t mind, he knows better. He knows what it feels like to have something precious disrupted by someone who doesn’t belong. But most of all, he can’t let Kuni meddle with the two should he find out Kazuha is living with them…

So he slips out early, leaving a note on the kitchen counter: Thanks a lot for everything. Take care of each other.

Now, he’s back at the same park from a month ago, after Shinobu kicked him out. The memories gnaw at him, the familiar ache settling deep in his chest once more. It feels like life’s come full circle, but instead of resolutions, there are only more loose ends.

Kazuha sits on the park bench, staring blankly ahead as his thoughts spiral. He doesn’t know who to turn to anymore. His contacts list is filled with names, but none of them are options. They either live too far, or can’t take him in.

Everyone else—everyone close—has been dragged through his mess.

His last two choices? Yoimiya… or Scara.

He sucks in a shaky breath, trying to calm the rising panic. The thought of calling Yoimiya twists his stomach into knots. She probably hates him. No, she definitely hates him after everything he did to Ayaka. But… desperate times. He has no one else.

He dials her number, his heart pounding harder with every ring.

Straight to voicemail.

His fingers tremble as he tries again, hoping—hoping—she might pick up.

“Hi. Sorry, this number has you blocked. Goodbye.”

Kazuha stares at the phone, the automated message echoing in his ears. The finality of it hits harder than he expected. He shuts his eyes, feeling the weight of everything settle on his shoulders.

“Fuck…” he mutters, sinking deeper into the bench. He’s out of options. Out of refuge. And it’ll soon be evening.

Okay, calm down, Kazuha. You’ll be fine. You got this.

And for a while, he tells himself that, as he lays out his makeshift bed, swatting at mosquitoes buzzing relentlessly around him. It’s not much—just a tattered jacket and his old backpack as a pillow—but it’ll have to do, if only for tonight. He sighs, settling down on the damp grass, hoping that sleep will come. Please don’t rain, he silently begs, staring up at the dark, clouded sky.

Just his luck. The first drops start to fall, quickly turning into a steady downpour. He curses under his breath. Of course, the universe wouldn’t cut him a break. Maybe this is his punishment—karma—for everything he’s done lately. For hurting the people he cares about. For leaving the one person who probably loves him more than anyone ever could.

Kunikuzushi does love him. So much, Kazuha knows that better than anyone. Whenever Kuni whispered “I love you,” Kazuha could feel the weight behind those words, the sincerity. Every time, he knew Kuni meant it. It’s just that… Kuni loves in a way that oppresses him. His love is too deep, too intense, too consuming for anyone to handle—at least, for anyone like Kazuha.

Kuni had always been different, his love overwhelming and peculiar, like a flame that could either keep you warm or burn you alive. In the beginning, it was everything Kazuha ever wanted. His angyalom. Kuni treated him so well that it felt unreal, like something out of a dream. But dreams don’t last. Three years in, something reallocated. Kuni wasn’t the same angel Kazuha once knew. His touch grew rougher, his words sharper, cutting deeper with every argument. The names he started calling him—whore, useless—they still echo in Kazuha’s mind, and he can’t even bring himself to think about them too much. It hurts too much.

Now, as the rain soaks through his clothes, drenching him to the bone, Kazuha shivers. His hair clings to his forehead, wet and heavy, and he can’t get comfortable on the cold ground. Sleep feels impossible, even though he’s exhausted, running on empty for weeks now. He’s freezing, his body trembling from the chill and the fatigue, and he knows—knows—he’s probably going to catch a cold.

But he can’t afford that. He can’t afford to be sick. Not with work tomorrow. He can’t lose another day, not when his job is the only thing keeping him afloat right now. Rent, food—hell, just existing—depends on that paycheck.

His stomach growls. It’s been too long since he had a proper meal. He stares up at the rain, blinking away the droplets.

Just let me eat. At least let me have that.

God, should I just… go home? Back to my hometown? It’s been so long since I last visited anyway. Clearly he didn’t think the breakup through before calling it.

He just… didn’t expect this as the outcome. Of course, cutting ties with Kuni meant losing the life that came with him. The easy life. The money, the security, everything. He was lucky when his ex covered his tuition, and Kazuha knows that—flamingly, all-consumingly. A few days before that, he was freaking out, wondering where he’d get the cash. When he told Kuni he could’ve handled it on his own, he was lying through his teeth.

The truth is, he’s got nothing. No savings. No backup plan. He’s a muddle. The definition of a clutter.

And then it got worse. Worse when Kuni finally used his family’s connections on him, pulled the strings he’d always had at his disposal. Kazuha had known what Kuni was capable of, had always been aware of that darker side to him. Yet he still held on, still believed that maybe—maybe—Kuni wouldn’t do this to him. That somehow, he was different.

But no, Kazuha seethes, staring blankly into the rainy night. He should’ve known better. Should’ve known he was playing with fire. He’d tangled with a madman, and now he’s paying the price. And god, how he loves that crazy motherfucker.

Even now, drenched and freezing, his life in shambles, Kazuha can’t help but admit it. After everything, after all the shit he’s been through—he still loves him. He still feels for him. He bets, if Kuni were to walk back into his life tomorrow, he wouldn’t even use his head. He’d fall right back into his arms.

Maybe that’s the worst part of it all.

He didn’t get a wink of sleep. But who would have? The rain stopped at dusk, barely three hours before his shift starts at Mr. Draff’s. Damn it. He needs a shower, a breakfast—hell, even a paracetamol would help right about now.

He stumbles through the park, scanning for a bathroom, finally spotting a public one that looks like it hasn’t seen an adequate cleaning in weeks. There’s no shower, just a few grimy stalls and a couple of toilets, but a somewhat decent-looking sink catches his eye. Kazuha splashes water on his face, trying to wake himself up and wash away the remnants of the night. He runs his fingers through his damp hair, hoping to rinse off some of the grime. He changes into a fresh shirt, though it doesn’t really help the exhaustion that’s already sinking in, his body feeling heavy and worn. He can sense his temperature rising, but there’s no choice—he can’t skip work.

Even if he’s dragging his luggage along like a constant reminder of his current hell, he knows there’s nowhere else to go. The milkshake parlor is his only sanctum, a place where he can at least keep himself sailing for now.

With a resigned sigh, he forces himself to walk to work, trying to ignore the stares from passersby. He feels like he’s doing the walk of shame, but it’s nothing new—not anymore. It’s a routine he’s grown all too accustomed to. Countless times before, he’s walked this path, head down and heart heavy, but this time feels at odds. This time, it’s an indication of how far he’s fallen.

“Kazuha, honey? What happened to you? You look…”

“Dead?” he finishes for Lisa, smiling wearily, feeling his worst.

“I wouldn’t say that. You just don’t look like yourself, that’s all. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just… last night, the rain. Got soaked.” He tries to sound casual, but the truth lingers just beneath the surface.

“Drank any meds yet?”

“I did.”

Lisa checks his temperature, her brow furrowing in concern. “Oh, my. You’re scalding hot, love. Are you sure you’re fine? Oh, why did I even ask? You’re not fine at all.”

“Lisa… I’m fine, I promise.” He slips into his apron, the fabric rough against his skin, and picks up a few dishes to deflect, but the heaviness in his chest just refuses to fucking budge.

“Honey, no. Put that down and take a leave.”

“I can’t. I need the money.” The words come out more devastated than he intended, and he hates how they sound.

“How much do you need? I can loan you some. Come on, just tell Mr. Draff you can’t work today—”

“Who can’t work? Kazuha, you? Why, boy?” Mr. Draff’s booming voice fills the room as he enters, the air shifting with his presence. He’s a tall man with a sturdy build, his graying hair slicked back neatly, but his eyes twinkle with authority.

“No, I’m—” Kazuha starts, but Mr. Draff cuts him off, his hands resting firmly on his hips.

“Yes, him. He’s not feeling well. Check him.”

Kazuha sighs, knowing this isn’t going to end well.

“Right. I can’t let you work like this; you’re gonna spread whatever it is you caught. The bug.”

“Not a bug.” He shakes his head, futilely attempting to shake off the lassitude clinging to him.

“Go home, boy,” says Mr. Draff.

“Alright, sir.” The resignation in his voice is hard to miss, and it chews at him. Another failure.

“Will you be alright going home?” the old man asks, his brow furrowing in concern, the alter in his tenor revealing a softer side.

“Yeah. It’s just a ten-minute walk from here,” he lies, trying to keep his tone light. He gets a move on, then hears Lisa’s coaxing voice again.

“You be safe, Kazu. …Uh, I forgot to ask. Was that your luggage I saw back there?”

Licking his lips, Kazuha pauses. Then he nods as he murmurs, “Um, yes. I’m still couchsurfing.”

“Ah, still that. You and Scaramouche haven’t…?”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than he intended, and he feels a familiar nip in his chest, an admonition of everything that’s gone downhill.

“Okay. Careful going home.”

Kazuha nods, forcing a smile, but as he walks away… He can’t help huffing because going home, really? Where the fuck even is home? He sighs, the load of his circumstances pressing down on him.

As he steps out of the milkshake shop, a wave of heat washes over him, and it feels like something heavy has landed on his shoulders. The sun beats down mercilessly, and for a moment, he wavers, his legs feeling like they might buckle beneath him. No, I can’t fucking faint here. Not now.

Just then, the dizziness hits him like a freight train, the world around him blurring at the edges. He grips the doorframe tightly, the wood digging into his palm as he tries to steady himself. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts, but it’s useless. Fuck. He sways, slightly, heart racing, a sickening nausea bubbling in his stomach.

Even as he forces his eyes open and squints against the brightness, the surrounding park morphs into a dizzying swirl of colors and shapes.

A couple of kids play nearby, their laughter ringing and cruelly reminding Kazuha of the normalcy he’d lost. He takes a step forward, biting his lip in exasperation because why the fuck is this happening now? But the ground feels unsteady.

“C’mon, Kazuha,” he mutters under his breath. “Just keep moving.”

He takes another shaky step, barely taking in some impudent figure approaching him, whom he knows—the figure, that guy—but the pressure in his head just keeps intensifying like a vice slowly fastening around him, making it difficult to register him further… He knows he should head toward the park bench nearby, find a place to sit and breathe, but the thought of being vulnerable in public, of drawing attention to himself, makes this shit even worse.

One step. Another one. And he’s out.

There are voices in the background, muffled and distant. Kazuha tries to open his eyes, but his body is too heavy, limbs too tired to respond. Why can’t he move? Doesn’t matter. He’s too exhausted to care anymore. Maybe he’ll just die here, right on the pavement, in the middle of the world that’s long since left him behind. It would be easier. He doesn’t care. He’s lonely. Kuni is… gone.

The next time consciousness returns, everything feels quieter, softer. The distant sounds of people have faded, replaced by the soft hum of music playing in the background. Something warm presses against his side—someone is lying next to him, cuddling close. He blinks, groggily, opening his eyes to a sight that jars him awake.

The bedroom is achingly familiar. His chest tightens when he realizes where he is. This was his room once, too. And his breath hitches in his throat. The sheets, the scent in the air—it’s all Kuni. It’s all them.

“Kazu?”

A voice—supple, resilient. His heart skips as he turns his head slightly.

“Hey,” Kuni murmurs.

Kazuha swallows thickly. “Albedo found me, didn’t he? I saw him, I was sure it was him…”

“Yeah, he did. You fainted.” Kuni’s voice is soothing, but then there’s a kiss pressed to Kazuha’s temple that almost makes him burst. “How’s your head? How are you feeling now?”

Before Kazuha can respond, another voice interrupts from the door. “Scara? I forgot where I put my… charger. He’s awake now.”

It’s Aether. The sight of him makes Kazuha’s throat close in on itself.

The guy glances between them, smiling awkwardly. “Sorry, I’ll… give you both some privacy.”

As the door clicks shut, the silence that follows feels domineering. Kazuha tries to sit up, groaning as the throbbing in his head exacerbates. “I’m sorry for being here,” he mutters, hoarsely. “I should go. I shouldn’t have come. Ow, my head—”

Kuni’s grip around him contracts. “Don’t. Just stay here. You need to rest.” But Kazuha’s pride persists, trying to pull away. Kuni’s arms are firm, however, insistent. “Please,” the guy says, almost pleading, and…

…Kazuha scoots further away, just a tad, curling inward as he feels himself shrink. He knows he shouldn’t be here. It doesn’t… feel right, especially that this very room—this room… he knows Aether has been on this bed. He just. Can’t. “You shouldn’t have welcomed me. You should’ve said no to Albedo bringing me here. Let me—”

“Why would I do that?” Kuni cuts him off, rankled, and it’s that little slip in his tempo that has Kazuha sinking even further into his cocoon. “This is your home too.”

He bites his lip, shaking his head. “You know that’s not true. Not anymore.”

“No… You live here as much as I do. Your name is on the lease, just—please. Stop denying it.” Kuni’s voice lowers. “I’m tired of fighting, Kazu.”

Kazuha’s heart constricts at the words. You? Tired of fighting? He almost laughs bitterly, but the sincerity in his Kuni’s tone halts him. He feels his heartbeat hammer, zeal creeping into his face as Kuni cuddles even closer, like he never left.

He can’t take this. His eyes roam his surroundings, spotting something on the nightstand. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing weakly toward it, trying to change the subject before his emotions choke him.

“Water.” Kuni’s voice is softer now. “It’s cold. I used it to cool you down earlier. Rubbed it on your skin with a washcloth to lower your temperature.”

Kazuha blinks, the tender image of Kuni caring for him almost too much to bear.

And he watches as Kuni reaches for the nightstand, pulling out a thermometer this time. “Open your mouth,” he instructs, sliding it under Kazuha’s tongue. A few moments later, Kuni pulls it out, reading it silently before nodding. “Seems like it worked,” he conveys with a hint of relief in his voice. “Are you hungry?”

Kazuha hesitates, his stomach taut from hunger and the whirl of emotions. “Yeah,” he admits, quietly.

Kuni nods, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

As the guy rises from the bed, Kazuha watches him go, feeling the ache in his chest grow severe. He’s uncertain if this is where he belongs anymore—or if it ever was—but for now, he’s too tired to resist.

But he can’t help wondering… Was that really Kunikuzushi just now? The Scaramouche? His ex? There’s no way. Something feels off. He seems different—no, is different. The razor-sharp edges are silken now, the coldness dulled. Is this another one of his mind games? A new tactic to manipulate him? It wouldn’t be the first time Kuni shifted gears when it suited him. A change in strategy, a new attack—

But, the softness in his voice, the concern—it doesn't match the cruelty Kazuha remembers, and it makes his head spin, tilting his world ever so slightly as he overhears them talking outside the room. Their voices are low but clear enough to make out.

“Scara. How’s Kazuha?” Aether asks, as though carefully.

“Fine,” Scaramouche answers shortly, but the way he’d rumbled it out is unmistakable.

“That’s good to hear… So, what’s the plan? Is he staying?”

“What kind of question is that?” Scaramouche’s voice grows sharper, more defensive. “Of course, he’s staying. He can stay as long as he likes.”

“Of course,” Aether responds, quickly, like he’s stepping around something fragile, and what? Why is that? “I mean… is he okay with that?”

“I don’t know…” There’s a pause. “But if it’s up to me? I want him to move back here. He has nowhere to go now. I’m… I’m such a shit boyfriend. Fuck. I gave him the cold shoulder when he needed me the most. This is my fault. All of it. This—everything that happened to him.”

“Stop blaming yourself,” Aether utters, soothingly. “At least he’s here now, and safe.”

Scara lets out a laugh—peevish. Spiteful. “Yeah. I really want to make things right with him.”

“Then I guess you should start with getting rid of me, huh?” Aether mutters, softly.

Kazuha tunes the rest out, closing his eyes. Will Scara actually push Aether away for him? Like he once promised, back when he swore there’d be no one else? As if doing that could magically fix everything. As if that’s the key to repairing what’s already broken beyond recognition. It won’t be that easy. It’s not just Aether—it’s them. It’s everything that’s happened. How do you repair something that’s beyond help?

The door creaks open, and Kazuha opens his eyes just as Scara walks back in, holding a tray with steaming food. The sight makes his heart lurch in his chest—the gentleness in Scara’s movements catching him off guard. He can’t remember the last time he saw this side of him.

“Can you sit up?” the guy asks, tentatively.

“Yeah.” Kazuha nods, then moves to sit, but before he can fully adjust himself, Scara is there, slipping an arm around his back and helping him upright.

“Here,” he mutters, his hands moored as they guide him.

…And…the moment feels too close to home, like a long-forgotten dream, like something Kazuha never thought he’d experience again. He mulls it over as he starts eating, the realization hitting him—this is the Scara he met years ago, the one who used to bring him small gifts for no reason, who kissed him under the stars during their first anniversary. This is the Kunikuzushi who whispered promises into his ear late at night, saying he’d marry him one day, his voice thick with emotion, eyes watery with a lovingkindness that Kazuha hadn’t seen in years.

It’s as if the last three years hadn’t happened, as if the frigidness, the resentment, the ferocity—all of it was just a nightmare. This is the Scaramouche he fell in love with, the one he thought he lost forever. Because… he never thought he’d see this version of Kuni once more, not after all the squabbling, not after all the angst.

And yet… here he is. After all the wandering, the loneliness and despair, after crying himself to sleep night after night, wondering if he’d ever find his way back to someone who truly cared for him—here he is. Kuni came back. He came back for him… almost a year too late.

Kazuha swallows hard, his throat parched with sentiments he can’t name. He shouldn’t feel this way. He shouldn’t feel even the slight fervor of nostalgia, the ache of missing someone who has bruised him so badly. Scaramouche—the other Scaramouche—the one who took over this body—fucked him up so brutally. He broke him, fractured him into pieces. And yet, somehow, this version of Kuni makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, he can breathe again.

His eyes sting as he looks at him. He shouldn’t be wanting him this way. He shouldn’t desire…to reach out, to pull him close, to hold him and pour out everything that’s been building up inside him for months and months on end. He shouldn’t. But he does. He misses him so fucking much.

Kuni rises from the chair after some time, trudging toward the door. His movements are slow, and Kazuha can tell why. He’s weighed down by everything unsaid between them.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Getting the medicine kit. Do you need something?”

“No… I’m fine.”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

Kazuha nods, watching as the guy leaves the room. The silence that follows feels leaden, pressing down on him. He picks up the glass of water on the nightstand and drinks, hoping to ease the sensation. When done, he leans back against the pillows, pulling another one to his chest. He hugs it tightly, bringing it close enough to catch its scent—Kuni’s scent. A mix of cologne and something distinctly him, something Kazuha could recognize even in the dark.

His mind coasts, and despite himself, he starts to marvel at the telling fact that this is where Kuni and Aether… Yeah, no doubt. He knows so. And it stirs something inside him, sure, but—it’s not jealousy. Not exactly. Because honestly, if they end up together, Kazuha would be happy for them. He loves Kuni—god, he loves him so much, all things considered—and he just wants him to be happy. To be in his best mood, smiling, relaxed. Maybe Aether can give him that, he thinks. Maybe he’s the person Kuni needs.

Kazuha isn’t so sure he ever was.

When Kuni returns, the medicine kit in hand, there’s a strange calmness between them. He hands Kazuha some Advil, watching as he swallows the pill with the last of his water.

“How’s your head now after eating?” Kuni asks.

“Better,” Kazuha relays, handing back the empty glass. “Thanks.”

“Good.”

Kuni places a palm against Kazuha’s forehead, checking his temperature again, perhaps. His hand is cool, appeasing against Kazuha’s heated skin. Kazuha doesn’t move. He can only stare at Kuni’s face, which is suddenly mere centimeters from his own. His eyes travel over the features he knows so well—the curve of his lips, the angle of his jaw, those indigo eyes that flick down to meet his own.

There’s no anger in them, no acerbity, no tension. Just… solace. Kazuha’s breathing short-circuits, and he feels a lump rise in his throat. It’s been so long since he’s seen Kuni like this—so sweet-tempered, so open.

“Why are you being gentle with me?” Kazuha can’t help asking, the urge to cry just there. “As if…”

Kuni doesn’t pull away as he mutters, simply, “Because I just really love you.”

Kazuha’s chest hardens, as his balled fists on either side of him. He blinks rapidly as tears start to gather at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“I just really love you,” Kuni repeats, and Kazuha can see his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows, “and I know you’re tired of fighting with me all the time. So, I’m trying to be who you need right now.”

Tears spill over before Kazuha can stop them. He presses the back of his hand against his eyes, breath hitching in his throat. “Why only now?” he whispers, trembling. “Why only now?”

Kuni’s expression crumples slightly, as if he’s been waiting for that question. “I got scared. I thought I was losing you, and I thought we were still playing that game—whatever it was we had going on. But I realized—just recently, the last time we saw each other at school—that wasn’t the case anymore.”

His voice drops lower, pleading. “Kazuha, please don’t go. I… I can’t… can’t lose you. I’m sorry. I should’ve done better.”

Kazuha dips his chin, sniffling as he asks, dreading the answer, “But… what about Aether?”

“Aether? What about him?”

“Don’t tell me you just used him to make me jealous.”

There’s a sigh, a hefty one. “The topic of Aether is… complicated. He and I met, and things just kinda happened. He stuck around because he was helping me compose a song. A song I dedicated to you.”

Kazuha’s heart clenches at that.

“And… he was the only person I could tolerate after you left,” Kuni continues, his voice raw. “But I don’t love him, Kazu. I’ve just been waiting for you this whole time.”

And, Kazuha supposes he has no right to be mad about that, not when he left Kuni behind. Not when he’s not so innocent in fucking around with other people either. He sighs, wiping at his damp cheeks. “Ah. Sounds like you.”

Kuni exhales, deeply. “Listen… I’m only gonna say this once. I want you back, Kazuha.”

Kazuha’s eyes snap open. “I—” His throat clamps. Kuni holds up a hand, stopping him.

“Let me finish first,” Kuni tells him, and he can’t help but nod. “I want you back,” the guy repeats, firmly, but definitely vulnerable. “I really do. But… if you honestly can’t give that to me—” And his voice wavers. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I’ll be fine with it. Whatever decision you make.”

No…

Kazuha’s heart sinks. The finality in Kuni’s words, the way he’s already prepared for rejection, crushes something inside him. He’s seen Kuni be strong before, but never like this. Never so willing to let him go.

The guy shrugs, a sad, tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t keep chasing after you and hurting you in the process. I realize that now. I’ve been making the same mistake over and over. I’ve been pursuing you, but it’s only done the exact opposite of what I wanted.”

Kazuha looks at him, his voice barely a whisper. “And what did you want?”

“To have you back,” Kuni avows, faintly. “That’s all I ever wanted. And it sucks because I keep screwing it up.”

“Then…come here.”

Kazuha moves closer just as Kuni does as he’s told, and as they lie together, the night slips into a slow, intimate rhythm. There’s no rush, no desperation this time, just quiet movements, a rediscovery of each other’s bodies in the dim of the room. Kuni’s hands trace along Kazuha’s back, fingertips skimming the skin like they’re relearning every curve, every line. Kazuha’s breath snags, but it’s downy, not frantic, not like before. Their bodies meet, melding together in a way that feels amicable, yet different—like they’ve found something new within the comfort of each other.

They move gingerly, delicately, their bodies adapting to the ebb and flow of intuitions they’ve held back for so long. Kazuha’s fingers lace through Kuni’s hair, pulling him closer as they share a kiss that lingers, lips brushing like an apology for every undeclared statement. Their breaths mingle, their touch benign, and for a tick, it feels like they’ve left all their grapple behind. Just for now, it’s only them, skin against skin, moving together as though trying to heal something broken between them.

They lie tangled together, chests rising and falling in unison, the heat of the juncture still long-standing. And then, later, they laugh, tired and soft, about the plight they’ve made of things. Kuni rests his head on Kazuha’s chest, and they talk in whispers about the past, their happiest days, and wonder aloud, “Whatever happened to us?” The laughter is bittersweet, and it comes with tears that neither of them bothers to wipe away.

The next day they wake up, Kazuha nestles in the zest of Kuni’s arms. They don’t speak about last night, but he knows… There’s a new understanding between them now. And they talk properly, finally—about their fights, their pain, and all the ways they’ve hurt each other, heck, they joke about getting back together, but they both know it isn’t the right time.

They need to change, is the thing, to be better versions of themselves. And so, they conclude: They should end it. For real this time.

But it’s not that simple. It’s a push-and-pull, and Kazuha doesn’t leave. Not that day, not the next. He stays another day, and another. Until they fall back into a rhythm—something too good to be true, like nothing ever changed. They make love again, slow and tender, over and over, like they’re trying to make up for all the lost time. They watch movies together, curled up on the couch, the flickering light from the screen casting soft shadows over their bare skin. They eat together, share meals and stolen kisses, and sleep tangled up in each other, arms wrapped tightly like they’re afraid to let go.

Days blend into nights, and they shower together, the steam filling the room as they wash away the remnants of all their past fights, their bodies fitting together under the spray of water. They dance in the middle of the kitchen to cheesy love songs, swaying slowly, feet barely moving, just holding each other close as the music plays softly in the background. It’s too perfect, too easy to fall back into this, like they never broke up in the first place.

It’s almost like they’re boyfriends again. Almost. But deep down, they both know this is temporary, a beautiful illusion of what could have been if things were different. They’re not fixed, not yet—but for now, they allow themselves this moment. Just a little longer.

“…Scara?”

“Hm?”

“So, um,” he pauses, adjusting his hold on his bag. He’s packed light, this is his home too, anyway, as per Kunikuzushi, that guy, that beautiful, dangerous guy tending to their cat.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Well. You see, I’ve thought of going back home.”

“Mhm… And where exactly is home?” comes the question, from Kuni himself, finally looking up from what he’s doing. Priscilla, serving her food. Kazuha watches him stand, slowly, letting go of the bowl.

“Ritou,” Kazuha answers.

“Oh.” A sharp intake of breath—which goes straight to Kazuha’s heart. He wonders if tears will follow soon after… Yeah. It’s just the inevitable, isn’t it? “So, then, will you… come back? Still? …Here?”

“I… I’m…” He swallows, then admits, “I’m not sure,” hating how the words feel like knives raining on them. He doesn’t want to hurt Scaramouche, not now, not when things are just getting better, but the truth spills out regardless.

Walking toward him, the guy takes his hand, and he just squeezes, continuously, not saying anything for a while. A long while.

Until, “I know I shouldn’t stop you… Or, stand in your way, but… please… Please,” and his voice breaks, an octave higher, lilting. He can’t look at him. Kuni won’t look at him, eyes cast downward, lashes wet. When he speaks again, it’s all watery and weak, “Please don’t do this. Don’t leave… Not me, Kazu.”

Kazuha closes his eyes, fighting back tears, trying his best not to be too affected by the hand squishing his. “You’re… the only guy I’ve ever loved, Kuni. And I don’t think I’ll ever move on from you, but I have to do this. You know that, don’t you?” There’s a pause, a heavy silence. Kuni’s tears start to fall. “…We’re toxic. We’re not ourselves. If we keep this up… we’ll lose what little we have left.”

Kazuha’s heart shatters as Kuni sobs his name, clinging to him, trembling in his arms. He holds him tight, knowing this is the last time. He presses his lips to Kuni’s hair, trying to memorize the scene.

“I love you so fucking much,” Kuni cries, his voice broken, desperate. “No… No, no, no… Baby, no… Please…”

Kazuha feels his own tears slip down his face now, getting a whiff of Kuni’s cologne. Like this. Standing so close like this. Somewhere in the room, Priscilla mewls, like she knows what’s going on… And she probably does. “Listen… I love you too, and I always will.” He shakes his head, prying the hands that clutch him. “But this is what needs to be. I’m—I’m sorry,” he croaks, choking on the words as he walks toward the door.

He doesn’t look back. If he does, he knows he’ll never leave.