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Chapter Text

Kazuha whips his sword in one swift motion, tainting the snow with blood, and sheathes it. “I know you are watching me, reveal yourself.”

The stranger walks out of the darkness of the forest, into the clearing. “You do not give me orders.”

“Yet here you are.” Kazuha turns, blinking twice when he meets a face he can only describe as ethereal.

Mesmerising eyes narrow at him. “What is your name?”

“Kaedehara. Kazuha, if you like.” The other man takes a step back and something happens in his eyes that Kazuha cannot quite place, then it is gone again.

“You have ruined my mission, Kaedehara.” He steps over one of the dead bodies on the ground and walks closer to him, his long coat sways as he moves, dragging along blood and snow.

“What was your mission?” The stranger looks at him with an annoyed look on his face, Kazuha wants to hold it in his hands, wants to watch more things happen in those eyes.

“Killing these men.” His gesture to the ground has an unintended charm to it.

“So I completed your mission. You are welcome.” Kazuha smirks.

“I wanted to do it myself.” His voice sounds threatening which makes Kazuha’s smirk turn into a grin. He looks down. “Why did you kill them?”

“They were in my way.” Kazuha takes a few steps forwards, which may look like a way to intimidate, but he simply wants to look at him up close. He feels electric, drawn to this man in a way he does not fully understand.

“Have you no remorse?” He raises his left eyebrow at him.

“None.” They are face to face now, closer than is proper with a complete stranger, who then leans in further.

He fixes Kazuha’s collar with his gloved hand and tilts his head. “I do not believe you.”

Kazuha is not sure why, but he lifts his hand and strokes a cold cheek with his index finger. The man’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch. Kazuha decides then, he will not allow him to feel this starved for it ever again.

He opens his eyes and Kazuha remembers to speak. “They were rotten men.”

“I am too.” Kazuha does not care.

“What is your name?” His breath ghosts over the other’s lips.

“Scaramouche.” Said too convincingly to be convincing.

“Is that your actual name?” Kazuha tucks some of his silky indigo hair behind his ear, it springs free immediately after.

“It is what you will call me.” Their noses touch.

“Will you kill me for completing your mission, Scaramouche?”

He slightly leans back, his eyes blazing. “You are of no use to me dead.” He places his palm on the side of Kazuha’s neck.

“How may I be of use to you then?”

They stare at each other’s lips. “Work for me. Kill for me.” He swallows the rest of his thoughts.

“Okay.”

He frowns. “You seem awfully unbothered.”

“Some people deserve to die.” Kazuha could name a few.

Scaramouche snickers. “You are pretty interesting.” He lightly squeezes his neck, then lets go and steps away. “For a human.” That confirms Kazuha’s suspicion that he is not. “So tell me, what happened to your morals?”

“They died with my love.”

“Your love?”

“His name was Tomo.”

Chapter Text

Scaramouche hums. “What happened to him?”

A stabbing pain hits Kazuha’s stomach. “I do not wish to talk about it.”

He hums again as he turns his back to him. “I knew your ancestor.”

“Oh?” Kazuha wonders how old that makes him.

“He betrayed me.” There is such venom in his voice.

“What happened?”

“I do not wish to talk about it.”

Kazuha smiles. “Fair enough. Then do my ancestor’s actions not make you hate me by extension?”

Scaramouche turns around and looks him over. “No.” There seems to still be some love mixed in with the venom. He clears his throat. “You are not tied to the strings of those who made your creation possible.” Not a single drop of love in that sentence.

His choice of words does not go unnoticed, but Kazuha does not ask. During his silence, Scaramouche decides to take his leave. Kazuha follows. He does a double take, apparently not expecting Kazuha to actually come with him, but does not say anything.

“So where are we going?”

“Fatui quarters near here.” Scaramouche looks at him for some sort of reaction but Kazuha had already recognised the sigils on his coat.

“Does this mean I get to sleep in a bed tonight?” He rolls his shoulders. “It has been so long.”

“It requires a certain rank to be allowed a bed.” That’s not a no.

Apparently the enormous mansion Kazuha passed by earlier today and scoffed at is Fatui-owned. The front door opens to a grand hall, the people there are going about their business, that is until they notice them. Chatter and laughter dies and everyone is down on the ground in a second.

The man bowing closest to them greets, “Lord Scaramouche.” He keeps his gaze to the marble floor. Lord. Kazuha is not surprised, he felt power radiate off Scaramouche before he had even laid eyes on him.

Scaramouche does not answer, he walks. The clanking of his boots bounces off the walls as everyone holds their breath. As soon as Scaramouche passes people by, they lift their heads to look at Kazuha, confusion and fear is drawn on their faces. Scaramouche stops walking and looks over his shoulder, they snap their heads back down. “Are you coming?” Kazuha follows.

Scaramouche’s room has dark walls, a wooden herringbone floor that is not much lighter and the furniture in it looks ancient but well kept. There is a bed, a desk, a table, one chair and not a single personal item. “Take the bed.” He shrugs off his coat, hangs it and neatens it in an attempt to look busy.

“Will you not join me?” Kazuha tries.

“I do not sleep.”

Sleeping was not exactly what Kazuha had in mind. “Are you incapable of it entirely?”

“I can sleep, I choose not to.” He’s still looking at his coat, removing invisible specks of dust.

“Why?”

“Goodnight, Kaedehara.” He leaves.

Kazuha resists the urge to go after him and is left alone with his confusion. Confusion about why he feels this connection with Scaramouche, why he feels like he cares for the man and why his protectiveness and jealousy have already started to bubble in his stomach. Why is there an ache in his chest now they are apart? And why does he enjoy it? He does not even know Scaramouche, he doubts anyone really gets to know him, but Archons, Kazuha is going to try.

He finds the ensuite bathroom and cleans himself up. After washing the blood from his hands, brushing his hair and getting undressed, he gets into the huge canopy bed surrounded by black curtains. He does not close them.

Already recognising the rhythm of his steps, Kazuha pretends to be asleep as Scaramouche approaches and enters the room a few hours later. He falls asleep under his gaze.

Morning light shines on Kazuha’s face when he wakes up from a knock at the door. He blinks the sleep from his eyes and looks over at Scaramouche opening the door. “Your breakfast, my lord.” He takes the tray without a word and closes the door.

He places the tray at the foot of the bed. “Here. For once someone will actually eat it.”

Kazuha sits up and stretches his arms. “Is eating another thing you choose not to do?”

Scaramouche stares at Kazuha’s chest. “Yes.”

“Why do you accept the breakfast then?” He tries not to laugh as Scaramouche keeps up his shameless staring.

“They cannot know I do not require food.”

“They think you are human?”

He gives him a short nod. “Most of them.”

“How come I’m allowed to know otherwise?”

Scaramouche’s eyes move to his. “I do not know,” he says eventually.

Kazuha wants to kiss his frown. “If you do not mind, I will freshen up before I eat.”

“Why would I mind?” he mutters as Kazuha starts to get out of the bed, then yells, “Why are you completely naked?!” He throws a deep blue, silk robe at him but makes no attempt to look away. “It’s minus ten degrees outside,” he informs him.

“I run hot.” He smirks as Scaramouche raises his eyebrows at his dick. “I will be right back.”

He looks disappointed when Kazuha returns from the bathroom wearing the robe he threw at him. Kazuha settles back down on the bed and starts with the soup. Scaramouche looks like a guest in his own room, though maybe he always feels like one. He paces and fidgets with his hands, Kazuha almost leans in to take them into his. “Come sit on the bed with me, Scaramouche.”

He shakes his head slightly. “I do not require rest.”

“Do it anyway.”

“What did I tell you about giving me orders?” he says as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

Kazuha smiles at him. “Maybe you should indulge in things even when you do not require them.”

“That’s just a polite way of issuing me another order.” He purses his lips, which Kazuha assumes is him trying to hide a smile, small it may have been, but a smile nonetheless.

Kazuha takes a bite out of a plum, then hands it to him. “Indulge.”

Scaramouche puts his lips where Kazuha’s had just been, makes eye contact and bites. A drop of juice slides down his chin. Kazuha swallows.

He hands him back the plum. “That’s today’s order done.”

“Do I get to give you one every day?” Kazuha teases.

He is rewarded with the small smile Scaramouche held back earlier. “Sure.”

Chapter Text

Scaramouche catches himself smiling and clears his throat. “Hurry up and get ready,” he spits out as he stands up, leaving his brief vulnerability on the bed.

“What are we doing today?” Kazuha asks.

“We are not doing anything.” The coldness of his voice is a perfect match with the expression on his face. Kazuha doubts he’ll get to see him smile again soon. “I will make someone fetch some clothes for you and then I will request an audience with the Tsaritsa.”

Kazuha almost chokes on a grape. “Is that necessary?”

“Special projects need to be approved by Her Majesty herself.”

“Is that what I am?”

“That is what you are.”

“Do special projects generally get to sleep in your room?”

“You will get your own room.”

Kazuha strokes the sheets and dramatically sighs in a futile attempt to get another smile out of him. “I will miss you, bed.”

Scaramouche hides his face. “Do not tell anyone you slept here.”

“What about the person who brought our breakfast?”

“That woman knows better than to gossip about who she finds in whose room. She is aware of what happened to the ones who came before her that did.”

Kazuha watches as Scaramouche puts on his hat like an armor, his shoulders getting even more stiff and his demeanor rivaling the temperature outside. “Will I get a coat like yours?”

“Those are for harbingers only.”

Kazuha thought as much. “Ah. Which one are you?”

“Sixth. The Balladeer. Get ready. Now.”

Kazuha does. When he returns from the bathroom, Scaramouche is waiting for him at the door, wearing his coat, hat and a blank, almost dead expression. The slight spark in his eyes betrays him though. “You will walk behind me and not speak a word,” he demands.

Kazuha nods. They leave the room and walk the halls. Like yesterday, people get down on the ground and bow as soon as they spot Scaramouche. All but one. “Who’s this then?” Kazuha almost laughs at the classic villain voice. The masked man steps towards him but Scaramouche’s arm stops him.

“None of your business, Dottore.”

“Oh but it is though,” he coos.

“I will brief you if I get Her Majesty’s permission. Now get out of my way.” He pushes him slightly and Dottore takes a step back, mockingly putting his hands up in surrender.

“Be seeing you,” he whispers as Kazuha walks by, convinced that he would hear it. Kazuha knows it’s his attempt to intimidate him, making it known that he already knows about him, knows about his attuned sense of hearing, but it does nothing to him. The threatening look Kazuha gives him makes Dottore cackle. “Oh, this is going to be fun!”

Scaramouche looks over his shoulder, confused about the commotion. Kazuha prompts him to start walking again by lightly touching his back. “Do not touch me,” he snarls.

Kazuha bows his head and takes a step back. “My apologies.” More cackling from Dottore behind them.

They reach a room stocked with clothing and a small old lady sitting in the middle of it, sewing a glove. Scaramouche looks behind himself, takes off his hat and then taps her shoulder. “Babushka, I need some clothes for this man.”

“Oh, hello my dear. Of course.” Scaramouche looks away as she smiles brightly at him.

“What kind of clothes?”

“Pyro agent will do for now. I will put in a request for a custom tailored outfit for him later.” She raises her eyebrows and looks up at Kazuha. He gives her a polite nod. Scaramouche helps her as she starts to get up, his gaze fixed on the door.

“Come with me, blondie.” She leads him to the back, helps him get the outfit on and takes his other clothes from him. “I will clean these.”

“Thank you very much.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You hurt him, you die.” She walks off. “All done, darling!” she tells Scaramouche.

Kazuha’s shocked but amused face is hidden by his mask as he steps back into view. “Do not wear the mask,” Scaramouche tells him.

“Why not?”

“Because I say so!” he snaps.

Babushka has sat back down on her chair with a content look on her face. Scaramouche leans in and whispers something not meant for Kazuha’s ears, “Do you need anything?”

Her hand reaches out to his cheek but Scaramouche stands up straight before she can pet him. She sighs. “No, dear.” She takes a large knitting needle from the table next to her and points the sharp end at Kazuha. “Have a nice day.” Kazuha nods. He reckons no one would find his body if Babushka got to him.

Scaramouche is wearing his hat again as they start walking towards their next destination. “You two seem to get along.”

“What? No. She is just some old hag.” He tilts his hat down. “And I told you to walk behind me and not speak.” Kazuha complies.

Scaramouche stops at a large double door, “I will come fetch you later,” and takes his leave. Kazuha feels that ache from being separated from him in his chest again and smiles. Opening the door, he finds himself in a large library. The occupants startle upon seeing him. He picks up whispers of ‘he came in with Lord Scaramouche yesterday’, ‘who is he?’ and ‘should we bow?’ as he makes his way to the spiral staircase. There is no one else on the second floor and he finds a spot next to a plant that is looking much healthier than the other ones he passed by. He sits down on the large leather armchair and browses the diverse pile of books next to it, it ranges from botanical to historical, from astrology to the art of sword making. On top lies The Boar Princess.

Kazuha is halfway through the book on sword making when he recognises Scaramouche’s steps coming towards him.

“Did someone tell you to sit here?” He clenches his jaw and gently takes a leaf of the plant between his fingers, inspecting it.

“No, why would they?”

“Forget it.” Scaramouche’s eyes wander over to the pile of books and the one on Kazuha’s lap.

“So, am I now your approved special project?”

“Yes. Come with me.” His coat almost hits Kazuha in the face as he turns around and swings it behind him. This time Kazuha walks where he is supposed to and stays quiet, until one of the people they pass by actually stumbles into the wall as he spots Scaramouche with a trembling “my lord” coming from his lips, and Kazuha asks Scaramouche what he did to him. He ignores his question.

They come to a halt. “This is your room.” He hands him a key.

Kazuha looks around the hallway. “Isn’t your room right there?” He points at the room opposite it.

“So? I do not control which rooms are empty.” He crosses his arms and leaves.

“See you later?” Kazuha tries. His answer is Scaramouche’s door closing.

Kazuha’s room is not much. There is a single bed and a small table with two chairs. There is a large window with a curtain so thin that it might as well be a napkin but the view makes up for it.

Kazuha is trying to spot animals in the huge snow-covered pine trees when there is a quiet knock at his door. He opens it and finds the man who stumbled at the sight of Scaramouche earlier. He bows his head at Kazuha. “I am so sorry to bother you, sir er…”

“Kaedehara.”

“Kaedehara, sir. I am so sorry. I forgot to take something from my room and I decided against requesting it back, but, you see, I got that brooch from my grandmother and I would hate to part with it. I am so sorry, sir.” He has not looked Kazuha in the eyes at all.

“This was your room?”

“Yes, s—sir.” Kazuha rolls his eyes at Scaramouche’s door.

“You can go get it, I do not mind.” He steps aside.

“Sir. Someone of my rank is not allowed to enter the room of someone of yours, sir.”

Kazuha frowns. “Not even with permission?”

“Not even then, sir.”

“Where is it?”

“The table drawer, sir.”

When Kazuha comes back with the brooch, the man still has his head bowed down. Just what rank did he get to warrant this behaviour?

“Here you go.”

“Thank you, sir. Goodbye, sir.” He practically runs off.

Not long after that exchange there is another knock at his door. “Your dinner, sir.” A petite woman hands him a tray. Kazuha and Scaramouche lock eyes as someone else hands him his.

Both women bow and quietly take their leave. “Thank you!” Kazuha calls after them once he remembers his manners.

Scaramouche starts to close his door. “Scara!”

His eyes widen. “What did you just call me?”

“Have dinner with me?” Scaramouche scoffs. “Let me have dinner near you?” Kazuha corrects. Scaramouche disappears into his room but leaves the door open.

They sit in silence as Kazuha eats both their servings at the table and Scaramouche sits on the bed, scribbling in a notebook, sometimes sneaking looks at Kazuha, who pretends to not notice. “What are you writing?” he asks when he’s done with the food.

“None of your business.”

“Ah.” Kazuha smiles. “So what rank did you make me?”

“Special rank.” He continues his writing. “It’s where the unconventional cases go. It’s below harbinger, above everyone else.”

“You’re joking.”

Scaramouche looks at him like he just gave him the most vile insult known to man. “I am not. I do not joke.”

Kazuha hums and moves to sit down on the bed. Scaramouche moves to the chair. Mission failed. He stretches on the bed. “I ate so much, I’m sleepy now.”

“Then sleep.” Kazuha smiles at the faked annoyance in Scaramouche’s voice.

“I cannot move, I’m too full.”

He does not get a reply and dozes off. He vaguely registers Scaramouche leaving, then coming back a few hours later. With his speech thick with sleep, Kazuha asks him, “Did you go to the library?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm. Will you…” Sleep takes him back before he can finish his thought.

Chapter Text

A feather light, cold touch on his cheek rouses Kazuha from his sleep. He knows better than to open his eyes and scare away its owner, he however cannot help the slight smile it brings to his face and hopes it will be seen as an unconscious one. The touch very carefully moves down his cheek, towards his lips, then leaves. Kazuha listens to Scaramouche’s calculated steps, avoiding every floorboard Kazuha knows for a fact creaks, until the only sound left in the room is his own breathing. He pretends to be asleep for another half hour and ends up sleeping for the next.

This time it is heeled footsteps in the hallway that wake Kazuha, he opens his eyes to see Scaramouche approaching the door and opening it with a gentleness Kazuha doubts anyone is allowed to see from him. The harbinger raises his index finger to his lips at the person approaching. After a moment of dishes clanking as quietly as Kazuha thinks is possible, Scaramouche turns around with a tray of food. “Oh–” It’s like a shield washes over him. “You are awake.”

Kazuha sits up and smiles at him. “Good morning.”

Scaramouche’s response is inaudible by the rough sound of the door landing back in its frame and floorboards creaking. “Should I go accept my breakfast at my own door?” Kazuha asks.

“No need.” Scaramouche lays down the tray, carrying two portions of breakfast, in front of him and sits down on the chair next to the bed.

“Whatever will that woman think of us?” he teases.

“She will think we had intercourse.”

Kazuha snorts. “It was a rhetorical question.” The harbinger scrunches his nose at that. The oatmeal porridge Kazuha starts to eat gets that same treatment, yet he keeps looking at it, until he’s eventually asked, “Do you want a bite?” He surprises Kazuha by actually accepting his offer.

“Disgusting,” he claims, then takes another bite. And another. His lips turn slightly more red from the fruits Kazuha mixed into it. He can’t get himself to look away. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He doesn’t. “Yes, let me get that for you.” Kazuha raises to his knees and leans in. He presses his thumb to Scaramouche’s bottom lip and looks down into his eyes. Five seconds in he cannot hold back his, “You’re breathtaking.”

Scaramouche shoots up, Kazuha only just saves the porridge from downfall. “I have work to do.” He’s out the door within seconds, coat and hat forgotten.

Kazuha waits for his return but after cleaning up himself and both of their rooms he grows restless. He decides to go for a walk, he’s still unsure of the exact details of his rank, but he imagines he’s allowed outside.

He realises he should’ve been paying less attention to Scaramouche and more attention to his surroundings when he finds himself still stuck inside the building fifteen minutes later. He turns another corner and finally spots someone he can ask for help, they seem to be a maid, dusting a peculiar looking statue in one of the many hallways. “Excuse me, hi, could you help me? I—” As soon as the person turns and recognises him, they drop to their knees and bow down, pressing their forehead against the floor. “Are you okay?” No response. “I mean no harm, I only wish to ask the way. I seem to have gotten lost,” he admits with a slight chuckle, trying to relieve the tension. No response. “I– uh. There is really no need for this, you may relax." The maid tentatively looks up at him without moving their head too much, then quickly looks down again. “Are you not allowed to speak to me?” Kazuha gently asks. It looks like they are about to nod when a door slams open and hits them.

“What the— shit? Oh. Shoo,” Il Dottore tells the maid, they immediately stumble to their feet. Having moved to help them up, Kazuha catches a glimpse of their terrified eyes before they run off. “Imbeciles,” The Doctor mutters to himself. “Why, hello Kaedehara. What are you doing out and about without your guard dog?” He visibly ponders. “Or are you his? I’m not sure yet.’’

Kazuha looks extremely unimpressed. “To expand on this line of thought, I am in fact going out for a walk, or trying to, I have not found my way out yet, but a walk it has been.”

Dottore grins. “Why don’t you come in for a cup of tea?” He gestures towards the room he just came out of.

Kazuha sighs. “I will have to consult Lord Scaramouche about this. Do not misunderstand, I have no desire to spend any of my moments with you whatsoever, I am merely curious about his thoughts on your interest in his special project."

“You are very loyal, very quickly, aren’t you?”

“Good day.”

“You’ll need me eventually, Kazuha.” He receives a dismissive wave as Kazuha walks off. Dottore swipes his finger over his favourite custom made statue and tuts at the dust there. “Third door on the right leads to the main hall,” he quietly states.

Ten metres ahead, Kazuha rolls his eyes. He should be worried, probably. About Dottore knowing of his first name and his attuned senses, and above all the fact that he keeps making it a point that he knows, but Kazuha just can’t get himself to care. Yes, he is aware The Doctor is no ordinary man, and that he could be playing a dangerous game with his attitude towards him, but again, he just does not care. There are dish cloths Kazuha holds to a higher esteem than him.

Not very eager to find out if everyone in the main hall is supposed to bow to him, he puts on the mask and hood that came with his pyro agent uniform. The animosity is a breath of fresh air on its own, but he is still disappointed to find more people outside and having to keep the mask on for a while longer. Not knowing the area very well, he decides to just walk into the direction of no people.

Once he feels like he is a safe distance away, he takes off his mask, really breathes and lies down on a sun-warmed rock like he often does. As soon as his body relaxes, the events from the last few days begin to catch up to him and he starts to laugh uncontrollably. The absurdity of it, he doesn’t even recall how long he has been aiding the Fatui from the shadows, and here he is, one rank below harbinger in a matter of days.

When word spread of the Fatui collecting Gnoses, everyone had complicated ideas about it. Why were they doing this? What was their goal? What would they do once they reached it? And should they be stopped? Numerous essays were written and endless theories came to life.

To Kazuha, it was all very simple. The Fatui were taking power away from the archons. It did not matter to him what they would do with that power. He was fine with the world getting destroyed, if it meant that in the period leading up to it, archons had to live with something being taken away from them. He knows it’s petty; they took something, everything, from him so now he wants the same for them, he knows. But there was nothing else. So he started to put his skills, his life, to use. He’d catch wind of organisations, groups, individuals, anything making things hard for the Fatui, and he’d dispose of them. Never seen, never noticed. Until Scaramouche.

It was never his plan to join the Fatui. He didn’t even have a plan. Consumed by grief and rage to the point where he stopped feeling anything, he didn’t think, let alone care, about his future. Helping the Fatui with theirs kept him busy and useful, and there was nothing else. Until Scaramouche.

Now there is that ache in his chest when he is not with him. That feeling in his stomach when he is. And this blinding knowledge of tomorrow existing.

A few hours later, when a snowflake lands directly on the tip of his nose, Kazuha decides to start walking again. Nearing a path, he puts his hood and mask back on. He runs into a small group of pyro agents and gives them a slight nod as he joins them. They walk in silence until one informs them there is a harbinger approaching and they all bow down, Kazuha slightly delayed. He tries to catch a glimpse of the person approaching on horseback, but one of his companions smacks his head back down. "What’s wrong with you?" they whisper.

“Greetings, Lord Scaramouche!” the person on his left barks. Kazuha tries not to snicker.

He hears him dismount the horse. “You may proceed.” The group raises their heads. “Except for you,” the harbinger tells Kazuha.

When the pyro agents are a fair distance away, Scaramouche reaches for Kazuha’s mask. “I told you not to wear that.”

Kazuha grins. “Hi Scara.” His smile fades when he sees the expression on his face.

“Are you leaving?” he asks him, curt and cold and with a layer of fear hidden behind it. Kazuha gently shakes his head. “You weren’t in ou— in your room.” Scaramouche clears his throat. “Nor the library.”

“I went out for a walk.” Kazuha wants to grab his hand, make his fingers stop tensing.

He looks away. “I need to know your whereabouts at all times.”

“Okay,” Kazuha softly tells him. “I am sorry.”

“It’s protocol.”

“Okay. I’m still sorry.”

Scaramouche gets back on the black horse, tells him, “Return to the mansion at once,” and rides off.

What’s more terrifying to Kazuha than this inexplicable pull towards him, is the fact that Scaramouche seems to feel it too.

Perhaps for both their sakes, he should indeed leave. He would, if he cared about his own wellbeing and he didn’t believe he should be making sure of Scaramouche's.

–

Scaramouche doesn’t return to his room until later that night. Partly because he was scared of Kazuha not being there and partly because he probably is. The relief he feels when he finds him in his bed once more, is quickly tainted by the worry of what exactly that means. He’s about to reposition the blanket so Kazuha’s left foot is no longer uncovered, when he sleepily mumbles, “I’m awake.”

Scaramouche freezes at first. Then swallows and does what he intended to do. Kazuha smiles. Achingly sweet. “Go back to sleep,” he tells him.

“Thank you for protecting me from ghosts,” Kazuha murmurs.

“What?”

“My foot, ghosts could grab it. Now I’m safe.” He slightly opens his eyes. “Will you sit with me, Scara?” The harbinger shakes his head. Kazuha’s disappointment is slightly audible in his exhale, though Scaramouche thinks he tried to hide it. Oh, how his hands burn to touch him. “Do I get to know about your whereabouts too? Protocol?” he asks into the pillow.

“I’m right here.”

“And when you’re not?”

Scaramouche sighs. “Sure, if I can be bothered to tell you.”

“Just take me.”

“What?” He digs his nails in the palms of his hands.

“Just take me with you. Anywhere. Then you won’t have to tell me.”

Scaramouche wishes he could.

Chapter Text

Kazuha wakes up as Scaramouche is just about to leave the room. “Where are you going, Scara?”

“Meeting with Dottore.”

Kazuha makes a sound of disgust and he swears he sees a little smile about to form on the other man’s lips. “Can I come with you?”

“No.”

“He asked me into his room yesterday,” Kazuha recalls. Scaramouche stares at him. “For tea. I refused.” His expression remains the same. Kazuha continues, “He seems to know some things about me.”

“Stay away from him,” he gets told.

Kazuha stretches his arms. “Gladly. Will you come back after the meeting?”

“Yes.”

Kazuha hums and starts to stretch his neck, his shoulders. After about five minutes he asks the man gawking from the doorway, “Aren’t you going to be late?”

Scaramouche reluctantly takes his eyes off him, “I hope so,” and leaves.

Not wanting to be the cause of the hurt he saw on Scaramouche’s face last time he didn’t know where Kazuha was and thought he had left him, he stays put. He stays until morning turns into afternoon and until afternoon turns into evening. He exercises, he eats, he exercises again, he takes a shower and masturbates. He cleans both rooms, even though he did that yesterday and he takes another shower. He feels so restless his skin itches. By the time the clock strikes eight he feels like he’s gonna start clawing at the walls if he doesn’t leave. He decides there wouldn’t be much harm in going to the library, Scaramouche did mention he looked for him there last time.

So he puts on his hood and mask again. On his way he spots the young maid from yesterday. He tries a nod and when they nod back, he knows they are actually allowed to interact with pyro agents. “Are you okay?” he tries.

They slightly jump, but take a breath and recover. “Yes, sir. What makes you think I’m not?”

“I saw you clutching your side.” Because a harbinger slammed a door into you.

“Ah, I bumped into a door yesterday. Nothing to worry about.” They begin to push their trolley full of towels.

“What’s your name?” Kazuha asks.

“Huh? Uh. Sappan, sir.”

“Like the tree?”

“Yes!” Their wild dark brown curls bounce with their excitement and for a moment they actually look their age. The spark in their eyes unfortunately fades again when they clear their throat. “Apologies. Yes. How did you know, sir?”

“I used to write poetry.” Sappan frowns. “I had this rule, find out the name of anything that catches my eye for more than five seconds. I felt this need to learn things about the world so I could appreciate it that much more for it.”

“Not anymore, sir?”

“Not anymore, no.” Not for a long time.

“Yet you are headed for the library?”

Kazuha chuckles. “Indeed I am.”

“I hope you learn something new to appreciate today, sir.”

Kazuha fights the urge to affectionately ruffle their hair. “Thank you, Sappan.”

“I have to get going.”

“Yes, sorry to keep you. If you ever want to have a chat, come find me.”

“You all look the same, sir.”

Kazuha looks down at his clothes. “Right.” They chuckle at that and walk off.

Kazuha falls asleep in the library, with a botanical book open on his lap. When he opens his eyes it’s still dark out. He spots someone else on the second floor, watering the plants. “We meet agai—” a yawn stops him from finishing his sentence. Ugh, he wants to get out of this mask.

“Sir,” Sappan replies.

“It’s me, by the way, from earlier?”

“Yes, sir, you have quite a distinctive voice.”

Kazuha hums. “So, watering the plants in the dead of night is part of your job description too, kid?”

“I am almost nineteen years old.”

“Okay?” Kazuha asks.

“So I’m not a— Never mind. No, I water the plants when I can find the time and energy for it. Which is not very often.” They look sad about it. “This one next to you clearly has another person taking care of it though.”

“Ah, that would be Scara.”

“Scara… Mouche? The harbinger?” They frown.

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone.” Kazuha’s wink is wasted underneath the mask.

“Easy, I don’t talk to anyone.” They mean to joke but the sadness on their face is back.

“I was reading about your siblings,” Kazuha teases, holding the book up, revealing a page with tree species.

“Gods, you’re lame.”

“Made you smile.”

Sappan rolls their eyes. “Out of pity.”

“I’ll take it.” He yawns again.

“Don’t you have a bed to get to, old man?”

He laughs. “Damn, you defrosted quickly.” Sappan seems to catch themself then. Their smile fades and they straighten their shoulders.

“My apologies. I overstepped. Sir.”

“I remind you of someone, right? From your past.” Sappan nods. Kazuha feels a knot in his stomach caused by his realisation. “I have the same thing with you. Easy to slip into old habits,” he supposes. They look out the window to avoid his gaze. Kazuha gets up. “Come insult me again sometime, kid.” He lightly pats their shoulder.

“Again, you all look the same.”

“Maybe I’ll get a cute scarf.”

They try to suppress a smile. “That’s against the rules.”

“Ah, rules schmules.”

They pull a face of disgust. “Okay. Hated that.”

Kazuha lightly pinches their cheek. “Don’t stay up all night.”

“Okay, grandpa.”

The further away he gets from Sappan, the heavier his heart gets. He hasn’t allowed himself to think about Tomo’s younger sister in a long time. Not because he doesn’t miss her, but because he misses her so much it makes him physically ill. In his heart, the place left by Tomo is covered in fire and rage. The place left by Nakae is covered in guilt and white petals, suffocating and so very pungent. He longs for Scaramouche to be waiting in his room for him, he knows he won’t be but, fuck, he longs. Finding exactly what he was expecting, he throws his mask across the room, closes the door and leans his head against it. His breathing is heavy and he hits the door with his knuckles. Once. Twice. And again. He sobs and hits the door until he can no longer feel he’s doing it. His screaming echoes through the hallway.

When he wakes up the next morning he tries to ignore his hand. When the knock for breakfast comes at the door, he ignores that too. After a few hours he finds the resolve to not have Scaramouche return to a blood spattered door, so he cleans it, then heads out to find a laundry room.

“Comrade!” someone calls after him as he passes an open door. Kazuha takes a few steps back. “I think you’re supposed to be in here?”

“This looks like an infirmary.” His voice is hoarse from screaming.

“Well, yeah? Your hand?” the redhead with a bandage around his head points out.

“Right.” Kazuha puts down his blood stained laundry. “Might as well.”

“Need any help?”

“I got it, thanks.”

The other man watches as Kazuha cleans and bandages his wounds with experienced swiftness. When Kazuha starts to clean up his tools, he tells him, “You have blood on your face too, comrade.”

Shit. He’s not wearing his mask. “Huh. You’re the first person I’ve met here who doesn’t cower in fear when they see my face.”

The young man heartily laughs. “Maybe because I’m not a wuss like everyone else?”

Kazuha raises his eyebrows. “Well, anyway, it’s refreshing.”

“You got it.” He gives him a thumbs up.

Kazuha chuckles. He wonders if whatever injury he has was inflicted by a harbinger not accepting his rule-breaking carefree attitude.

“Well, stay out of trouble,” Kazuha tells him.

“Never!”

He finds a laundry room near the infirmary and takes two clean towels with him. Scaramouche is still not back when he returns to the room. Kazuha hates that the one person he can ask about Scaramouche’s whereabouts is Dottore, but after a few hours of debating and killing time in the library, he decides to go find him anyway.

“Hi there. Took you long enough,” Dottore says from the doorway when Kazuha approaches, as if he was anticipating his exact arrival.

“Where is he?”

“Man, who raised you? Come on in,” he coos. Kazuha sighs deeply but follows. The room seems to be an office, examination room, torture chamber and bedroom all in one. Kazuha raises an eyebrow at the shark-toothed, grin-wearing figure lying on the desk. “Don’t worry about it,” Dottore tells him. He gestures to an armchair for Kazuha to sit in. “Tea?”

“Where is he?”

The figure on the desk cackles. “I love rhymes!”

“Shut up!” Dottore kicks the desk. “Let’s try that again. Tea? It will probably soothe your throat.”

Kazuha clenches his jaw. “Fine.”

Dottore claps his hands and twirls around elegantly, then stops. “Ugh, I can’t be bothered.” He kicks the desk again. “You do it.”

“Yay!”

When the figure is close enough, Dottore grabs its face. “Quietly.”

“Yay…” it whispers. The doctor rolls his eyes.

“Anyway.” He moves to the armchair opposite Kazuha, and crouches down on top of it. “Where were we? Right. Manners. You should really learn to practise small talk, o-samurai. Hello, handsome doctor. Lovely weather we are having, aren’t we? Are you well? Nice place you got here, that clone making our tea isn’t weird at all! Did you have a hand in Scaramouche’s disappearance?” Kazuha stands and Dottore laughs. “Relax, he has just gone on a mission. Whew, you are so very amusing.”

“He did not tell me he was going on a mission.”

“Heavens, he has to tell you everything, does he? Tooooxic,” he singsongs and shark-teeth joins in. “Quiet!”

Dottore shoots a glare at the quiet “Tooooxic,” coming from across the room.

“When will he be back?”

He makes a deflating noise with his mouth. “Whenever he is done? How would I know?”

“You seem to rather enjoy acting like you know everything,” Kazuha bites back.

He cackles and pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “You got me there. So yeah, wanna hang out with me while The Balladeer is away? My blood type is all of them, I’m good at science, I like dragons and… Ah! Candlelit dinners.”

Kazuha takes his leave.

“It is rude to leave before finishing one’s tea.” Dottore nods vigorously at his lookalike’s statement.

“Good thing I don’t give a shit.” They both dramatically gasp at that.

A cruel twist of fate once again puts Kazuha in the same hallway as Sappan. He is not wearing his mask so they’re going to bow down to him as soon as they see him and he cannot bear the sight of it today. “Do not turn around. I know house rules suggest you cannot interact with me, but as your superior by a long shot, you still require to follow my orders. You will not bow down to me when no one else is around to see it. Resume your work.” Kazuha passes by. He tries to not be bothered by everyone in the main hall getting down on their knees as soon as he enters, heads outside and starts running.

When he returns to the mansion his arms and legs are sour and his head is spinning. Exactly what he wanted. Either he’ll immediately pass out in Scaramouche’s room or on his way to it, he doesn’t care which. Of course it’s Sappan sweeping the patio. The two buns on top of their head look like teddy bear ears and the look in their eyes is full of concern. “Well done,” he tells them, when they remain working as he passes unmasked. He does make it to the room, just not the bed.

Upon waking he immediately puts on his full pyro agent attire and goes running again. Coming back, he finds his shadow sweeping the patio once more. “Working hard as always, kid.”

They rush towards him. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” They take a step back.

“I—” Kazuha’s legs give out. “Sir?!”

“I’m fine,” he pretends.

“When was the last time you ate?” He doesn’t remember. “Come on.” They pretty much drag him to one of the wooden benches nearby. “Eat this. I insist.”

He reluctantly takes the piece of bread from them. “Thank you.” He figures it’s safe to lift his mask just enough to expose his mouth. His hair is his most identifying feature after all.

“How well do you know Lord Scaramouche?”

Kazuha frowns. “Why the sudden interest?”

Sappan fidgets with their hands. “Well, I might not talk to people, but I hear things. And I’ve heard people talk about how when Lord Scaramouche comes back from certain missions, his uh— temper is even worse than usual. I also heard he might be on one such mission right now.”

He tries not to sound too interested. “And?”

“Well. You see. He has recently acquired a Special Project, or ‘pet’ as the staff likes to call them, I’m sure you know.” They laugh nervously before continuing, “And I guess I’m worried for what Lord Scaramouche might do to him.”

“Why do you care?”

They hesitate. “He tried to be kind to me once.”

Kazuha sighs. “I assume this pet can take care of himself.”

“This is a harbinger we’re talking about.” Sappan bites their lip. “Their pets don’t have a very high life expectancy.”

“You worry about yourself, kid. Stay out of trouble. Especially trouble surrounding the harbingers.”

“What about you, can I worry about you?”

Kazuha snickers. “No, that’s also not allowed.” Sappan nudges his shoulder with their own.

“You’re my only friend,” they whisper.

“Pssh, lame. We talked like what, three times?” he teases. They nudge him again. “I think you’re my only friend too, Sappan.” He pauses. “I haven’t had a friend in a while.”

“Me neither.” They clank their boots together a few times. “So are you going to stay safe or leave like everyone in my life does?”

He snorts. “I’ll make sure to eat my fruit and veggies,” he promises. He catches their bottom lip trembling before they abruptly get up. “I have work to do. See ya, gramps.”

Kazuha spends the rest of the afternoon wondering about what Scaramouche is going through on the mission to make him, apparently, be in worse moods upon return. He wants more info, but definitely not from The Doctor. He decides to try his luck at the infirmary and as luck would have it, he is greeted with a, “We meet again, comrade! What are you in for today?” The redhead has a deep cut on his cheek this time.

“You, actually.”

“Nice! How can I help?”

“What do you know about Lord Scaramouche?”

“That he hates me!” He laughs, then suddenly stops. “Wait, is this a trick?”

“No?”

“A test?”

“No, why would it be?”

The redhead shrugs. “What information are you after?”

“Lord Scaramouche is away right now, I was wondering about the nature of the mission he is on.”

“Ah, sorry, man, they never tell me anything.”

Kazuha frowns. “Well, why would they?”

“Damn, low blow, but I respect it.” He winks at him.

“I meant more like have you picked up any rumours? Amongst the staff?”

“Uh, no. I don’t really talk to staff.” Odd, he seems like such a sociable person. “Sorry I’m not much help.” He sighs.

“That’s okay, don’t worry about it, this was a long shot anyway.” He looks at the clock on the wall. “I need to head back to accept my dinner at the door. Thanks anyway.”

Once he gathers the food he can mostly inconspicuously carry, he roams the halls in search of Sappan in full pyro agent attire. Since they gave him their bread earlier, he needs to make sure they still have enough to eat today. He finds them mopping. “Do you ever take breaks?”

“No? Why are you walking around like you have a stick up your bum?” They pull a horrified face when Kazuha actually reaches behind himself and pulls out a baguette wrapped in a towel. “Where was that…?”

“Just against my back, idiot. I even wrapped it for you.”

“Is that a clean towel?”

“Yes! What do you take me for?”

“I don’t know man, I hardly know you.” They stick their tongue out at him.

He clutches his chest. “You wound me, I thought we were friends.”

“What else you got, weirdo?” Their green eyes widen. “Get down.” They push Kazuha down with them onto the ground. “Harbinger approaching,” they whisper.

Kazuha sneaks a peek. “Wait, what? That’s just that lanky redhead from the infirmary?” he whispers back.

“Yeah? Tartaglia? Eleventh of The Fatui Harbingers?”

Kazuha’s forehead touches the floor in defeat rather than respect. Tartaglia passes them by quickly, as soon as he’s out of earshot Kazuha shoots up, “He’s just some guy!”

“That guy killed an entire fleet of Ruin Guards unarmed.”

“Pfffft, where do you get that from?”

“The newspaper.”

“Oh.” Kazuha frowns. “Wait, why was there a fleet?”

Sappan shrugs. “Anyway, bread?”

—

He’s been gone for five days. To this world anyway. His skin feels like it’s on fire as he walks towards his quarters.

It hadn’t taken long for him to lose count of how many modifications were done and reversed on him this time. The testing, the fighting, the testing again. Every slight tweak made him want to scream. He had wished he needed sleep. Wished he needed lunch breaks and days off. Wished he was dead. Wished he could see Kazuha.

Reaching their hallway, he starts to undress, leaving a trail of garments behind. Every sensation, every touch is strangling him, burning him.

He’s fully stripped by the time he gets to his door. He opens it and bursts into tears when he spots Kazuha sleeping in his bed. He’s on his side, facing the doorway, his brow furrowed, probably on the edge of waking up. Scaramouche heads straight for the bed and climbs in without hesitation. Kazuha startles awake and sits up. “Do not come any closer,” he warns. It doesn’t stop him, he scoots closer. “Wait, Scara? You’re back.” Scaramouche squeezes his eyes shut, Kazuha immediately lies back down on his side and opens his arms for him. He closes the distance. “What’s going on?” He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and presses his nose against Kazuha’s chest. Warm arms close around him. “What happened?” He’s sure that as soon as he opens his mouth a sob will escape him, so he stays silent. “Okay,” Kazuha softly says and he hooks one of his legs between his, “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

Scaramouche doesn’t say anything to him that night, but he is louder than Kazuha has heard him yet. Whimpers escape his mouth, quiet pleas of ‘stop’ and ‘no more’, sudden sharp intakes of breaths that stay locked in his chest, he twitches, he shakes and he cries. He cries so much. These things, these ear-piercing, will-less, skin-staining things, inform Kazuha throughout the night that the man in his arms is sleeping. Something Scaramouche had informed him he chooses not to do.

Kazuha wishes he could enjoy this. The coolness of his skin against his, how it makes the blanket’s warmth feel welcome rather than its usual suffocating. The instinctive way Scaramouche’s body follows when Kazuha repositions himself slightly.

He had longed to make Scaramouche feel so many things, to touch him in places he had not even been spared glimpses of outside of his own mind, only to have them pressed against himself and wishing he could save him from all sensation. Kazuha settles for the resolve to do that to the person responsible for Scaramouche’s pain instead.

He tries different things to soothe him. When he starts to stroke his back, Scaramouche first jolts and pushes himself impossibly closer to Kazuha in search of safety, finding exactly that, he leans back into his hand. He starts to cry in his sleep again when Kazuha is in the middle of tracing the kanji for maple between his shoulder blades. When he moves his hand towards Scaramouche’s nape, he tenses up so much that Kazuha fears he will wake up, so he learns to avoid that spot. He quietly sings to him when he trembles and he kisses the top of his head when he feels a tear find its way from a cold nose onto him. He tells him, “I know,” when Scaramouche says it hurts, and, “I’m here,” when he catches his own name being whispered against his chest.

And he muses. About who is capable of inflicting this hurt onto Scaramouche, without suffering the man’s own wrath. Is he willingly letting this happen, is he trying to gain something, or is this a question of overpowerment and is he being forced? And if so, how will Kazuha kill someone deadlier than The Balladeer? Is it another harbinger? He knows harbingers’ strength is sometimes compared to that of gods, but are their necks really immune to a blade as they sleep? How much can they do without their limbs? And surely they still need to breathe? Kazuha knows of a flower that makes for a nice tasting light tea that will make your mouth foam and your eyes cry blood.

A harsh knock on the door pulls Kazuha away from his line of thought. Scaramouche stirs in his arms and he holds him a little tighter, in a hopeful attempt to keep him asleep. The harbinger lets out a soft whine at the second, even louder knock. Kazuha curses whoever is behind the door, it can’t be their usual breakfast maid, her knocks are soft and never insistent. He whispers into indigo hair that he will be right back, untangles himself from Scaramouche, makes sure the blanket is still covering all of him, leans back in to kiss his temple, throws on the deep blue robe, resists the urge to yell an angry “I’m coming!” when another knock bangs through the room and finally opens the door to find Sappan.

He’s about to ask them what the hell they are doing here, when he realises he’s not wearing his mask and they won’t recognise him as their friend but as harbinger pet Kaedehara. Before he can figure out how to react they exclaim, “Oh, thank heavens,” and pull him into a hug.

“What–” he tries to break off the hug but they hold onto him tighter. “Sappan.” He gently but sternly pushes them off him and looks over his shoulder. Scaramouche is still seemingly asleep but undisturbed isn’t how he would describe the expression on his face. Kazuha turns his attention back to Sappan. “What are you doing here?” he whispers.

“I heard Lord Scaramouche returned from his mission and I just–” they lightly press their clenched fist against Kazuha’s abdomen, “I needed to know if you were okay.’’

“Did anyone see you?” They shake their head. “Are you sure?” They nod. Kazuha breathes out. “How long have you known?”

Their eye roll reminds him so much of Nakae. “The start. I told you, you have a very distinctive voice.” Their gaze moves to the bed and they raise an eyebrow at him.

Kazuha quickly checks on the harbinger again and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What would you have done if he had opened the door? Better yet, if he had opened the door and my dead body had been lying on the floor?”

“Uh, join you?” They’re trying to lighten the mood but Kazuha can see the wetness in their eyelashes.

He lightly flicks their forehead with his finger. “Do not risk your life for me.”

“Ow,” they pretend. “So you think he would have killed me? Then you aren’t–”

“No, Sappan, I don’t think he would have,” he interrupts. “But you came here believing he would and that’s what matters.” They look down at their shoes. “I told you to stay out of trouble surrounding harbingers.”

A tear falls on their black boots. “Does that include you now?”

Kazuha sighs and Scaramouche rolls over on the bed. “I need you safe.” They start to open their mouth and he puts a silencing finger to their lips. “I am okay.” Their eyes widen to make a point. “I will continue to be okay. Please go to where you are supposed to be right now.” They puff their cheeks. “Do not come find me.” They look like they are considering to bite his finger. “I will come find you.” They cross their arms and a deep, thankfully still unconscious sigh comes from the bed. “Please, kid.” They look into his eyes, mossy tree bark meets autumn leaves, and they seem to understand.

Sappan nods, then the seriousness leaves their face. “Fancy robe.” Their tongue sticks out a bit from between their teeth when they grin at him.

He bites his cheeks trying to keep a straight face, only amusing Sappan further. “Bye.” Kazuha wants to slam the door for comedic effect he knows they would appreciate but deems Scaramouche’s rest more important today.

Much time to process what just happened he doesn’t get, when his name is sleepily murmured into a pillow and cold hands are finding the bed empty. He rushes to the bed and Scaramouche quickly settles back against him, Kazuha almost thinks he has avoided waking him entirely, but a frown appears on the harbinger’s face when his nose meets soft silk instead of skin, then deepens when his hands find the same and he opens his eyes.

–

For a fleeting moment, when his sleepy confusion is cleared up as he realises it’s Kazuha wearing his robe, he relaxes. Then the rest catches up to him, the position they are in, the lack of his own clothing, the sunlight. And he is mortified. It must show on his face because Kazuha tries to reassure him, “It’s okay.”

Oh, it most definitely is not. No one is allowed to see him like this. Naked, yes. Bare? No. Not ever. He needs to get out of here. But what will that solve? Kazuha will have still seen him. Felt him. He still is. He wants to scream. It would be so easy to kill him. So easy to bid farewell to the implications and rejoice in the fact no living soul has ever seen him vulnerable and weak. Well, no living human soul. Kazuha takes his face into his hands. It would be so easy. Copy his movement and just. Pull. “I won’t tell a soul.” Funny that. He’s not begging for his life, no, he means to comfort him. This unfounded trust Kazuha has in him is laughable, nearly as absurd as the fact that Scaramouche believes him; he won’t tell a soul, and he won’t even need to kill him for it.

Still, best to keep the damage to a minimum. If he leaves now and stays away all day, maybe in Kazuha’s feeble and young, human mind he’ll start to wonder what of last night was actually nightly delirium.

He will be so cold to him that there’s no way the two versions of him can exist at once. He will fix this. And he’s gonna ignore the fact that just now when Kazuha’s left hand went from his face to his waist, he, as if programmed to, leaned in and sighed.

He is about to get up and leave when Kazuha says, “Remember when you told me I get to give you an order every day?” Scaramouche thought he had forgotten about that. That means he might not forget about last night as easily either then, hmm… “Well, I have quite a few of them saved up by now and–”

“That’s not how that works.” He hasn’t actually talked to someone in so long, his own voice startles him.

Kazuha pouts. He makes it so hard not to like him. “Even so, you still need to honour today’s, right?”

Scaramouche hesitates, unsure if he wants to hear what Kazuha wants him to provide. He had been left to his own devices for five days, so would it be luxury he desires? A sofa? What else do humans want? He already gave him status, it can’t be that. Sex? A reason to leave? Surely it has to be something simple like money or power, and the harbingers have plenty of that. Is that why Kazuha sticks around? To exploit him? Use him?

“What’s wrong?” Right. He’s still here. Very close to his face.

“Let’s hear it then.” He decides to simply not be affected by whatever it is. He can easily tell him no. Kazuha holds no power here.

“Let me take care of you today.”

Chapter Text

“No.”

Scaramouche is gone all day again. Kazuha considers going to check up on Sappan but decides he doesn’t want to risk drawing more attention to them than they might have already drawn to themself by coming to see him in the morning. He is not entirely convinced no one saw them and he really does not want someone like The Doctor to become aware of the friendship between them, so he decides to stay in the room and, he hates to admit it, mope. Mope about Scaramouche’s rejection followed by his leaving.

When the clock strikes ten he declares it’s late enough to move his moping from the chair to the bed and he spends the next hour annoyed about finding the stupidly comfortable bed too warm and too empty. He lies on his back, with his arms crossed above the blanket, tensing the muscles of his arms and between his eyebrows so much he might actually tire himself out. Childishly, he keeps up his staring at the dark fabric adorning the canopy bed when he hears Scaramouche enter the room and take off his hat, coat, shoes… trousers? Shirt? It’s getting more difficult to not avert his gaze.

He feels the mattress shift with the weight of him. “Why do you look like that?” Scaramouche takes one of Kazuha’s arms from where they are crossed over his chest.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s still today.” He lays his arm down on the pillow so he can settle against him, and rests his head on his shoulder.

Without thought, Kazuha moves his body to welcome him, slotting into place. “What do you mean?”

“Your order. It’s still today.” He pokes the fold between Kazuha’s eyebrows. “No more talking, I want to sleep.”

Kazuha smiles. Progress only noticeable when the moon is out, is still progress. He trails his hand over Scaramouche’s waist and pulls him in a little closer still. “Goodnight, Scara.”

The next morning Kazuha is the first to wake again so he thoroughly enjoys what he still holds in his arms, before it decides to flee again. It should be terrifying, how right this feels, it really should, but he can’t help but just feel relaxed. Scaramouche was quieter this night, still clearly haunted in his dreams, but not as badly as the night he came back from his mission. Kazuha wonders if this will be the new normal, sleeping in the bed together. He would have no objections.

Scaramouche stirs awake and Kazuha braces for today’s rejection. “Morning.” That’s not what Kazuha was expecting, he frowns and forgets to answer, resulting in the other moving to figure out why that is. Scaramouche once again pokes him between the eyebrows. “Why is that still there?”

Kazuha blinks. “Sorry, lost in thought. Good morning.”

“Hmph.”

Worried about scaring the man off with the things he might say, he looks around the room to find something practical to talk about. “What’s in the box over there?”

“Your work uniform.”

“Oh, the custom-made one?”

“That’s the one.” He yawns. “I hope you like it,” he quietly adds.

Kazuha frowns again. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He stretches next to him like a cat and rests his head on Kazuha’s chest.

“You seem a bit different,” Kazuha truthfully shares. He gets no reply.

Scaramouche snoozes on his chest for some ten more minutes, then abruptly gets up, puts his robe on before Kazuha can get a good look in, and opens the box. “Get over here.”

“We should really get a second robe.”

“Why would we?”

“I am butt-naked right now, Scara.”

He looks back at him as if he has yet to give him a valid reason to get a second robe. After shamelessly looking Kazuha up and down, twice, he tells him, “You’ll be dressed soon.” He holds up a sheer black bodysuit, it has long sleeves and a high collar. “This first.” He helps him put it on, secures the clasps where it closes at his crotch and Kazuha thanks whatever force just helped him not get a boner. The body suit extends towards his middle fingers, which Scaramouche secures with a ring on each side.

“How much did this cost?”

“How would I know?” Next, he takes half of a dark grey haori from the box, the details on the ends of the sleeves and along the line across his chest are in a beige that looks very similar to the the colour of the haori Kazuha wore when they first met. Scaramouche looks so concentrated in his task, Kazuha wants to tell him how adorable he is, but decides that would come with the risk of him getting spooked and leaving again.

The trousers are that same colour beige, both trouser legs end with a dark grey part, which adorn some patterning. While Scaramouche positions the wide trousers legs just the way he wants them to be, Kazuha spots a lotus and some birds along the elegant wind current lining.

The black platform boots with red laces reach up into the trouser legs and once again, Kazuha is proud of himself for not getting an erection at the sight of Scaramouche on his knees tying his shoes for him. Probably a good thing he masturbated like three times on mope-day. “These make me taller than you,” Kazuha points out when he is done.

Pleased with his work, Scaramouche takes a few steps back to admire it. “You look hot.”

Kazuha bursts into laughter. “What did you just say?”

“What? I’m not allowed to say you look hot? Anyone with functional eyes can see it, it’s just an objective truth, I am just stating a fact.”

“Who designed this outfit?”

Scaramouche coughs. “I did,” he mumbles.

“What’s that? Lord Harbinger Scaramouche himself decided I should walk around with my nipples out in minus degree weather?”

“Your nipples aren’t out!”

“It is a sheer shirt, Mister Balladeer.”

“That is not how you use that title, and you said it yourself, you run hot. It’s practical.” Kazuha hums in amused agreement. “I don’t want you sweating too much and stinking up a storm next to me. Bad for my reputation.”

“That makes total sense, my lord.”

“Glad you agree.”

“Glad you think I’m hot.”

“I said you look hot.”

“Ah! My mistake.” Kazuha winks at him. Scaramouche quickly turns around as if avoiding an attack and gets something from the wardrobe. Kazuha’s throat closes up when he sees the item in his hands. “What are you doing?”

Scaramouche looks up into his eyes, probably surprised by the change in his tone. “This scarf belonged to your lover, correct?” Kazuha sharply nods. With an evident amount of care and respect, the harbinger wraps it around Kazuha’s waist. “It goes here.” Kazuha stays quiet. “And both of your visions,” he moves to stand behind him, “Go here.” He clasps them on the back of his haori, where it meets his spine. Kazuha swallows.

“Thank you.”

Scaramouche hums. “Almost done." He takes a quarter of a samurai mask from his robe’s pocket. "Don’t ask me how it stays on, it just does. Call it technology, witchcraft, pure will, I don’t care.” It does indeed just slot into place on his face, he hardly even feels its presence, Kazuha is gonna go with witchcraft for this one.

“Why is it only a quarter of a mask?”

He makes an annoyed expression. “So I can still see your face.”

“You were really adamant about me not wearing the pyro agent mask either, is it because you think I’m hot?” Kazuha grins at him.

“Sure. Whatever you want to believe.”

“I will believe you want to see three quarters of my face and one of my nipples at all times because you think I’m hot.”

“Great.”

“You seem awfully lenient about my antics today.”

“Maybe I slept well.”

“You should do that more often. With me.”

“You want me to sleep with you?”

Kazuha gasps. “How inappropriate of you to ask me this, aren’t you my boss? Yes.”

“It was a joke.”

“I thought Lord Scaramouche did not joke.”

“I do many things I never do when I’m with you.”

Kazuha smiles, handsome and bright. “I wonder what else I can make you do.”

Scaramouche had come up with a genius plan. The best way to lessen Kazuha’s interest in him, would be to fully be himself, to say all the things he feels like saying, to not hold back whatsoever. Being himself had worked on everyone else so far, no one had ever wanted to stick around him long, Kazuha would not be different. There was no reason to doubt it with a success rate like that. However, this quickly seemed to be backfiring. Should he change tactics already? No, he should give it some more time. The length of their upcoming mission would work.

“Today we leave for a weeklong mission. Pack what you need.”

“Are nipple warmers a thing in Snezhnaya?”

He knows he decided he would not hold back whatsoever, but refraining from saying “my mouth” is more of a dignity preserving decision. Why is he so horny lately? Did Dottore accidentally cut a wrong wire?

“Will we still sleep together?”

“We will share a tent, if that is what you mean.”

The journey there was long and nothing is left of the Scaramouche Kazuha saw this morning. He is cold to all of his subordinates, which includes Kazuha now. It is like he means nothing to him when he is working. Kazuha understands it, he thinks. The harbinger he sees behind closed doors is reserved only for him and he will not deny how he absolutely loves this fact, however, the distance Scaramouche creates between them in less than a day’s time, makes Kazuha hesitant about if he is still even allowed to enter their shared tent at the end of the day. Or if any of the affection between them is still there. How do you knock on a tent? “Can I come in?” No reply. “Lord Scaramouche?” He enters, and when he looks up from closing the tent, the harbinger is already nearing and does not stop until he closes the distance. “Oh, okay.” Kazuha's arms take him in.

Harbinger tents come with luxury. Rather than the sleeping bags he saw the other people carry, they have something resembling a double bed, a desk, there is even a rug. While Kazuha assesses the tent, Scaramouche is still just stood pressed against him.

“You alright?” Kazuha asks.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” he bites back. That same edge from today doesn’t feel as believable with him saying the words against his chest and his feet hidden by woollen slippers instead of heavy boots.

“You look cute in your pyjamas.”

“It is cold here.”

“Yes,” the man with only half a haori covering his sheer shirt says, “I know.”

Once Kazuha gets changed, only into pyjama trousers once he realises how thick the blanket on top of the bed is, he joins Scaramouche, who surprises him again by asking him, “Did you have a good day?”

Kazuha chuckles. “No, Scara.”

“Me neither.”

“I’m having a better day now though.”

He hums, then surprises him once more, “I’ll allow you your order of the day still, even though it is already after midnight.”

Kazuha ponders. There are so many things that he wants to do without having to even leave this bed. But there are things he wants to know as well, like what happened on his last mission that made him find shelter in Kazuha’s arms? What is he, if not human? And why is he suddenly so much more comfortable in showing himself to Kazuha? “Spoon me tonight.”

“What?”

“Let me be the little spoon tonight.”

“I don’t know what you are saying to me right now, Kazuha.”

He shows him. The confused look on Scaramouche’s face he catches when he turns and takes his arm with him, is one worthy on his list of favourite sights. Once they are settled, Kazuha points out, “See, little spoon.”

“You could have just said you wanted me to hold you tonight.”

“But where is the fun in that?” He feels Scaramouche breathe out something of a hidden laugh into his hair. “Easy access to my nipples, by the way. Since you love them so much.”

“Shut up, now.”

Kazuha teasingly tries to move Scaramouche’s arm upwards from where it's holding on to his waist, and this is the first time he experiences first hand how strong the harbinger actually is.

Still, using his order of the day on being the little spoon is worth the being left to wonder why.

The next day is much of the same, Scaramouche is cold to him when others can see them, and Kazuha unwillingly feels rejected by it. He tries to find distraction in getting to know some of the other people there, but most people are too intimidated by his rank to feel comfortable enough to be friendly with him. It is during dinner time that someone actually approaches him. Unsurprisingly, it is Childe. His friend from the infirmary, the harbinger. Kazuha still can’t fully wrap his head around that.

“Hey bud!”

“Hi, Childe.” Kazuha smiles at him.

“Fancy seeing you here, I don’t think we’ve ever seen each other outside the infirmary.”

“Indeed we have not. I must apologise for any rules I may have neglected on those occasions, I have only recently been informed that you are a harbinger and therefore above my rank.”

“Nonsense! When you meet in the infirmary, you bond for life. Like blood brothers.”

Kazuha can’t help but be amused by the guy and chuckles. “Well, I’m glad then. Cheers to that.” They clink glasses.

“Comrade, I’m sorry to ask this only now, but what is your name?”

“It’s none of your business.” Scaramouche seems to have materialised behind them.

“Eek!”

Kazuha bursts into laughter, “Did you really just say eek?”

Childe takes a breath. “Yeah, man, that guy gives me the heebie jeebies.”

“I am right here.”

Kazuha briefly looks up at his harbinger and wonders what is protecting Childe from not being set ablaze by Scaramouche’s stare right now.

Time to test a theory. “It’s Kazuha. My name is Kazuha.”

Childe tries the name in his mouth a few times, giving Kazuha another chance to look at the man behind them. “That’s a great name, it suits you,” the harbinger tells him, while Kazuha still has his eyes on the other. Theory confirmed, Scaramouche is a jealous man.

Childe coughs when he catches a glimpse of the murder on his colleague’s face. “Did you need something, Lord Scaramouche?”

“No, 11, nothing from you. I’m just here for my special project.”

“Close, are you?” Childe winks at Kazuha and nudges his shoulder.

To Kazuha’s eyes only, Scaramouche visibly startles at the statement. “I have merely a backlog of chores,” Kazuha reassures. “Excuse me, Childe. Until the next time.”

He follows Scaramouche to his tent, then patiently watches him pace in silence for about five minutes from the desk chair.

“I can’t have people know we are close,” he eventually manages.

Kazuha has not seen him this nervous before. For the first time, Kazuha gives into the need to take his hands into his. He gently opens Scaramouche’s fists and plays with his fingers to stop them from tensing again. “Are we close?” he asks him.

“No.” Kazuha moves his own hand into his palm before he can make a fist again. “Yes.” He looks up into his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I just cannot seem weak.”

“Being close to someone makes you weak?”

“Yes. It compromises me. Makes me an easier target. Makes you one too. It’s hard enough to be just me, to have to look after myself. I can’t look after you too.”

“How about we both look out for each other? And it evens out?”

He thinks for a moment. “I still don’t want them to think that we are more than just colleagues.”

Kazuha’s heart is reeling. “That’s okay. Maybe try to avoid stealing me away from another harbinger and into your tent like a jealous boyfriend in the future.”

“It’s difficult.” Kazuha’s eyes widen. “It is difficult to be cold to you.” And that’s one of the most heartfelt things Kazuha has ever heard.

“It’s difficult for me too,” he admits.

Scaramouche nods. He had hoped that Kazuha would be scared off or at least put off by these things now. The brutal honesty. The sharing of how he feels. His neediness and blatant affection. But it only seems to bring them closer. Five more days. Five more days and he will get sick of him, he is certain.

He wonders what kind of spoon he is when he wakes up fully on top of Kazuha. He relishes in this brief moment he still has before he has to leave the tent and pretend Kazuha does not exist until he notices a hardness against his abdomen and he practically flies out of the bed. Kazuha startles awake. “What’s wrong?!”

“Nothing!” He wants him so badly.

Five more days.

Day three goes by without a hitch, his subordinates are irritating him so much with their incompetence today that it makes it hard to even think about Kazuha. Sure, he still keeps his eyes peeled for a glimpse of him at all times, but really, it is manageable. Back in their tent, Kazuha listens to him complain about the idiots for an hour without losing interest. Four days left until Kazuha is tired of him.

Day four is harder. People are surrounding Kazuha, asking him for tips on swordsmanship. Watching so many of his smiles and so much of his kindness extended to complete strangers, makes Scaramouche wonder if he is not as special as he thought he was to receive his affection. These people better be grateful for what he gave them today. In the evening he walks past a conversation and fails to tune it out when he hears Kazuha’s name drop. “I guess Scaramouche’s dog is useful for something at least,” someone boldly tells his friends. “When I first saw him come in that night, I thought he wouldn’t last a day.”

Scaramouche waits for him to leave the group, follows him to the toilets, checks to see if no one else is near and then grabs him by the neck and smashes his head against a cubicle. He covers his mouth to keep him quiet and tells him into his ear, “Speak of Kaedehara with the same disrespect on your tongue again, and I will skin you.” He drops him and lets him run off. “Unsightly insect,” he mutters under his breath.

The cubicle door opens. “Order of the day, don’t skin people on my behalf.”

Scaramouche sighs. “Must you be here?”

“I apologise for peeing.”

Three days left.

He wakes up with a hard-on of his own this time and is grateful for the role of little spoon bestowed upon him last night. Oh, but it would be so easy. To grind his ass against Kazuha’s crotch. To let it wake him and to guide his hand. They wouldn’t even need to talk about it.

“Good morning, Lord Scaramouche.” He pretends to still be asleep.

At the end of day five he realises what an absolute idiot he was for giving Kazuha a work uniform like that. Not only is it distracting for Scaramouche himself, it also makes him sick with jealousy when he sees other people look at Kazuha. And once again, he wonders what of Kazuha’s attention for him is just the friendliness he extends to everyone. That night he gets into bed and pretends to be asleep before Kazuha has a chance to get to the tent. Still, he wakes up in his arms, but he quickly leaves them, and leaves for the day as well before Kazuha wakes up.

Two more days. He manages to avoid Kazuha all throughout daylight.

And does the same for the next.

Once the mission is wrapped up, the top ranks are invited for a drink at a local tavern. That’s where they see each other again. It is expected of harbingers to sit with their special projects during official ‘casual’ moments like this so they sit together, with an air between them that Scaramouche does not like. “I’m going to wait outside for our ride back to the mansion,” he tells Kazuha when he can longer stand it and enough time has passed to be allowed to leave.

He is nervously tapping his boot on cobblestone when some drunk man stumbles over to him. “Hey doll—”

Scaramouche has him pinned down on the pavement in a flash of purple. The man screams as the harbinger breaks both of his arms at the same time. “How do you know that?! Who told you?!” The man wails. “Speak!”

“Told me— told me what?” the man manages between shuddering breaths.

Scaramouche looks straight ahead and frowns. ‘Doll’ like ‘darling’? Unfortunate. He snaps the man’s neck in one clean motion. There was no explanation Scaramouche could give that would not leave the man suspicious of why he had reacted like this. Snow crunches behind him.

“How much of that did you hear, Kazuha?”

“All of it.”

Scaramouche sighs. “There is our ride,” he points out.

“Can we just leave?”

“Harbingers kill people all the time, I do not need to explain myself to anyone.”

Their journey is mostly silent, except for Kazuha reassuring him, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Scaramouche closes his eyes for the rest of the way. Zero days remaining.

They reach their door and Kazuha trails behind. “Are you coming?” he asks him.

“I was thinking maybe I should go to my own room for a bit.”

Ah. He was right, a week is all it would take to make Kazuha not want to be around him anymore. Well, a week of him being fully himself and then finding out he is a puppet on top of it all. That will do it. He knew this would happen and yet, it hurts. It hurts so much. “Yeah, sure.”

“You don’t mind?” Kazuha sounds distressed. “I always go into your room.”

“I am sure you have your reasons not to tonight.”

“Yes.”

Scaramouche nods. “Well then.” He watches as Kazuha hesitantly walks towards his own room. He is going to break as soon as that door closes on him.

“See you later, maybe?” Kazuha tries.

Scaramouche does not trust his voice to speak so he gives a slight nod. The door closes but confusion takes a hold of him before he can break. Why would he say that? He speeds towards the door. “Kazuha?” Before he can knock, the door swings open.

“Yes?”

“Tell me your reasons.”

Kazuha swallows. “Well, I felt like you might want to be alone after what happened tonight, with that man. You seemed really distraught. And because you have been distant for the past two days, I feel like my presence is not a comfort to you right now and I don’t want to impose. But mostly, I just really need to get myself off right now.”

Wait. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Scara. But normally I get some moments without you still and I can relieve myself then but this week has been so busy and if I wasn’t surrounded by people, I was with you and it really doesn’t help to have your body pressed against mine every night.”

Scaramouche frowns. “Why does that not help?”

Kazuha pinches the bridge of his nose. “Because you are an attractive man, Scara. Your body has an effect on me, you have an effect on me.”

“So you are not repulsed by me? Tired of me?”

“What? No, why would I be?” Scaramouche bites his lip nervously. Kazuha takes a step closer to him.

“That man, he called me a doll and I reacted like that because I am. I am a puppet, created, artificial.”

Kazuha caresses his cheek. “You still feel the same as before, Scara.” So he breaks in a different way.

He guides Kazuha into the room and closes the door. “Can I help?”

“With what, Scara?”

“Getting you off.”

Chapter Text

Unlike his body that is already closing the distance between them, Kazuha’s mind takes a moment to process what Scaramouche just asked, but once it does, he gives him an enthusiastic, “Yes.”

“Just,” Scaramouche warns, “This is just physical, okay?”

Right. Of course. Kazuha tries to prevent his hurt from showing on his face and in his voice. “Yes, just physical,” he confirms. If that’s all he can get, he will take it. They’re standing so close to each other now, he can feel the lack of the harbinger’s breath on his lips. “Is kissing allowed?”

“Not on the mouth.”

There goes another piece of Kazuha’s heart. He puts on a brave face. “Okay. Any other rules?”

He gets crowded against a wall and feels himself getting hard already. “Say stop and I will stop.” Not a chance. He nods in response. “Ready?” It’s almost as if he is asking himself. Kazuha nods again.

His mouth is on his neck in an instant, sucking a bruise. “Possessive much?” Kazuha breathes out the words. He feels the hum against his skin. Scaramouche follows a trail of kisses towards his jaw and keeps his head in place with one hand on his chin, as his other hand finds his nipple through his sheer shirt (very easy). Eagerly, Kazuha makes an attempt at unbuckling Scaramouche’s belt. “Your clothing is unnecessarily complicated,” he complains.

The other huffs in response, bends down so his mouth can reach his nipple and sucks on it through the shirt. Kazuha grabs a handful of indigo hair at that. “Fuck, you’re making my only one week old fantasy come true already.”

Scaramouche does not appear to be much of a talker during sex so far. He however, does take a hold of Kazuha’s ass, which he will take as a positive response. He squeezes and Kazuha’s legs feel like jelly. “I can—” Scaramouche bites into his shoulder. “I can go freshen up if you want to—”

“I want to.”

“I’ll be quick.” Kazuha disappears into the bathroom.

The harbinger starts to remove some of his more inconvenient items of clothing. Something to keep himself occupied while he begs his mind to not start talking him out of this. It’s fine. They can have sex. Harbingers have sex amongst each other all the time. It is common for special projects to have sexual relationships with harbingers. This is perfectly normal. Sure, this will be the first time Scaramouche has sex with someone he actually enjoys the presence of but still. It’s only physical. Two men getting each other off. Simple. He’s done it before. He can do it now. He only needs to tell him about his dick and then they are good to go, no other talk needed.

When Kazuha returns from the bathroom he is not wearing anything anymore and Scaramouche can’t hold back his embarrassing, “You are so hot.”

Kazuha smiles and walks closer to him. “I win the argument from a week ago.” Scaramouche wants to kiss him so badly. “You are still wearing a lot of clothing,” he fusses when he fails to rid him of them again.

Scaramouche distracts him by giving both of his nipples attention now. “Sensitive,” he decides when Kazuha moans as he lightly pinches one of them. He lowers one of his hands and takes a hold of Kazuha’s cock between them. He draws light circles on the head of it, spreading the liquid already gathered there, then licks it off his fingers with Kazuha’s eyes burning into him. There is such a haze and hunger there, it makes his dick throb inside his trousers. “Get to stretching,” he tells him.

Kazuha spreads some lube from the vial he took from the bathroom onto his fingers and reaches behind himself. When Scaramouche starts to slowly pump his cock in sync with the movement of his fingers, he wishes he could swallow the sigh of relief from Kazuha’s mouth. “Scara, I’m not gonna last long.”

“Neither am I.”

“Fuck.” He rests his head on Scaramouche’s shoulder. “Tell me why we haven’t done this before?”

“I was still planning on you leaving me.”

“What?” Scaramouche distracts him again, now with a faster pace. Kazuha moans close to his ear. It tickles.

He might as well tell him, “I figured, if I showed you my true self, surely you would leave like everyone else has.”

“Ah, so that’s why— Ahhh, Scara, slow down. I want to cum with you inside.”

He groans. “Don’t say stuff like that or I’ll ruin the inside of my trousers.”

Kazuha’s laugh should infuriate him. “Take them off then.”

“How far are you?” He needs more than this to keep avoiding certain thoughts catching up to him.

“Ready, probably.”

“Allow me.” Kazuha nods. Scaramouche leads him to the table and makes him lean over it, his bare ass perfectly aligns with his still clothed hips.

Kazuha spreads his cheeks and looks back. “Am I ready for you?”

He groans again and Kazuha’s hole seems to react to the sound. “Kazuha, just, there is something I should say first.”

“Hmm?” He is resting his head on top of his crossed arms on the table now, as if he is sunbathing. Scaramouche feels a similar warmth, to see him so comfortable and trusting around him.

Here goes. “So. Me being a puppet and all, my penis is also artificial.”

“Yes, I figured. Can we get on with it?” His tone is playful, reassuring. He wiggles his ass a little. Insufferable.

“There’s another thing. When I was created, I did not have a penis. It was added later. By Dottore.”

Kazuha deflates on the table. “Why would you say his name right now?”

“I’m serious, Kazuha. This means my penis is like, double fake.”

“Scara, hear me when I say this, my only issue with your double fake penis is the fact that it is not inside of me right now.”

He teasingly presses his thumb against Kazuha’s hole and hopes he won’t turn around and see the peculiarly natural-feeling smile on his face. Kazuha lifts his ass up against his thumb. Cute. He lowers his trousers just enough for his cock to come free. “Do you have any sensation in it?” Kazuha asks him in a curious and soft tone.

“Yeah, fully functional, I can even cum.”

Kazuha complains again, “Then why aren’t you doing anything to make it happen?”

Scaramouche can easily imagine the pout on his face. Giving him what he wants, he presses the tip against his hole, making Kazuha reposition his feet. “You look so good like this.”

“Who knew you’d be such a praiser, Lord Harbinger.” Goodbye, hard-earned reputation.

“Only for you.” They both blissfully sigh when he fully slides into him. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Please be more rough with me now.”

Scaramouche doesn’t need to be told twice, (it is pretty mortifying to even be told once, since he was not even aware of the gentleness he was showing, but at least he does not need to be told twice) so he takes a hold of Kazuha’s high ponytail and sets a quick pace. Kazuha is not quiet for even a second, his noises of pleasure are a perfect match to the rhythm of his thrusts and do not waver. Scaramouche gets lost in it, it is so easy to focus on the sounds and the feeling of just sex. It is only when the harbinger digs his nails into the skin of his ass that Kazuha loses the consistency of his rhythm with a drawn out moan and it makes way for other thoughts, “Did you think of me when you masturbated in my room?”

“Mmhmm,” he moans in confirmation.

“Tell me.” Or don’t. A part of him wants to get disappointed, to be told an easily faked ’yes' during sex. It would be easier.

“Yes.” See? Easy. “I thought of you every time. I only think of you.” Shit. Scaramouche grabs onto his waist roughly. The table creaks.

“Are there no other people you want to be with?” he tries.

“Fuck, I’m close.” He is clutching the table with his hands, the veins in his arms are much more visible than usual. “None, Scara. Just you.” He gasps when Scaramouche changes the angle slightly. “I only want you.”

He tightens the grip on his waist. Kazuha’s noises are becoming higher pitched and one of his feet slips. I only want you.

“Scara. Oh fu–” Kazuha reaches a hand underneath the table. “I’m coming.”

Scaramouche pulls out and gets himself over the edge with his own hand, staining Kazuha’s lower back. Absent-mindedly he spreads the cum with his fingers some more.

When he gives his asscheek a little pat, Kazuha takes that as his cue to stand back up and face him. In an attempt to avoid a potential conversation Scaramouche suggests, “Shower?” Kazuha nods and takes his hand to lead him.

Face to face, with warm water trickling over their noses, Kazuha tells him, “You sounded really sexy when you came.”

He cringes. “Did I moan?”

Kazuha seems delighted. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed that.”

“Did you enjoy yourself as well?” he asks him as he helps some soap off Scaramouche’s shoulders. No one has ever touched him like this. He only nods. Kazuha looks at him as if he can see inside of him, not in search of the secrets of the world, but of something else, something he is afraid to find the right words for. “May I ask, you don’t have to answer if you don’t wish to talk about it, since you were created with a different gender in mind, is that why you have these scars?” Kazuha traces his chest, gently.

He tries to focus on the touch and let it quiet his mind. “Yes, I had my breasts removed.”

“Dottore again?” He nods. “I do not understand, if he can create a fully functional and might I add, lovely, penis why couldn’t he prevent these scars?”

“I asked him not to.”

Kazuha looks up at him and smiles his sunshine smile. “You wanted to keep them?”

He knows it was not a very human decision, the only scars they seem to wear with pride are ones received in battle, vicious and ugly with an added benefit of making the enemy hesitate and give you the upper hand. Any other types were met with disgust and shame, or so Scaramouche had heard. Kazuha’s scars do not have that effect on him, they are a part of him as much as the red in his eyes and the heat of his breath, the autumn in his voice and the poetry of his touch. But Scaramouche is not human. He chose to have scars. Would that be considered offensive to a human who had no say in receiving their own? Would it anger them? Make him a target for that disgust and shame they themselves must want to expel outward? “Yes, I did.”

Kazuha looks back down at the scars he is still caressing. “I am glad. They are beautiful.”

Scaramouche wishes he had to dissect how those words make him feel, wishes it was complicated, something he needs time to process and can then deem a waste of his time when it takes too long.

This was just sex, he reminds himself of. “Do you reckon we will do this again?” Why must it sound like he wants him to say yes?

“I’d like to do it again. And you?” Scaramouche nods, despite himself. “Colleagues with benefits then?” Kazuha suggests.

And again, he wishes. He wishes that it didn’t sound so inaccurate for what he feels. “Sounds good.”

The corner of Kazuha’s mouth twitches for a moment, then his smile returns. “Are you still going to try to push me away by being yourself?”

He looks at what his hands are holding onto. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Give it some more time?” There is play to Kazuha’s words, he kisses his cheek, apparently under the assumption kisses are not a sex-exclusive matter. He should make a rule about that, he never had to before.

“Why? Do you think it will work?” Does he want it to?

“Never.”

Chapter Text

So Scaramouche had agreed that they are colleagues with benefits now. Kazuha had hoped he would argue for a different name to call whatever it is between them, but alas, he did not. After their first time, Kazuha expected it to become only an occasional thing. Maybe every once in a while they’d have sex when they were both pent up and their proximity would make it convenient to take care of it together. What Kazuha was not expecting, was to wake up the very next morning and have Scaramouche’s lips around his dick within three minutes.

Of course, Kazuha is not complaining, he just was not expecting sex to happen again that soon. The man hasn’t even had breakfast yet. Scaramouche is looking up into his eyes from his lewd position and Kazuha thinks he might explode from the sight of it. He seems to really be enjoying himself too, moaning around him even though he himself remains untouched. Kazuha also wasn’t expecting an anatomy lesson, but it quickly became apparent that puppets do not seem to have a gag reflex.

Scaramouche swallows his orgasm, makes sure to clean him up nicely, with his mouth, then asks him, “How was that?”

Kazuha is searching for an adjective that would even come close to how that was, but failing, he just says, “I’ve never had a blowjob from someone who does not need to breathe before.”

“Yes, quite the exclusive club. I would hope the Raiden Shogun has never sucked you off.”

“What?” It’s like Kazuha recoils into himself. He becomes so pale and his eyes so glazey, it actually worries the harbinger. “She is a puppet?”

Scaramouche realises now that his funny remark has trapped him into a corner to talk about his past. “The one you might see walking around, yes. I am the prototype,” he tries to keep his voice steady.

“The Raiden Shogun killed Tomo.” Oh. Kazuha looks at him with different eyes now. With his voice shaking he says, “I never realised how much you resemble her.”

Please don’t hate me now. Not because of this. Anything but this. The puppet hides his trembling hands in the blanket. “I am sorry.”

“It is not your fault.” And yet Kazuha does not seem to be able to look at him anymore. “Why aren’t you at her side?” he asks his own clenched fists.

“My mother saw no worth in me and I was discarded.”

“Why?” He sounds so angry. Was this really all Scaramouche had to mention in order for Kazuha to leave him? He wishes he had done it ages ago then. That night in the snow.

“She thought I was too weak. Because I shed tears.”

“Like a human would at the start of their life?”

Huh. He never thought about it that way. “Indeed.”

Kazuha’s jaw clenches and he seems to fight an outburst, then he looks at him again and places a hand on his knee. “I am sorry she did this to you, thank you for telling me a painful thing.”

“Will you leave now?”

“What? No. Do you want me to?” He is himself again.

“No.” Scaramouche bites on his lip to stop it from trembling as well and tries to remove the image of the panic that ran across Kazuha’s face from his mind.

“Why would I then?” Kazuha asks, with such softness in his eyes.

“Because now that you know, every time you look at me, you will be reminded of the memories that pain you.”

Tenderly, Kazuha takes his face into his hands. “When I see you, I see fields of lavender, I see the first plum of the season, I see tomorrow and the last poem I wrote. I see—”

He cuts him off, “Enough.”

It makes him chuckle. “Okay, m—” It’s like he swallows something sweet. Scaramouche does not dare ask.

“Do you want to tell me more about what happened to Tomo?” It is barely visible, but Kazuha flinges. “You don’t have to.”

“Some other time, okay?” He pats his knee. “Sorry about your boner.”

Scaramouche shrugs. “It will be back.”

It is back a few hours later, in one of the supply closets near the laundry room. They are partaking in some desperate and fully clothed grinding, real mature stuff, until someone opens the door and shrieks. Scaramouche’s response is pretty much instant, he slaps a hand over their mouth and drags them into the closet with them in order to further muffle the sound. Which, impressively high-pitched, does not come to an end and seems to specifically be directed at Kazuha. “Sappan, stop!”

Scaramouche’s hand gets bitten. “What the fuck, who is this?!”

With their back against the door, the biter points an accusing finger at Kazuha. “You have traumatised me. For life.”

Kazuha laughs. “I’m so sorry.” The Balladeer narrows his eyes. They seem close.

“Don’t have sex in the supply closet!” Kazuha shushes them, though his laughter is just as loud as their voice. “Last time I saw you, I worried he might have killed you.”

“Excuse me?”

The curly haired person ignores him. “But now! Now I have this to worry about as well?!”

“Please, what’s he gonna do, knock me up?”

Scaramouche ponders. No harm in trying.

“I do not presume what reproductive organs you have, mister, but practise safe sex regardless. And if you’re going to bang a harbinger, do not do it where I can see you, I beg of you.”

“Again, who are you?”

“Friend of Kazuha’s.” Despite their attitude, they do not dare to look Scaramouche in the eyes.

“I didn’t know he had friends.”

“I didn’t know he had a boyfriend.”

“We’re not boyfriends,” they say in unison.

Their laugh catches him off guard. “Ookay,” Sappan claims.

“Please don’t tell anyone what you saw, okay, kid?” Alongside the mops, Scaramouche marvels at how sexy Kazuha sounds when he’s being authoritative.

“I don’t talk to anyone besides you.”

Kazuha pinches their cheek. “And do try to make some more friends.”

“Let go of me, what are you, eighty years old?” they complain, though they giggle. “Can I make my new friends by gossiping about who I saw dry humping in supply closet seven?”

He tenses. “They are joking, Scara,” Kazuha reassures him, then kindly takes the attention away from him again. “So, how have you been?”

“I am not having a conversation with you in a closet with your boyfriend and your sex air.”

“He’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Scaramouche makes way so they can leave. Once they are gone and the door is closed again, he gives Kazuha a questioning look. “That’s Sappan. You can trust them. Though we have only talked a few times, they are kind of like a little sibling to me. They remind me a lot of—” Kazuha’s eyes unfocus.

After giving him about twenty seconds, Scaramouche asks him, “Remind you of what?”

“I don’t remember what I was saying, let’s get out of here.” That was the second time today that Kazuha did not look like himself at all.

The third time happens when Scaramouche comes back from the bathroom and finds Kazuha staring at nothing and yet, his eyes seem to be seeing too much. “Are you okay?” he tentatively asks him.

He startles as if burned, then something washes over his face, brutally taking Kazuha with it. “Yes.”

“I don’t like it when you lie to me,” the harbinger states.

“Likewise.” The venom in his voice feels so foreign. Invasive.

Something inside of Scaramouche makes him want to run. “I— Should I go?” Weak. He is so weak.

“This is your room,” Kazuha coldly replies.

“That doesn’t— Should you go then?” He truly does not know what to do.

Something breaks. “Please don’t make me be alone.” The sight of it will haunt Scaramouche for the days to come, but at least it brought Kazuha back to him.

Though Scaramouche held him the whole night, through the thrashing while he dreamed and the suffocating feeling of being relied on and not believing he is fit for the job, Kazuha still does not seem to be back to normal the next morning. He does not eat breakfast even though Scaramouche can hear his stomach disagreeing and he does not try to make the harbinger smile. Not even once.

When Scaramouche asks him if he wants to work today, he tells him, “Do not coddle me.” To be accused of such a thing is worrying on its own, but the darkness both in and under Kazuha’s eyes is even more so.

Thankfully there aren’t many complicated matters to attend to today. Some recruits need to be introduced to the Balladeer, a traitor needs apprehending, trivial stuff. Until the traitor seems to raise his hand to hit Scaramouche and before he can laugh at him and mock him for thinking there is any damage he is capable of doing to him, his special project at his side draws his blade and slices the man’s throat. Only a few splatters of blood manage to get past Kazuha and reach Scaramouche’s face. He blinks at the sensation and when his eyes open again, Kazuha is on the floor stabbing the man’s chest with the dagger he keeps strapped to his leg. He stabs him more times than is necessary, more times than is respectful and more times than is needed to make even the most murderous of men wonder when he will finally be satisfied, and possibly even make them hope that it will be soon.

Scaramouche just wants him to stop screaming. “Kazuha,” he tries. He speaks up this time, unheard over the noise of flesh squelching and vocal chords begging for rest the first time, “Kazuha, stop.”

“He was going to hurt you, Scara!” he cries.

He crouches down next to him, in a puddle of blood. “I know.”

Kazuha’s lungs wheeze. “I will not let it happen again!”

“Let what happen again? Nothing happened,” he tries to reassure, but Kazuha seems to only get more distraught.

“I won’t let my lo—” He tries to breathe but seems to fail. “I won’t let someone else leave me.” His sobs are terrifying, almost as bad as the sentence he did not finish.

“I won’t, I’m mostly immortal. And a single slap on the cheek was not going to kill me, even if I wasn’t.”

To the harbinger’s surprise and relief, Kazuha actually breathes out a laugh. Scaramouche moves some hair that normally contrasts the red away from his eyes and tries to get his shoulders to stop shaking by taking Kazuha’s dripping hands into his own. “What about me?” he asks, his laughter feels like a thing of a distant past with the way he speaks now.

“What about you, Kazuha?”

“I won’t leave you either.” Scaramouche starts to answer but he interrupts him. “I won’t let you go through what I went through. I won’t.” Though being held tightly, his hands shake. “I’ll find a way.”

Scaramouche is not sure of the meaning of his words, not sure if Kazuha himself knows. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

They do. Scaramouche cleans him up in the shower, allows Kazuha to clean his barely stained cheek as well and refuses the apology he gives him for letting such a thing happen. He does not apologise for anything else.

When Kazuha starts to look and sound more like himself again and he gets into bed and asks him, “Are you coming to bed?” Scaramouche feels like he is the one getting stabbed. Over and over again. “What’s wrong?”

“I am afraid,” he admits to the both of them.

All the colour he had regained leaves Kazuha’s face at the words. “Of me?” he asks him almost inaudibly.

“Of us.”

Kazuha swallows. “Me too.”

Nevertheless, there is no other option than to climb into the bed, allow his forehead to be kissed, sleep the night away in the arms of the one with the power to ruin him entirely, and feel safer than he has ever realised to feel.

The next morning Kazuha tells him more about Tomo, mostly about his death. Never before had Scaramouche heard the word sacrifice used with such disdain. The way Kazuha speaks of Tomo is filled with such love and muddled with so much rage that the puppet wonders if humans should have invented another word for it entirely.

Kazuha does not tell him who Sappan reminds him of and Scaramouche does not ask.

It surprises him when he asks, “Do you hate the gods because of what your mother did to you?”

“And now for what they did to you.”

He smiles at him. “Thank you for sacrificing some of your valuable anger and allowing it to be for me.”

Scaramouche speaks the first thought that comes to mind, “You say the weirdest of things.”

Still smiling, Kazuha rests his head against the harbinger’s knee. “Thank you.”

Natural as a habit, Scaramouche starts to play with his white hair. “Do you hate the gods, Kazuha?”

“More than anything.”

That will one day include him.

Chapter Text

After their conversation followed by some very welcome lazing about, Scaramouche told Kazuha he had a meeting with Dottore to get to and no, he could not come with him. Spending his time alone prepping himself, having almost two orgasms and inserting a butt plug (harbinger bathrooms come with perks) before getting dressed, was not at all out of frustration and jealousy. Okay, it was, but he wasn’t seriously expecting Scaramouche to find out that quickly and screw him right where they were when he did, on the cold and white marble flooring of a hallway that did not even come with the privacy of being a dead end.

Well, the floor isn’t actually that cold thanks to the harbinger coat carefully laid there by its owner before Kazuha even had a chance to do as he was told, by that same man, and lie down.

Scaramouche had pulled Kazuha’s trousers down with a force he expected to make them rip, but he was relieved to see it didn’t, only to watch him pretty much shred the bodysuit, because who has time for buttons and clasps and other fine motor skills when your colleague has a butt plug up his ass, and you feel the need to bite the skin around his nipple without a thin sheer fabric obstructing you.

A combination of horny impatience and the possibility of getting caught made them skip the foreplay entirely and after roughly pushing the crotch part of his bodysuit aside, the butt plug was quickly replaced by Scaramouche’s cock slamming into him. Kazuha had grabbed a hold of the coat underneath him and held it to his mouth to muffle some of his moans but nothing was silencing Scaramouche, with his strong grip on Kazuha’s thigh and his other hand clutching some of the bodysuit’s fabric semi-covering Kazuha’s stomach.

“Fuck, Kazuha. You force me into doing mad things.” He huffs and groans and complains more words of praise.

“Haa, Scara. Ahh— You should be more quiet, what if we get caught.”

“You should have thought of that before you decided to wear a butt plug and that bodysuit and—”

“Hey, you are the reason for the latter. Fuck, right there.” He whines, then tries to speak normally again, which he is happy to see amuses Scaramouche. “I can’t believe you ripped it, I was glad to know you had a spare after it got stained the other day but now what am I supposed to wear? Hmm?” His colleague turns that last sound into a whorish moan.

“There are more spares, I am not an idiot, I prepared for this scenario.”

“What?”

“What?”

“You prepared for the scenario of tearing up my bodysuit because you need to bite my nipple?”

“I should be more quiet, what if we get caught,” he quotes.

“I hate how close I am to coming while you are being this insufferable.”

He smirks. “Maybe I should stop moving and not let you come at all.” Before Kazuha can weaponise his sad puppy look, Scaramouche already changes his mind, “Actually, no, I will pump my cum inside of you and allow none of it to spill out.” Kazuha’s orgasm happens at his words, he doesn’t even bother being embarrassed about it. Scaramouche’s follows soon after and when he quickly inserts the butt plug, he tells him, “Thanks for bringing one,” and Kazuha rolls his eyes.

They are mostly dressed when Childe turns the corner. Scaramouche freezes. “Kazuha! Oh.” He makes a face. “You didn’t tell me you two are fucking.”

Kazuha is trying to think of ways to control the damage; really, what were they expecting, fucking in the middle of a hallway? He has only managed a sheepish laugh and a redo of his ponytail before Scaramouche springs back into action. He snatches his hat off the floor, seemingly offended about Childe’s feet being near it, as if his hat has more right to be on the floor than his boots, then tells Kazuha to, “Make sure he does not talk,” and starts to walk away.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Childe asks with a frown.

He keeps walking. “Because I’d kill you.”

“Yikes. Bye then.” He eagerly waves Scaramouche off.

“You don’t seem all that surprised,” Kazuha points out.

“Nah, harbingers fuck amongst each other all the time.” What? “Special projects included, of course.”

Jealousy boils inside of him. “Have you and him fucked?”

Childe raises his eyebrows at his tone. “No, apparently I am so unattractive to him that I don’t even qualify for hate-sex.”

“Apparently?”

“He told me.”

Kazuha can’t help but laugh at that. “I am so sorry.”

Childe laughs with him. “What are you, his husband? Apologising on his behalf, chopping me into little bits with your eyes when you thought I might have at one point laid my hands on him.”

That obvious, huh? “Sorry about that, too. You won’t talk then?” Kazuha asks, mostly as a joke but also with a sense of duty.

“Nah, we’re infirmary comrades, remember? I got your back.” He slaps it to encourage his point.

“Thank you, Childe. I appreciate it.” Kazuha believes him to be a good guy, a bit bouncing balls for brains sometimes, but his heart seems in exactly the right place.

“It’s a shame though, I wouldn’t have been opposed to winning you for myself.”

Kazuha blinks. One would expect number six and eleven of the Fatui Harbingers to get along nicely, with their shared brutal honesty. It is flattering, two and a half harbingers with an interest in him is a pretty good score, considering he has not met any of the others. “I appreciate the sentiment, but please never repeat this in a mansion wide radius of The Balladeer. Don’t get me wrong, I am flattered, but you will die.”

“Fair. Hey, would you like to hang out together sometime?” he seems to shyly kick away something invisible on the floor, then horror arrives on his face. “Not to get in your pants! Just as friends. Or not even as friends even!” Kazuha smiles, Childe rambles on, “The people here are either scared of me or wish to murder me, hah, they would be so lucky! Anyway, so I just thought it would be nice if maybe– because I think you’re nice, comrade, and–”

Kazuha frees him from his misery, “Yes, Childe. I’d like that.”

The harbinger victoriously pumps his fist into the air. “Sweet. So maybe don’t bring The Balladeer?”

“He won’t want to come.”

“Er, are you sure of that? His distaste for me might outlevel his possessiveness of you.”

Kazuha giggles behind his own fist. “Don’t worry, I’ll come alone.” After all, Scaramouche goes to see harbingers without him as well.

“Okay, well, I actually have somewhere to be right now, so, good luck dealing with his foul mood for the rest of the day.” He takes his leave.

Jealousy makes itself known again. “The same can be said for him.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Have a good day, Childe.”

“Call me Ajax next time!” he enthusiastically waves and runs off.

The corner of Kazuha’s mouth twitches. He still doesn’t know Scaramouche’s actual name. Is he not important enough to be allowed to know? Do the other harbingers know? The ones he has been with? Is Kazuha really just a pet to him? Are his looks and the added benefit of an in-room fuck really all that make him desireable to him? His mind running makes him reach the room in no time. As soon as he closes the door behind himself, he asks, “Which harbingers have you had sex with?”

Scaramouche looks up from his notebook. “What?”

“Which?” His mouth feels dry.

“Dottore.”

Kazuha considers jumping through the window. For now, he clenches his jaw.

“Any others?”

The harbinger crosses his legs on the chair. “Would it make a difference when I have already given you the worst possible answer?”

Not really. It was the one he was indeed fearing. Still, he wants to know. “Yes.”

“Capitano, once or twice.”

“Was it once or twice?” He clenches his jaw again.

Amusement appears in Scaramouche’s eyes and he spreads his legs again, leans forwards on the chair, rests his elbows on his thighs and smirks at him. He is so goddamn sexy. “Are you jealous?”

“Yep.”

With a glint in his eyes he tells Kazuha it was three times. “We aren’t often located at the same bases.”

So, if he was here right now, would he be choosing him over Kazuha? He feels himself losing his composure more than he is willing to show. Let’s just focus on who could be, though already is, a problem now. “Have you recently had sex with Dottore?” The words nauseate him.

“No, not in a while.” The breath Kazuha feels himself releasing, reminds him he should probably start doing that again. His face must be pretty red by now. Hopefully not yet purple, an unattractive sight that would be. Then again, if you can fuck with Dottore, your standards must not be very high.

Kazuha continues his interrogation, “Do you still want to?”

“I have never wanted to. It was still consensual,” Scaramouche adds once he seems to notice a reaction Kazuha tried to contain. “But I only did it to relieve myself of some frustration. More necessity than pleasure, really.”

Kazuha tries to keep his voice as steady as possible, “Is that what it is like with me as well?”

“No.” He sounds almost offended.

“What makes it different?” Some of his fingers have started to go numb so he unclenches his fists and tries to move them.

“I actually like you.”

Kazuha slightly tilts his head. “You like me?”

“As a person.” Initially glad for the word friend not being used, Kazuha’s relief is quickly spoiled by the realisation that Scaramouche might not even know the implication of that phrase. But, at least he is not just a piece of meat to him.

“I like you too,” Kazuha simply says.

“As a person?”

“As whatever you want me to.” Anything. He will take anything. “Just so you know, I am going to kill Dottore.”

Scaramouche snorts and if Kazuha wasn’t so worked up, he would have enjoyed it so much more than he is capable of doing now (he still enjoys it quite an impressive amount though). “Because you’re jealous?”

“Yes!” His outburst of the word releases some of his tension.

“You’re cute. Wanna have sex again?” He has him wrapped around his finger because, yes of course.

Still, Kazuha asks, “You enjoy the fact that I am jealous?”

He rests his chin on his hands. “Very much.”

“You’re impossible.” Kazuha sighs.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” He walks over to run his hand through Scaramouche’s hair, who remains seated on the chair.

After some pondering he decides, “Good then.” He is so endearing like this.

“Do you get jealous?” Kazuha already knows the answer, sees it on his face every time someone else gives him their attention.

He scoffs and looks up at him while still maintaining a position that makes it obvious he wants Kazuha to continue playing with his hair. “I do not entertain idiotic feelings such as that, I shall leave that to the humans.”

If Kazuha was a better man, he would not throw his friend under the bus just to hear his colleague with benefits say that he wants him for himself. He, however, is not a better man, “Tartaglia mentioned he would have pursued me if it weren’t for you.”

He thinks the look on Scaramouche’s face should be paired with the sound of lightning striking closeby. “I am going to kill him. So much.”

Delighted, Kazuha reminds him, “I think you only get to kill someone once.”

“Oh I’ll find a way. Many ways. Numerous.”

“Childe is my friend,” he defends, giggly.

“Okay? Why do you have so many friends all of a sudden?” Scaramouche rises. “I am going now.”

“Where?”

“To kill 11.”

Kazuha laughs so hard that it makes the other man smile. “Order of the day: don’t kill Childe because you’re jealous.” Scaramouche purses his lips. “Ever,” Kazuha adds.

He makes a tsk noise and sits back down, impatiently waits for Kazuha to get back to massaging his scalp. “Are you still going to kill Dottore?”

With his fingers in his hair he confirms, “Yeah.”

“Very good.”

The next few weeks are similar. They bicker, they fuck, they dance around each other, they sleep in the same bed every night, they smile at the same time sometimes.

Scaramouche’s room starts to look more like an actual room, Kazuha likes to think it starts to look more like theirs. The first thing to arrive is the sofa, deep green and expensive looking, but surprisingly still comfy.

“So, why did you buy this?”

“Humans enjoy… luxury.”

Kazuha bites his cheeks in order not to laugh, then actually realises what that means. “You got it for me? As a gift?”

“Yes.” He looks like he is searching for a way to make this not sweet. “The more comfortable and relaxed you are here, the better you will perform in combat.” There it is.

Unfortunately for him, on Kazuha’s watch he does not get away with it. He stretches on the sofa, pleased by the way his shirt creeps up and reveals some of his abs, which Scaramouche’s eyes immediately zero in on. “And here I thought you just wanted another piece of furniture to have sex on.”

He pretty much jumps him. “If that makes you relaxed then so be it.”

The second thing to arrive is a beautifully crafted side table and the kettle and mugs Kazuha actually asked for. “Humans do indeed enjoy luxury,” he told him after their third round on the sofa, “But me personally, I would also enjoy some basic necessities.”

Tea. Noticing how Scaramouche seemed to enjoy getting Kazuha things, he also asked for a second chair for the table. Then a few days later, some rope. “What are you, a pirate?”

“If that’s what you’re into. I just thought you might enjoy tying me up. But if you’re not interested,” Scaramouche misses the rest of the sentence because he is already out the door and on his way to place another order.

More items start to appear. Books Kazuha mentions liking, a throw blanket in the colour that, according to Scaramouche, compliments his eyes, knitted socks and, after a lot of nagging from Kazuha, a second silk robe, predictably red. Kazuha starts to bring him flowers from the nearby village he passes when he goes on his runs and the occasional pretty rock. Though Scaramouche often disagrees with that adjective, he keeps all of them.

Kazuha’s runs, his hangouts with Ajax and most of his meetups with Sappan are the only moments he and Scaramouche are apart. Those, and the meetings with Dottore he frequents. It still bothers Kazuha to a sickening point. When he had asked him what these meetings are about, Scaramouche had only given him the answer of it being puppet related.

After each time they are apart, however short it may have been, Kazuha will always greet him with a kiss. Anywhere but his mouth. While most lines are so very blurred by now, unnoticeable as they waltz over them, that one is still neon bright and flashing.

It kills him a little every time it stops him. An average of thirty-five times a day now. But Kazuha will take anything he can get. He is lucky, really, to receive as much of Scaramouche as he does. He should be grateful and satisfied. Two days after their first meeting, he had been absolutely delighted when the harbinger had merely caressed his face, thinking Kazuha still asleep. So, really, he should be grateful for the cold nose in his pubes as Scaramouche deepthroats him behind a tree, receiving at least two smiles a day, having breakfast together on the daily, seeing him wear Kazuha’s old and poorly maintained clothing, and the stupidly long time it takes to brush their teeth every night because they keep talking and Kazuha made it his mission to cuddle him in the most inconvenient ways possible just to annoy him during it. He should be grateful for all these things that the caressed Kazuha from that third day could not have even imagined to wish for.

Grateful. Satisfied. It should not matter that he has to swallow his endearments, that he cannot kiss his lips, that he cannot state that he is his. That he cannot come with him to the meetings with Dottore. That he will still die one day and leave Scaramouche behind.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked, do you want tea?”

“Ah, yes, please.” Kazuha smiles at him.

Scaramouche does not know if the realisation comes because of Kazuha not hearing him the first time, or because of the smile that shines in his eyes, or maybe it was caused by the smell of the flowers Kazuha brought back from one of his runs circling around the room and back to him, perhaps it was the mismatching socks Kazuha told him to wear this morning because it is a cold day, or it could have been the fact Scaramouche stretched and yawned as Kazuha walked up behind him, placed a warm hand on his waist to make his presence known and reached for the pen near the kettle, maybe it was time, maybe it was weakness, maybe it was nothing and maybe it was everything, whatever it may have been, it made him realise and ask himself, “When did mundanity become so easy?”

“Hmm?” Kazuha asks, still pressed against his back, pen in hand.

It only takes a turn of a head and a cup of a cheek to guide Kazuha’s lips against his own.

Chapter Text

A part of him expected Kazuha to be surprised, but in hindsight, Kazuha kissing him back without pause, as if they had done this for lifetimes, turning Scaramouche to face him without breaking contact, lifting him up by his waist and setting him down on the side table where the kettle now burns against his side, to then spread his legs, settle in between them and kiss him in a way that makes Scaramouche wonder if he is the only one who does not need to breathe, is exactly what he expected Kazuha to do.

He does not say anything when he does finally stop to breathe and put the fountain pen down, he does not even open his eyes to find out he is not the only one with tear stained cheeks, he just breathes against Scaramouche’s mouth for a moment and then returns his lips to where they both want them to be.

It’s hard to keep track of time in a moment such as this, but their tea is cold by the time the first words are said, “Is this it?” Kazuha breathes into his neck.

“Is this what?” Scaramouche croaks.

“Is this— Can this be the turning point? I don’t want kissing to just become another thing we do as colleagues. I don’t think I can keep holding back everything else, not when you let me do this.”

The harbinger lets out a pathetic whine when Kazuha sucks on his bottom lip. “Okay,” he concedes.

“What?” Kazuha opens his eyes finally, looks into Scaramouche’s.

“Okay, it’s the turning point. Whatever that means.” He just wants to hear Kazuha say it. To confirm his hopes are not unwarranted.

He takes his face into his hands and gives him a soft peck. Scaramouche wonders how many other types of kisses Kazuha will give him for the first time. “It means that you are mine and I am yours.”

“Each other’s?” It comes out more unsure than he intended.

“Yes.” He is lifted off the side table and locks his ankles behind Kazuha’s back as he is carried towards the bed and gently laid down. “It means I get to kiss every part of you.” The man makes a point of it. “It means I get to call you the endearments I have been swallowing.” He opens his robe.

With Kazuha leaving soft kisses on his nipple, Scaramouche strains to get the words out, “And what are they?”

“You will find out.” The harbinger shivers in response. Kazuha continues, “It means I will never leave your side.” He kisses a self made path from his chest to his stomach. “It means no one else can have you.”

Scaramouche frowns. “No one else can have you either.”

Kazuha laughs near his belly button. “Yes, that was implied, my love.”

Though warned, he was not ready for it and he makes an embarrassing noise.

Kazuha’s face comes back into view above him, wearing the dopiest grin he has ever seen him manage. “Number six of The Eleven Fatui Harbingers, Mister Balladeer, Lord Scaramouche, my love, the reason I smile and the only person I desire to be in this bed with tonight, may I please eat your ass?”

He admits he deserves the kick he receives between his legs, but when his request is granted, he also says he deserves that; humans are ridiculous. Much to Scaramouche’s dismay, he finds this one in particular is ridiculously good at rimming. The lock he has on his legs, the enthusiastic slurps and the reach of his tongue make the harbinger a loud, squirming, truly humiliating mess. Kazuha does not waver either, multiple times Scaramouche expects him to move back just enough to make a witty remark at him or to simply get bored and move on to doing something else, but he does not pause at all. He does not even stop the moment Scaramouche cries out and comes all over his own stomach. Only after he stops tensing his muscles and arching his back, does Kazuha appear above him again. “I didn’t know your face could get red,” he observes.

Scaramouche halfheartedly pushes Kazuha’s face away. “Don’t look at me.”

“It is my right as your boyfriend to look at you after making you orgasm with my mouth.”

“Boyfriend,” he dully repeats.

“Mmhmm,” Kazuha confirms and kisses his, apparently red, face. “Are you in any state to do something with my penis or should I let you rest and take care of it myself?”

“Give me a second.”

Kazuha leans an elbow on Scaramouche’s chest and smiles down at him. “Okay.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“I thought we established, it is my right—”

“It’s gonna make me think you love me,” he blurts out.

Kazuha’s eyes turn sad. This is much worse. “I am so sorry for making you think I don’t.” Scaramouche scans his face. Does that imply he does? Implications, they’re not his strong suit. Neither is love. Kazuha, fortunately, seems to be great at it, he pulls him up into a sitting position so they are at eye level though Scaramouche looks down, he caresses his cheek and tells him against his lips, “I love you.”

He is grateful for the sentence ending there, had Kazuha added one of the words that pose as his name, he probably would not have been able to hide his hurt. This ‘I love you’ is his now. Only his.

Kazuha does not seem to be waiting for a reply, he seems content, rubbing Scaramouche’s earlobe between his thumb and index finger. “Hey Kaz,” he starts to sparkle at the nickname, “Can I ride your dick now?”

The sparks pop like soap bubbles and the gears stop turning behind Kazuha’s eyes. Not a single thought remains. It is very different from the times bad memories made his Kazuha disappear, that sight makes Scaramouche want to cry, whereas this one makes him laugh. Really laugh.

Kazuha turns back into a human with a functional brain at the sound and after looking at him in a way Scaramouche has never seen anyone look at someone, he joins in.

And they laugh.

Scaramouche does not stop laughing for a while and Kazuha gets to kissing it. The laughter around his eyes, his cheeks, against his teeth. More first kisses than he can keep track of. The one that is barely a kiss because they are both smiling so wide becomes an unexpected favourite.

“Well?” the harbinger asks when he can speak again.

Lips leave his jaw and he faces him again. “First of all: fuck yes, second of all: I am so overflowing with positive emotion right now, you riding me might actually turn out to be too much for me to elegantly handle.” Kazuha sighs cutely.

“So you are going to be a pathetic mess underneath me?”

“Most definitely.”

“Perfect.” Scaramouche pushes him down onto his back.

“Oh, we are starting immediately.” Kazuha takes a shaky breath.

“Have you no sympathy for your weeping erection?” The blue silk robe did not stand a chance at hiding it.

It makes him laugh. “You are so funny, my love.”

Scaramouche startles. Even after all the firsts from today, he still was not prepared for another. Before Kazuha there was only one compliment he had ever received, but after meeting Kazuha, beautiful was soon joined by breathtaking, cute and now funny. Enough compliments to become the start of a list.

Kazuha reaching up for his nipples makes him focus again, Scaramouche grabs the vial of lube from underneath Kazuha’s pillow and spreads a generous amount onto his, as stated, weeping erection. He grins at the sight of Kazuha squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw. “You’re already struggling?”

“So much,” he strains.

“With just the idea?” A nod. “Oh boy.” He sits down on top of his thighs. “This might actually kill you.”

Kazuha rests his hands on the knees on each side of him. “No heaven nor hell could keep me for long when I have you to get back to.”

And what exactly is one supposed to say to that? Scaramouche lets his actions speak for him by positioning himself above Kazuha’s cock and slowly sliding down on it. The face of the man below him is insultingly covered by one of his arms so he pulls it away and places it on his thigh instead. “Don’t hide.”

Kazuha is breathing so heavily, his mouth hangs open and his eyes are half lidded, well, half is generous. “I’m going to move now,” Scaramouche informs him.

He whimpers and clutches the sheets, draining the skin around his knuckles of blood. When Scaramouche moves his hips slightly up, Kazuha lets out an actual sob. The harbinger leans forward, continues to move his hips up and down ever so slightly, “Hey,” he almost loses his own composure when he hits the right spot. “Hey, Kaz. Breathe for me.” Scaramouche kisses the corner of his mouth and after chasing his lips to receive a proper kiss, Kazuha focusses his eyes on his and he takes a few breaths. “Good boy.”

Scaramouche sits up again and circles his hips. While letting out a pitiful whine, Kazuha takes a hold of both his thighs. “Look at you, so brave,” the harbinger continues to praise. He moves up and then back down again.

The profanities escaping Kazuha are a joy to listen to. “You fill me up so nicely, Kaz. I don’t even have to do that much for your cock to reach my—” he makes one small adjustment in his position and the moan he lets out proves his point.

“I can’t take this,” Kazuha whispers, teary-eyed.

“Of course you can. Be a dear and let your lover come first, yes?”

Kazuha digs his nails into Scaramouche thighs when he starts to ride him at a merciful pace. He thought it was merciful but the vein on Kazuha’s forehead looks like it might actually burst and the tears leaving the corner of his eyes make him want to check and ask, “Do you feel good?”

Kazuha barks a laugh, then clarifies when he sees the look on Scaramouche’s face, “Yes, darling. I feel good. Really good. Do you?” He nods. “I’m gl—” the words stop in his throat as his dick gets properly bounced on and noises of pleasure leave Scaramouche’s mouth.

“Tell me when you’re close.” Kazuha squeezes his eyes shut again and nods.

He is such a sight beneath him. Tears and drool shine on his face along with the sweat making his hair stick against his temples and forehead. The noises he lets out really take the cake though. “You sound like someone who has never been touched before, Kazuha. I know you have experience, can’t you help me out and move a little?”

Kazuha bites his lip and shakes his head. “I’d come.”

He tuts. “Come on, try.” With a whimper he starts to move his hips up in rhythm with Scaramouche. “See, I knew you could do it.” His clenched jaw stops him from replying so Kazuha resorts to another nod. “Ahh, keep moving like this and you’re gonna make me— Fuck, Kazuha.”

The harbinger starts to pump his own cock but Kazuha takes over, giving him space to lean back and really give Kazuha the right angle. “Yes! Ah. Fuck. Yes, Kazuha, yes. Keep go—” He sees white for a moment.

His lover sits up and pulls him against him. He bites at his shoulder, drool spills out of his mouth and glides over Scaramouche’s back. “Please, can I come now?” he begs as his thighs tremble.

“Yes, you deserve it.” Kazuha comes inside of him with a rough thrust up into him and a cry of relief. As a reward, Scaramouche sweetly strokes his hair. “You did so well.” Kazuha looks like he’s about to pass out and he is perfect.

Scaramouche gets dragged down onto the bed. “Let’s take a nap,” is mumbled into his chest.

His “Let’s clean up first,” is met with a grunt of disapproval. Eventually Kazuha does allow him to go to the bathroom and get at least a washcloth, and once he has cleaned both of them up as much as he can without having to escape the clutches of his boyfriend again, he says, “Hey, Kazuha.”

“Mm?” He is practically asleep already.

“I fear I might love you too.”

Chapter Text

Being in love is disgusting. It makes him say the most brainless of sentences, think even more embarrassing ones, kiss someone who has a cold and allow him to blow his nose mid-riding him and still look up at him in adoration. It makes him see the world differently because sure, he finds these pastries repulsive, but Kazuha would look sweet with blue frosting on his chin. Love teaches him his cheeks can hurt from smiling too much, it makes him slowly get to know the sound of his own laughter and the worst part is, he enjoys all of it.

Kazuha is so easy to love and intentionally but without effort, he forces Scaramouche to face the fact that he is too. Maybe not easily, but loved nonetheless. He does not know what to do with it sometimes, where to put it. Kazuha says there are many places to direct love at, love can be given to other people, to animals and plants, love can be used as courage and kindness, it can ignite fires and drown resolves.

Scaramouche decides to hold on to it instead, afraid he might at some point run out. Though Kazuha tells him, “Do not worry, I could never stop,” Scaramouche knows there will come a time when he needs a backlog of it.

Every night, Kazuha turns the lights off and tells him he loves him, and Scaramouche keeps it. Every glance, every smile, every touch, he keeps it. “You smell good.” Kept. “I wish I had a kamera so I could look at this exact moment again.” “I just woke up and my hair is a mess.” “Exactly.” Kept. Every kanji Kazuha traces on his back. Kept. The sleepy sighs in his hair, the hot moans against his sternum, the soft kisses on his stomach, the hurt in his eyes. Kept.

He expects it to become too heavy to hold on to and carry it all, but finds it continues to weigh nothing. Perhaps that weight will solidify only after Kazuha is gone, making the ground Scaramouche’s new companion as he is crushed by the love he kept. One would hope it would start to spill out then, to share some of it with the soil, bless the dirt, allow entire trees to grow from it, but he knows it won’t. It will stay inside of him. Kazuha will live on forever, never fading, inside the curse of his existence and because of the love he decided to keep.

“When are you going to use up your vacation days?”

Scaramouche rolls over so he’s facing Kazuha. They are sharing a pillow. “Never. Who told you about that?”

“Childe asked if you would be spending yours with me. He is spending his with his family, says he is going to swim with whales. I advised against it.”

“I hope he gets eaten, I am not going to use them,” he says in a monotone voice.

Kazuha bites at his nose. “It’s mandatory.”

“Is the Tsaritsa going to check?”

“Probably not,” he considers. “I could tattle though.” His grin is so goofy, it makes Scaramouche squish his cheeks together and fall in love with him even more.

“You’re going to go to management and tell them The Balladeer is not using up his mandatory vacation days, a rule that— stop trying to bite my nose— a stupid rule that was implemented only a week ago after some higher-up read a pamphlet on labour rights?”

Kazuha nibbles on his chin. “Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t,” he dares.

“There are many things I am willing to do in order to admire you in a coastal breeze and to live the life we could have had in a kinder universe. Even if only for fifteen days.”

The harbinger sighs. “Why do you say stuff like that?”

“To convince you to go. To make you love me.”

“It’s working,” he admits.

Kazuha takes Scaramouche’s face into his hands and asks, “Will you retire with me and move to a cottage in the dunes of an ice cold Snezhnayan beach and be happy with me there?”

“For fifteen days you said?” His cheeks are the ones getting squished now.

“Yes.”

“I can do ten.”

A quick peck is left on his lips. “Deal.”

Kazuha did not waste any time, within a week everything was taken care of, which honestly makes Scaramouche wonder how essential of a worker he actually is, and they were on their way. To vacation.

The cottage is straight out of a novel, or maybe this is common in real life and Scaramouche just never lived one gentle enough to come across corduroy arm chairs, a cutlery drawer with not a single fork of the same size, wallpaper with light shadows left by picture frames that must have been filled with memories, an air that proves they were, more candle wax than candles and a bed high enough to make you bounce along the sound of complaining springs as you do a not-quite jump in order to get up on it.

“Okay, rules,” Kazuha starts once he has unpacked their bag under Scaramouche’s watch. “No work talk. No dead lovers and otherwise tragic pasts talk. No future beyond these ten days talk. Sex at least once a day, when inclined. No shoes in the house.”

“If we are playing pretend, do we need backstories?”

“I will only entertain backstories for the sake of sexual roleplay.”

“I want to be a hermit making money writing academic papers with the sole purpose of telling everyone how bleeding wrong they are.”

“Since when have you been cooking that one up? You can’t be a hermit when I am here and also you would need to be religious,” Kazuha argues, amused.

“I am religious.”

“Oh yeah?” The hermit dangles his legs off the bed and Kazuha kneels down to kiss his calf. “Who do you worship?”

“Myself,” he states as if it is an obvious fact.

Kazuha looks up from where he was leaving kisses on his ankle. “Can I get in on that?”

The look he receives would humiliate many a man. “I think you already are.”

Not Kazuha, he smiles. “Can we do it on the rocking chair?”

“Is this some weird sexual fantasy of yours?”

“No, I just think it’d be funny.”

The rocking chair breaks.

So they live a normal life. They sleep in, Kazuha makes toast and a lot of tea, they go on strolls every afternoon, on the beach Kazuha’s face gets red from the cold wind and on the bed from the words whispered in his ears. Their biggest concerns are what to have for supper later and if there should be a limit to the amount of shells, seaglass and other treasures they take back with them each day. They weigh the pros and cons of dilemmas such as Kazuha using his order of the day on a back rub or on exemption from doing the dishes (he gets his back rub and they do the dishes together). Scaramouche learns to fear a new thing: seagulls, and Kazuha finds a new thing to be amused by: Scaramouche being afraid of seagulls. “They cannot not be evil, Kazuha, not with the noises they produce. This is by design.” Kazuha tells him which flowers and plants are edible, Scaramouche tells him all the places he remembers seeing them before. Kazuha says he loves him every night, Scaramouche still can’t say it back.

“Can I take you out on a date tonight, my love? For dinner?”

He looks up from his book on human behaviour. “The nearest village is a five hour walk from here.”

“Our garden has a picnic bench,” Kazuha counters.

“It’s cold.” The window he woefully turns to is decorated in icy beauty.

“I’ll make sure you’re warm.” Scaramouche faces him and smirks. “Not like that.” He pouts.

Kazuha does keep him warm. He positioned the fire pit he is roasting something in foil on close enough to keep him toasty, he wrapped him in two blankets and pairs of socks and even warmed a bag of cherry pits and laid it on his thighs. Still, Scaramouche is disappointed about the lack of cockwarming. Maybe later.

After Kazuha has made sure everything at the table is absolutely perfect, he joins him with rosy cheeks and about a five layer difference. “Are you nice and warm?” he asks.

“Do you have to sit opposite me?”

“Why? Are you cold?”

The only other time he was warmer than this was in the middle of a burning home and promise. “Yes.”

Kazuha takes his precisely placed plate and cutlery and has to remove some flowers and candles near Scaramouche in order to sit next to him. “Better now?”

“Much,” Scaramouche says because now he can lay his head on Kazuha’s shoulder. It being swayed by the movement of him from putting food on their plates is an annoying disturbance he does not mind.

Once Kazuha has had a few bites and fed Scaramouche some as well, he asks him, “What is your favourite animal?” He responds with a noise of confusion. “Since we are on our first date, I must ask you stupid first date questions,” Kazuha clarifies.

“I am glad to know you are aware of the stupidity. Cats.” He takes a bite of potato to end his turn to talk.

Kazuha’s smile can be felt against the top of his head as he leaves a kiss there. “Very in character of a cat to think his kin best.”

Scaramouche lifts his head. “What in the world does that mean?”

“You’re a cat.”

“I am not a cat.”

Kazuha shrugs, then pats his own shoulder to prompt Scaramouche to rest his head there again. “Agree to disagree. Cats are my favourite too.”

He frowns until Kazuha’s next question gives him something else to be displeased about, “Do you have any hobbies?”

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “Eating in silence. Peace and quiet.”

“Kissing me?” Kazuha offers.

The smile he was fighting wins. “Being left alone.”

“Is it still a hobby when you’ve mastered it? At what point does it become a craft?” He slips a hand through the layers in search of skin to touch.

Scaramouche loves him so much. “Killing sweaty white-haired men who annoy me.” He repositions himself so Kazuha has better access.

“Not very good at that one you are. Would you rather,” he pauses, then asks, “Have penis fingers or penis toes?”

“What in the actual fuck.”

Kazuha laughs into his blanket-covered shoulder. “Come on, how will I figure out if I want to go on a second date with you if you are not allowing me to get to know you? How will I know you’re a potential mate if I don’t know if you prefer penis fingers or penis toes,” he fake-laments.

“Fine,” he says disapprovingly. “Penis toes.”

“Marry me,” Kazuha jokes.

Scaramouche accidentally shoves Kazuha hard enough for him to fall onto the grass. He is absolutely horrified by it but his lover on the ground cannot stop laughing. All the sounds of nature competing with it know they are only there for the joy of participating, not winning. Kazuha eventually settles back down on the bench, he sweetly holds onto his arm for safety, or to make sure that next time he gets shoved he’s taking Scaramouche down with him.

He asks his next question, “Do you want kids?”

Scaramouche looks down at his hands. He could give an easy answer, he could joke. After all, Kazuha is only asking him because of his ‘normal people on a date’ bit. But he longs to tell him, he wants Kazuha to know, he wants the boy to reside in Kazuha’s tender human understanding and give the memory of him more space to roam, to provide a prettier place to be in than his dark and thorny mind. “Permission to break one of your rules?”

“Oh,” Kazuha worries for him. “Granted.”

His arm gets squeezed a little tighter in encouragement. “There was a child once. Centuries ago. I considered him my own,” Scaramouche forces out.

With a nowadays familiar sweetness, Kazuha strokes his cheek. “What was his name?”

He lets out a painful laugh. “I do not even know. I did not have one so I did not think to ask his.” Scaramouche leans into the hand still against his cheek. “I called him my fledgling. He was like me, barely out of the nest.” After closing his eyes he continues, “But unlike me, he was just a child. So I took care of him.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He receives a soft kiss near his right eye.

“He broke his promise to me.” A traitorous tear passes over the mark of Kazuha’s lips.

“What did he promise you?”

He has never told anyone, has never spoken about his little bird out loud, thought he never would. It hurts so much. But within the safety of Kazuha, he talks, “That we would be a family forever.”

Kazuha sees what happened. “I’m sorry.” He kisses a tear away and gives Scaramouche a moment before saying, “My belief is that family ties are not cut by death, they only take on a different shape. Maybe he thought the same, maybe to him, he always kept his promise and he is still your family.”

Scaramouche opens his eyes and bites on his bottom lip before he speaks, “Perhaps.” It trembles now. “I think he would have liked you.”

“And I him.”

“Can you keep him safe?” he quietly asks with a voice filled with tears, “Inside your memories?”

Kazuha nods and swallows the lump in his own throat away. “Of course,” he promises.

“I don’t think I have been doing a very good job at it.” A sob escapes him.

“Hey, my love.” Kazuha makes him face him. “I am here now, yeah?” The weeping does not stop, it blurs the shape of him. “We will do it together.” Kazuha nods at him, waits for Scaramouche to nod back in confirmation. Once he does, he embraces him and strokes his back until it stills. “When you are ready for it, darling, you can tell me more about him, okay?”

And he does. Kazuha now knows the grainfield shade of his hair, the shape he prefers his lavender melons to be cut into, what to do to make him laugh, what to do to stop his coughing, even if only for a little while. He learns the boy’s favourite bedtime story, and the one that scares him but he still wants to hear at least once a week because, “I have your hand to hold at night.”

Kazuha expects Scaramouche to shut down after telling him this, but he really needs him to hear it, “You were a good dad.”

He doesn’t speak for a while after that. Kazuha listens to the waves. Twenty more back and forths and he will suggest going back inside.

Scaramouche breaks his silence at fifteen waves, “What about you, Kazuha? Do you want kids?”

“I never really felt strongly about it one way or the other. If my life had turned out that way I would not have been opposed to having children, if not, I would not have been opposed to that either. I used to think like that about a lot of things.”

“Not anymore?” Scaramouche moves some of the hair the wind blew in Kazuha’s face out of the way.

“I have turned into someone incapable of letting fate lead me. I make my own decisions now,” he tells him with conviction.

“That is a chord not easily cut, Kazuha,” he states. “Was it not fate that brought us together?”

“Even so, I won’t let it touch my life behind my back anymore.”

Scaramouche takes a moment to think and then asks, “Was it grief that did this?”

“Grief and guilt turned me into a husk, a shell of the person I once was. Empty. Meeting you turned me into something new.”

“Should that worry me?” he wonders.

“I think it should worry both of us.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t,” Kazuha confirms.

Some more of his hair gets sweetly moved behind his ear and Scaramouche’s hand lingers. “You are not empty anymore. To me, you are filled to the brim with who you are, Kazuha. My Kazuha.”

He takes his hand, removes his glove and places a kiss on his ring finger. “Your Kazuha.”

“Got any more stupid questions? Perhaps to drag us out of this hole you threw us into with the last one?”

It happens reguarly now, but still every time Scaramouche makes a joke or funny remark, Kazuha feels the need to clutch his chest and joyfully cry about how far they have come from Scara, “I do not joke,” Mouche. Which actually leads him to his next question, “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

He rolls his eyes. “Is this a job interview now?”

“Have you ever even been to a job interview?”

“I’ve read books. In your arms,” he answers.

Kazuha loves him so much. “You say the most romantic things sometimes.”

Another eye roll. “And I thought you were the poet.”

“I have my moments.”

“Indeed, Mister Penis Toes.” Kazuha giggles. “Would you rather,” Scaramouche starts in the same tone Kazuha did earlier. “Stay here and ignore the snow clouds approaching on the horizon or get back inside without doing any of the cleaning up and let me fuck you against a wall?”

“They are supposed to be hard choices— Do not make an erection joke right now.”

“You said that every time I make a joke you are filled with a warmth knowing that I feel comf—”

“Well, I am over it,” he interrupts and kisses him tenderly to disprove his point. “As much as I am glad to hear you finally supporting my cause to not break yet another piece of furniture with our sex—”

“Walls can break.”

“Shut it.” Scaramouche smiles at him and Kazuha wonders if his plan for the evening even holds any value anymore. “I want to look at the stars with you still.”

“We should hurry then.”

Kazuha had laid out wooden pallets and a blanket on top of them in the field behind their cottage earlier. They lie down on it, Kazuha on his back and Scaramouche cuddling his side, sometimes looking up when his lover points out a constellation, but mostly just snoozing.

“Somewhere out there, we are living a normal life like this. Not just for ten days,” Kazuha says.

“We met before the hurt started,” Scaramouche adds.

Kazuha has to blink some of it away before continuing, he points east, “Over there, we are looking at fireworks instead of the stars.”

The man next to him looks up and smiles a small smile. “We hold hands for the first time.”

“And somewhere around there,” Kazuha moves his index finger until he settles on a star, “We have two children and we named them after the night sky.”

“Hoshi and Tsuki,” Scaramouche softly says.

Kazuha hums in agreement. “Over there,” he points west, “We are trying to kill each other.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Homoerotic tension. Don’t worry, they’ll figure it out.”

Surprising Kazuha, Scaramouche decisively chooses a star, “You are a pirate there.”

“Then are you a sea monster?” he asks into his hair after placing a kiss there.

“I am a merman, have some respect.”

Kazuha moves Scaramouche’s arm into the direction of a different star. “What about over there?”

“Over there my hair is longer than yours. And right next to it—”

“On the moon?” Kazuha checks.

“Yes. On the moon, I kiss another boy,” he grins at him and Kazuha pinches his side.

“Do I get to kiss him too?”

“Oh yes, he is real hot. Cute moles on his face.”

“Sounds nice,” Kazuha muses. “Do we love each other everywhere?”

“Yes, except over there.” It is a blinking star he talks about.

“Why not?” He wrongly expects a funny explanation.

“It is where we never met.”

“I would still love you.”

Scaramouche’s words are followed by a kiss on his chin, “Hyperbolic romanticism is the emptiest of its kind.”

“It is fact, not romanticism,” Kazuha earnestly tells him.

They look at each other for a moment and neither of them admit out loud that in this moment, they both come to the realisation that in that universe deep into the sky, Tomo lived. Scaramouche feels something of pity for the version of himself that would never get a chance at loving Kazuha. He thinks about how if that version of him knew what he was missing, he would stop at nothing to get here and take his place.

Kazuha thinks about how the Kazuha from that world would be appalled by the fact that he, Scaramouche’s Kazuha, if given the chance, would not change a thing if it meant he would not end up right here, on an old blanket with a cold hand in his, with a salty breeze caressing him and the sound of sure waves and only one heartbeat.

Chapter Text

When they arrive back at the Fatui mansion after their vacation, Kazuha expects he still gets to enjoy one quiet evening to reacclimate to the reality of their lives, but he is not even done unpacking their bag when Scaramouche informs him, “I have to go away for a bit.”

He feels a stabbing pain in his stomach, but tries to limit it to just one. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t.” Another stab.

“Of course I can.” Please.

“No, it is a place unsafe for humans.”

“I don’t care.” Kazuha stands up from where he was still crouched down on the floor, sorting through their laundry. “When are we leaving?”

“Kazuha, please,” he begs. It makes him feel that much more afraid. “You can’t come, okay?” Fear is also present in Scaramouche’s eyes.

“What kind of place is it? I can handle it, Scara.” He tries to sound calm but his voice fails him with the strangling thought of being apart.

“Same place I went to last time,” he avoids Kazuha’s gaze.

“No. No, Scaramouche. Where is it?” He balls his fists to disguise his shaking hands.

“It’s the Abyss, Kazuha,” he sounds defeated but not in the way Kazuha is trying to win here.

“What do you do there?” In through your nose, hold for three seconds, out through your mouth.

Though panicking, he still notices Scaramouche considering his next words very carefully. “Modification.”

Kazuha tries to hide the fact that he feels the need to bite for air. “On you?”

“Yes. And then we test its performance.” The sound of his lover’s voice is as devoid of emotion as it is when he addresses his subordinates.

“We?”

“Dottore.”

Kazuha is about to choke. “What kind of tests?” he manages and forces himself to breathe out in the hopes of getting one in.

“Combat, mostly.” Scaramouche finally makes a move that suggests he does actually care about him, by taking Kazuha’s hands away from where they are close to pulling his own hair out.

“Does it hurt?” Kazuha asks, frantically.

So much. “Sometimes. But it—”

“I am coming with you.” His lungs make a wheezing sound.

“No, Kazuha. Please, breathe.” Scaramouche strokes the skin of Kazuha’s wrists with his thumbs, hoping to soothe him.

“You were a wreck last time you came back, Scara.” The shimmer in Kazuha’s eyes the tears are causing should not look this beautiful.

“That was just because it was a really long time,” he comforts.

“It was five—” Kazuha gasps for air. “It was five days.”

Scaramouche curses himself for slipping up and having to reveal this fact, “Time passes differently there.”

“How long will it be this time?” Kazuha is not calming down at all, Scaramouche still has to hold on to his wrists and he keeps trying to break free. His arms tremble with the effort of it.

“Three days. At most,” he adds.

“How long will that feel like for you? Do not lie to me.” Kazuha can be terrifying sometimes.

“About a month.” He expects him to yell.

“My love, please.” The harbinger can feel the fight of his lover’s arms weakening.

“I cannot have you there, Kazuha.” He is trying so hard not to cry as well.

“Why do you go?” he pleads, then quietly repeats, “It’s gonna happen again, it’s gonna happen again, it’s gonna happen again,”

Scaramouche believes Kazuha is unaware he is doing it out loud, but he still softly shushes him. “I will tell you once I am back, yeah? I’m already late.” Ten days of vacation was pushing it.

“Do you really have to? Fuck. Fuck, it’s gonna happen again.” Kazuha’s legs give out and the harbinger crouches down with him. Watching your lover collapse from mental turmoil is something Scaramouche wishes upon only a handful of people.

He nods. “I really do.” Or he would never leave him in this state, or he would not leave him at all. “It’s only for three days.” Scaramouche believes it is safe to let go of his wrists now.

Kazuha indeed does not move. “It’s a month.”

“Only for me,” he reassures with a hand on Kazuha’s cheek now.

“That does not comfort me,” he quietly says, fully shattered and with his eyes cast down.

“I am sorry.” Scaramouche wipes his own eyes quickly. “I have to go. I will be okay. Please be okay too. Hang out with Sappan. Maybe even Tartaglia.”

Kazuha looks at him now. “You hate it when I hang out with Ajax.”

“I know. But he can keep you safe and that gives me peace of mind.” He gives Kazuha a kiss on his forehead for the very first time, his lips linger there for longer than he has time for.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry.” Scaramouche rises. Please don’t ask again.

Kazuha does not ask again. He stays with his knees on the herringbone floor the entire night, staring into nothing.

With morning light comes a snap into action. He abruptly gets up, ignores the way his vision blurs, and heads out to find Ajax. Not to hang out, not to be kept safe.

“Wow, Kazuha.” His friend walks up to him and presses the back of his hand against his forehead. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? Where is The Balladeer?” He checks behind him, in case he somehow missed him.

“Tell me about the Abyss.” It is not a request, it is a demand.

Childe laughs nervously. “Kazuha, you sound devoid of light. What’s wrong? Why do you want to know?”

“Scara is there.” The stabbing pain is constant now, it is sickening.

Ajax’s hands hover over his shoulders. “Can we sit down? Maybe have some water?”

“I do not need you to fuss over me, Ajax,” he bites. “I need you to either take me there—”

His friend interrupts, “It is a tricky place, Kazuha, your body would not react well to even just being there, Lord Scaramouche was right not to bring you.”

“Or,” Kazuha seethingly continues, “You will tell me how to get there myself.” His hands shake.

A warm hand rests on his shoulder. “My friend, I have feelings of my own; wanting to have you safe, fearing the guilt I would experience if you weren’t.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “If you were to go, you would not be going alone. But I—”

“Let’s go then,” he coldly says.

Ajax audibly exhales through his nose. “It pains me to see you like this, Kazuha.”

“Then take me there!” Kazuha screams in his face. Ajax does not flinch but he does look hurt.

After straightening his shoulders and while looking him in the eyes again, he reasons, “Lord Scaramouche would not want me to take you if he himself did not bring you.”

“I do not care what Lord Scaramouche wants.” Kazuha can taste his own blood.

“He is still my superior, comrade.”

“Since when do you care about rules, Tartaglia?” He says the name with distaste.

“Since they are protecting your life, Kazuha. I know you are freaking out right now, but I have heard that they do this all the time! So I really do think your beloved is doing just fine. Maybe if the trip takes a few more days, maybe then I won’t be able to bear the sadness in your eyes any longer. But for now, I will not take you.”

Kazuha knows when he has lost and he feels his knees wanting to buckle again. “Can you at least tell me where to welcome him back?” He can’t even focus his eyes anymore.

Ajax seems relieved at his question. “I believe Il Dottore still uses mini portals to easily jump in and out. They require something we call a ‘guide’, difficult to come by ones willing to do the work, but Dottore never seems to have a shortage of them. They would probably return to his office?”

He walks away without a word. He should probably feel bad and apologise to Ajax, but for Kazuha, there is nothing unless there is Scaramouche.

A split second after he knocks on the office door, it is opened by the segment often found here.

On one of Kazuha’s runs a few weeks ago, he thought he saw Il Dottore in the middle of a flower field, but when the figure happily waved at him with a force that made him face plant the dandelions, Kazuha knew it was not the original doctor. On another occasion he saw him, he was chomping away at the flowers with his sharp teeth and an overjoyed look on his face. Each time Kazuha spotted him, the segment would be surrounded by wildlife. He’d catch him talking to frogs, petting birds and even napping with a deer at some point. After a few encounters, Kazuha stopped seeing him as only an extension of Dottore and started to affectionately call him Sharky inside his own head.

“It’s you!” Sharky says enthusiastically.

“It is indeed me.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if you’re one of the people I am allowed to invite in,” he ponders.

“I can stay here in the doorway and wait.” Kazuha is not going anywhere without Scaramouche.

He cackles. “Funny human.”

“Thanks.” Kazuha might be here a while, wise to stay on Sharky’s good side.

“Aw shucks, you’ve convinced me. Come on in. I’m making cupcakes!”

“Is that safe?”

“Are cupcakes dangerous?” he genuinely asks him.

“I— no. When will Dottore be back?”

“Am I Dottore?”

“No, the other one. The— uh, main one.”

“Ah! I wouldn’t have known either way.”

Sharky is about to hand Kazuha a cup of tea that took him four hours to make when a whomp almost bursts Kazuha’s eardrums.

A small creature unknown to Kazuha steps out of the starry breach at the far end of the office. Next is Dottore, dragging something behind him. Correction, someone, by the arm. “What a drag,” he complains.

Kazuha will blame himself for the fact that his initial reaction upon seeing Scaramouche in this state, is to freeze.

In these regretful seconds, Il Dottore spots him and commands Sharky to, “Grab Kaedehara.”

Scaramouche’s left eye twitches but stays halfway closed in an unnatural way while his right remains fully open and he makes a painful sound. “What has happened?” Kazuha is surprised he can still get the words out.

“Oh, relax! He’s fine, just needs some tweaks and a reboot and he’ll be good as new. Better even!” the doctor lies through his teeth. “Guide. Don’t stray too far, I wish to return as soon as I am done here.”

“Let go of him,” Kazuha orders and Dottore drops Scaramouche to the floor. Sharky strengthens his hold on him.

The doctor whispers into a device he takes from his workbench, “Backup. Now,” then speaks up again, “Ah, come on, Kazuha! Relax!” He takes a theatrical breath in to serve as an example, but does not release it. “I know what I am doing, trust me,” he smiles, “I’m a doctor.”

Kazuha knows he doesn’t stand a chance against him, not in his current state. “Let me get closer, please. Let me just talk to him, so I know he’s okay.”

A look of disgust appears on Dottore’s face. “Begging already? Eugh. I expected more fun out of you, Kazuha.” He nudges the man on the floor with the heel of his boot. “Scaramouche, be a dear and tell him yourself that you are fine.”

The harbinger cannot even lift his head off the floor to tell him, “I’m okay, Kazuha. Go to our room, I—” he dry heaves and lets out a sob. Kazuha can tell he suppresses the ones eager to follow. “I’ll join you later,” he reassures. He even smiles for him, half of it is pressed against a marble tile and for the first time, Kazuha wishes he had missed the sight of it.

Dottore snickers from behind a tool bench. Something inside of Kazuha snaps at the sound and he starts to thrash in Sharky’s grip. “What have you done with him?!” he loudly accuses.

Several soldiers enter the room, “You called for backup, Lord Harbinger?”

“Indeed.” Dottore crouches down and moves some of Scaramouche’s hair out of his face.

“Do not touch him!” Kazuha shouts. “I will tear the skin off those fingers if you touch him again, Dottore. And trust me, once I am fully done with you, you will miss the gentleness of that pain.”

Scaramouche has started to uncontrollably shiver on the floor. “What is it you need assistance with?” a Hydrogunner asks.

The doctor turns to stare at a wall in disbelief. “Clearly it’s that guy over there.”

That guy over there is about to tear Sharky’s arm clean off. “That’s Kaedehara Kazuha, property of The Balladeer, and not to be harmed according to article—”

“And must I remind you of who I am?” The room suddenly feels a lot smaller.

“No, sir.”

“Apprehend him before he messes with my experiment.”

“Do not call him that!” Kazuha’s voice is a scratchy, horrible thing and in turn Scaramouche makes another awful sound.

Finally Kazuha breaks free of Sharky’s hold and gets about five steps towards his goal before an Electrohammer Vanguard manages to catch him. Kazuha screams Scaramouche’s name but he does not respond.

“For fuck’s sake,” the doctor complains while searching through his tool box after Kazuha breaks free again. “Somebody sedate that man, good lord, I am so over this.”

Kazuha yelps as the needle tears through the muscle where his shoulder meets his neck and he falls to his knees, then fully down, just short of having his love within arms reach.

“What’s going on in here?!” The last thing Kazuha hears is Ajax’s distraught voice, the last thing he sees is Scaramouche’s limbs and fingers bent in gruesome ways and his doll-like, dead stare.

When Scaramouche feels Kazuha stir awake in his arms, he gets ready for the burst of violence. It’s impressive how much strength Kazuha has for a human, especially one in this state. Once Kazuha’s mind catches up on the fact he is fighting Scaramouche in order to save Scaramouche, he falls back down on the mattress. The harbinger wonders if he has actually passed out again, but then he hears a quiet, “Let me see you, please.”

Scaramouche lies down to face him. “Does your head hurt?”

“Show me your hands, please.” Kazuha is crying. He moves his hands into view. “Does it hurt?” He nods. No words come out when Kazuha opens his mouth to speak again.

“I’m okay,” Scaramouche provides. His lover closes his eyes and tears depart from his eyelashes. “It hurts, but I’m okay. Are you okay? Kazuha?”

“Yeah.” He sounds so defeated.

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I should be able to protect you from this!” The quiet fearful breath he takes after his outburst is the worst of the two.

Scaramouche shakes his head. “I go willingly.”

“Why? Why, my love?” Kazuha pleads.

“Let’s talk later.” He himself is not yet ready. “You only just woke up from a heavy tranquilliser. Eleven told me it can make you sick, he brought you here, you know, he thinks that gives him the right to come check up on you, he came by five times already since my return.”

“You still went back in? How long have I been out?”

“Breathe, Kazuha.” He tries to guide him through it but he is unsure of the proper rhythm. Useless.

“I need to know now, Scara.” But I’m not ready for you to hate me. “Scara,” Kazuha warns.

“Will you rest after?” While he wants Kazuha to rest, he also wants the answer to his request to serve as a guarantee that Kazuha will not immediately leave him. Unfortunately his question gets ignored so he has to do without, “I go willingly because we are preparing my body for—” Looking into the red eyes in front of him is both a horror and a comfort. “I—” He curses under his breath and he wishes Kazuha would reach out to him like he usually does when he struggles. He understands why he’s not, but he just wishes to have a conscious moment of touch, to have the luxury of knowing it will be the last. “My body is being prepared to host a gnosis.” He should be saying it with pride, this is what he has always wanted, what he was always meant for, but instead he says it quietly and with his eyes closed, hiding like a coward.

Kazuha’s breath hitches. “To make you a god?”

“Yes.” He opens his eyes again, deeming the last few moments of Kazuha in his bed too important to miss out on seeing.

“Why do you need modifying? Was this not what you were meant for?” Questions are not what Scaramouche was expecting, but Kazuha wanting more info gives him more time to remember the details of his face. One of the freckles on his left cheek seems more obvious than before. The scar in his eyebrow is difficult to see in this lack of light.

“I am just the prototype. A faulty prototype at that.” The circles under his eyes remind him of Tuesday’s sunset at the beach cottage. His lips are still as distracting as the first moment he saw him. Ask me more, give me more seconds of you.

Surprising Scaramouche once again, Kazuha takes his hands and caresses his fingers. “Is it really worth all this?”

The pain, yes, all of it. Losing Kazuha, however, it makes his determination unbelievably begin to crack. “Yes.”

“To become the thing you loathe.”

“And you,” he idiotically supplies. The last few seconds start now. Six… Five, four.

“I could not loathe you.”

Three, two. “Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I should. But I couldn’t.” His hands receive a soft kiss.

The harbinger lets out an ugly laugh. “If not for the fact I am willingly working towards becoming the thing you despise most of all, Kazuha, surely—” He laughs again because of the absurdity of it all. “Surely you must be repulsed by the state of my body you witnessed. It is one thing to know I am a puppet, but something else entirely to see it brutally displayed out in front of you. Kazuha, please, do not lie to yourself.” He sits up. “I thought I would take any additional seconds of you that you are willing to give me, I thought I would take them like a starving animal in relentless snow, but now I think that I must flee, save myself from the inevitability of you leaving me and not give you additional time to deny the fact that I am a revolting, monstrous thing that should never be loved or touched in the way you have.”

Kazuha sits up as well and Scaramouche suppresses the need to remind him he should lie back down and rest. Warm hands roam his body as they have done so often before. “This is still your skin, is it not?” Kazuha pulls him into his lap. He kisses his tear-stained cheeks. “Is this not the pain I have already touched?” He tilts his chin and kisses him deeply, Scaramouche makes a noise of release. “Isn’t that the pleasure I have known to find?” Kazuha pushes him down gently and presses his nose to his. “Are you not still forever mine?”

Chapter Text

Life seems to go back to normal after that day. Their normal at least.

“What are you doing?”

Kazuha tugs on his trouser leg. “Get down!” he shout-whispers. The Balladeer crouches down behind a blackberry bush with his lover, the reason being, “Sappan is talking to someone.”

Scaramouche frowns. “Sappan only talks to you.”

“Exactly!”

He shushes Kazuha. “Scooch.” The hole in the bush that looks like a rabbit blasted straight through it now provides Scaramouche with a good look at the scene. “Oh, she’s pretty.” He can feel the eyes burning into his profile. “You’re pretty too,” he states. Kazuha seems pleased with that, but for good measure Scaramouche adds, “I’m gay.”

In order to not get caught, Kazuha has to cover his own mouth to contain his laughter. When it is safe again, he removes his hand but keeps it close and asks, “Who do you think she is?” At a melodic sound he roughly shoves Scaramouche aside so he has access to the view again. “Did Sappan just laugh?!”

The harbinger lies down on his back, he was already halfway there thanks to the shove, and picks some dead leaves from his hair. “You are a bad spy. Astonishingly loud for someone so soft-spoken.”

“They are coming this way! Act natural.” Scaramouche pulls him down towards him and kisses him, he squints an eye open to check if they have been noticed, but is both glad and disappointed to not hear Sappan’s usual sounds of disgust at the sight.

“All clear.”

Kazuha grins. “Let’s kiss more.”

The fourth time Kazuha spots Sappan with the pink-haired mystery girl, he has the opportunity to hide in a tree. Unfortunately their conversation already ends before he can listen in and once Sappan passes the tree by themself, Kazuha jumps out in front of them. They shriek, of course, and it’s followed by a, “What the fuck!” and a series of halfhearted punches to his arm.

“Good afternoon, what are you up to?” Kazuha casually leans against the tree.

“Nothing!” they practically yell in his face. “Why? What were you doing up in a tree?”

“Taking a nap.” Kazuha is an excellent liar.

Their relief is obvious. “Word of advice, don’t be jumping out of trees at people. Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Work. Speaking of, have you ever had one? Boyfriend, girlfriend, joyfriend? Partner… Main squeeze?” They look horrified.

“Stop saying words right now.”

“When you do,” Kazuha starts. “They have to treat you with the respect and love you deserve and then double it. I will be making sure.”

With a confused look on their face they ask, “Where is this coming from?”

“Maybe I am just feeling a bit soppy today.”

“Missing your boyfriend?” Sappan pokes his stomach.

He dramatically sighs and lays his head on his friend’s shoulder. “Yes.”

They roughly pat his head. “There, there. Oh. It’s scary how often he just appears when he is spoken about. Like a demon.”

A big smile appears on Kazuha’s face once he opens his eyes and sees the harbinger approaching. “My demon.”

“What did you just call me?” He greets Sappan with a slight nod, which they return.

“Did you know he takes naps in trees?” they ask him.

Kazuha gasps. “Traitor.” Sappan shoves him off their shoulder.

Scaramouche narrows his eyes. “I did not. That seems unsafe.” Scaramouche and Sappan might not be friends, but their care for Kazuha is something they have in common.

“You deal with him, I have work to do.” They lightly push Kazuha towards Scaramouche and walk off. Of course Kazuha comically lets himself be caught in his arms.

“Hello.” The harbinger’s chin receives a kiss.

“Were you spying again?”

“Yes. They still haven’t told me anything.”

He wonders, “Why would they hide this from you? Could Sappan actually be a traitor? Exchanging information with outsiders?”

“No,” Kazuha says and he takes his hand to place a kiss on it. “They are in love.”

Spying on Sappan to make sure they are okay joins Kazuha’s weekly activities. He might know his friend to not be a traitor, but the same does not apply to the girl making them giggle and blush. He still goes on regular runs, hangs out with Ajax and with Sappan (outside of spying hours) and of course, works as Scaramouche’s right hand man. If he is even worthy of that title when he still isn’t allowed to attend the meetings with Dottore. This morning Scaramouche had told him he would have a longer one, but that he would still be back in time for dinner.

As promised, he walks into their room before their food is brought over and Kazuha can immediately tell: that was not a meeting, Scaramouche went to the Abyss. It’s in the way he holds himself, the way the door handle seems to burn him and the relief in his eyes when they finally manage to focus on Kazuha. It is plain obvious, but Kazuha does not say a thing. It is frankly ridiculous that Scaramouche thinks he would not notice, but the more Scaramouche keeps from him, the more room Kazuha gets to do the same.

It is that room that puts Kazuha in Il Dottore’s office on a bright morning, which does nothing to make this feel less grim. “Have you ever successfully given a human immortality?”

Dottore cackles joyfully and he spins in his chair. “Oh, Kazuha, out of all the things I speculated you to be here for, that was only third on my list! I love how you keep me on my toes, keep going.”

How he loathes him. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Ah!” He finger guns at him. “No, I have not.”

“Do you think you can do it?”

Dottore smiles a horrible smile at him. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you that you would need me one day.”

“Congratulations, you were right,” Kazuha says emotionless.

The doctor exclaims, “Oh! I love hearing what I love to hear,” and winks at him. “I have tried in the past, but after a few failed attempts I got bored. Humans are so boring.” He sighs, then corrects himself, “Well, most of them.” He disgusts Kazuha with another wink.

“Are you willing to try again?” Kazuha clenches his jaw to keep feigning his calm.

“Could be fun! To be clear, you will be the one to take it?”

“Yes.”

Dottore nods enthusiastically. “Nice, nice. And what does your owner think of that?”

It is getting harder to ignore the stabbing pain in his stomach. “He doesn’t. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

The doctor swoons. “I love it here.”

“How does it work?”

“Injections had the best results, I will continue my work from there. I must say, I am hyped!” He claps his hands. “Tell me, why do you want it?” When Kazuha takes too long to answer, Dottore starts to guess, “Is it love? Oh! Mental illness?” He does a dramatic pout.

“Both. When will it be done?”

“Man, always so impatient and impolite and other words starting with I-M-P, I’m sure. You cannot rush art, hot stuff.”

The corner of Kazuha’s mouth twitches. “Anything I can do to speed up the process?”

“Let me take The Balladeer on more Abyss dates without you making a fuss.”

“Out of the question.”

Dottore yawns. “Then no.” He seems to come up with something then. “Of course, it would help to do regular testing on you. Data is—” he makes an over the top kiss sound.

“I’ll see what I can do without Lord Scaramouche noticing my absence.” Kazuha gets up to leave.

The doctor giggles. “It’s like we’re having an affair!”

Pausing in the doorway, Kazuha asks him what he has been wondering for a while, “Why do you have such an interest in me?”

His grin is infuriating. “Let’s just say you remind me of someone I took great pleasure in killing.”

Kazuha rolls his eyes. “Is that it?”

“Well, I also greatly enjoyed you supporting the Fatui from the shadows. So very ruthless, Kazuha, whew! It was an absolute joy to watch. Speaking of which, did you ever tell our dear doll about your little meet-cute not being that cute of a meet?” Kazuha clenches his fists. “Oh, how devastated he would be, if he found out and in his abandonment issues he turns it into something super amusing like ’Kazuha is only at my side to help the Fatui hurt the gods and not because he likes me or my penis’, you’re welcome for that, by the way.”

The latter half of that Kazuha hears from the hallway. Dottore still shouts after him, “There is also a third reason, but I guess you are not interested in that!” He indeed is not. “Oh! Imprudent! Oi, Kazuha? You still there?”

“Hello my love.” Kazuha closes the door and walks over to him to plant a kiss in his hair, then threads his fingers through it.

Scaramouche remains seated on the chair and leans into the touch. “What took so long?”

“I ran into Ajax on my way back and we hung out for a bit. What have you been up to?”

He looks up at him. “Why are you lying to me right now?” It’s the calmness of his voice that is more chilling than being caught.

Kazuha’s fingers immediately feel cold and clammy and he removes them from his hair. There is no point in trying to lie again, he knows. “I was with Dottore.”

The harbinger blinks in confusion. “I don’t want you near him.”

“I don’t want you near him either.”

He makes an irritated noise at that. “Why were you there?”

“Because I need his help,” Kazuha says it as flat as possible.

“With what?” Eyes that would make people run away in fear and stumble over nothing stare into him.

Kazuha swallows. There is no point in lying. “Immortality.”

An entirely different look appears on Scaramouche’s face, now he is the one struggling to get back on his feet to flee. It burns Kazuha that much more. “What?” he whispers, “Kaz, what do you mean by that?”

It feels like there isn’t enough oxygen in the room for Kazuha to get a brave breath in so he has to do it without, “I told you, Scara. I will not leave you. I will not let what happened to me, happen to you.”

Scaramouche bites his bottom lip, but Kazuha already noticed the tremble, and shakes his head. “No.”

Kazuha hates himself for being the cause of his distress, but he will not give in. “You cannot change my mind on this.”

Two tears leave Scaramouche’s eyes in synchrony, in a different setting it might have been a beautiful sight. “You do not want to live forever, Kazuha. Trust me.” He sounds so fragile.

“I don’t, I just want to stay with you.”

“What if I don’t want that?” The harbinger seems to release a sob without sound.

“Then tell me to leave right now.” Kazuha can feel his own cheeks getting stained.

“Kazuha, you don’t want—” he searches for words, his hands make an attempt to explain as well. “This,” he settles on. “You don’t want this life.”

“I will not let you live it without me.”

“Dearest, please,” he begs. And he has never sounded more broken.

No longer being able to withstand it and the sight, Kazuha takes him into his arms. Scaramouche’s sobs become audible. He tries to shush him. “You’re okay,” he wishes.

“I don’t want you to hurt like I do, Kazuha.”

And Kazuha could argue the exact same thing. “I know.”

The ‘I love you’ Kazuha tells him after he turns the lights off are the only other words spoken that day.

Immortality doesn’t come up again after that. It’s because they are both deliberately avoiding it. It does not even come up when while on a mission, a frenzied soldier obsessed with The Balladeer makes an attempt on Kazuha’s life; because in his mind, the special project is the one thing standing between their love story. Scaramouche does not even know his name when he strangles him right next to where Kazuha is still catching his breath from being jumped and smashed against the ground. The adoration Kazuha sees in the soldier’s eyes as he looks up at the man squeezing the life from him and the way he takes a hold of the hands around his neck, not to struggle, but to caress, is something Kazuha can horrifically relate to.

His dead smile makes Kazuha throw up. Scaramouche believes it to be because of a concussion, he has been reading a lot of medical books recently, and he barks an order for assistance. He sounds authoritative and cold but Kazuha sees the fear in his eyes, he knows it well. He wants to point it out to him, tell him he won’t need to fear like this if he just lets him become someone harder to kill, but Kazuha keeps his mouth shut. Even when Scaramouche makes the doctor on site do a full assessment on Kazuha. Thrice. And even when he snatches the equipment from the woman’s hands to patch Kazuha up himself in the privacy of their tent and he angrily but meticulously cleans the cuts on his body and even when Kazuha has to take over because Scaramouche’s hands shake too much to do the stitches and he hasn’t stopped crying since they have been alone, Kazuha still keeps his mouth shut.

He also doesn’t bring it up when Scaramouche starts to have panic attacks every time Kazuha coughs for more than five seconds at a time, nor does he use the fact Scaramouche stopped being rough with him during sex, even though Kazuha tells him to be.

No, Kazuha knows exactly when he will speak of immortality again. He waits for it, saves it. There are moments of anger and frustration and grief when he wants to shout at Scaramouche and tell him, “This would not be an issue if you would just let me work with Dottore,” but he holds it in. Because he knows, there will come a moment Scaramouche is sent off to the Abyss again, and that will be his chance.

Since the attempt on Kazuha’s life, Scaramouche has been jittery about leaving his side. Kazuha knows it’s a dirty game, but when Scaramouche will inevitably deny his coming to the Abyss again, he will play into his fear. Leaving for the Abyss by himself, also means leaving Kazuha behind. He knows Scaramouche will be trying to suppress that fear, but his lover will make sure it is right there at the front of his mind. The harbinger will have to make a choice, risk Kazuha getting hurt when he is not around, or allow him to be turned into someone who can come with him.

It might not work the first time, but Kazuha’s plan does not stop there. If Scaramouche still leaves without him, Kazuha will be reckless, he will seek out trouble, rile up the wrong (right) people, hopefully get hurt in some capacity and force Scaramouche’s hand. Every time he decides to go into the Abyss without him, Kazuha will do everything in his power to make him regret it.

Scaramouche leaves without telling Kazuha.

Dottore mentioned wanting to go to the Abyss again soon and The Balladeer suggested they leave at once. It surprised the doctor. “Not going to say goodbye to your puppy? Make sure he has enough food in his bowl to last the week?”

“No need. Let’s go.”

“That’s cold, even for me.” And so they left.

If he had gone to face Kazuha, he might have folded and stayed, choosing to be with his beloved and suffer the consequences of denying the second of the Fatui Harbingers head on. Or worse, he might have taken Kazuha with him. Scaramouche’s concern for Kazuha’s safety has reached that point. When he does not have his eyes on him, he experiences an entirely new way of not being able to breathe.

So he had to leave like this, without saying goodbye, for both their sakes.

He knows Kazuha will be furious at him. He also knows how upset he must be right now, but he tries not to think about that. Focussing on the anger that will be directed at him is the better option. He knows Kazuha believes he has the perfect solution to this all. Immortality. He also knows Dottore is working on a serum to give Kazuha exactly that. Scaramouche had respectfully asked Dottore not to do it and he had laughed in his face.

“What, are you jealous? Do not fret, you are still my favourite little thing to work on.”

“I do not wish immortality upon him.”

“Boy, that sure sounds complicated and boring. I really do not care who I will give it to, doll. Your samurai only sparked a little fire in me to resume working on this abandoned hobby of mine,” he sighed. “I have so many of them. Have you ever tried crochet? Magic rings are a nightmare. Anyway, point is, I have a whole mansion of humans to use as my test subjects. I admit, it is super fun to have someone willing for once, it might even help the process, right mindset and all, but truly I don’t care enough for it to be Kaedehara.” He put his hand on his chin. “Though he is quite special… Maybe I do care! But also,” he paused. “Eh.” He shrugged.

The headache he gets from listening to the man is a good rival to the headache he has after 224 hours in the abyss.

“Alright, let’s try that again, this time with more oomph!” Dottore shouts from his workbench.

“I see some suspicious activity over there,” the puppet pretends. He is so tired.

Dottore groans. “Go take care of it, I don’t want to get my shoes wet again.”

Scaramouche disappears behind a boulder. Out of the doctor’s sight, he leans against it and forwards, rests his hands on his knees and squeezes his eyes shut. “Just 1456 more hours,” he whispers. One thousand four hundred fifty-six more hours until he sees Kazuha again. He knows how upset with him he will be, but at least he will get to see him.

“Scara?” Oh, so now he is actually losing it. Hearing voices, what’s next? Visuals? He should ask Dottore for a lobotomy next. He stands up straight again, opens his eyes.

“He’s over there!” Scaramouche narrows his eyes. Why would Tartaglia be a part of his delusions?

“Yes, Ajax, I found him.”

“Dope!”

“My love?” A hand, a solid, warm hand, touches his.

The Balladeer looks up and sees him. Hesitantly he touches Kazuha’s face and in succeeding he takes a hold of it. He squeezes a little to really confirm. “What are you doing here?” Being around Kazuha tricks his body into thinking he is safe and it relaxes, making all his fatigue and hurt come crashing down on him.

“Rescue mission!” Childe practically cheers.

He shoots a deathly glare at him. “I don’t need rescuing, I am working.”

“Er, take your partner to work day? I’m gonna kill some ghouls!” He runs off.

Trying to hide the fact his legs started to shake, Scaramouche leans on his left hip. “Why are you here, Kazuha? You should not be here,” he reminds him and the relief fluttering within himself.

Some of that fury he was expecting is coming to the surface now. “At your side is where I should be,” Kazuha says darkly.

“Not when I am here.” The harbinger moves his weight to his other hip. “It is too dangerous here.” Kazuha looks pale.

“All the more reason for me to have your back. I am not okay with you being here without me, Scara.”

You would never be okay seeing what Dottore does to me here. “Humans do not deal with the effects of the Abyss very well, I mean look at what it turned him into.” He points at Childe ripping a centaur in half with his bare hands.

“That’s why you need to let Dottore,” he looks around in search of the man, “To turn me into someone who can.”

“Everything beautiful about you is because you are human.”

“I was an empty husk before we met, not even a person anymore.”

“And I will not leave you for as long as you live, so you don’t have to worry about becoming that again.” The harbinger looks away to avoid his fierce eyes.

“And what will you become once I am gone?” Kazuha asks.

“I don’t care.”

“And I do! My love, I will not make you feel what I felt.”

If Kazuha could still talk through the blood rushing through his throat and out of his mouth, he would make a joke, something about ironic last words. Maybe if his vision would stop blurring and he could see the look on Scaramouche’s face, maybe if he knew that the muffled sounds hitting his ears are his lover’s screams, maybe then he would realise it is not the time for it. But for now, jokes is where he is at. There is a change in temperature and the feeling of something wet spreading to his stomach. When did he lie down? Is he supposed to sleep? But Scara is not with him. Oh, there he is. Why was he crying again? Right, spear in his torso. He had to tell him something, what was it? Order of the day… Smile at me one last time.

“Give him the serum, Dottore!”

“It’s not ready yet,” he answers as if he’s being asked about dinner.

“Now!” Scaramouche screams.

“Or what?” He’s inspecting his nails, bored.

“Decide if you want to find out.”

“Oh, I love that line. Very good. You’ve won me over!” The doctor springs into action.

“Hurry,” Scaramouche says more quietly than intended and he returns his attention back to Kazuha, too late, his eyes are already dull. “Just hold on a little longer, okay, Kaz? I know you’re still in there, you wouldn’t leave me that easily, right? You said you wouldn’t make me feel what you felt, right? Right, Kazuha?”

Il Dottore yanks the remainder of the spear out and injects the serum right into Kazuha’s open chest.

Chapter Text

Tomo and his younger sister Nakae lived together in the outskirts of Inazuma City. At some point, Kazuha kind of just moved in. It was more like he stayed over one night and then he just never slept anywhere else again. Two toothbrushes became three and the ‘tease Tomo because he is quite lame’ committee gained a second member. Tomo gets rightly mocked for the way he always seems to need something between his teeth, usually a toothpick or a wheat straw if he is being extra stupid. For a while it was lollipops because the three of them had won a year’s supply of them at the fun fair. They had to make two trips to get it all home. After they ran out, Tomo picked up smoking. One evening he fell asleep sitting at the kotatsu and Nakae and Kazuha successfully replaced his cigarette with a party horn. Upon startling awake at the toot, he agreed to quit. Nakae teases him for how smitten he is with Kazuha and Kazuha teasing him for the same, which makes his case even more dire. “Incurable,” he says, one afternoon.

“There must be a way to make you fall out of love with me,” Kazuha says between kisses on Tomo’s freckled cheeks.

“Nope. It’s chronic.”

Nakae walks into the living room, “And with it, my nausea.”

“Oh, grow up!” her brother sneers.

“You grow up!” They are both in their twenties.

Kazuha smiles a content smile in Tomo’s arms as the siblings bicker on, “If you don’t like seeing me cuddle with my boyfriend then maybe you should find your own place to live, Nakae!”

“I would! In a heartbeat! But you won’t let me take the cat!

“Tama is staying!”

“So I am too!”

“Then stop being a shit!”

“I hate your face!”

Tama and Kazuha look at each other, unbothered by the fight. They both know that later today the siblings will each have their own way to make up again. Nakae will probably bring home Tomo’s favourite salty snack from her evening walk and she will sit down near his legs in front of the sofa and Tomo will already have the hairbrush ‘coincidentally’ within arm’s reach to gently use it on her long, light brown hair and carefully braid it after.

Sometimes, if Kazuha is in the other room, he will hear them talk about their parents in these moments. “You ever think about how uncreative they were? First they name you Tomo and then they find out they are having a baby girl and they name her Nakae? Friendship again?! Come on. I could have been named after a flower or the end of the world.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Tomo,” she says dully, then theatrically continues, “And Armageddon.” She adds some sound effects to make her point.

“What about Kazuha?” her brother asks.

“You want Kazuha to have a more violent name? The man who helps the bugs out of the house while we stand on the table ready to make them feel lightning and does it with a smile? The guy who made us banana pancakes for breakfast today? That guy?”

“Kazuha is not as flatly good as people think he is. Did you know some people think he’s boring? It bothers me when they only see his kindness and fail to see what lies underneath. I think even he forgets sometimes.”

“What, did he not allow you to buy another one of those figurine blind boxes you’ve been obsessed with?”

“I’m serious, Nakae. I worry for him.”

She sighs. “I know, big brother. His birthday is coming up, what do you say? Therapy coupon?”

“Don’t turn everything into a joke.” He flicks her forehead. “May archons protect the therapist bestowed with the task of seeing through his soft-spoken poetry and smile.”

Nakae snickers and puts on a therapist voice, “And how does that make you feel?” She clears her throat for her best Kazuha impression, “I feel the wind holds a kinder weight in my hair, but my steps remain heavy still.”

Her brother blinks. “Tell me you just made that up.”

“He said that to me yesterday. When I asked ‘sup?’”

Tomo laughs. “I love him so much.”

“He is the weirdest boyfriend you have ever had.” She shakes her head in amusement. “And the best,” she adds.

On the day of the duel, there was no time to burst into tears about leaving a toothbrush behind, nor to have one last look at the final lollipop wrapper they framed and hung at the door, no time to go back for Tama and no time to dwell on it.

Nakae wailed all night as Kazuha stared at the splintered wooden floor of the abandoned cabin they took shelter in. Even if Kazuha could talk in that moment, he does not think it was within Nakae’s ability to be quiet if he had asked. Or maybe they both wanted to get caught.

From then on, Kazuha feels like he is underwater. Not drowning per se, but not breathing either. Everything becomes muffled, he sees in blurs. He is pretty sure he eats sometimes and he knows he goes on patrol every day to make sure they are still safe from the Vision Hunt Decree and able to stay here for the time being. Those moments outside are probably the only times he can see things. He does not see Nakae, even though she is across the room, and he does not notice when she stops being there as much. Surrounded in the ocean of one’s own grief, there is only about an arm’s length you can see until everything turns a dark blue nothingness. Add rage to it and you can no longer even see your own hand stretched out in front of you. You can still feel them though, when they dig their nails in your thighs and they hit your temples.

He does not know what day it is when a cat’s meow coming from outside briefly pulls him to the surface. Based on the flowers he can see through the window it must be early spring. He can feel himself getting dragged back under fast, but then he sees the notes. The table is full of them, there is a significant amount of them on the floor and there is one right next to his foot. All of them have his name in Nakae’s handwriting on the front. He grabs and unfolds the one nearest to him.

Dinner is on the stove, please eat.

Kazuha looks up, there is nothing on the stove. He sits down on his knees and grabs the next closest one.

I brushed your hair today, I hope that’s okay. Write back to me if you don’t want me to do that.

His hair is in a loose braid.

Going out with the group again today, will be back around nightfall. Lunch on the stove.

I miss you both so much.

There is a stray cat outside, I have been feeding it your leftovers.

I think it’s better I stop trying to talk to you so I will only write notes from now on.

I met a young couple on my evening walk. Very religious, but it was so nice to talk to people again, even if it was just about things I know nothing of.

Kazuha anxiously checks the windows, then goes outside in the hopes of spotting Nakae near the house. He returns to the notes.

How long do you think we will stay here? How long do you think it will continue to hurt this much?

Kazuha shakily inhales.

That fox barking keeps me up at night. Do you hear it? Do you hear anything?

Apparently there is a whole group of people. They say they can help me with my grief.

Kazuha tries to shout, “Nakae?!” it comes out hoarse and too quiet. He clears his throat and tries again. “Nakae!” No response. He is torn between searching for her outside and finding out more information from the notes as to where she is.

You said his name in your sleep.

I found spring onions growing nearby.

Kazuha tears up the useless messages in frustration and tries to get his heartbeat under control. He is sweating so much, marks start to appear on the paper as he holds the notes between his fingers.

They say I am welcome to spend time with them, no strings attached.

Kazuha shreds more useless ones.

We have been talking about Tomo a lot. I think it is helping, maybe you can come with me sometime.

“Nakae!” No response.

Did you know there are certain rules about who gets to have an afterlife and who doesn’t? Apparently To

They are letting me attend a ritual tomorrow. It is usually not allowed for newcomers, but they say they will make an exception for me.

I have been learning more about the afterlife. I want to tell you about it.

Going hiking with the group! I gathered enough food for you to last the weekend.

I just don’t want him to be alone.

Kazuha yells her name again.

The birch trees remind me of Tama.

I wish I could hear your voice again.

Then he spots the note that was right next to where he sat, on the windowsill.

Thank you for everything, Kazuha. When it is your turn, please tell him I love him. They say I will not go to where he is.

Kazuha runs.

The loud heartbeat in his ears is not helping his search, but eventually he hears it. People. Singing. It stops when he arrives at the scene, some of it with gasps. A man walks up to him. “Hello, sir. Are you a religious man?”

“Where—” He spots her. It took him a while because she wasn’t among the people standing, she is on a bed of flowers. Panic leaves him, along with everything else. His eyes go blank and there is nothing.

“Have you ever heard of Lord Barbatos, good sir?”

“The Anemo Archon,” Kazuha says, dully.

“Precisely, sir! We are his followers.” The man follows Kazuha’s stare at Nakae. “A noble and loving sacrifice indeed.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes! Her brother, he defied the archon of this nation, you see. As we all know, that will make it impossible for your soul to pass over.”

Kazuha walks over to Nakae and crouches down. There is a birch tree seed on her iris. He closes her eyes and wipes some of the blood she cried with his sleeve. Then the dried up foam around her mouth. “As we all know,” Kazuha entertains.

The man continues, “But what not many people know is that you can free a soul like that. Nakae here, she wished to free her brother, bless her. Our dear lord Barbatos, he is kind enough to set free a soul when you speak your wish and then consume his favoured flower. With the proper ritual in place, of course.”

Kazuha nods slowly. “These flowers right here?”

“Yessir.”

Kazuha rises and brings one of the flowers up to his nose. “I see.” He takes a whiff. “And now her soul is stuck in his stead?”

“Yes, it is a sacrifice, after all.” Kazuha hums. The man clears his throat. “We are always looking for more people to join our faith, you seem like a wise and capable man, something you would be interested in?”

“Your cult?”

“We don’t like that word.” Kazuha twirls the flower between his fingers. The group’s leader goes on, “The Bride’s Hope has a pungent but welcoming smell, does it not, sir? I have not been lucky enough to ever visit Mondstadt, but they say the whole nation smells like it. It is my dream to one day—”

“These flowers are native to Snezhnaya,” Kazuha informs. “I know this because I wrote poetry about them. Their deadliness makes for an inspiring metaphor.”

Though Kazuha remains as dulled and calm as he was throughout this exchange, the man seems to notice a change and takes a step back. "Sir?"

Kazuha takes a step forwards while reaching for the two blades crossed on his shoulder blades. “It is Cecilias the Anemo Archon favours.”

Nakae gets a proper burial. The rest of them, the forest will have to take care of.

The power of the gods, it limits itself not to their hands. They are not often needed to land the final blow. The idea of them, it is enough. It will serve to create new ones. People will take faith and worship and kill young women in the woods. They do not even need to have the right flowers in mind. Anything will do, when you believe.

Kazuha goes under again. Killing without the reasoning of defending himself or others becomes not an exception but the norm. It takes seasons and the words, “You do not give me orders,” for Kazuha to breach the surface again.

Chapter Text

Kazuha’s entire body jolts as soon as Dottore injects the serum into his chest. His eyes stay the same, yet he immediately sits up, startling both harbingers.

“Are you okay?” It’s like he cannot hear Scaramouche. “Are you in pain? Can you talk?”

“Freaky,” Dottore supplies, then notices Kazuha’s chest wound closing like roots of a tree meeting each other and dramatically gags. “That’s disgusting.”

Scaramouche ignores him. “Please answer me, Kazuha.”

“What answer are you looking for?” Kazuha may have said the words, but they sound so very unlike him.

Still, he is clearly alive so Scaramouche counts his blessings and takes him into his arms. Kazuha stays completely still. That’s okay, he has been through a lot. “I’ll give you some space,” Scaramouche decides and lets go, but he still keeps a hand on top of Kazuha’s. He notices Dottore looking at him with sparks in his eyes. “You can do your tests tomorrow, he needs rest now.”

The doctor makes a tsk noise. “You don’t even want to know how his vital signs are?”

“He is clearly fine,” Scaramouche pretends, for his own sake. “Tomorrow.” Why is it so hard to look at Kazuha? He tries to find an excuse to look around the room and when he only sees Dottore’s Abyss guide in the office with them, he asks, “Where is Tartaglia?”

“Didn’t bring him. Why do you care?” Annoyance is on Dottore’s face and in his voice.

“Well, I need to have a word with him.”

He grins now. “I figured you would blame yourself entirely for Kaedehara getting, uh—” He gestures vaguely.

“I do.” It is what he knows is true, but Scaramouche still expects Kazuha to argue, he knows Kazuha to argue statements such as these.

“That’s the boy I know and— Wait, do I love you?” Dottore ponders. “We have such a complicated dynamic, you and I.” He sighs.

Scaramouche knows Kazuha to tell Dottore to shut up at this, to threaten to tear his limbs off, to drag him away from the man. To take him home. “Shall we go home, Kazuha?” Nothing.

“Try telling him to come with you.” Dottore has a wicked smile on his face.

“What?” The other harbinger rises and frowns. “Come with me, Kazuha.” He is immediately up and moves to stand behind him.

Dottore cackles. “Interesting! Kazuha, sit.” He does not obey, thankfully. The doctor pouts.

On their way home Kazuha walks behind him in silence and Scaramouche is too afraid to ask him why. He picks up the pace. Once they are in their room and it does not provide him with the moment of relief he keeps waiting for, he suggests, “We should probably rest, right? Rest will do you good. Kazuha?”

He does not know what to do with all this silence so he just starts to get ready for bed on his own. With each step in their usually shared nighttime routine, the dread grows inside of him when Kazuha remains standing in the middle of the room. Scaramouche waits for him to tell him they should take a shower and clean up before getting into bed because the housekeeper brought clean sheets only yesterday and Kazuha never wants to create extra workload for them, he’s waiting for him to cuddle his back as he brushes his teeth, he waits for him to say something sweet, to make a joke. To do anything.

Scaramouche gets into bed and waits again, close to tears. The bed feels uncomfortable without Kazuha, too large and cold. He realises then, he has never slept in it without him. “Kazuha.” The puppet futilely tries to breathe in. Is he angry with him, is that it? “Kazuha, look at me.” His beloved turns to face him, but it is like he does not see him at all. “Do you not want to sleep in the bed with me tonight?” His voice cracks alongside something inside of him. “Answer my questions, please.”

“I have no wants.”

Scaramouche pretends he does not feel like he is choking. “Okay. What about my wants?”

“What about them?”

“Do you care about what I want?”

“No.” This is worse than death.

“Will you still do what I tell you to do?”

“Always.”

A single tear rolls down Scaramouche’s cheek. “Please take off your blood stained clothes and get into bed with me.” Rest will do him good. He will feel better in the morning, isn’t that what humans say?

Kazuha has to be told to get under the blanket, to lie down and worst of all, he has to be told to hold him. Scaramouche feels sick in his arms, they are like a cage. Kazuha is completely stiff, does not move with him, does not fit into him. Scaramouche really doesn’t want to ask, does not want to blame him, but he cannot help it, “Why do you not feel like yourself?”

He gets the answer he was afraid of. “I do not feel anything.”

For weeks Kazuha is more of a puppet than Scaramouche ever was. He is alive, he will react to commands, but no more than that. Scaramouche tries to talk to him, to make him return to himself, but Kazuha was always the talker between the two of them and he does not know what to say when his words aren’t received with smiling eyes and encouraging hums.

Every night, he orders him to hold him. He does it, he does anything Scaramouche asks of him, and only what Scaramouche asks of him, but it never feels like he is being held. Not by Kazuha. He is missing the hand playing with the hair on his nape, he lacks the sleepy kisses he gives the parts of Scaramouche’s body his mouth is closest to when there is a stir, and he forgets to tell him he loves him before turning the lights off.

Three weeks after losing him, insistent knocking makes Scaramouche get up and open the door. “Look, I know I’m not allowed to come to you guys’ room but I haven’t heard from Kazuha in a while and at first I thought you must have been on a long mission together or another vacation, but before that I saw Kazuha at least every three days, yes, that includes his spying on me, and I still don’t trust you, my lord, and—”

“You’re right.”

“What?”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t trust me.”

Sappan looks up at his face and they startle at the sight. “What’s going on?” He cannot fight the tears, Sappan’s eyes fill with the same. “Is he dead?” Scaramouche shakes his head. “Did he leave?” He nods. Sappan takes a breath. “I am going to find him and kick his ass.”

“Kazuha, come over here.”

Kazuha’s friend sputters. “Is this your sick version of a joke? How did you get him to be a part of this?” The start of their next sentence hitches when they see Kazuha. They are a smart kid, observant. One look at him and they know Kazuha is not himself. “Zuha, hey. What’s wrong?”

“He won’t respond to you.”

Sappan’s voice shakes, “Zuha?” They reach for his hand, Kazuha makes no move. His friend suppresses a noise of distress. “What’s wrong with him, Lord Harbinger?”

“He died and now he is this.”

“He can’t talk?”

“Only when commanded to, by me.”

“Well, I’m sure you love that,” they state bitterly, full of pain.

He deserves that. Scaramouche walks away and sits down at the desk. He pretends to be busy while he listens to Sappan talk.

“It’s okay if you can’t talk, Kazuha. I’ll do the talking, I’m good at that, you know that.” They let out a broken laugh. “It’s okay, what matters is that you’re okay. Okay? Let me fix your hair, yeah?” Sappan commits an offence punishable by immediate execution with the one step they take into the harbinger’s room to reach Kazuha’s hair. Scaramouche pretends not to notice. “There you go. All better.” They sniffle and tell him about their day, like they seem to be used to doing.

Once they reach this moment in their retelling, they say, “I think I will go now, but I will drop by again soon.” Scaramouche does not have it in him to object. “I’ll bring you your favourite pastry, yeah? With the blue frosting. Hmm? Okay. You’re okay.” They pat his chest. “Can you step aside, Zuha? I can’t close the door like this. Kazuha? Just one step.” Sappan lets go of a sob. “Kazuha.”

“Go sit at the table.” His instant movement at Scaramouche’s order gives Sappan a fright.

“Okay,” they tell themself after inhaling and exhaling deeply. “Bye, Kazuha. See you soon,” they tell his back. The door closes and Scaramouche’s head hits the desk. He tries not to scream.

Sappan comes by again a few days later, with Kazuha’s favourite. It must have cost them at least a week’s income. They manage not to cry this time. They fuss over him, chat at him, act as if Kazuha is still Kazuha. Everyone deals with loss differently, the harbinger supposes. The pastry stays untouched on the table until he can no longer stand the smell.

Kazuha is not useless. Not in the slightest. Take care of this. Do that. Kill those men. Bathe. Acknowledge Sappan when you pass them in the hallway. Clean your sword. Read this book. Wear your mask. He doesn’t ask why, he does not even confirm, he just does as he is told and stays where he is when he is done. When you finish with your tasks, always come back to me. Blink every once in a while. Have food with me. Stop acknowledging Sappan when you pass them in the hallway. Don’t look at me when I cry. Please look at me.

Scaramouche learns of Tartaglia’s transfer from Dottore. “Apparently the guilt made him underperform and they thought a change of scenery might do him good. The effect that man of yours has on people, it is fascinating.” The doctor looks up from where he is tinkering with the insides of the puppet’s left arm. “It still gives me the creeps that you bring him now.” He makes a face at the man standing in the office. “Hi, Kazuha!” he shouts and waves as if he spotted him from across a lake. No response.

“Kazuha, sit down in one of the arm chairs.” They will still be here for a few more hours. Kazuha obliges.

“You do realise he doesn’t need rest? He’s not human anymore, Balladeer.”

Scaramouche turns his face away from Dottore. He knows, he knows Kazuha is no longer human, but hearing it makes his chest feel like it will collapse in on itself. “Hurry up, I’m bored out of my mind here.”

“The faster I do it, the more it will hurt.”

“I know.”

“Your familiar won’t come at me when he hears your cries?” He curls his lip at Kazuha.

“Not anymore.”

Scaramouche likes to think he is desensitised to the situation at this point, but then there are moments like Kazuha not taking off his winter coat when they come inside and Scaramouche has to remind him he runs hot and while trying to take it off him, he tears the coat because Kazuha’s arms do not move, because he was not ordered to do so and Scaramouche screams until his ears ring.

Still, this pain is a familiar one. Yes, it hurts more now than it has ever done before, but he is not a stranger to it. And it makes sense, of course this is how it would end, it always does. He knows not to expect otherwise.

But Kazuha almost had him convinced. He almost had him convinced that they would last forever. And in a way they do. In the worst way.

Every night, he orders Kazuha to hold him as he sleeps. Neither of them require it now, but Scaramouche cannot handle both the days and the nights without him. Not without his Kazuha. The one who died. His remnant’s embrace still feels like a cage, yet Scaramouche cannot lay outside of it. He hates himself for it and he hates himself even more for the fact that every single night, he still hopes. He still hopes that Kazuha will come back and that when he does, he will not have to look further than his own arms to find him.

Hope was never a trusted companion for Scaramouche, but he forgives all the times it left him in the dust when one night, he feels Kazuha move his hand across his back and sigh. Tears fill his eyes immediately. “Kazuha?”

“Hmm?” It is the best sound Scaramouche has ever heard.

As much as he wants to indulge in this feeling of Kazuha, to breathe it in, to let it consume him, he needs to actually look into his eyes to confirm. So he moves to sit up, this time the limbs around him let him, without needing the command to let go. Still, they do not lose touch of him once, his hands move to where they can still reach and before they no longer can, his foot finds his shin, his thigh finds his knee. Scaramouche takes a soft hold of Kazuha’s ankle and looks him over. He still has his eyes closed. “Kazuha, hey,” he tries and swallows a sob. He has never been more afraid.

The man makes another beautiful sleepy sound and slowly blinks his eyes open, and for the first time in weeks, Scaramouche is seen.

“Hey,” Kazuha says to him, as if it’s a normal night, as if he was never gone, as if his smile shouldn’t be welcomed back with fanfare. It appears to catch up to him then. “Where did I go?” He frowns and seems to hiss in pain. His hand goes to his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Scaramouche whispers.

“I think I’m okay, my love.” He sits up, moves some hair out of Scaramouche’s face and smiles again, this time it carries a sadness. “I’m sorry I was gone.” His worry is evident.

“It’s okay,” Scaramouche pretends.

Kazuha cups his cheek. “I never want to be the reason you cry.” Scaramouche nods when words fail him. “What happened? How long was I— Gone?”

With trembling hands, Scaramouche checks to make sure this is real. He smooths over the wrinkle between Kazuha’s eyebrows and in response he smiles. That’s him, right? He blinks, he turns his face to kiss Scaramouche’s index finger when it’s within reach, he plays with his hair. “It’s you,” the harbinger concludes.

“It’s me,” Kazuha confirms.

Scaramouche lets out a sob. “I missed you so much.”

“Oh, my love. I—” Fear spreads across his features. “Where I was, I do not think I felt anything.” Kazuha takes a shuddering breath. “How is that possible?” He sharply exhales. “How could I not have missed you?”

Scaramouche tries to calm him, he brushes his lips over Kazuha’s and feels the shortness of his breathing. “It does not matter, you are back now, no need to miss me anymore.”

With each gentle kiss he receives on his face, Kazuha starts to relax a little more. After a while and during a string of kisses on his jaw he asks, “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Scaramouche states. Even now, it still makes him nauseous that he allowed this to happen, that he made Kazuha’s humanity die.

“I’m sorry.” He means it.

It is easier to accept it when Kazuha is next to him, feeling like his. “What is done is done. Less being sorry, more enjoying my kisses,” Scaramouche decides.

“For eternity, huh?”

“You now have to bear the curse of enjoying my kisses for eternity indeed.”

Kazuha grabs his waist and lays him down playfully. “How about—”

It takes a moment for Scaramouche to realise. First it takes him a while to open his eyes, he had closed them when Kazuha grabbed him, a response from still struggling with being seen with such joy on his own face, so he hides himself in other ways. He curses himself now, for missing out on precious seconds of sight. Kazuha is still leaning over him, his knee is between Scaramouche’s leg, one hand still holding on to his waist and his eyes are looking right through him. Nothing happens on his face when every form of anguish happens on Scaramouche’s. He obeys when he is eventually told to get off him. He almost had him convinced again.

The next day the harbinger commands, “Say you will come back again.”

“You will come back again.”

Scaramouche throws the nearest item he can reach, the empty flower vase shatters against the wall. “Say I will come back again!”

“I will come back again.”

He makes a noise filled with grief. “Say it like you mean it, the way he would say it.”

“Like who would say it?”

Chapter Text

The second time Kazuha returns to himself, Scaramouche wastes no time and rushes him to Il Dottore’s office. In the thirty-eight days without his Kazuha, Scaramouche had mostly waited, but he had also made sure to have a plan in place for when that patience would be rewarded, to find a way to keep him with him this time. He kept replaying the events of that first time in his head, what made Kazuha disappear again? What was it that he did, what was it that he said that made him leave? Dottore expressed he too was eager to find out more so they agreed to place a segment capable of doing the required testing inside his office at all times, for this exact moment. Scaramouche tries to explain this to Kazuha while they sprint through the hallways of the mansion. He is coming along, be it reluctantly. “My love, I just want to look at you before I go.”

It is actually The Doctor himself who they find in the office. Thankfully he does not test Scaramouche’s patience by feigning disinterest, he walks up to them immediately and shines a light in Kazuha’s eyes. He starts with a basic question, “Where are you right now, Kaedehara?” He roughly turns Kazuha’s cheek. “Oi, I asked you a question.”

Scaramouche lets go of the hand he was holding. “He is already gone,” he informs the doctor. “I did not even get to see him smile.”

He only realises he said that last part out loud when Dottore reacts, “Barf. Be quicker next time, I want to do my tests.”

“Maybe he should just stay here.” Scaramouche’s eyes feel dry. He was counting on this moment. He poured all of his traitorous hope into this moment. This time they would figure out how to make Kazuha not leave him again. Twice was enough. Twice was enough.

The cold tile floor looks so inviting. He wants to drop, he wants to crack his knees, he wants to shatter like porcelain, prove the type of doll he is. Easily broken, to be cherished only behind glass. Don’t play with it, don’t let love change it, lest it lose its value and purpose.

“Huh?” When he doesn’t elaborate, the doctor tells him, “Fuck no. I don’t want you in here being all sad and tragically in love.”

Scaramouche scoffs. “What makes you think I would be here as well?”

The other man rolls his eyes. “You never leave his side.”

“Maybe I should.”

Il Dottore groans. “Get your weird little mental breakdown out of my sight, please. And take your dog with you. I do not want to have to deal with your wrath when something happens to him under my watch. I want the freedom of putting chocolate anywhere.” He whistles. “Move along,” he tells Kazuha.

Kazuha does not move a muscle until Scaramouche tells him to come with him.

A segment is placed in the room opposite theirs for next time. Scaramouche would normally never have agreed to Dottore’s eyes and ears being this close to them, but what is there to use against him when the only words spoken behind a closed door are commands and he learnt to cry in silence long ago?

It takes four weeks. “My love.” For just a second, Scaramouche simply looks up from his notebook. His mind is so very eager to believe that this is a regular day, that Kazuha is addressing him about something mundane, about their soap running out, to point out the squirrel he sees through the window, to say he looks handsome. Unfortunately he knows better. He shoots up, the fountain pen breaks into pieces on the floor and he grabs Kazuha’s arm to introduce him to their new neighbour.

He keeps forgetting, Kazuha’s strength is not what it used to be, he needs to apply much more force in order to make him move nowadays. Kazuha’s other arm moves on its own, towards his cheek. “Please just let me be with you this time.”

Scaramouche shakes his head. “We need to do testing, we need to figure out how to keep you here. With me.” His voice cracks. “Kazuha, to keep you here with me.”

He caresses his cheek and smiles at him, full of sorrow. “Next time, okay?”

The harbinger hesitates and he turns away from Kazuha, he looks at the door for answers. He so desperately wants to have this moment with Kazuha, to just be together. They can’t. Once Kazuha has been fixed, then they will find out how many centuries of moments it will take until he no longer feels like they are making up for lost ones. But in order to get there, they cannot indulge in them now. His hand is gently kissed, his waist softly squeezed.

What was it Kazuha had told him? Love can ignite fires and drown resolves? “Do you promise?”

“I promise. Please, just let me look at you.” Light leaves his eyes before Scaramouche can turn around and nod in agreement.

Seventeen days later, Scaramouche notices his fourth return when he is drying Kazuha’s hair after their bath and he hears him cry. The harbinger drops the towel and takes his lover’s face into his hands. “You promised.” Kazuha nods and tries to compose himself.

One of Dottore’s more serious and quiet segments does the testing. With machinery linked to the patches he stuck to Kazuha’s body, the man asks him all sorts of questions. Scaramouche would doubt their relevance if it wasn’t for the fact that with every question, the segment has his eyes on the numbers on screen and his hands scribbling on a notepad. The more he writes, the deeper his frown gets. He draws Kazuha’s blood, he measures his vitals, he draws his blood again. Lying on the medical stretcher, Kazuha only looks at Scaramouche. With a huff the segment abruptly walks to his desk and opens another notebook. “I don’t get it.”

“Then get someone better!”

“I am the neuro specialist, there is no one better,” he tells the harbinger.

Scaramouche had walked away from Kazuha, now he is too afraid to turn back. He looks down at his own bare feet. “Where’s Dottore?”

“Out. Far, hopefully. I cannot stand that man,” his clone mutters, then clears his throat and continues, “He would tell you what I will tell you now, Balladeer, this technology is the best there is, I can see everything I need to see, I know everything I need to know. These are almost the exact same results as when we test Kaedehara in his other state.”

“Almost?”

“There is nothing relevant to go off on.”

“Scara.”

He closes his eyes. “No.”

“My love, come here.” Lightning cracks in between his fingers.

“No.” It means giving in. It means letting Kazuha leave him for a fifth time.

“See it as my order of the day.”

Scaramouche wants to scream. When he is within touching distance, Kazuha lovingly runs a hand through his still wet hair. “Thank you for taking care of us. My love, I am sorry, maybe you have to—”

“Let go of my hair,” he quietly orders, then turns around and asks the segment, “What was different when he was still here?”

“His pain levels.”

The next time Kazuha returns is only six days later. They are in bed when the cage around Scaramouche melts into him. Neither of them say anything, not out loud. Kazuha just breathes him in, traces his index finger on his chest, loves him for a good eighty-six seconds. He wished he wouldn't notice his leaving, but when Kazuha stops in the middle of tracing the kanji for home on his chest, Scaramouche makes a distressed noise and there come no reassuring squeezes or quiet snores.

There seems to be no pattern to Kazuha’s returns. The shortest period between them remains the six days from then, the longest was seven weeks. How long he gets to stay differs too, but he has never been there for longer than eight minutes.

Scaramouche does not know the words that would describe this pain. He thinks it would help to know, this feeling must hold less power over him when it can be compressed into a handful of letters. Words are made up, give one to the pain that makes you unsure of what to do with your limbs, the hurt that makes you feel like it is forcing you out of your own skin, give something a name and it will weaken.

Obsessively he reads all of Kazuha’s books in search of it, these were all of his favourites, surely they will tell him. They don’t. He reads them all again. They still don’t. Again. Maybe Kazuha knows.

“Kaz–” It has been months and still he makes mistakes like this. On instinct he will turn to him to ask, to say, to joke, to love. He got so used to him, he got so used to together.

Being next to Kazuha meant Scaramouche’s funny remarks would be rewarded with chuckles, his shaking hands would be held, his face studied, his love received and his questions answered. Now nothing happens, everything he does, everything he is, is met with silence. Now the jokes he wants to tell him hang like bile in his throat and the only way to keep his hands from shaking is to break his wrists.

Kazuha’s absence is everywhere. It is in Scaramouche’s food no longer having his favourites, because his lover no longer secretly puts in special requests in the kitchen, it is the reason a grimace feels more natural than a smile again and the reason why he sleeps with the lights on.

He stops keeping count of Kazuha’s returns at some point. None of them leave him with a good feeling, none of them give him new hope. Instead they take. They chip away, they scratch. Some of their blasts could collapse entire cliff sides and take him under. He is wanted there, at the bottom of the sea. Wanted where there is no sound, no light. Eventually even the fish will learn to remember he is not edible and no longer stop to nibble. Only the pressure will be left to touch him then.

The desire to die is not foreign to Scaramouche. It was there from the start, a good indicator of his inhumanity. Humans, they love living. They love it to a point of wanting to continue doing it even after death. They build entire cathedrals in chase of it. Perhaps existence is different from life, maybe that is why he never could get rid of that desire. In order to die, you need to live. And when you live, you won’t want to die.

How cruel.

There were attempts. Fire did not burn him with his fledgling, water did not drown him. Poison did not sting and weapons did not pierce. Heights drop him into temporary relief, but he always wakes up again. Dottore tried, tried his limits many times, but even the Abyss cannot kill him. Only a God can.

Why is it death that humans fear, when it is life that can make you be in this much pain and still force you to stay? How can you trust anything when even your own body will not take pity on you?

It is during one of their scarce minutes together that Kazuha says to him, gently and full of love, “You should kill me.”

Scaramouche heartlessly hopes for Kazuha to be taken away quickly, just so he won’t have to face these words. He immediately regrets it, but still he can taste the bitterness of yet another hope unanswered. “No.”

Without breaking eye contact, Kazuha kills one of the enemies they are in the middle of fighting. “I can see what this is doing to you, my love.” Another man hits the dirt. “I do not want to be the reason for your downfall.”

“And you think you being gone will help?”

Another man cries out. Then stops. “Once I am fully gone, you can start to move on.”

“Like you did?” Kazuha clenches his jaw. “It is ridiculous of you to ask me this, Kazuha. You are the one who insisted on being with me forever.”

“This isn’t forever, this is minutes.”

“And I will take them. Forever.”

“Even if it—”

Weeks later, Inazuman wind bites at Scaramouche’s face. Below, the waves crash into the cliff side. The Fatui are true to their word, moves are being made towards obtaining his heart. Soon he will have the gnosis. He imagines it lying in the palm of his hand. Is there even still room in his chest for it? Is it a bad sign that he wonders rather than worries? That he cannot bring himself to care, that he would rather fall, sink and lie on the ocean bed than start the life he was always meant to have, become what he was always meant to be, without Kazuha?

What is a god without his worshipper?

He understands it now, how some archons have handed over their gnoses willingly. He could never wrap his head around it before, why would you give up everything for something? But he gets it now. He would give away his heart to get Kazuha back. He would trade it for an hour with him. And if that were not possible, he would settle for the ability to forget. Or to not feel anymore. If there is someone who knows how and is willing to kill both him and Kazuha and set them free, he would even give them the secrets of the world.

Do with fate and the starry skies what you like, as long as we are no longer victim under their gaze.

Kazuha returns to himself sitting at a table, he finds his lover weeping on a futon across the room. This has to stop. “I told you not to look at me when I cry!” The words are screamed at him.

“My love, it’s me.”

With slumped shoulders, Scaramouche walks towards him and sits down on his lap, he hides his face from him by resting it on his shoulder. Every time Kazuha is here, Scaramouche is doing worse. “Please don’t.”

“I have to.” Kazuha has known from the first time he came back, there is no staying here for him. He can feel it. No tests, no trials, no serums, no alchemy and most heartbreaking of all, no amount of tears and hope will allow him to stay. This is fate at play. That feeling of knowing you will die, the one that makes animals find a quiet place, the one that comes with acceptance but is not kind enough to not make you fear, the feeling that all humans already know, though most are unwilling to acknowledge its shadow waiting, that feeling, it has been breathing in his neck since the Abyss.

He can feel the tears soak through his sheer shirt. “You don’t.”

“My love, this is destroying you. I am destroying you. Kill me, or make someone else kill me.” His head hurts so much. Every word he says resonates inside his skull like blasts.

“You cannot be killed, Kazuha. Remember?”

“Find a way. Even gods can be killed.”

“I cannot be without you anymore.” Scaramouche looks him in the eye. “You destroyed me long ago, Kaedehara Kazuha.”

“I promise you, once my soul is free it will never leave you again.” His head is pounding. He holds onto his love a little tighter. Not yet.

“Stop it. I don’t want to discuss this any further.”

Kazuha said nothing else.

From then on, during every return, Kazuha tells Scaramouche to kill him. Then he starts to ask him to do it. Then he starts to beg.

“I cannot bear this pain I am causing you, my love.” Scaramouche squeezes his eyes shut and Kazuha cups his cheek. “Please.” The harbinger shakes his head. “Please, kill me.”

“I can’t.”

“Try!” Kazuha screams. The look on Scaramouche’s face hurts Kazuha more than the force clawing at his consciousness. He breathes out some of his fury and continues in a gentle tone, “Please. Just try, I beg of you. Don’t make me be the reason you break. Every time I come back, his memories catch up to me, and I see every painful look on your face, I feel every sob you let out in his indifferent arms.”

“He is you!” his lover cries.

“No, he’s not.” Kazuha smiles at him. “You know that, if he was, you would not feel so alone.”

“You’re him now,” Scaramouche pleads.

“But never for long, my love. So please do it now, while I can still feel.” He kisses his fingers. “Do it while I can feel death and know its love. Let it be the last time I leave you.”

“No.”

“Please.”

Every one of Kazuha’s returns are like this now. All they do is cry and shout at each other. One time, Kazuha even pretended not to be there. He needed the rest, he needed the minutes to think. The time after that, he wakes up on the bed with Scaramouche in his arms, shivering. He roams his hands over his lover’s body. Be warm. He slides his hand from Scaramouche’s waist to his hip.

“What are you doing?”

He breathes a kiss into his nape. “Please, just let me make you feel good.”

Scaramouche leans into him, probably relieved for a different request finally. “Okay.”

Kazuha finds the harbinger’s nipples, he lightly caresses them. Scaramouche reaches a hand behind them and squeezes his ass, pushing him closer. “Kazuha,” he sighs.

“I’m here.” Kazuha purposefully ignores the red and black shadows creeping into the corners of his eyes, like seaweed they move, like death.

They stay in spooning position. Grinding, fumbling, stroking, crying. There is so much pain in every touch. Kazuha begs time to not run out, to please just let him have this. Just allow him to make his love feel good again, just for a moment, then it can do with him as it pleases. The agonising pain in his head prevents him from keeping his eyes open. He quickens his hand around Scaramouche's length. “Please, just—”

“Just what, Kazuha?” A whimper leaves Scaramouche’s mouth.

He did not realise he said that out loud. His head hurts so much. Ah, there it is, the feeling of creeping vines getting a hold of his limbs, of his soul. Please, just a bit longer. They are so close.

Kazuha manages to open his eyes when Scaramouche turns his face towards him. He looks completely ruined, he looks beautiful. “I love you, more than anything,” he whispers.

It is the first time he has told him with words. Kazuha repositions his hand a—

Chapter Text

During one of their limited minutes together, Kazuha asks him about Sappan. A wave of envy courses through Scaramouche, Kazuha has not been with him for the past fourty-four days and other people are what he wants to concern himself with? Why can’t he be enough? Kazuha is enough for him.

“Are they still with Mila? The pink-haired girl?” he asks him when his previous questions remain unanswered.

“How would I know?” Scaramouche sneers.

Kazuha sighs. “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Oh, let me guess, kill you? Yeah, I know, your voice telling me to, rings inside my head much longer than you yourself get to use it.”

“It’s not that.”

“What then?!” the harbinger shouts.

“Sappan, I—” Kazuha seems to innocently run his fingers through his own hair, but his lover notices him applying pressure to his skull. “I need your help getting them out.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then continues, “So they can be free.”

Scaramouche lets out the start of a painful laugh. ”Why? Why them? You have screamed at me to kill you while still having the gall to tenderly caress my cheek, for the last six times you were here, but Sappan gets to be free?” he scorns. “You are all I think about, Kazuha, why can’t I have some of that kindness?” The harbinger stands up, the floorboards creak. “I’ll even take your pity if that is all you can manage. Maybe you can scrape together enough of it to set me free by choosing to no longer tell me to kill the only one I love. Perhaps even try to make me feel loved back, if you can spare the time,” he bitterly adds.

Kauzha’s palms are digging into his eyes now, he could be holding him instead. “The more we love each other, the more it hurts.”

Scaramouche scoffs. “You think I could love you any more than this, Kazuha?”

He removes his hands from his face and looks up at him. “That’s the problem, Scara.”

The puppet wishes he could hide his sniffle behind a breath. “Do not blame my love for you, for it is not what hurts me.” He leans down to get face to face with Kazuha, a tear rolls over his cheek. “You are.”

Out of all the last words Kazuha hears lately, those were some of the milder ones.

Kazuha places them right back into the conversation on his next return, just over a week later. “I want to give Sappan the life we could never have.” Scaramouche stays silent. “I will do all the work myself, you just have to give me the orders.”

“Fleeing the Fatui comes with risks,” he states.

“Please, I need this.”

And I need you. “I am telling you: Sappan could die.”

“I know. I have come to realise there are worse outcomes.”

He should argue, hurt him, burn him with words too, but Scaramouche just wants to be loved. He had already decided to agree to this days ago, because he realised that in helping Kazuha help Sappan, he can help himself. “I will do it.” Kazuha nods shortly. “Greet me with a kiss, please, Kazuha. Like you always did before?” Scaramouche wishes he had learnt to be wary of habit before he grew dependent on it. Now every day starts and ends off wrong.

Though he must know it is not a request but a condition, Kazuha’s eyes still soften. “Okay.” It would hurt less if he faked it.

“Hurry.”

There is no goodbye. There never is.

Well over a month later, Kazuha has yet to return to himself. Because of this, Scaramouche considered abandoning his part of the deal several times. He had only agreed to this whole endeavour so he could have some moments with his Kazuha, moments without any raised voices and pleas for death, but he had gotten none of it.

He delayed the plan twice in the hopes of still getting some of his due, but a third time would put Sappan’s life at even more of a risk and the harbinger concluded that letting Kazuha’s friend die, would shatter his chance at still receiving a loving moment with him after.

So tonight it goes down. Sappan is in their room, fixing Kazuha’s sleeve and chatting at him, “They had waffles at the cafeteria today.”

“Why do you still do that?” Scaramouche bites.

Sappan keeps their gaze fixed on the haori. “Do what?”

“Talk to him.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He blinks, exasperated. “It’s not Kazuha.”

They look at the harbinger, then back at the man next to them. “Of course it’s Kazuha.”

Not once have Kazuha and Sappan spoken since he died. There have been attempts, precious minutes used on running the halls in search of his friend. One time, after several tries, Kazuha turned a corner and spotted Sappan’s back, he came so close. Once Scaramouche caught up to him, he exclaimed their name in relief, but when Sappan turned around at the sound and didn’t seem to feel that same emotion, he realised Kazuha was no longer present next to him.

Not once did they succeed and yet Sappan treats Kazuha as if he is actually still there. It must be nice, that denial.

Sappan notices Kazuha’s old Pyro agent mask on the table. Rather than a warm feeling of nostalgia, it is nausea that washes over them. “Do you make him wear that?”

“You try looking at his dead eyes every day,” Lord Harbinger sharply defends from his seat at the desk.

They sigh. It has been painful to watch him stay clear of Kazuha entirely this evening. They both look so lonely. A part of Sappan had hoped he still loved him behind closed doors.

How unexpected to be behind these doors, to have this cold, unloving version of Scaramouche feel like a stranger.

A long time ago, on the day the staff was informed that The Balladeer would be staying at the mansion indefinitely and would be arriving shortly, it took only about five minutes for the people who knew about him or claimed they knew someone who knew about him, to paint a horrific picture. He was a ruthless, heartless machine. “Do not even look at him, if you value your life,” the chef warned.

Sappan did look and what they saw was not the monster that had been described. This man was not heartless, no, he was empty. It made him that much more terrifying.

Then Sappan’s theory was proven incorrect when they started to notice a softness leaking out of the harbinger, whenever Kaedehara Kazuha was close enough to catch it. Not heartless, not empty, just alone.

Everyone knew that they were romantically involved, but still the two men tried to hide it. Badly. Scaramouche once carefully laid his Harbinger coat over Kazuha’s shoulders in front of the entire staff in the middle of mandatory training day. Though at that point hardly anyone was surprised, the love in their eyes had been obvious enough for months. Watching them as they watched each other made one feel like an intruder.

The main giveaway was the sex they kept having in public though.

Despite it all, the Balladeer remained a monster. People were confused about that, they believed that love could fix a monster. They failed to consider, love does not wish to change its own creation.

In reluctantly getting to know the man better through Kazuha, Sappan was left to wonder if Scaramouche’s humanity was born from Kazuha or if it had only laid dormant. They know light can lure it out, humanity will come with fluttering wings and with an eagerness that can burn.

Kazuha, however, could not be described as light.

Though he does not talk much about his past, Sappan realised pretty early on in their friendship that Kazuha’s soul had been shrouded by something unwilling to let light reach it.

Then again, what is considered to be light, depends on what you are. For a snake, warmth is light. Kazuha is the warmest person Sappan has ever met, or he used to be, so for a snake, Kazuha’s warmth must be blinding. Inviting. Enticing.

Does it surprise a snake then, when it consumes its prey and the light leaves them both?

Sappan looks over at Scaramouche sitting at the desk. His stillness is eerily similar to Kazuha’s. Little snippets of humanity like his fingers twitching to follow when his companion took more than two steps away from him, his eyes betraying him when he hid a smile, the ever growing familiarity in his voice, they are all gone now.

They made each other better and they made each other so much worse. And now, there is not much left of them at all. Sappan’s adjusted theory is as such: one can only see what is inside the Balladeer when it is reflected in Kazuha’s eyes.

And Kazuha’s eyes are too dulled to reflect anything these days.

Tonight will be the last time Sappan sees him. Their mind gets flooded with the memory of Kazuha looking like he is about to collapse or fly, running after Tartaglia. Their eyes had met, and they wanted to stop him then, grab his arm and tell him, “Breathe, Kazuha, you’re okay,” even if he wasn’t. He clearly wasn’t. Sappan tries to blink the memory away. They will not regard that moment as the last time they saw him, even if it was the last time they saw him alive, no, their goodbye will be on their terms, it will give them closure and allow them to live the life Kazuha wants for them. No pressure. And they will do it now.

“Can you tell him to face me?”

“I can.”

“Please?”

The harbinger breaths in, it sounds foreign. “Kazuha, turn your head to look at Sappan.” The movement is instant.

Sappan quickly loses their courage and looks away from their friend’s gaze, but they stroke his back. He feels wooden. “Thank you for wanting this for me, Kazuha.” They notice Scaramouche glancing at them. “You’re a good friend.” The courage to look up into Kazuha’s eyes finds them again. “The best.” They smile at him, the gesture is not returned. “Thank you for showing me what that is like.” Their smile fades. “I will miss you. I will continue to miss you.” They swallow and think to themself, this would be the perfect moment for him to wake up, right?

The same thought occurs when the three of them rendezvous with Mila by the biggest birch tree these woods surround, and again when remnants of ice on the water hit the boat at the dock. One last time they secretly hope, almost expect it to happen, when they give in and hug Kazuha. It doesn’t. It’s okay.

On the boat, Mila holds their hand as Sappan watches Kazuha’s silhouette become smaller and smaller.

And then he waves.

“Did you forget something?” Kazuha asks with a grin when they reach him and he drags them out of the water, onto the dock.

“Yeah.” Drenched and shivering, the two friends hug. It is hard to let go of each other, but they do. Kazuha’s hand finds Scaramouche’s and the boat nears. “You’re not gonna scold me for jumping into the icy water?”

“You never listen to me anyway.” Kazuha says, full of affection. He glances ahead. “Does she love you?”

Sappan nods and recalls his words from what feels like ages ago, “As much as I deserve, doubled.”

He smiles at them, Kazuha’s bright, real smile. “I'm sorry I could not make sure.”

“It’s okay.” You’re okay.

“Thank you, Sappan, for being my friend. My tree.” Sappan tries to prevent a sob from accompanying their chuckle. “And don’t forget–”

“Don’t forget what?” They turn to wave at Mila and a very pissed-off looking boat captain, “Be right there!” and then return their attention back to Kazuha. “I don’t have time for your pondering, idiot.” They laugh.

Scaramouche strains to free his hand from Kazuha’s unmoving one. “You have a boat to catch,” he tells them.

They turn pain into anger, “Is he not worthy to hold your hand when he is like this, Lord Harbinger?” Their bottom lip trembles. “You know for a fact that he remembers what happens to him in this state, yet you decide to not love him in it?” Something heartbreaking happens on the man’s face. Good.

“You should count yourself lucky to be allowed to live any life with him, Scaramouche. I know he does.”

Back on the boat, Sappan looks ahead and Mila holds their hand again. “You okay?” she asks.

Sappan nods. “It’s okay. It’s okay that he did not get to finish his sentence.” Another nod. “I knew what he was going to say.” They smile through the tears.

Mila squeezes their hand. “Yeah? What was he going to say?”

“Don’t forget to eat well.” Mila returns the smile. “Don’t forget to be careful. Don’t forget your head.” She softly chuckles, Sappan continues, “Don’t forget I worry. Don’t forget I care. Don’t forget to realise you are free. Don’t forget to allow yourself to miss me.” They take a shaky breath. “Don’t forget to learn, to appreciate, to cry, to laugh, to breathe, to forget how, to live. Don’t forget you’re lame, don’t forget you’re the best. Don’t forget to turn the stove off. Don’t forget you made things easier, and don’t forget that I am sorry I made things harder.”

Chapter Text

He won. The chess piece is in his hand. He has been staring at it for three hours. A gnosis, something with such incredible power that it makes people lose their minds to be near it, it does not break when it is smashed against the ground repeatedly, it does not lose its luminescence when it is screamed at in agony, nor does it take pity when it is begged to bring about what its beholder needs.

He needed one thing from it. Perspective. What is a human lover compared to godhood? In the grand scheme of it all, Kazuha would mean nothing to him once he got what he was meant to have long before Kazuha was even born.

The fact Kazuha has not returned to himself for weeks was going to help with that perspective. It would give him space to really convince himself of what is important.

The man he sees for minutes at a time every few weeks, he would not matter when he had his destiny within reach. Surely a heart this powerful would make him feel resentment towards Kazuha for making him doubt for even a second that this is not what matters most.

And yet it lies in the palm of his hand and it does nothing.

Kazuha sits a few metres behind him, also doing nothing.

So this is what it has come to. He cannot have either, he cannot have both.

Uncommanded by him, Kazuha stirs. He hides the gnosis and his back gets cuddled, the smell of his hair gets breathed in. “Not today, please. I beg of you, Kazuha.” He cannot hear his dearest of all shout at him to snap his neck for him today. Not today.

He hears Kazuha swallow. “Can I at least take off this mask and look at you?”

“Not today.” As much as he wants to look into his eyes, he cannot watch as the light inevitably leaves them again. Not today.

“Can I still hold you?”

“Always, Kazuha. Always.”

His body is not yet ready to host the gnosis, still faulty, Dottore tells him. He holds onto his hearts.

Their trips to the Abyss get so frequent, at this point they might as well stay there, but Kazuha has yet to return to himself while in the Abyss, so he still comes up with reasons to return to the real world, to wait for him.

After all this time, even when every return shatters them both, he still can’t let him go and he waits for him. On some returns, Kazuha does not fight him at all, those hurt the most. Without fail, when Kazuha’s bright eyes see him, his body betrays him and he sinks into familiarity and it takes him longer to claw himself out of it every time.

After one particularly long trip to the Abyss, he orders the shell of his beloved to hold him and it is Kazuha who answers. He knows exactly where to kiss him, where it hurts. They are together for eight minutes. He tries to keep his composure during the ninth minute. If he breaks down now, Kazuha will use it against him. He will tell him, “This is tearing you apart.” Maybe if he keeps calm, Kazuha will love him again next time. He quietly moves away from him, settles in a spot on the bed that won’t make Kazuha think he is hiding, but that still avoids his dead eyes from seeing his face. He rests his calf against Kazuha’s back, feigning casualness and cries without a sound until exhaustion takes him to sleep.

He keeps this up for eleven days. Pretends to be okay, pretends Kazuha loving him for minutes at a time is enough to make him okay. This has to be the worst he has ever felt.

When Kazuha returns, it will all be worth it.

“Kill me.”

He almost gags, but he prepared for this. Pretend. Be calm. “Kill me first.”

Kazuha looks tired, so tired. “You know I can’t do that.”

He uses his own words against him, “Try.”

Kazuha surprises him by actually getting up to stand in front of him. He embraces his lover’s neck with his hands, squeezes a little, too fondly. “You do know a lack of oxygen won’t harm me?”

“I wish you had never met me.”

That will do it.

Months pass like this. Sometimes Kazuha seems too tired to fight, most times he still does.

He manages to avoid Kazuha finding out about the gnosis, but with plans moving fast now, it starts to become impossible to have him at his side at all times and not reveal his secret. So he starts to leave him in their room. Far away from the room they made their own at the mansion in the snow, this is their room in humid and warm Sumeru.

In a different room, away from keen eyes and ears, the soon to be god is informed: he will not remain himself. He will ascend, he will be a god, he will bask in light and he will live his destiny, but he will not be himself.

He with the painful memories, he with the human feelings, he who had to follow meaningless routine for centuries in waiting, such senseless drivel should have been erased long ago.

He who loves Kazuha.

As a god, he might be able to fix Kazuha, return him to himself, but as a god he will not love Kazuha. In the dark he does not even have a name, but in the dark he loves Kazuha.

“If you won’t kill me, I will leave.”

“I will hunt you down.”

He who loves Kazuha.

He who can’t hold back his screaming as Dottore modifies, tortures him again and again in the Abyss. Kazuha is there, still as a statue. They came to the conclusion that something must be preventing Kazuha from returning to himself in the Abyss. “Poetic,” Kazuha had called it.

There is no poetry to be heard in these words, “Get your vile hands off him. Right now.”

“Holy shit!” Il Dottore actually does get his hands off him, be it because he got startled. “So you can actually return while being here. Well then, welcome back to the Abyss, make yourself at home, try to avoid the centaurs.”

The puppet tries to calm himself while Dottore speaks. He does not want Kazuha to see him in pain like this, not more than he already sees him. Dottore tugs on some wires that make him burn and scream.

“Stop!” Kazuha’s voice makes his ears ring. Or maybe it’s the pain.

“Oh come on, Kazuha! I need to get him ready for the gnosis, we are on a time schedule, man. The only reason these sessions are so long nowadays is because of all the time he wastes on you.”

Kazuha blinks. “After all this time, why are you still not done preparing him?”

“Well.” The doctor laughs. “That would be because with all the little tweaks I’ve done over the centuries, I kind of, uh, went too far! Silly me! There is no factory reset button, or maybe I just haven’t found it yet–” He pokes the doll’s side and he screams out. Dottore pouts. “No luck. So I have to do this all manually. Real hassle. The noise suppressing headphones help though!”

“I am going to kill you,” Kazuha tells him.

“Sheesh. Can you let me finish first? It would be such a waste otherwise, don’t you want him to reach his destiny? Though to be honest, I think he could handle the gnosis right now. I’d just rather not take any chances. Special Project of mine, you see.” Kazuha steps towards him and Dottore breathes out a heavy sigh. “I am still annoyed at the Tsaritsa for granting him his request of holding onto it himself. He won’t even let me look at it!”

“You–”

A voice behind them initiates an emergency pull back.

“Kazuha, are you still here?” His beloved hurries to his side once they materialise back at base.

“Man! What did you do that for?!” Dottore complains to his guide.

“Kaedehara Kazuha posed a threat to your safety, doctor.”

“Psh! This husk of a man?” He walks over and slaps Kazuha’s shoulder. He does not react.

Kazuha remains silent and still as he processes what he just learnt. If the gnosis is in his lover’s possession, he must be so close. So close to everything he has worked towards, everything he has ever wanted, deserved. His heart, it is with him and he will be a god soon. And yet, he does not seem euphoric at all. He seems worse every time he sees him. And Kazuha knows, he knows, it is because of him. Because the soon to be god cannot let him go.

“Kazuha?”

Murky memories return to Kazuha. Where normally he is always at his lover’s side, he now recalls being left behind. He hid this from Kazuha. And he knows why.

Everyone knows the power of a gnosis is beyond comparison. Would it even accept a host who is not willing to give himself to it fully? One whose mind is preoccupied with another? One who deems a different heart more important? One who doubts?

He will not let this happen. Godhood is what his most beloved has always wanted, this is it.

Kazuha notices he still has his hand on his sword. It has been selfish of him, not doing this sooner. He knows. Many times he promised himself to do it next time and then next time came and he just wanted to love him one more time. It was never enough. This is why he needed him to kill him. Because Kazuha is selfish. Leaving was a viable option, because even without his lover next to him, he would still be able to love him. Minutes at a time, for eternity. He would take them. Kazuha would take anything. But his beloved did not let him leave. And, because he is selfish, he could not give up on loving him. The only way was to be forced, to be killed.

He can feel indigo eyes on him, Dottore’s presence on his right. This is it. No more being selfish. Set him free. Love him through it. For the last time.

“Kazuha!”

He unsheathes his katana, something burns on his back, and rather than the blade slashing the skin of his neck, it is the blood that drips down that he feels most prominently. He loves him.

Something hits his chest.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Please, please, please, please, please,” the puppet begs, prays, he is not sure which.

“What the fuck just happened?!” Dottore yells next to him.

Kazuha is leaning slightly forwards, his blade covered in his own blood is still held in a trained line upwards. Even in suicide he would be an elegant swordsman.

Both visions on his back burn bright. For a split second, his dearest catches a glimpse of glowing red eyes. In one swift motion, Kazuha changes stance and his sword moves in accordance.

The absolute quiet of Kazuha’s flowing movements is a stark contrast to the inelegant thud of Il Dottore’s head falling on the ground.

Chapter Text

There are few rules to creating a god, fate would tell you. That’s me, by the way, hi. People overcomplicate it, they overcomplicate a lot of things. It amuses me greatly. It also makes me want to kill them sometimes, but they do an excellent job at dying by themselves. Kaedehara over here seems pretty bad at it though. This, too, amuses me.

Kaedehara Kazuha. Defier of fate, loved by the one who wishes he was human enough not to be. They are quite the pair.

Back to the rules. To become a god you need a worshipper, a sacrifice, a whole lot of bravery, not a whole lot of sanity and a collection of tiny little circumstances. They reside in the moments like taking the extra minute to leave the house because surely worming yourself into your buttoned shirt is quicker than just undoing the top ones (yeah, I see you, you look ridiculous), moments like your hair blowing in your face (or a stranger’s), tiny little circumstances hide in the word you purposely mispronounce because you think it is funny to do so and in the laughter from the friend who agrees, they are in you pausing to snap a pic of the cat-shaped cloud and your lover dying by the hand of your nation’s god, they are in his vision you keep right next to yours and the snow that fell on a puppet’s hat long ago.

Perhaps those last ones are too specific to relate to, I shall move on.

Let’s see… A gnosis will definitely speed up the process. It also helps to wear sturdy shoes and if you can find the time (not my jurisdiction), love someone more than life. Love someone so much that even I cannot stop you. Defiers, they are my favourite. Don’t tell anyone.

Our little maple leaf, he ticked all the boxes, even the bonus ones. A gnosis was pushed into his chest by the one who worshipped him in the exact moment he sacrificed himself for that same person. It is all very romantic, if you ignore Zandik’s severed head on the floor.

Oh, and Kazuha’s red laced (like the red string of fate, the jokes write themselves, guys) boots, were very sturdy. A+ for making a god.

Personally I like to think Tomo played a part in Kazuha’s ascension to Godhood, but I shall leave that up to your interpretation.

So the maple leaf became a god. He became what he loathed more than anything. He also became himself again, which in turn was what the puppet loved more than anything. It balances out.

The maple leaf who became a god and the puppet who remained a puppet, they were soon summoned to the queen’s throne. After all, they had killed her third in command.

“I do not care.” Bless her. “Our goal remains the same, I do not care how we get there.”

Tsaritsa here, she wants a world without divine influence. I happen to know someone who shares this wish, one willing to kill for it. And someone with enough hatred for the gods (exception of one) to do the same and who would follow him anywhere.

Bittersweet it may be (or heart wrenching, it depends on your perspective on death), this is the happiest ending this universe would grant them. But as they themselves have informed us, somewhere out there, there are other endings for them.

Somewhere up there, they met before the hurt started.

I will give the page back to them now. They are standing face to face, they have just killed their first archon. You can guess who it was.

“So, what now?” He asks as he takes his hand into his.

“We keep going. Until no god remains.”

“That will eventually include you, Kazuha.”

“Yes.” He kisses his lips. “I know.”

“What about me?”

“I will take you with me.”

The puppet cannot fully embrace this feeling of relief, not until he knows for certain. “Into death?”

“Into death.”