Chapter Text
The house is too cold. To dark. It’s smoky, the paint on the ceiling is peeling, and the boards covering the walls are beginning to decay. This room is familiar, somewhere seen many times before. Sun barely shines though little cracks in the walls, casting ghostly shadows on the walls.
It used to be a home, before all the love left, now it’s merely a house. A home is with people you love, a house is the shell of happiness.
The room is indeed familiar. The only difference is the flames haven’t revenged it yet. Scaramouch recognizes it immediately, it’s somewhere he’s been many times. He’s only lived it once, but it plays over and over in his head, a never ending nightmare.
A bright light interrupts the darkness closing in on him. The sun is shining in through the window of the room. The walls are boring, brown, with minimal decor, only a bed, a dresser, a desk, and a weeping fern in the far left corner.
He doesn’t remember coming here.
He doesn’t even know where here is.
The dark wooden door creaks open, and a boy with blonde hair and a red streak pops his head in.
“You’re awake, thank the Archons.”
He comes over to where Scaramouche is laying, and clasps his hand.
Scaramouch retracts his hand, stuffing it back under the covers.
“Who are you?” He asks
“I am Kaedehara Kazuha.”
“And how did I get here?”
“I found you bloody and blacked out on the trail, and assumed you needed help.”
He remembers it now. They cornered him, and he was strong enough to fight back, but then there was more and more and more. And then he woke up here.
Kazuha smiles and leaves the room.
Time flies by, and the world continues to spin despite how Scaramouche wishes it wouldn’t. Kazuha has left him alone mostly, besides bringing him dinner. He’s been kind and patient, but Scaramouche wonders why. He’s learned from experience people aren’t usually just nice. They usually have a drive, a need for something.
Kazuha stays by him late one night.
“You slept for a month, I feared you wouldn’t wake up.”
This is new to Scaramouche. How had a month of the world’s time gone by? What had he missed during the weeks he was asleep?
“Let me know if you need anything.”
Kazuha has been nice, slightly firm, trying to coax speech out of Scaramouche. He’s still the Balladeer though, he shouldn’t be succumbing to some lowly care from a mere mortal.
Eventually, he drags himself up and looks in the mirror above the desk. He looks so obviously tired.
The coloring under his eyes gives it away. Also, his hair is unkempt and messy, and it’s beginning to grow long. He might ask Kazuha for a haircut later.
He’s also wearing his outfit from when he got attacked. He smells awful, he might also have to ask to borrow some clothes.
Another knock on the door interrupts his thoughts.
“Good morning!” Kazuha is cheery, and he enters the room with fresh clothes and a towel.
“Oh you’re out of bed already?”
Scaramouche simply nods back at him.
“Here’s these to freshen up a bit.”
Scaramouche cautiously takes them. He doesn’t trust Kazuha fully yet.
“I am going into town tomorrow if you’d like to join me,” he invites, “it’s not a far walk.”
Scaramouche enters the bathroom, Kazuha had told him to enter the first room on the left down the hallway, and to use the white soap bar. The bathtub is already filled, and bubbles are brimming on the edge. The water is warm and welcoming, and he sinks below the surface into an oblivion.
Perhaps it’s being in a coma for a month that has warped his sense of time, but the bath had only felt like a few seconds. But when he returned to his room, Kazuha was patiently waiting with a bowl of soup in his hands. He left it on the desk, and nodded at the latter before quietly exiting. The soup tastes lovey, and it reminds him of something he can’t quite place. Another lost memory.
The thought of memories triggers his mind to spiral. He begins to remember, remembering the plagues of bad events that have happened to him.
He drops the bowl, and the soup splatters everywhere. The ceramic bowl shatters into a million pieces, and Kazuha bursts through the door as Scaramouche sits paralyzed in a spiraling downfall. Kazuha approaches him and cautiously sits down next to him and careful not to touch him, begins to try to comfort him.
Scaramouche ends up curled up back in bed. Kazuha retired to his room while the night was young, but not after helping the former through the rough patch. He offered listening, and despite Scaramouche not speaking much, the scent of lavender and the peaceful presence of Kazuha brought a wave of calm over him.
He dreams of purples and blues, and the beauty of Inazuma year round. It’s changed over the long time he’s been here, but it’s always been a home to him. It holds both the worst memories and the best. Like how even roses, which are extremely beautiful still have their thorns, and some are more well hidden then others.
He sleeps late into the morning, and to his disappointment, his brain is still humming, searching for answers he doesn’t want to find. Kazuha has left breakfast on the desk, but Scaramouche cannot bring himself to touch it. He knows it’s no use trying to die by starvation, it didn’t work last time and it won’t work this time.
Kazuha doesn’t think much of the stranger who has been living with him. He’s quiet, and respectful, but he seems to struggle with something more deep. Kazuha cleans dishes, and he can hear the latter pacing around upstairs above him. He’s lived alone for quite sometime, and it’s nice to room with someone again.
He decides to go into town tomorrow, he doesn’t want to risk Scaramouche getting hurt. Kazuha is tired though, he’s been staying up late and awaking early, to ensure that Scaramouche is safe and healthy.
He tiredly makes his way up the stairs, and with a huff he throws himself into his bed. He pulls his sheets over his tired body, and his red streak of hair is bright against the white pillows.
A hand clutches the dead vision.
Scaramouche reminds him of someone.