[Scaramouche regrets the question almost immediately as it's answered, not actually expecting it to be addressed and certainly not expecting-- competition? He knows Kazuha has been with others, was aware of this before they could even be considered friends. If he had interests elsewhere then why even bother doing all of this for him?]

Someone dear to you.

[The words are repeated slowly, the immortal attempting to make some sense of it, finding his own emotions offer him little assistance in such a matter. His grin completely faded into something more agitated, fingers more nervously picking at fabric than consciously teasing. He doesn't know what to think of this.

It twists that bitter feeling inside him again, what the samurai has likely called out as his jealousy, but what does a being like himself have need for such jealousy. Kazuha was here now, with him - someone better than the rest, made to surpass all mortals. Why does he worry that he'll be cast aside so easily after all that was displayed to him?]

You did no such thing - we've done the same things we've always done. Why would I have any reason to fear your boredom.

[His tone is harsher, even as the other Inazuman combs his fingers through his hair, too preoccupied in his own thoughts to either notice or comment on the state of the samurai's hands. He didn't spend centuries proving himself strong just to be viewed as terrified and insecure by a mortal - even if said mortal was one he cared for as he did.

The way Kazuha words their meeting at least provides a minor shift in thought, though Scaramouche doesn't seem all that focused on it.]

Oh, I thought you said you weren't my samurai.