jikan_rpg | [closed] come home with me

Entry tags:

[closed] come home with me

⌛ Who: Scaramouche & Kazuha
⌛ What: Plum blossom date
⌛ When: Early February
⌛ Where: Wakayama
⌛ Warnings: Smooches finally, Smol naked idiots

[It's become commonplace for Scaramouche to find himself over at Kazuha's home, ever since the samurai had gotten one of his own. His visits so frequent, often spending the night, that he's begun leaving things there - no reason to carry them back and forth even if teleportation was something he was capable of. Given what had happened the past month sleeping isn't something he often allows himself when he does end up staying, though Kazuha has managed to get him to do so a few times. The concern of what would happen if he had another nightmare far too present in his thoughts most nights.

So when Kazuha asks him to visit he thinks nothing of it, the request to bring more makeup than what he had laying around the man's home only garnering slight suspicion. Not once since he's known the other Inazuman has he ever seen him wear any, so for the samurai to suddenly ask is odd. Perhaps he was going somewhere later in the day? The Harbinger can't think of much reason past that, though he can't see much reason why the man would suddenly need to wear any to begin with.

For once when he arrives at the small village in Wakayama he doesn't immediately busy himself with climbing the tree in Kazuha's yard to enter through the window. For once he knocks like a normal person, waits patiently for Kazuha to open the door and let him inside. The neighbours are likely staring from that fact alone, though he doesn't bother looking back to see.

He takes a moment to slip his zori off, before turning pointedly towards the samurai. Hair recently cut, drawing all the more attention to the gaze he has fixed on the samurai.]

Since when do you wear makeup?

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It's not the worst thing, but I have no time to be that aimless.

[There's little Scaramouche doesn't plan, majority of his time in Nippon being focused around one thing or another. Perhaps once his training is finished, when he doesn't need to dedicate as much time to magic studies will he allow himself more freedom in his days. It sounds like an easy way to grow bored however.

A light chuckle escapes him at the question, clear that Kazuha has little idea on the subject. The immortal can't imagine he's worn much, if at all considering his life as a vagrant, but the samurai was also from a well known clan so he couldn't say for sure. It hadn't been enough, had he experience or not.]

If you used this for everything it would take you all day. This is for precision. I don't think you need much done - maybe some focus on your eyes. Really you look fine without anything.

[Scaramouche opens up a small jar, the contents a red oil-like substance, quietly coating the tip of the brush. It wasn't that Kazuha's natural beauty was something he found himself thinking about on occasion. Not that he thought about the Inazuman at all unless he felt particularly lonely and desired company.

Turning his gaze back to the samurai, he tips his chin up a bit.]

So tell me, who are you trying to impress?

[The chuckle is inoffensive at the very least. Kazuha finds himself glad that Scaramouche was endeared by his curiosity. He'd cleaned his face before the other man arrived, but as he scrutinizes it he becomes hopeful that he'd done it well enough.

The assurances on his appearance is mild, but it still makes him somewhat bashful, his eyes flicking downward. He knows he should be keeping still, with his eyes on his, but it's difficult.]

That's kind of you to say. The Kaedeharas didn't quite choose partners based off of beauty.

[He's the final result of a long lineage of good breeding stock, though they had generally selected wives that came from samurai families with good reputations. It was not common for them to marry outside class and occupation.

Not that it matters now. His clan has crumbled, the last of his name. Smitten with the Shogun's creation.]

Someone I've taken a liking to. Why, are you impressed, Scaramouche-san? I trust your judgement. I meant what I said when I just want you to do what you think looks good.

Were you an eyesore I would have needed to get here hours ago.

[Scaramouche frowns at the slight movement though he's yet to actually start, as long as Kazuha was capable of not shifting once the brush met skin then there would be no issue. If he couldn't then the Harbinger is certainly ready to let him know he was doing something wrong. Or he'd get a jab in the eye, which would be his own fault.

He holds the brush in one hand while the other pops the lid off a small tin with red powder, carefully picking up a slightly larger brush and lightly dusting it. Choosing the left eye to start on first the immortal carefully brushes the powder against the corner of the samurai's eye before setting that brush down on the table. The brush coated previously is moved to his more dominant hand as he uses his other to firmly hold Kazuha's head in place.

As meticulously as the other Inazuman's likely seen him some mornings he begins brushing on a thin line from the corner to beneath the eye.]

Tch, isn't this sort of gossip something friends exchange? Fine, don't tell me.

[It shouldn't irritate him, yet somehow without even knowing who this mystery person is, it does. The sheer confirmation that this was all for someone the samurai liked sits bitterly in the back of his throat and he finds that he has to force himself not to scowl. Kazuha was not beholden to his every request for company, and much like he often would do his own thing the samurai was more than permitted to do the same.

Friendship something the immortal was still trying to grasp.]

I think when I finish I'll be quite impressed. My work is nothing short of perfect after all.

[Had Kazuha meant impressed with him? Oh well.]

[There isn't much warning before Scaramouche gets to work, but it's difficult to miss the brush coming towards his eye. Kazuha tries to remain still, a difficult task when the feeling of the brush on his skin makes it feel ticklish. He resists the urge to lift his hand and itch the spot that Scaramouche just lined.

He's not used to the feeling of something on his face. If he makes it through the day without hopelessly smudging everything, he'd count his blessings.]

You always look quite beautiful, so I don't doubt that.

[Kazuha begins to wonder if he's dropped enough hints, but at this point the other Inazuman is either playing dumb or is genuinely naive enough he doesn't know. He wonders again if he's misread some signals— the way immortals think is truly mysterious to him.

His smile is soft, fond as he looks at him.]

You've not taken interest in my love life before.

Kind of you to say.

[It's not something Scaramouche hasn't heard before, nor is it a rare comment to come across when he is forced to interact with others, hardly even uncommon when he was trying to keep to himself. His beauty is something he's been aware of his entire life, a part of him he's embraced. Although the comments can be irritating he finds none prickles in his mind when the words come from Kazuha, the level of tolerance he holds towards many of the things the samurai does, impressive.

He works carefully, adding a slight peak to the corner while maintaining a slight fade as the colour reaches just right above his eye. Kazuha really did look good in red, the eyeliner matching him far better than he expected. Finishing up the eye he looks his work over, making sure he's satisfied before moving to mirror it on his other eye.]

You've never asked for my help in trying to impress some idiot before.

[Kazuha doesn't strike him as someone that would put effort into courting someone for purely physical reasons. In fact, when he thinks back on it he knows this is the case - were the samurai interested for solely that reason he would have attempted to talk his interest into bed with him already. That the other Inazuman is putting in actual effort to look his best for this person means this is more than that. Poor taste if he needed to look his best just to get their attention.]

Why you even need this to impress them is beyond me.

[The comment catches him a little off guard, and the samurai earns a little bit of smudged eyeshadow with a snorting laugh. He really has no idea! Normally by now he would have dropped this act if he recognized what was happening.]

They're very special to me, but they also are very hard to impress. I want to ask them to be with me, so I hope the effort will win me favor with appealing as a partner.

[He could make a game of it, see how far he could press before the other realized that the person he was speaking about was him. There's a small part of him that is getting a slight bit of pleasure listening to the other insult himself unwittingly.

He places his other hand on Scaramouche's hip, looking up at him smugly.]

It will be worth it, I think.

[Everything seems to be going well until Kazuha sees fit to laugh about something, the movement ruining what would have otherwise been a perfect line. Displeasure twists onto Scaramouche's face, unable to find any humour in what he's said. He should have held onto him better, though he had hardly expected the samurai to be unable to manage something as simple as sitting still.

A mistake on his part.]

Kazuha.

[The immortal has to force himself to take a breath, avoid berating the man for something so easily fixed. Easily fixed when he shouldn't need to fix it at all - especially at this stage. Kazuha is lucky he didn't get hit in the eye.]

I should just leave you like this. Now I have to redo it.

[He sets the brush down on the table, frown clear on his face as he gently pushes at the samurai's hands. If he's going to fix it he needs to wash off what he's done already. Maybe he should have come a bit earlier.

In between the irritation at needing to redo his work, Scaramouche's mind considers just who the samurai might consider special. Who was worth all this trouble. Who the man would wish to be with. And he realizes he doesn't know much about Kazuha's friends, nor what he does when the immortal wasn't demanding his attention. He can't help the part of him that hopes this plan to impress fails, recognizing that he might not be ready to potentially see less of the man he's grown so comfortable around.]

It hardly seems worth the effort.

[Oh, he doesn't want to make him mad. Kazuha gives Scaramouche the most remorseful expression, holding his gaze for a moment longer as the immortal pushes at his hands. He eventually relents and lets both of them drop, settling them on the floor; he should have stuck to just one.]

I'm sorry, I don't mean to waste your time. I will be more still.

[He tips his chin back up, curls of his loose hair slipping down his shoulder. After his makeup has been done, he thinks he'll go get changed into the outfit he's picked out for the occasion.

Part of him is a bit embarrassed at himself; he never was this formal with his old friend, though his lifestyle in Inazuma wouldn't have made much of this possible. It's odd to think, if the two of them hadn't met in Nippon, they might have never met at all.]

They're worth it to me.

[At least the samurai has the decency to look sorry for what he's done, it helps quell the bubbling irritation more than the deep breath had. Unintentional and not meant to cause him ire. Scaramouche's expression softens, frown faint and barely noticeable.

Lightly he taps on Kazuha's forehead as he pulls himself off the man's lap.]

Stay. I have to get something to clean it off.

[He isn't gone long, swiftly returning with a damp cloth and reseating himself in the samurai's lap as he had before. The problem eye is quietly cleaned off, the immortal diligent in ensuring nothing but perfection while being as gentle as he possibly could. When he finally goes to reapply what he had to clean off, the grip on Kazuha's chin is a bit more firm, not wanting to chance it smearing again.]

It still seems like far too much work just to get their attention. You shouldn't need to do this just to ask a question.

[Like Kazuha had anywhere else in mind to wander off to while Scaramouche was busy getting a cloth. He's a bit amused by the order, idly thinking about how he's going to ask him. Does he kiss him first? Picking the right timing was going to be tricky. Not now though— this would be far too soon, even if he was eager and anxious to 'make the leap'.

He doesn't say much when he returns, just letting him slip back into his lap and scrub his face. Kazuha tries not to scrunch his face much as he does, obediently going with each tug and pull against his chin.]

I've not done this before so I want to make sure it goes right.

[Tiny stars dot his hair, slowly springing up in tiny constellations as the other moves the brush across his face. It still tickles, but he manages not to squirm.]

I'm not really sure how it'll go, to be honest. We've not been physically intimate. I think they like me, but I'm not certain if it's more than friendly.

Makeup is unlikely to change the outcome of things.

[Though what does he know? It's not outside the realm of possibility that Kazuha is correct in his assumptions, that making himself look proper would draw this person's eye. The samurai could be attempting to court someone who cared greatly about such things, unable to see the Inazuman's beauty without it. He doesn't think he needs it, but he can't deny that even a little makeup makes Kazuha look good, leaning back to look at his work once he's finished.

The Harbinger shakes the thought from his mind, setting the brush down and ensuring everything is properly sealed. The stars don't go unnoticed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he removes the clips and allows the samurai's hair to fall free.

That should be it, though he takes a moment to consider - even if he had lingering thoughts on this whole courting matter Kazuha had asked him to make him look good. His face is perfect, at least as perfect as a human could be, he needs no more work there, but Scaramouche thinks he can offer a bit more. He adjusts, back to Kazuha's chest and grabs hold of a bottle of nail polish from the pile of makeup.]

And if it is just friendly, what then?

[He takes the man's hand, gently holding it for a moment, an act that was a more recent development between them. One he's only had a month to truly get used to, though he finds more soothing than it likely should be. He should be more supportive, but he really can't muster the energy.

Painted nails at least should be at no risk of being ruined.]

You're so pessimistic sometimes, Scaramouche-san. I don't think it will hurt.

[Perhaps he shouldn't trick him like this. Kazuha considers that maybe the other Inazuman might be angered by being lead on like this, though he's given him plenty hints that the person in question is none other than him. He still hopes it's obliviousness, not lack of interest, that makes him blind to it.

There's nothing really said to really warn him that he'd finished, just the click of the brush being set down, so he is a bit surprised when the immortal suddenly turns in his lap, taking his hand into his own. He sits still for a moment, warmth blooming in his chest as the touch lingers.]

If it's just friendly, then...

[What then? He tucks his chin against the other man's head, almost a kiss if it was deliberate rather than just the resting of his face against him.]

It will be difficult, but I think I will understand. I'm not compatible with many people and am nobody special. I'd like to remain friends, if possible.

If you say so.

[There's little room to argue, not knowing who it was Kazuha held interest for stopping any attempts past what Scaramouche had said already. He's offered his opinion, now it was up to the samurai to do with it as he saw fit.

The weight of the samurai's head against his is met with a quiet huff, though the immortal makes no moves, offers no words to stop it. His work on the other Inazuman's nails is swift but precise, carefully coating each on his hand before moving it to rest on the table and taking up the other. Perhaps if things went well with Kazuha and this person he would be asked for assistance again, allowed another moment like this - calming, despite his more bitter thoughts.

It's not his place to ask, nor does he feel the desire to. Merely a thought for himself as his mind works to process everything he's been told, everything he possibly feels in response to such news. Scaramouche isn't certain he likes friendship as it forces him to consider things he would otherwise push from his thoughts.]

Don't be ridiculous, Kazuha - you're plenty special. I wouldn't waste my time here otherwise. You have incredibly poor taste if this person can't see that, but that's another matter entirely.

[The sensation of having his nails painted is bizarre. A very light stroke that almost tickles, leaving him quite aware of the feeling of the paint on his nails. It's most pronounced when he moves onto his other, scarred hand, and Kazuha realizes he can't feel the touch of the brush at all. What else can't he feel?

Maybe not all of Scaramouche's soft touch. He considers how the other man has never shied away from his scars— twisted burns like this were certainly more grotesque to look at than neat cuts from a blade.

His chastising lifts his heart, a light little laugh huffing against Scaramouche's hair. It's funny... how fond he's grown of him, of these little scolding moments when he's too humble for the other's liking.]

Of course, how could I think otherwise? I do remember what you said that once now— that I'm a big part of your life.

[He might be teasing a little, though fondly. He remains still at least, letting the other man manipulate his hand as he needs.]

Would you like to go for a walk with me after?

[There's a moment after he finishes applying the nail polish - deep red like he had worn to the Gala - where he simply rubs his thumb against the back of the samurai's hand. He's heard the story, knows the whys behind the state of it, and treats it with a gentle care he rarely shows elsewhere. The Sixth knows that Kazuha isn't delicate, but there are times when he finds it difficult to treat him any other way.

Kazuha is laughing again, the feeling heavy against his back, and much like before he isn't quite sure what he's said or done that's amusing in any sense. This time at least doesn't cause any smudging of makeup, nails needing only to dry. It's an option to ask, gain reasoning for why the man is so entertained this morning that he would struggle to work out on his own.

Instead the memory stops the idea in its tracks, pulling a faint blush to his cheeks at the simple fact that the Inazuman remembers the off handed comment at all. It had been said as a way to stop him thinking less of himself, something that worked at the time though he should have expected one with a heart as soft and sentimental as Kazuha's to cling to it.]

You are... important. I don't normally make room in my life for friends.

[Admittance to things he's certain the samurai already knows, having forced him to acknowledge his own emotions and the friendship they'd been building those months ago.

The question catches him off guard as he finally sets Kazuha's hand down and moves to pull away so the man can stand. It had been his assistance that had been requested, not his company - to hear that a walk is an option when the day had already been somewhat planned out in the samurai's case is odd. A wanderer's sense of time no doubt.]

Don't you have somewhere to be?

I'm very glad to have come to know you.

[His smile can be felt, heard in his voice, and he does mean it. Despite the pain, the ups and downs, he's been happy. He feels less alone.

The mood he's set himself in soft and sentimental, and he's reluctant to let the other Inazuman pull away so quickly. He curls an arm around his waist, pinning him in his lap for a moment to briefly embrace him. Only after he's pressed a hug to his back does he let him go.]

My plans don't come into action until later. I wouldn't ask you all the way out here just to have you slave over my appearance and leave. However, you're not dressed for this cool weather. Spring might be approaching, but I have warmer clothes for you.

[He gets to his feet and presses his hands together, glancing around his small home as he considers what next. His eyes fix on Scaramouche after a moment, and then he cups his hand under his chin as he bends a little and raises his brows, playfully observing him.]

I'm thinking getting changed first? You can finish my hair in the bedroom.

[Normally the act of holding him still would be met with protest, yet Scaramouche can't find it in him now to complain. The hug permitted, a quiet mumble to watch his nails, hand gently ghosting over the arm wrapped tightly around him until he's freed.

Only Kazuha would continuously concern himself over if he were keeping warm enough, despite his constant assurances that he was fine. The immortal feels the cold of the weather though it doesn't bother him, not often needing to bundle up or wear clothes warmer than what he chose on a daily basis. He feels the heat just as he feels the cold, a feeling against his skin that he rarely cares to notice.

However with the samurai he finds he's begun to enjoy the feel of warmth again, not quite the same as the hot flames of the furnace crackling next to him, but cozy all the same. The warmth when they lay together, when he fusses until Scaramouche is forced to put on even just a scarf.

Friendship is such a bizarre thing.]

You didn't need much work, I've barely done anything. You know a change of clothes on my part is entirely unnecessary, I made it here fine did I not?

[Despite his words there's little fight in his tone, already resigned to the fact that he would be at the very least placed in a warmer haori. He doesn't win these fights, nor has he ever truly tried to.]

If you're certain you have the time. A walk after I finish getting you ready sounds fine. Provided you don't do anything to ruin what I've done.

How much of it were you actually outside? By the way, I'm quite impressed you used the door today. Come on, you know I insist.

[He knows that Scaramouche never resists this. Kazuha thinks he maybe actually enjoys it, such as it's attention focused on him, rather than simply doesn't care. He probably doesn't need to take him by the wrist either, but the samurai does anyway, gently taking his hand and pulling him through the house.

Their feet thump on the wooden floor, heading upstairs to the master bedroom. It's simple in design, decorated sparsely but elegantly— a scroll of poetry hangs from the wall, with low tables, a desk built-in beneath window. His futon is currently placed away, though over in the alcove is a glass terrarium, the onikabuto that the man gave him relaxing on some foliage within.]

Will you help me undress?

[This is a new request of him, and one he hadn't quite anticipated asking, though he had just painted his nails. He didn't quite expect that, and now with them fresh he doesn't wish to disrupt his work.]

If you keep this up I'm going to think you simply enjoy seeing me in your clothes.

[He's teasing, avoiding the comment on his lack of entering through the window this time, seeing no reason he needs to explain or justify his choice in the change. The samurai has a point his his own argument however, Scaramouche spending very little time actually outside in his shorts, teleporting to the village rather than spending hours both walking and on trains. Hardly outside long enough to feel the cold, not that it would have mattered.

While he's no stranger to Kazuha's home it does come as a surprise to see his gift resting quietly in the man's room. The largest onikabuto he had now living pleasantly within the samurai's room, and he supposes he never provided much reasoning when he had left it in its jar. A pet hadn't been his intent, but the immortal is of no mind to point Kazuha in the direction of what he had offered it for.

Yet another surprise comes when the samurai asks for assistance in undressing, and had Scaramouche not just painted his nails he would have bit back with an irritable remark. Kazuha is heeding his advice, attempting to avoid smearing and smudging the work he had just done. He appreciates the effort, though he knows ultimately it's not because of him but whomever he is planning to win over later in the day.]

Given the circumstances, just this once.

[He lifts his free hand, pressing a finger harshly against the other Inazuman's chest. He would help because he didn't want to repaint his nails, because they were friends, because the reason he was even visiting was to offer his assistance.]

[With the way that he reacted to being asked, Kazuha would have almost thought he'd asked him more than this once. Part of Kazuha idly wonders about that statement, hoping that it wasn't just this once, but also if it does turn out more than once to file it away as something to tease him about later.

They don't need to share an intimate connection for him to want to be around him, but he can hope for one.

He answers the poke with a laugh, gently taking the pointed finger into his hand before moving it off his chest. He just smiles at him, then goes about pulling out his folded clothes so that they're ready to be put on afterwards, careful not to ruin his nails. Scaramouche might notice that while red is present, much of the garments are purples and blues.]

Just this once.

[Right now he's just wearing a simple black jinbei, but he turns to his side so that the bow holding the cloth closed is presented to the immortal. He'd need help easing it off and afterwards, untying and removing his pants.]

[It's not difficult to notice just how different the outfit is from most others Kazuha owns. Even folded the colours are a clear giveaway that the samraui is straying from his usual style into something he can only assume is meant to please another. Blues and purples, aren't colours he sees him gravitate toward, doesn't expect him to choose something so devoid of red by his own volition.

If he had known perhaps he would have done his makeup differently. Far too late now, he has no desire to redo what's already been done.

Hands find the bow once Kazuha turns to his side, carefully pulling it free and moving around the man to push the top back from his shoulders. Much like how the immortal handled makeup he takes his task of undressing seriously, working the jinbei off while avoiding contact with Kazuha's nails. The tie on his pants equally simple to remove, allowing it to slide past his hips and to the floor for the man to step out of while he moves to pick up the first piece of what the samurai would be changing into.]

No reds?

[Scaramouche doesn't know why he asks, knowing what the reasoning has to be, the only answer it can be.]

[Scaramouche is completely professional as he removes the garments from him, and Kazuha has to wonder about that a bit. He hasn't really been able to keep himself from admiring the other when he forces to change for some time now. It makes him... somewhat uncertain once again.

He's a bit distracted, standing in his fundoshi and lost in his thoughts when the immortal asks the question. It draws his attention back to him, his fingers pressed to his lips.]

In the accessories, this time. I wouldn't really go without red.

[It's his favorite color, and also the color of his eyes and part of his hair. He has to tie it in some way.

He steps over, picking up his discarded clothes and setting them to the side to be washed later. While he's shown quite a bit of skin to the immortal before, this is the first he's been so bare.]

The maples decorate the sleeves.

[Scaramouche spares the slightest of glances back towards the samurai when he speaks, though his gaze doesn't linger, returning to fishing out the innermost layer of Kazuha's desired outfit. An outfit that the more he looks at it the more it feels much too formal for the other Inazuman. It's entirely the point, meaning to impress, but the immortal still feels that such a thing shouldn't be needed at all.

Why couldn't this person just appreciate Kazuha as is?

Rising to his feet, the Harbinger makes his way back over to the other man, holding open the garment for him to easily slide his arm into. The colours weren't bad, far from it, being closer to things he would wear when he wasn't outright in black. Still it's strange to see Kazuha in something not dominantly red.]

You seem to be changing a lot for this person.

[It's not something he should comment, but he's never been one to hold his tongue. He can't imagine the samurai isn't used to it by now, from this conversation alone he's voiced things most friends would have likely kept to themselves. Or at least Scaramouche thinks that's what friends that weren't him would do.

What he should do is offer encouragement, something more supportive and less opinionated.]

Though it does look nice.

[Despite it being some time, Kazuha slips back into the etiquette of a noble being dressed easily. Up until his late teens he had a servant that assisted with dressing him for occasions, though they often left him to dress himself for training. He slips his arm into the garment with elegance.]

You make it sound like I'm changing who I am. It's only a bit of makeup and a nice outfit, Scaramouche-san.

[It seems like his efforts are unsettling him. Does Scaramouche imagine that he's infatuated with someone else? Kazuha looks over his shoulder at him, giving him a warm, hopefully reassuring smile.]

I'm glad you like it. I think you will like the outfit I have for you.

Can you really say I'm wrong? You hardly put in this much effort for a formal party.

[The smile offers little reassurance though it's hardly Kazuha's doing, he's simply too in his own head choosing to see mainly the negatives as he attempts to work though the thunderstorm of emotions within him. He's trying, making some attempt to be what a good friend should, but it's difficult. He thinks he's not cut out to ever be a proper friend - gone far too long without any to know how to conduct himself in situations like this.

He moves around the samurai, folding the fabric closed over itself once the man's arms slides into the sleeves. Reaching around his waist, Scaramouche pulls the string tight, humming quietly as he ties it. It takes another moment for the immortal to seem satisfied, fingers gently smoothing out any wrinkles, before he moves to pick up the next layer.]

Oh? Is it not just what you normally have me put on?

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