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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[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?

I don't care too much about formal parties. I care about this person.

[Much of Kazuha hopes that the efforts, and the final surprise, is worth his effort. Scaramouche is difficult for him to read at times— he struggles to decipher what he's feeling, especially towards himself.

He wishes he could take his hands, hold them in his own for a moment to show he cares, but the immortal moves onto the next layer just as quick as he finished the last one. Kazuha lets it pass, moving on to letting him slip the next layer on over his body.]

It's a new kimono I picked up. I think it will good on you, and it should keep you warm.

[Brows furrow as the immortal considers what's been said - the state of the samurai at the Gala having been due to not feeling the need to place a much care into his appearance, something evident when Scaramouche considers what the man's hair had been like. He wonders if he hadn't purchased the outfit for him, if he would have even bothered dressing up to begin with.

The kimono is folded closed, collar adjusted with the juban beneath before Scaramouche sets to tying the next string around the samurai's waist.

By Kazuha's own words the Gala was different from the situation now, the other Inazuman placing so much care into looking his best that the Harbinger can only imagine how important this person must be to him. Wanting so desperately to impress, even if only physically. It stirs a strange feeling within him.]

You know you don't need to offer me anything new.

[The immortal shakes his head as he folds the obi, one day perhaps he ought to tell the man that he doesn't need the layers. As carefully as he's done everything else, he wraps the obi around Kazuha's waist, tucking and tying it at the back in as presentable a look he can manage.]

I certainly hope you didn't buy it with my visits in mind.

[The layers of the outfit feel heavy. Kazuha isn't certain when the last time was that he dressed so formally. Even the outfit that the immortal had picked out for him was slightly lighter than this. Of a thing he notes— Scaramouche complimented him for his appearance at the gala, but he seems discontent with it now.

It confuses him, but it's a bit too late to change his plans now. He flushes slightly at the question. He doesn't love to lie, but he could maybe evade the question carefully. He offers him a little smile again.]

If I had, what then? Don't fret so much. We're similar sizes.

[He's slightly bulkier than the immortal, but they're of similar heights at least. With loose garments such as kimono they can share clothing easily.

Once the obi is tucked and tightened, Kazuha smooths his hands down the front of his clothes. It's even strange seeing himself dressed like this, and he hasn't even looked in a mirror yet. Probably once he's all done, and his hair is finished as well. Just the haori left.]

What do you think? I suppose you'd like it more if you'd picked it out.

You know you don't need to spend your money on me.

[It seems like a waste to him, using limited funds on something so unnecessary, despite them being similar enough in size to share clothing. The Harbinger could easily buy something warmer for himself, though he he rarely goes looking to buy clothes, satisfied with what he already has. Something to think on, but not entirely necessary at this point.

Scaramouche allows himself to look over the samurai, silently appraising before he moves to get the haori. Kazuha looks good, the colour while not something he commonly wore suits him - contrasting well with the shock of red in his hair, of his eyes, and the makeup he'd applied. The samurai wears it well.

A faint smile settles on his face and idly he wonders what else the other Inazuman might look good in. Perhaps even more colours to make the warmth of red stand out. Turning heads as the samurai wanted with his current choice.]

While anything I pick out would be flawless, this is... You look nice, Kazuha. They would be blind to not notice that.

[He helps the haori on, tucking the sleeves of the kimono and smoothing down the fabric. The picture of perfection one would expect to see from a clan as well known as Kazuha's.]

I know I don't need to.

[But he does anyway, since while Kazuha cared little for material possessions, it seemed worth it to do a thing or two for others at times. Kazuha wants for nothing, save maybe a companion. Scaramouche, Diluc, even Vennessa make him feel a little less alone in the world. He just spends some time looking back at the other Inazuman fondly as he helps him into the haori, his heart warmed and pleased that his object of affection approves of how he looks.

Kazuha touches his hands to Scaramouche's chest. How calm and slow he must be, since he can never feel his heartbeat, never hear it. He wonders if he will today— a silly thought, fleeting as he pulls his hands away and steps briefly to gather the outfit he had picked for him.

It's notably not red either, in shades closer to what Scaramouche wears.]

I made some wagashi last night. You are free to pick which ones you want from the kitchen later.

[He might be spoiling him a little. Just a little.]

[Scaramouche can't hold back a sigh, a shake of his head following. It's not entirely uncommon for Kazuha to spend on him, he pays for food when they go out, sake when they're simply spending time together, even an entire outfit one one occasion - though he'd balanced it out by buying one for the man in return. Still these were all things he didn't need, a habit he didn't want the samurai getting into on a regular basis.]

Yet you do it anyway.

[Tone light yet scolding. The immortal gently rests his hands against Kazuha's wrists, colour faintly returning to his face. He's not certain what exactly the samurai is searching for, nor does he get much time to think on it, Kazuha moving away to pull out a second outfit.

He looks it over, folded neatly, pattern only just visible enough. Much like the kimono Kazuha had chosen to wear this one sports more blues and purples, accents of gold as his own outfits tended towards, though lacking in any red. It was no lie to say it would look good on him when it was something he likely would have considered purchasing himself.

Are his own preferences so obvious or was he simply spending far too much time around the other Inazuman?

A matter for another time he thinks, removing his own clothes hurry into the outfit selected for him.]

You make it sound like I have a sweet tooth.

[He does.]

I enjoy it.

[That at least is the simple truth. Scaramouche can lecture him all he likes, but he still will enjoy doing things for him. He could maybe blame it on his principles of subservience as a samurai, but really it's just that he enjoys spoiling him a little.

As Scaramouche busies himself with undressing— he steals at least one glance —Kazuha busies himself with his accessories. He doesn't have ears pierced normally, so he can't often wear earrings, but for this occasion he clips on two long, dangling red earrings. It's a sensation he's not uses to, and he can't help but tilt his head back and forth like a curious child.]

I never implied such. I was just telling you about the wagashi I made and offering to share them. Certainly I can't eat all of them myself, and how embarrassing would it be if bakeneko can't taste sweets?

[He stops playing with his earrings after a moment, moving onto pulling a red necklace tight around his throat.]

As long as you know it's not necessary.

[It's not something the immortal can talk Kazuha out of, changing him in a way more drastic than he'd been complaining about earlier. He doesn't suspect that this will be the last time things are done for him, purchased for his benefit, though he hopes that as much as it's enjoyed, Kazuha realizes it's not a necessity. He can't stop him, but he can voice his thoughts.

Scaramouche slips on the layers with a practiced ease, turning to Kazuha only once he gets to his obi. Eyes settling on the jewellery the samurai is adorning himself with, and he feels a mix of awe and disappointment. It takes a moment for him to recall the obi held tightly in his hand.

The kimono fits nicely, soft fabric and not overly heavy, warm though he doesn't need it, colours matching well with his dark hair and bright eyes. Silently he holds out the cloth, he could wrap and tie it himself, but having someone else do it would provide better results. It slightly defeats the purpose of not having the samurai use his hands more than necessary, but his nails are dry enough that tying one obi should be fine.]

That doesn't sound like my problem. If you can't eat them all on your own perhaps you should make less.

[Though he's likely to take a couple, since there were supposedly too many.]

Maybe I also enjoy having you eat things I made.

[Kazuha is teasing him a little, though it's a truthful admission. He'd made them with Scaramouche in mind, and he shouldn't hide it really. He hopes the other man was noticing the special attention he gives him.

Scaramouche doesn't even need to ask— Kazuha's eyes fix on the obi in his hands and he's over by his side again almost on reflex. He takes it from him, his fingers brushing against his, and he wraps it around him with gentle practice, moving about him until he pulls the knot taut in the back.

Finished, he settles his hands on his hips, smoothing the fabric out.]

You look very lovely in this.

I suppose then I can take one. Your cooking is decent.

[A bit of an understatement, but he does enjoy the meals that Kazuha cooks when he is around. That the samurai is making sweets himself rather than asking to go somewhere is a bit new however. An expansion on his cooking skills, Scaramouche can only imagine.

The immortal's breathing stops momentarily as hands smooth over his hips, gentle, forcing him to shut his eyes to focus. A few maples fading into his hair in the process. His own dressing is complete, the haori can be pulled on afterwards, leaving the both of them with only one thing left to do before heading out - Kazuha's hair.

He finds his own hands moving to rest atop the samurai's, twining their fingers only to pull them back and away from his hips.]

I'd look good in anything, but it helps that you taste isn't that poor. Are you sure you have nothing in mind for your hair?

Thank you, I do take pride in my cooking.

[Having access to his own kitchen changed things a bit for him. Cooking by the campside is something he's perfected, but just having a kitchen to his disposal again at all times meant that Kazuha's enthusiasm for cooking is at an all time high. Scaramouche isn't wrong to imagine he's expanding his skills.

They just happen to be things he thinks Scaramouche may like.

No small bit of pleasure flutters in Kazuha's chest seeing the maples pop into Scaramouche's dark hair, his smile lingering on his lips even as his hands are pried away. The immortal always gave him mixed signals like this— subtle rejection, but not quite.

He hums, his fingers rubbing against Scaramouche's gently.]

I'm sure. Just a few maple pins, that's all. I trust you to pick out something you think looks good.

[He tilts his head, looking at his face.]

Should I kneel?

You do tend to make that quite clear.

[The amount of times Kazuha offers to cook, choosing to do so over the option of letting another rings clear enough. It isn't done solely as a means to survive.

For a moment he considers the stars in Kazuha's hair, how pins seem unnecessary, the potential of the stars drowning them out - but that's purely an issue for now. Once the Inazuman left to meet whomever it was he was attempting to impress they would fade, leaving just the maples and accentuating his outfit even more. Something he needs to keep in mind.]

You're putting a lot of faith into my capabilities. What if this person does not share my tastes? And if you wouldn't mind.

[Scaramouche removes his hands from the samurai's to allow him to sit. A few ideas rolling around in his mind as to what he can do that will work well with the desired pins and the outfit Kazuha was already dressed in. His hair was a decent length to do something a bit more eye catching than his usual pony tail, and having it flow free seemed much too simple for the occasion.]

When it comes to these matters, I trust you the most. I have complete faith anything you choose will be perfect.

[Mainly because this mysterious person is none other than the Balladeer himself, but Scaramouche seems to be oblivious to that still. Kazuha can't help but feel a little apprehensive, a little sad for the other man. He's said as much that he's shared intimacy with people, but he wonders if he ever felt anything for them.

Kazuha sits, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he looks down at them. He debates wrapping his hand, putting the scar twisting up his arm out of sight. Scaramouche doesn't seem to mind it, though he can't know for sure.]

I was in love once. I didn't realize it. [He says it before he can stop himself, his thoughts shifting back to the one person who had been so important to him before, who made him feel like he wasn't alone. His fingers smooth over his palm, where the scar is the thickest.] This scar... it's an ugly reminder.

[It's a lot of trust being placed in his hands, even if it's no more than a simple task. Allowing him complete control over something that could very well not suit the one all of this was for. Kazuha's heart is soft, too caring, he wonders if it would break if he didn't do his job well enough for this courting to be effective. Would the samurai be upset with him like he had been at the Gala if things didn't go to plan.

Scaramouche reaches out, brushing his fingers lightly through the strands of white hair. A fleeting touch before he moves to grab some pins, a comb, before seating himself behind the man. As confusing as his own feelings are on the matter he needs to do a good job.

The confession sheds some more light into Kazuha's past, comb stilling halfway through his hair.]

But I thought--

[The conversation they had shared on just how the samurai had obtained his scar had been brief, he hadn't bothered to question further into what had been placed forth, hadn't needed more explained to him at the time. The burn from a dying Vision belonging to a friend, someone important, a would be lover if only the samurai had realized. He finds his face twisting into something ugly for a moment as he returns to pulling the comb through hair.]

Sometimes it's difficult to realize the importance of someone while they're present in your life. In loss it's easier to recognize things... or so I'd imagine. At least you know what to look for now.

[He thought what?

Kazuha wonders what the other man was going to say. He hadn't elaborated the kind of relationship he had with his friend before— Scaramouche never asked anything further about it, so he didn't talk about it. Why did he feel compelled now? Because he has a new object of affection? To give him a warning?]

I have a better idea.

[But does he love Scaramouche? That's impossible for him to even know. He is very dear to him, a love as a friend at least. They are not together, might never be together, and surely he thinks that in the face of rejection his romantic feelings could still fade with time.

He has known the immortal nearly as long as he knew his friend and not even a kiss has passed between them. He can't know, so Kazuha just strokes his palm, remaining still as Scaramouche brushes his hair.]

I should have told you a long time ago. I didn't think I'd ever begin to heal. I just thought I'd feel that way forever.

Why? I would never have asked you.

[It's a strange thing to be given more detail into the samurai's past unprompted, something he never would have known, wouldn't have asked had it not been brought up. Was there reason Kazuha suddenly saw fit to tell him? Context perhaps, for how he feels now about this mystery person. Or for what he could feel yet isn't certain on. Something he didn't believe he'd ever feel again? Why offer him this information?

The immortal keeps his mouth shut, uncertain as to what he's supposed to say, what Kazuha wants to hear from him. He keeps himself focused on pulling his hair back, with twisting and pinning as he searches his mind for some sort of answer.

This must be something friends do. But his life had been one of secrecy, of needing to keep everything hidden away from the world and closing himself off from others, he isn't meant for moments like this. Moments where he's required to care, to offer soothing words or advice when he so often avoids speaking with people unless necessary. Yet he feels the desire to try.

Kazuha was important to him, someone he's come to enjoy the company of enough to want to keep him in his life. If the man was confiding in him then the least he could offer was an attempt.

He doesn't know love, not as far as he knows, but he does know loss. He's felt it before when he'd lost someone close to him, he feels it from the Gnosis - the feeling coiling around him, crippling when he gives it enough attention. What can he say?]

Hearts are resilient. It may never fade completely, but it will get easier to bear. I've seen it. You aren't so weak as to allow it to control your life.

[The silence that descends between then afterwards seems to stretch on forever. Scaramouche said it himself— he would have never asked him. Kazuha flushes, his cheeks and ears reddening in embarrassment. So he wasn't interested in knowing more about him. He'd only made things awkward. The samurai tries not to dip his head, if just to avoid a scolding, but his lashes lower, obscuring his eyes as he turns them downward.]

It changed me as a person. Though I suppose they are. It hurts less these days... but yes, not completely.

[Just like his scar, sometimes the ache comes back, throbbing like it's new. Those are his hardest days, in which it's difficult to rouse himself out of bed. Scaramouche is usually gone by then, easy as it is to assume Kazuha is just sleeping in.

He sighs deeply, then tries turning his thoughts back to his plans. He'd find the right trees, growing closer to his home than he'd initially hoped. It made things convenient in a way. If things go well, he can invite him back to home for lunch. If it goes poorly... then at least there isn't a very far walk back to home.]

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up.

[A smile smooths over his face again. Everything will go right.]

Didn't mean to bring down the mood. I can almost feel a chilly shift in the air.

[The way Kazuha responds isn't what he had intended, not meaning for the samurai to think he couldn't share things with him if the mood struck. He simply doesn't know how to handle moments like this, but it's something he may have to learn. A requirement of friendship, of trust perhaps. He may have little desire to speak of his own past in detail, but it's clear that Kazuha in some sense wants to.]

I didn't mean it like that. You can talk about it if you want, or about them... whatever. I just-

[The immortal lets out a sigh, pushing in the final pin to keep the bun he's made out of Kazuha's hair in place. It's difficult to place the words that will best describe just how lost in all of this he really is. Friendship had been something he'd been pushed to acknowledge, something he isn't sure he'd have admitted even at this point had he not been stared down by eyes filled with hurt.

Pushing some of the stars away he clips in some of the desired maples and tries again.]

I don't know how to be someone you confide in.

Edited 2022-02-11 06:02 (UTC)

Mmm.

[Kazuha hums his response, understanding now. It wasn't that Scaramouche wasn't listening, it was just that he didn't have much to say about it. His abraisiveness is just due to the fact he thought he should say something without knowing what to say.

He can feel the final pin sliding into place, his hair feeling wound tight on his head. The samurai reaches back, fingers briefly touching the finished bun, before he slides them over the immortal's palm and draws his hand away, pulling it forward a bit. It's an awkward way to hold his hand, but he laces their fingers together, keeping Scaramouche close.]

That's fine. Just listening is fine enough.

[He turns his head, looking fondly back at him.]

How about that walk? You can tell me a little bit about what's going on in your life. You never talk about yourself.

[There's the faintest huff as Scaramouche finds his hand being pulled away, lets the other Inazuman hold it despite the odd angle. It's a comfort he allows himself to sink into.]

I can't say I'd be good at that either.

[Not in this context, merely listening to tales of the past, of feelings and things he's incapable of experiencing. Not being expected to offer up anything in return seems odd for what he understands of friendship, not being required to comfort even if he was terrible at that to begin with. And Scaramouche doubts he could hold his tongue if he actually had something to say, appropriate or not.

A walk sounds like it could do wonders right now, getting the samurai to turn his attention to the nature around them so he could sort through his thoughts. Perhaps forget he mentioned that he was struggling with something as simple as friendship.

He pulls his hand from Kazuha's grip, sliding on the haori for the outfit he'd been talked into before standing and holding it out again, expectant.]

That's because there isn't much to talk about. I don't do anything special.

[The way that Scaramouche holds his hand out again almost seems reflex now, maybe something trained into him. Kazuha isn't sure if he should be embarrassed or proud that he's influenced the immortal to expect this from him. Either way, he takes the comfort of feeling the other man's soft palm against his own.

Before he leaves the bedroom, he pauses to take a pair of geta from the closet, carrying it with his free hand down the stairs until they get to the entrance. He bends, settling the geta onto the genkan in front of the other man, before he steps to slip on his own pair. They're not notably tall compared to their usual shoes, but considering neither of them are quite tall, the inch on them helps still.]

At the very least, I'm certain you do a bit more than me.

[Kazuha's days are filled with cleaning his home these days, fixing up parts that had fallen into disrepair during its vacancy, and little domestic things like grocery shopping and getting acquainted with the neighbors. When he doesn't have that on his agenda, he simply goes wandering for a while, exploring the lands around and searching for inspiration. Sometimes he returns with pages with fresh lines of poetry.

There is not much going on in his day.

With that said, he opens the door and lets Scaramouche step out first.]

[Scaramouche slips into the footwear and steps outside as Kazuha holds the door for him. The samurai was right, the outfit choice was significantly warmer than what he'd arrived in, only able to feel the chill of the air against his face. A wave of warm comfort washes over him and he thinks that yes, a walk was just the thing needed to move on from the previous subject of conversation. Squeezing his hand, Scaramouche tugs forward, little regard to where exactly they should head.

There isn't much that happens in the days the Harbinger doesn't spend with the other man, simply more training in the magic of the world, of refining his skills until they were acceptable to his standards. He'd gotten a job, or rather would have a job once he finished learning a spell he's been told not to talk about. Healing, something he wouldn't normally gravitate towards, but finds he's oddly good at it - more than he ever thought he would be at least.]

I train, much the same as I do when I'm with you studying. When I'm not doing that I'm making sure an idiot god doesn't starve, same for my bugs. Like I said, there isn't much there to talk about.

[That wouldn't quite do. They were heading in the complete opposite direction of where they should, the samurai getting dragged along a couple of steps before he squeezes Scaramouche's hand back, firmly rooting himself in place for a moment. It'd cause them to come to an abrupt halt again, but he didn't have much choice.]

I just like listening to you talk.

[He turns his head in the opposite direction, moving to tug him along. He's more gentle with the other Inazuman than he was with him, but he's firm with him.]

I have a path in mind. It should bring us by some trail side shrines. It's a pleasant sight.

[The main attraction for Kazuha wasn't the small shrines. He cared not for Nippon's gods, even if he had respect for them. Worship is another matter, even for someone somewhat pious like him.]

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