pairing kabukimono/kunikuzushi/scaramouche/wanderer x reader
following him through the years, even through lifetimes.
tags established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff
a/n: wrote this like i don't have a test i need to study for (ÂŹ_ÂŹ") i'm prolly gonna go do that now
he doesnât remember the first time he saw you.
or maybe he remembers it so vividly that it pains him to think about it, like pressing on an injury youâve tried to convince yourself has already healed. the memory sits in him like water in his lungsâsomething necessary, something he canât live without even though it sometimes hurts just to hold it.
because everything begins back when he was still soft, easy to manipulate. he's gone by many names in his past, but everything starts from something.
you met him when he still loved rain.
he stood under the eaves of an old house, sleeves soaked, watching the sky with the quiet wonder of a child who had never been allowed to grow into himself. you approached with an umbrella, eyes warm, voice gentle.
âyouâll rust if you stay out here,â you teased.
he blinked at you, curious. âi donât think i can rust...â
you offered the umbrella anyway. he took it with both hands, unsure how to make use of this strange object.
you taught him how to eat sweets slowly, how to braid flowers, how to sit by a fire without flinching. he learned what affection looked like because of you. he learned what it felt like to be wantedâjust a littleâbecause of you.
and when he would look at you, sometimes heâd smile too hard, too bright, something too hopeful inside him sparking to life.
he didnât know that hope was the first thing that gets killed. didnât know everything he loved would be taken from him.
but he remembers you, standing right there, saying softly,
âyou deserve to be cared for, you know? not used. not discarded.â
the kind of words that shouldâve saved him.
the same words he carried into the next life like a curse.
when you find him again, the world around him is ash.
he stands in the ruins of a life he thought would finally bring him peace, staring blankly at the remnants of everything heâd once allowed himself to love. the boy you knew is gone, replaced by something else, something carved out of pain and betrayal. grief hangs from him like a second cloak; it clings to his skin as if afraid to ever loosen its grip.
you call his old name. a name that belongs to a time before heartbreakâhe jolts like youâve struck him. when he turns toward you, his eyes are red and swollen, fury simmering beneath the devastation. he looks at you the way someone looks at a memory they want to destroy but canât let go of.
âiâm sorry,â you whisper, stepping toward him.
âdonât,â he snaps instantly, the word cutting through the air like a blade.
but his voice wavers, barely noticeable unless you know the sound of his breaking.
âiâm not pitying you,â you insist. âiâm mourning with you.â
those words land harder than any weapon. for a momentâjust a fleeting breathâhis expression cracks, revealing the shattered boy beneath the vengeance. he looks as though he wants to fall apart right there in your arms, to admit how scared he is, how lonely this rage has made him, how desperately he wants someoneâanyoneâto stay.
but heâs already convinced himself that softness is a sin he canât afford.
âgo,â he says, voice rough, raw. âleave before i pull you into the ruin with me.â
you donât move.
you reach out and touch his cheek the same way you did years ago, your thumb brushing the corner of his eye.
he closes his eyes.
and for one fragile heartbeat, he leans into you.
âi canât be someone you save,â he whispers.
âthen let me walk beside you,â you respond, voice cracking, âuntil you learn how to save yourself.â
he opens his eyes again, and theyâre cold, hardened by betrayal.
âi donât remember how to be that boy,â he murmurs.
âand i donât think i want to.â
but even as he rejects your comfort, even as he chooses the path of solitude and steel, he carries the warmth of your touch like a ghost against his skin.
scaramouche/the balladeer ââ .âŚ
when you find him this time, he is something else entirely.
gone is the boy who sought for love. what stands before you is barely even humanâwild, godlike, furious with the world and everything in it⌠or was he human at all.
people bow, tremble, curse his name. he walks with the arrogance of someone who has spent too long being told he must become divine to be worthy. there is an emptiness in him that feels endless.
but when he sees you, he freezes.
your presence cuts through the walls heâs built surrounding him, slicing straight to the core. he looks at you with disdain, with longing, with confusion, with every version of himself flickering behind his eyes.
âyou,â he says, as if choking on the word.
âme,â you answer quietly. âiâm still here.â
he hates that something in him softens. he hates that the walls he built tremble simply because youâre standing too close. he hates the memory of wanting, of hoping, of needing.
âdonât look at me like that,â he growls. âi am not yours to worry about.â
âyouâve always been mine to worry about.â
âi donât need your pity.â
he looks at you sharply, eyes narrowed, waiting for the lie. but all he sees is the same quiet tenderness you gave him when he was young, when he stood alone in the rain and learned what comfort felt like.
âso what is it?â he demands, voice low. âwhat do you want from me?â
you breathe in shakily. âtell me how to keep you.â
he staggers back an unexpected step, surprised at your request.
âdonât,â he whispers. âdonât say things like that. you donât know what youâre asking for.â
he shakes his head. âi donât know how to hold something that wonât disappear. i never learned how.â
âyouâre holding more than you think,â you reply softly. âi havenât left.â
but heâs afraid. terrified. not of youâbut of himself, of what he might do to something that fragile, something that honest. so he turns away, choosing the familiar comfort of solitude.
yet this time, he looks back.
because even as he leaves, he feels you like gravity.
when you next find him, everything feels different.
he sits beside a quiet stream, legs drawn up, arms draped loosely over his knees. sunlight dances on the water, reflecting patterns across his face that accentuate his features.
he looks up when you approach, surprise flickering across his features before something gentler takes hold.
âyou found me, again⌠how do you keep doing that,â he says, voice low, almost shy.
âdonât worry about that.â
he looks away, a faint blush coloring the tips of his ears. itâs such a small detail, but it tugs at your heart.
âiâm not who i was,â he murmurs. âi donât know if i ever will be.â
âyou donât need to be.â
âi donât remember everything.â
he hesitates, fingers brushing the grass before inching toward your hand. slowly, tentatively, he lets his fingertips graze yours.
âbut i remember you.â
your breath catches. he looks up, eyes clearer than youâve ever seen themâopen, searching.
âdo you regret it?â he asks suddenly. âloving all the versions of me? even the ones that hurt you?â
you shake your head, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.
âi loved the boy you were,â you say. âand who you became. and the storm you turned into. and i love the person youâre trying to be now.â
âi thinkâŚâ he starts, voice faltering. âi think i want to learn how to love you back.â
you smile through the emotion in your throat. âyou already do. you always have.â
this time, when he reaches for your hand, he doesnât hesitate.
he threads his fingers through yours, leans forward, and presses his forehead to yours.
this time, your answer comes with no fear nor distance.
and for the first time in every life heâs lived, he believes it.
