Kazuscara Oneshots

Better With You

T/W: Angst?? Idk tbh

He's dying.

He's gasping desperately for air in the vast oceans. Strong tides pushed him around mercilessly like he was an outcast. An alien in their world, they must rid him of their territory. 

He doesn't know how he ended up like this. All he knows is that he must survive. Survive the harsh tides of the sea, live to see another day.

Surface and undersea were two different universes. 

Surface. Chaos, hopelessness. The near-black color of the waters choked him. His screams were like a silent ringing in your ears, like a fly buzzing around the busy streets of New York. His cries for help drowned out in mad waves of the ocean hitting against him, silencing him from his call for aid. 

His head bobbed up and down between the thin line that drew the difference between air and water. He doesn't know when to breathe. 

Every breath he took without water was like winning a lottery ticket. His limbs barely support his weight up, he is lost. 

He can't see the hope of tomorrow. 

He gasped, and his head dipped back underwater as another harsh tide rushed against his body. 

Blue. Bright. Colorful. Nothing remotely close to the scenery he would describe on the surface of the waters. He could see fishes, swimming merrily in the waters. He could see faint silhouettes of seagrass, dancing back and forth as the waves guided their movements.

He could see another world underwater. A world far better than the one on the surface. But it was deadly.

He managed to pop his head back to the surface again, his lungs already deprived of air.

Desperately, he gasped in oxygen as quickly as possible before another tide came his way, playing whack-a-mole with him.

He was underwater once again. 

When would this game of repetition end?

"Why are you here?"

A voice rang in his ears. Where did it come from? It sounded like it came from nowhere. Like it came from very, very far away; yet also like it came from very, very close. 

It sounded like it was a call from high in the mountains, yet it also sounded it came from far down in a valley. 

It sounded like a whisper, yet it also sounded like a cry.

He whipped his head to check his surroundings, his head turned in slow motion in the waters. 

A faint figure of a person's face. A woman? No. The voice was deeper than a woman's.

She--he, had hair abnormally white. Like the pearls in clams deep down on the ocean floors. It was shining under the sun of noon, like blinding neon lights in inner cities.

Scaramouche shook his head, and jolted upwards to pop his head back to the surface. 

Oxygen. Oxygen. Oxygen.

The only thing plaguing his mind. 

The oceans really hate him, do they? 

He was once again submerged within the brightly colored undersea. Eyes wide open, holding his breath. 

"Interesting. I haven't seen one of you guys in a while now." 

It was the voice again. Scaramouche jolted up, making eye contact with the faint silhouette of a man's face he's seen before. 

Eyes red like a ruby. Scaramouche forgot he was in mortal danger for a second.

He felt the other's hand travel up his spine. He gasped, almost forgetting he was underwater. He coughed, but that only lead to more water down in his lungs. 

He rose back to the surface, finally managing to regain some consciousness.

He glanced around sharply, meaning to find the man that he had just encountered in the waters. He kicked around the ocean in hopes of interacting with a physical person but - to no avail. 

In the middle of the ocean. Alone. Desperate. Confused. 

He felt a sudden drag down into the waters. His eyes widened in surprise. 

His head was deeper under the ocean than before. This worried him. WORRIED HIM A LOT. He wretchedly kicked around the waters, trying to break free from the natural forces that dragged him down - but to no avail. 

"This is a fun surprise," the voice whispered, "you're not going anywhere." 

Scaramouche coughed, He gagged. The face became as clearer as ever. The features of the person - if he even can be classified as one - were more defined than ever. His white, sparkling eyelashes that would bat sometimes. His pink, chubby cheeks that flush pink with life. His deep, dark, ruby eyes that twinkle underwater. 

He was beautiful. 

He would forget he was even in danger. 

He placed a hand on the other's shoulder. He could feel it. 

Pulling closer, they could feel each other inching closer as their lips parted, waiting for something more. 

What was Scaramouche doing? He doesn't know himself. 

The water doesn't exist anymore. The thought to breathe fell to the back of his head. Who was he? Where was he? What was he? He's forgotten the answers to them. All he knows is the heat between their bodies, growing hotter, growing fonder as they linked lips. 

Nothing mattered more than the moment they shared together. Underwater. He doesn't know the other's name, and why they are in the middle of the ocean in the middle of nowhere. But it meant company. It meant the other's body against his own. It meant the other's lip against his own. 

The chaos. The deafening tides. The desperation. Fading away. 

He could melt in this very moment. 

His eyes slowly shut.

He never arose.

----

stupid idea i got from a french song jfc its always the french /lh

919 words