KazuScara Short Stories

Always Enough for Two People

He always loved listening to other people, even if sometimes the volume of their voices hurts his ears. Perhaps it's because he always needed someone to drown out the voices in his head when it became too quiet.

He also likes sharing his poetry with someone, drinking and singing with them, cooking for them, and doing activities to help them.

When Scaramouche came into his life while wandering around Inazuma, his life suddenly wrapped around the beautiful doll.

Scaramouche is a boss, and Kazuha is somewhat of a servant, but he knows that Scaramouche doesn't think of him that lowly, that's just how they do things. Most of the time, Kazuha would assist Scaramouche in what he does, lectures him if it's wrong, and would give him all the love and comfort to ever exist in this world.

Scaramouche would always listen to Kazuha, even if its just the same stories over and over because Kazuha likes those stories, and so, Scaramouche likes it too. The doll would sometimes ask the samurai to tell him stories so he'd dream of those stories instead of nightmares.

Whenever he heard a change of his lover's breathing as he slept, crystal tears falling on his cheeks, he'd talk to him as if he's awake and that would bring Scaramouche back out into his light which takes a form in Kaedehara Kazuha.

They would travel together, never leaving each other even if one of them suggests they split up to cover more ground to find a place to stay for the night. They need each other's presence.

Unfortunately for them, fate is cruel. The doll knows that one day, his light would die and he would live. He decided to fight, but in the end, he failed. He was selfish because he only thought of himself.

He only thought of not experiencing the pain of losing Kazuha if he'd lost. He didn't think about the pain his light would experience, or perhaps he thinks that he's merely a burden to the samurai like how he was worthless to his creator.

His lover's light dimmed, and eventually, it didn't ignite again.

For the years he'd been with Scaramouche, he had a bad habit of always making two meals rather than one. He realizes this once he'd pour soup in the second bowl. He often looks at his side where the companion he loved, Scaramouche, used to always sit.

He places a bowl in front of the comfortable seat he made, a habit from Scaramouche's constant whining of being uncomfortable, thinking that his lover is there. Once he finished eating, he'd leave the food there, as if waiting for his lover to eat it then come to his side to sleep or to talk.

He'd make poetry about two people and their journey, about their conversations, that special person's life, beauty, voice, and many more. And he'd recite it, looking at the side where he used to see Scaramouche listening intently, his eyes seemingly having heart-shaped pupils.

He'd recite them lovingly, waving his hands, and sometimes standing up for the person he used to talk to to visualize. He'd point at what he's describing, now he's pointing at nothing but the wind.

He'd make the bed big enough to let two people sleep, even if it's just him. Putting his haori onto the spot next to him, the person who used to sleep there loved the smell of Kazuha and the comfort it used to give his lover.

He'd find a place big enough to house two people, not allowing himself to stay somewhere small.

Never did he dare to break out of this habit.

Call it a waste of time, effort, and resources, but wherever he went, he'd always make enough for two people.