Scaramouche watched the waves clash against the edge of the giant passenger ship. It was risky, standing near the edge, or standing above deck at all.

He'd snuck onto the ship a minute before it departed; wandering in behind a few passengers who actually paid to gain entry on the large vessel. All of the boats these days were ridiculously expensive- what else was he going to do?

The ship was large- not Titanic large, but enough to make one look up to see the light reflecting off of the many layers of windows.

It was the year 1892. Working conditions weren't great in Europe, where Scaramouche had taken residence for a while, so he decided to escape. The ever-popular United states of America was famous for being lush with jobs and money: an escape from life over the seas, where your past could never reach you.

Scaramouche decided that was appetizing, so he snuck aboard the ship. He was used to running away: first he ran from his rich mother, then from his first boss, then from a few gangs here and there... this was nothing new.

He sighed, watching the waves clash against the metal plates and nails that held the ship together. Hopefully his future contained more than constant fear of being found, or lack of money, for that matter.

He wished he could find a way to stop running...

"Hey, you there!" a man called.

...but at this moment, running seemed like a pleasant course of action.

As the burly security guard approached him from behind, Scaramouche turned and bolted down the dock. He knew that man. He'd been taking tickets from the passengers Scaramouche had hidden behind: he thought he had slipped by, but it seems they were sharper than expected.

"STOP!" the man yelled.

Rich, well-fashioned passengers turned regally to watch the chaos. A woman with a long light blue ponytail and a parasol gasped as he pushed past her, sending her into a wall. Chuckling lightly, Scaramouche kept running, enjoying the adrenaline.

He grabbed onto a metal structural post and used it to gain momentum when swinging around a corner. He quickly opened a random door and sprinted inside. It led to some stairs, so he ran down them without hesitation.

He instantly knew where he was. He had never been on a ship like this, but it was predictable enough: modern engineers and architects were incredibly dull and unoriginal. He soon came across some stairs, and bolted down them, taking three at a time. Once at the bottom, he knew he was in the 3rd class area.

He heard the guards were taking their time and slowing their pursuit based on their footsteps. With this excess of time, coming up soon was a barred entryway at the end of the hallway, and Scaramouche decided he would be able to pick the lock before they even reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs.

Taking a small pouch from his satchel, he rolled it open to reveal an array of rusty old picklocks. Selecting two that fit the large iron lock, he took a few seconds to pick it before a satisfying click sounded. The chains holding the barrier shut fell to the ground with a clatter, and Scaramouche slammed the gate open.

Jumping ahead, still smiling a little at the adrenaline, he quickly reached the bottom of this last set of stairs. Now at the bottom of the ship, he was trapped in sweltering heat and incredibly loud noises. Workers shoveling and transporting coal around busied themselves, not glancing twice at Scaramouche.

Suddenly, the guards appeared at the base of the stairs. Quickly flipping around the corner of a thick metal wall, he contemplated how they reached him so fast.

"Mangy stowaway," one of the guards hissed, scanning the area.

They walked straight out into the main worker area: nearly forty men clogged the passage, shoveling heavy coal into blisteringly hot furnaces that lined the whole length of the room. Scaramouche, still around the corner, watched as the guard walked further forward, not taking a glance backward to see him.

"Search the whole area. I'll continue upstairs," the guard ordered his subordinates.

"Right, Commander Artur!" the guards saluted and dispersed.

Scaramouche was in plain sight. The moment the guards turned to look behind them was the moment Scaramouche would be thrown overboard. He began scanning for an escape route. He could leave the way he came, but he expected that area to be checked soon, nonetheless it being a plain empty hallway.

Just as the commander began turning around, a hand gripped Scaramouche's upper arm and dragged him into a dark corner to his left. The commander squinted at where Scaramouche had been, swearing he saw something.

Scaramouche was pulled further to the left before he came in contact with the edge of the ship, the wall that touched directly to the ocean. Scaramouche thought that being in this dark corner of the room, behind stacks of coal and boxes, he would be safe, so he started protesting against his captor.

"In here," the person pulling him whispered.

They were between one of the burning furnaces and sweltering ship walls, and despite the dark, Scaramouche caught a glimpse of a door opening thanks to the red light of the furnaces.

Scaramouche hissed as he was pushed into a small space, colliding immediately with some kind of wooden stick and a pile of coal. The other figure squished into the space as well, and then shut the metal door.

They were silent for a moment, Scaramouche's thoughts arguing back and forth about being mad or appreciative towards his captor. Deciding on the former, he struggled to turn and face the other, preparing to start a shouting match.

He stopped when he heard footsteps outside of the small closet space they were hiding in. Staying completely silent, they waited until the guard walked away.

"This is absolutely cowardly, hiding from them! I could have taken them, without your kidnapping," Scaramouche whispered angrily.

"I literally saved you," the mystery man refuted. "They know every inch of this ship, and you were in an open space!"

"Why does it matter to you anyway?" Scaramouche hissed.

"Idiot, you think I'd just leave someone to get caught?" they sighed.

"Yes!" Scara reasoned.

"Well, I for one think that you are being rather ungrateful, if I got caught, I would have been thrown overboard," they protested.

"Then drown, I guess," Scaramouche shrugged. "Like I care. Now let go of me!"

The stranger let go of Scara's upper arm hesitantly. Instantly, Scaramouche opened the closet door and left the small space.

The stranger followed him as they peaked around the corner behind the furnace where the closet was located. Sneaking out into the dim firelight, they decided that they were in the clear. Scaramouche turned to look at his capture, and his breath caught in his throat.

White hair, heavily matted with coal dust, was pulled back tightly in a ponytail. They wore a coal shoveler's uniform: cheap tee-shirt, boots, and overalls. They were incredibly dirty, and had piercing red eyes.

"I think I have an idea," they contemplated. "They'll be after you from now on, and they'll certainly arrest or kill you if you're caught. I have an extra uniform."

"I am not disguising as a stinky, poor, dirty coal-shoveler," Scaramouche scrunched up his nose.

"Just trying to help out," they shrugged. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Like I'd tell you," Scaramouche snarled.

"You look like an Izuki, or Kuzushi... you feel like someone with a name that ends in i," they contemplated.

"And you look like an asshole," Scara hissed.

"Ohhh you must be a Brandon," they snapped their fingers, and a puff of dust floated off of them.

"Seriously? Brandon?" Scaramouche glared at the other.

"I'll think about it more later," they shrugged. "Anyway, I'm Kaedehara Kazuha, at your service."

"You don't look like someone who'd be working here," Scaramouche noted, then mentally slapped himself. Why was he starting a conversation?

"Yeah, I come from a long line of blacksmiths," Kazuha scratched the back of his head. "We were taxed too much, and we became poor, and couldn't run our business or buy food for that matter. My family died of sickness, and my one friend, Tomo, told me he had a job position that would allow him to reach America. He was in prison, just before his execution, when he told me to take it. Here I am.

"Nowadays, I just shovel coal and write poetry. I've read every book I could get my hands on, and studied literary analysis that way," he finished.

"That was tragic," Scaramouche picked at his nails. "I ran from my rich ass mom, two gangs, and an angry drug dealer all at once."

"And you called me a coward," Kazuha scoffed.

"You hopping on a boat and running from your family is a cowardly move: me escaping and fighting when possible is a strategic approach," Scaramouche reasoned.

"Sure," Kazuha turned to face a shovel leaning against an unattended furnace. "Anyway, keep on running, then. I have to get back to work."

Scaramouche didn't respond, instead he just watched as the other walked over to his shovel and picked it up with professionalism. He began heaving coal into the furnace. Scara found himself watching the other work for a while, before he realized it was way too hot in the room, and that he should probably leave anyway.

Glancing at Kazuha one last time, he turned and walked back where he had originally come from. That was quite unexpected: but it was no issue; he'd never see that man again.

—

"OVER THERE!" A security guard screeched, pointing in Scara's direction.

This time, he wasn't enjoying the escape.

The guards seemed to have found out where he slept last night, and were tracking him around the ship like a pack of police dogs. Once they found out he was sneaking into a random 3rd class person's room to hide, they raided the place and made to throw him overboard.

A game of tag isn't fun when there are over twenty taggers, who all know your exact position and layout of the area, when you're already lost in the many identical hallways.

At least five were chasing directly behind him at the moment, while he could hear another two more coming towards him. Cursing, he kept on running, slamming through the guards coming his way, who were too surprised to react.

He ran until he found a familiar staircase. He didn't hesitate, feeling a bit of hope, to jump straight down the stairs, skipping four steps at a time. Scaramouche wasn't much of a planner. He hopped into the fray, hoping the turnout would be favorable: but this time, he decided that a course of action would be favorable.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was only one place he could truly hide on the ship. The plan formed quickly in his head.

He ran down the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, a familiar locked gate coming into view. The lock had been replaced, but it was no problem for Scaramouche: Sprinting so recklessly down the stairs gained him time. Pick locking faster than ever, he nearly broke his tools before wrenching the gate open, sending the lock flying.

Aggressively, he ran down the other flight of stairs, and was met with sweltering heat and orange fire light. A few workers heard his commotion and turned to look in his direction. Scaramouche didn't care, though. He ran straight for a certain white-haired boy.

Kazuha was heaving a shovel load of heavy coal into his furnace. He was soaked in sweat and coal dust: nearly unrecognizable. When Scaramouche was about ten feet away, he glanced up and smiled at the other.

"I may or may not have pissed off that Commander Artur guy, and they've got me completely surrounded, there are at least five after me right now, and I got a price on my head," Scara explained quickly. "They'd never expect me to be able to find a disguise and hide so quickly, so-"

"Here," Kazuha held out his spare uniform to the other.

Scaramouche blinked, accepted the uniform, and then remembered he was on a time limit. Quickly, he stuffed his legs down the overall pants, despite it scrunching up the pants he was wearing. He threw on the near-perfectly white T-shirt just before the guards reached the area.

Without warning, Kazuha tossed Scaramouche a shovel, and pretended to be hard at work. Catching it, Scaramouche moved close to the other and copied his motions.

"He won't get away this time, Commander Artur!" a guard exclaimed, saluting to their commander before dashing ahead.

"He wouldn't be stupid enough to hide here again," Commander Artur muttered. "Move on, boys! And someone, get more locks on that gate!"

Sighing a breath of relief, Scaramouche watched as the guards sprinted straight past him. A minute passed, and then Kazuha stopped pretending to work and turned towards Scaramouche, smiling lightly.

"You can hide in my room tonight, if you want," he offered.

Scaramouche was about to turn down the offer, before he realized that it would be extremely beneficial. If they were indeed going to add more locks to the door, they'd never expect Scara to be down in the worker area.

"Sure," Scaramouche nodded. "What do you want in return?"

"Hmm," Kazuha looked around the room for a second. "Would you mind bringing me a new hair ribbon?"

"Huh?" Scaramouche paused.

"Mine broke a few days ago, right after I first met you, and working with my hair down is, to say the least, inefficient," Kazuha smiled cheekily, running a hand through his hair (with great struggle).

"...You don't want money? Or something expensive? Maybe a 2nd class room?" Scaramouche asked, genuinely confused.

"I did not think about that," Kazuha said. "But no, just a ribbon would be fine."

Scaramouche stared into the other's eyes for a minute, trying to figure him out. He was usually quite good at reading people, but this Kazuha was a mystery. He seemed like he carried a great sadness, but overcame it with serenity. Then again, he was peaceful, kind, and simple. Where were the negative traits?

—

Later that night, Kazuha was able to get off shift. It was around 23:30 when the two departed for Kazuha's quarters. Leading the other through incredibly small, claustrophobic hallways, he reached a metal door, identical to the many others.

"Welcome to my humble home," Kazuha opened the door for Scaramouche.

Inside was basically a boiler room. Pipes ran all around the ceiling, accompanied by a single, incredibly small window that was half underwater. It had a bunk bed without a ladder squeezed into the space, so tight that the door barely opened. A chair filled the other corner, and it was draped with clothing, like a makeshift closet.

Scaramouche pushed into the room and had to move onto the lower bunk bed so that Kazuha could enter and close the door.

"I usually sleep on the top, but you can have it if you want," Kazuha said as the door shut.

"I'm good," Scaramouche took in the room.

"Well, I start again at 5:00, so I'm going to bed," Kazuha hoisted himself onto the top bunk with upper arm strength Scara did not know he possessed.

Kazuha settled down onto his bed and slowed his breathing, hoping he'd fall asleep soon. Because he was in the top bunk, the air was much warmer, and he was sweating just laying there. It was worth it, though. The single window was visible from that bed, and Kazuha couldn't sleep if the sky wasn't visible.

Scaramouche, meanwhile, contemplated many things. Why wasn't another roommate in this bed? Why did Kazuha get five hours of sleep every night before he was called to work for 18 hours straight again? How could he seem so peaceful, knowing his life sucked? What was Kazuha's deal?

Unable to fall asleep, he sat up and walked over to the small chair in the corner. Sitting, he glanced at Kazuha, who he realized wasn't asleep, but he instead was staring out the window with a look of longing.

He was suffering in silence, Scaramouche realized. He felt a pang in his heart- then paused. No, he wasn't supposed to feel pity, not at all. Shut up, feelings. He swore to never feel anything but anger the moment he ran away from home. Why was this depressing sight, especially happening to some overworked poor stranger, making him feel sad?

"Once we're in America, we won't have to worry about heat exhaustion, sleep deprivation, and poverty," Kazuha spoke suddenly and softly, still watching the waves. "I'll be able to feel the wind and rain freely. That's what I really want, instead of money and expensive items. Just the wind."

Scaramouche looked away, staring at the door, thinking over those words. In return for Kazuha's kindness, he should probably gift him something other than a ribbon, but it seemed his wishes were impossible to grant. Nope, stop, shut up. Take advantage of his easy-to-achieve deal!

With that, Kazuha changed positions and fell asleep. Sighing, Scaramouche sat still, thinking. He doubted he'd be able to sleep.

—

"Here," Scaramouche reached out to Kazuha.

Kazuha turned, his hair fluttering into his face at the momentum, which caused a puff of a sweat-coal mixture that looked like incredibly polluted water to flick behind him. Kazuha smiled, reaching and accepting the bright red ribbon Scaramouche had found.

"How'd you get it?" Kazuha asked whilst tying his hair back.

"I stole it," Scara shrugged.

In reality, that had been his plan, but he decided that Kazuha would probably not want it that way. He instead bargained with a little 1st class girl. He told her a fairy tale he'd heard back in Europe by a German friend, and she offered him the ribbon in return. It almost felt good to get things by innocent means. Why was Kazuha making such an impact on his way of thinking? Scara didn't want to be a better person!

Kazuha frowned slightly, turning to get back to work. Damn it, now he made him mad! But he wasn't going to tell the truth: he doesn't want to admit he was actually softening up for a moment. Noooope.

Shit, but then he felt guilty. Not only was his gift just a ribbon, but now Kazuha thinks he got it by stealing. He probably j- wait. Seriously. Scaramouche can't believe it. Why was he thinking like that? He didn't form attachments and did not care about opinions.

"Would you like to feel the wind again?" Scaramouche blurted, instantly regretting it.

"Eh?" Kazuha turned around calmly, but his eyes shone.

"I could sneak you above deck," Scara played along with it, too late to back out now, loverboy.

"Really?" Kazuha was good at pretending to not be overly excited, but Scara saw right through him.

"The only condition is that you have to get cleaned up," Scaramouche shrugged. "And miss a night of sleep, meeting me at midnight next to the closet behind the furnace."

"Done and done," Kazuha smiled. "I didn't know you were actually nice."

"Hey, don't rub it in, I'll take it back! It's just a payment, of sorts, nothing important," Scaramouche looked away.

"It means a lot to me," Kazuha reassured.

Scara only looked away harder. Somehow.

Kazuha then turned and got back to work while Scaramouche just stood still, wearing his disguise and pretending to work whenever someone would glance his way.

He couldn't help but feel a bit happy inside, though. It was stupid, right? Happiness? Always disappoints- but for some reason, he felt almost grateful he could still feel emotions at all.

—

Scaramouche was completely frozen. He couldn't take his eyes away. Was Kazuha actually clean? WHAT?! And his hair glistened like platinum reflecting stars, silky and tied with his ribbon, his casual outfit (that Scara had never seen) was black and red made in fashionable Japanese style, his whole face was visible, and his eyes seemed to shine.

"I look like an actual human, now, eh?" Kazuha chuckled at Scaramouche. "Now all I really need to match you is a giant hat."

"Don't tease me," Scaramouche growled. "Be glad I'm taking you out anyway."

"Taking me out as in like trash or on a date?" Kazuha questioned innocently.

"Come on," Scaramouche turned and huffed, opening Kazuha's room's door and heading out.

Kazuha trotted behind him to keep up with the angry little man's fast pace. Eventually, when the small hallways were too complex and Kazuha almost lost the other, Scaramouche grabbed the coal shoveler's hand and dragged him towards a small, thin staircase.

This one was for emergencies, in case the workers had to escape. It was funny because the door at the top was locked from the outside, trapping them in. The only good part was that the door had only one lock, just in case they decided workers did have value and deserved saving.

Scaramouche picked it skillfully and then pulled Kazuha above deck. Immediately, Kazuha smiled widely, breathing in the salty, freezing Atlantic wind as if it was the only thing he needed to survive.

"Thank you," he whispered to Scara.

"It was worth that look on your face," Scaramouche was amused.

Kazuha blushed and started walking forward towards the edge of the boat. They were at the stern of the ship, where passengers barely went, and thus it was poorly kept. The floors were steel with thick metal bolts, and behind them loomed the taller part of the ship and the smokestacks.

Kazuha walked right up to the railing and leaned over, making Scaramouche's heart leap. He flinched forward before he realized that Kazuha had incredible balance and wouldn't fall. He tried to hide this whole ordeal by crossing his arms and looking boredly at the floor.

"It is as if I am free once again," Kazuha turned to face the other, leaning on the rail. "Really, thank you."

Scaramouche kept his cool nonchalant look.

"Stop pretending you don't care," Kazuha approached the other, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the rail. "Try to see what I see."

Scaramouche leaned over and watched the icy waves crash along the edge of the boat.

"The waves and wind are both liberated of constraints, but humans aren't. The best we can do to feel the illusion of serenity and painting of unbinding freedom is by imitating them," Kazuha said quietly.

"When did you get so poetic?" Scaramouche glared at the other.

Kazuha reached up and grabbed Scara's chin, tilting his head away from him and back down at the ocean below.

"Shut up and listen to the waves. Can't you understand why it's so important to me? Why you doing this means so much?" Kazuha smiled. "You keep putting yourself down! Appreciate yourself."

"You're not my damn therapist," Scaramouche glared at the waves.

"Not a licensed one that is," Kazuha joked. "I believe-"

"-poetry and magic and peace and rainbows and freedom and wind are true therapists!" Scaramouche mocked in an incredibly high pitch.

"I don't sound like that!" Kazuha protested.

Scara faced Kazuha, eyes filled with amusement, but still not to the point of laughter.

"Passengers aren't allowed on deck at this time," a new voice interrupted. "I can escort you to your rooms."

The two boys turned to face the guard. They soon realized it was the captain with the weird spin on the name Arthur. Kazuha took a step forward and pushed Scaramouche behind him with his left arm, while the shorter one tilted his head low so that his hat would shade his face.

"Wait- I recognize you," the commander sneered, dropping the nice act. "That one kid who tried to beat me up on the second day just so you could go above deck."

"Uh- yeah, that was my Korean cousin," Kazuha shrugged casually. "I tried to get him to calm down but he was going through some stuff."

"Hmph, well, workers aren't allowed up here," the commander approached them. "For breaking the rules, I'll have to arrest you until the boat docks, where you'll be sent to a prison in America."

"Well, we didn't know about the rules," Scaramouche piped up from behind the other. "Someone left the gate open and we just wanted to watch the waves, we apologize."

Ew, how he hated talking politely to an ugly ass damn right bitch of a guard. Meanwhile, the guard stared at them suspiciously.

"Open? How so?" he questioned.

"Picked, we suspect," Kazuha took the lead again, then pointed away from their location. "When we came up I saw an angry short man running down that way, you know, like that one you've been pursuing since we boarded."

The guard quirked an eyebrow. Glancing where Kazuha was pointing.

"Well, it seems I must head that way, then. But you're to head to the worker area IMMEDIATELY and are officially suspicious," Artur hissed, running off.

"'Angry short man'?? That's all you describe me with?" Scaramouche hissed the moment the commander ran away.

Kazuha chuckled.

"Anyway, let's go back down before we get on a second 'officially suspicious' list," Scaramouche muttered, grabbing Kazuha's hand and pulling him towards the unlocked gate.

Kazuha glanced down at their hands while the two briskly walked back to where they came. The Atlantic winds were freezing, but Kazuha felt warmer than usual. Suspecting it was probably due to the joy of feeling wind again, he brushed it aside.

—

Two days of hanging out with a disguised Scaramouche later, Kazuha had an idea. He wanted to do something for Scaramouche to expose him to other people, and what better than a worker club?

An electricity manager, Fischl, and her coal-shoveling friends, Razor and Bennett, had apparently formed a club for all other workers to hang out and socialize. Kazuha had been witness to them advertising it, and thought it would be a great idea to drag Scaramouche along.

"No, no, no," Scaramouche tried to pull away from Kazuha's coal-coated hand.

"You're coming," Kazuha insisted, dragging him with all his force.

"I don't care if the local german kids want to play poker!" Scara argued.

"But don't you care that I'll be there?" Kazuha questioned through gritted teeth, using all of his might.

Scaramouche didn't respond, so Kazuha assumed he was using all of his energy to fight against his hand. In reality, Scara was blushing at the thought of going to a party with Kazuha.

Eventually, Kazuha's blacksmith coal-shoveling upper arm strength won, and he dragged Scaramouche through the hallway. Once they made it there, Scaramouche realized it wasn't that bad. Ten to fifteen workers crowded some kind of utility closet with rainbow-themed decorations (that were stained and torn), and alcohol was smuggled in by some random red-haired guy.

"Hey, is that your boyfriend you've been talking about?" a voice said the moment Kazuha walked into the room.

"He's not my boyfriend, Venti, but yes, the same guy," Kazuha blushed lightly, and Scara did the same.

"Shame," they shrugged. "My boyfriend's waiting for me-"

"-In New York with a fancy police department job, YES, WE KNOW," yet another stranger, this one with a dirty blond braid, walked up and bonked Venti's head. "I'm starting to suspect your perfect lovable agreeable adorable rich athletic shorter-than-you Chinese boyfriend doesn't exist at all."

"You only just realized?" another worker, a tall one with a long brown ponytail, from a random corner snorted.

"Shut up, Aether! He does exist! And you're not helping, Mr.IAlsoHaveARichBoyfriendInAmerica," Venti sneered.

"Yeah his hot Russian boyfriend probably doesn't exist either. How do you score so rich when you lost all your money gambling against Yelan, and were forced to work as a supply-manager on a crusty old ship?" another new person, a girl with walnut-colored hair, laughed.

A lady in the back, who was dressed in very elite-looking blue and black themed clothing, as if she was 1st class, chuckled. She must've be Yelan?

"Hu Tao, I'll have you know you're in the exact same position as me," Yelan(?) reasoned.

"Except I'm the head supply-manager," Hu Tao pointed out. "And I don't gamble with random rich girls who think she can be as cool as us workers!"

"Can I leave now?" Scaramouche asked, feeling very excluded.

"You didn't even have a drink yet," Venti turned back towards Kazuha. "Plus, I need to introduce you to the event managers! Fischl, get over here, you genius!"

A girl dressed in the uniform for electricity managers strutted over, two coal-shovelers following behind. The girl looked like she could be rich, but clearly something went wrong in her life. She appeared to be rather snooty.

Scaramouche turned and left the room.

"Get back here," Kazuha pulled him in by the collar.

After about thirty minutes, Scara was introduced to everyone, and ended up sitting next to Kazuha on a barrel, each holding a beer.

"Why would a fancy worker like Diluc even come down here?" Scaramouche took a sip of his beer. "Elite workers like him get their own parties two floors above us."

"He knows we're cooler," Kazuha shrugged, downing another glass and asking for another.

"Aren't you drinking a bit much?" Scara asked.

"Concerned, are we?" Kazuha chuckled, downing a shot and taking a sip from something else.

"No," Scaramouche denied, blushing slightly.

"Don't worry: when I get drunk, I just pass out," Kazuha shrugged.

"That means I have to drag you to your room," Scara sighed, setting his glass on the floor.

"That's kind of kinky," Venti whispered.

"When did you get here?" Scara jumped slightly.

"This room is as small as a bathroom, I could hear your murmuring from over there," Venti laughed, clearly drunk.

"Go awa-" Scara was pushed off of the barrel before he could finish.

Kazuha had completely passed out against Scaramouche, and his sudden weight pushed the other onto the floor.

"Hah, now you've seen him do everything. Get drunk, hold your hand, work, sleep," Venti noted. "Sounds a bit-"

"Would you shut up?" Scaramouche hissed, standing and hoisting Kazuha up.

Venti put his hands in the air and turned away, eyes wide as if saying: 'Jeez, calm down, man!'. Meanwhile, Scaramouche heaved Kazuha to his feet, wrapped an arm around the other's waist while simultaneously forcing Kazuha's arm around his shoulders, and started walking out.

It took a while to reach the other's room. With the tight, incredibly hot hallways and heavy hair, it was more of an effort than Scara imagined. Luckily, Kazuha weighed nothing: enough so that Scaramouche found himself concerned for how light Kazuha was.

Once he dumped Kazuha on the bottom bunk, Scaramouche climbed to where Kazuha usually slept and slammed his head into the mattress (no pillow provided).

Venti was right. Scaramouche had seen Kazuha do many things a normal friend might not have: he had even lived in his room, brought him home drunk, nearly got arrested with him, held his hand- and now, technically, he was even sleeping in his bed. The whole idea made Scaramouche heat up enough that he could power a hot air balloon.

Why did he feel this way? After forsaking feelings for so long, why did they suddenly come back? Why did he feel that he needed to keep Kazuha safe, and he was self-conscious around the taller, as well? He'd never found himself checking to make sure his hair was right, or his clothes were clean, for anybody else's sake.

And yet he found himself paying attention to how he looked and acted, and started caring about Kazuha's impression of him. It wasn't natural, or right, but for some reason, he wanted to be a better person, just for Kazuha.

Scaramouche raised both of his hands to the back of his head and gripped his hair in frustration, his face still red. Why was this happening?

—

The journey to America was supposed to take two weeks. Unfortunately, the ship got an SOS signal on the Morse Code device, and the whole vessel turned basically completely around to see what was up.

The call had taken three days to reach due to the large boat's speed, and when they got there, apparently another ship had already rescued the passengers from some kind of fire. The captain of their ship had to make arrangements and organize a report for the company she belonged to, so that took a few more days.

Captain Yae herself even addressed all ship members about the situation: she said that due to the wasted fuel, the ship will be traveling slower now. Scaramouche eavesdropped and brought the news to Kazuha, who was oblivious to it all in the basement, slaving away shoveling coal.

"So basically I was already forced to spend an extra few days with you, and now we're two more days after arranging reports, and three more days to get back on track, plus an estimated additional week and a half wasted to conserve fuel," Scaramouche reported.

Kazuha leaned against the side of his bunk bed.

Lately, the two had become quite close. Scaramouche brought Kazuha on deck twice more since the first incident, and Kazuha in return told Scaramouche all about how to forge a blade, and how he'd make one for the other once they reached America, even though swords were basically useless in this time of industry.

"Well, I don't mind," Kazuha shrugged. "Slow speed means that we have to shovel less, and slower at that. I'll probably get hours more of free time to spend with you."

Scara blushed lightly, then mentally kicked himself. He was sitting on the lower bunk bed, looking up at Kazuha, who was leaning casually against a support post.

"I was thinking I could take you above deck again: the guards have been distracted recently after some of the waiters started a strike, plus you'll have more free hours, so..." Scara mentioned.

"You don't have to make up excuses to hang out with me," Kazuha smiled lightly. "I'd hang out with you regardless."

"I'm not making excuses!" Scaramouche insisted.

"Sure," Kazuha laughed.

"But thanks, I guess," Scara sighed. "Spending time with you has probably become the only thing I look forward to on this long ass boat ride."

It was Kazuha's turn to blush, turning away to face the wall where the chair-made-closet resided. Scaramouche stood up and walked towards the door, beckoning Kazuha to come.

"Might as well go now," Scara said.

Kazuha pushed himself off of the post and followed Scaramouche out into the hallway. Kazuha grabbed Scara's hand, which hung loosely behind him. It had become a sort of tradition: On the first night, Scaramouche had grabbed Kazuha's hand and pulled him up above deck, and he kept doing the same ever since, even though Kazuha memorized the way.

The lock on the worker escape staircase was still not replaced. The guards seemed to have forgotten about it, or even maybe didn't know the staircase existed at all. It was nothing bad for our little duo, however.

The two raced up the stairs and ran straight for the railing. Kazuha crashed into it first, bracing himself with his free arm to keep the impact at bay.

"I won," Kazuha smiled.

"It's only because you're such a coward and run away all of your life," Scaramouche mentioned, rubbing his shoulder after having been pulled to the railing.

"Says you," Kazuha rolled his eyes. "I only started running after Tomo died: that was a month-ish ago. You said you've been running for at least five years."

"Not running, escaping," Scara corrected.

"Sure," Kazuha teased. "And I'm a passenger, not a worker."

Scaramouche glared at the other, although he was admittedly amused. Kazuha chuckled lightly, turning to stare out at the ocean.

"Now that the boat is moving so slow, the waves seem so much calmer," Kazuha noted.

"I guess," the other shrugged.

"Once again, no respect for the beauty of nature! Once we're in New York, I'm taking you to central park, and forcing you to hug a tree," Kazuha argued.

Once we're in New York Scara's brain repeated the works. We. Does this mean that Kazuha intended to remain friends with Scaramouche after reaching the new world? He wanted to arrive in New York with Scara, not by himself?

The two stood still for a while, contemplating their own thoughts individually.

They had never let go of each other's hands, which was unusual for them, but neither protested. Kazuha glanced over at Scaramouche, watching the moonlight reflect in his purple-blue eyes. Scaramouche seemed to have the same idea, and turned to glance at Kazuha.

They caught the other's gaze and stared at each other. Neither made to move or change anything: they just stood there, the waves below them forgotten. Suddenly, Kazuha lifted a hand. It was hesitant and careful, like he was asking Scaramouche if it was okay. Scara didn't flinch when Kazuha grazed his fingers over Scara's chin.

Suddenly, Scaramouche was yanked away from Kazuha, his hands brought behind his back. In an instant, Scaramouche was handcuffed and in custody of the guards. The commander walked up to Kazuha casually, while his men tried to manage a writhing short man.

"Thanks for luring him out," Artur nodded formally.

He handed Kazuha twenty American dollars, and then turned to leave.

"W-wait," Kazuha protested, following the guards.

Scaramouche, who had been protesting intensely, shut up the moment the commander handed money to Kazuha. He felt anger bubble up inside of him. The one person he'd learned to trust in all of his time, had betrayed him?

"Arrest me too! I'm above deck," Kazuha insisted, forcing the money into the commander's chest. "I don't want this, I didn't do anything!"

"You coward," Scaramouche seethed.

Kazuha turned, clearly panic-stricken, as Scara glared into the other's soul. Kazuha felt his heart break: he didn't turn Scaramouche in. What was happening?

"We acknowledge you are above deck, but it was for a good cause. Ridding this world of disgusting illegal vermin is an honor. Plus, we need all of our workers on duty," Commander Artur gave the money back to Kazuha.

Near tears, Kazuha watched in astonishment as the guards dragged Scaramouche towards the center of the boat, where they pushed him through a door. Kazuha was completely shocked, unable to make himself move, even after all of the guards had left.

Now what? Was he supposed to just go back to work? Scaramouche was the only person who was interesting on this boat, and seemed willing to become his friend. Kazuha was usually a neutral person, but he couldn't let this slide. The idea of Scaramouche thinking it was betrayal sickened him and splintered his heart.

But what could he do?

—

Scaramouche was thrown into a makeshift cell: it was an empty pantry, all of the food had been used up while the chefs turned to work with another, and the space was perfect for holding someone. No windows, just metal shelves, and a barred gate.

Scaramouche had been in the cell for about two hours now, and his anger had faded into disgust and sadness. This is why he said he'd never feel emotions again! This is what happens! The one good thing in his life brought him the most pain. He wasn't used to feeling so sad and alone.

He leaned against the only flat wall in the room, arms wrapped around his legs while he leaned his head into his knees. He was trying his best to figure out his emotions. He was, above all, pissed. He wanted revenge. He wanted answers. But deep down, he was also sad. It was a rare and unusual sensation for him.

"Scaramouche," a hushed voice called.

Scara raised his head a little, just so that his eyes were peaking over his knees. He was shocked to see Kazuha standing outside of the pantry.

Standing, Scaramouche marched straight towards the door, anger, sadness, and pain building up inside of him. The moment he reached the bars, he stuck his hand through the opening in the metal and slapped Kazuha straight across the face.

Kazuha doubled back, lifting a hand to feel where he'd been hit. Scaramouche had let the angry side of him win, and his impulses took over. Still, the sadness left him feeling a bit regretful.

"You absolute COWARD!" Scaramouche's voice was filled with rage.

"Scara, be quiet, listen!" Kazuha insisted. "Please let me explain, don't let us end like this."

Scaramouche was taken aback. He let go of the bars and stood a foot away from them, staring as Kazuha recovered. He can't believe he was even considering letting the other explain himself, but he'd become different over the past week, and he honestly didn't want to let Kazuha go. He wanted to find a way to forgive him and make him stay.

"Fine," Scara grumbled, his anger lowering.

"I didn't want to turn you in, I didn't know it was happening," Kazuha spoke passionately. "They set it up to make you mad! I'm serious, Scaramouche, I'd never do that to you! You mean a lot to me. I'm not joking. I swear, I didn't intend any of this."

Scaramouche looked at the ground, thinking over the other's words. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his cheek. He looked up to see Kazuha reaching through the bars, his expression desperate yet with an air of seriousness.

"I'll get you out," Kazuha insisted.

Scaramouche took a second to think before nodding lightly. His anger was more of a vibrating sensation now, and the deep, foreign sadness took control. The intense emotional shift shook Scara. Kazuha brought his thumb up to wipe Scara's wetting eyes (What? When did that happen?), and Scaramouche didn't protest.

"I'll get you out," Kazuha repeated.

Just like that, Kazuha turned and left, leaving Scaramouche alone.

—

Kazuha peered around the corner.

He'd waited until the next day, when a storm had been expected to hit. He waited and waited until the winds and rain escalated, and he watched as a small army of guards took off running outside to help passengers get inside.

Glancing as the last guard in the area left, he slipped through the hallway.

Heading into the room that the pantry was built off of, he was caught by surprise. A tall, burly man stood facing away from the entry, staring at Scaramouche. Quickly, Kazuha grabbed a small dagger he'd nicked from Scaramouche's stuff he'd left in his room, and leapt at the man.

Immediately, the commander started fighting back. He was three feet taller than Kazuha, and about three times buffer, but Kazuha was quick. He thrust the knife into the commander's leg, causing him to gasp in pain. Dashing in and out of the way, he snatched Artur's gun, and then held it to the other's head. Commander Artur froze, and slowly lifted his hands into the air.

For the fun of it, Kazuha kicked him where the sun don't shine. That was probably Scaramouche's influence.

Slamming the blunt end of the flintlock into the commander's head, he drew blood. He was too weak to knock the other out in one hit, so he did it again until the taller was dizzy, and then searched the room. Finding a first-aid kit, he dug through it quickly and took out a large roll of medical wrap.

Tightly tying up the commander with it, he finished the wrap off with a sailor's knot he'd learned back in Europe that was meant to hold cargo ships to the dock. It would certainly be strong enough to hold the Artur.

Thunder crashed overhead. Being above deck, the pounding of rain sounded like bullets pelting all around him. Kazuha quickly yanked the keys from Artur's belt.

Running into the room, he spotted Scara's pantry, and readied the keys, then he paused. Scaramouche was on the floor, sitting in fetal position. He had no clear emotion on his face: he was staring at the ground, non-blinking.

Suddenly, lightning struck again, and Scaramouche's whole body flinched aggressively. He buried his head in his knees. Kazuha noticed a few bruises along his arms.

Knowing that something was wrong with the other, Kazuha upped his urgency. Below deck, the sound of lightning would be faint, and the waves crashing against the ship would drown out the rain. Hopefully, if he could bring Scaramouche to his room in time, he wouldn't have to suffer from what clearly was the thunder.

After trying all of the keys, he burst into the room and grabbed Scaramouche. Holding him like Scara did when bringing Kazuha to his room after passing out drunk, Kazuha began bringing Scaramouche to the one open staircase. Then he realized that was outside, and decided that was stupid.

Bringing Scara down two flights of stairs, he came across a barred door with three strong locks holding it shut.

"Scara, I need you to open these," Kazuha said.

Scaramouche, who'd been getting better after the rain was muffled, reached for his hidden roll of pick locking tools he stored on the inside of his belt. He flinched when he moved his arm too fast, and slowly messed around with the locks. After finished, Kazuha walked him down to the furnace area.

Once in Kazuha's room, the lightning was muffled, just as predicted. The waves crashing against the side of the boat seemed to have less of an effect on Scaramouche, who seemed to flinch less and regain his senses.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Kazuha asked, allowing Scaramouche to sit on the bottom bunk while he closed the door.

Scaramouche looked up at Kazuha ashamedly. He looked guilty.

"I'm stupid," Scaramouche muttered.

"No, no you're not," Kazuha kneeled on the floor in front of the shorter. "What's wrong?"

"It's stupid," Scaramouche said. "I'm weak."

Kazuha slapped Scaramouche across the face.

"One, that's payback. Two, stop lying to yourself: you're brilliant. Three, what's wrong?" Kazuha asked.

"I'm afraid," Scaramouche looked away like he'd committed a serious crime. "It's dumb. I'm afraid of lightning. It was my mom. She thought she'd toughen me up and sent me on a fishing boat in the middle of a storm.

"I thought I was going to die. I was eight years old, alone, and when the lightning struck, I couldn't do anything about it. She called me stupid after that. She said being afraid of something like this is for weaklings, and she was right," Scara explained.

"Scaramouche, you idiot," Kazuha chuckled to ease the tension. "It's not stupid. Everybody is afraid of something. Vulnerability is important and good. Without it, humanity is far out of reach."

Scara sighed, and Kazuha moved so sit beside him on the bed. Closer now, Kazuha got a good look at the bruises decorating his arms.

"They said I was a rat and beat me up," Scaramouche explained, watching Kazuha glance over his arms.

Kazuha, without hesitation, leaned to his left and wrapped his arms around the other in a loose hug so as not to harm him. Scaramouche was surprised, but leaned into the other after a second.

"You're still trying to be my therapist," Scaramouche mumbled into Kazuha's shoulder.

Kazuha laughed, letting go of Scara.

The two sat still for a moment, both their legs hanging over the edge of the mattress. Kazuha's kind and welcoming eyes comforted Scaramouche, while the fact that Scaramouche was slowly returning to normal made Kazuha feel warm inside.

They spent ten minutes like that. Enjoying the silence. Kazuha seemed to be lost in thought, staring somewhere behind Scaramouche, while Scara's only focus was Kazuha. Slowly, Kazuha returned back to reality, and looked down at Scara's hand, which was resting beside him on the bed. Scara had been focusing on this fact for a while now.

Scaramouche made to reach for the other's hand, but hesitated. Slowly, he retracted his reach. Before he could take his hand back fully, though, Kazuha laced his fingers with Scara's.

"Coward," Kazuha chuckled, leaning in.

Kazuha's lips connected with his, and Scaramouche couldn't say he even tried to protest. It was incredibly short, and Scara didn't even get a chance to kiss back by the time Kazuha pulled away. The two were blushing, but Kazuha had an amused look on his face.

Scaramouche looked away, staring straight ahead. He'd finally peeled his eyes off of the other for the first time in a few long minutes. Slowly, he leaned into Kazuha, and rested his head on the other's shoulder.

Kazuha took his left arm and wrapped it around Scara's middle again, but this time it was different: More of a possessive yet comforting hold. It was firmer and less of a quick-feeling moment. It felt right. Like Kazuha was always there, just to hold Scaramouche.

"You know, when I made to escape Europe, I expected a peaceful boat ride of sleeping in random empty rooms and stealing gourmet food from waitresses," Scaramouche mumbled to break the silence. "Look what you've done."

Kazuha chuckled with an air of amusement and admiration.

"To think you always point out the negatives," Kazuha replied. "Didn't anything good happen?"

"Mmm- no," Scara smiled lightly.

"So once we're in New York, you'll ditch me and never regret it?" Kazuha prompted.

"Precisely," Scaramouche nodded.

"You won't miss anything?" Kazuha was smiling now too.

"I can't think of anything worthwhile," Scaramouche teased.

"Not even this?"

Scaramouche turned to look at Kazuha, and Kazuha immediately bent down for another kiss. This time it lasted longer, and he gave Scara a chance to kiss back. Scaramouche turned to fully face Kazuha, who had wrapped his other arm around the wanderer. After a minute, they broke apart.

"...I might miss it a little," Scaramouche concluded.

Kazuha leaned forward and touched Scara's nose with his own. Scaramouche contemplated how lucky he was. How did a jerk like him manage to fall in love, and be loved back, by a man like Kazuha?

He knew he'd always miss all of this, despite the fact that he was planning on bringing Kazuha with him on all of his journeys through the new world. He was already missing it, right now, sitting in Kazuha's arms.

—

Running wasn't something that Scaramouche was too fond of. Or 'escaping', as he'd put it. He had tried to stop for a while: but there had been nowhere to hide permanently, and nobody to trust undoubtedly.

Running always seemed like the better option- but now, finding safety with Kazuha as their ship docked on the shores of America's eastern coast, he felt that he could finally satisfy his goal to stop. He could find sanctuary here, the future opening in front of him with someone he could trust.

Scara watched as Kazuha took a deep breath, letting the freezing wind tangle up his hair with a peaceful look on his face.

"Remember when I said that we can't be free, unlike the wind?" Kazuha mentioned.

"Yeah?" Scaramouche nodded, as that night was perfectly embedded into his mind. "Except you said it more poetically and cryptically. Illusions of peace and whatnot."

"Well, I was thinking, maybe wind isn't freedom," Kazuha continued. "Maybe love is."

"Don't get all sappy on me," Scaramouche chuckled.

"Well, I don't care if it's sappy," Kazuha turned to face the other. "It's true. I've never felt as free as I do when I'm with you."

"Ew, it even rhymed," Scara mocked, hiding a blush.

Kazuha chuckled, staring fondly at the irritated other.

Yeah, he's decided. Love is freedom.