Chapter Text
It is just as fireflies know when it is time to die, the sun knows when to set, too. Sons know when to stop talking about their days. At least, Kaeya thinks so. Neither of his families stayed long enough to watch him bloom. So the sky is no home, the depths are no heaven, his room rots into hell. Who scrambles nostalgia into their messy memories when dark falls? Under the collarbones the chest is a widow’s jewelry box. Kaeya clenches his jaw. Counts the seconds between the rises of Albedo’s chest. They trample on grass, they knock on the stone bridge. Make it to Mondstadt before the knights lower the iron gate so that the city can bite down.
“Captains!” The guards greet, hands over their chests. Then down.
“Swan,” Kaeya greets, then, “Lawrence.” It is colder now. Albedo says nothing, nods calmly in greeting. Still not enough to breathe. They walk in, turn away from the Adventurers Guild’s table, away from the stairs. In front of the stables, Albedo cautiously gets down from the horse, and still lands awkwardly on his ankles.
It is second nature for Kaeya to watch. He teaches the knights to ride after all, pick the brightest for his cavalry. “Are you okay?” He asks. Muscles mashed like potatoes, minced like promises. Albedo’s head whips up, confused.
“Yes?” He answers. “Why do you ask?” How silly, Kaeya forgot.
“Never mind.” He tells the man that is more than one, swings one leg over, rest of himself down. Quiet air dribbles over them, dabs its eyes on their shoulders. Albedo decides to let him off this once. He hands the reins of the mare to Kaeya, calm as a daisy.
“I have some boring things to attend to,” He says. “Sadly, they’re not boring enough to drag you with me.” Kaeya bites his tongue not to yawn.
“I can’t begin to describe my disappointment.” He drawls, wondering where deserts hide when it rains. Perhaps Diluc knows. Albedo gives him yet another bright grin. Maybe he knows, too.
“I’m sorry,” He coos. “I will torture you another time. Be in my workshop at midnight?”
“Midnight?” Kaeya’s temples are tight, heavy where they hang. He should lay them down. “I’m so excited to make lavender oil,” He says dryly, craning his neck left and right. “I don’t know how will I wait.” At that, Albedo snorts, eyes shining even in the dawning dark blue after dusk. How odd.
“It’s not too long,” He hums as if he ate something sweet. “I’m sure you can find somewhere to be for a few hours. You can rest, perhaps.”
“I will.” Kaeya lies. And when Albedo turns and leaves, he decides to walk the horses. Remove the saddles and bridles, check for sores, bathe, and pick the hooves of both of them himself. No matter how the stableman will object, surely. No, despite it. Despite the headache he’s nursing into a splitting thunder. He can’t rest. The thought of going to his quiet home, overcooked now after a day of sun makes him want to swallow half of the world and choke on the rest. He’ll stay until all after ride care is done. Then he will stay some more. It’s a good plan, one might say. As he holds both reins in one hand, he thinks he had better plans, surely.
It takes him only an hour. Even with the stableman’s frown at his job being done by another. Afterwards, he is free, sadly, to go home. He walks to the headquarters instead.
“Captain.” Athos greets, and Kaeya thinks maybe they say that word too much.
“Evening gentlemen,” He tells both guards. “Has Jean left yet?”
“No, Sir.” Good. At least that.
Jean is inside her office, behind the too big desk, on the too tall chair. She held her bangs back with something. Two boxes lay dead in front of her. There is no air to come from the open windows.
“Kaeya,” She says, ever calm, never tired. “Come in.”
“Should I ask why you’re still here?” Kaeya says, closing the door behind himself.
Jean looks down, green eyes on the desk, unseeing and unguarded. It is always an honor to see the woman she is when the Lionfang Knight sleeps.
“I’ve had enough dinners listening to my father this week.” She chuckles. Out of nowhere, Kaeya remembers how he ran back to the winery and brought one from his shorts and shirts and rushed back that morning years and years ago. Jean was crying then, she did it very rarely even as kids. No more climbing trees, her father had said, you are older now, you can’t climb with dresses on. Once Jean wiped the tears off her cheeks, and changed out of the dress, they raced to see who climbed to the top first. Kaeya won. He didn’t know to take it easy back then. Each race was the one. The most glorious. He wonders if they raced now, who would win? Is Jean the better runner?
“Ah,” He says. “Isn’t he planning to re-marry?”
Jean laughs, looking up as Kaeya sits on the desk. “I wish,” She says, then stops. “Wait, no, not before me.”
“Noted,” Kaeya hums, acting as if he is dipping a quilt into ink, scribbling on his palm as he mumbles: “Jean wants to get married. Tell Lisa soon.”
“Kaeya!” She huffs. Smacks his arm back handed. Years of swords, shields, secrets, swirling games in politics and power dangles from her fingers. It still hurts, even if she wouldn’t ever mean it. “Don’t you dare tell her anything about me.”
“And watch you hesitate for another year?”
“I don’t hesitate,” Jean says. “I just move when I’m certain.”
“So you stall?”
“You’re awfully chatty this evening,” What do waves tell the sea of rivers, where do souls go when the hearts are broken? Jean doesn’t slouch even when it’s just them two. Even when Kaeya dangles his feet over the stupid red carpet. She has a smile that folds the scar on her cheek. The pink of once ripped apart flesh is forgiven under August’s wings. “But it doesn’t end well when you try and meddle in my love life, remember?”
Of course Kaeya remembers. More than anyone else. They were fourteen, he had thought it would be great to tell Jean and her crush both that the river has spirits that come out after sundown.
“As if you ever let me forget.”
“She didn’t show up, Kaeya,” Jean says, as whiny as she had been back then. “You scared her.”
“I did you a favor,” Kaeya says, leaning his weight back on his palms on the desk, twisting his spine. “Who gets scared of river spirits? All thanks to me, we learned that she was too boring for you.”
“Remember how Diluc pouted? Because you didn’t tell him about the spirits?”
“Oh you should have seen him at home. He acted like he couldn’t hear me for days.”
Twine and thyme, valor isn’t only armored shoulder’s to carry. Jean laughs, loud. Like a staircase, every chuckle rising higher than the other. Like his friend. Has anyone in the order heard this before, Kaeya wonders. Slowly, silence slithers between them. Until Kaeya can hear his headache again. Jean doesn’t find something to say. She doesn’t have to. The diplomats need their ears filled all the time, some subordinates need every step spelled out. Kaeya closes his eyes. And acts like Jean isn’t watching his face. She will ask soon. There’s a nudge on his leg.
“Which one?” Jean asks. It isn’t the question he expects, but the boxes are now open and empty. In both of her held up hands dangle necklaces. Thin, delicate chain holding preciously cut, sanded, shined rocks. Both are swirling blue, shining as they move.
“For you?” Kaeya asks, leaning closer to hold the one on the left.
“For Barbara.” She hums. Kaeya drops the one in his hand, takes the other to see.
“This one.” He says after a while.
“I thought so too,” Putting both back into the boxes, she keeps the chosen one on the desk. Tosses the other into a drawer. “She loves blue a lot, I think.”
“She’s going to love it anyway because it’s from you.”
“Still,” She blinks, turning to meet his eye again. “Was the other one better after all?”
The door is knocked. Jean yanks off the hair tie holding her bangs back. Kaeya notices too late, it was a Dodoco hair tie Klee gifted her. He is exhausted now, it is another thing he will have to tease her about later. At least that.
“Come in.” She allows. In walks Noelle, a plate in her hands, a smile on her face. Her nose is sunburnt, hair even lighter at the ends because of all the time she spent outside. Every summer, Kaeya thinks with pride, Noelle looks stronger. Every birthday, the claymores fit her hand easier. If it weren’t for Varka, he’d get her in the cavalry forces.
“Oh,” The girl breathes, needlessly bowing her knees. “I wasn’t aware Sir Kaeya is here. I brought watermelons for Master Jean.” Warm steel settles on her face, as determined as dawn. “I’ll come back with more right away.”
“No need,” Kaeya says, getting off the desk. “We’ll share.”
“But,” Noelle starts, only for Jean, bangs a mess, interrupt:
“There really is no need, Noelle. Did you get yourself some?”
“Not yet.”
“Please do that instead.”
A smile, a bowed head. Noelle bids goodbye after putting the plate on the wood and doesn’t insist. At least that. Kaeya eats with Jean, asks if she wants to see who can spit the seeds furthest. She says it’s her, obviously, but the carpeted room is no place to prove that. Kaeya calls her a coward for it. Justifiably. They settle the matter with a round of arm wrestling, plate empty, hands sticky with what is left of the watermelon. It’s like they’re kids for five minutes again. Jean wins.
“You shouldn’t start duels you can’t win.” She taunts, cheeks pulled up in victorious glee. Kaeya huffs.
“Today isn’t my day, is all,” He shakes his hand. Jean is a force when she wants to be. “Aren’t you going to ask where I was all day?” Quiet air sizzles in the room like hopeless dinners cooked for one near midnight. Useless, untold. Jean’s smile dims like a candle at the end of itself, solely a puddle at fate’s feet.
“I don’t have to, because you returned safely,” She says. Every word slow, cautious in the way bridges are. “Do you want me to ask, Kaeya?”
“No.” Answers are weed. They sprout out of his mouth before Kaeya can pull them back. “Albedo was with me. So don’t ask him, either.” Is there anything as heavy as a heart that knows how to love in pieces? There aren’t enough caves in the entire land to hide how a friend worries another. Jean’s lips press tightly closed, thunders grow old in her eyes.
“Alright,” She amends. Perhaps this is the voice she talks to stray cats as well. “If there is any trouble you’re in,”
“No, Jean.”
She doesn’t let him chew the words stale.
“If there is anything troubling you,” Jean says again. Not louder. She is far too good of a leader to need that. But it is sharper. “I won’t sit and wait until it actually harms you. Okay?”
“It’s nothing,” Kaeya says, and tells himself to be ashamed of how easy he does it later. “Really, what can hurt me?”
“A lot of things,” Comes Jean’s answer. Too quick, too tense. Kaeya looks away, out of the windows to the people lighting the lanterns in the street. Silence beats like a fickle pulse between them. Once, twice. Or is it a small drum? Kaeya’s head aches too much to decide. “I won’t let them, of course.” She adds, soft and silken, safe and sound. Is there anything better than a friend’s heart in one’s palm, Kaeya wonders.
“I know you won’t,” He says, turns to give a crooked smile. “That’s why I get to wander off as I please.” Jean smiles too, tired in her own ways, now the dark well and truly settled. And if she wants to stay, she will have to light candles.
“Do you need a day off?”
Kaeya walks backwards to the door, keeps his eye on Jean. “Don’t we have to do a counting in the library tomorrow? There is no way I’ll miss the chance to embarrass you and Lisa both at one go.” At that, Jean gasps.
“You will do no such thing.” She says as she springs up from her seat. At least that.
Midnight takes its time to walk down the celestial stairs. Kaeya has to bribe it with an ice cold bath, has to taunt it saying he knows what it hides. He counts his breaths, sitting in the wooden tub after tossing his vision in. Practical blasphemy. He’ll be forgiven, he has been punished for less, after all. Still, the hours are snails. His headache grows panicked. Seems fate is a camel, all Kaeya regrets becoming sways on its hunched back. Fate has a lot to grin tonight. On accident, polished with his stupidity, Kaeya dozes off on his bed after the bath. Wakes up with his tongue sticky as honeysuckle flowers dangling in arches. It’s closer to midnight then it was before, he tells himself. At least that.
Outside waits a spider’s dream. Didn’t I tell you, it asks, there is no time better to die than the present. Kaeya tells himself he doesn’t hear it. It is finally time, so he tells himself there is no particular reason he takes the back streets no one takes at these hours. Tells himself he stands in front of the bakery purely by chance. He still has his pride, even as his head splits. The baker is a man whose stomach enters rooms before him. Because how else will he know how well he kneaded the doughs? The baker is a man who stays late on nights he suspects he will argue with his wife. Fate chews on chains, huffs: Fine. Have this one. The man sits outside his shop. Smokes from a pipe as his lantern flickers on the table he leans one arm on. He notices Kaeya only when he stands right across him.
“Ah!” He says, huffs out acrid smoke. “Sir Kaeya. Did those old spoons come nag you about shouting again? I wasn’t home the entire day, I swear.” How cruel exhaustion is. The sun and heat really took a toll on him today. Kaeya almost asks him why he stays with someone he wakes up neighbors having screaming matches with. Almost. He still has his head on his shoulders.
“No, no, nothing like that,” He says, looking at the lantern on the table for a second. Wishes a wind would blow and drag the pipe’s smoke away. “Just some late night craving. Got anything sweet?”
Perhaps some foxes check the traps they avoided twice. One for survival, one for satisfaction. Kaeya is a hammer instead. He fears when he comes down, there will be cracks under him. But the knights at the door of the headquarters greet him, so he greets back. Working hard in this heat, they ask. A man has to do, what he needs to do, Kaeya says. How embarrassing. His words, usually a velvet scarf around swan necks, fail him. He talks simple and short. Imagines he opens his mouth and dumps his teeth out like an old lady overturning her handmade pouch, laying the few mora in front of the merchant. The cloth, so carefully tied around a halfway stale delicacy swings in his hand. Shadows elbow him, giggle. Kaeya thinks of the first nights he had in Dawn Winery. How terrifying that owl statue was when the sun bid goodbye, and the maids blew candless off, killed lanterns. The windows bathe him in hazy lights as he walks. Kaeya realizes, as his thighs groan with the stairs he walks down, that he never visited the alchemist’s’ workshop before. Then he imagines taking out his gut and tying pink knots in it. Imagines saying: I’ve licked the sharp edge of enough swords already. I am no one’s home. But fate has its many eyes on him. He knocks on the door when he reaches it.
Albedo is in simple clothes. A linen, light blue shirt. Dyed with the last sigh of blue hyacinths boiled as sacrifice, most probably. A short that ends above his knees. How cruel. How unfair. There are no bruises, no bug bites on his legs.
“Welcome, Kaeya.” He says, smiling already. He turns and walks inside the room, leaving Kaeya to squint at the sudden brightness. “Close the door after you. Were you able to rest at all?” The room is messy, feels messier when Kaeya steps inside and shuts his only way out closed. There are tables, two, three of them. Two chairs looking like they didn’t exist until his visit. Shelves divide the walls in unequal pieces. Kaeya walks in, eyeing the jars, ducking under the dried flowers hanging from the ceiling.
“Not really,” He replies, approaching a table to put down what he brought. He steps over open books sprawled on the floor. Has to push the open notebooks on the table to make space. “My head is killing me.” He adds. Acts as if he didn’t notice the hastily scrawled Khaenri’ahn on one of the bared pages. An abundance of glass snores inside the workshop. In a basket waits scrolls and sheets of paper. In a corner, the lavenders sit on the blue cloth they carried them in. Albedo walks close. Neatly avoiding the fabric horse, cat, and dodoco dolls on the floor.
“Do you need anything for the ache?” He asks. His face is untouched by the day, as if Kaeya tore apart a ruin guard and talked to himself all alone. His tongue is a snake, asleep deep in its den. It doesn’t want to move.
“No.” He says. And then, for a terribly quiet second, has nothing else to add. Albedo watches him, clear blue clouding with worry. “Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep it off with the lavenders.”
“I hope so too,” Comes the answer. Too quick. Too genuine. How dare you have hopes for my well being, Kaeya thinks. Then laughs at himself on the inside for it. How odd it is to be this spent. “What’s that?” Albedo asks, eyes on what Kaeya put on the table. He seems to have dropped his formal politeness outside the door. Kaeya tells himself it is because maybe chalk is tired too, and lies to himself that there is no way it is because the comfort nestling itself a home between them.
“A humble offering,” Kaeya says, undoing the cloth, revealing the honey peach pie luckily no one bought the entire day. “From this mere mortal to the o’ miraculous one, the second step of the magnificent magnum opus.” How odd. It flows out from between his lips as easy as ponds send mosquitoes out into the world in summer. Albedo’s face lights up like a desperate fire: All of a sudden. He laughs, looking away for a second. Kaeya wonders, through the steel fingers jabbing at his temples, did anyone get to see Albedo shy before.
“You didn’t have to,” He says, his smile all the way up smudged under his eyes. “I was only joking about bringing a gift.” A rusted elbow, a heart filled with ire. Valleys and vermin exist in the same world, after all. Who decides what blooms into flowers, and what rots as foes? Kaeya’s heart is a drum. But his ears are deep in water.
“I will quote what a genius man said to me today,” He says, and his wrists aren’t his anymore. This body is so faint, head so foggy. What if he dies, and the earth spits him out again? Says: I don’t want him, bury him in the sky? Fate is a tiger, fate has a shell as big as its teeth. “Just eat it.” Kaeya echoes Albedo’s words.
“I’m no genius,” Albedo says. It sounds thoughtless, as if he denied that many times before already. “But did you know?” There are moons in his eyes, drowning again in the blue. Perhaps August is hell just for this. Just because its winds would blow away the hope on the alchemist’s face. “Mirroring the other usually means the interest is reciprocated.”
A rained on envy, a hollowed out ideal. Vessels and vases exist here, both, after all. Who picks which carries flowers and which stays empty? To hell with dead dreams, crumbled cities. This is how it would feel to stab the sky and say, I’ve been missing pieces for long enough. It’s your turn. This is how it feels to look at the pale face in front of him and think, where do I run to? I will find so much to love in you.
“I know.” Kaeya says, soft as a puppy’s forehead, heady as spring clouds. Perhaps Albedo would blush, if chalk could. Instead he looks down, wide eyed, then back up at Kaeya. His chest rises with a big breath, golden locks swaying on two sides of his face.
“Oh,” Albedo replies, dumbfounded. “I’m immensely glad to hear that.”
“Oh my,” Kaeya says, putting one hand on the table, leaning some of his weight on it. He is tired, his bones even more so. But he’s not dead yet. “Look at you,” He teases. “One would think you have ulterior motives in helping me sleep better.” Albedo shakes his head, smiling still.
“I would never,” He says, honest and honored. “But are you suggesting you would be swayed by steam distillation?”
“Fancy words,” Kaeya hums. Tells himself he is too tired to mind if he is smiling or not. He is. “Dinner first, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Quiet air frowns outside the windows. Somehow, it isn’t so terrifying in the workshop. “Let me give you a tour. Only six people in Mondstadt have received one before, mind you.”
They walk inside the small room. Albedo picks up the toys Klee left, places them on sealed, small jars of colorful paints tidied in a box. This, Albedo says, pointing to a glass bulb with something heating inside, is a cucurbit. He fans the flames under it. On top of it, he says, this is an alembic. I have more of them, he adds, pointing to the crates stored under one of the tables. This and that, he says as he holds Kaeya’s hand and drags him towards the bookcases. After my crucibles, flasks, and alembics, my books are the most important thing here. That and these, and all of those, he shows: Teyvat Travel Guide; Alice scolded me for not having it in the shelves. Endemic Flowers of Sumeru; this I mainly bought to see how protected they are. If I could get my hands on some of the species here… Astrologist’s Apprentice: The First Steps Towards Divinations; I read this to understand a friend better. Kaeya interrupts then, asks if it worked. Albedo says it didn’t. Then keeps telling him of his books. On ores, crystals, herbs. Shows him thick tomes. The final projects of some Akademiya students. On elemental reactions, visions, caves of Chasm. At the top shelf, next to a dagger resting prideful in a jeweled scabbard, stands something Kaeya is familiar with.
“Let’s Go, Dodoco,” He says, feeling his cheeks lift with his smile. “Klee’s book.”
“Yes,” Albedo says, lifting himself on the tip of his toes to grab the dagger. “It made her so happy in Inazuma to prepare and have the story printed.”
“I know,” Kaeya hums. Takes the dagger when Albedo hands it to him. “She was bouncing off the walls when you two returned,” He peels the dagger out of its sleep. The hiss of steel, sharp and shiny, would jolt any warrior up he tells himself. The blade shines as he tests its balance. “What a splendid piece, Albedo. Where did you find it?”
“A traveling merchant,” Albedo shrugs. Watches unblinkling, unbreathing, as Kaeya tosses and catches it with ease. “Let me gift it to you.” What a man, Kaeya finds himself thinking as he chuckles. Does he know this eagerness can get him to twisting paths between Kaeya’s lungs?
“Don’t be ridiculous. It must have cost a fortune.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I know,” Kaeya says. Puts the dagger back into the scabbard. Why so soon, asks the glinting blue jewels on the hilt. “You kept it sharp, so you care at least enough to do its maintenance,” He adds, making Albedo purse pouty lips together. How easy he is to read, even to such a tired eye. Kaeya puts the blade back where it was. “What about this book?” He asks to shoo the silence away.
“Sixth volume of A Legend of Sword,” Albedo says, keeps his eyes on the veins on top of Kaeya’s hand for some reason. Just for a moment. He still has his pride, after all. He meets Kaeya’s eye, smiling subtle as a dew drop with a fate of a few hours. “A series written by a friend. I do the illustrations.”
“Ah,” Kaeya says, reaching for the book. “Finally. Klee talks about your paintings a lot, but you don’t even have an easel in this room.” He flips open the cover, finds the first full page illustration. It is intricate, simple still, yet delicate. Nothing is wasted, and everything would scramble away like spider legs if one single line was taken away. “Immaculate,” He mumbles. “As expected.” Perhaps this is how Albedo blushes. The pink doesn’t dust his cheeks, but his tongue. He blurts out:
“I put the easel away when I was tidying. I have one here too.” There is something Albedo wants. As certain as pearls, as plump as poison. Two mugs on the counter, perhaps. A cardigan tossed on careless shoulders, maybe. To say good morning and good night every day, Archon forbid. Though, Celestia knows, Kaeya doubts how much those gods protect anyone.
“This is tidied?” Kaeya asks. Ignores how he’s laughing.
“There is enough space to walk and stand,” Albedo says. A raised eyebrow, roses age on that arch. “Is there not?”
“Hardly.”
“Shush. Fetch the flowers.”
Albedo digs out the equipment he promised he has from their dens, fills a cucurbit with water and lavenders. The alembic is fitted on top of it, the junction sealed with a goop. Egg white and clay, Albedo says. Then comes fire, chairs pulled, the jeweled dagger ends up cutting the pie after all.
“For processes more,” Albedo starts, stops as he lifts his rather big slice of peach and honey on no longer warm dough. “Sensitive than this, I heat sand beforehand and place the cucurbit in it.”
Kaeya watches him take a bite. Listens to the hum of contentment. Caresses the soft forehead of the strange pride it alights in him.
“So,” He hums. Ever a cat, knifelike, kneaded by alleys where flower pots don’t survive long. He has to tease: “My lavender oil isn’t important enough. Understood.”
Albedo glares at him, half hearted at best, and speaks between bites. “That is not what I mean at all. Why aren’t you eating?”
“I don’t like sweets much.”
“Really?” A flicker, a crystalfly flutters in his blue blue eyes. What is there to not love? “What else?”
This and that, Kaeya tells him, as the steam of boiling lavenders cool and collect in a beaker: A friend sent some tofu once, years now he’s been in Inazuma, didn’t like it. That and these, he adds, I never know where to put my hands in those stuffy dinners with the Senechal and other important people. And I never get to laugh at how he gets when he’s drunk. This and this and that, he spills, I still think of the sling I accidentally snapped the rubber of when we were kids. It wasn’t mine. Or Diluc’s. I felt too embarrassed to apologize to the gardener’s son. Albedo is a sunflower, across him on chairs that were too light to be wood, and yet looking like nothing else. He makes a sun out of Kaeya. Always facing him. His appetite is golden, yet still not contagious.
“Are you sure you don’t want to eat?”
“I’m sure.”
“And how is your headache?”
“Still there. Do you have a sketchbook?” Kaeya is beyond yawning, out of his years. The ache spreads in places unseen. It echoes in the caves behind his nose, beats pink and pungent in his gums. Albedo blurs in front of him sometimes. Other times, Kaeya fears he is blurring out of existence. He should be excused already from all he says. Albedo blinks, rubs crumbs off his fingers, licks honey off his thumb.
“I have many,” He says. The silence that follows is so sudden, it reminds both of them what this is about: The collecting lavender oil drips into the beaker. A counting, a game by itself. Don’t mind me, it says, fate doesn’t listen closed doors, you see. He stands up from the chair. It doesn’t creek. Kaeya almost bursts out laughing at that. Albedo picks a notebook, fine, soft, dyed leather as its covers. “But I feel I must warn you before.”
An oversight, Kaeya opens a hand. Eager and exhausted, he remembers how he would stay up until Crepus would leave his study, run through the hall and throw himself at the man. Boo, he would yell, never managing to scare his father. Perhaps he liked how the man laughed, picked him up, and asked why he isn’t asleep yet. How cruel he is. Leaving so soon. So sudden.
“And why is that?” He asks. Albedo looks unsure, but still gives the sketchbook to Kaeya. How heavy his thoughts are, how easy fondness forges wings over yellow petals.
“I’m sure there is no way by now,” Albedo interrupts himself, licks at his lips. Hey, Kaeya considers saying, you stopped breathing again. But chalk continues before he can. “No way you haven’t grasped how I feel. But if there was any doubt, I believe what you’ll see will settle it.”
What a prophecy. Kaeya’s head is a horse cart. He is one dangling wheel away from toppling to the side. He opens the sketchbook, half expecting a trick, an alchemical concoction to erase his memories. Instead he stares at lifelike drawings of various flowers. Windwheel asters, calla lillies, begonias, daffodils; windswept, cautious, beautiful, diligent drawings. From leaf to root, from blossom to the shadows they cast on soil, everything is in place. Next pages bring warmth. There are dodocos eating, fishing, skipping rope with wobbly, brightly colored imitations of each drawing next to it. Kaeya smiles warm as cinnamon in winter. A good brother is a delight after all. He had one long enough to be happy for Klee. There are more daily things, frozen forever in ink and charcoal in the sketchbook: Cups, cutlery, crucibles with notes next to them; lakesides, labeled bottles, lambs grazing on smudged green. Then, him. Tiny at the corners of the pages, nursing a tinier wine glass; spread over two neighbor pages, him on his horse; a full page of various serious faces he has, dated the same as one of the captains meetings. And it goes on and on. To hell with dreaded dawns, centuries old curses. This is how it would feel to swallow a cloud, wash it down with chalk to say, no more rain. This is how it feels to be loved, it seems. To have ten fingers around his heart that whispers, I’m here now. Won’t you drop the sword, let the serpents go? Kaeya’s thoughts are the wine in the fancy bottles of Dawn Winery. No matter how good they are, there is room to shake and sizzle.
“Is this not a waste?” He mumbles before he even remembers he has a mouth. “All this talent, and your topic is me.”
“Not to me,” Albedo says, quick and confident. He scoots on the chair he sat back on, closer until their knees knock against each other. “Nothing about you, or with you, can be a waste.”
“You sound so sure.”
“That’s because I am.”
“Don’t make me answer now,” Kaeya whispers. He has a confession and an accusation to make because his heart didn’t beat so fast at all for a long time. “I’m hanging on by a thread tonight.”
Albedo is a pearl, from the deep throat of the sea, he makes a glass mosaic out of Kaeya. Blue eyes sweep over the pieces, lips pursing. He looks at the eyepatch, then the naked eye; the sunken under eyes, the bulging throat, messy hair. He stands up, closing the sketchbook gently. “And yet,” He says, soft as a good yesterday. “You’re still here. That is answer enough for me.” He walks away to what he set up after the tour. Kaeya considers opening the sketchbook and flipping more pages as Albedo pours the gathered lavender oil into a slender vial with a cap. He doesn’t. Trust is too fickle of a thing to tinker with when one’s this tired. He lets quiet air put hands on his shoulders, imagines other places. Somewhere where the fire is worse. Albedo returns before Kaeya can ponder on his first kiss. At least that. “Here it is,” He says, handing the vial over. His fingers are cold, slow. Somehow not clammy like Kaeya’s. “Couple of drops on your pillow, wrists and neck would do.”
“Thank you,” Kaeya says, standing up. Fate is no hen, fate has no heart. His head aches too stubborn, he couldn’t yawn even if he tried. “What’s with the chairs?” He blurts out. A rowdy edelweiss, a homeland inscribed in stone. Violets and vomit both splash the earth, after all. Who tells the stars when to spill and when to spin? Hey, Kaeya imagines saying, would you be a boatman if I was the grim reaper? Something blossoms in Albedo’s eyes as if the roots long cracked in his lungs. Move the earth, his knuckles seem to say. Kaeya imagines saying no. Show me if your palms are calloused too, first.
“You’ve noticed.” Albedo hums. Rhinedottir would rather rot than let curiosity sizzle and die. The handmade, chalk nursed man grins with wonder. How odd. “I’ve made them with alchemy before you came,” He takes a step closer. “What gave them away?”
“Soulless.” Kaeya shrugs. He is seconds away from swaying on his feet. But he has his pride, still. When he tries to think of anything, all that comes to rest behind his forehead is a bed. Albedo leans away, enough that Kaeya notices even in such a state. How cruel. And he didn’t mean to break any hearts tonight, too. “Not you,” Kaeya adds right away, breathing deeply. “You’re not like that. Fucking hell, Albedo,” He swears because Crepus isn’t alive anymore; pinches the root of his nose because Diluc doesn’t ask how he is lately. “I’m about to pass out, you can’t think I meant you .”
“That’s alright-” Albedo starts, perhaps meaning to soothe himself, maybe to quiet Kaeya. Both, most probably. But Kaeya has had enough of today.
“No,” He says, leaning towards Albedo. Too tired to think it might look like he is looming over the other. Enough is enough, he tells himself, but why should I give another nightmares? They are mine to suffer and scramble. “Shut up. I didn’t mean you. You have a soul. You’re a person.”
Albedo doesn’t smile like he easily does with him. But his wide eyes say: If I could blush, I would. Instead, he whispers, a weak echo of what Kaeya said before:
“You sound so certain.”
I will find so much to love in you. Why not now? Have you ever feared closing your eyes before? What about your ceiling? Did it threaten your life before, too?
“I am.” Kaeya says. “Nothing without a soul can have eyes like yours.”
“Eyes like mine?”
“Stop thinking and walk me home.”
“You will explain later?” What a heavy thing hope is. It even sinks Albedo’s silken voice.
“Yes.”
“Good.” At least that.
That night Kaeya falls into sleep like a nail dropping onto sinners. He doesn’t remember much once his back his the bed. He closed his eyes. That was it. He wakes up a few hours later, heavy as a small coffin, the room bends around him. The horse they had to put down on his second year in the cavalry force sits on his chest. Over his head, hand in hand dances who he imagines is his mother and the young woman found dead on the only day off he took three years ago. Let me be, he thinks he says. All he hears is a whimper. He turns. It tosses the ghosts off, for a moment. Cicadas pity him outside, the open windows swallow his sleep. There is no air. The sheets had enough of his sweat. His hand hits something hard. The vial. In the darkness he opens the cork, gets some on his fingers. Mindlessly he rubs it on his neck, forgets to unclench his jaw, and falls into nothingness again.
He wakes up soon enough. Nauseous from the sullied lavender scent. Perhaps this is the ruin guard’s revenge. Nothing else to do, Kaeya lights his lantern, and changes the thinning threads of his eye patches. Doesn’t think of swallowing the needle and thread in his hands. At least that. As he starts darning the cardigan the man he used to meet up with two winters ago forgot, the day breaks.
Days chase each other. While in the library, he annoys Jean enough for her to assign him to night patrol right then and there. And during his punishment, sits and accepts two cigarettes from the pack Hertha puts on the table as she talks about her divorce. It is tough, she says, I don’t want to see her for some time. Kaeya exhales the smoke, asks where she will go. The next day, he stops by the alchemist’s workshop. Because Sara has small, fried pockets of apple and cinnamon that day. They agree on going on a walk after the moon rises. Kaeya sits Albedo by the fountain when night comes. This and that, he tells him, how exhausted he’s been, how he didn’t mean that. How sorry he is. Albedo hums, smiles easily once again. Kaeya wonders if he knows he just made a dove out of his heart.
“You said you’ll explain.” Says chalk. His shoulders sit relaxed on him, his spine is skyward. Kaeya rolls with it. It is easy to ignore how his jaw aches, that day.
“It’s simple, actually,” Says the knight. “There is so much light in your eyes,” He says, swallowing the desire to turn around and drown himself in the fountain by the tossed mora. “And so much life. One would need to be a fool to doubt you.”
A small breeze burns brittle between them. For a second, August feels like it will actually end. Albedo looks at him. Seems to do that for longer now.
“Apology accepted.” He says. Kaeya’s chest becomes a waterfall, stumbles down his mouth.
“Perfect,” He finds himself saying. “Now then, the lavender oil didn’t work I’m afraid.”
Albedo grins. “That’s a pity. Any specific reason you’re telling me this?”
“You know the reason.”
“I know, yes.” A silver lining, a snowdrop in a land entombed. Albedo smiles like spring never dies. “Still, I want you to say it.”
“Let’s try something else,” Kaeya hums, wondering how did he not realize Albedo’s knee bumping to the side of his leg. “I feel you have more ideas.”
“I have a few left, indeed.”
“Good, good.” At least that.
It proves to be wrong, what someone told Jean, and what Jean told him: The next week doesn’t come with rain. Kaeya is on the verge of giving up and whispering the names of his ghosts. To make them real. To look them in the empty eye sockets, and say, some of you I didn’t cause the deaths of. Have it your way. Haunt me anyways.
He fixes the squire’s postures, sparrs with them in the afternoon. The wooden swords are featherlight in his calloused hands. He tells himself he doesn’t remember how Diluc and he stole a large plate from the kitchen once, used it as a shield until fine ceramic chipped and cracked.
He visits Albedo afterwards. The other is hunched over drawings, reports, Timaeus’ work; dead toads, rusted ruin guard pieces, thesis proposals of people living far, far away. There is almost always something in the beakers, flasks, crucibles. Albedo tells him not to get close, or breathe deeply sometimes. What can hurt me, he asks. Nothing when I’m here, answers chalk. Kaeya sits and watches his heart’s journey to be a dove’s trembling chest, a drum on a deathroll.
Three days after Kaeya visits the cathedral for his aching teeth, one of the golden, gleeful threads of August snaps. The horizon is tilted when he wakes up, hours before roosters ruffle feathers. It fixes itself before everyone else opens their eyes. That’s how odd it is. Still, the aftermath lingers on the back of the city’s throat: It is colder. There is a cool breeze. The sun sniffles behind gray clouds. Had his father, the one from Khaenri’ah, put him in a different house years ago, Kaeya would be running through the streets in joy. But they had three different tutors growing up, him and Diluc. One to speak and write eloquently, one to clash swords and pull bow strings with, one to count, multiply, divide and make sense of numbers. The latter came by the least often. So Kaeya keeps his victory behind his teeth. Opens the jar of ground coffee he keeps for good days. Curses sparingly when he notices the brown powder is lumped together with the humidity everywhere. What a day, what a dream. All that is missing is thunder, all he’d need then is a pale hand in his.
A kid comes crying at him somewhere after noon. Says her cat is stuck in the tree. She has a bracelet, red and woven by hand. Kaeya climbs the tree she points at, grabs the black cat who didn’t look like he needed help at all. But the animal has a collar. Red, braided by someone who loves him. So he keeps his mouth shut, descends the branches like stairs, one hand on wood, a wiggling cat under the other arm. He wonders, out of nowhere, what the recipe for that bland bread, the one Adelinde would cut pieces of in vegetable broth for Diluc when he throws up, is. How strange. The fog of the entire last month leaves from his nostrils. Little by little, a dragon retires. How wonderful.
The sun sets after sulking for hours. From the window, spills a gentle breeze into Kaeya’s office. It tells him to braid his hair. He does. It tells him of the trees it rustled the leaves of. They were so surprised, it says, shuddered so lovely. Have you ached too much waiting for me? It doesn’t matter, answers Kaeya, I am made of timber and tears. Waiting is all I do.
A stone sinks faster than a heart, some people are cold even when hugged. Some days, even embroidered sleeves are askew. Not today. Not for Kaeya, if fate allows. The moon finds him on the way to Albedo’s office once more. Albedo is in the black clothes he wore to their walk before. Golden hair greets every direction as if pulled in frustration. Still, chalk smiles, easy as leaves fall in autumn, calm as flowers close their eyes. He steps aside for Kaeya to enter the workshop. It has a real chair now. The broken one from Kaeya’s kitchen. He fixed it with shaking hands and an empty stomach after a nightmare of ten Celestial nails in the sky.
“Hello there,” Albedo says, shining eyes skipping on braided blue. “You look good.”
How odd. Is it really this simple? How dare you, Kaeya imagines saying. How dare you stand taller just at the sight of me? How dare you run through my mind when I simply wash dishes? I am no one’s home, he wants to scream, remember?
“I know,” He says instead, grinning. He seems to do it easily lately. “It’s colder today.”
“It is,” Albedo hums, tilts his head. His eyes linger on the dip of Kaeya’s chin, where wine droplets occasionally run down and pool at. “Can I style your hair for you one day? I don’t mean to brag, but I do Klee’s hair.”
“She has pigtails. That is hardly something to brag about.”
“How dare you, sir?” Albedo jokes. Kaeya’s heart is a stallion, but his chest is no stable. Where to run, if not to the man across him? “She has pigtails that keep their shape the entire day. You know how much energy she has.”
“Now that,” Kaeya hums. Leans on the doorframe. Otherwise he might give away his nerves, Archon forbid. “Is actually a good point. Do I need to schedule a date now?”
Albedo hums too, looking up as if he’s thinking. As if he needs such mortal limitations. “There is a waiting time, I’m afraid,” He quips back. “How about Tuesday three months from now?”
“Three months?” Vases, violets; there are things that fit the earth in twos. Why not them too? “I don’t know if I’ll have this much hair then.”
Albedo’s smile falters. “You are not cutting your hair.”
He is not, indeed. “Not yet. Maybe sometime next week if I can’t get a good night’s sleep.”
“No,” He says. “Absolutely not. We are testing my last idea now,” He adds, grabbing his vision from a shelf close by before walking out of the room. “But I must warn you. You won’t like it.”
“Then I’ll shave it all off.”
“I swear on everything holy, Kaeya, I’ll haunt you if you do.”
“I know. I’m joking.”
“Good.”
He hates the last idea. Hates it as much as a crow and a mouse could hate a cat together; hates it as much as good fortune hates orphans. A possible cause, Albedo says as he holds Kaeya’s braid casually, is alcohol. And our last hope, he says as he checks the broken ends of Kaeya’s hair before letting go, is for you to abstain from it for some time.
“Then why are we on our way to a tavern?” Kaeya asks. Albedo gives him a smile, tall as a cypress tree, as sweet as a chilly hand on a feverish forehead.
“Because if you go alone, and you probably would, you’d drink.”
“Such little faith in me.”
“I know,” Albedo coos. “I’m horrible like that.”
“You’re the worst.” Kaeya huffs, and effortlessly matches his steps with the other’s.
Fate isn’t a snail, shell broken in, bruises bare to the poking fingers of men like him. Fate has a dagger, and no pie to soften the blade. Bright eyed, brighter smiles, Albedo leads him to Angel’s Share. Pushes the door open like he never walked into a room and found it full of people who died centuries ago. Inside the tavern is warmer, hands fisted in the ends of August’s skirt. The chandelier hangs ever so heavy and showy. Some spines already slouch on the stools in front of the counter. There is laughter. Six fingered José busies each one on his lyre, some adventurers cheer, knocking jugs together. The foaming beers drip down to the table, then leave temporary moustaches over their lips. A couple carelessly kisses away at a corner. Diluc stands behind the bar, a scroll laid in front of him, half sleeved shirt confessing the freckles on his arms. Albedo walks straight ahead, perches on a stool right in front of the young master. It’s just Diluc, Kaeya tells himself. When have I ever run so blatantly? He approaches as red eyes look up, so slow, so sure. Such are embers who love fire, Kaeya supposes. Albedo seems to not care for any of it.
“Good evening.” He bids, Diluc’s knightly, kingly, knife-like gaze shifts to him.
“Evening, Diluc,” Kaeya says, dragging the stool back soundly or else he’ll scream. “How are you this fine day?”
“Evening,” His brother returns the well wish. It feels like something made of stone, when he says it. “Not so much of a fine day for me. My waitress quit, giving no warning beforehand whatsoever.” Sue her, Kaeya would say, had he any certainty where they stand. Fine, Diluc would play along, you’ll be the lawyer, had they been as close as Kaeya wished. Instead, silence knots itself a house in his throat. Is it too late to be the first man to throw up hoarfrost, Kaeya wonders. “Right,” Diluc says, exhaling, crossing his arms over his chest. How cruel. “What can I get for you two?”
Albedo keeps his pearls on his collarbones and his poison, because every man has some, hidden under his stomach. He looks over to the small menu behind Diluc. Reads unblinking what everyone who tries to do so squints and gives up.
“I’d like to try the wolfhook juice, please.” He says, turns his head to Kaeya. Diluc nods, not surprised by the order.
“And you?” Diluc asks Kaeya. Forget about that now, Kaeya imagines saying. Do you remember the name of the game we made up? Where the daisies by the door were guards, and frogs were royal steeds? I’ll go mad if I can’t remember it.
“I’ll pass for tonight.” He says instead. Diluc only hums, shuffles away to grab a glass. These held breaths make labels out of Kaeya’s thoughts, loop them around the necks of wild alcohol bottles. To tame, and to thaw. What is death, if not a blink of an eye? Crepus is just in the next room. How else then, Kaeya is so sure Diluc remembers how he laughed too?
“How about some apple cider?” Albedo says, placing his elbow right next to Kaeya’s forearm. Both resting on the scratched, aged wood that insists to have many stories still.
“That’s basically vinegar.” Kaeya says. Charles enters from the backdoor, empty jugs and bottles balanced on a huge tray. He nods at Kaeya, gets greeted back.
“Apple cider vinegar, yes.”
“Bleh,” Kaeya says. “No.”
“Grape juice?”
“That’s worse, Albedo.”
Diluc comes back, places an iced over, blue, purple pond in front of Albedo. And even though Kaeya asked for nothing, puts a cold, tall glass of water for him.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” He says, as distanced as he is with anyone. Kaeya remembers to unclench his jaw. But not when he started biting down on nothing again. Does Diluc remember the time when they were seventeen and stupid, Kaeya wonders. When they snuck out to the road filled with ruins that ends at a pond, going northwest from the winery. When Diluc whispered: Yell if you run into trouble.
“Will do.” Albedo answers for them both, so Diluc shoots Kaeya a glance. Why do you two sit together, he seems to be asking. Kaeya offers a crooked smile. We’re trying to fix me. Mind your business. His brother walks away, soundless as a vigilante in the night. He helps Charles with refills, Albedo jams his knee right to Kaeya’s leg. “So,” He starts, leaning his chin on his palm. “What do you usually do in the tavern?”
“Drink.” Kaeya says, copying him. His hand is too clammy, but to hell with it. His chin deserves it.
“Shocking.” Albedo grins.
“I know,” Kaeya hums, flat and dry. “I’m simply not like other men.” Albedo snorts, hiding his giggles behind his fingers. He is beautiful, even if eerily symmetrical. Kaeya doesn’t mind. He even brushes stray bangs away, gold and gleaming like wheat as they are.
“No,” Albedo says. “I mean it. Who do you talk with? How do hours pass here?”
“Very quickly,” Kaeya answers. “Who do I talk with? Would you believe me if I said thieves and smugglers?”
Spring flashes in Albedo’s eyes, perfect and poisonous, bright flowers spelling danger. “I would,” He says, blinking once. Too little for the long time he watches Kaeya’s face. “Tell me more.”
Who is Kaeya to decline? This and that, he says, I keep a list of the bandits. Full names, ranks, patrol routes. That and this, he says, sometimes I walk people home if they drank too much. Sometimes I just sit longer to scare a rare creep or two. That, and these all, he tells Albedo. I used to love drawing as a kid. Adelinde probably kept them. This, and anything chalk asks: How he wonders how captains scoot those ships close to decks. How he hates animal post rugs. How he thinks he will never see dawns like the ones he saw before Mondstadt. Albedo is a compass needle, he licks the back of the polar star, sticks it on Kaeya’s forehead. He never looks away. Never interrupts. Still stumbles over his words, talking too fast when it's his turn. Hours pass. Charles comes and goes many times, Diluc polishes and fills many empty glasses. Kaeya makes a game of counting how many times he laughs, and declares the game done when he hits fifteen. He asks for another glass of water, which Diluc lifts an eyebrow at. But still fills one for him. At least that. A group to their left, big enough to have joined two tables together, start singing together. Kaeya cranes his head up to look, lifts his glass in greeting to the familiar faces. A warning as much as it is a warm gesture. Diluc doesn’t need more headaches, he guesses. He still lives in their childhood home, after all. Does it not fill his nose, are there not memories everywhere? Away from his vision for years, does his brother remember?
“Here’s something more for you,” Kaeya says, leaning closer to Albedo. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, if everyone else forgot. You can burn, he imagines confessing to the entire city and the one below them, I do nothing but remember. “I sometimes wonder what a father that stays feels like.” Albedo leans in too. Kaeya wonders how it would be to touch his eyelashes. Trace his cheekbones. Then he imagines opening the door to all that is wretched, wrangled and wrong. A relief neither Pandora nor her box could ever dream of. I am no one’s homeland, he imagines saying.
“I wish I could say I understand,” Says chalk, says sun. “But I just am, and before this, I just was.” Kaeya doesn’t get to answer. Two hands land on the bar in front of them, scarred knuckles in tow like eight ugly ducklings. Because it is still too hot to wear gloves. And pyro users already run hotter. Diluc leans towards them too, balanced on his palms. For a moment, it’s as if they have a secret club of them three. People who can’t manage to fit anywhere. It almost makes Kaeya laugh. But red, serious eyes are on him, so he manages to keep the edges of lips down. At least that.
“Why are you not drinking?” Diluc demands.
“Aw,” Kaeya smiles. “Are you worried?” Albedo kicks his stool, Kaeya, the tall, grown man he is, scoots a good few centimeters.
“He can’t sleep,” The alchemist answers for him. “Alcohol might be the cause, I’m thinking.”
Ever an uncrowned king, Diluc throws his head back before anything resembling a smile appears on his face. “Can’t sleep?” He asks. His voice is the shade of peace offerings. “Shall I prepare you warm milk with honey?”
Enough with dawns and brawns. Is Kaeya waiting for one of them to lay bloody on a battlefield so he can see how much time they wasted, he wonders. He holds onto the olive branch, the white dove, the hope in Diluc’s relaxed shoulders.
“Actually,” He wipes sweaty palms on his pants. “Can you?”
Diluc nods. Everything looks a little easier, and with a lot of history when he does it. Guess no one can match his brother after all. “Would you like me to fetch Adelinde? Have her bring your blanket to you?”
Beside him, Albedo’s chest is unmoving. Violets, valleys, the gentler slopes in life are hearts that beat together. Perhaps Kaeya should be a poet in his next life. He grins, big and bright, he hopes.
“Yes please. My teal blankie.”
They didn’t grow up together for nothing. Diluc shoots back, rapid as wildfires:
“It’s turquoise.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not,” The owner of the tavern huffs, turning to Albedo. “Let’s ask the artist here.”
Albedo’s eyes turn to Kaeya’s like bumble bees returning to the hive: Full of sweet things.
“I’m sorry,” He says, already smiling. “They are different. Teal is darker.”
Diluc huffs his satisfaction, there is almost a smile on his face. Enough is enough, no? Kaeya hums.
“Fine then, you win,” Glances to Albedo. “Guess what is embroidered on the blanket.”
“Tortoise.” Comes the confident guess. How odd. What a wonderful night.
“No,” Diluc says, words muffled as he holds his hair tie between his lips, fixing his ponytail. “That’s mine. Kaeya’s has a duck.”
A duck, Albedo repeats, asks why. Diluc reminds him there are ponds near the Dawn Winery, tells him about how Kaeya fell into one trying to catch a duck. Then, silence says, my turn. The bard, somewhere else, starts another song. Albedo fishes out an ice cube from his second Wolfhook juice, eats it as it is. Diluc is polite, he doesn’t stare. Kaeya does. The door opens and closes. Quiet air dances on top of their heads. Kaeya wonders, out of nowhere, who had to use the uncomfortable saddle he switched when everyone was sleeping back when he was a lieutenant. Diluc starts wiping the clean counter, lingering around them.
“Ah,” Albedo says, startling them both. “Timaeus is here. I will go say hello.” Away he flutters before Kaeya turns to see the alchemist apprentice. A voice, dark and dusty, tells Kaeya if he placed a hand on the now empty stool Albedo sat on, it wouldn’t even be warm. He looks up at Diluc instead of listening.
“Would you travel to Qingce village twice to renovate the kitchen cabinets?” His brother asks as if Kaeya is welcome home.
“In this heat?” Kaeya asks anyway. “No.” A shadow falls on Diluc’s face, from someone passing by. It is only for a moment. The bygone years still taunt Kaeya.
“I did,” Diluc confesses, drops the cloth on the shining countertop. “I think I’m getting old.” A lost man’s letter, how can I brave the ocean asks the bottle. Kaeya isn’t sure what he should say. If he should say anything.
“You are.” He settles for. Wonders if warm milk could have solved his problem all along.
“You are too,” Diluc says. He tilts his head. “I’d say, even faster than me. With all the gray hairs and all…”
Easy tricks, easier times. The birds couldn’t fly once, and the earth was nothing but a cradle. Kaeya falls for it. Flies a hand up to his hair. To hide, or to confirm somehow, he isn’t sure. Diluc laughs. Almost. It is a stuck between grin, enough to show his slightly crooked teeth. At least that. When he talks, he is quieter:
“Remember what father said?” He asks as if Kaeya does anything else. “He’d see us both married before we’re thirty.” He looks into the diamond pupil, and the hidden diamond scar he put on the other eye to match. “If you marry now, I feel I might earn five years more time.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Slips out on a trusting tongue. “I won’t tell father if you don’t.” And for a terrible moment, Kaeya is by the winery years ago. Diluc is crying. His claymore shaking, yet still lifts to strike on him. There’s rain- Diluc snorts. It pulls him out of the memory as quick as lightning. In the present moment, inside the tavern Crepus would wish Diluc to be too busy to run, his brother chuckles.
“Deal,” He says, and fire flicks in his eyes. “Still, why not marry him anyway?”
“Who? Albedo?”
“Who else? I doubt you can do better than that, no offense.”
“Every offense possible taken-”
“He is a genius, isn’t he? What more do you want?”
“I want my brother to not stick his nose into my business.”
“Please,” Diluc scoffs. “You two were all lovey dovey right in front of my bar.”
“Diluc,” Kaeya sighs. “I think you saw someone else. Do you need glasses?”
“This aversion to speaking about it just further proves my point.”
What a lovely torture, to be known so well.
“What color are the new cabinets?” Kaeya asks instead.
Diluc looks away, because he is smiling. “You’ll see for yourself when you come over for dinner.”
“Sorry about that,” Albedo says, back as quiet and as sudden as he left. “He got excited and asked for my opinions on a new project.” He perches on the stool, looking between Kaeya and Diluc. “You still couldn’t get him to order something, you’re not a very persuasive businessman, Master Diluc.”
Diluc scrunches up his nose, picks at one of the many dents on the counter. “I hate insisting, and being insisted.”
Albedo hums, uncaring and calculated as he does in meetings. But he is interrupted, this time by something better than the three of them. A pitter patter comes from the outside. Hesitant at first. Then, as a nurtured heart beats, it knocks on the open windows stronger.
“It’s raining,” Kaeya mumbles, as if the sky cries only for him. “Finally, it’s raining.” He stands up faster than he means to, and holds Albedo’s hand without meaning to at all. “Come on!” He tugs.
“I have to pay, Kaeya.” He tries to protest. It’s raining. The heavy humidity gathering over their head like charcoal black crows hits the floor. Spends itself away. After this, there will be air to breathe. After this, September will come running.
“Just put it all on my tab, Diluc.” Kaeya calls out, tugging Albedo away. The ones who were seated outside flock in. Their shoulders are dusted darker. Hairs wet. Had Kaeya not been from the Alberich Clan, who did not have royal blood and yet cut their fingers on the shards king Irmin left, he’d be running. He has his pride, still. He has his hope. At last.
Outside is the same streets they’ve known for years. The smell of wet dust already wafts from the ground. Women and children rush, picking the laundry on the line and hurling it inside; men and their apprentices hurry, carrying tables and chairs back into buildings. Fate isn’t a tiger, fate isn’t to be trusted. And still. And still it has cheeks, round and ragged, rarely smiling: In seconds, the rain decides to become a downpour. People run from their left and right, entering shops, slamming windows shut. A desert’s dream. Where does rust go, when roses bloom?
“Kaeya,” Albedo calls out, loud to be heard over the sigh of the thousand droplets. Far above, thunder tames the skies. Kaeya turns. Looks down to see brilliant blue on him already. Albedo is smiling. “Are you finally relaxed a little?” He is drenched. His shirt sticks on him, his hair is as flat as the maps they hang on the walls of the headquarters. Kaeya’s heart is a drum. And this time, his lungs burn to sing along. Albedo grins, pushing his bangs off his eyes first, then Kaeya’s. “Say something.”
There is a heaviness no god can grasp and no devil can damage. A heart is a flightless, fearful thing until it falls. I am no one’s homeland, Kaeya imagines answering.
Homelands get taken away, he can hear Albedo say. I need no homeland but you.
“Yes,” He begins, grinning too. “I can finally breathe now. And,” He takes a step closer, bends until he can wrap an arm around Albedo. “I’m going to kiss you now, unless you say no.”
From the throat, deep within its trenches, this is how love laughs: Tickling, tilting, thrilling. Albedo lifts a hand up. Touches two fingers on where Kaeya’s nose is crooked.
“I would never say no,” He whispers, trailing his fingers up, touching the edge of the soaked eye patch. “Please kiss me.”
Rain falls, but August says: Wait. Let me see this too. Under the heat washed away drop by drop, Kaeya leans down. When his lips touch Albedo’s, the other gasps. Pushes closer, only succeeding in smushing his nose with Kaeya’s.
“Tilt your head,” Kaeya mumbles into Albedo’s lips. “No,” He laughs. “The other way.” Albedo complies. Sighs as he wraps both arms around Kaeya’s neck. Chalk is heavy when he relaxes like this, Kaeya learns. He tastes just like what he has been drinking, he realizes. Nothing else he’d rather do, he wraps both arms around Albedo, and hugs him as close as he can. Vermin, vomit, vessels, Kaeya can bury darkness for once. Act like the stars above are real. He leans away for air Albedo doesn’t seem to need, tells himself it doesn’t toss his heart inside the ribcage wildly when the other starts peppering kisses on his chin, on the cheek close to him.
“You’ll show me how to kiss better later?” Albedo mumbles.
“I will. Later.”
“I’ll ask again. You know I won’t forget.”
“I know.” Kaeya whispers, squeezing Albedo gently in his arms.
“Good, good.” At last, that.