Chapter Text
“Ngh…”
“Morning, Jean.” Lisa pauses. “Well, it’s a bit late for it to be morning.”
Jean groggily opens her eyes and stares up at the sky. While she’s not staring directly up at the sun, the bright light still causes her to scrunch her eyebrows. She rubs her eyes. “Mm…”
“How was your nap?”
Ah, yes. She and Lisa are out at a beach after Jean had… an episode, of sorts. Her memory slowly returns to her. She lay back on the blanket, meaning only to close her eyes for a moment. After talking with Lisa for a bit, it seems she fell asleep. She doesn’t remember what they talked about, but it doesn’t matter right now. Something tells her she had a dream as well. Whether this is true or not, she wouldn’t know; she can’t seem to recall anything from it, other than a boat. That might just be because she’s sitting next to a lake, and a couple of boats probably have passed.
Her voice is croaky as she answers, “I think that might have been the best I’ve slept in a long time.” She clears her throat as Lisa chuckles. “Did you sleep as well?”
“No.” Jean turns her head in Lisa’s direction. She’s on her side, propping her head up with her arm. Upon noticing Jean looking at her, she flashes a smile. “However, I wasn’t bored.”
A twinge of guilt hits Jean. After Lisa went out of her way to meet with her today, she just… fell asleep. “You prepared so much for me, and all I did was sleep. Sorry.”
“Jean, dear,” She groans as she gets up and stretches. Jean’s eyes subconsciously watch as Lisa’s arms stretch up and lift her breasts with them. “I’m actually glad you were able to get some sleep. Barbatos knows you need it. Besides,” Lisa’s jade eyes peer down at Jean’s. Her eyes dart back and forth to avoid her gaze, flustered. Lisa laughs, “watching you sleep was quite entertaining.”
“...Did I do anything strange while sleeping?”
“I wouldn’t say so, no.” She brings a hand to her chin and stares off into the distance, as if pondering something. “However, you did stir some after the first hour. You seemed a little distressed.” Perhaps that has something to do with my dream. Jean closes her eyes and tries to recall anything new from it. She can’t. “Just as I reached out to wake you, you relaxed and went back to snoring away.”
“Do I really snore?” Her face grows warm at the prospect of snoring in front of Lisa.
“Yes.” She titters at Jean’s flustered expression and rests her hand on her companion’s shoulder. “Although, I find it rather endearing.”
Jean groans and covers her face with both hands, turning away from Lisa. The brunette witch gently takes Jean’s wrist in her own hand to intertwine their fingers. Her hands feel slightly cool to the touch in comparison to her own after basking in the sun for who knows how long. Lisa untangles her fingers and places a light kiss on Jean’s knuckles. Her first thought is, ‘Lisa’s lips are warm.’ Her second thought is, ‘She kissed my hand she kissed my hand she kissed my hand Lisa Minci kissed my hand am I still sleeping or have I been blessed by the archons today?’
While Jean has her second, smaller panic attack of the day, Lisa’s lightly rubbing away at the lipstick stain she left. She shrugs and shows the faint purple mark to Jean, saying, “Consider this a gift, I suppose.” The normally composed Acting Grandmaster’s wide eyes and slightly agape mouth causes Lisa to almost burst out laughing. “Darling, do you want some help sitting up? You look a bit stiff after lying down like that for a couple hours.”
“...I would appreciate that.” Although she accepts the help, Jean still has difficulty meeting Lisa’s eyes. Lisa takes note of this and smiles to herself. While taking a few moments to stretch herself out and crack her joints, Jean stops to witness a flower floating down from her head. It’s a glaze lily. She picks it up and gives Lisa a quizzical expression.
“Oh, yes. I put a few in your hair while you were sleeping. You looked quite stunning, even while asleep.” Jean cautiously pats her head down to find more flowers. She finds three more sticking up at various points in her hair. “If only I could take a photo. Oh, well.” With a wave of her hand, she dismisses this conversation topic. “Anyway, are you hungry? There’s pizza in the basket, among other snacks.”
Jean perks up at the mention of pizza. “I am a bit peckish.” A pleased grin spreads across Lisa’s face as she places a warm mushroom pizza with a couple slices missing on top of the basket.
“I had a little, but hopefully this is enough for you.”
Jean already started digging in but still responds with a satisfied hum. The crust gives a delectable crunch as she bites, and the cheese has a wonderful stretch. It melts in her mouth. Mushrooms and cabbage play nicely with the savory dish and provide a perfect contrast in texture and flavor. It’s a luxurious experience appealing to all five senses, and it warms the very core of her being. She is absolutely, 100%, going to Flavortown.
“Dear, you’re going to choke if you eat that fast. Would you like some wine? Or water, at least?” Jean momentarily lets up on getting lost in the flavor of mushroom pizza. Unbeknownst to her until this exact moment, she has wolfed down three slices and is currently holding her fourth. “I would have stopped you earlier, but I was simply in awe of how fast you… downed three slices of pizza.” Sheepishly, Jean chews on the food still in her mouth with more conscientiousness. “It was impressive, really. I’m glad you like it.”
Jean swallows the bite that’s in her mouth. Abashed, her hand hovers over her mouth as she speaks, “I’m sorry you had to see something so… unsightly.”
“Dear, I don’t think I could ever find you unsightly, especially not because of something like this.” Lisa continues to speak while removing the same bottles of wine and water from earlier. “It’s actually quite refreshing to see you loosen up, even a little bit.”
Although likely said as a disposable, off-handed comment, Lisa’s words still get Jean’s heart racing. Of course, she frequently dishes out compliments, some more meaningful than others. However, this one stirs an emotion toward Lisa that Jean desperately tries to suppress: doubt. You could never find me unsightly? Never? She bites her lip to keep these thoughts from leaking out and tainting Lisa’s pleasant mood.
Lisa holds up the two bottles and turns to Jean. Briefly, her gaze rests on the blonde knight’s bitten lip. Her expression shifts to concern for a moment before returning to her normal, relaxed smile. Although nearly unnoticeable, her face holds some previously absent tension. “Are you feeling alright?”
Jean avoids answering what she’s really asking about. “Oh, yes. I think I could stomach a glass of wine.”
The witch’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing else regarding this matter. “Does Pinot noir work?” Jean nods, though Lisa’s already uncorked the bottle. “I hope so, considering that’s all I brought.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Lisa pours a glass for her companion and herself. She holds her glass up to Jean. “Cheers.”
Jean clinks their glasses together. “Cheers.”
It’s been a few hours. Well, Jean feels like it’s been a few hours. Who knows how long it’s really been. The half-empty glass of red wine (is it her fourth? Fifth? No, five seems too much. Fourth. Probably.) seems hazy and only gets blurrier the more she looks at it. She tries to knock back the last of her drink before something halts her arm. Her brows scrunch up. She shoves the barrier aside before she’s once again interrupted.
“Oh, dear. I think you need to take a break.” The glass is snatched from her fingers, and she watches as her drinking partner downs the last of her wine. “Let’s get you something else to drink.”
“C’mon… Lisa, gimme one more. Just one more drink.” Jean rests her head on her significantly less inebriated companion’s shoulder and closes her eyes. “Please…?”
With a sigh, Lisa gently pushes Jean away. “Fine. Only one more, okay?”
In her drunken stupor, she lights up at the promise of more alcohol. “Okay.” In seemingly no time at all, Lisa hands a glass to her, which she promptly drinks the entirety of. After she empties it, Jean pauses before peering into her glass with a childish pout. “That wasn’t… that wasn’t alcohol, Lisa…”
She chuckles. “How astute of you, dear.” Lisa takes two empty bottles of red wine from the basket and presents them to Jean. “Unfortunately, after you drank… I want to say six glasses of Pinot noir,” Ah. Five glasses was actually low-balling it. “We are, as you can see, out of wine. We have plenty of water, if you want more.”
Jean quickly shakes her head no.
“Would you like me to peel you an apple?”
After considering her inquiry for a moment, she nods, then places her head on Lisa’s shoulder again. The world seems to spin just a little less. Her eyes fixate on Lisa’s skillful, careful knife work as she removes the apple peel in one unbroken strip. She discards the peel and cuts two slices from the apple; one she slips in her own mouth to chew on, the other, she puts up to Jean’s lips. The drunken knight leans forward to snag the piece in her mouth.
She languidly crunches on it. “Tank ‘oo.”
“You’re very welcome, darling.” Her free hand pushes Jean’s slack jaw closed. “Please don’t talk with your mouth full, though.”
She swallows the rest of the apple slice. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Would you like another?”
“Mhm.” She opens her mouth for Lisa to pop another chunk of apple into. This cycle continues, Lisa cuts two apple wedges for herself and the dazed Acting Grandmaster on her shoulder, until all that’s left is the core, which the witch tosses into the unknown.
“How are you feeling now?”
Jean shuts her eyes to get a sense of the state her body is in. “’m… feeling a little better. Thank you.”
“I’m glad.”
Jean watches the water and the sun’s reflection. It sits a comfortable distance away from the horizon, though it’s sunk some. The sky is still as bright and blue as she remembered it was before she started drinking. Ripples on the lake’s surface start something in Jean. Well, a few somethings, though it’s just another amalgamation of incomprehensible emotions. This time, she’s too drunk to even attempt to reason through them. She decides on going for a more proactive approach and quickly stands up.
“I’m going to… go into the water.” The nauseating, dizzying feeling that hits her causes her to stumble back and almost collapse. Alarmed, Lisa gets up and supports her back. Her reassuring hand helps Jean ground herself a bit.
“That’s alright, but I’ll go with you. I don’t think you’re in the condition to go by yourself.” Jean’s idiot drunk brain wanted to refute Lisa’s very harsh and blatantly false accusation. However, she was just clear headed enough to know that there was a nugget of truth in her words. Lisa takes her dejected silence as compliance. “Let’s get your shoes off, first.”
Hopping on one foot, Jean tries to untie her high-laced walking boots. This attempt is largely unsuccessful.
“Dear, do you want to sit down and take your shoes off?”
Jean grumbles and throws herself ass-first onto the ground. The impact causes her to groan. “Fine.” Now on the ground, she continues to fumble with the laces on her boots about the same amount that she did while standing, which was, admittedly, a feat of sorts. Lisa almost marvels at how bad of a drunk Jean is before stepping in and helping with her other shoe. Once one shoe is loose enough, it’s quickly flung off its foot. One uneventfully flops next to her foot. The other does a few mid-air flips before hitting Jean in the face. It doesn’t, though. While she squeezes her eyes shut to brace for the thwack, nothing happens. She opens her eyes to find a dainty hand grasping her boot.
“Are you okay?”
Lisa caught the boot just before it smacked her in the face. Her magnificent, long fingers tightly gripping the leather boot right before her eyes awoke a subtle, but undeniably stimulated feeling in her chest. Stupid, drunk, honest, smitten Jean nods with wide eyes.
Lisa sighs. “Be a little more careful.” She deftly slips her heels off. As she moves to get up, she glances at Jean’s hair. “Oh, one of the flowers got caught on your hair ribbon. It’s coming loose.” Her hand reaches to undo it. “I can take it out or—”
Jean’s hand moves on its own, and she’s struck with a sudden moment of clarity from her hazy drunkenness. It defensively covers the ribbon, inadvertently knocking Lisa’s hand away. After she realizes what she’s done, her face reddens and she looks down, too afraid to see what expression Lisa has. “I can handle it. M-myself, that is.” Her gaze doesn’t move from the blanket’s checkered pattern as she removes the ribbon to fix her hair.
Why did I do that? What the hell is wrong with me? She holds the ribbon in front of her. For a second, a memory bubbles up from the depths of her mind. A foggy image. A smaller, brighter Jean, sitting at a vanity, admiring how her new ribbon looks in her hair. Her satisfied smile only lasts for a second. She turns away from the mirror to look at someone, who covers their mouth and collapses to the ground in tears. The small Gunnhildr is too young to fully understand what’s happening or why that someone is crying, but she does know she’s done something wrong. Slowly, she pulls the ribbon out of her hair, stashing it away, never to be worn again. Although she can’t remember who that person is, the image of them sobbing was scorched into her mind, likely a burden to be carried for the rest of her life.
She ties her hair up in contemplative silence. Who was that? Who gave this ribbon to me? What… happened? She tries to dig further into her memories to find the answers but finds that they are lost in the vast expanse of her jumbled thoughts. Despite her moment of clarity, she is still quite tipsy. Though, something in her doubts that she would be able to figure this out sober.
The ribbon is securely, albeit messily, fastened. It’s much tighter than this morning and has a noticeable tug. Lisa notices her skin at the base of her neck turning a little red, but she says nothing, as to avoid stepping on Jean’s toes more than she already has. Something tingles on her skin. She redirects her attention to the sky, where pale clouds begin to roll in. Nothing to be concerned about. Probably.
“Are you ready?” Jean’s attempt to stand up is a bit more relaxed this time. However, she still has a noticeable stagger. Lisa nods and follows suit, ensuring that she is in close proximity to Jean just in case she trips. Her gait is almost normal, aside from the occasional stumble and arms held out for balance. Fortunately for the now-incredibly uncoordinated Jean, the distance from the blanket to the water is a short one, so it takes a minimal amount of bumbling for her to get to her destination. She stops at the edge of the water, where it barely touches her bare feet. It’s just shy of body temperature, and the lake’s surface is calm. Through the clear water, she can easily see that it’s not very deep. By all means, it’s a welcome environment for anyone, drunk or slightly less drunk.
Jean has no history of aquaphobia, nor any experience that would warrant an aversion to water (aside from her dream a week ago she quietly shelved away to deal with… never). Yet her heart palpitates when the edge of the water flicks at her bare feet. She stands there for a while. Apprehensive, curious, disoriented, determined. Then, she moves. Each stride into the lake is meticulous, agonizing, unconscious. The water lulls her in, and her wasted, primal brain pushes her to keep going, to find what waits for her after she’s gone deep enough that the water level sits above her knees. Mid-step, someone grabs her wrist.
“Hold on.” Jean snaps out of her trance and turns to face the perpetrator. In spite of the fact that there is only one other person here, she’s still shocked when she finds Lisa standing behind her. Neither of them say anything for a moment, but Lisa knits her brows and bites her lip. She sighs, and her face falls into uncharacteristic melancholy.
Each word that comes out of her mouth is selected and expressed painstakingly. “Jean,” her voice lacks her usual confidence, and Jean’s heart drops. “I know you have something on your mind. I can tell.” The hand holding Jean’s wrist slides down so that her hand fits snugly in Jean’s. Lisa’s other hand holds up her skirt to prevent it from getting wet, but she lets go to take Jean’s other hand. “I don’t know what it is, and I’m not going to force you to tell me anything, but,” Her hands tense around Jean’s. “Please, please let me help you ease your burden.” She clears her throat to hide her trembling voice. “I’ll do anything in my power, if you would just allow me to.”
Jean tilts her head back to the sky to evade Lisa’s gaze. The clouds ominously swirl and gray. She lacks the energy to force the wall defending her thoughts, troubles, feelings, past from the outside world, but it’s still entirely inaccessible. Even to Jean. She digs deeper, further, in search of anything that could be expressed, if she even wanted it to be shared. Jean isn’t oblivious enough to think that nothing in her past or present has weighed her, but she can’t find anything. A nameless affliction. An unidentifiable thorn.
Normally, she would simply give a generic “I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” but the alcohol makes her lips loose. “I… I don’t know.” Her words are timid. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Lisa.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Lisa pulls Jean in by her waist and wraps her hands behind her back. Jean only looks down when Lisa rests her head in the nook of her neck and shoulder. “Dear, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. You’re just someone who’s gone too long without help.”
“Lisa?”
“Yes?”
“Am I… broken?” Jean casts her gaze into the distance. She’s not sure why she asks this question, other than to hear an answer. Lisa’s answer.
“No. You’re human, Jean. That’s all.” She gives a deep sigh. “We’re all human. We need each other.”
Jean finally, cautiously envelops Lisa in her own arms. She closes her eyes and rests her head against Lisa’s. “I guess so.”
They stay like this for a while. Jean has seldom found comfort in the touch of another person, mostly for professional reasons. She believes it best to keep a certain amount of distance between herself and others, figuratively and literally. This mindset likely stems from her childhood. While her mother was very involved in her upbringing, she was rather hands-off physically. Other than to correct her posture or to spar, Jean rarely experienced an affectionate form of touch from her mother.
Now that she’s allowed to indulge in the contact of another person, she craves it. Lisa’s rich scent is unbearably intoxicating, far more than the alcohol that’s heightening her senses. She takes a deep inhale, drunk off of the rosy perfume of her partner. With a satisfied hum, Jean nestles her cheek against Lisa’s. Absent-mindedly, she traces the zipper on the back of Lisa’s dress, under her hair. She has no ulterior motives, although to say that she is completely unaware or dissatisfied with the direction implied by teasing at the only thing keeping her clothed would be a lie.
“Mm…” Lisa softly, sensually sighs. Jean stops breathing. Lisa’s hand travels agonizingly slow down to sit on Jean’s hip. She adjusts her other hand so that her fingers can dance on the inches of bare skin at her neck; Jean’s blouse revealed little in the way of… anything, really. The tips of Lisa’s fingers brush her clavicle as they rest on the top button. There’s a pause for contemplation, and Jean’s heartbeat deafens her.
“May I continue?” Lisa’s voice scares the shit out of Jean. After the brief moment where she jumps out of her skin, she collects herself enough to reason through her options. One, where she politely says no, the rest of the day is a little awkward but otherwise normal, and that’s that. Since there’s no further ‘progression’ of any sort to be expected or desired from their relationship, this is the easier choice in the long run. This choice is, professionally speaking, the only one.
The other choice is where she says y— oh, she’s nodding already. She’s nodding very enthusiastically, even. Her face flushes when Lisa amusedly exhales.
“...Cute.” Lisa murmurs this to herself, though her comment doesn’t escape Jean. She almost pipes up about it but swallows her words when Lisa starts popping open her blouse. She flicks open the first button easily with her thumb and index finger. A little more of Jean’s neck is revealed. Lisa’s fingers drag down the front of her chest, creating soft lines in Jean’s blouse. Her nails are short, though Jean can still feel the tips lightly scoring her skin. A shiver runs down her back, and she shakily exhales while watching Lisa take her time with the next button. With this one, she uses both hands, although it’s obvious that she doesn’t need them. Time drags as Jean suffocates in the air, thick with tension and Lisa’s fragrance. Slowly, Jean’s shirt unfolds itself to hint at the existence of her collarbones.
Lisa takes the same unhurried approach with the third button. This time, the pads of her fingers trail down to it, but not before making a pitstop at Jean’s chest. They rest right atop of Jean’s heart, and considering Jean can feel her own pulse thrumming against Lisa’s fingers, Lisa definitely feels it too. The few seconds that they sit there cause Jean’s heart to accelerate an embarrassing amount— in spite of the comfortable temperature at the beach, she feels like she’s going to die of heatstroke from how hot her face gets.
Weakly, she extends her arms in front of her body to create space between herself and Lisa. “W-Wait…” She can barely manage to say these words as she tries to catch her breath. Lisa removes her hands from Jean’s chest and redirects her attention to Jean’s face. “This is just… a lot. I don’t think I can do this.”
Lisa’s expression twitches with dejection, but it’s quickly masqueraded behind a smile. After a moment to gather herself and her words, she says, “That’s alright. Thank you for telling me.” Her arms drop to her sides. “Would you like to be alone?” With a heaving, heavy chest, Jean gives a small nod. Lisa waves as she makes her way back to the beach, trudging through the water. Her departure is accompanied by the occasional plip-plopping of rain on the surface of the lake.
As she watches Lisa’s back, her crestfallen expression feels like a knife twisting in Jean’s stomach. She feels Lisa’s fingers, ghosting over where they were just a few moments ago. Her own hands retrace her steps as she recalls Lisa’s soft breath, tickling her skin, and her scent enveloping her. What she remembers most, though, is her face. Oh, Barbatos, her face. Her cheeks were tinted a deep pink that complemented the faded purple of her lipstick. Perfect, slightly parted lips that Jean now undeniably wanted to take on her own. And her eyes, magnificent jade fixated on someone like Jean. Affection, desire, passion, adoration… all directed toward her. Her breath hitches thinking about it. And then, she remembers the aftermath.
“Lisa! I—” Her hands clench into fists at her side.
Lisa stops and turns her head half-way.
“I… I get overwhelmed easily. It’s not you, Lisa. It’s not.”
Lisa continues walking. “It’s fine, Jean. I underst—”
“I liked it. I really, really liked it.” Lisa freezes mid-step as words spill from Jean’s mouth. “When you… t-touch me…” Her voice falters. She wants to die in a hole so bad. She wants to properly reciprocate Lisa’s feelings even more. “I feel like I’m being driven to madness. I don’t know if I can help myself.” Jean needs to catch her breath, and she uses this moment to gauge Lisa’s reaction. She can’t see anything looking at Lisa’s back. A knot forms in her stomach, but she still continues, “Right now, I’m trying to figure out— um— a lot, really. I need some time to myself, but,” She covers her eyes with one hand and tilts her head back. My face is probably beet red. Haha… “Eventually, I would like to… try again. I-If you’d like to, of course.” There’s more she wants to say, but her throat tightens up. She shouldn’t— she can’t bring herself to say it. But finally, finally, Jean can acknowledge it to herself.
Lisa, I want you.
Silence. No response. Jean’s absolutely terrified of what she’ll be met with when she opens her eyes, and her nausea worsens. She dares to take a peek through the gaps of her fingers anyway. Lisa hasn’t moved from her spot, but she’s turned around. The space she’s peering through is too small for her to accurately judge her expression.
“I’ll wait.”
Jean removes her hand and looks directly at Lisa. “W-What?”
Lisa’s posture is as relaxed as ever, and she’s trying to maintain a similar expression. The ends of her mouth keep twitching up and down as a smile plays at her lips. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. If you change your mind someday, that’s fine, too. It doesn’t matter to me.” Her hands fold behind her back. “As long as I can stay by your side, that’s all I need.” She stands up straighter.
“Jean Gunnhildr, I lo—” Her mouth hangs open for a moment before she shuts it. “I’ll… wait for you. On the beach.” She pivots around. “...Take as much time as you need.” She quickly makes her way back to the shore. The tension in Jean’s body loosens as she watches Lisa’s back slowly move into the distance.
She still has a rather distinct feeling of discomfort remaining, but she’s flooded with relief. Relief, gratitude, freedom, and a different, new-found fondness toward Lisa wash over her. The only thing stopping her from sprinting over to Lisa to hold her in her arms again are the nerves following the earlier embrace. Jean has enough sensibility to realize that staring her down from the water won’t help, so she turns back around to look across Cider Lake.
The rain continues to fall at intervals, but doesn’t worsen. It’s not unpleasant enough that one would need an umbrella. Though to Jean, it doesn’t matter; she’s soaked from the knee down. In spite of the clouds, rays of sun show peek through spots in the canopy, illuminating the city of Mondstadt. The same city of Mondstadt that the Gunnhildr clan swore centuries ago to serve for as long as their bloodline endured, and now it feels like… a burden. Maybe it was always a burden, but what good would acknowledging it have done for Jean? All it would have done was make work harder. The years of her life spent— wasted…?— preparing to serve or serving a nation that had nothing tangible to return, other than peace and prosperity. She was told that it was enough, but was it really? Of course, she can’t abandon Mondstadt, and she wouldn’t dream of it. But the prospect of leaving Lisa causes her heart to sink into her stomach, so, so much more.
Well, it’s not as if Jean has to shirk her duty as a Gunnhildr and Acting Grandmaster to be with Lisa; some of the Captains in the Knights of Favonius had romantic partners, and her mother was married while she was still in the line of duty— though not for long. She entertains this line of thought for some time while watching the streams of light dance on the city. Mondstadt must be her number one priority, but indulging in the company of another, just for a little bit, couldn’t harm her, at least. She would have to figure out the logistics later, but this tentative decision is good enough for her.
Jean turns around, resolved enough to return to shore. Perhaps with too much enthusiasm, as her foot slips on a stone, and she falls backwards. Unbeknownst to her, the lake bed has a steep drop that’s too deep for someone to stand. And so, she falls.
Her minor discomfort exacerbates to horror and panic, and her fear of water becomes unbearable. She thrashes violently, chaotically, senselessly. The only thing she manages to achieve is keeping her head above the water just long enough to choke on a mouthful of water before sinking again. Water penetrating through her clothing weighs her down further. Her chest tightens and terror floods her mind as she writhes in the water. Writhing, writhing, writhing until she can writhe no more. Everything hurts until it doesn’t. In this brief moment of calm, she recalls a memory. Then, she slips into sleep.