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Emotions are difficult, Albedo surmises. This doesn't come as a surprise.
Part of him has concluded that that's what makes him feel so disconnected to everyone. It's not anyone's fault nor his, but the fragility of human relationships require careful maintenance that he does not believe he has both the time and effort for. Bonds slip from his fingers faster than he can process what's happening, and he ends up back to square one: being a figure of dream; a prince charming, an ideal too far for anyone to reach, too beyond for anyone to call a friend when he himself creates the gap, unintentional as it may be. The steps he took towards friendlier, closer relationships that break his perception of perfection are rescinded and he's left to rinse and repeat until he no longer has energy.
It's more tiring than initially expected. He's left with letters he hasn't written a reply to, invitations to lunch he'd make excuses to avoid, and nowhere else to go but his thoughts.
If being able to close that gap is what it means to be human, Albedo isn't sure if anyone truly is. Or maybe, once again, he's the only one who doesn't know how.
This doesn't come as a surprise.
Emotions are difficult, Albedo surmises, but they can be explained away by science, by hormones, by the chemicals in people's brain that makes feeling a thing.
But his heart tightens as if wanting to escape his chest, the burn of his cheeks subtle at first, turning into a fire the next second, his thoughts scrambled and scrambled and scrambled until they zero in on her. These are just chemicals, a result of biology and not of his own will. Even then, she follows him so readily—doubting only for a second—that he has to say, jokingly, with a slight quirk of his eyebrows and a smirk, “You should be a little more cautious, Lumine.”
Red dusts her cheeks and she only sputters out a reply, saying she's doing this all because she wants to.
Not his point, and they certainly both know that she simply avoided answering.
Emotions are difficult, and Lumine does not make it easier for him.
It's merely fascination at first. Albedo defines the space between them to see what they could mean, what she means to him. She's extraordinary enough to have caught his interest, her strength and mind a deadly combination in combat, but ordinary, too, that even when he knows she's not as human as she appears to be, she can create bonds strong and firm despite not truly being one of them.
Albedo knows he's different from Lumine. He had once thought he found someone he can resonate with, but that was merely wishful thinking and nothing more.
It didn't really stop the fact that he hoped still.
He realizes he can't control his emotions when it's been four hours since he lied down on his bed to sleep and all he could think of is her.
It's fascination, he says, scientific curiosity, but Klee has told him before that liars are bad.
At his little campsite, he prepares hot chocolate for him, Lumine, and Paimon. He hands them their mugs and sits down next to Lumine, and she sends him a grateful smile before drinking. Her lips against the hot mug curve into a smile, her eyelids fluttering as if wanting to close, indulging herself in the warmth of the moment. His gaze lingers on her lips, fingers mere centimeters away from hers, hers twitching slightly from the cold.
He leans towards her, millimeter by millimeter,
Albedo wonders—if her lips are soft, if her fingers are still freezing, if he's allowed to be a little selfish. He wonders if she'd smile into the kiss or turn away from embarrassment, her cheeks dusted red like before, or if he'd be the one who pulls away first from his own heart rapidly beating as if about to burst. He wonders if he will be her first. He wonders if he will be her last. His emotions are difficult, more so now, but so desperately he wants to understand them.