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TRAVAILS OF TEYVAT: Princeps Cretaceus
Pick Me Up
In spite of what others think, Albedo considers himself to be quite observant of his surroundings. A necessary skill both for his line of work and maintaining a semblance of peace. After all, how else would he be able to identify Klee’s mishaps before they could be brought to Jean’s attention? Or the delicate tones one requires when assuring Sucrose from an anxious fit? Even navigating the social climate in Mondstadt, gossip and rumor mingling with vapid fawning, took a great deal of his focus.
Too much for his liking, but his attempts to avoid it have been fruitless thus far.
Nevertheless, years of field work, maintaining social interaction, and caring for his wayward little sister graces Albedo with a long-suffering patience, along with an unnatural seventh sense for mischief. So when he hears the soft click of a doorknob and the air cools ever so slightly, he knows instantaneously who he is greeted with.
Still, he says nothing. Because with all mischief, the issue lies in execution rather than reasoning. Perhaps it’s a testament to their closeness as colleagues or inherent shamelessness that Kaeya slips behind him with all the grace of an ocean-blown breeze. Light streaming through his workshop’s high windows is overtaken by a familiar shadow in the form of the captain’s messy hair, obscuring the page’s detailed results from Timaeus’ latest discovery.
Albedo inhales, nerves sparking from Kaeya’s silence soothe at the subdued scent of mist flowers and calla lilies. Such a fragrant smell reminds him of a meal he hadn’t yet had. When was the last time he ate today?
A quick glance stolen to the clock lost amidst a board filled with pinned papers and meticulously or hastily diagrams confirms his suspicions of a painfully late hour.
“Did it hurt?”
Albedo stiffens at the question, then purses his lips as he considers the words carefully. He had little field work for the day, and his body’s composition is stable. Arching a brow, he doesn’t deign Kaeya with a worded response but acknowledges him with a hum buzzing in the back of his throat.
The back of his chair creaks as a weight settles along its frame, and he hears the light jingle that he’s come to acquaint with the captain’s cloak clasp. It takes a great deal of energy not to roll his shoulders and tip his head away as a cool, sultry voice curls around the tip of his ear.
“When you fell from Celestia.”
A beat. Albedo stops, thinks on it, then retraces his steps. When he comes to the same conclusion, he repeats the action again out of disbelief that Kaeya in his endless supply of wit would use that turn of phrase.
“That may very well be your worst pickup line yet, Sir Kaeya,” he brushes those fingers away from where they dance at his jaw then angles his head back. Their noses almost brush with how close their faces are and if Albedo needed to breathe, he could have taken the air from Kaeya’s lips in one fell swoop. Instead, he locks eyes with that infernal star and flattens the paper against his desk.
“If you’re asking me to lunch, then please start with that.”
Kaeya laughs, warm breath fanning across Albedo’s cheek slips away with only the ghost of a touch. “Where is the fun in that, Sir Albedo?”
“Mm,” Albedo hums, reclining in his chair. “But you are asking.”
“Am I?”
How infuriating this man was. Looking over his shoulder, Albedo’s lips parted to tell him how his words could be perceived as an invitation. But his world rocks to one side and he finds himself falling. Reflexively grasping the arm of his chair, and kicking out a foot to hook beneath the long drawer at the middle of his desk, he stops his fall long enough to notice it wasn’t self-inflicted. And the star he’d been looking into is now gazing down at him, mischievous in its glint.
“Did it hurt when you were falling for me, captain?” Kaeya teases, holding onto the chair back with one hand while the other perches on his hip. Mirth dances in his eye and Albedo blows out a sigh. So that’s how he wanted to play this.
“Of course not,” a thrill courses through him at the blank mask which overtakes Kaeya’s expression for a second as if he were displeased or awaiting his answer to see what face he should wear next. His smirk plays on Albedo’s lips, hand relinquishing its tight grip on the arm rest.
“I knew you would catch me.”
The star in his eye shifts into a rhombus and his mouth falls open, parting in a curve around a soft cooing sound then pressing together. To Albedo’s relief he isn’t dropped on the floor. Instead settled upright then kept in place with Kaeya’s arms sliding over his shoulders, fingers joined over where his ill-gotten heart beats.
“Take care where you place your faith, Kreidprinz.”
Albedo huffs, electing to ignore how his title on Kaeya’s tongue slips through his ears and into the reaches of his soul. “I’m quite certain of where I stand, Sir Kaeya. But if you don’t wish to say it, then allow me…” He tips his head back, meeting that star like a sinner preparing to pray at their archon’s altar.
“I would love to.”