Chapter Text
The butterflies dance.
“Woah look, don’t move, silly, you’re going to make it fly off.”
“I am NOT moving! You’re the one screaming in my ears.”
Sometimes, you wish to go back in time. The scenery around Windrise still looks exactly the same, but in your heart, it doesn’t come evoking the same feelings. Imagine sneaking out of the city at night, and then going to chase butterflies. At the age of 22 or so, is it possible that you can do that and still find the same fun? You’ve caught enough butterflies on your journeys for they come in handy if you’d like to have something like a potion made. But really…catching, chasing, they are not the same thing. Time passes, as sad that is. Instead of a 15-year old’s excitement, you feel nostalgia. Years after you left home, you find yourself back in front of the City of Freedom’s gates. The breeze is fresh, but half-filled with longing as it caresses your skin. What you long for, you cannot tell—you’ve sought enough for a while, and now, maybe you’re just tired.
And homesick. Very homesick.
Night-time Monstadt is however the same as ever—much of the raucous crowds have shifted from the streets to the bars (the people are probably as jolly as they used to be). Your travel worn boots crunch against the hard cobblestone pavement, as slowly you trace your way to Angel’s Share.
Why the tavern, one may ask?
Because that’s where the festivity is. Homesick as you are, you want to see it, the familiar faces, the new ones, let the singing pour into your ears and feel the laughter bouncing off your skin. Now that you have arrived long after sundown, the city streets are almost pin-drop silent. Like how the flame draws you closer in subzero cold, so does the sounds of the city now nestled within the cosiness of the tavern.
The door creaks as you push it open, the hum immediately drowns you, and well, as sappy as it sounds, it really does feel like coming back home after such a long time. The smile on your face grows, and you make your way over the bar. The barkeep, once has shifted over to take your order, gives a squeal of surprised delight upon catching sight of your face and recognizing you for you immediately –
“In the name of Barbatos, is that you, Y/n?!”
Your grin broadens, as you shoot him a mischievous glance and then add, “if I say no, then I’m not?”
His loud laughter pours into the air, and soon more people are stopping by, greeting you, pulling more of the crowd over. The bards stop by, some who know you and some who don’t and inquire you of your travels, exploits—what was the world out there like—lest they find some spark of inspiration or the other. All the citizens you end up speaking to ask you the same things in fact—what was it like out there?
“Tell us more about your adventures, Y/n!!” they chorus. Happy, and ever so obliging to speak to the people who feel so so much like home, you meander along and give detailed accounts of the most thrilling stories one after the other. When the hour to close the tavern arrives, many of them groan because much of it, they say, they haven’t heard yet.
You are supposed to be feeling tired, the bed must be calling you, but no—for some reason or the other, even if the tiredness is there in your bones, it doesn’t register with you. At last, you bid Charles a goodnight and prepare to leave. The indoors are almost as quiet as the streets now. Content and at peace, after a long time feeling assured that you can let your guard down. When you’re about to swing the tavern door open however, it swings inwards before you can touch its surface.
“I hope you don’t tell me it’s too late for a drink already, I’m not taking that—”
He freezes in his tracks as his lands upon your frozen in tracks figure too.
The butterflies must still be dancing, the breeze that blows over the place where the stars fell will still smell sweet. The longing in your heart, that you thought was satisfactorily quenched by the evening back home at the tavern, suddenly gives a nasty lurch. It returns back in merciless intensity. The first thing you notice is that Kaeya’s voice has changed—it no longer sounds like what it did seven years ago. And next you notice how tall he has grown.
“What a surprise,” he sings. You feel a tiny desire to frown, because the sugar in that tone, definitely not intended for sarcasm purposes, feels a little nauseous and very alien at first go. Why don’t you hear anything except that artificial sweetness that’s veiling whatever is the real emotion? An awkwardness descends (it is much expected considering certain things that have happened in the past) but you trudge forwards hopefully. Surely, the reunion with your old best friend will erase bitterness. Absence after all does make a heart grow fonder.
“I missed home,” you say simply. He chuckles coolly and then adds—
“I see. Get going, now.”
It amounts to your perplexity…you don’t get it! And that’s it? And that’s what you say after you see your friend after seven odd years? Kaeya Alberich is supposed to be your closest friend back home, and all he gives you is an “I see”? Is that what you are supposed to say too?
It hurts like you’ve been hit with a knife. All the sadness that you bottled up and tucked into a chest before leaving town, seems to have been released by an odd magic cast by a mage. And it swells in size too. All the happiness, warmth gone in a moment, you feel the tsunami of violent emotions pull you down under. You’re trying to tackle that wave, when he speaks again,
“Uh, is there anything I could help you with, however?”
You blurt it out without thinking. Laying your emotions bare right at first go.
“I missed you.”
Pause.
“Kaeya, I missed you,” you repeat, trying to grasp onto something.
There’s an awkward pause, and then he says, his formal tone intact, but with the sugar now gone
“Great.”
And you can feel your heart shatter into a hundred little pieces.