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With each time that he returns to his camp on Dragonspine, Albedo feels his chest pulled tight.
It’s comfortable to be at the mountain, to the silence of his camp, the sound of life on the cliffs padded by the falling snow outside of the enclave. It’s second nature for him to return there, to set up his camp and alternate between his art and his experiments. Albedo tends to draw away from those around him when he’s in Mondstadt, finding comfort in his own presence before anyone else’s.
Even so, returning to Dragonspine makes him realize that he does miss the routine of the city.
Specifically, he misses a particular cavalry captain who has decided to insert himself into Albedo’s routine as of late.
He’s reluctant to admit that he doesn’t hate the way that Kaeya has shown up more and more often in his life as of late. Albedo isn’t sure that Kaeya particularly has ever had a penchant for alchemy, but he’s made a habit of meandering over to the crafting table clutching a bag full of insignias that he gleaned off of treasure hoarders.
As far as he can tell, Kaeya does not approach the table when Timaeus is the one manning it.
The attention isn’t something that Albedo has ever experienced before, especially not from someone like Kaeya. It’s not a bad thing by any means, but he simply doesn’t know how to react. It isn’t unwelcome, but Albedo knows that he spends most of his time around Kaeya not giving him the reactions that he’s looking for.
Kaeya never seems to mind, considering he keeps appearing in Albedo’s life and line of vision.
It would be more of a problem if Kaeya wasn’t so nice to look at.
But as it is, he is nice to look at, and Albedo would never consider himself shy even if he does fit the bill of a recluse. Kaeya almost basked in the way that Albedo’s gaze kept going back to him during a council meeting of the Knights of Favonius.
Well, at least he had thought so. Near the end of the meeting, he did catch him fidgeting more and more each time that Albedo glanced at him. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
It’s small moments like that which replay in Albedo’s mind as the silence of the mountain surrounds him. He finds it hard to focus; the quiet which he normally relishes in spreading out before him and turning overwhelming.
Albedo moves away from the potion that he had been working on at the alchemy table, picking up his pencil instead. The wood is cold in his hand as he stares at the blank canvas in front of him.
Frustratingly, only one face comes to mind.
Unlike all of the other times that he’s denied himself, there’s something about being so very alone on this mountain that causes him to allow his hand to start to move over the canvas, sketching familiar sharp lines and long wisps of hair.
Despite never sketching him before, the image of Kaeya in his mind is so clean and clear that the image forms quickly under his pencil. In fact, how easily it comes to him is almost alarming, but Albedo knows it’s because Kaeya is all that has been on his mind lately.
It isn’t so bad that it disrupts his work, per se, but nearly. Albedo is good at redirecting his mind when he has a lot on his plate and deadlines upon deadlines piling up in front of him. But now in the silence in his camp on the mountain, he doesn’t have any pressing duties. The Knights of Favonius have asked him to begin to develop a shielding potion against dendro thorns, but there’s no timestamp on when it needs to be completed.
He can indulge himself, just this once.
Time slips away from him as his sketch becomes more and more detailed, shifting from rough outlines to shading in a particular lock of hair that always falls in front of Kaeya’s eyepatch when he tilts his head back in a laugh.
Albedo is almost ashamed to admit that he knows exactly how it looks when the light hits Kaeya just right. Almost, but not quite.
He barely even notices when the sun dips below the horizon, the only light in his camp suddenly the lamp that sits on the table behind him. It’s then that Albedo steps back, reaching to rub at the palm of his hand with the ball of his thumb, acutely aware of the cramp in his hand after sketching for so long.
The portrait of Kaeya caught mid-smile with his eye closed sits on his easel, and Albedo can’t help but suddenly feel foolish.
Kaeya has shown him attention, but Kaeya is an expert at doting on those around him, at giving the sort of personal attention that can get people flustered easily. Albedo would know, after all, he’s been the recipient of said attention. But he’s also been working with the Knights for a few years now, and has seen Kaeya give that same attention to other people. Hell, he’s seen him give that sort of attention to nearly every single person who sits at the round table during council meetings.
He isn’t sure why he’s gotten so far under his skin. Albedo is never the type to let anyone or anything get to him. More often than not, it simply rolls off his back and he goes on with his routine. That doesn’t seem to be an option with Kaeya. No matter what he does, he can’t seem to shake him.
The portrait sitting in front of him is proof enough of that.
Albedo doesn’t think that Kaeya does it maliciously, he doesn’t even think he realizes the effect that he has on people half the time.
He lets out a scoff at his own thoughts, turning away from his easel, heading to pack up his bag to head back to Mondstadt for the evening. Staying overnight on the cold mountain isn’t exactly high on his list, even if he does like the peace and quiet.
Then again, the peace and quiet don’t seem to be doing very much for his thoughts that evening. Instead, the quiet leaves room for his mind to work overtime, filling his head with too many thoughts that he can’t keep straight. Unfortunately, all of those thoughts seem to circle back to a certain calvary captain instead of on his work.
Not being able to redirect his thoughts is a feeling that Albedo isn’t used to.
He sighs, peeking his head out of his camp to try to have a guess at what time it is. He was due back in the city at seven for a sort of social hour in the tavern. Someone’s birthday, he would guess, though he can’t for the life of him remember who the celebration was for. The position of the moon above tells him that it’s nearly nine now.
“Not again.” Albedo mutters to himself, shaking his head at how he lost track of time so badly.
Normally, he wouldn’t bother attending the celebrations that the Knights put on. He wasn’t much of a fan of crowds, even if he knew everyone in the crowd that would make their way to Angel’s Share. Normally, Albedo wouldn’t think twice about not attending, and likely wouldn’t even remember the event was happening until hours, if not days, after it took place.
Unfortunately, Kaeya had asked if he would attend two days prior, and Albedo had blurted out a ‘yes’ before he could stop himself. Equally as unfortunate, Albedo stares at the portrait in front of him as his mind is now racing with all of the possibilities of Kaeya thinking that he’s not a man of his word and that he’s unreliable.
He huffs out a breath, crossing to the easel and pulling the page off of his sketch book. It’s a rash move, and one that he nearly instantly regrets. He just couldn’t take the image of Kaeya haunting him anymore, not when he needs to focus on his work and not on pretty captains.
He lets out a sigh, placing the page on the table. There is absolutely no need to bring it with him on his trek down the mountain; he knows that he would feel the imaginary weight of the paper in his pack the entire time. He won’t have time to drop his pack at his house in Mondstadt before heading to the Angel’s Share to try to catch the last bits of the gathering (the last bits, which were also unfortunately Albedo’s least favorite parts of any party), and the idea of having a sketch of Kaeya in his backpack while at the tavern causes his stomach to twist uncomfortably.
Albedo reaches for a jar to place on top of the page to secure it, distracted instantly by a gust of wind that threatens to tip his beakers. Instead, he steadies them before slinging his backpack over his shoulder, no thought spared for the sketch now turning soggy in the snow near the entrance to the camp.
“I shouldn’t care what he thinks.” Albedo’s voice feels loud in the empty camp, the only light the glow from the lantern in his hand. “It doesn’t matter.” He’s announcing it simply to reassure himself, that’s all.
Without a glance behind him, Albedo heads down the mountain, making his way towards Starglow Cavern’s waypoint.
He has no awareness of the man standing at the entrance of his camp, holding onto a soaked-through portrait of himself.