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Kaeya’s heart isn’t broken. It’s just sore.
Worn out from use. The ache becomes unsteady hands in the mornings when he reaches for someone who isn’t there, lingering a little too long on a cold pillow. All that’s left is distance and silences that aren’t calm nor soothing, silences that haunt and turn into ghosts on shoulders weighing down and causing trouble, causing sleeplessness. Ghosts that can’t be exorcised because they’re not real.
There’s no poltergeist moving boxes from his bedroom, even if they vanish when Kaeya doesn’t want them gone. There’s nothing terrifying about reaching into the back of a closet and finding a white t-shirt with a stain on it that should have made it into the laundry. Even knowing that the spill happened when Kaeya bent down to kiss Childe’s forehead and the coffee got on both of them.
He lifts it to his face as if he seeing something between the wrinkles. Something left for him to excavate. A memory. So when Kaeya folds it up and puts it in the trash there’s no sense of closure. It’s just lonely.
Kaeya does lonely well.
First meetings are always forgettable, but nothing about Childe has ever been anything but memorable. It has nothing to do with his stature or his somewhat-crooked smile and his dry knuckles that feel uncomfortable when they shake hands.
It’s not even somewhere in the first laugh, hoarse and unrestrained. They’re out with friends at a bar and they don’t know each other. Kaeya greets him first and Childe has to lean down to shout his name into Kaeya’s ear, so loud it reverberates inside him. His hand moves to Kaeya’s shoulder, pats it twice, and all of those freckles are darker in the murky light.
So he gives Childe his number—
and Childe never calls.
“Oh, his memory is garbage.” Rosaria taps her finger against the cigarette. “I’d text him ten times before getting upset. He has like fourteen hobbies and one-fourth of the attention span needed for them. Does that help your fragile ego?”
Kaeya groans and leans back in the uncomfortable metal outdoor chair. It’s too cold to be outside but Rosaria will abandon him the moment he heads inside where she can’t smoke.
“When did I ever say it was about my feelings?”
She quirks a brow at him, shrugging as she gestures vaguely with her free hand. “I don’t know, sometime after you bemoaned how the bland guy from the club didn’t text you even once after you so graciously handed him your number. Rejection doesn’t suit you.”
“I didn’t moan about anything.”
“You’re doing it this very second.”
Kaeya narrows his eyes at her but he can’t fight her on it. He settles for sipping bitterly on his americano and crossing his legs while going silent.
Rosaria sighs and leans on the table between them, head tilted so she can give him a long, almost sympathetic, look. “Is he really that interesting?’
“Probably not,” Kaeya admits. “I don’t know, he’s handsome, I guess? There’s just something—”
“If you say there’s just something about him I will throw up.” She puts out her cigarette and brushes her hair into place. “It’s okay to say ‘I want to fuck him and move on.’ But be honest about it.”
Kaeya imagines what those calloused hands could feel like if they grabbed his waist roughly, the way he likes it. If Childe bent down the way he had before but this time to press his lips against Kaeya’s, that laughter pushing into Kaeya’s mouth, infectious, how it might sound like in a kitchen in the morning with no other sounds. Kaeya spirals and hides his face with his hand, coffee steaming in the cold, and tells her:
“I don’t know what I want.”
Rosaria turns her gaze away, taps her cigarette again before taking another pull so there’s smoke between her lips, and says, “It will fall into place.”
So Kaeya gives in, reluctantly forgoing his rule of never being the one to initiate, and sends Childe a text message:
Hi, this is Kaeya from the bar, wanted to make sure my number saved properly bc I didn’t hear anything from you, ha ha.
He stares at his phone for far too long and then puts it screen-down on the table and decides to turn notifications off. But he’s not waiting. He’s not expecting anything. So when his phone buzzes loudly and he grabs it so fast it nearly slips out of his hands and he scrambles to find the notification, it has nothing to do with Childe at all.
Oh shit, yes, hi!
It’s not the most eloquent text-back Kaeya has ever received.
Yeah, sorry, the number saved but i’ve been busy and spaced out and forgot
Kaeya waits a minute, doesn’t want to seem too eager, and then types out:
It happens, all good. Hope things are calmer now.
Immediate ping.
I’m more free now luckily. i’ll make it up to you with lunch if you’re down
Kaeya bites his lip. He is not smiling. He is not excited. He has lunch with friends constantly, so there’s nothing special about some guy he met asking him to meet up casually. Nothing life-changing is going to happen over side salads and midday drinks.
Sure. My Saturdays are open.
He fiddles with the pen in his hand, trying to distract himself by scrolling down the blog page on his laptop. If only it was more appealing than holding his phone and staring at a conversation until a new text bubble finally appears.
Cool. i can pick you up or we can meet there
Kaeya raises his brows. He can’t remember the last time someone offered to pick him up. It’s too tempting, the idea that this man who ignored him (he didn’t, but Kaeya’s ego is still bruised) would go out of his way to get him just for lunch.
How would you pick me up? I don’t mind either way.
He shouldn’t have asked, he’s spelled his own demise.
Motorcycle 🏍️ hope that’s ok i know some people don’t like them
Kaeya puts his head down on the table and groans.
Childe’s the worst type of best boyfriend. He does Kaeya’s laundry and then makes the bed when they’ve both got up for the morning. When he starts spending four nights a week at Kaeya’s place he brings his own shampoo and conditioner (after Kaeya wrangled the 3-in-1 out of his hands), never taking anything without asking. He’s lovely and considerate and Kaeya doesn’t ever want him to leave. But Kaeya doesn’t live with people. He brings them in and then they leave and he gets peace and quiet again. Kaeya needs space to breathe and watch reality-tv shows about ancient history. Then he will lay in his bed and stare at the ceiling until he falls asleep so that when his friends call him out to the bars he can enjoy it, too. Other people in his home disrupt all of that.
Childe walks into Kaeya’s apartment and simply exists. He doesn’t chase Kaeya through rooms, will sit quietly at his kitchen table and read a book or organize Kaeya’s sad refrigerator. Sometimes he comes into the bedroom and lies next to Kaeya and immediately passes out, snoring quietly. It’s in those moments, when Kaeya is alone and with Childe, that he’ll run his fingers through Childe’s hair and think dangerous thoughts.
The second time Childe stays the night he makes breakfast and Kaeya doesn’t know what to say. Kaeya’s fiddling with his pierced ear, cursing himself for leaving his earring somewhere after he’d gotten drunk, and his expression must have thrown Childe off.
“Is it bad? Sorry, I should have asked if you like eggs,” Childe says with a mouthful of toast. “I raided your cabinets...”
“Oh,” Kaeya puts his hand down. “No, I mean— I like eggs. Eggs are good. I don’t typically eat breakfast is all.”
Childe blinks, flabbergasted, and then leans across the table. It’s too natural when his hand slides up Kaeya’s thigh and it has Kaeya’s heart racing softly.
“I should cook for you more often, huh?”
It’s the sort of promise without expectations that Kaeya will always, always fall for.
This time, he’s not so scared.
Kaeya had been right. Nothing magical happens over side salads.
But Childe’s mundane smile and casual hands and unpretentious way of speaking about his life are better than magic. Kaeya laps it up like he’s been starving all this time. Rosaria would undoubtedly gag if she were to see him then. For whatever reason, Childe finds him equally interesting. At least that’s what Kaeya tells himself when their eyes meet and the corners of Childe’s lips twitch into a confident grin. Is he charming, in Childe’s eyes? Is he someone desirable? Kaeya thinks he is, by general standards. And, after all, Childe asked him out. Everything so far screams date. Childe clicking the buckle of Kaeya’s motorcycle helmet for him, fingers lingering against Kaeya’s jaw a second too long; pulling Kaeya’s chair out; listens to everything Kaeya rambles about as if it’s a required 3-hour lecture.
Kaeya brushes his hair out of his face, knowing it draws attention to his eyes. He’s flattered and he feels good and he doesn’t want this lunch to end. Maybe he can convince Childe that getting dessert in the middle of the day is an absolute must.
“Do you live alone, too?” Kaeya asks, imagining what sort of space Childe might fill.
Childe laughs and shakes his head, downing the sound with a glass of water. “No, I live with my family. I have a bunch of siblings and it’s easier when I’m around, you know? Looking after them, I mean. I never thought about moving out, except for…”
He stops, scratches his neck awkwardly, and then picks at the chicken on his plate.
“Nevermind,” he shrugs, “tell me more about that TV show you mentioned. The one about the fall of Rome? Correct me if I’m wrong.”
He isn’t wrong, and so Kaeya doesn’t ask him about home again. He lets it slide and instead distracts the both of them by recapping a two-hour episode on the influence of Greek literature on Roman culture and the irony of rejecting language while embracing the written word. Kaeya doesn’t realize that Childe has said nothing until he’s already ten minutes in. He hasn’t even moved. His face rests against his hand, eyes watching Kaeya with intent. That sort of look where Kaeya knows he has Childe’s full attention.
And Kaeya doesn’t get self-conscious. It is not in his nature to stumble over words, feel his mouth go dry and his cheeks heat up in a flash of embarrassment. But what is he supposed to make out of Childe’s relentless gaze on him? As if he doesn’t care about anything else. Kaeya doesn’t want to think about the lightness in his chest, so he keeps talking.
Kaeya isn’t lonely. He’s unaccompanied.
That’s what he tells himself when there’s an empty space where before Childe there was simply space. There used to be nothing to miss and now there’s a tangible difference in the air where that nothingness used to be. He can trace the shape of Childe’s back against his chest in his bed if he wants to. When he rolls over and there’s enough room for him it’s wrong. He sleeps in a bed that’s used to be just big enough for him, covered in new bedsheets. Plain and linen. White. The smell of plastic freshness from a straight-out-the-packaging purchase. Something to take away the strong scent of cologne because Childe never listened when Kaeya told him that’s enough, you could fill a room with that much. And he does — Kaeya wishes it wasn’t his room.
He makes burnt eggs for breakfast and throws them in the garbage. Someone nameless who is too crowded for that home joins him occasionally, flickering in and out of his life along with the lights as they turn on, off, on-again, unwanted hands stroking his hair in passing to say hello, goodbye—
finds another piece of Childe in a cabinet.
Kaeya shouldn’t care about honey packets but they’re Childe’s and he’d left them there when Kaeya was sick. Just drink it with hot water, if nothing else. There are four now. Kaeya puts those in the garbage, too, before shoving his hand back into the bucket while telling himself he’s being stupid. They’re just honey, he tells himself. They can stay. Even if he won’t use them.
There’s something powerful about dating Childe. Kaeya’s not sure if it’s the same for him, but when Kaeya wraps his fingers around Childe’s arm and smiles and Childe melts at the sight of him… Kaeya wouldn’t trade that for anything. When fall comes around Childe bends down to whisper in Kaeya’s ear how pretty he is and it’s always, always followed by the laughter from the bar that night they met. It tickles Kaeya’s chest and he’s never thought about how people cope with racing hearts, but around Childe he’s forced to.
“Wow,” Rosaria drawls, eyes drifting from Kaeya to Childe (who is busy at the counter) and then back to Kaeya. Her expression is blank. “You really have it bad. I should leave.”
“Rude,” Kaeya picks at the dessert in front of him, “we’re good, I guess.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s very sweet.”
“You both came here from your apartment and he does your laundry. If you’re down bad, he’s three beats from asking for your hand in marriage.” She exhales a puff of smoke and scrolls on her phone before bringing her attention back to Kaeya. “I’m not joking.”
“Ha ha,” Kaeya says anyway. “Sure he is.”
“You keep fooling yourself all you want, I have a girlfriend to attend to,” Rosaria mutters, grabbing her bag and putting the cigarette out with a hiss. “If I were you I’d take a long evening to myself to think about what I want out of this, but that’s me.”
Childe returns minutes after she’s left, staring at her empty seat with confusion. “Did I say something weird? I have her drink…”
“No,” Kaeya says, reaching out for the cup. She’d forfeited it the moment she left. “You’re perfect.”
Childe grins and slips into the chair next to his, putting his arm over Kaeya’s shoulder so they can people-watch side by side. Every now and then Childe will single someone out and tell Kaeya all about them before saying, ‘At least I wish that’s how it was.’ He dreams a little too often and a little too hard. The way he loves is worse. Kaeya’s not sure what sort of dreams Childe has for them, but he desperately hopes Childe hasn’t started wishing yet.
Rosaria’s advice he shoves far into the back of his mind in favor of Childe’s selfless hands around his waist that night, his kisses against Kaeya’s neck. Kaeya expects him to find the room to say I love you, but all he gets is goodnight. He’s not sure why he’s so disappointed. He’s not sure why being disappointed scares him more.
Childe’s family is overwhelming and warm, and Kaeya is used to dealing with neither. The first time Childe takes him around there are so many younger siblings he panics about remembering all the names before Childe pulls Kaeya aside later and tells him, ‘If you get two out of seven right, you’ll beat the last guy I brought around.’ So he memorizes all of them. He's around often enough for Childe’s family to remember him, too. For Childe to visit him and say, ‘They asked about you.’ At first, it makes Kaeya feel worthy, as if he's been acknowledged by a force greater than the universe. Then, all of a sudden, it doesn't. Childe will tell him about Teucer wondering if he'll be there for the holidays and Kaeya can't say yes right away.
"That's okay." Childe shrugs. "Some other time, then."
He's not hurt, but something in Kaeya is.
Childe kisses him and it’s so obvious in how his lips linger, right against Kaeya’s and unmoving, that he doesn’t want it to end. Kaeya leans into it, invites him for one more, allows Childe to groan into his mouth and press him up against the wall. That power, again, of having a man who is loved by so many people cage him against the wall and drip with love for no one else. Kaeya smiles at him and Childe's eyes are wide and desperate, his mouth twice as eager as his hands. He calls Kaeya pretty and preens at any compliments Kaeya throws his way, dresses in them, and keeps them around. Kaeya tells him his shirt looks good on it and sees Childe in it every date night from then on.
It's nothing short of exhilarating. Kaeya's drunk on being loved, and Childe is so, so good at letting him know he is. He's not always gentle and that's how Kaeya prefers it. Childe's rough hands will undo Kaeya's tense muscles when they slot together and Childe gets a chance to put his affectionate musings onto Kaeya's skin. His thumbs trace the curve of Kaeya's waist, lips mouthing down Kaeya's jaw and throat. He knows him so well. Kaeya can't get enough of being known.
"I don't know what I'd do without you," Childe says breathlessly, hips pushing Kaeya's legs apart. "Keeping you all to myself, I'm so cruel."
He grins and adds, "Not that I'll stop."
Because Childe, too, enjoys the attention. Kaeya doesn't mind the obvious way his hand makes its way to Kaeya's hip in public, a little too low sometimes. He's always touching, smoothing his hand down Kaeya's back, fixing his hair and correcting his shirt. Letting other people know what they can't have.
Kaeya sighs into him and arches his chest when Childe takes him just right, the way he'd taught him. "You're so dramatic."
Childe hums, kisses the slope below Kaeya's chin before dragging his teeth down it. "You have never complained."
"I'm not saying it's a bad thing—" Kaeya's voice hitches in his throat, a choked noise interrupting him. "Oh, right there."
Childe follows through and grips Kaeya's hips, then pulls him back until they're even closer. There's so much space in Kaeya's bedroom and Childe has all of it, takes all of it, wants more, still, reaches out and inside of Kaeya until there's no difference between Childe's laughter and the air in Kaeya's lungs. Something snaps in him and Kaeya's eyes open.
It's morning, Childe is there, and Kaeya is in love with him.
"You should have listened."
Kaeya turns to Rosaria and wonders how bad he must look for her to still nag on him.
"Do you really have to give me that shit right now?" he asks.
Rosaria leans back in the chair of his kitchen, fiddles with the flowers in the middle of the table. He's not a flower guy, despite it. They've lasted two weeks somehow when everything else Kaeya puts in a pot dies before he can remember he has them.
"Yeah," she says, "because he deserves it."
Kaeya grits his teeth but can't fight her. She’s right and he agrees with her, even when he doesn’t want to. Every time she brings him up Kaeya’s reminded of the fact that he’s still in love—
It just wasn’t enough.
“How long are you going to wallow in self-pity? It’s not too late, you know. You can get him back.”
“I could,” Kaeya agrees because when all of it ended Childe still stared at him with eyes dripping with honey. “But it won’t change how I feel.”
“And what do you want?”
Childe is everything Kaeya wants. But he doesn’t want it forever.
There’s a never-ending excitement that comes with having someone who says things like, “You’re so beautiful, Kaeya,” effortlessly. Childe is the type of person Kaeya knows he can never be. Not better or worse, only different, heading somewhere else in life, somewhere that will inevitably take him away from Kaeya. It doesn’t matter how much Kaeya clears his apartment out so Childe can fit himself in there. So instead, he consumes him.
It takes three years to end them. Three years for Childe to realize that Kaeya is not forever. Not ‘not for him’ — simply not forever. Kaeya is unraveling them, slowly, taking strings out of the tapestry Childe had begun to weave from the moment he put that helmet on Kaeya’s head.
Fuck, Kaeya opens the door to empty hallways where someone loved him, Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck!
And then he leaves again because he can’t breathe. He goes somewhere to sit and watch strangers and pretends he knows them better than he does himself.
The world is cold but it doesn’t matter with a thousand lights strung above them on the city street. Everywhere around them people are coming to a halt, turned to the sky to watch the first dusting of snow begin to fall. Everything is warm to Kaeya, that day. Childe holds Kaeya’s pinky with his as if it’s the last standing haven and they’ve lost everything else. He squeezes Kaeya’s hand and Kaeya knows it’s coming.
“Hey,” he says casually. “Can I?”
Because the same way Kaeya can tell what he’s about to say, Childe also knows Kaeya too well not to ask first. Why it’s always felt so forbidden, Kaeya’s not quite sure. There’s no doubt Kaeya is in love with Childe. How else can he explain the rattling of his heart, the nervous flutter in his throat threatening to have Kaeya say it first?
“I love you,” Kaeya tells him. “I’m in love with you.”
A cold breeze has Kaeya huddling into Childe's side, the puffy winter jacket doing so little to stay warm. At least Childe's delighted giggle against his cheek is hot and wonderful.
"Yeah," Childe murmurs. "I know."
Kaeya waits for the world.
"I love you," Childe says. He holds Kaeya's hand with kindness. "A whole damn lot."
The sun stings Kaeya's eyes but Childe lifts his arm to obscure it for the both of them as they watch it settle on the horizon. Everywhere are Christmas lights, too early, Kaeya thinks, but Childe's eyes gleam when he first catches sight of them. How can Kaeya complain about something that lets him watch Childe stare in awe?
He brings their entwined fingers to his face and blows a puff of air over them. Childe turns to him and tilts his head before reeling their hands back to his own lips. He kisses Kaeya's knuckles, the back of his hand, his ring finger. Kaeya's heart beats strong. Childe's boxes stack up in his apartment a week after Christmas, and Kaeya's never liked a gift more.
He packs everything up for Childe because there’s nothing Kaeya wants less today than having to stand and see Childe undo the home they made. A month ago when Childe first left he'd already scraped himself from the nooks and crannies like he was dirt. There was no care in the way Childe stuffed every breath he'd given to Kaeya into moving boxes. He didn't even fold his clothes. So much of it is left, still. Kaeya's not sure what the purpose of leaving some boxes unpacked was meant to serve. Did Childe intend to let Kaeya grieve him through gifted sweaters and pinewood shampoo? Some sort of reconciliation period between Kaeya and empty rooms he'd forgone in favor of Childe's eager presence?
Kaeya fucking hates it. He hates that it makes him hurt. He hates that he doesn't regret it.
He wants so badly for this to be the heartbreak that ruins his life so that when someone asks him, far off in the future, what was he like when you dated him? Kaeya can tell them about the romance of Childe's lips on his shoulder, the care with which he merged their lives together, how he made Kaeya second-guess the role of love in his life. He's everything I could have ever asked for and more, Kaeya could say, I miss him every day. I was so stupid to let him go. I regret it. But I hope he is happy now, he deserves it. Instead, Kaeya handles the last of Childe's boxes and leaves them outside the door with a text message that reads:
I've left the last of your stuff outside the door. I'll be away from 9 to 15 tomorrow.
And all he gets back is:
I'll be there at 10. Thanks.
How a capitalized ‘Thanks' can hurt worse than Childe walking out the door, Kaeya isn't so sure about it, but it happens and he aches and wishes he could cry about it. But Kaeya's only in love, not grieving.
"So my friend's getting married." Childe picks at his food. "Do you want to come with me?"
Kaeya imagines white flower arches and a shirt collar strung tight around his neck, flutes of champagne he wants to drink the moment away with. But he also pictures Childe in that navy suit Kaeya has seen in their closet, remembering the brightest smile Kaeya's ever seen on him and it would suit him so well with that blue.
Against better judgment, Kaeya says, "Sure."
Half of that smile Childe gives Kaeya right then and there.
"It's been forever since I went to a wedding. I'm pretty excited."
"Do you like weddings that much?"
"Well, I like the alcohol." Childe laughs and scratches his neck, falls silent. "Less the wedding and more... family, I suppose."
Kaeya's not sure how that's any better. "What about family?"
"Coming together, I guess. Everyone you care about is there, together, to celebrate the start of something new and intimate. Something public. None of my older siblings are married yet, but I don't doubt it'll take long, they all have partners of at least a couple of years." Childe taps his fork against the plate, eyes shifting to the flowers at the center of the table. "I always told my parents I'd get married before I was twenty-five. You can see how that turned out."
Childe is twenty-six. Kaeya's stomach shifts. His mouth is so dry.
"What's the point in getting married? I mean, how is it any different from living together?" Kaeya asks, averting his gaze and opting for staring out the window. Childe's eyes on him are so heavy. "Aside from being lavished in attention for a day."
"Oh." The sound of Childe's fork stops. "The permanence? Knowing you've made that commitment to someone. That you believe in it enough to proclaim it so loudly."
Kaeya loves quietly. Loves safely.
"I see." Kaeya goes silent, too, and then picks his plate up to wash it. "When's the wedding?"
Childe says, "Next month on the seventeenth."
The number seventeen imprints on him and when Kaeya leaves his apartment the next day to head to work he sees the number 17 on the subway signs, and the menu for lunch, and then again in some store window. It won't stop haunting him; it is his first ghost. He's sure of what it wants from him.
It's just Childe in a different shape.
Kaeya strokes Childe’s cheeks, keeps his head there on his lap. Childe hums, pleased at the attention, and lays his hand over Kaeya's.
"Keep doing that and I'll get addicted," he murmurs, half-asleep. "I could sleep for twelve hours right now."
"You can, it's Saturday." Kaeya combs through Childe's hair and rubs his thumb over Childe's brows over and over. He likes them. They're neat and pointed and when Childe is completely absorbed in something they knit together in the cutest way.
"I know, but this is the only time I've seen you all week. I want to make it count."
"I'm always here," Kaeya says, moving his fingers down to Childe's jawline so he can tilt his chin up. Childe's eyes flutter open.
Childe's eyes are drawn to Kaeya's lips and it's the only cue Kaeya needs to kiss him. A content sigh brushes over Kaeya's mouth, Childe's satisfaction positively vibrating when Kaeya pulls away.
"Now that I could do for twelve hours."
Kaeya laughs softly, bumping their foreheads together. "I'll consider it."
"Yeah?" Childe sounds too excited. Enough for Kaeya to have already made his mind up.
"Yeah," Kaeya promises, kissing him again. "We should do the dishes though."
"If you let me push you down right now I'll do them all on my own later," Childe suggests, his grin wide enough to make Kaeya's stomach flare hot. He's an expert at tempting Kaeya in the right ways (no chores, excellent make-out sessions). It borders on unfair.
"I was going to do them, actually," Kaeya murmurs, tapping his fingertip against Childe's nose. "But how about you kiss me anyways?"
Childe pushes himself up and turns around so he can press their chests together, mouth sliding against Kaeya's with familiar ease. Everything about him is right. Everything he does makes Kaeya weak and selfish and happy.
"I adore you," Childe manages to say before Kaeya reels him back in."I'm so glad I made you text me first."Kaeya snorts so hard Childe grimaces but it doesn't stop him from going back in for seconds.
If Kaeya’s rage steeps quietly then Childe’s runs petty and comes in the form of a cup slammed down particularly hard against a table.
“I don’t get why you won’t compromise on this." Childe’s being curt with him. “I moved in here so we’d have more time together, but with work now… It’d be so much easier if we moved closer to downtown.”
Kaeya refuses to look him in the eye because he will cave. “You don’t want to move for convenience. You want to move because this apartment is in my name and it’s bugging the hell out of you.”
It’s cruel because it isn’t true, but it’ll hit right where it hurts. Childe pours coffee like he’s trying to drown out Kaeya’s voice.
“You know that’s not it,” Childe says through gritted teeth. “I want this to work, I’m trying to figure out where we have to go next to make that happen. And you’re refusing to so much as consider moving apartments after two fucking years. I don’t think I’m asking for a lot here.”
Kaeya crosses his legs and sips on his own morning drink. Whether there’s a spoonful of whiskey in there or not is no one’s business, barely his own. When Childe closes the cabinet door, he does so softly.
“Kaeya,” he says.
Kaeya swallows hard so he won’t cry, because he knows he is wrong and that he should apologize, but it isn’t that easy. He wants Childe here but he wants him here, in this apartment where he changed Kaeya and then changed Kaeya’s home. Wherever they go it is not going to be the same. Kaeya clings to these rooms where he has no doubts they can remain as they are.
“Kaeya,” Childe calls again, and Kaeya buries his face in his hands.
Gentle hands grip Kaeya’s wrists and pry his hands away as Kaeya turns his face away, blinking furiously.
“I don’t want to be upset,” Childe murmurs. “But I’m really fucking hurt over this. I need you to give a little, too. Please, I’m just asking you to think it over. Two years, Kaeya, that’s how long I’ve stayed with you here. I need to think about where I want to go, too. Okay?”
Kaeya swallows again, hates how he chokes up, how it is worse when Childe is considerate of him. If for once they could fight and shout and slam doors then Kaeya could stack up the frustrations and then topple them over, blame someone else.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ll think it over.”
Childe’s sigh is nothing but a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
He lets Kaeya’s wrists go and stands back up, turns away so that Kaeya is forced to watch his back. Is this what he would look like if he left? Kaeya’s jaw is tense with everything he wants to say but doesn't.
“Do you love me?” Childe asks. He holds Kaeya from behind, chin tucked into the crook of Kaeya's shoulder.
When he lies this close, chest pressed against Kaeya's back, the comforting rhythm of his heart mixes with Kaeya's. An exchange of heartbeats until Kaeya no longer knows where his own begins and Childe's ends. If one day Childe's pulse is pried out from between Kaeya's ribs, he wonders what sort of sound his own heart would make. Once, during a night too much like this one, Childe said: The world is so big that I'm scared I won't see enough of it before I die. But when it's just you and me here, I feel it might be okay if I don’t. I have so much left to see of you I don't think I'll need to look elsewhere. The entire universe is here, I think. As horribly sappy as that is.
Childe does sappy well. He does it so perfectly, in fact, that Kaeya never shivers at the implications of his affections. But Childe whispers a future into Kaeya's neck and the number seventeen burns Kaeya before the words can do any good. All of that goodness inside of a room Kaeya used to care nothing for. Is a single bedroom meant to hold the world? Is it fair of the weight to fall on Kaeya? Can't he be selfish and unburden himself? But if he tilts Childe's universe on its axis and lets it come crumbling down, he'd hate himself for it.
It's not his bedroom anymore. It's theirs. Covered in posters Childe chose for him and meticulously strung to the wall. He even put a shelf up without so much as asking for Kaeya’s help. So many things for Kaeya simply because he could. Because he wants to. Because he is Kaeya's.
“I love you,” Kaeya says because it's true in every sense of the word. He's never experienced anyone like Childe, never wanted to hold onto someone so desperately.
Childe's lips tremble against his bare shoulder. “But would you marry me?”
Silence.
Marriage is not a word found in any of Kaeya's plans because he doesn’t have them. Marriage feels like a commitment to time he doesn't have yet, time Kaeya has not had the privilege of defining for himself. He knows nothing about himself one, five, ten years from now. But Childe wants that from him, regardless. That’s what Childe truly wants and Kaeya's known it all along. Commitment. Not the type Kaeya offers him now, where he can come and go freely in Kaeya's space and life and heart, knowing Kaeya has eyes for no one but him. Kaeya is still drifting, too. The anchor he's made in his apartment is not ready to be uprooted. He is moving and he is stuck. Childe doesn't want to be stuck with him, even if it is Kaeya. And how can Kaeya blame him? All good things that can last forever never do.
When Kaeya doesn’t reply, Childe murmurs, “I see.”
He rolls over so his back is against Kaeya's, but before Kaeya can adjust he's already shifted back. Childe's hand meets Kaeya's hip and he moves his face so close their eyelashes could brush against each other. Why are his breaths so shallow? Why are Childe's eyes so bright in the dark, shiny and pretty, and holding all of the good things in Kaeya's life? Why can't Kaeya just fucking let in, let be, let go.
Kaeya turns his face away to stare at the ceiling, but the air’s too thick. There are too many things left unsaid that force themselves between them, so Kaeya gets out of bed and takes himself into the kitchen. Childe does not follow. It’s for the best.
The most appropriate time for wine is when you should not be drinking it. Kaeya downs his brut and looks into the city through the kitchen window as if it has any answers for him, and then he gets his coat. Kaeya knows he's running. He tells himself he is not a coward for being content where he is, and it is true. But being content is not enough for everyone; it is not enough for Childe. He says to himself that it's not his own lack of desire for stability, commitment, whatever it is marriage means to Childe. It is not what is going to drive them apart. It was Childe who did it. It is Childe who pulled the last thread from the tapestry and left the pile of scraps at his own feet.
Kaeya draws his jacket tighter around his body and keeps fleeing until he can return to an empty apartment where he isn’t lonely. Just alone.
Childe taps Kaeya’s chest, eyes crinkling. “You’re so handsome.”
Kaeya’s not so sure why it makes him so flustered. “Thank you.”
“Ready to head on out?" Kaeya straightens Childe's tie.
"Yeah, let me grab something first." Childe vanishes into their bedroom before reappearing and emerges empty-handed. "Alright, let's go."
"What did you get?" Kaeya furrows his brow, trying to make out any weird folds in his shirt jacket.
"Don't worry about it." Childe pushes him towards the door by his shoulders. "Let's go watch some people get wasted and then married."
Kaeya laughs, delights in Childe's kiss against his temple and the security of his hand on Kaeya's waist. He pushes any irrational, anxious thoughts so far away he forgets about them. All there is to care about is how Childe's unruly hair is neatly brushed out of his face for once, and that he had spent an hour trying to get it to lay right. He ended up asking for help, anyway. With his eyes unobscured by messy bangs, Kaeya's all too exposed to how intensely Childe looks at him. It's not just his possessive grip on Kaeya's hip, or how easily he introduces Kaeya as his partner. He's overwhelming. Good, perfect, always unbearably pleasant. No one leaves Childe’s company unscathed, least of all Kaeya. So, so much that Kaeya trembles. He wants it. He wants that for himself, always. He never wants Childe to turn his eyes away and get stuck on something better, someone more handsome or more generous than Kaeya is. There is someone out there who can love Childe better than Kaeya.
But Kaeya will try, at the very least, to be that person.
How Childe is allowed to shine at someone else's wedding Kaeya isn't sure of, but he does. He's too much of an expert with people, to the point where Kaeya sometimes feels as if he's falling behind. Childe playfully plucks a flower from the table decorations during the dinner and sticks it behind Kaeya's ear before he leans in to say:
"Are you having fun?"
It's too much, because it's a moment where Kaeya can do nothing but envision himself next to Childe in a setting too similar, with words much heavier. Kaeya tilts his head towards him so that Childe's at least allowed the courtesy of knowing he is lying when Kaeya says, "Of course I am."
Childe's smile falters for a second before he straightens his back, pulling his arm away from where it had rested on Kaeya's chair.
"Good," he murmurs, "I'm glad."
It's a blessing that this is a day about everyone but them, so that when Childe's touches cease no one is paying enough attention to notice. The gap is hidden behind two-hundred dollar bouquets and tiered wedding cakes. Even Kaeya forgets, placing his hand on Childe's arm and only realizing what he's done when he feels Childe stiffen next to him.
"Hey," Kaeya says quietly as the speeches go on. "I love you."
Childe turns to him with an awkward smile.
"Yeah," he strokes Kaeya's cheek, "I know that."
Kaeya stares when Childe joins the applause after a thrown bouquet, Childe's eyes watching the full arc and the eager clasp of some stranger who it belongs to now. He clutches Childe's arm harder, rests his head against his shoulder. Childe doesn't move. They're still them. They still have everything. Nothing's gone yet. That's why Kaeya is able to selfishly hold on, boldly show himself off next to Childe the way he has for years now. The noise swallows them and then dies, slowly. Time to return to spaces that don't quite fit them right anymore.
"Can we wait a bit?" Childe asks. "Before we go home."
Kaeya turns to him. "Here, or somewhere else?"
Childe holds his hand tightly. "It's calmer outside the venue."
So Childe steals him away and they trade shining lights and daffodil garlands for cold spring air. The stone benches outside the building are freezing so late at night, but Kaeya's buzzing with alcohol and Childe's arm has found its way around him again. He buries his face against Childe's shoulder and questions why this isn't enough.
"I got you something, but—" Childe hesitates, those stress lines between his brows growing deeper. He gnaws on his bottom lip. "It... didn't feel right. After we talked."
Kaeya's throat is so thick. There are words in there, somewhere, pretty things that would make Childe enamored again. If he could just bring himself to say them.
"Are we okay?" Is what he says instead.
Childe won't look him in the eye. "I don't know."
Kaeya purses his lips.
"I want to give it to you, though," Childe continues. "If that's okay."
Kaeya shrugs himself free of Childe's hold, runs his hand down his arm until he can tangle their fingers together. He rubs his thumb over Childe's knuckles, hoping he doesn't see how he's trembling. And if he does, it's the cold. It's cold and Kaeya is trembling and this is going to end. Not tonight, but it will happen.
"Yeah." Kaeya spares a hoarse laugh. "When have I ever said no to gifts?"
Childe's lips twitch and he reaches inside his suit jacket to pull out a small envelope. He dangles it in front of Kaeya's face with a grin before pushing it into his hands.
"It's a bit stupid I guess, but I thought it'd suit you."
Kaeya pries the envelope open and picks up the earring.
"I know you don't like pompous gifts, so I took it out of the gift wrapping. There's a whale sticker on the back, though..."
Kaeya flips it open, noticing the torn sticker, and he's so stupid in love he's not sure he'll make it to the end of this. No one but Childe would undo the gift wrapping and settle for a plain envelope as if he's returning something to Kaeya he'd lost.
He holds the earring up. It's a thin, gold rod attached to a blue gem. Simple and pretty. Kaeya raises his hand to his ear and undoes the backing of the pearl he's wearing so he can slip that one into the envelope instead. He wears Childe's gift and thinks about endings, again, and wonders if this is the end of their sentence.
"I was right," Childe tells him. "It suits you."
Why he smiles, Kaeya isn't so sure. He doesn't know why he's smiling, either.
Childe holds him that night, kisses his neck before pressing his cheek against Kaeya's back. Everything is as it should be. His palms move down Kaeya's chest and caress his thighs, his breath right up against Kaeya's ear. Maybe he's thinking about the final stop Kaeya wears on his ear. Something to make the end tangible.
"I love you," he says again, melting into Kaeya's skin.
And Kaeya's eyes burn.
“I told you,” Rosaria says when she rubs his back.
Kaeya covers his eyes with his hand and pretends he isn’t crying.
Rosaria always lets him keep up the theatrics.
“You really like him.”
He wishes she would just lie this one time.
Childe wants everything, and Kaeya can do nothing but allow himself to be pulled along. At what point did Childe end up three feet ahead of him, tugging on Kaeya’s hand as they stumbled through life together? After that first year the months stopped being distinguishable, Childe is not an aspect of Kaeya’s life; he is Kaeya’s life. He is everywhere, reaches so far that he’s taken hold of Kaeya’s future, too, as if the past and present aren’t enough. Childe is stubborn. He is demanding. Kaeya loves those things about him, too, but not when it’s Friday and he’s worn out, wants nothing more than to tuck himself into bed and do nothing. Childe craves drinks at a bar, hopes to take Kaeya to all of the places in the city where the music is loud and theres more adrenaline than is good for you, probably.
Kaeya loves being with him through all of it, but not always. And in the gaps between always, on those days when Childe cannot be wholly understanding, or when he returns home after a fight with his family, those days he drains Kaeya, too.
Childe doesn’t get mad like Kaeya does. He sits in his annoyance until it turns into resentment, and then it’s finally spat out as passive-aggressive remarks. When they finally come out of it and Kaeya takes his hand, says ‘I’m sorry,’ and Childe kisses his knuckles, presses Kaeya’s hand against his face, says ’I’m sorry, too,’ they let it go. But it will come back. They are not perfect, and there is nothing that will make them so. Even this love, the one Kaeya cradles and craves as if it is the only thing on earth that could possibly be perfect, is not.
Two months and fifteen days after the wedding Kaeya finds Childe in the kitchen at four in the morning. He's never up that early, nor does he ever drink coffee. But it's both, then, and Kaeya comes to terms with it even before he sits down across from him.
Should you tell someone they are pretty when they’ve been crying? Kaeya wonders when he sees Childe.
“You don’t want to marry me.”
It's not a question. Childe stares him down, both hands on the table, and the paleness of his knuckles says so much more than words. He's so worn, half a shadow with the lights turned off. Kaeya's not brave enough to switch them on. He doesn't want to know what he's done to him. Maybe it would be better if they fight. If they stop trying to talk about feelings — stop trying to explain them when neither one of them can.
Be angry with me, be done with me, be over with it.
Kaeya's nails dig into his palm, his finger, he scratches along his wrist. Prickles himself with distractions. But Childe deserves to meet his eyes. So Kaeya looks at him and says, "No."
Childe runs his hands over his face. Kaeya can see when his shuddering breath wreaks through his body.
“If I told you, right now, that I want to marry you, what would you say? If I told you that this is something I really, really want, and if it's not an option for you.. That I can’t stay with you any longer. That I’ll end this." Childe is speaking so fast the words stumble over his tongue. "What would you say?"
Kaeya's chest caves in. A brewing anxiety and restlessness and confusion that stirs more violently every time Childe kisses him as if he's the only one worth loving. Did he really want to leave? Could he really leave, after they have both put in years of effort into cultivating this relationship? What kind of a waste would that be? As terrible as it was, Kaeya feels more alive at that moment than he has during the last year of their relationship. Light and airy, without Childe's laughter in his lungs. On the brink of their ending, Kaeya finds himself more eager to hold on than ever. It's the desperation, he knows that, the fear of being alone now that he knows it's not what he wants. That he isn't actually good at it, after all.
Kaeya's aware he's taking too long. Any time is too long. Childe's face is not impatient; that’s the worst part. He looks removed, distant, untouchable. Nothing Kaeya says at this point will make a difference. They’ve already decided. He can make an effort, ask Childe to not go. Stay with me. I'm sorry. I still want this, of course, I do. I am in love with you.
Let’s get—
“I’d walk out.”
Childe's eyes flutter shut, his sigh so loud it resonates in Kaeya's soul. Trembles it, shakes him with uncertainty. Maybe—
No. No.
“You’re right.” Childe's eyes open. “I should leave.”
“Did you hear?” Rosaria watches the Christmas lights with him.
Kaeya looks as they blur before him. “Hear what?”
She falls silent.
“Nevermind,” Rosaria squashes her cigarette under her boot. “It’s nothing.”
Kaeya picks the honey wheat cereal off the shelf before stashing it into his grocery basket. He should get eggs, too. Yogurt.
He's running his list over in his head because he always forgets to bring it when someone chimes up from behind him:
"Cereal, huh?"
Kaeya turns around because the world is waiting for him. Childe's leaning against a cart stuffed full of food, bright-faced and with red cheeks. His ear is pierced now. Kaeya wonders when he got it done, and where he got that gold earring he’s wearing.
"Oh." Kaeya looks down at the box. "Yeah. For breakfast."
He convinces himself there's relief in Childe's eyes, that after a year he still thinks about Kaeya in the mornings, maybe even worries about him burning the eggs. The reality is that everything in Childe's posture and polite smile is a result of Childe's kindness.
There shouldn't be any love left at this point.
"Glad to hear it."
Silence.
"I have to go get milk," Kaeya says awkwardly. "For the cereal."
"Right." Childe scratches his neck. "It was good seeing you."
’You don't have to lie to me,’ Kaeya almost tells him. But he wants it so, so badly.
"Yeah," Kaeya agrees, in love and without regrets. "It was."
Kaeya wears the earring to end all things and heads to a New Year's party he hopes he will not leave sober. At least there will be alcohol, Rosaria, and people who have more interesting things to talk about than work. Kaeya is worn out to the bone and all he wants is to melt into a crowd and be excited about something. He watches Rosaria spin Sucrose around with a smile and then goes for a third glass of wine. And because Kaeya's life's been strange enough recently, he should have expected to see him there, too. There's no way to not notice him, when Childe has always been the sort of man to demand attention, even when he doesn’t need words to do so. It's difficult not to pay attention to someone so loud and unashamed in the most appealing of ways.
He is still handsome. Kaeya hates that, too, but he's not sure what else would have happened. Kaeya buys him shampoo and conditioner and all of a sudden he's a new man, someone who smells of fresh forests and Kaeya's bedsheets.
What sort of scent does he use now? Kaeya never purchases pinewood anymore.
When his eyes move across the room and meet Kaeya's, there's a second when Kaeya's mind reels and thinks, this is it, this is when our universes collide again, this is when we change our minds. But Kaeya isn't grieving a dead relationship, nor is he lamenting a future they could have had. Kaeya's already had his closure, but Childe has a way of making people remember. So when Kaeya stares back at him and raises his glass, it's not to lure him in. It's so that, if Childe is also overcome with the burden of reliving their three years in the span of seconds, he makes it out alive, too. They don't speak. If only Kaeya could take his eyes off him.
He stands by the home-bar and continues to sip wine as Childe makes his rounds. He's only meters away when the light catches in an odd way on Childe's hand and Kaeya is forced to reckon with all of the ugly feelings he's spent months pretending he doesn't have.
"When's the wedding?"
Childe laughs at the question, tilting the champagne flute in his hand to draw attention to his ring finger. Kaeya stares into his own, empty glass and desperately hopes it doesn't seem like he's listening.
"Next spring, we're still deciding dates. It's recent so we have no idea what we’re doing, planning or otherwise. There’s so many things I never even heard about, you know?"
Childe's voice used to speak about them like that, excitement spilling over. Kaeya brought Rosaria over once and when she asked, ‘So how long before you live here?’ Childe shrugged and teasingly squeezed Kaeya's waist before saying, ‘Give me a week and he’ll be begging me to’
"Who proposed?"
This time Childe makes a choked noise, the one he lets out when he’s particularly delighted, or even embarrassed. Kaeya can't bear to look at him. His hands are heavy, his head is warm, his tongue is cold and dry.
"He did. I didn't see it coming, honestly."
Kaeya was never going to be the best at loving Childe. No matter how much he wanted to be. He swirls the wine glass, puts it down to a quiet clink when glass hits the marble top, and then makes his way out to the balcony. This apartment is too big and fancy for him to ever feel comfortable in, but he can't say no to the view. The romantic side of him imagines what it would be like if Childe walked out and proclaimed his undying love for him. As if he'd simply left it in Kaeya's apartment, and when he saw Kaeya there in the room tonight he was able to pick it back up. He doesn't get that, but he does get Childe.
"Hi," Childe murmurs.
Kaeya looks over his shoulder, arms crossed to fight the cold. "Hi."
They quiet. It seems to be what they do best now, around each other. Old habits die hard.
"Happy New Year," Childe says. "Heard you got promoted."
Kaeya's not sure why he's doing this, but he still answers, "I did, yeah."
"That's great. You've always been a hard worker."
"Thank you," Kaeya replies. "I am."
Childe rubs his neck and Kaeya can't look anywhere but the ring. How in the world is he supposed to do so with how the gold catches on everything? As if it wants to be known, needs everyone (Kaeya) to know it exists.
"Congratulations." Kaeya holds himself tighter in the chilly night. "I heard you're engaged."
And when Childe swallows and nods, Kaeya can tell he didn't ever plan to tell him. "Thank you."
The cold air burrows deeper inside of Kaeya.
"Hey," he says, and Childe raises his brows when he hears Kaeya speak again. "You don't have to try around me, it's okay. I'm happy for you. You don't owe me this."
Childe closes his eyes and tilts his head up as if there are stars there. There are no stars in the city, only people and leftover Christmas lights.
"Right," Childe tells him. "But you know I'm not that type of person, don't you?"
Of course, Kaeya knows: after all, he used to be Kaeya’s person.
"Happy New Year, Childe," Kaeya says, smiling slightly.
And Childe vanishes back into the crowd Kaeya can't blend into anymore, now that the edges don't fit him anymore. He blows hot breath over his hands and wishes his knuckles weren't so dry so that he could stash that memory away, too. But he doesn't long for them, those boxes in front of his apartment. The door to the balcony slides shut, and with it, ten thousand that could have been opened had Kaeya wanted them. He breathes over his fingers once more and envisions all of that space in his apartment.
He knows he doesn't want it to be empty anymore.