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i.
The wind is calm today.
Just a playful little breeze, blowing the vibrant scents from the city across the harbour. It is always overwhelming, especially after having been on the open ocean for so long—salt and seaweed replaced by the clashing aromas of flowers and fish and a wide variety of spices—and Kazuha wrinkles his nose against the onslaught; not unpleasant, necessarily, but very, very loud.
The Alcor has docked properly this time, rather than floating out in the bay, and while most of the crew has gone off for the day—visiting family or else visiting the bars—Kazuha has opted to stand guard at the ship, humming to himself as the clouds pass overhead.
It is peaceful, in a way, to be alone aboard the Alcor, despite the hustle and bustle of the city nearby, and he dangles his feet over the railing as he drifts—thoughts free as the falcons gliding overhead.
His musings are interrupted soon enough, however, by a slightly dazed-looking Beidou, lovestruck gleam in her eye, dangerously close to tripping over her own two feet as she walks down the wharf toward the Alcor.
“Captain,” he says, when she strides up the gangplank, nodding to her by way of greeting. “You’ve returned earlier than expected—I thought you would be out far past nightfall.”
“Kazuha!” she says, unusually startled, as if just now remembering that he was there. “I’ve come back to, ah—”
“It’s not like you to pass up an opportunity to indulge.”
“Right,” she says, running her hand bashfully along the nape of her neck, and the movement draws his eye to sunkissed skin, where an unmistakable mark from a different sort of kiss peeks out from beneath the line of her collar.
The wind swirls around them, soft and serene—and he smells jasmine tea and dust after rain, and the finest hint of glaze lily perfume…
Oh.
“I am definitely not passing up any indulgences,” she continues, and Kazuha merely blinks with his typical inscrutability. “I can promise you that. I just need to grab another bag of Mora… lost it all in a bet at the tavern. And then I’ll be on my way.”
She laughs, booming, and claps him on the shoulder, and he almost pitches overboard into the waves.
“For more drinking.” That glazed look returns to her eye, and Kazuha just barely refrains from rolling his own. “Yeah, so much more… drinking.”
She remains in her cabin for a moment too long—Kazuha hearing her muttering to herself as she rummages through her things—but soon enough Beidou emerges with a box tucked beneath one arm and a small bag of mora tied to her belt, her usually impeccable knotwork an amateurish mess as if it were rather an afterthought, and she bolts off the ship with a jaunty wave, all but sprinting back upward toward the Terrace.
“See ya later, kid! Be good!”
She does not leave him time to reply, out of earshot before he can begin to answer, and Kazuha breathes out a sigh, finally rolling his eyes, and becomes lost in the line where sky meets the sea; in the eastern horizon toward memory and home.
ii.
Xiangling has never looked angrier, red in the face and eyes narrowed to slits—appearing for all the world like a dragon breathing smoke—glaring at Beidou for destroying her kitchen as she murmurs curse after curse under her breath.
The galley reeks of cabbage, its walls splattered with broth—bones littering the floor from their leftover meals—and while Beidou has skills across countless disciplines, haute cuisine, unfortunately, is not one of them.
She has been unceremoniously removed from the kitchen, escorted by Kazuha before Xiangling could ask, and despite her indomitable good cheer and otherwise high spirits, Kazuha can see the disappointment in her eye.
“What happened, Captain?”
“Well, there was an open flame, and then there was a spark, and—you know what?” she asks, with a half-hearted shrug. “It doesn’t matter. Just trying to learn a new dish, is all.”
A simple broth over boiled cabbage…
“This is not the type of food you tend to enjoy.”
“No, it’s not for me, it’s for—” she cuts herself off, swallows her words; crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “It’s good to have mastery over a wide range of dishes. You never know whose tastes you’ll have to cook for or what ingredients you’ll have on hand—best to be prepared for anything.”
She nudges his side with her elbow, smile subdued, but nonetheless genuine, and says:
“Take my advice, kid,” with the air of a Sage, “it’s far better to be a jack of all trades and a master of none than to limit your sights and abilities to one single thing. It’s a big world out there, Kazuha.”
She heads toward her cabin to change her clothes, tossing a wink over one broad shoulder.
“You never know just what you might find.”
iii.
While Kazuha prefers jobs in the open air, where he can feel the breeze on his face and hear the gulls’ cries in his ears—stirring his spirit like nothing else can—he finds that he quite enjoys this particular chore:
Developing the pictures from their photography lessons.
There is something restful about standing alone in the darkroom, curtains drawn tight to separate it from the rest of the ship’s hold. And despite the pungent smell of the special liquids and powders that bring images forth from otherwise blank paper—a beautiful kind of magic, if anyone were to ask him, that makes tangible that which cannot truly be touched; poetry in action and miraculous, indeed—he loves to discover what each crewmate has deemed important enough to store in their kameras.
Most of it is expected—family and animals, food and the sea, and most of all candid portraits of each other—but one kamera in the bunch is not like the others, and he stifles his groan with a long exhale through his nose.
Beidou…
Most of the photos are of absolutely nothing—blurry sky, blurry stone, blurry plants, ocean, buildings; one oddly in focus of Yaoyao playing at the docks—and then one after another, with crystal clear artistry, of a solitary person seated comfortably in a flower garden:
Lady Ningguang by the glaze lilies, teacup cradled between her hands, gazing at the kamera with unconcealed devotion—a smile on her lips that reaches crimson eyes that Kazuha has never seen on her stoic face before.
And lastly there is one of the two of them together, Beidou leaning into her space playful and bold, the kamera misaligned and cutting half of her body out of the frame, but Kazuha softens at the sheer joy in their eyes…
And suddenly he feels as if he is intruding—these glimpses into a life of tender connection something private and personal that he should not be observing.
He quickly prepares the rest of the photographs, not willing to tarry a moment longer than necessary, and after hanging them to dry, he turns on his heel, the two women’s smiles bright in his mind as he inhales the comforting tang of salt on the wind.
iv.
The Captain stalks back to the ship late one night, after everyone else has retired to their beds, except Kazuha who sits on his perch staring at the stars, watching Beidou approach from the corner of his eye.
Her hair is down, its elaborate pin missing, dark strands billowing in the early morning air, and he raises a brow that disappears into his fringe, but does not utter a single word.
“I lost it,” she says, cannot meet his eyes, the faintest of blushes colouring tanned cheeks. “Figured it’s time to try a new hairstyle anyway…”
He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, but allows her to pass him with no further questioning, and Kazuha knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that by daybreak the pin will be returned to her possession, accompanied by a note scribed in striking, black ink…
The Tianquan’s refined brushstrokes unmistakable.
v.
Sumeru’s bazaars are known for their variety—seemingly endless labyrinths of carts, tents, and stalls hawking their wares to passersby—and if Kazuha thought the Harbour was loud, it has nothing on this heartbeat of the green city by the hill, nestled between the hands of the encroaching desert sands, emerald fading to gold in perfect harmony.
They’ve been browsing the marketplace for hours on end, the crew having been given the day off for themselves following yet another successful business venture—Beidou securing a new contact at the Academia introduced by way of a chain of trustworthy recommendations, stemming from a mage in Mondstadt who once lived here for a time.
Kazuha walks closely by Beidou’s side, slowly teasing apart the melody of the market piece by piece, until its song on the wind reveals itself to him in full, and its secrets are laid bare like a map in his mind.
Beidou lingers at a stall selling lovely bolts of fabric—not Liyuese silks, but exquisite all the same—bright, vibrant colours and exotic patterns, elegant and fashionable by even the highest of standards.
She runs gentle fingers along rich azure cloth, cascading over her gloves like ocean waves, soothing and smooth and sparkling just slightly—as starlight is reflected on deep, placid waters.
“Huh,” she huffs with a charming, crooked grin, her scarlet eye creasing at the corner as she admires the craftsmanship of the vivid brocade. “I’ve never owned clothes so luxurious in all my life,” she says, and brushes her thumb over the fabric again. “Not at all practical while on the high seas. But what d’you think, Kazuha? Would it suit h—me?”
A slip of the tongue, hardly noticeable to most—but Kazuha has spent enough time with her by now to be able to read Beidou like an open book—and he hears the hitch in her breath that she exhales on a sigh; sees the flush that spreads slowly from her ears to her chest, and the glint in her eye reserved solely for Lady Ningguang.
He plays along for her sake, though she can see through it, too, and his small smile is affectionate when he answers her.
“I think it would suit you just fine, Beidou.”
+i.
Kazuha has always been attuned to the whispers of the world—nature singing to him as surely as the wind does now with the blessings and aid of his Vision—and though it is rare that he regrets the keenness of his senses…
This is most certainly one of those times.
The rest of the crew is blissfully unaware, or, at the very least, turning an aptly blind eye, but Kazuha runs his hands over his face as he retreats to the hold to take inventory.
It is quieter here, the hush music to his ears, and he works for an hour without interruption, but once their records are tallied (and cross-referenced for good measure), he forces himself to return above deck just as Lady Ningguang exits the Captain’s quarters.
“Kazuha,” she greets him, with a tranquil smile and a nod, and she smells like flowers and the sea, mountain peaks and ozone—looks immaculate and cool with not a hair out of place. “Do be sure to see to the Captain,” she says, crimson eyes flashing with smug satisfaction. “She will likely require some friendly consolation after losing to me so dreadfully again…”
With that, she disembarks, bidding the crew farewell with a fond, graceful wave, hips swaying like the tide as she hums to herself, and Kazuha can do little else but stare at this complicated woman who burns brighter than the sun; she who has so thoroughly captured his Captain’s heart.
Beidou soon surfaces from the depths of her cabin, standing on the threshold disheveled and wrecked like the ships that litter the stormy coast of Inazuma; her hair in disarray and eyepatch askew, clothes untidy and wrinkled in her haste to look presentable, and she leans heavily against the doorframe as her whole body flushes, watching Lady Ningguang until she vanishes from sight.
She takes a long swig of liquor, heaves a content, sated sigh, and turns to Kazuha with a look in her eye that transcends adoration and soars straight into love, powerful and profound and utterly indestructible.
“I’ve got nothing this time,” she admits with a shrug, and cannot contain the grin that rises to her lips. “If you had told me five years ago that I would be working alongside the Tianquan, let alone be swept up in a romance with her, I would have laughed in your face.” Her voice is awed, mellow and warm, and she chuckles beneath her breath as if she cannot quite believe that someone like Ningguang would desire someone like her, their differences overcome in favour of love. “Just goes to show that you can plan for every outcome, and still the universe will find ways to surprise you.”
They stand in companionable silence together, broken only by the sounds of the Harbour on the breeze, and eventually Beidou straightens, ruffles his hair, and clears her throat as she turns halfway to enter her quarters again.
“Well,” she says, abruptly cracking her knuckles, “that’s enough idling for us, Kazuha—our next voyage won’t prepare for itself and there is a lot that needs doing before we’re ready to sail.”
“Aye, Captain,” he says, nodding his understanding, but points at his own neck before Beidou can leave. “Perhaps you ought to cover that up, however.”
Her hand flies to her skin, fingers probing for the mark—wincing as she presses the bruise Lady Ningguang left behind—and she pulls up her collar, squinting at Kazuha, and backs into her cabin without breaking eye contact.
“Not another word from you.”
“Aye, Captain,” he repeats, with a casual salute, and as her hearty laughter accompanies the slam of her door, Kazuha shakes his head and resumes his work, humming softly to the tune of the wide, dark sea.
fin