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He thought about the ocean. He never got to see it when he was younger. The ocean wasn’t like the lake, it was so much grander. He saw it the first time while on a scouting expedition, so blue and big and blue. How he wished to walk into the water; it’d be nice if he didn’t float. Constantly, constantly ever since he woke up, he could feel the water in his lungs, the sand in his mouth, and he had not yet gotten out of bed.
Was he late for work or was it still the middle of the night, Kaeya couldn’t tell, it was winter, the sun wouldn’t be out either way. Reaching for his sheets to grab only air, he realized he must have fallen from the bed, that or his exhausted self had deemed it fitting to sleep on the cold parquet.
His head was shouting to please get out, get out of here, do something, stop wasting time. How sad then, that he didn’t move, didn’t try to get up from the floor. He felt like he was a third-person witness. He watched and judged as his pathetic self wallowed. No good, no good, no good. He had been acting so high and mighty lately, he had told Diluc he was better off alone. Now he was lonely, the walls were closing in on him.
The thread of his sanity got tangled again, there were so many, too many knots. His finger got stuck when he passed his hand through it. See you’re doing it again, steeping in self loathing.
Wet and soaked in sweat from yet another nightmare, his shirt was like glued to his chest. It suffocated him, the air got stuck in his lungs.
Get up, get up. The knights must be waiting for their captain, Jean must be crushed by the added load of work. He couldn’t do that, he’d be a horrible person if he didn’t show up. He had responsibilities, see. He couldn’t afford to just back down.
Thinking back, all of it had been a bad idea. Coming to Mondstatd, getting entangled with others, becoming a captain. What was he thinking, a sinner like him. Outside, rain was hitting the cemented pavement.
There had been rain the day his father died, and there had been rain the day his birth-father abandoned him. He was so much more naive at that time, Diluc’s smile was so much brighter.
Back then, Diluc was warmth, he was the fire on the old stone hearth; he kept him warm when he was drenched in the rain with nowhere to call home. Fire warms you up, but you know better than to touch the flame, no matter how kind and welcoming it looks.
At first Diluc felt like the Sun, so big and bright, encompassing the whole world. With time, he realized it wasn’t quite right. Diluc shone as much as a star, so much that he had to look away sometimes, but Diluc was close, he was attainable. He didn’t watch over you from his throne in the sky. Diluc was your everyday sunshine, the one that warmed your skin on a cool autumn morning, the one that could blind you at first if you looked at it directly, before your eyes got used to it. Diluc was home, he was the fireplace in the living room, he was a summer afternoon. But Diluc was fire, and fire gets out of control; those reckless enough to get too close always ended up getting burned. Kaeya had 3 burn marks to show for it. They were his reminder, his warning signs: fire burns and you got too close.
Yet a flame is momentary. It can burn so bright you think it’s eternal. But eventually, it burns out, leaving only ashes. Dark, dusty, dry. Kaeya’s fire burned too bright, it went away too soon, he still needed the warmth; it was his fault, he shouldn’t have added the oil. Cinders and burned skin were all that was left. The new fire he tried to ignite was all but too different, it was the flame of the witch hunter’s torch, the blaze of the stake: not warm, this fire’s only aim was to char, reduce to ashes, purge.
Distantely, Kaeya realized he must have fallen back asleep. Light was seeping in from the curtains, though it was dim and dull. The bed creaked when he turned around, away from the light that was burning his eyes, back to the darkness of the shadows.
He only realized something was wrong when a bowl of hot liquid - soup, he shouldn't have to question it, it was obviously soup - landed on his lap.
“You never showed up in the end so I thought you might be sick. Here eat.” Albedo looked beautiful under the winter’s sun.
“How did y-” Kaeya probably looked gross and stupid with his sweaty shirt and unkempt hair. Albedo only shrugged. “It’s not that hard to pick a lock when you’re an alchemist. At this point you should just give me a key.” Kaeya had so many more questions but he just stared blankly at the way Albedo’s eyes shone under the light - they were blue and big like the ocean - and back at the soup. “Are you gonna make me spoon feed you?” the alchemist asked while taking the spoon into his hand anyway.
“You so often put on a facade that I was surprised to find you like that. I checked for a fever but you seem fine,” he filled the spoon with soup and brought it to Kaeya’s lips. “So what’s wrong, did something happen?”
The bowl was warm on Kaeya’s lap, but not too hot. It was a reassuring presence, it grounded him. The time it took him to respond permitted Albedo to feed him a couple more spoonfuls.
“I’m sorry,” he finally conceded. He stared at the hands on his lap, they weren’t wearing his gloves and his skin was dry. “Don’t be,” Albedo took away the bowl to put it on the nightstand. “Come here,” he opened his arm, and Kaeya didn’t waste time burying himself into the smaller man.
“Are you crying?” The tears formed a wet patch on Albedo’s shoulder. “I’m not.”
Albedo chuckled and passed his hand through Kaeya’s hair, undoing the ponytail, undoing the knots.
Kaeya almost couldn’t stand his tenderness. “You must think I’m foolish.” Albedo smelled like flowers and wind. “I don’t,” he simply said, his voice was honest and unwavering, the way it was when he enunciated undeniable facts. “And I like to think I understand you.” He brought his hand lower, to trace the lines of Kaeya’s back.
In a softer voice now, he continued. “Sometimes... sometimes your head is too full. Your own internal voice becomes like a neverending buzz, and it’s scary.” Kaeya could feel him tracing a star on his covered skin before he moved his hands to rest around his waist. “In those moments, come to me. When you feel like you’re losing your mind, I’ll be right there, at your side. I won’t let you drown alone.” And he held him a little tighter, to make him feel a little safer.
“You're not falling apart, look we can mend the broken pieces together.”
And it felt true, his broken pieces felt put back in their place, kept together by Albedo’s hold.
“I’m here.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”