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People with nothing but the audacity speculate on where, exactly, the elusive Yelan lives. There’s a running bet about it — as it should — in her Tea House. The favorite bets are somewhere outside Liyue; in her office in the Tea House; and nowhere at all.
They’re all correct, and they’re all incorrect. Yelan has lived in all three of those places. She’s lived in worse places, in fact. As it happens, though, in the last few months, she’s lived in a small, unassuming, porcelain teapot.
The item itself is nothing special: an antique crockery of little value, glazed blue and white, with designs in the shape of qingxin flowers. Unremarkable. It’s not in her possession, either, but hidden securely somewhere she doesn’t know of. That is alright, as she doesn’t need it. All she needs is the Seal of Permission she carries tucked in her person at all times. Secure, as a house key should.
It’s sunset by the time she exits the Tea House. Liyue is always prettier at this hour, when people wander back to their homes and everything’s painted in red and gold. Sometimes, Yelan would just stand there and people watch. The starving children running to their mothers, hoping for dinner. The fragrant silk flowers and glaze lilies blooming under the setting sun. The lively nightlife, as the bars and restaurants fill with the after hours crowd.
Times like this, she feels all is well with the world. There’s still time, and there’s still hope. Smiling to herself, she activates the Seal and vanishes.
*
Ganyu will never understand how Yelan manages to assume so many identities. It’s strange to think how others don’t recognize her. She knows, of course, about the disguises, the carefully crafted backstories, how Yelan makes the world her stage, with her as the background, dispensable character in everyone else’s narratives — even her own. One day she is this, the other she is that — ever-changing and ever-shifting.
It’s strange how it works, however, how she manages to convince and derail others so easily, because Ganyu feels her presence in her very bones. Put a million people before her and she would pick Yelan, unerringly, sight-unseen, every time.
The scent of night orchids wafting from her skin, the translucent seawater green of her eyes. The soft pink glaze of her lips. The specific vibration of her voice, the heat of the spice in her breath. It’s a tapestry of sensations, it’s heady, it’s unmistakably Yelan, from the vibration of her steps to the freshwater cleanliness of her presence. Maybe it’s an Adeptus thing, but the moment she warps in their shared home, Ganyu’s entire body comes awake and pays attention.
Waiting in their kitchen, Ganyu smiles to herself. Her lover’s home, and she has yet to finish their dinner.
*
The realm is warm, but not too warm, and ever so beautiful. It’s painfully simple: a typical Liyuean cottage, the likes in which Yelan grew up. It overlooks a beach of white sand and crystalline, coral-infused waters.
An endless sea laps at the edges of the beach in a frothing white caress, calm as ever. Starconches dot the space where they meet, here and there, blue and lovely. Deeper into the island the sand gives way to sweet spring grass, and trees shade the cottage and the garden.
Finches and cranes, crabs and fish, even the occasional fox and boar, wander aimlessly through the island, living their lives as nature demands. The whole realm has its own rhythm, its own voice, and it speaks to Yelan on a fundamental level.
Love. Everything here speaks of love. Not the passion of tangled sheets and moaning bodies, but the sort of deep, everlasting presence that makes itself known in growing things. Yelan isn’t particularly religious, but she knows a sacred space when she sees one and it humbles her to know she’s allowed in this place.
More; that she’s allowed in the presence of the woman who made this place.
Birdsong and the sea and a soft, soft humming sound. Yelan enters the cottage and drifts after the sound.
Their kitchen is spacious, airy and open, with bay windows overlooking their vegetable garden. The stove is positioned just so that whoever is cooking (Ganyu, most of the time, what with her dietary restrictions) can watch the birds and overlook garden, as well as a rim of sea faraway in the distance.
For a moment Yelan stands at the door that separates the kitchen from common area. The sight steals her breath away and makes her heart seize in her chest. There is Ganyu, lined in gold against the sunset light That smile as she looks over her shoulder. The sheer beauty of it.
If that isn’t divinity, Yelan doesn’t know what is.
*
Ganyu smiles, how could she not? It’s no secret she doesn’t have the best self-esteem, that she feels awkward and ungainly trapped between worlds. Three thousand years she has lived, most of them alone. It’s no issue to her, not really, not most of the time, but there’s still that shred of humanity in her that craves this — the love, affection, the pure animal presence of another of her species. The humanity that laments the otherness in her.
Her lover’s gaze, the look in her face, does wonders to soothe that ache inside her chest that longs for this. For the acknowledgement, for the love. It makes her blush, truly, as if she’s some young girl unused to the ways of the world.
Yelan isn’t her first lover. Ganyu may look not a day older than twenty, but she is old, far too old. She’s been with men, women, gods. Yelan won’t be the last, either. Deep inside in the shadowed corners Ganyu refuses to visit, there is a seed of melancholy in knowing she will likely outlive her mortal lover. But Ganyu knows better than fixate on these things. She can’t.
Seize the day and live in the moment, she thinks, it’s the best we can do.
Yelan’s arms come around her, and she wriggles happily into the warmth. There’s a cool breeze from outside that brings the scent of sweet flowers; it makes her skin erupt in goosebumps. Yelan’s hands run down her arms, bringing sparks of warmth back into her skin, before lacing together around her waist again, crowding Ganyu’s body against her own.
”I love seeing you like this,” the woman says, apropos of nothing, and buries her face into Ganyu’s neck, breathing in. It tickles and the qilin wriggles harder, a giggle escaping her lips.
”Like what?” she smiles, she can’t help it. Yelan does that to her.
In their home, Ganyu doesn’t wear her usual adeptal uniform. Rather, she prefers simple summer dresses or slacks and t-shirts. It doesn’t bother her, usually, but being like this in someone else’s presence always makes her feel vulnerable in a way.
Ironic, really, when there’s precious little left in Teyvat, short of the gods themselves, capable of causing any real harm to Ganyu. But it’s never physical violence that worries her. Rather, it’s the other, unknowable things, the red ropes that bind humans and adepti alike. That is the sea Ganyu is unequipped to navigate, even after so long.
She leans back into Yelan’s body, warm and cozy against her back, and thanks whoever is in charge of such things for the grace of having her here, in this moment, no matter how fleeting.
*
”Like this,” Yelan chuckles, nosing pale blue hair from alabaster skin. Ganyu always smells clean, like fresh-fallen snow and qingxin flowers. It’s addictive. “Barefoot. In our kitchen,” she jokes. Her hands slide to cup her lover’s stomach, as flat and toned as ever — archons know Ganyu is very self-conscious about her weight. “All that’s missing is a pregnant belly.”
“Rude!”, Ganyu chuckles herself, slaps at Yelan’s arm, which only makes her hug her lover tighter. The taller woman smiles, smacks a kiss on her cheek. It’s all in jest, of course.
Yet...
The deep, obscure depths of Yelan’s brain can’t help but imagine it. Ganyu pregnant, heavy with child — their child — impossible, of course, what with both being women. Still, it makes one wonder, how beautiful and gentle she would be with a child in her arms, a babe suckling at her breast.
Alas, she is too possessive of her qilin to even entertain the idea of a man knocking her up. This will have to remain a dream.
”Maybe we should adopt Yaoyao,” she says instead. Why not? The child is cute and adventurous. She could very well be their little girl. Learn Yelan’s trade, perhaps.
She’s spun an entire fantasy of bedtime stories and birthday parties by the time Ganyu hums and says, “maybe we should.”
”But for now, shall we eat?”
”Only if I get you as dessert,” Yelan quips. Archons, only Ganyu can make her this corny.
”Always, love. Always.”