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They are seven and eight when he meets her for the first time.
She is a pretty child, with sky-blue eyes and golden hair. Kaeya doesn’t notice this. He is only eight—he knows nothing of beauty.
He knows only that her gap-toothed smile is wide and welcoming; that she is brave enough to snatch slimy frogs from the riverbed; and that she is kind—even, and especially, to an outsider like Kaeya.
And that is enough for him.
They are ten and eleven when he starts to love her. He does not have the word for it yet. He just knows that when he looks at her, his stomach feels funny and his chest feels tight. And when they are apart, he counts the minutes until he sees her again.
He tells Adelinde because he’s afraid he's falling sick. It is flu season, after all. She listens solemnly to his litany of complaints: can’t eat properly when Jean’s around, cheeks feel hot when he thinks about her, can’t sleep because his mind is full of thoughts of blue eyes and golden hair.
He finishes listing off his symptoms and looks at Adelinde in expectation, but she only smiles ruefully. “I have no medicine for what ails you,” she says, spreading her hands. “I think it’s just a part of growing up.”
He pouts. “Not helpful, Addie."
Adelinde laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “You will learn in due time how to handle your symptoms—or get rid of them, if that’s what you want. But oh, Master Kaeya, enjoy it while it lasts. Isn’t it better to feel something rather than nothing?”
They are thirteen and almost-fourteen, and they are sitting on the cliff outside the city walls. It is a rare moment of respite from their duties as Knights, and they are dangling their feet off the cliff and wondering what it would be like to plunge into the freezing waters below.
“Exhilarating,” says Diluc, the daredevil.
“Terrifying,” says Kaeya, the pragmatist.
“I wonder if that’s why they call it ‘falling in love,’” says Jean, the romantic. She has discovered the corner of the library where the books are most dog-eared, and often spends her limited free time reading there. “Have either of you ever been in love?”
“No,” Diluc says, decisively, toppling onto his back to look at the sky.
“I don’t know,” Kaeya says. “What does it feel like?”
“Well, the books say that when you’re in love with someone, your stomach feels funny and your chest feels tight,” Jean says, studiously. “And when you’re away from them, you count the minutes until you see them again.”
“Oh,” says Kaeya, startled into honesty. “I guess I am in love, then.”
Diluc sits bolt upright. “Oooh! Kaeya has a crush on someone!”
“Who is it?” Jean demands, eyes sparkling.
“I-I’m not telling you!” Kaeya protests, feeling his cheeks getting hot. He has already said far too much. He’s in Mondstadt for one purpose only, and it’s decidedly not to fall in love.
“I bet it’s Eula,” Jean says dreamily. “She’s really pretty.”
“No way!” Diluc wrinkles his nose. “It has to be Anthony.”
“Shut up!” Kaeya raises his voice, but to no avail. The other two are bandying names around—Donna, Glory, Quinn—and he can’t stand it anymore. “You two suck,” he says, and throws himself off the cliff.
He hears Diluc’s shout of surprise and Jean’s shriek of alarm. But mostly he hears the wind whistling in his ears.
He was right. It is terrifying.
But. Diluc was right, too.
They are seventeen when he falls out of love. He doesn’t mean to. But it is hard to love when your heart is broken.
The love that he’s been carefully collecting in his chest since he came to Mondstadt pours through the cracks of his ribcage, staining his stomach with soured affection. It seeps out of his pores, pooling on the ground in every footprint, every broken blade of grass.
Kaeya paces the Cathedral, driving Barbara up the wall with his inability to sit still and recover. Everywhere he walks, he leaves echoes of himself behind.
He gathers up the fragments of his heart every morning and tries to fit them into something resembling their old shape. But the muscles have been too mangled by betrayal and loss; by shifting loves and loyalties. He will never quite remake his heart into its proper shape. He tries anyway.
Jean comes to visit him in the Cathedral once, stealing a moment from her relentless duties as Infantry Captain.
She sits in a pew that was a sailboat and a shield and a fortress when they were younger, but is simply a pew now. It is too big for her slim frame, engulfs her in useless wood and empty space. She tells him, in a broken voice, how very sorry she is.
Kaeya stares at the floor, feeling hollow.
He tries to muster up his old feelings for her. Wonders if he could rip open the flesh of his abdomen and force butterflies back into his stomach, reach his hand into his ribcage to make his heart beat faster. He calls to mind summer days spent catching bugs, weapon drills with the Knights, muffled laughter in the library.
He doesn’t feel anything.
He thanks her politely for her time, tells her he will be back to his responsibilities as soon as his wounds are healed, asks her to convey his regrets to those covering his duties in the meantime. Confusion and hurt flit across her face, although she tries valiantly to mask them. Kaeya stands smoothly and shows her to the door.
Adelinde was right, he thinks, as the Cathedral doors swing shut. Better to feel something than nothing at all.
They are nineteen, and they are wounded. Jean cradles her broken arm to her chest as she tears through another hilichurl. “Fall back!” she yells in Kaeya’s direction.
He can barely see her—blood is streaming into his eye from the gash on his forehead—but he shakes his head anyway and moves closer to her, icicles whirling around him in a glacial dance.
“Fall back, Kaeya!” she calls again, stabbing her sword through a mitachurl’s mask. “I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can,” Kaeya says breezily, or as breezily as he can manage when every breath sends a sharp pain shooting through his side. But he makes no move to retreat.
A hilichurl lands a blow on Jean’s injured arm and she gasps in pain. Kaeya whips around on instinct and lops the monster’s head off.
“Dammit, Kaeya, fall back!” Jean says a third time, with surprising bravado for one whose arm is hanging at that odd angle. “That’s an order from your superior officer!”
Kaeya wipes the blood from his eye and gives her a withering look. “Like hell I’m going to leave you, Jean.”
He watches her face twist with something that looks like gratitude and something that looks like exasperation, and something that Kaeya can’t quite place but that makes his chest tight. (Or maybe that’s just the broken rib.)
“Fine,” she bites out. She reaches behind him and sends a group of slimes flying. “But we’re going to have a talk about insubordination later.”
He laughs and spins around, putting them back to back. “Cover me?” he asks.
She sighs. “You’re incorrigible.” But she presses her back to his anyway.
They are twenty, and they are celebrating a barn-raising.
Rather, Jean is celebrating a barn-raising. Kaeya is drinking sullenly in the corner.
The band strikes up a jig and Jean whirls past Kaeya with her dance partner, laughter spilling out of her like cider. Ordinarily he would be delighted to see her laugh—it’s a rare enough sound these days. And he’s not so much of an asshole that he’s not happy to see her enjoying herself. He’s more disgruntled about the red-headed man whose arms she’s in.
Diluc dips Jean suddenly and she catches at his shoulders, cheeks flushed with mirth and exertion. Kaeya averts his gaze, but it’s too late. The bitter taste of an emotion he will not name floods his mouth. It forces itself down his throat and chokes off his airways. He chugs the remains of his beer to flush out the taste.
It’s not that he’s not happy to have Diluc back in Mondstadt. In fact, he’s so painfully glad that he doesn't have to lie awake at night and worry about his brother anymore. But Diluc is so different now, quiet and restless, and his presence reminds Kaeya of happier days and memories he’s fought hard to erase. Kaeya passes him in the streets and in the tavern sometimes, and every time he does, the shards of what used to be his heart shift and shear and rend the tissue of his lungs until he feels he might die of internal bleeding if he doesn’t suffocate first.
And Jean is so delighted to have Diluc back, so willing to forgive and forget. Kaeya wishes he could say the same.
“Kaeya?” He jerks out of his bitter fugue to see Jean right beside him. The glow from the swinging barn lamps catches her hair as she smiles at him. “What are you doing, hiding in the corner? Come dance with me.”
"But I thought you were..." He trails off, scanning the crowd for the familiar head of red hair.
Jean notices his gaze. “Diluc was tired, so he went home,” she says.
“Ah,” Kaeya says, hand tight on the handle of his beer mug. Of course Jean would only come find him once Diluc left. Like the Knights had only promoted him once Diluc resigned, like Jean had started confiding in him only once Diluc was out of the country. “So what am I, then, his replacement?”
He doesn’t mean to say it. But he feels the words fall out of his mouth, tastes them soft and laced with poison on his tongue. He wishes he could take them back.
He can't meet Jean's eyes, so he stares fixedly at her left ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her smile fade and her lips part as she takes in his words. The dancers swirl around them as they stand in a pocket of silence.
He thinks perhaps she’s going to laugh him off, or tell him not to be ridiculous. But when she does speak, her voice is achingly soft. “Oh, Kaeya,” she murmurs.
And that’s enough to send Kaeya spinning away from her, striding towards the large barn doorway. “I’m sorry,” he says over his shoulder.
“Wait!” Jean calls, but he’s already halfway to the door. He hears her push her way through the crowd—“Sorry, sorry, coming through, Kaeya, wait”—but he doesn’t slow, even as he deposits his mug onto one of the tables and slips out the doors.
Even in summer, the night air is chilly compared to the warmth of the barn. Jean catches up to him a few paces from the doorway. She grabs his hand and he whirls to face her, hears his voice crack as he says, “Just forget I said anything, Jean, please.”
She takes advantage of his distraction to grab his other hand. Kaeya stares down at their joined hands—his gloved, hers bare. He should pull away, but he cannot muster the strength.
“Just—wait. Please,” Jean gasps, out of breath. Kaeya hadn’t registered that he’d been fleeing that fast.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, for want of anything better to say.
She shakes her head emphatically. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t– I never realized you felt like that.”
“I don’t feel like anything.” Kaeya hopes she’ll take the hint and leave him alone, but Jean only squeezes his hands.
“You’re not his replacement, Kaeya,” she says. “You’re too much your own person. I have never seen you as another Diluc.”
“What, not red-headed enough?” he jokes weakly. Jean doesn’t even crack a smile.
“You’re brave, and stubborn, and kind, like him,” she presses on, gripping Kaeya’s hands tighter. “But you’re more patient, and good with kids, and your head for strategy is unrivalled. And you lie a lot more than he does—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
She takes a breath, searching his face. “You’re more charming than is good for you. You’re petty, and proud, and you spend too much time on your hair in the morning because you want people to think you're pettier and prouder than you actually are. You’re more cautious than he is, in battle and in life, and you’re a lot more secretive, and none of this makes you any better or worse than him—it just makes you different.”
She drops her eyes to their intertwined hands and her voice gets very low, so low that Kaeya has to strain to hear it despite the meager distance between their bodies. “And when he left, Kaeya,” she whispers haltingly, “you stayed. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”
The moon reappears from behind a cloud, and its light catches something that looks suspiciously like dampness on Jean’s cheeks. “Jean,” Kaeya murmurs, “are you crying?”
She blinks a few times. “Am I? I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Jean,” Kaeya says, echoing the words that had sent him fleeing just a few minutes ago. He frees one of his hands from her grip and wipes the tears off her cheeks with his thumb. “Oh, Jean.”
She sniffles. “I’m probably just cold.” And then, before he can pull away, she throws her arms around him and squeezes tight. He pulls her close, decorum be damned, and she buries her face in his shoulder. Kaeya feels an age-old ache ease, ever so slightly, in his chest.
“Don’t ever ask me again if you’re his replacement,” she says into his jacket, voice shaky and muffled. “Don’t you dare, Kaeya Alberich.”
“I won’t,” Kaeya promises. And he never does again.
They are twenty-four when the dragon lays siege to the city.
And try as he might, Kaeya cannot find Jean.
Nimrod said he saw her sneaking out of the city with Diluc, some bard, and the mysterious Traveler who appeared out of thin air. Kaeya trusts her to handle herself, but. He always feels better when he knows where she is.
He pushes open her office door. Not to snoop, of course—okay, well, yes, he’s snooping. Can’t a Quartermaster worry about his Acting Grand Master once in a while?
His eye lands on a folded note sitting on Jean’s desk, addressed to him.
Dear K, it starts.
If you’re reading this, you’re probably worrying about me. Please don’t—I’m fine, and in good company. Sorry for running off without telling you. I thought I would be back relatively soon, but if I’ve been gone long enough for you to break into my office, then I suppose my task must be taking longer than expected.
I will be back as soon as possible. I entrust Mondstadt’s safety to you in my absence.
Again, do try not to worry. I’ll see you soon.
- J
P.S. And Kaeya, if I don’t come back, I just want you to know that I
P.P.S. No, ignore that. I’ll come back. That’s a promise.
They are twenty-four, and Jean is still nowhere to be found.
One of Kaeya’s informants said they saw her headed towards Stormterror’s Lair—which Kaeya thinks is a bad idea, given, you know, the whole dragon situation. But there's not much he can do about it now.
Kaeya paces the Cathedral roof, scanning the city for… something. He doesn’t quite know what (or who) he’s looking for yet, but his gut tells him that the assault on the city will not only come from the outside.
Faint sounds of battle waft towards him from the city gate. His fingers itch for a good fight, but he bides his time.
He’s just climbed up to the bell tower for a better view when a tug in the pit of his stomach makes him whip his head around in the direction of Stormterror’s Lair. The air goes eerily still for a half second, and then a thunderous crack splits the afternoon. A string of crashes follow, shaking the earth all the way to where Kaeya stands. A screaming wind whips up from the northwest and he almost falls off the tower. But he cannot tear his gaze away from the swirling column of stone and rubble that has suddenly risen in the distance.
Jean is in there, he thinks, and he’s a hair’s breadth away from launching himself to her rescue when he spots a group of shadowy figures skulking through the graveyard. His gut tells him that this is the assault he’s been waiting for.
Kaeya’s a damned good multitasker—but even he can only be in one place at a time.
I entrust Mondstadt’s safety to you in my absence.
“Hell,” Kaeya sighs. He’s going to give Jean an earful about this if they both emerge alive.
He steps off the tower and into open air. And as he plunges to meet his unwelcome guests, he sends up a desperate prayer to a god he’s never liked.
Barbatos, please bring her home safe.
They are twenty-four, and they are sitting on the cliff outside the city walls.
It is a rare moment of respite from their duties as Cavalry Captain and Acting Grand Master. Inside and outside the city, the Knights are working to clean up the rubble and reassure the citizens in the aftermath of the Abyss Order attacks.
But Kaeya and Jean are dangling their feet off the cliff and wondering what it would be like to plunge into the freezing waters below.
Jean laughs suddenly. “Do you remember–” she starts, and then shakes her head. “You probably don't. It was a long time ago.”
“Try me,” Kaeya says, tossing bits of grass off the cliff.
“I guess we would have been about thirteen? And we were sitting here with Diluc, and I asked if you’d ever been in love.”
Kaeya retrieves the memory from where it’s tucked away in his ribcage. “And I said yes, and then threw myself into the lake.”
Jean’s face lights up. “You do remember!” Then she glances down at the water, cheeks going a bit pink. “You know, I’ve… always wondered who you had a crush on back then. You never did tell us.”
“Well, I didn’t say it was a crush, Jean. You assumed that all by yourself. I said it was love.” Kaeya throws another blade of grass and watches it flutter downwards.
“You were in love at thirteen?” She sounds skeptical—Kaeya thinks that's funny coming from the woman who singlehandedly keeps the romance publishing houses in business.
He hums, languid. The stress of the past few days has melted away, leaving nothing but a sense of calm and—apparently—a troubling propensity for honesty. He casts her a sideways glance and catches her watching him. She blushes deeper and looks away. “Maybe I still am," he says softly.
Jean laughs, a clear, delighted sound. “Oh, you tease. Now you have to tell me.”
And oh, Kaeya could make something up, tell her it’s Eula, confirm what she already believes. He’s still infinitely better at lying than Jean is at catching him.
But maybe the stress of the past few days has made him reckless, too.
“Fine,” he says, before he can think better of it. “But you have to lean in and let me whisper it to you. I don’t need all of Mondstadt knowing that there’s still a semi-functional heart under all this bravado.”
Jean giggles but complies. Kaeya brushes her hair to the side, cups his hand behind her ear and brings his mouth close, so close that his breath ghosts across the shell of her ear, and she shivers.
And then he tells her the truth.