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Kaeya is tired of the color red. The wine is red. The smudge of Rosaria’s lipstick on him (from a very sarcastic kiss on his princely hand) is just a shade darker than the wine. His brother’s fluffy, wild hair is red. The color red is everywhere and it cuts into his head like the drunken headache that threatens from behind his eyes.
This is not the night for drinking, he decides. Too late, since he’s already well on his way to drunk. Not there, but close enough that he wishes he had made this decision an hour ago.
He taps the bar and his brother gives him a glance of acknowledgement.
Whatever else happens tonight, Kaeya’s not part of it.
Venti and Rosaria are warbling out a song. Rose’s voice carries like a haunting. Every ear and eye is trying to catch the sound without watching. The nun, hair down and habit removed, cheeks pink and glowing, doesn’t sing when people are watching.
The song is sad. Kaeya has heard it before, though usually Venti is too far in the bottle to play it with such a straight face. Maybe the bard’s relative clarity is enough to add weight to the familiar story, plucked out on the strings of Venti’s harp.
A boy, alone and waiting, clawing his way to the surface of a raging sea and searching for the path to freedom. A nation of people buried inside another and clinging to the last dregs of identity. A sly trick, a brilliant battle.
It’s a popular one for the late night crowd. Venti doesn’t sing it like the heroic tale. The mood is tragic. The brave boy, finally striking the last blow against the cruel kingdom oppressor, is not reunited with the love he waits for.
Kaeya’s stomach sloshes when he pushes up from his stool. The world doesn’t tilt, but it threatens to. He swallows down the urge to stay to avoid straddling the uncomfortable line between too much and too little alcohol. It wouldn’t matter anyway. More alcohol will only lead to more wallowing. He’d rather lay down at the crafting table and listen to Timaeus tell him misinformation about alchemy until his ears bled than wallow in the hole in the pit of his stomach.
The air outside stings Kaeya’s cheeks. The wind is cold enough to ripple gooseflesh up his arms as it flutters his cape. His cryo vision doesn't hold off the early winter weather. Soon the first snow will fall in Mondstadt and send an ache through half the knights. Old injuries are finicky in the winter. And only about half the knights have any.
He pushes all thoughts from his head. The sky is heavy with rain, though the streets are still dry. No doubt the cobblestones will be getting a good washing soon. Still… maybe this is why Kaeya’s mood is so sour. The rain brings with it bad memories and better habits. Being sober and sad is probably worse than being drunk and sad, but in the long run Kaeya figured it would be better for his liver. And besides, usually he just ends up being drunk and sad and grumpy so what is he losing, really?
He winds through the large apartments and window dressings of Mond, past the scent of flowers at the gate. He knows where he’s going. Maybe he should reconsider.
He hums under his breath and allows his feet to carry him. He searches his pocket until he finds a warm, worn coin. The gold is heavy in his hand, filled with years and years of memories. He presses it into his palm with his thumb and tries to find the source of all this unrest. The coin is a comfort but not enough to slow his steps.
The tavern is as full of masks as his own head. Rosaria sips her drinks slow enough that she can drinks all night and only be tipsy. Venti is an Archon playing at being a drunkard with a lyre. Diluc’s entire establishment trades in secrets and slipped tongues far more than the wines he serves. The world is full of lies and Kaeya sees them all.
His free hand reaches for his eyepatch. The coin, the eyepatch, the cold climbing over his skin. The evening is building into melodrama and he doesn’t even care.
He passes by the Good Hunter and up the stairs. The headquarters are a beacon in the dark. Such a formidable building, and what’s in it really? A handful of competent knights, two brilliant alchemists, and a sea of layabouts waiting for their terms to be over so they can retire in comfort.
On a kinder day, he may pretend to think some of the knights are still gaining their footing. On nights like these, he remembers the growing number of knights who, sensing an oncoming danger, have turned up in the tavern and confessed their secret runaway desires. He can hardly blame them for wanting to disappear to a safer place.
There are no safer places, of course. Mondstadt is the safest place in all Teyvat, and it’ll be the first to fall because of it.
Kaeya climbs the stairs two at a time, eyes on the doors all the way up. He doesn’t bother to stop at the guards stationed outside. They don’t bother trying to stop him. Technically they’re supposed to check his credentials, even just a glance. But he can just duck his head down and they don’t look at him.
The Headquarters are quiet. Which makes sense. Most people, from the Captain’s to the janitors, head home well before sun down. And the rest are tucked away in their offices trying to pretend that they aren’t here so late. Jean is probably asleep after working for three days straight, drool smearing the ink on some important document Lisa will fix later. Klee is in her confinement, tinkering away at her desk and drawing up plans. She barely sleeps as it is, but she never sleeps in the prison that is her room.
He passes all of the familiar doors with even more familiar tiling and rugs and warm, rich stylings. He ignores the various creaks and groans of the old building to make his way to the upper floor. The door to the lab is heavy and immovable. At least, immovable for his purposes. Alerting the occupants that someone was out here would be enough to stifle the conversation and right now he just needed…
Albedo’s office is next door to the lab, as it should be. The plaque in its holder says “Chief Investigator” but really, he and Kaeya both know that Kaeya is the one who investigates. Albedo processes the evidence. Together, they drag the truth into the light. And often, they decide what to do with it from there.
He slips into the barely used office and waits. He can hear Albedo talking to Timaeus through the wall. A falter in his words lets Kaeya know his presence has been noticed. Somehow the alchemist always knows. Kaeya once checked the room for tells and found none. No secret lines, no quiet bells, no signal on the door handle.
He could ask. Maybe.
He sits at the desk and looks over notes. They’re old and dusty with ink that’s faded at the top. Albedo’s memory is impeccable. He probably hasn’t looked at these notes since he wrote them. Calculations and equations fill the pages in small, neat handwriting. He recognizes very few, though he can make out several of the symbols. Three strikes take up the top corner, vaguely person shaped and with a symbol below and an equation beside. A flower, a horn, and a question mark.
He closes his eyes and turns the notes over.
He didn’t come here to read Albedo’s old notes.
He can hear Albedo’s voice again. Timaeus has spilled something. From the sounds of it, the solution is something volatile and dangerous.
“Cover the combustible in sand.” Albedo’s voice is muffled through the door. Kaeya takes note of the extra curve of the s into the a. Every word is linked together, not quite free of the last word before the next one starts. Albedo has been able to shake many old habits from his time with Rhinedottir. No one else in Mondstadt would notice.
But Kaeya does.
He sits and listens. Albedo corrects an ingredient before another disaster can strike.
“ Careful with liquids near that. Even the ambient water in the air can make it reactive.” Timaeus mumbles back a response. “I have told you what happens. You don’t need to test it.”
He is calm and apathetic, aware of how to fix a problem before it starts. Albedo believes in learning on the go. Mistakes become new knowledge. In Timaeus’s case, it may take a while to get there. But eventually he does learn. Sucrose tends to lead him and Albedo keeps him from blowing himself up. Usually.
And all the while, Albedo works on his own experiment. Kaeya tries to remember the most recent test Albedo brought home. Neither of them have been back to the apartment in a while.
The last experiment Albedo told him about had something to do with… blood found on the mountain, near the cave with the dragon’s teeth and bones. Kaeya thinks the blood is Durin’s, but Albedo didn’t answer any questions. Kaeya agreed long ago not to push too hard for information before Albedo is ready.
Albedo will come to him when he’s figured out what he's looking for. He always does.
Kaeya listens as Albedo wraps up for the night. It’s early. Uncharacteristically early.
They’re both taking an easy night, it seems.
The lab goes silent for several minutes before the door opens.
“What a pleasant surprise.” Star marked gloves slip off to reveal star marked wrists. Albedo sets them on the desk and leans against the pinewood.
“Could be more pleasant,” Kaeya stands, moving closer until he can put his arms around Albedo’s waist. “If you wanted.”
“Hm.”
A hand tugs him closer by the buckles of his corset. Albedo opens his mouth, to complain about the number of layers no doubt, but Kaeya cuts him off with a kiss. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harass you.”
The hand working his corset loose pauses. “Then why are you here?”
It’s hard to explain, really, what brought him all the way here. Really, the night was shaping up to be a good one for his work. The knights were loose lipped and the barely disguised treasure hoarders were poking around for leads. He could have stayed and headed off at least a few scuffles over the next few weeks.
But there’s a weight on him he isn't always to shake.
“Tell me something true.” He rests his eyes against Albedo’s shoulder. The fabric of his coat is cool and smells faintly of fire and metal and chemicals. It’s not as comforting as when Albedo smells like campfires and Dragonspine mint. He presses his face into Albedo until he can smell the underlying soap and sweet spices that is Albedo’s skin.
“You smell like wine.” Albedo’s fingers pull through his hair. “We’re both tired tonight, I think. We should go home.”
“It would be nice to sleep in our bed for once.” Kaeya doesn’t let go of Albedo’s waist. “I’m not drunk.”
Albedo tugs him back by the hair. “Will you let me kiss you?”
“I miss you,” Kaeya answers. Albedo only presses a kiss against his forehead, the tip of his nose, the point of his lips.
“Someone’s feeling open tonight.” Albedo hums and presses another kiss against him.
“A rare occurrence.” Kaeya allows Albedo to pull him closer, fingers looped into his pants. He hadn’t even noticed when Albedo finally triumphed over the corset. A protective measure thwarted. Which is fine. His layers are never meant to ward off his alchemist. “Best take advantage while you can.”
“I would rather not wait until we get home.”
“Tell me something true,” Kaeya repeats. Albedo’s touch is a balm, smoothing the frayed ends of his nerves. “Something that matters.”
“I love you,” Albedo says. The words are shocking. They’re always shocking. Kaeya could hear them every day until he died and they’d still shock him. “And you’re a little drunk, I think.”
Kaeya nips at the sliver of exposed neck above Albedo’s shirt. He can see the star, framed by dark blue. His lover has always been a night sky, full of stars and unmapped mysteries. Albedo’s nails dig into his back as he starts to push back the navy fabric.
“Hm. If I promise I’m not, will you keep kissing me?”
“All you have to do is ask.” Albedo allows him to remove his shirt, allows Kaeya’s mouth to explore the line of his collar bones and all the sensitive places that make up his chest and ribs and stomach.
“Talk to me,” Kaeya’s breath is ragged, his hair a bit wild where Albedo’s grip found a home at the back of his head. “Tell me anything.”
I want to hear something real. I want to hear something I can trust. Tell me anything. Give me something solid.