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Kaeya flirts with everyone.
He’ll press his arm to the wall beside Amber, leaning in as she scolds him for some indiscretion. Or he’ll let Eula pin him to the ground during training, biting his lip and waggling his eyebrows. Or he’ll perch himself on Albedo’s alchemy bench and try out the most ridiculous pickup lines — which Albedo ignores, even if Sucrose has to run out of the room with her cheeks flaming.
But he never flirts with Jean.
That shouldn’t bother her as much as it does.
The bell above the shop door chimes as Jean walks into With Wind Comes Glory. Her eyes skim over the jumbled trinkets that line the walls. Kaeya slips in behind her, smiling at Marjorie.
“Good morning!” the shopkeeper says. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Not as lovely as you,” Kaeya responds swiftly.
Jean rolls her eyes, but Marjorie only laughs and shakes her head. “You are an incorrigible flirt, Captain,” she says.
Kaeya feigns astonishment, leaning over the counter. “Why, you wound me! I speak only the truth, ma’am. The Acting Grand Master can attest.” He turns to Jean and raises his eyebrows expectantly.
“Um,” says Jean. She’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to be attesting to. “I guess she is rather… lovely?”
That must have been the wrong thing to say, because Kaeya and Marjorie break into laughter, bending their heads together over the counter. Jean huffs, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Well at any rate, that’s not why we’re here,” she says petulantly. “Stop wasting time, Kaeya.”
“Never a waste of time to chat with a beautiful woman,” Kaeya says, and Marjorie giggles. “But we did actually come here to source an antique. We know you’re a skilled appraiser, so we were hoping you’d be able to help us.”
“Anything for you,” the shopkeeper says, and winks. A coy smile curls the edges of Kaeya’s lips.
“I’m just saying that it’s the fastest way to get him away from his post,” Kaeya whispers.
“Technically the fastest way would be to kill him,” Eula whispers back.
“We are not killing the guard,” Jean hisses. Kaeya looks smug until she adds, “And we are not seducing him away from his post, either.”
He pouts, and Jean tries not to notice the curve of his lovely mouth. “Now, whyever not, Jean? I promise I could lure him away from the door in about four minutes, and keep him away long enough for Eula to sneak in and back out.”
Jean opens her mouth to say that she doesn’t want him to do that, but Eula beats her to the punch. “No way you could do it in four minutes,” she says skeptically, and Jean knows her battle is lost. Kaeya has never been able to resist a challenge.
Sure enough, his eye lights up with a terrifying gleam. “Any longer than four minutes and I do your next 15 patrols,” he offers. “But if I get him to abandon his post in four minutes or less, you handle my paperwork for a week.”
“Done,” Eula says, and Jean drops her head into her hands. “Jean, keep time.”
Kaeya grins, undoes a button on his vest, musses his hair, and saunters out from behind the building. He leans against the wall next to Luke the Fatuus, just a little too close.
Jean braces herself for the most excruciating four minutes of her life.
Fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on who you ask — Kaeya only needs three.
“And as you can see,” the Snezhnayan diplomat snaps, “these conditions are hardly conducive to our alliance.”
Jean’s head hurts. She longs to rub her temples, but Kaeya warned her before the meeting not to let them get to her. He’d been all business while he was briefing her — and then he’d walked into the meeting room with the most disgustingly simpering smile on his face and begun to charm the socks off the diplomat.
That actually might be why Jean has a headache.
“Mondstadt is not holding up its end of the bargain,” the diplomat continues, their hands folded primly in their lap, and that is so categorically false that Jean frowns and almost calls them out.
Kaeya, seated across from the diplomat, shifts and smiles. He leans forward, giving them a view straight down his shirt, and wets his lips.
“I’m sure we can come to… some sort of compromise,” he offers, voice husky.
The diplomat swallows. So does Jean.
They come to an agreement that benefits Mondstadt significantly more than it benefits Snezhnaya, almost as if the diplomat has their eyes on something other than their national interests.
Kaeya is unbearably smug for the rest of the day.
“It’s just– infuriating!” Jean complains, waving her empty teacup around.
Lisa hums. “I don’t see why you’re so worked up about it, dear. It’s not like he’s hurting anyone. And no one seems to mind, as far as I can tell.”
“I know that,” Jean grumbles. “He’s not a complete jerk.”
“What’s the problem, then?” Lisa asks, sipping her tea calmly.
Jean hesitates. Honestly, she’s not even really sure herself. It just… bothers her.
She admits this to Lisa, whose eyebrows migrate slowly towards her hairline. “So, no particular reason why you’re bothered, then?” she asks. “Just a general sense of irritation when he flirts with other people?”
“Yes,” Jean says. “Exactly. And I know he’s capable of being professional, because he’s always unfailingly professional with me.” This last part comes out with an unexpected sourness, and Lisa inhales like she’s just made a huge discovery.
“Jean,” she says. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you, perhaps, jealous?”
Jean blinks. Blinks again. “What?”
“I mean,” Lisa says, “this isn’t really about Kaeya flirting with people, is it? It’s about Kaeya flirting with people who aren’t you.”
“Uh,” Jean says. “Maybe?” She sees a concerning twinkle enter Lisa’s eye and hurries to clarify. “I’m not jealous, for the record. I guess I just feel… left out. I wish he would flirt with me too.”
“I do hate to break it to you, but that sounds like textbook jealousy to me,” Lisa says.
“It’s not,” Jean insists, setting her cup down. “I just– I’m worried he hates me or something. If he doesn’t flirt with me, does that mean I’m not worth flirting with?”
“I really don’t think that’s it,” Lisa says. “But if you’re that worried, why don’t you try talking to him about it?”
“Oh, no,” Jean says, horrified. “I could never.”
“Why not? You could say, ‘Kaeya, I’ve noticed you’re very flirtatious around everyone except me, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind flirting with me more.’”
Lisa’s face betrays nothing, but her voice carries an undercurrent of amusement. Jean scowls at her. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m serious!” Lisa protests, pouring them both more tea. “It’s clearly bothering you. I’ve noticed you’ve been more touchy with him lately and–”
Jean gasps. “You’ve noticed? Oh, gods, that’s so unprofessional of me.”
“Maybe so, but jealousy is only human,” Lisa says.
Jean purses her lips. “I’m not jealous. And anyway, being only human is a luxury I don’t have. I’m the Acting Grand Master. Everyone counts on me to be a good leader, and I can’t do that if I’m– if my attentions are– compromised.”
Lisa fixes her with a long look, and Jean takes a scalding gulp of tea to avoid her gaze. Eventually Lisa sighs and puts down her teacup. “Well, I can’t tell you what to do, Jean. But if you’ll take a suggestion: maybe you should let yourself be human more often.”
“Why, Outrider,” Kaeya says, shooting Amber a wolfish grin. “Seems we’ve ended up under the mistletoe… together.”
Amber rolls her eyes. “What do you want, Kaeya?”
“A kiss is all I ask, according to the tradition,” he drawls. She scowls at him and he leans in close to stage-whisper, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Amber sighs, tiptoes, and plants a kiss on his cheek. “Wouldn’t want to break with tradition,” she says, walking away.
Kaeya gives a startled laugh and touches his cheek as if to make sure it’s still there. “You look surprised, Captain,” Lisa teases from her seat at the bar.
“I didn’t expect her to actually do it,” he admits, laughing. “But hey, free kisses are free kisses.”
It’s the Knights’ annual Yuletide party, and the various companies have all gathered in the Angel’s Share to celebrate the end of the year. Kaeya arrived early — which he never does — and affixed a sprig of mistletoe to the top of one of the archways leading up to the seating area. Now he’s leaning casually against the side of the archway and soliciting kisses from those unlucky enough to end up under the mistletoe with him.
Jean, seated at the bar with Lisa, has a horribly good view of the archway. She’s not pleased about it. But people seem to be enjoying it, and it would hardly be in keeping with the festive spirit for her to spoil their fun.
He’s left one archway free for those who aren’t interested in kisses, but there seems to be a constant stream of people under the mistletoe with him anyway. Of course, a kiss from Mondstadt’s dashing Cavalry Captain is a rare commodity; Jean can’t even blame those who take him up on his offer. And it is, maybe, just a little bit funny to see how everybody reacts.
Eula, for instance, ends up under the mistletoe completely by accident and blushes a bright red when she notices. Kaeya tells her she doesn’t have to give him a kiss, but she presses her lips to his temple anyway, threatens vengeance, and strides off.
Noelle agonizes over the appropriate conduct in such a situation until Kaeya takes pity on her and brushes his lips over the knuckles of her glove, at which point she gives a little squeak and almost falls over.
Klee runs up to Kaeya and throws herself into his arms. “Klee wants a kiss too!” she proclaims as he swings her around, and Kaeya laughs and presses a fond kiss to the crown of her head.
Lisa walks very intentionally under the archway and then feigns surprise. “Why, Captain Kaeya,” she croons, placing a casual hand on the bare skin of his chest as his palm slides up to the small of her back. “Now what are you going to do with little old me?” They flirt back and forth for a minute, until Lisa rocks up to give Kaeya a peck on the forehead. She saunters back to Jean, who pretends not to notice the wicked look Lisa gives her.
Albedo strolls in late, seemingly having just finished an experiment, and quickly finds himself under the archway. He looks a little bit confused at all the eyes that snap to him when he sets foot on the steps. Kaeya’s about to give him the usual spiel when Albedo looks up and notices the mistletoe. “Oh,” he says. “Curious.” Then he shrugs, tiptoes, and plants a kiss directly on Kaeya’s mouth.
A cheer goes up from the attendees, most of whom are under the influence by now. Kaeya’s eye goes wide and then flutters shut as he kisses back, hand coming around to cup the nape of Albedo’s neck, and Jean has to look away and take a swig of her drink to distract herself from the tightness in her chest.
She does that a lot throughout the night, actually. Every time a different person ends up under the archway, Jean suddenly finds herself fascinated by whatever alcohol is in her glass. She starts with a Death After Noon, at Charles’s recommendation, but that disappears shortly after the sixth or so person Kaeya kisses. Not that she’s keeping count. Each subsequent drink disappears just as fast, and each subsequent drink makes her more sullen, feeding the green-eyed beast gnawing at the lining of her stomach.
Jean is four drinks in when the alcohol in her bloodstream overrides her common sense. She may be the Acting Grand Master, but nobody else at this party seems to be concerned with professionalism, so she deserves a kiss too, damn it. She slips off her stool and stumbles. Lisa catches her by the elbow, steadying her.
“Lemme go,” Jean mumbles.
“Go where, dearest?” Lisa inquires.
“Over to say hi to Amber,” Jean says. She’s quite proud of her cover story until Lisa looks around for Amber and catches sight of her — on the other side of Kaeya’s archway.
“Oh,” Lisa says, and Jean flushes at the insinuation in her tone.
“Don’t say it like that,” she gripes, pulling her elbow free of Lisa’s grasp.
“All I said was ‘oh!’” Lisa protests, laughter dancing in her eyes. “If you’re hearing something else, then maybe you should check your ears, darling.” She waves Jean off with a smirk. “Have fun!”
Kaeya’s gaze snaps to her as she takes a step towards his archway, and Jean immediately regrets her decision. But she’s too proud to back out now.
She takes one wobbly step, and then another. Kaeya’s sharp eye tracks her movements. Her heart thumps painfully in her chest, like it’s trying to escape its confines.
She’s five steps from the mistletoe when he registers her trajectory. She watches his eyebrows jump as something akin to nervousness settles in the lines of his features.
One more step and he starts to look distinctly antsy. He shifts his weight from his right leg to his left.
Jean is three steps from the mistletoe when she begins to wonder whether she’s made a horrible mistake. In all her years of playing and fighting alongside him, she’s never seen Kaeya look this anxious — not even when she dared him to jump off Starsnatch Cliff and had to pull him back by his collar when she realized he was actually going to do it.
Two steps away, and Kaeya’s gaze finally meets her own. She doesn’t know what he sees in her eyes, but a certain resolution settles over his face.
One step away.
And Kaeya — who hasn’t left his post all evening, who’s procured kisses from every single person who passed under the mistletoe — flees from the archway.
At least, that’s what it feels like to Jean. In reality, he steps out quickly, nodding at her in passing, and slides onto a bar stool. It’s so quick, so casual, that nobody else in the tavern seems to have noticed.
But to Jean, it is a rejection of the highest degree.
The humiliation crashes over her as she stands rooted to the ground. Her head, already foggy from the alcohol, spins uncontrollably. He really does hate her. He must. She can’t think of any other explanation why his casual flirtatiousness would fail him when it came to her, why he would look so damned nervous at the prospect of kissing her. And now she’s gone and made a fool of herself, and he’ll never forgive her, and she’ll never forgive herself.
She realizes she still hasn’t moved. Her feet and her embarrassment propel her forward automatically. She passes under the mistletoe and feels its presence like a sword hanging over her head.
“Jean!” Amber calls from where she’s sitting with Eula and Noelle. None of them seem to have noticed the most humiliating moment of Jean’s life, thank Barbatos. “Come join us!”
Jean crumples gracelessly to the bench next to Amber, who takes in her general demeanour and frowns. “Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?”
Jean musters a smile that she hopes is moderately convincing. “Fine,” she says. “I must have just drunk too much.”
“No such thing,” Eula declares, slurring her words a little. “Have some more shots with me.”
“I don’t know if that’s advisable,” Noelle murmurs.
Jean glances involuntarily towards the bar counter, and sees Lisa and Kaeya with their heads together. As she watches, Lisa glances in her direction, concern written in the line of her eyebrows. Jean pulls her eyes away, mouth twisting like she tasted something sour. “You know what, Eula, I will have that drink with you,” she declares.
Eula cheers and motions Charles down. “Tray of shots,” she orders.
Charles looks to Amber for confirmation as the only non-intoxicated adult at their table. She sighs. “Ugh, let her have it. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
The shots arrive at their table in short order. Jean downs one and chokes at the bitter taste. Amber thumps her on the back, but Jean hasn’t even finished coughing before she’s reaching for the next one.
“Maybe take it a little slower, Jean,” Amber says, but Jean shakes her head and downs the second shot — because if she focuses hard enough on the alcohol burning in her throat, she can almost forget the shame burning in her chest.
The alcohol hits harder and faster than she expected. The bar lights spin around her in a dizzying dance. Her head starts to feel heavy so she puts it down on the table, pressing her forehead to the cool wood.
“Jean is not a fun drunk,” Eula declares pityingly.
“No, she’s not,” says Lisa’s voice, and Jean drags her head up with considerable effort to see one-and-a-half Lisas bending over her. They open their mouths and their voice comes out muffled, like they’re speaking through a mouthful of cotton wool. “Jean is a depressed drunk.”
“She always has been,” adds another voice behind Lisa, and Jean swallows thickly because she knows that voice, likes that voice a lot, and yet for some reason tonight it makes her sad. A flash of blue behind Lisa and Kaeya comes into view, swimming through the rippling glow of the bar lights. She averts her gaze. She doesn’t want to look at him right now.
“First time I ever saw Jean cry was also the first time she ever got drunk,” he says.
Jean has enough presence of mind to mumble, “Don’t tell this story,” but Kaeya presses on as if he hasn’t heard her.
“We were about 15 and we broke into Master Crepus’s wine cellar with Diluc. She drank two glasses of red and started sobbing,” he says, and Jean is not yet sloshed enough to miss the fondness in his voice. “Tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes red and puffy. Diluc and I were so confused.”
“What was she crying about?” Amber asks, clearly intrigued despite herself.
“Don’t!” Jean protests.
“She was convinced she was going to die alone,” Kaeya answers, ignoring her. He pitches his voice high and breathy in a parody of teenaged Jean. “‘Nobody’s ever going to love me! I’m going to go to my grave lonely and sad!’”
Noelle lets out a giggle and then claps her hand to her mouth. Jean groans, mortified, and grabs for the last shot. Kaeya swipes it away just before her fingers reach it and she scowls at him.
“Don’t give me that look. You’re very drunk, and drinking more is only going to make you feel worse,” he says.
Jean tries to think of a good counter-argument, but her brain feels a bit like mashed potatoes. She settles on, “You’re a big meanie and I don’t want to talk to you.” She stands up, fully intending to clamber over the bench and stalk away, but the bench doesn’t cooperate — or maybe it’s the floor that’s suddenly turned all wobbly — because she only manages to get one leg over the bench before she loses balance and finds her face heading at high speed towards the floorboards.
An arm catches her around the waist before she can faceplant. “I won’t say I told you so,” Kaeya says, hauling her back to an upright-ish position.
Jean loops her arms around his neck, tucking her body into his to keep herself standing. His arm curls around her waist, his hand steady on her hip bone. “I don’t like you very much right now,” she insists, leaning her head against his shoulder. His skin is cool against her hot cheek.
“What did you do, Kaeya?” Amber demands.
“I swear to Barbatos, Amber, this time it’s not my fault,” he says, then turns to Lisa and asks, “How many drinks has she had?”
“Six, I think,” Lisa responds, and Kaeya’s laugh vibrates through Jean’s body.
“That explains it,” he says. “Six drinks in two hours would get anybody tipsy, and Jean’s always been a bit of a lightweight.”
Jean can’t quite remember what that means, but she feels the need to argue with him. “Am not,” she objects.
“Are too,” Kaeya says.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Okay, children,” Lisa interjects. “Kaeya, do you think you can get her home?”
“I don’t want to go home with him,” Jean protests.
“Well, I don’t think I can lug you back in this state, darling,” Lisa says.
“I’ll get her home,” Kaeya says. “Give me her apartment keys, will you?” Jean hears clinking, but she can’t see anything with her face tucked into the crook of his neck.
“Come on, Jean,” Kaeya says, and Jean wants to argue more, but she’s also delightfully comfortable curled into his body. “I can’t walk with you draped around me like this. Move your arm here?”
“Hmngh,” she grumbles, and doesn’t move.
“Like this, silly,” he says affectionately, prying her arm off his shoulder. “Don’t make me bridal carry you out of this tavern.”
The thought alone makes Jean sober up a little. She tries to step away from Kaeya as he moves to the door, but her legs still aren’t cooperating. “I’m mad at you,” she says, stumbling into him, and she’s not sure if she’s talking to Kaeya or to her misbehaving limbs.
“Okay,” Kaeya says, half-dragging her to the door. “You’ve been mad at me before; I think I’ll survive.”
He pushes open the door and the rush of winter air makes Jean shiver. She mumbles incoherently and snuggles into Kaeya’s warmth and he chuckles, drawing her closer.
They walk through the quiet streets of Mondstadt, Jean stumbling occasionally and Kaeya holding her up. It’s surprisingly nice to be tucked into his side, to be held, even if only for practical reasons.
They’re halfway to the Knights’ headquarters before she registers his words. “When was I mad at you?”
Kaeya glances down at her. “Hmm?”
“You said that I’d been mad at you before,” Jean says. “When was that?”
He laughs quietly. “Do you want me to catalogue every time it happens? It’s infrequent, admittedly; you tend to be pretty tolerant of my shenanigans.” He falls silent, combing through his memory. “I suppose the last time was the day we made that agreement with Snezhnaya. Remember the diplomat who was horrible at negotiation?”
Even through an alcohol-induced haze, Jean remembers painfully clearly. “Maybe,” she hedges.
“It was kind of funny, actually,” Kaeya says, helping her up a flight of stairs. “I thought you’d be pleased that the negotiations had gone so well, but you just seemed miffed at me for the rest of the day. I couldn’t figure out why.”
Jean knows why: those horrible underhanded seduction tactics that worked too well at the expense of her sanity. “Can’t remember,” she lies.
They arrive at the Knights’ headquarters. But instead of going through the front door, Kaeya leads her around to a smaller side entrance that goes directly to the Captains’ private quarters.
“Why are we going through here?” Jean whispers.
“If you’re trying to whisper, it’s not working,” Kaeya whispers back, fitting the key into the lock. “They can hear you all the way from Celestia. And we’re going through here so that fewer people see what their Acting Grand Master looks like when drunk.”
“Oh,” Jean says. And then the unprofessionalism of the situation sinks in and she flushes pink. “I can walk on my own,” she says, pulling away from Kaeya. “You can leave me alone now.”
“I’m not leaving you alone until you’re safely in bed,” he says, following her halting progress up the staircase.
“I’m fine,” Jean insists, even though the stairs are undulating like the waves at Cape Oath. “I didn’t even want you to accompany me. I don’t need your help.”
Kaeya looks like he’s about to protest, but then he sighs and glances away. “Fine,” he says. “But I’m here if you need me.”
To her credit, she makes it all the way up the stairs and manages to unlock her door before the dizziness makes her trip over the threshold of her apartment. Kaeya catches her by the arm and Jean wrenches out of his grip, stumbling into a wall. “Don’t,” she snaps. She looks up in time to watch a look of hurt flit across his features.
“Okay,” he says. He steps into the room and closes the door behind him, turning to face her and crossing his arms. “What did I do?” She averts her eyes, bracing herself against the wall, and he sighs. “No, seriously, Jean. What did I do to get you so upset with me? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
Kaeya isn’t serious very often. The weight of his gaze feels unfamiliar, almost solemn, and it pulls the words out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?”
He frowns, caught off guard. “What?”
“When I was walking towards the mistletoe earlier,” she says, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Why did you run away?”
She sees recognition dawn on his face, and he has the good grace to look sheepish. “Ah,” he says. “That, ah. Hmm.”
“And you never flirt with me,” Jean says accusingly, because if she’s going to air her grievances she might as well air all of them.
“Wh– Do you want me to?” He looks entirely bewildered.
“Maybe!” she exclaims. “I just don’t see why I’m the only person you don’t flirt with.” She holds a hand in front of her and scowls at it as she counts people off on her fingers. “In the last week alone you’ve flirted with Amber, Eula, Albedo, Lisa, Hertha.” She flips her hand around and continues, “Swan, Huffman, Athos, Marjorie, Quinn” — flips her hand again — “Beatrice, Guy, Nimrod, Charles–”
Kaeya closes his hand around hers, stopping her short. His fingers are cool even through her glove and she realizes that her entire body must be burning up from the alcohol.
“Okay,” he says, “I get it. Point made. Also — you’ve been keeping count of the people I flirt with?”
“No!” Jean says. But she’s never been a good liar, even when she’s sober, so she adds, “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because!” she says, curling her fingers around his like she can keep him for herself. “Because you flirt with all these people and I’m the only exception. I just want to know if I’ve done something wrong, or maybe you hate me–”
Kaeya scoffs and starts pulling her gently towards her bedroom. “You must be really out of it if you think I hate you. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”
Jean lets herself be pulled along, unwilling to let go of his fingers. They step into her bedroom and Jean drops heavily onto her bed. Kaeya kneels in front of her and starts easing off her boots. He glances up at her and laughs under his breath. “Why do you look so down, Jeanie?”
“You don’t like me very much,” Jean says plaintively. “I’m sad about that.”
He shakes his head and looks back down at his hands wrapped around her calf. “I don’t know where you’re getting these ideas from, but you’re wrong. I do like you. Maybe more than you know.” He pulls her left boot off and starts on the other.
“That can’t be true,” Jean says. “I’ve seen how you act with people you like. Do I mean so little to you that you won’t even say flirty things sometimes?”
He sighs, pulling the other boot off. “Has it occurred to you that maybe you mean too much to me?”
Jean tries in vain to wrap her head around his reasoning. “I don’t know what that means,” she says, and is mortified to feel tears springing to her eyes.
She sniffles and Kaeya’s gaze snaps up to her face. He stands and bends over her, cupping her face in his hands. “Don’t cry, Jean, please. We can talk about this in the morning, okay? I don’t hate you, I promise.”
“Prove it, then,” she says, alcohol and desperation making her bold. “Kiss me.”
Kaeya draws in a breath. His gaze flicks down to her lips, and she watches his throat bob. His thumbs press down lightly on her cheekbones and for a moment she thinks he’s actually going to do it. But then he shakes his head and moves to pull her gloves off instead. “No,” he says.
“Please kiss me, Kaeya,” she requests, like asking politely will change his mind.
“Do you honestly think me the kind of man who would take advantage of a drunk woman?” Kaeya asks, and she’s surprised to hear a quiet anger in his voice. “Don’t ask me to do that, Jean.”
“Sorry,” she murmurs, and he sighs, reaching around to undo the ribbon keeping her ponytail in place. Her hair falls around her shoulders as he pulls away.
“You’re drunk, it’s not your fault. Go to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” He places her gloves and ribbon gently on the bedside table and turns towards the door.
“Are you leaving?” she asks — inanely, because of course he’s leaving, why would he ever stay, it’s not like she means that much to–
“I’m not,” he says, cutting off her spiralling thoughts. “I’ll be in your living room if you need me, okay?” He steps into the corridor. “Goodnight, Jean.”
The door clicks shut.
Lisa peers under her desk. “Not to question your methods, Jean, but what on earth are you doing under there?”
“Shh,” Jean hisses. “I’m hiding from Kaeya.”
Lisa purses her lips and crosses her legs. “He’s out of Headquarters right now, running a patrol with Recon. Do you want to come up here and explain to me why you’re hiding?”
Jean doesn’t particularly want to explain, but her back and eyes are starting to hurt from trying to do paperwork under Lisa’s desk, so she scrambles out and blinks at the sudden brightness. Lisa gestures her to the chair on the other side of the desk, and Jean drapes her cloak over it and sits.
“So,” says Lisa.
“So,” says Jean.
“Explain yourself, dear.”
Jean sighs. “I did some bad things last night, Lisa.”
“If you’re referring to getting wasted at the bar and needing to be hauled home, I already know about that,” Lisa says. “I was there.”
“Worse than that,” Jean admits.
And then, because she has nothing left to lose, she tells Lisa the whole story. She is merciless in her narration, too honest to spare her own feelings. She recounts in a steady voice how she asked Kaeya to kiss and flirt with her, and how he rejected her gently but firmly, as close to word-perfect as she can remember. She doesn’t look Lisa in the eye at all — her one concession to her embarrassment — but even so she is red in the face by the time she ends her tale.
To Lisa’s credit, she stays silent during the whole sorry story, even though Jean can feel her getting more and more anxious to speak on the other side of the desk.
“And so you see,” Jean finishes, staring at the wood of the desk and blinking back the dampness behind her eyelids, “I need to get this paperwork in order before he asks me to resign.”
“What,” says Lisa. She shakes her head. “Okay, I was following, but you lost me at that last part. Why would he ask you to resign?”
Jean finally looks up and meets Lisa’s gaze. She seems genuinely confused — which is funny, because it’s as clear as ice to Jean. “Because I tried to seduce him last night,” she says. “It was highly inappropriate to do this to any coworker but especially to a subordinate. He will be perfectly within his rights when he asks me to step down.”
Lisa takes a solemn breath in the way that Jean knows from long experience means she’s trying not to laugh.
“I’m serious,” Jean says, before Lisa can say anything.
“I know you are,” Lisa says. “You always are. But I think, in this case, you’re wrong.” Jean huffs but Lisa cuts her off before she can protest. “I promise you that whatever else you were last night, you were not seductive. I don’t think you could have seduced anyone last night, let alone someone who is used to people throwing themselves at him. In fact, it sounds to me like you were very polite.”
Jean’s cheeks burn at the memory of asking him to kiss her, please. “That doesn’t change the fact that I tried to coerce him into unprofessional workplace behaviour!”
“You could barely keep yourself upright. I don’t think Kaeya felt very coerced at all. Instead of assuming what he thinks and hiding under my desk, why don’t you ask him?” Lisa narrows her eyes at her, and Jean feels a little bit like a misbehaving child. “In fact, didn’t he say the two of you would talk in the morning? It’s teatime already.”
“Uh,” says Jean, and grins a grin that she hopes is convincingly casual.
“Jean Gunnhildr,” Lisa says. “Have you been hiding from him all day?”
“Not all day!” Jean protests. “Just most of it. Since I got to work.”
“So, since you left your quarters.”
“Yeah,” Jean admits, sheepishly.
“Jean,” Lisa says.
But whatever she’s about to say is cut off by Kaeya’s voice in the main hall. “Has anyone seen the Acting Grand Master?”
Jean chokes on nothing and scrambles back under Lisa’s desk, despite the latter’s whispered protests. “Hide me,” she begs, and Lisa groans and throws up her hands.
Kaeya strolls in a second later, his boots clicking in a familiar rhythm on the floor. “Ms. Minci,” he says, voice syrupy sweet as usual. Despite the panic flooding her body, Jean rolls her eyes.
“Captain Alberich,” Lisa coos back.
“Any chance you’ve seen the Acting Grand Master around here?”
“Nope,” Lisa says, loyally.
“Really?” Kaeya inquires, amusement pitching his voice a note higher. Jean hears the rustle of fabric as he picks something up. “Because I’m pretty sure this is her cloak.”
“Ah, yes,” Lisa says, without missing a beat. “She was here, but had to step out.”
“Indeed,” Kaeya says. “Well, if you see her” — he must be leaning in, because Jean can suddenly hear his voice much clearer — “give her my regards, and tell her I know she’s avoiding me, will you?”
Lisa laughs, surprised with an edge of delight. “I will definitely pass the message along.”
“Excellent,” Kaeya drawls, and leaves. Jean waits until his footsteps have faded entirely before clambering back out from under the desk.
Lisa fixes her with an unimpressed look.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Jean mutters, swinging her cloak back around her shoulders and brushing off her pants.
“Coward,” Lisa says, and Jean gasps in affront. “Get out of here, you goofball, and have an adult conversation like an adult.”
“But–” Jean starts, and then sighs. “Ugh. You’re right.”
“I always am,” Lisa says, picking up Jean’s paperwork and handing it to her. “Have fun!”
Jean trudges across the hall, intending to drop off her paperwork and then find Kaeya to apologize.
She swings open the door of her office and startles, almost dropping her documents. Kaeya is lounging in her chair, feet on her desk, flipping a coin over his knuckles with a languid grace. “Oh!” she gasps.
He grins and swings his feet off the desk when he sees her, standing and placing his palms on the wood instead. “Ah, there you are. I see you’ve been reunited with your cloak.”
Jean deposits her papers, flattens her palms on the desk in a mirror of his pose, and thinks about lying. But it doesn’t really seem worth it anymore, so she finds herself saying, “I was hiding under Lisa’s desk.”
Kaeya gives her a surprisingly fond smile. “I know,” he says.
Jean sighs. “Of course you know. How do you always know these things?”
His lips quirk up in a lopsided grin. “You smell like dandelions. Lisa doesn’t.”
“It’s my shampoo,” Jean says, stalling for time.
“I know that too,” he says.
They stare at each other for a moment, neither of them quite willing to broach the topic at hand.
Eventually the silence becomes too much to bear. “Listen, I just wanted–” Jean starts, at the same time as Kaeya says, “So, about last night–”
He laughs and gestures for her to go first, so Jean takes a deep breath and says, “Look, I’m really sorry about everything I did and said last night — for… for asking you to kiss me and flirt with me.” She makes herself meet his gaze, painful as it is. “I should never have done any of that. It was… highly unprofessional, and an abuse of power. And I’ll step down from my position if that’s what you want.”
“Wait, hold on,” Kaeya says, leaning back slightly and holding up a hand. “You lost me at that last part. Who said anything about resigning?”
“That’s exactly what Lisa said!” Jean exclaims, bewildered. “Isn’t it obvious? People who abuse their positions of power should be made to abdicate them.”
“Agreed,” Kaeya says slowly, “but who said you abused your power?”
“W-Well,” Jean stammers, “you’re my subordinate, technically–”
“Oh, so it’s like that,” he cuts in, mouth twisting with something that looks like hurt. “Am I really just a coworker to you, Jean? Haven’t we been friends long enough?”
“I mean, yes, we have,” she says desperately, leaning forward, vaguely aware of how ridiculous it is to try and convince him to be mad at her. “But I shouldn’t have blurred the professional and personal lines like–”
“I kissed, like, 50 people yesterday at an Ordo party and you didn’t say anything,” Kaeya points out. “So what’s this really about?”
Jean hesitates, pressing her palms into the smooth wood of her desk. “I’m really scared that I’ve ruined what we have,” she admits, eyes falling to the drifts of paperwork on her desk. “I thought you might hate me. So if I resigned, it wouldn’t have to be painful because we’d just never see each other. I’m really, really sorry, Kaeya.”
She feels cool fingers under her chin as Kaeya coaxes her gaze back up to his. “Apology accepted,” he says. “But you know I could never hate you.”
“Sometimes I think you might,” she murmurs.
“Is it because I don’t flirt with you?” he asks. “That’s what you said last night.”
“I said a lot of things last night that I shouldn’t have,” she grumbles.
“Did you mean them, though?” he asks, and her heart squeezes in terror because she’s not a good liar, never has been. And then he leans in closer, fingers tugging her chin up gently, and asks, “Do you want me to kiss you, Jean?”
His face is uncharacteristically serious. His eye meets hers and she sees nothing but sincerity in it.
So with no artifice left between them, Jean falls back on honesty.
“Yes,” she says.
She braces herself for the upcoming rejection, for him to turn tail and run, or tell her how she’s ruined everything.
But he only says, “Oh, good.”
And then he leans in and kisses her.
It’s barely a kiss, really. Just the brush of his lips over hers, light and chaste as a dandelion seed. Jean doesn’t even have time to close her eyes before it’s over and he’s pulling back, searching her face.
She puts her fingers to her lips. They feel tingly, like she’s accidentally smeared chili oil on them. “Oh,” she breathes. And then, because that feels horribly inadequate, she says, “Do that again.”
Kaeya lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. He stretches over the desk again and presses his lips to hers, more deliberately this time. His hand on her chin moves up to cup her jaw, his mouth warm and soft on her own. Jean closes her eyes and tries to savour this feeling, the languid heat pooling in her veins, the cautious press of his lips.
She’s breathless by the time he pulls away. But that doesn’t stop her from saying, “I don’t understand.”
Kaeya’s eye is bright, his lips parted. “Well, you see, Jean,” he starts, “when two people like each other very much–”
“Not that,” she complains, although the effect of her displeasure is somewhat mitigated by the heat in her cheeks. “Why are you kissing me now when you wouldn’t last night?”
“You were drunk last night. And at the tavern–” he breaks off, looking a little sheepish. “I was nervous. Kissing you would have meant more than kissing anyone else. I couldn’t do it in front of the entire Ordo.”
“Wait,” Jean says, trying to wrap her head around this newest development. “So this actually means something to you? You’re not just kissing me because I asked for it?”
Kaeya stares at her. “You know, Jean, for someone so brilliant, you really are rather dense.”
“Hey!” she protests.
“Of course it means something to me. I flirt with everybody except you because it carries too much weight when it’s you.” He wets his lips and glances downwards, like he can’t meet her eyes. (He’s shy, Jean realizes suddenly. This is what Kaeya looks like when he’s shy.) “I was scared that if I did anything remotely romantic with you, that you’d be able to tell that I… I like you — excessively, almost to the point of abandon. And then everything would be ruined.”
He peeks up at her through his eyelashes. The nervousness on his face is horribly endearing. She feels the need to reassure him that he hasn’t ruined anything. But words are not her forte, so she simply rocks forward and kisses him again. It’s clumsy, fumbling, like she’s never done this before — because she’s never had much time for this stuff, really — but Kaeya still gasps into her mouth and kisses back like he’s desperate, like every moment they’re not touching is a wasted moment.
Jean pulls away finally, reluctantly, because the edge of her desk is starting to dig painfully into her thighs as she leans over it. Kaeya’s eye is still closed, and she watches as it flutters open. He focuses on her face and gives her a smile that she wants to steal and keep in her breast pocket forever.
“Jean,” he says, and his tone is both fond and wheedling. “Do you like me?”
“I do,” she says, because there’s really no point in lying anymore.
He scrunches his nose up like Klee does when she wants a specific answer that Jean hasn’t given her. “Okay, but do you like me or do you like like me?”
Jean blinks. “I don’t know what that means.”
He laughs. “Clearly you don’t spend enough time with the kids.”
“I don’t,” she agrees. “But I do like you, Kaeya. A lot. Now will you please come over here so I can kiss you more?”
He grins, the corner of his eye crinkling, and rounds the desk to stand in front of her. She hops up to sit on the wood and loops her arms around his neck, pulling him down. He goes willingly, bracing his palms against the desk on either side of her thighs.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her mouth tilted up towards his.
“So polite with your pleases and thank yous,” he murmurs back, the corner of his mouth curled up, and Jean kisses him to put a stop to his teasing.
Kaeya kisses like he fights: graceful but wary. His movements are clearly familiar to him — every brush, press, and slide a step of a practiced dance. But there’s a tension that runs through him anyway, a tentativeness; he pulls away frequently to make sure she’s okay, and she has to pull him back down and tangle her fingers in his hair as reassurance. But eventually they fall into a rhythm of mouths and breaths and heartbeats, and Kaeya stops worrying and Jean stops thinking and they simply let themselves exist.
It feels like an eternity before they part, but somehow it also feels like too short a duration. He pulls back far enough to focus on her face, and whatever he sees in her half-lidded eyes seems to satisfy him, because he smiles a little shyly and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. She blinks up at him, taking in how beautiful he looks with his lips kiss-bruised and his hair mussed and his collar askew.
“Hi,” says Kaeya.
“Hi,” says Jean.
“Hi!” says Klee.
They spring apart as Klee barrels into the room. Kaeya recovers faster than Jean and swings the little blonde girl up into his arms.
“What are you doing?” Klee inquires, as Jean frantically tries to get her clothing and hair into some semblance of order.
“Uh,” says Kaeya. “Adult stuff.”
“Like sex?” asks Klee, and Jean splutters.
“No!” she exclaims. And then, “Who taught you that?”
“Mommy says that sex is how we get babies,” Klee explains gravely. “She never said what it is, though. Do you know, Uncle Kaeya?”
“No idea,” Kaeya says, perfectly serious except for the sparkle in his eye.
A cough brings Jean’s attention to Lisa and Albedo standing in the doorway. Lisa takes in the scene before her and grins a wicked grin.
“Lisa,” Jean says. And then she stops, because there really isn’t much to say.
“We got worried about you,” Lisa says, walking in and taking a seat. “The two of you have been in here for an awfully long time. So we sent Klee in to make sure you were doing okay.”
“Uncle Kaeya says they were doing adult stuff,” Klee reports proudly.
“Ah,” Lisa says, and somehow manages to infuse the one word with an insufferable smugness. She holds out her hand to Albedo, who grimaces and drops a pouch of Mora into it.
“Ooh,” says Kaeya. “Betting on us, were you?”
“Hardly,” Albedo says, straight-faced. “I owed Lisa some Mora, is all.”
“What was the bet?” Kaeya asks, ignoring him.
“I said that the two of you would get together before the New Year,” Lisa says. “Albedo said there was no way either of you would make your move before January.”
“And I would have been right, too, if Jean hadn’t gotten plastered yesterday,” Albedo sighs. “I was rather hoping you would put off your little chat until after New Year’s.”
“Wait, Lisa,” Jean says. “So you convinced me to go talk to Kaeya because you had a bet riding on us?”
“Maybe a little bit,” Lisa says, not looking very remorseful at all. Jean thinks about taking offense when Lisa adds, “And also, because I thought the two of you would be rather lovely together.”
Kaeya glances back at Jean, and grins. Despite herself, Jean smiles back.
“So, Lisa won her bet?” Amber asks later at dinner.
“Does the whole Ordo know about this?” Jean asks, despairing.
“Just about, yeah,” Eula says from the other end of the Captains’ table.
“Answer the question!” Amber orders between forkfuls of salad. “Are the two of you together now?”
Kaeya glances at Jean. “If you’d like to be,” he says, calmly.
And there really is only one possible answer to that.
“I would,” Jean says, and the smile he gives her — and the warm hand he slips into hers — makes all the inevitable teasing worthwhile.