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Aether has always had an odd relationship with food. He strictly doesn’t need it – he could perpetually burn forever until he burns himself out, as the nature of stars are defined – but he can eat food. But food has always been more of a comfort, then a need.
He enjoys making food – kneading dough and other repetitive, easy tasks are good when his mind goes elsewhere and his head feels fit to explode. His hands aren’t that steady anymore, and cutting vegetables can get dangerous, but cooking food is good.
It’s easy.
---
It starts as all great things starts – in the middle of the night, with terrors of his sister being snatched from him replaying on a loop in his mind. Despite everything, Paimon is actually a fairly light sleeper – not much keeps her unconscious except blows to the head or sedatives – not that the two of them would know.
But, in the end, it doesn’t matter – Aether and Paimon crowd around a small kitchen island in the Dawn Winery, where sunrise doesn’t approach for another few hours, hands curled around mugs of herbal tea. Aether’s fingers itch to make something, but just doesn’t know what.
Paimon kicks her feet, taking a little sip of long cooled tea. “Paimon’s heard that sometimes people stress bake,” she begins, quietly. “Maybe you could bake something?”
“Don’t want to use Diluc’s stuff without asking,” Aether protests half-heartedly, knowing full well that he wants to make shortbread and Diluc said that he had full access to the kitchens as long as he cleaned up after himself.
Paimon kicks her feet a little bit. “Aren’t we already using his tea? At this point, it’s better to beg for forgiveness then ask for permission at this rate.”
Aether relents, knowing full well if left alone with his thoughts for an extra minute he might have started raiding cupboards, and so he slides out of his seat to pick through Diluc’s pantry, seeing if the man had flour.
---
Cooking is a uniquely human task, but Aether is no human. He is a star turned god turned boy, and yet he will turn flour into bread and apples into rabbits because the sad nature of his existence is that he will crave the connections that only food can give – the idea of splitting an orange in half to give to a friend, to a sibling, to someone you care for more then yourself.
It is a very kind thing. It is a very lovely thing, to share a connection over food.
He says: “I peeled an orange; do you want to share?”
(He means: I care about you.)
He says: “Here are some apples that I cut into rabbits.”
(He means: I miss you.)
---
“Wow Aether!” Xiangling exclaims, as Aether manages to mince shrimps with only a pair of cleavers. “I didn’t know your knife skills were this good!”
“I’ve had practice,” Aether says, as he scrapes up the minced shrimp and shovels it into a bowl. “It’s not all that hard.”
“Yeah,” Xiangling agrees, easily taking the shrimp meat and mixing in diced carrots “But most people also don’t have the arm strength or the patience to mince meat this way. I know Xingqiu just gets Chongyun to mince it for him when he makes his version of crystal shrimp, and Hu Tao gets bored halfway through and hers always come out a bit chunkier.” She sighs, as she begins to stuff her dumplings, swift hands rolling out the dough. Aether sidles up, having already washed his hands again to help stuff them – his own dumplings coming out a little more misshapen.
“It’s repetitive,” Aether admits, as he places another filled dumpling in the steamer basket. “I like repetitive.”
Xiangling hums her agreement, and the two of them work the rest of the morning in silence, stuffing dumplings.
---
Eventually, the teapot’s kitchen gets some use. Aether had avoided it initially, barely furnishing it with a stove and a table. Overtime, various visitors have come and added to the kitchen – mostly it resembled more of a kitchen rather then just a pot and a table. Xiangling was responsible for most of the changes, and Thoma had contributed his own blueprints, effectively taking over when Aether professed that he had left it mostly alone.
It doesn’t change much now, when he’s making almond tofu, with a curious Xiao peering over his shoulder, watching as Aether pours a mostly cooled mixture into ramekins.
“So that’s how it’s made…” Xiao mutters as Aether places the ramekins into the mistflower box, to left to set before he turns them out onto a plate if he feels fancy, or just eat out of the container with a spoon if he doesn’t. “I don’t know why I expected to find tofu in the recipe.”
Aether chuckles, leaning against a table. “Well, in other places, what they call almond tofu actually doesn’t have almonds in it either.” Xiao whips around from his prodding of Aether’s dying mint plant, a frown on his face.
“Why call it almond tofu then? And what did they use instead of almonds?”
Aether ponders the question, tapping the table with a finger, and then says “I don’t know about the name, but they use apricot kernels, from what I remember.”
“Huh,” Xiao says, perching himself on a bar stool. “Is it any good?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Aether says, shrugging. “Because the place I went to stopped selling it once people figured out that apricot kernels had cyanide in them.”
---
This is a memory:
(A screen door slides open. Lumine is out fighting things.)
The Astronomer: Come here Aether, whilst your sister is distracted.
You: Hm? Why?
The Astronomer: Well, your sister didn’t seem too interested, but one of you should learn how to cook.
You: But we’re stars. We don’t need to eat.
The Astronomer: It’s not about needing to eat. It’s about the connection you share with others over food. It’s a very nice thing, you know.
You: That is a very human thing. But my sister and I are not human.
The Astronomer: And so? You deserve to learn this too. Now come on! I’m teaching you how to make sourdough bread.
(Footsteps. A screen door slides shut.)
---
Razor asks about Aether’s parents once, during the Weinlesefest. He asks “Aether, your mother and father…what were they like?” and Aether goes quiet.
The nature of stars is that Aether never had any parents – not really. He and Lumine were functionally orphans, straight from the beginning of the universe. He never considered that astronomer from so long ago as a parent – more as an older sibling, or perhaps a very good friend.
But either way, Aether and Lumine did not have parents. Aether pauses in his cutting of a sunsettia, juice running down his fingers, past scars and other patches of uneven skin. His fingers tremble, the knife wavering.
“I wouldn’t know,” Aether ends up confessing, refusing to meet Razor’s eyes. “I never had to chance to know them.”
---
It starts as all great things do: In the middle of the night, this time in Alhaitham’s home. The man offered him and Paimon a place to sleep for the night, and Paimon had accepted, when Aether fell mute and wouldn’t look anyone in the eyes. Paimon only stirs awake just a few minutes after – always a light sleeper, and knowing what turmoil runs through Aether’s mind if he’s shot straight up on the couch and is trying his hardest not to tremble.
They both end up in the kitchen – where Aether looks longingly at the stove that Alhaitham owns, and his fingers tremble as he accepts the mug of tea from Paimon. She washed the ones in the sink, and the boiled water was already there – probably from Alhaitham’s housemate.
They don’t know their own permissions, so Paimon had found their own tin of tea – a parting gift from Xiangling, pressed into his hands the last time he visited.
“Sorry,” Aether whispers into the sticky night air. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Paimon waves her hands, perching on a barstool. “Paimon doesn’t mind.” She whispers, knowing well the others that sleep in the house. “Paimon was basically half awake anyways.”
Aether hums, taking a sip of the tea. “I’m still sorry.”
There’s a door creaking, and someone appears in the doorway. It’s the housemate, Kaveh, who leans against the doorway, and watches them in some form of quiet amusement.
“Oh, sorry for waking you,” Aether hurriedly apologies, and Kaveh waves the apology away.
“It’s fine. I have a bad case of insomnia anyways, so I was already awake. And don’t worry about Alhaitham – the man could sleep through a stampede of sumpter beasts, so don’t worry about waking him.” Kaveh explains easily, taking the kettle Paimon left off the stove and refilling it with water. “Would you like to talk about it? Either of you?”
“Paimon has always been a light sleeper,” Paimon explains, sipping a bit of tea. “So Paimon just wakes up whenever Aether wakes up now.”
Aether is quiet. “After the Akasha Terminal stuff, and all that in Sumeru, my sleep has gotten worse.”
“How so?” Kaveh gently prods, setting the kettle back on the stove.
“Nightmares,” Aether confesses. “I don’t…there’s too much in my head, and nowhere for it to go.”
Kaveh hums in contemplation, leaning against the kitchen counter. “And what do you do in the wake of these?”
Aether clams up, and Paimon recognises it as she goes “Aether bakes. Or cooks. He isn’t picky, but we weren’t sure if we could use Alhaitham’s stuff…”
Kaveh hums, eyeing the kitchen. “Well if you don’t make too much of a mess…I would run interference if Alhaitham got pissy about it.”
Paimon floats up, grinning. “You’d do that for Aether?”
Kaveh quietly chuckles. “I know the need to create. Sometimes you just need to make something, to get your brain to stop screaming at you, right?”
Aether nods his agreement, and Kaveh gestures to the kitchen. “I’ll stay here so Alhaitham doesn’t get mad at me for leaving you guys unattended, but otherwise, go to town.”
Aether grins, and summons his jar of sourdough starter.
---
This is a memory:
You: I’m sorry.
The Astronomer: There’s nothing to be sorry for.
You: But Lumine and I have to leave, and you’ll be alone again.
The Astronomer: Well, that’s just the nature of my job, isn’t it?
(A rustle of fabric, a shifting of paper. Lumine is calling out for you to hurry up.)
You: Why are you giving me sourdough?
The Astronomer: Well, I can’t send you off without a gift, right?
You: You didn’t have to.
The Astronomer: Ha, but I wanted too. Food is a love language; didn’t I explain this to you?
(Lumine calls for you again. A screen door slides open, and then shut. A burst, an explosion. And then the only evidence that you and your sister were ever there is a burnt patch of grass.)
---
They say: I baked you a loaf of bread. Take it with you.
(They mean: Stay safe. I love you.)