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This week alone, it is the fourth time it happens.
He is reading a book. Or making dinner. Or taking a walk, or laying in bed. He is fine.
And then there's something crawling against the roof of his throat, upwards. It lasts, only, a moment but it's painful and everything clogs—and then it pours.
There's tears rolling down Kaeya's cheeks, and he's not sure how they got there.
He cannot tell if laying down is making it better or worse. There's no loss of balance like this, no weight to his body, and yet the pull in his chest is deathly.
Kaeya has learned not to fight it. He lets them pour, so it doesn't hurt. But it's liberating, that pain.
If only someone else could see it.
No—no. Absolutely not. Kaeya sniffles, the only sound he will allow himself to make, but it's nowhere near enough to drown out the sound of his own thoughts, already deeply engraved in his head. What a pity—he should be pitied. He wants—
Not this. He just wants to lay down. Normally. He wants—
Does it even matter, what he wants? It will not leave his own mind. He wants someone to feel sorry for him. To look at him and think that he really is the saddest, most pathetic man to have ever walked this land. No one believes that. He wants to be told it will be okay. Even though he probably won't believe it.
He could try, though, for a second. To believe it. That he could be okay, and Archons, why can't he be, really. Doesn't he have it all already. A job he likes, friends he sees every day, a family, a home. The things that make people happy, he has them. He deserves them—he does, and he believes it, except—
Except his chest hurts, his throat is dry, his eyes hurt, the air is sour, his hands are shaking, his whimpers are the loudest whisper of the night, his chest. Hurts, it really hurts so why did he let himself shatter like this, how could he have been this stupid.
There's a familiar weight on the bed and his body freezes, he's—he didn't hear the door open. The crawling on his skin returns. He cannot be seen like this. Albedo can't see him like this.
Isn't this just what you were begging for, a voice in the back of his head asks, and fights to be heard.
But somehow, Albedo's gentle tone is louder.
“… breathe?” he says, and Kaeya tries to focus on what he's saying, he really does. “With me?”
This won't help, he wants to say, but a whimper escapes him instead. It's okay—it's fine, it doesn't matter. He trusts Albedo, or maybe he doesn't have the energy to argue, or both. His head is spinning.
Later, they'll talk.
“When I said you make me happy,” Kaeya will say, “I meant it.”
“I know,” Albedo will respond. His thumb rubbing the back of Kaeya's hand will be comforting.
“I'm sorry I'm not happy.”
They'll work on it, then. Together. Because no matter how alone Kaeya feels at the moment, deep down, he knows he isn't truly.
For now, he learns to breathe again.