Chapter Text
“Come in.”
Kaeya pushes the door open, and behind the desk is Jean, her hands interwoven on the table and her back straight — her professional posture. She gestures to the old wooden chair in the corner. “Kaeya. Have a seat.”
He drags the chair in front of the desk and sits down. He glances around: as always, there are books in piles on the floor and a scattering of unfinished paperwork on the desk — The Acting Grand Master’s busywork never ends. The clock on the wall bears down on the room in an almost oppressive manner. Tick, tock. He feels sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. How many people have been assessed, analyzed, and observed in this chair?
He turns his gaze back to Jean. She is carefully composed and staring at him intently. If he didn’t know any better, he might assume she had summoned him for nothing more than a progress report or a new assignment. This is, of course, not the case.
“How was your stay at the Cathedral?” She asks. She is leaning further forward now.
Kaeya slumps casually in his chair, putting more space between them. Putting on classic, carefree Kaeya airs. “Quite alright. The deaconess took very good care of me.”
“Yes, she’s good at her job.” Her eyes shift downward. “And how are your… injuries?”
Ah. He follows her gaze to his bandaged arms. His skin prickles uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “They’re fine. I got my stitches taken out yesterday. Barbara says there should be no complications moving forward.”
“That’s wonderful,” she says. Her eyes are really burrowing into him now. Kaeya’s breath hitches slightly, undetectably. “I wonder, however, if the same can be said of you.”
…And there it is. He tries to play dumb. “Whatever do you mean? I just told you. The Cathedral has determined me to be of good health. There is no more to be said.”
Jean narrows her eyes, but not maliciously. “You know what I mean, Kaeya. We both know that what happened wasn’t an accident, or a fluke, but the symptom of a greater issue.”
“There is no issue. I am fine.”
“I have a hard time believing that.”
“Then with all due respect, I believe that is your problem, Acting Grand Master.”
Jean sighs. She does not allow herself to take that blow. “I’ll just cut to the chase, then. I’ve decided to extend your medical leave for one month. Since you’ve been discharged from the Cathedral, during that time, I would like you to stay with somebody — either at their home, or if you would prefer, they can move in to yours. I’ve confirmed with a handful of people that they would be willing to have you. At the end of that month, if it seems you have improved sufficiently, I will allow you to return to work.”
Kaeya does not bother hiding his shock. “You can’t do that,” he says.
“I can. and I will.” Her eyes are so… sad. “But I would rather not order you to. If you refuse, then I will employ whatever means are necessary to make it happen. However.” She has lowered her voice significantly. Intimately. “I wish to ask you not as your superior, but as your friend. This is not an issue that can be solved bureaucratically. I know you’re in pain, Kaeya. And I can’t order you to get better. I can only offer my support in the ways I know how.”
Kaeya laughs bitterly. “It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice either way, then.”
“You don’t.” She watches him fidget in his lap. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to hurt you. This is for your own good.”
frustration crawls up his throat. Why is she treating him like some poor, special cause? He is a perfectly autonomous adult, thank you very much. He does not need to be coddled like a child. “I don’t want to be told not to come to work by you, Jean. If anyone deserves a break, It’s you. I would only be adding to your workload.”
“I’m not the one who tried to kill himself, Kaeya,” She says softly.
The statement hangs pregnant in the air. It drains the fight right out of him. Those words hadn’t been uttered or confirmed before now; inferred, yes. And Kaeya’s silence is a confirmation of that truth.
She wants to sabotage you, a voice murmurs in his head. She wants to stop you from getting the job done.
“I don’t plan on trying it again, Jean. I promise.” His voice sounds weak and unconvincing, almost pleading. Though it’s true that he doesn’t; at least, not any time soon. The experience was traumatic enough — of waking up alive, that is. If he were to attempt to take his life again, he’d make sure it would truly, absolutely work.
“I want to believe you. That’s why I can’t leave you alone right now. You need people to support you right now, Kae.”
He huffs. He wishes it sounded exasperated, but it’s really more like a defeated, broken sigh. How weak and pathetic he is. A pushover. “What are my options? In terms of— of staying with somebody.”
“Well, firstly, there’s Diluc. I figured you would be… less inclined toward that option, though he did agree.” Begrudgingly, Kaeya was sure. Though it was somewhat heartwarming that he’d accepted the proposition at all. “And then Albedo, who has a guest bedroom. Mona also offered, but since she’s not affiliated with the Knights and her living situation is… less than ideal for multiple people, I gently rejected that offer.”
Albedo. Kaeya knows him somewhat well — They’d worked together a few times in the past as colleagues, and had shared drinks once as friends. He doesn’t know much about him, being as stoic and professionally-oriented as he is; but he does know he takes great pride in his work. All in all, he sees Albedo as a diligent and honest person. Qualities, it seems, Kaeya lacks.
“Albedo, then,” he decides. Between his estranged brother whom he had a… less than amicable relationship with, and the broke astrologist who lived in a glorified broom closet; it seemed Albedo was far from the worst option. “I will stay with Albedo.”
“Wonderful,” Jean says. She smiles warmly. “I know this is hard for you. Please remember that it doesn’t make you weak. I care about you, Kaeya. Deeply. We all do.”
Lies, the voice whispers. She’s just trying to make you feel better. He believes it.
—
Lisa escorts him back to his apartment in order to gather his things. He’d rather do it himself, but of course, Jean makes it clear this isn’t an option. The walk there is quiet, but the kind of quiet that means the air is filled with unsaid things.
Finally: “Kaeya—“ Lisa starts.
“Save it, Lisa,” Kaeya cuts her off. “If it’s sympathy, I’ve had my fill of that for now.”
She deflates a little. She doesn’t continue.
When they arrive, Kaeya stands at the front door and surveys his living space — if it can even be called that. Never mind that he hadn’t seen it in a week; Kaeya has never been one to settle into a home, but rather, occupy it. The sofa cushions are undisturbed and the coffee table uncluttered. The fireplace is free of ash — Kaeya’s long-standing fear of fire is mostly to blame. And to boot, there is a thin film of dust on all visible surfaces. Kaeya prefers not to spend his time here, so there’s hardly anything to see.
His bedroom, though, is a different story. It’s dark, dank, messy, and smells faintly of booze. The bed is unmade; he doesn’t remember the last time it was made. He carefully steps over a couple wine bottles on the floor in order to get to his dresser. As he’s rooting through his clothes, unfolded and stuffed in his drawer haphazardly, he feels Lisa’s eyes on his back. She’s standing silently outside the door, seemingly afraid to disrupt the fragile intimacy of Kaeya in his natural habitat. He can practically hear her thoughts: is this really how Kaeya’s been living all this time?
It disgusts him.
Once he’s found enough spare clothing to throw into a canvas bag, He turns his attention to the bathroom. He’s not sure what he expects — perhaps blood everywhere, screams embedded in the wall or something — the space reeking of its horrors. He encounters none of it. Instead, the tile and the walls are clean and his toiletries are placed neatly on the sink. In fact, the bathroom is cleaner than it was before the incident.
“Jean took it upon herself to clean in here, you know. After Diluc found you,” she explains quietly.
Ah, that makes sense. Somebody would have to do it, he supposes. “I’ll have to thank her, then,” he responds curtly.
Back in the living room, Kaeya looks around his home once more — his home that was never really his home, that he could not come to truly inhabit. He doesn’t feel any particular way about leaving it; nor does he think it will miss him. He bids it a silent goodbye, and bag in hand, shuts the door behind him.