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“So this is where you go to sneak away from Paimon.”
Lumine glanced over her shoulder as Childe's shadowy form pushed through the dark underbrush. Even without the moon, she could still see his lean shape picking leaves out of his mess of red hair in the glow of a million stars above. “Oh hey,” She mumbled, drawing her legs up closer to her chest. “Yeah, sometimes her snoring gets out of control.”
He grinned, the bells on his boots clinking as he inched closer. “Mind if I sit?”
“I suppose not.”
The Harbinger didn’t hesitate, sinking into the soft grass beside her. Lumine tried not to shiver as a wave of heat radiated off him, combatting the late spring chill in the air; he always ran so much warmer than she did and yet never complained about the temperature. A surprisingly comfortable silence settled between them even though she kept her guard up, a thick wall of brick and mortar and skepticism as to not fall victim to one of his schemes again.
When she finally got used to his presence interrupting her quiet time, her eyes returned to the heavens, searching for the answers to questions that continued plaguing her mind. All around them, a gentle breeze tickled the leaves and her hair, brushing strands of golden hair against her cheeks.
To her surprise, he managed to last without saying anything longer than she expected, voice barely above a whisper as he asked, “What are we doing?”
She couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Well, I was stargazing peacefully before you came along.”
“Hm,” He mused, slinging one arm over his propped knee. “So many stars up there, and yet, I’m the only one in my family to have a constellation.”
A sigh. “Is this your way of trying to start a conversation?”
“Is it working?”
“Unfortunately,” She sighed softly, shaking her head and flopping backwards into the soft grass. She just barely caught Childe’s grin out of the corner of her eye before he, too, lay down beside her. “Go on, I can see you’re practically bursting at the seams to tell me.”
His grin only widened, resting his long arms behind his head. “None of my family ever received a Vision. I guess there’s still time, but at this point, I don’t think any of them want one.” Something flickered across his face, his lips just barely parted with an unspoken end to his sentence.
Whatever he was thinking seemed to die on the tip of his tongue, however. Lumine turned her head to stare back up at the distant stars above them, only humming to fill the silence.
Another gentle breeze ruffled her skirts and hair, and an unusual scent of pine and the sea comforted her like a blanket. “Besides,” Childe’s voice cut through the darkness, though she did not jump from the sound. “My parents were always too busy focusing on their place here on the ground to stare at the stars above us. Seven kids to care for is more important than a few old balls of dust millions of miles away.”
A flicker of anger rippled through her celestial pride at the balls of dust comment before the rest of what he said hit her. “Wait– seven?”
He laughed, deep and melodic. “You heard me.”
“Archons above, I didn’t realize you had that many!”
“Three older, three younger.”
Ah, so he was the epitome of a middle child. “And none of them have a Vision?”
“Nope.” He grinned, turning his head to smile at her, almost innocent in his appearance. It always caught her off-guard when he let the mask of the 11th Harbinger drop. It surprised her even more when the easy-going persona disappeared as well. “It makes me special.”
Definitely the epitome of a middle child. Lumine snorted, shaking her head. “You’re something, alright,” She teased, returning to mapping the heavens. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, long and low and lonely. Sometimes, she felt that sorrow in her soul.
“What about you?” Childe asked, shifting in the grass, his muscular arm brushing against hers. “Why do you stare at the heavens?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” A lie; one that tore her apart from the inside, twisting and desperate to escape. Even though the Harbinger laying beside her didn’t ask, she felt compelled by some otherworldly force to continue. “It’s soothing, I suppose. Nostalgic.”
“Mm.”
Years of hiding her secrets deep inside herself, safe of prying questions from those who would only offer useless sympathies, safe from even Paimon who wouldn’t understand the complexities of her hopes and fears, suddenly seemed to spill out of her like a crack in a rupturing dam. “You remember what I told you about my twin brother and I, right? How we traveled the stars?”
He smiled again. “An exhilarating and outlandish concept, yes.”
“It’s true!” Lumine shouted, swatting his arm and earning herself another chuckle.
“Okay, okay. We’ll say it’s true.”
She rolled her eyes, folding her hands over her stomach. “We used to lay out like this every night and try to guess what was out there– planets, other life forms, endless adventures. Sometimes we’d even wonder what our place among the stars was.” Childe hummed at that comment, but did not interrupt. Perhaps he wondered about his place in the universe, too. “Then when we were done exploring whatever planet we were on, we’d pick another star to travel to.”
The Harbinger rolled his head to look at her, his copper hair dark in the dim light. “Tell me about them.”
“What?”
“The places you’ve visited.”
Her nose scrunched again. “Are you actually going to believe me this time?”
“Maybe. Depends on your storytelling skills.”
“Whatever,” She grumbled. Sometimes he could be so inconsistent on the ideals he believed in. After all, she knew bits and pieces of his own otherworldly past. She shook her head, plucking a flower and peeling each petal off as she spoke. “When we were very young, we came across a planet full of open fields. No matter where you looked, all you saw was endless stretches of flowers and grasses and the occasional tree. The perfect haven for two twins still trying to get used to their bodies.”
“No wonder you love Mondstadt so much,” Childe hummed, his voice surprisingly gentle. She couldn’t help but smile, a little proud of the eden she and Aether had used for countless years, learning how to soar with their newfound wings. “What was your favorite world?”
Oh, gods. That was a much harder decision. Cicada chirps and croaking frogs down by the river filled the void between them as she considered each individual planet, weighing the pros and cons. To her relief, Childe was patient and eager for her answer all at once.
Finally, her lips twitched up in a grin. “We stumbled upon a water world once, so blue your eyes physically hurt from trying to adjust to the intensity of the color.” Ironically, she regularly found herself reminiscing of that world whenever she caught herself staring in the deep blue of his eyes, the same color of the ocean. She refused to tell him that. “The only civilization lived on tiny clusters of islands. It was fascinating watching them adapt; some had developed gills to dive down on a single breath, while others had webbed fingers and toes. The only downside to that world was they revered us as gods.”
Childe bit back a snort and Lumine scoffed, scooting over to nudge him hard in the ribs. “We didn’t like it,” She said, though she couldn’t deny it did feed into her ego to be praised as the powerful beings they were. Childe only chuckled again, his smile softening as they both returned to staring at the night sky. Heat radiated off him where his arm now permanently brushed against her own. “Of course, it didn’t help that we terrorized anyone who dared get close. We often helped them crush their enemies, too.”
Another laugh. “And you call me the bad guy!”
“You are the bad guy! We were just a little biased!” She laughed back, unable to help herself.
It felt much easier to tease and taunt him like this, when all the pretenses they’d developed fell and they were just two people traveling side by side.
After her own giggles died down, Childe hummed. “What about the scariest world you’ve been to?”
“Oh, that’s easy. It was a volcanic world with massive eruptions happening every few days,” The thick scent of sulfur overpowered her senses as vividly as it did then, choking the quiet moment with flashes of the horror in front of the twins. “At first, we didn’t know what exactly we had stumbled into, and there weren’t any creatures or people to tell us about what was happening. The ashfall was so thick you couldn’t see the sun and…”
Her words trailed off the minute she realized he hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time she spoke about her past, his own deep blue eyes lidded with an emotion she couldn’t interpret. Lumine quickly cleared her throat and looked away, a frustrating heat flooding her cheeks. “I’m talking too much. Sorry.”
She didn’t catch his brief look of panic. “No, please! I find it fascinating.”
“You don’t even believe that.”
“You don’t know that.” Childe nudged her ribs softly, the warmth of the simple touch enough to bring her attention back to him. He offered her a smile, welcoming and gentle– so unlike the man she regularly sparred with. “Keep going. You’re a magnetic storyteller.”
It took her a moment but finally she sighed and began again. Once she started, though, she found it hard to stop.
She spoke of the jungle world covered in trees climbing out of the planet’s atmosphere, with tree trunk sized vines and leaves larger than Mondstadt’s cathedral. Childe seemed fascinated by the massive reptiles that weaved their way through the thick foliage there.
She explained how she and Aether spent years hunkered down in the caves of an ice planet, living among the people who lived for the few days of spring, summer, and fall they received each year. Childe made the joke that it sounded just like his homeland.
She even mentioned a world similar to Teyvat, with massive buildings stacked on top of each other, twisted in concrete and packed full of people so frighteningly human-like, if just a little different. She told him all about how Aether favored that world, cherished the people he met, even briefly settled down with a partner until the man passed away from old age.
Childe didn’t have a comment about that.
Even though she had plenty of more stories of the worlds she had visited, she found her words trailing off the more she stared at the stars above. Though she could spend hours staring at the kaleidoscope of constellations above her– and had many a time during her travels throughout this world– she couldn’t deny they haunted her as well. How long had it been since she had found her place among them, weightless and free?
“The stars aren’t familiar here.”
Childe turned his head to look at her, one brow raised. “What?”
“The stars,” She started again, breathless as she pondered how to explain it. “They don’t feel the same as the ones I’ve known all my life. I suppose that’s because with every Vision handed out, a new cluster joins the sky.”
“Something like that,” the Harbinger huffed softly, his long fingers brushing against hers as he shifted. “Do you know any of the constellations?”
“A few. I know mine– Viatrix, that one,” She explained, reaching up towards the sky like she could capture it in her palm. When Childe didn’t say anything for a long moment, she scooted closer so he could follow the direct line of her arm, ignoring the way he stiffened from their close proximity. “Aether’s is Viator, right there.” She only moved her pointer finger when she was sure he was following along. “It’s connected to mine.”
“Any others?” He asked, voice dropping low in his chest, raspy and deep.
It sent a shiver through her, unfamiliar but welcome. “I used to remember where to find a few of my friends’ constellations, but again…”
“Unfamiliar skies,” He breathed, his breath tickling her cheek. Perhaps getting this close to him wasn’t the brightest option. The scent of sea spray and pine made her head spin, overwhelming and comforting. “I understand.”
Lumine swallowed, not knowing where to put her hands.
To her relief, Childe didn’t say anything about their closeness. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it if he did– probably a lot of smacking him and huffing to hide her embarrassment. Instead, he turned back to looking above them, raising his own finger to the sky. “See that cluster of stars right there? That’s Monoceros Caeli.”
She followed his finger up to the tip, then into the heavens. To her surprise, it was easy to find. “It’s right beside mine!”
“Oh,” He breathed like he’d taken a punch to the stomach, the air leaving his lungs in a woosh. Before she could turn to check if he was alright, he cleared his throat and grinned. “I guess it is.”
“It’s pretty.”
“It can be,” He said simply, turning to face her. “Now you have one more constellation to study in the night sky. Don’t forget it.”
She bit back a gasp as those deep blue eyes swallowed her whole, their noses nearly brushing together. With each silent breath between them, she found the wall of brick and mortar and skepticism melting, leaving behind two lonely, scarred, raw individuals. Somehow, in this moment, she found herself relating more to him than anyone else she’d met in all of Teyvat; an idea that both scared and, honestly, delighted her.
“Childe?”
“Yes?”
“Why listen to me tonight?”
A pause. Then, “Like I said, you’re magnetic. Plus, it’s… comforting to know someone else loves looking up at the stars as much as I do.”
Comfort. That was the perfect description for this feeling deep in her chest. She may have accepted it more if she weren’t so frustrated that it was Childe offering her that relief. But even her frustration melted away, fading into an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint.
Much to her dismay, Childe was the first to pull away, slowly untangling his arm from around her shoulders. “I’m going to bed,” He explained, and no matter what she wanted to say, she couldn’t make her mouth work to get him to stay. “Try not to be up for too much longer, okay? I don’t want to have to drag you back to Liyue Harbor tomorrow morning.
“Ha.” She stuck her tongue out at him as sat up, curling her knees closer to her chest again, missing his warmth instantly.
“I’m serious,” He teased, flashing those dangerous canines at her, gleaming in the dim light. “If you don’t get up on time, I’m dunking you in the river.”
“You would not!”
“Wanna bet?”
“Ugh. Insufferable Harbinger,” She grumbled and he laughed, clutching his chest. So much for that comfort only he could offer.
Then he surprised her, leaning down and kissing the crown of her head. Goosebumps raced through every inch of her body, spreading through her like a raging wildfire. A wicked blush followed, the chilly night air burning away from the heat flooding her cheeks. She whirled around to glare at him, unable to stop herself from gaping like a fish in surprise. “Goodnight, Lumine,” He called out as he walked away, hands shoved in his pockets.
Idiot! He just– he couldn’t just do that! “Childe!” She snapped, reaching to grab one of the pebbles in the soft grass. By the time she aimed for his stupid big head, he’d already stopped, one auburn brow raised.
All anger for him dropped in a heartbeat. Dammit.
“Thank you,” She managed through clenched teeth, because even if he frustrated her and drove her wild, he had made a lonely night bearable.
Her Harbinger grinned, though it was not as ferocious as the one he wore in battle, was not as crazed as the madman she knew he could become. After all, tonight they were just two companions traveling side-by-side, the pretenses dropped in a moment of vulnerability.
“Any time,” He whispered, so quietly she swore she imagined it. Then he started back towards camp, the leaves rustling with each step. “I’m serious about the river!”
He just couldn’t let a good thing stand, could he? “Shut up!” She shouted, chucking the rock at the back of his head, cackling when she heard his yelp of surprise.
Still, as she turned back towards her nightly routine of stargazing and missing the only person she’d spent other nights beside, she found herself staring at the new constellation she’d learned, memorizing it until she recognized it as well as her own.