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Nights on Dragonspine are even colder than the days. Aether hardly minds it, though. Not because of the brazier burning nearby, but because Albedo is watching him. It’s enough to keep Aether's blood flowing.
When Paimon said he should learn to paint, Aether hadn’t been opposed, but he didn’t understand why she insisted on it if all she wanted was a portrait of herself. It’s not as if Aether doesn’t have enough to do most days, and they can take pictures with their Kamera. She could have cut out the middleman and just asked Albedo to draw her.
Now that she has her portrait, she’s disappeared, leaving Albedo and Aether alone with the canvas. Paimon has given up on the idea of painting lessons, but Albedo hasn’t. And it’s not like Aether will refuse… The trouble is that Aether is no good at drawing. He feels as though he’s testing Albedo’s patience.
“You’re doing fine,” Albedo says, as if he can read Aether’s thoughts.
“Be honest,” Aether says, lowering his brush. “It’s terrible.”
“Of course not.”
Aether begs to differ. He tried to paint the view from the cliff they’re standing on, but it looks like a child’s attempt at a landscape. Everything is flat and shaped just a little bit wrong. Klee could probably do better.
Albedo says, “You’re learning. It won’t be perfect the first time you try.”
“I’ve definitely got a long way to go,” Aether says.
“Here.” Albedo takes Aether’s wrist in his right hand, placing his left on Aether’s shoulder.
Aether automatically tenses. It was bad enough when they were simply shoulder to shoulder. Albedo standing right behind him, his voice dangerously close to Aether’s ear, is almost more than he can handle.
Get a grip. Everyone Aether talks to seems enchanted by the Chief Alchemist—and if they aren’t, then they’re quickly won over, as evidenced at dinner earlier. Aether is no exception, obviously, but…
Albedo guides Aether’s brush across the canvas. “If you add some shadow to the mountains here, it will give them more depth.”
His breath skates over the back of Aether’s neck and the shell of his ear. It’s hard to concentrate on painting. If Albedo weren’t moving his arm, Aether would have frozen completely. It’s rare for Albedo to touch him like this. Maybe he’s just never had the opportunity to before.
“See,” Albedo says, “it really makes a difference.”
He’s right. The shading does make Aether’s lopsided triangles look more like mountains.
Aether looks at Albedo out of the corner of his eye. They’re so close that most of what he sees is the curve of the alchemist’s cheek, a lock of ash-blond hair, and one blue-green eye. Knowing that he’s a synthetic human, Aether wonders how much of his appearance was created deliberately. Did his master make him in her image? Or did she design him from scratch? Did she intend for him to be this beautiful?
Albedo looks back at him. “Is there something wrong?”
“No,” Aether says quickly, returning his attention to the canvas. It’s rude to speculate about stuff like that. Probably.
Albedo puppeteers Aether’s hand over to the palette. “This should be a fine color for the clouds.”
Aether lets Albedo walk him through the strokes to create a soft, overcast sky. He tries to listen to what Albedo is telling him, but he just can’t concentrate. His feelings toward Albedo have only intensified these past few days. Getting to spend time with him is a rare treat, and Aether almost wants to thank Paimon for her insistence on that silly juicer idea. He just wishes there wasn’t something sinister going on. (Or the Adventurer’s Guild training, to be honest; he likes Amber, Eula, and Bennett a lot, but he came here for Albedo.)
“Are you paying attention?” Albedo asks.
“Hm? Yeah,” Aether lies.
Albedo’s voice carries a subtly amused lilt as he says, “I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but I doubt you heard a word I just said.”
Aether sighs. “Sorry, I’m a pretty bad student. You may as well give up on me.”
“I could never do that.”
A shiver shoots down Aether’s spine. “I don’t think I can catch up to you. You might as well finish this yourself.” He gestures at the painting with his free hand. “You practically already are.”
Albedo looks blankly at where his hand rests over Aether’s. As he lets go, Aether regrets pointing it out to him.
“Ah, I’m micromanaging,” Albedo says. “I should be giving you the freedom to express your own vision.”
“It’s not that I mind,” Aether says, setting the brush down. “I do want to learn, but I think Paimon prefers your work.”
“She seemed complimentary of your painting technique despite…”
“It was horrible. I could tell you thought so.”
Albedo seems startled. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was horrible .”
Aether laughs. “You don’t have to spare my feelings. I’m not going to be good at everything. Not like you are.”
“Oh, I’m hardly ‘good at everything,’” Albedo says, his fingers brushing the star mark on his throat. “There are many areas where I could stand to improve.”
“What are those?”
“Socializing. Being comfortable around others.”
“But you’re fine at that,” Aether says. “Everyone likes you.”
Albedo hums thoughtfully. “I fear that they would like me less if they knew…”
Aether can't exactly contradict him. He doesn’t care that Albedo is a synthetic human. Albedo is Albedo. And it’s not as if Aether is entirely human himself. However, other people might react differently. Though he wants to believe that it would make no difference to them, either.
Aether decides to change the subject. “Um, about this painting. What else can I do to make it look better?”
“Use different brush strokes to vary the texture,” Albedo explains. He seems unbothered by the shift, taking up Aether’s abandoned brush and palette. “Like this.”
Aether stands back and lets Albedo demonstrate a couple different techniques. He tries to absorb the lesson, but it’s a lost cause. Albedo could be talking about anything right now, and Aether would be standing here, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his voice. And worrying, in the back of his mind, that while Albedo has been incredibly honest with him, there are still things he’d rather not say.
By the time Albedo’s explanation is finished, the painting looks much better than it did before. Albedo steps back from the canvas.
“I think I’m going to leave the painting to you,” Aether says. “I’ll stick to using the Kamera.”
Albedo blinks. “Oh, I took over again.”
Aether smiles. “Are you like this with Sucrose and Timaeus, too?”
“Teaching alchemy comes more naturally to me. I was never taught to paint, so I’m less familiar with the pedagogy.”
The fact that Albedo is a self-taught artist isn’t exactly surprising, but it is impressive. He’s so fast, too. It took him no time at all to rescue Aether’s awful work.
Albedo puts down the paintbrush. “Maybe we should try something different. What I’d really like to do is paint you someday.”
Aether expected this—Albedo loves drawing people—but his heart skips a beat anyway. “Someday?” he says, deciding to push his luck. “Why not tonight?”
“Not here. The location isn’t right. I’d like to paint you somewhere green, with flowers. Windwheel asters would suit you.” Albedo picks up the end of Aether’s braid and lets it run through his hand. “You have a blush of red in your hair.”
“Do I?” Aether asks. He rarely looks at himself so closely.
“When the light strikes it at a certain angle, it’s pure gold, but other times, it’s more like that fire.” Albedo nods at the brazier. “Yellow with a hint of orange and rose. It’s a beautiful color.”
Aether can hardly breathe. “What about the rest of me?” he asks as his mouth takes over for his dying brain.
Albedo’s contemplative gaze sweeps over him. It lingers on Aether’s face. “Your eyes will be a challenge. Not because of the color. Rather, they’ve seen so much, probably more than I have or ever will. I can only imagine it. Capturing their essence won’t be easy.”
He brushes Aether’s bangs aside. Aether briefly revels in the touch. He’s starved for it.
“You have a young face,” Albedo continues as he traces his fingertips down toward Aether’s jaw. “Like the light shifts the color of your hair, your expressions shift the age of your eyes. When you’re as carefree as you were at dinner, they match your face. When I told you about me and Durin… I can’t begin to guess how long you’ve been alive.”
“I’m a thousand,” Aether jokes. “You’re like a baby to me.”
Albedo knows he’s not being serious as evidenced by his soft laughter. However, there is a hint of truth to it. Aether lost track of exactly how old he and Lumine are. Their birthday jumps around according to however long a year is wherever they’re visiting.
Aether asks, “What do my eyes look like right now?” Might as well throw all shame out the window.
“Right now…” Albedo tilts his head, assessing. “Warm. Inviting. You look at me as though…”
“As though what?” Aether prompts.
Albedo suddenly lowers his gaze to the snowy ground. “I’m not sure,” he says, half to himself. “No one has ever looked at me the way you do. I occasionally find you inscrutable. But I suppose that’s what draws me to you.”
Aether could say the same to him. He often wonders what Albedo is thinking. He looks back at the half-finished painting. Are Aether’s feelings really that opaque? He thought they must be clear as day.
“You know,” he says, “I only agreed to painting lessons so I could spend more time with you. Paimon is the one who suggested it first.”
To his surprise, Albedo seems flustered by the admission. A hint of color appears in his cheeks and his eyes widen slightly. He looks up at Aether again questioningly. It’s like he doesn’t or can’t believe it. Aether almost wants to laugh.
“I didn’t realize.” Albedo’s blush fades. “Or, truthfully, I didn’t want to assume. You have many friends in Mondstadt alone.”
“I do, but we don’t get to see each other that often, and you’re usually busy…”
“I would make time for you.”
Now it’s Aether’s turn to be bashful. He should’ve just come to see Albedo with no pretense. Emboldened, Albedo leans further into Aether’s personal space. The fog from their breath mingles in the frosty air.
“We should be more open with each other, shouldn’t we?” he says. “For instance, I should say plainly that I missed you.”
Albedo’s gloved thumb lightly presses Aether’s bottom lip. Aether stares at Albedo’s own mouth and its perfect bow. He missed Albedo, too. More than expected. He thought of him at every alchemy table. Albedo has the same pattern in his sea-glass eyes. The same scent of transmutation clings to his clothes.
“Me too,” Aether confesses as he leans in.
Before their lips can touch—before Aether does something he can never take back—Paimon appears beside them, exclaiming, “Paimon hung her portrait in your room, so—Oh!”
Albedo hastily turns away, tucking the hand that was previously on Aether’s chin into his pocket. Aether takes a few steps back. His cheeks burn. Paimon stares at them both, goggle-eyed.
“Were you kissing ?” she demands.
“No,” Aether says truthfully. You interrupted before we could start.
“What’s this about kissing?” Oh no, Eula and Amber are back from their ice bath. Amber has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but Eula is defiant of the cold. Why didn’t they go straight to camp?
“There was no kissing,” Aether says. “Paimon misunderstood.”
“Paimon saw you.”
“I was teaching Aether to paint,” Albedo says.
Eula skeptically looks at the easel, then back to him. Amber says, “Oh, I see. It looks nice, Traveler.”
Neither Aether nor Albedo admits who did most of the work. The painting distracts everyone from the subject of kissing. Everyone but Aether, of course. Paimon has the worst timing… Albedo keeps a careful distance between them on the return to camp. They probably won’t get another chance like that. Aether wants to pull him aside and reassure him that yes, he did want to kiss him. He’d sit for a million portraits for another opportunity like that.
As they near camp, Albedo suddenly closes the space between them and grabs Aether’s wrist. The others don’t notice him dragging Aether into the shadows. He looks back to make sure they’re out of sight before pushing Aether up against the nearest rock face and kissing him. It’s swift and forceful and over too soon. But Aether’s heart soars anyway.
Albedo pulls away. “How was that? I’m afraid I’m not an experienced kisser, but seeing as we were interrupted earlier…”
“Good. That was good,” Aether gasps. “Um, if you want to practice though, I wouldn’t mind doing it again. Try doing it a little slower.”
“Like this?” Albedo leans in again, and this time, the kiss is softer. It melts on Aether’s mouth like fresh snow.
Aether’s eyelids lower. His hand finds Albedo’s jaw, and he adjusts his angle. “More like this,” he murmurs as he deepens the kiss. He teases Albedo’s lips open, prompting a sigh.
“I see,” Albedo says when they separate again. “I think I’m beginning to understand. Show me more.”
Aether is all too happy to oblige. He presses his hand to Albedo’s back to bring him closer. There’s a lot that Aether wants to show him. They kiss in the darkness beyond the braziers until the cold becomes too much for Aether to bear. Even so, he doesn’t want to stop. Albedo folds himself into Aether to share body heat.
“Have I improved?” Albedo whispers into his ear.
“Yeah,” Aether says. “You’re a better student than I am.”
Albedo laughs, the vibration traveling through Aether’s chest. “Well, you’re the better teacher.”