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The silence of the night has never sounded so... wrong.
After all, usually at night, Mondstadt doesn't die — no, usually, Mondstadt quiets down a little, begins to doze, the sound of the doors of closing shops and the muffled whisper of lyres and bards and taverns. The city is still alive. Fierce. Bright. Joyful.
The Angel's Share and Cat's Tail are empty, quiet and dead. The windows are dark. The shutters are closed. Even the cats don't meow, even the cats are all in the Cathedral right now. Everyone is in the Cathedral.
Jean hears the midnight bell singing. A chill runs down her spine.
Leaning against the stone partition, she stares closely into the dark night and, most of all, hopes to see, well, at least something. To see is to know. To see is to be ready to draw her sword from it's scabbard and destroy everything that poses a danger to the city at any second. Exhaustion makes itself known loudly and cruelly, but Jean stubbornly keeps her eyes open, nervously fiddling with the hilt of the sword, steadily tapping it with her fingers.
The night is frighteningly quiet and empty. For the first time in the last couple of years, she catches herself thinking of a drink or two — Kaeya would choke on his wine from such a word from her. He would've laughed, poured a drink, glared at Diluc, saying, "What's the hold up, Master Diluc! The venerable heiress Gunnhildr wants a drink, and you're staring!"
Now there is no Kaeya, no wine. Longing is scratching at her chest, and most of all, Jean wants to forget herself in work out of habit, fill her head with reports and lost cats.
"If you frown so much, you might just scare all the hilichurls in the area away."
The remark sounds terribly affectionate — it's accompanied by the ringing of a lantern, the click of heels on stone and the quiet, almost silent crackle of thunderstorms. The sky is clear, but Lisa brings the soothing smell of rain whenever she walks, and it just makes everything a little easier.
"Sounds good. Maybe I'll be lucky enough and scare away the Abyss too?"
"Of course, dear. And I'll name you Jean the Threatening and tell the children in the library about your threatening frowning eyebrows," she puts on an exaggerated frown as if about to freeze with such an expression, but immediately cracks with a laugh — Jean can't get enough of it, can't help but smile with her, "Maybe then even Klee will start listening to you."
"Yeah, or avoiding me…"
"Don't be silly," she elbows her in the side, not hard, just enough to get her point across, "Klee loves you! And she misses you there in the Cathedral... Fishl had to bargain for her bombs, because, I quote, 'Only Master Jean can come and confiscate them!' ”
That's... okay, that's funny. Unexpected, but enough to make Jean smile a little.
"I'm pretty sure she misses the fish in the Cider Lake even more."
"Oh, you bet."
The silence between them sounds much more familiar and pleasant. As if there were no need for words and just glances were enough, like hearing each other's breathing was enough... presence. To know that they are near, they are alive.
Not so long ago, she didn't have to think about that last part. Jean can't help but miss those times, no matter how hard she tries to focus on the harsh present only.
"Hey," and then Lisa flicks her nose, making Jean snorts in surprise, to which Lisa smiles playfully, "A little more and I'll really forget your pretty smile. Come on."
Making a careless curtsy, Lisa holds out her hand. Jean couldn't forget that smile even in the brink of death.
"Dance with your fiance?"
Could Jean refuse Lisa a dance, at least once in her life? Of course not.
She takes a thin hand in hers, carefully, as it could crack in her grasp. Lisa steps into her embrace, relaxes and lets out a breath feeling a touch on her waist. They don't need to think when taking a stand, they don't need to think when taking the first step — like figures in a music box, knowing every step, every turn. Knowing each other.
In the past, Lisa couldn't even take a single turn without stepping on Jean's foot — she never complained, only smiled when Lisa hurriedly repeated her "sorry, sorry, sorry!", and Jean kissed her on the nose, because everything is fine. It takes a little patience, a little time.
And time has responded — they dance perfectly when there isn't enough of it. Lisa snuggles closer, slides her hands under the cloak because autumn slowly takes place, allowing cold winds to walk at night. And Lisa's also humming something softly, some kind of familiar melody...
"Do you think we could dance our first dance to this?" Jean asks quietly.
"The first?"
"At our wedding," whispering this, Jean circles her, immediately pulling her closer, "I like this song."
"I know. The record is already riddled with holes."
Lisa says this with a smile so soft and wistful — how Jean would love to turn on the gramophone again and dance around their shared kitchen, cooking brunch on the weekend. To go out for a walk around the city, spontaneously buy Lisa a bouquet of fresh cecilia, to take a peek into the lively "Cat's Tail". To go for a walk outside the walls of the city in the evening and admire the stars. To wet their feet at the Falcon Coast and to feel the sand and pebbles under their feet, and wince at how cold the water is... to admire Lisa, surrounded by crystal butterflies perched on her straw hat. And the sun would set so beautifully behind her back, creeping into her loose honey hair…
Who would've thought. Jean Gunnhildr misses the weekends.
Kaeya would certainly have a laugh.
"Hm. Maybe it is a very nice idea," Lisa smiles, looking up at her, and awkwardly, deliberately loses her rhythm, falling in Jean's embrace with her whole body, "Then I won't have to learn a new dance, right?"
"No, my love," she says, incredibly affectionate, "We will train all day and night long. Until our legs fall off."
"Oh, and will we train just as diligently for our wedding night?"
"Lisa!" Jean snorts and tries to hide her smile, but it doesn't work that way with Lisa — it never did.
How can Jean even think about anything bad and important when she's laughing? Unbearable, silly, beloved. Finds the worst, and probably the best time for jokes.
Jean sighs, noticing that she can't get enough of that pretty face — Lisa also notices. But she doesn't say a word, just grins knowingly — she knows Jean isn't the least bit disappointed. Rather, she's even more in-love than she was seconds ago.
"It's a beautiful night," Jean, in order to distract herself and stop staring like a fool in love, glances briefly at the sky. Clean. Full of stars. But for some reason it doesn't bring the old joy... maybe because the stars are watching. And their stares are heavy.
It would be nice to hear a thunderstorm.
She bends Lisa to the ground, holding her waist so tightly, so fragile, assuring her that she won't fall. Not from her hands. And Lisa knows that perfectly well.
She doesn't get an answer to that. Lisa continues to hum.
And then Jean pulls her closer, and Lisa stumbles — she catches her immediately, not a second to think. And Lisa no longer smiles, looks at her so tired, so exhausted, so in love that…
And kisses her.
No matter how many kisses they share, Jean always feels them with every lost breath. Breathing through her nose, closing her eyes. She kisses Lisa back the way she would kiss her at the altar, tenderly touching her face.
Jean's cheeks are wet, but... it's not her tears. Not hers yet.
Gently pushing Lisa away, Jean still remains a couple of breaths away from her. She takes the soft, beautiful face in her hands, wipes away the tears with her thumbs, but this only makes Lisa laugh bitterly.
"I hope... I hope we'll get a chance to dance like this."
"Just however you want, Lisa, we will dance as much."
"Promise me," she whispers desperately. A little more, and her voice will tremble like the heavens in a terrible thunderstorm, "Swear that you will live and defend yourself, Jean, I demand that you swear!"
"I, Jean Gunnhildr, the heir of the Gunnhildr clan and the Acting Grandmaster. The Dandelion Knight and The Lionfang Knight. May the wind be my witness: I swear that no matter what, I will continue to fight, not to the last drop of blood, but until I see you again. I take an oath to live"
A couple of years ago, these words wouldn't even have dared to form in her head, let alone leave her own lips. Now she speaks them firmly, with confidence and determination, with which the heavens are turned upside-down, and this is enough for the despair on such a beautiful, beloved face to soften, turning into something distant and... calm. She's calm. That means Lisa believes her.
"Then I believe you," Lisa laughs, still crying, but laughs, smiles, and Jean wants to hug her closer to her chest and not let go, "And don't even try to break your promise, Jean. Otherwise, the Witch of Purple Roses herself will threaten you, is that clear?"
"Clear as day," Jean says and leaves a soft kiss on the wet cheek, right under the eye. Right where her little freckles are.
Jean wakes up before the first rays of the sun touch the windows of the headquarters. A short sleep, but she got used to it — that's her job now. Maybe she should've appreciated the time in a soft bed more, when there was still such an opportunity... When everything is over, when the city begins to live again, she'll take a long, long vacation.
...the bed, for some reason, feels terribly cold and lonely.
Turning around, Jean hopes to see a familiar back, a bunch of moles scattered over the shoulders and shoulder blades like small stars, where constellations could be drawn.
Instead of stars, she finds only rumpled sheets and pillows. Empty.
When hope and reality cross swords, it's always clear who will emerge victorious and who will die, no matter how much faith there is in the soul.
She knew this would happen. She knew Lisa would leave. Lisa, her beloved, her eternally Knowledgeable Lisa, who knows too much for her own good, ran away right after Kaeya into the Abyss. Because she Knows. Something important, something that Jean will never reach and never understand.
Breath in. And out.
Jean doesn't lose herself and doesn't break into pieces, because she Knew that sooner or later Lisa — free lightning and omnipresent thunderstorms — would do so. Lightning cannot be contained in a bottle. The thunderstorm cannot be shouted over with the most desperate cry.
She Knows Lisa.
Jean sits up, letting the blanket fall off her shoulders, and stares blankly at the lonely sheets. She touches them. Cold. She left a long time ago, probably as soon as Jean allowed herself to fall asleep. Maybe, she left a last kiss before leaving, so careful and tremulous so as not to wake her up for sure — for some reason, Jean thinks that she would do that. The thought brings her a faint smile, the very drop of calm.
Lisa ran away, and Jean always knew that this would happen.
Still, when Jean wakes up in bed all alone, she decides that she will get up today. She will put on her cloak and boots, hide her sharp sword in its scabbard, ready to draw it at any second. She will stand up and fight. And defend. And defend herself. So that one day, when times will be easier and when the sky over Mondstadt will be covered with summer clouds, when a warm summer rain will fall, the whole city can dance on the main square to the bard's songs. So she can dance with her in a tavern on a noisy festive night. So they can dance in their own kitchen to their favorite records and laughter, as loud as thunder itself.