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On your first day as Liyue’s newest Yuheng, Ganyu is the first to greet you at Yuehai Pavilion.
She bows in greeting—a formality that the two of you should be long past by now. But today was your official induction into the Liyue Qixing, and Ganyu had always been one to stick to traditions, unlike her late wife—and your former mentor.
Other than the private ceremony, there is little you remember that day aside from Ganyu’s presence by your side, reassuring you that you would do fine. Keqing had trained you for this, and it nearly broke you. But you survived, coming out stronger and smarter, and you managed to convince your mentor that you were the best candidate to take over her position.
You do not say it aloud, but you swear to do more. You are not Keqing, and you would not just be following in her footsteps. To do so would be to fail her. Her legacy can only be continued by surpassing it—a lofty goal, but the only one you know she will accept for you to succeed her.
Truth be told, you’re afraid you wouldn’t be able to live up to her expectations. You did not lack the drive or determination, being one of the only people who were almost able to keep up with her pace and demands. There’s just a niggling feeling at the back of your mind—self-doubt, or perhaps suppressed insecurities? It tells you that you are not capable of replacing Keqing, that you will never be as great as she was.
You try not to listen. You force yourself to ignore those thoughts, even if a small part of you knows they’re true. You know you may not be able to fill the shoes of the woman before you, but that shouldn’t stop you from trying.
For Keqing. For Ganyu. For Liyue.
Truth be told, you had always harbored a secret crush on Keqing (or at least, you hope it was).
You were unsurprised that Keqing was already taken when you first met her. How could she not be? Even when you had met Keqing for the first time, only ever hearing about her accomplishments before and not of her beauty, you could not help but wonder if the lucky person who had stolen her heart was just as radiant as she, if not more.
From the first time your predecessor introduced you to her wife, you immediately understood why a person like Keqing would have chosen to be with someone like Ganyu. It is easy to see how someone could fall in love with the general secretary, even if dating someone who was superficially seen as a subordinate was normally something someone as professional as Keqing would have never even considered, let alone done herself. In fact, you had quickly found yourself falling for Ganyu too.
Perhaps it was inappropriate of you to have anything but platonic feelings toward your boss and her wife, but anyone with eyes could see that they were both incredibly beautiful women in a healthy, loving relationship. You’ve always looked up to them, because it was only natural that you would. Seeing Keqing lead the Liyue Qixing as they ushered in a new golden era for Liyue was one of the reasons you decided to take it upon yourself to become her assistant—a role that most people saw as a way to quit without needing to put in a two week notice at the cost of not only getting fired, but blacklisted from any future government jobs if they got caught slacking on purpose.
You did not slack. You did not get fired. You proved yourself worthy of Keqing’s attention, and she rewarded your hard work with the biggest responsibility of your life when she announced that she would be stepping down due to health issues. She was proud of you, but when you went home that night, you felt nothing but disgust toward yourself. Your traitorous heart tells you that maybe—just maybe—when Keqing passed, you would have a chance with Ganyu. It pumps blood that pounds in your ears, whispering temptations that fill you with equal amounts of shame and hope.
On the inside, you are a green-eyed monster, and that fact sickens you. Keqing deserved to have someone better taking over as Yuheng, and Ganyu deserves to find happiness without your selfishness getting in the way. What your heart wants more than Ganyu herself is her well-being.
So when Ganyu cries into your shoulder at Keqing’s funeral, you do not think about how Ganyu was single now, or if she planned on dating anyone else ever again once (or if) she moved on. All you do is hold her close, comforting your old friend in your shared grief. She’s cared for you your entire career, so it was only right that you do the same for her, even if that meant putting your own feelings aside.
It hurts you to do so, but it is for the best. You keep telling yourself that in the hopes that one day, you will believe it.
You keep a respectful distance after that to give Ganyu space to mourn her late wife. While you politely offer to keep Ganyu company in Keqing’s absence, you do not expect her to take you up on that.
You are not Keqing. You could never be Keqing. The reality of that hurts you more than her death.
You should know better than to feel envious. Sure, Lady Keqing had been born with good looks and into a noble family, but anyone who knew anything about her was well aware that she did everything in her power to ensure that her success could not be attributed to nepotism or any other factor that could potentially overshadow her own hard work. She even had to work harder than anyone else when it came to her relationship with Ganyu, given how poorly things had started out between the two of them.
Yes, you had worked hard to prove yourself worthy of your place in the Liyue Qixing too, but everything you did—everything you are—still paled in comparison to a dead woman.
Keqing was not perfect, but she was something better. You wish you could be too.
Ganyu takes you up on your offer.
You don’t think too much of it at first. She invites you over for some tea about a month after Keqing’s death. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but something feels… off.
You don’t know what it is until she asks you to stay the night. She tells you that she’s been having trouble sleeping in the home they once shared now that she was by herself again, and she would appreciate your presence to keep her grounded.
You believe her. Maybe she even believes herself.
It’s not until Ganyu decides that tea wasn’t enough, and she pulls out some wine for the two of you to share when something becomes clear to the both of you:
Neither of you should have drank as much as you did.
You don’t quite understand how it happens. Your lips meet hers. Even with the lingering hints of alcohol on her lips, she’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted, but you know she cannot say the same for you.
You push the thought aside. You cannot replace a lost love. You can only hope Ganyu finds a place in her heart for you too.
She decides to push in a more physical way tonight. Suddenly, you’re on the bed, pinned to the mattress beneath her as she straddles your lap. You barely have time to gasp for breath with the way she kisses you, losing herself in your body. Her saliva is even more intoxicating than the wine, but you sober up the moment you feel her begin to undress you.
Ganyu’s hands tremble as she undoes the buttons of your shirt. There’s no doubt she can feel your heart racing beneath her fingers. You’re certain hers is beating just as fast, but not for the same reasons.
Your chest suddenly feels heavier with each button that comes loose. Each breath is harder to take, but it’s not pleasant anymore. There is a deep, unsettling feeling that washes over your entire body. Your brain screams at you that this is wrong, even if it feels so right—like your deepest, darkest fantasy was about to come true.
You cannot let that happen.
Just before Ganyu moves to pull your shirt off your shoulders, you stop her with a gentle touch on her arms.
Keqing was gone, but she deserved better than this. So did Ganyu.
A brush of your fingertips on her skin was all it took for her to freeze stiff, and before your mind can fully process the words already leaving your own lips, you hear yourself say it:
“I think we should stop.”
Ganyu does not protest, even though you wish she would. Your heart breaks when she almost looks relieved, and you look away so she does not see the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as she pulls away.
“Okay,” she whispers. Her voice is as soft and demure as you’ve always known it to be, but that one word stabs you in the chest like a knife. It hurts so badly, you think you must be having a heart attack from the heartbreak.
Without another word, Ganyu gets off your lap and silently excuses herself from the room. You do not know where she goes, but you know better than to follow her.
Why should you? You’re not Keqing. You are not the angel that haunts you both like a demon.
You lean back and close your eyes. You’re overcome with a different type of exhaustion than the one you expected to experience tonight. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll fall asleep before you realize you’re crying.
You do not sleep in the bed that was not yours, although you lie there for an uncomfortably long time. When you finally decide to get up, Ganyu looks like she has already fallen asleep on the couch.
You sigh to yourself. Not only do you feel like you’ve taken advantage of a recent widow, but now you’ve also kicked her out of her own bedroom. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you swear you can feel Keqing rolling in her grave right now.
Ganyu’s eyes slowly open to meet yours, her expression unreadable. It seems like she would be having another sleepless night, as would you.
“Ganyu…” You hesitate, unsure of how to ask the question that’s been burning in your mind this entire time.
Could you love me if it weren’t for Keqing?
Your unspoken words fail you when she answers it anyway, almost like she could read your mind.
“I’m sorry. In another time, another life…”
“But in this one…?” you ask, your voice uncertain despite already knowing her answer.
Ganyu just shakes her head sadly—apologetically, even. It does nothing but twist the knife deeper, knowing that she truly didn’t mean to hurt you.
“You’re still special to me,” she says, and then falls silent. She closes her eyes again, ending the conversation.
The most important part goes unsaid, yet it rings loud in your ears.
But you’re not Keqing.