Work Text:
Jean is not herself tonight.
Kaeya could tell the moment she stepped out of the tour van that afternoon. With each hurried trip to the livehouse and back, her hands were full with amps and Rosaria’s drums. And though she hid her face under her cap - or rather, Kaeya’s - there was no masking the heaviness in her feet as she stumbled up and down the stairs.
She insisted it was travel fatigue. Kaeya didn’t believe her.
And he still doesn’t, even as he watches her now - as Jean sings and sways in time with the sweeping chords of her electric guitar, and the head of her ponytail swings side to side. The crowd mirrors her, waves of hands rolling in the small audience beneath the blazing stage lights where her hair lights up, golden like a halo.
He can’t take his eyes off her. Which is nothing new, really. He notices a few strands of her hair have fallen from where she had tucked them behind her ear, rendering her something a little more human than rockstar in that moment, more touchable .
But the pulsing bass in his fingertips tether him to the spot. And so he can only catch the slight sluggishness in her hands when she shifts chords, and feel the rasp in her voice as if it were scratching his own throat.
Still, she can’t hide - not from him.
Another song ends. The crowd erupts into a chorus of cheers and Jean steps back from the microphone, her chest heaving. She tucks her hair back behind her ear and peeks at Kaeya over her shoulder and–
Oh, now that smile is just unfair.
Jean may be a reserved person, but on the stage her smile is dazzling - brighter than the spotlights yet soft with warmth all at once . He has seen it a million times before throughout all the years, but they all feel like the first.
But he doesn’t miss the slight strain around her eyes, or the feverish flush under her makeup.
He throws her a smile, wry with knowing.
Jean’s look turns sheepish. She silently moves her mouth - just one more set.
She looks to him for just a beat longer, uncertainty starting to furrow between her brows. But the moment Kaeya opens his mouth, she has already turned back to the microphone to announce the next song.
The show ends without a hitch. As the crowd erupts again, the lights above them flare out like a dozen suns, illuminating every face in the small crowd. Jean then takes Kaeya’s hand in her right and Rosaria’s in her left, and leads their bow to the audience.
Her hand is clammy and a little too cold where Kaeya clasps it in his. His grip tightens as they straighten again, and when Rosaria turns to leave the stage.
He doesn’t want to let go of Jean’s hand, but he has to.
The lights are still hot on his back as he follows her past the threshold into the green room. The applause fades into white ringing in his ears, and is replaced by the soft hubbub of the staff gathering around backstage.
But when the door finally shuts behind him, Jean collapses.
The cityscape of Liyue Harbour stretches across the night. It drifts along from this distance, on the bridge across the water towards the suburbs - the scene continuously cut through by street lights like a roll of film.
The van shifts as Rosaria merges onto the highway. Her gaze then flickers up towards Jean in the rearview mirror. “You look like shit,” she says.
Jean groans, digging the heel of her palm into her forehead. “Do you think anyone noticed?”
Kaeya turns to look at her where she sits next to him. “I’m sure the audience had a grand time regardless. But we sure noticed, especially backstage.”
She winces. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t–”
“Why,” Lisa chimes from the passenger seat, “and deny Kaeya the opportunity to catch you in his arms? Darling, you did him a favour.”
Kaeya smiles wryly. “I am known for my chivalry.”
“Don’t help.” Jean scrubs her hand down her face with a sigh. “But…thanks again for catching me. And I’m sorry for dragging down our performance.”
“You didn’t,” Kaeya says, perhaps a little too quickly. “We all have our days. But in the end, as long as we give the best performance we can at the time, that’s the most anyone can ask for. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Her hand falls to her lap as she smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. He knows what she wants to say - that a musician must always strive to be a better performer than they were yesterday, lest they dishonour their audience with complacency.
A standard he knows she wouldn’t apply so pedantically if it was anyone else was in her shoes, but that’s just the way Jean Gunnhildr rolls.
But she says nothing. Kaeya can only hope that means she’s taking his words to heart.
“You did good,” Rosaria says suddenly. “Just rest at the hotel.”
“And get lots of it,” Lisa adds. “We don’t have any shows until after Christmas, so enjoy the time off while you can.”
Something in Jean’s eyes shifts, a cloud passing over clear skies as she gazes out the window.
“...Right.”
The body of the kettle shakes on top of its base, steam squealing as it rises in the tiny kitchenette of Jean’s dingy hotel room. Kaeya takes a mug from the shelf and pours a cup of tea. “How are you feeling, Jean?” he asks.
“Like the room is spinning,” comes her groggy reply. “But otherwise fine.”
Kaeya sighs and throws a disbelieving smile over his shoulder, towards the bed where she’s plopped herself on to stare at the ceiling. “I worry about your definition of ‘fine’ sometimes.”
“I am,” she insists. “And the tablets will help anyway.”
He crosses the room towards the bed. “Tablets are great, but sleep would be even better. And you have been doing enough of that lately-” he carefully hands her the mug with a pointed look. “Right?”
Jean gingerly takes the mug, her lips pursing into a thin line. Under the sickly yellow light of the room, the circles under her eyes sink deeper into her skin.
“Or maybe a bath would help you ease up a little more,” he adds lightly. “With bubbles. I saw that Lisa brought a bottle for the tour. Well, assuming it’s hers of course, and not Rosaria’s.”
Jean chuckles. “That does sound nice.” She takes a slow sip from the mug and then places it on the bedside table. She shifts her weight onto her hand, beginning to lift herself up. “I can go-”
“No, no.” Kaeya holds out his hand. “You know I’m not letting you do anything for the rest of the night. I’ll bring her over.”
“But she’s probably tired,” she protests. “I can at least run a bath myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” he allows. “But should you?”
Jean furrows her brow. “If I don’t, then who would?”
The bathwater is warm around Kaeya’s hand. He watches the water rise up the tub, climbing well past his wrist until the bubbles reach the crook of his elbow.
He hopes Lisa won’t mind that he’s already emptied half of her bottle.
He pulls his arm from the bath, skin suddenly cold in the air and sticky with bubbles. He wipes a towel over it and twists the bottle closed before he steps out of the bathroom. “You can go in now.”
Glancing at him, Jean stands up from the bed. She picks up her pajamas next to her and slowly crosses the room. When she passes him, she thanks him in a voice quieter than usual, while her hands shift nervously in the folds of her clothes.
She closes the door behind her, and Kaeya suddenly feels stilted.
He turns to look around the room. He should really at least stay here in case Jean needs something - make himself some tea in the meantime. Or he could check how Diluc is doing, and send a text to Barbara since Jean is–
“Whoa!”
There’s a low squeak behind the door, and the distinct sound of splashing water. Kaeya quickly steps back to the bathroom door and knocks once. “Everything okay in there?”
Jean’s voice floats through the bathroom door. “Yeah, just slipped,” she says. The water continues to move about, though quieter this time.She must be lowering herself into the bath. “You…you can come in, by the way.”
Kaeya swears his heart stops. “Are you sure?”
She goes silent for a moment. He begins to wonder whether she heard him, or if she had said anything at all until she murmurs, “...Yeah.”
He swallows thickly. “Okay.”
He pushes the door open, taking a deep breath as he steps inside the bathroom again. The air is still thick with steam and the mirror slightly fogged. And though the bath bubbles blanket the water, hiding everything up to Jean’s collar, Kaeya’s hand clenches behind his back.
He can play it cool, at least. Meanwhile red rises high up Jean’s neck, and he wonders if they can really chalk it up to her fever.
But still, she smiles at him when he walks in. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He lets out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. “Should I bring in a chair or something?”
“If you want,” she says. “I…figured it might be boring out there on your own.”
He shrugs and lowers himself to sit on the edge of the tub behind her, belt chains clanging against the porcelain. “I can keep myself entertained just fine. How are the bubbles?”
“The vanilla is nice with the lavender.” She remarks as she reaches up to pull away her ribbon. Her hair tumbles down, spilling over her shoulders in golden waves. “I think Lisa could make a living off of these, if being a band manager doesn’t work out…Hey, could you pass me the bottles up there, please?”
She points up and across the bathtub, where the hotel’s shampoo and conditioner bottles tower from the top shelf.
“Sure.” Kaeya stands to grab them, then sets the conditioner on the floor. And it’s only a moment before he realises he’s instinctively squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto his hand.
He freezes in place and looks down at Jean again. Her eyes are slightly wide.
He quickly clears his throat. “I washed Diluc’s hair for him when he broke his arm,” he says, mouth suddenly dry. “That mane of his wasn’t washing itself, you know? It’s just something I got used to doing, so,” he gestures his shampoo-ey hand towards her. “May I?”
With a nod, Jean turns to face the front of the tub. Her shoulders have relaxed as Kaeya sits on the edge of the bath again and begins to gently card his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp as he does.
She lets out a long sigh. Her head tips back slightly, as if searching for his hands, and she closes her eyes. “Diluc must’ve come back…How long ago was that now?”
“Four years ago, when he came back from Snezhnaya,” says Kaeya. Then he huffs, “He got into one bar fight and suddenly the whole ‘finding himself’ thing wasn’t worth it anymore.”
Jean laughs, though it is hesitant. They both know it’s not true - the first time someone grew rowdy in his bar at The Dawn Hotel after he had come back, the air about him as he threw the man out with his own hands wasn’t that of someone who was afraid of taking a hit.
“How is he spending the holidays?” she asks. “While you’re on tour?”
Kaeya hums. “People want their celebration drinks, so he works the whole time anyway. I just go by and have dinner with him when he has the time. And last year, surprisingly, he didn’t even try to shoo me away first.”
Jean chuckles, then takes a deep breath as he lifts the bulk of her hair. His fingers drag up the back of her head, dangerously close to the nape of her neck where he tries not to stare at the constellation of freckles there. And he is certain that it’s only in his horrible imagination that she shivers under his touch.
But still, it’s…nice. To just help her like this.
A comfortable silence falls over them. Kaeya pulls the shower head from the wall and lets the water rinse through Jean’s hair until all the shampoo disappears into the rest of the bubbles. He then takes the conditioner and combs it through her hair.
It is only when it’s washed away that Jean speaks again. “I lied about getting enough sleep.”
She never actually told him that, but there is no use splitting hairs. Kaeya instead raises a brow and asks, “Did you, now? Got something on your mind?”
Jean nods, turning her head slightly to look at Kaeya over her shoulder. “It’s…about Barbara.”
He pauses. His gaze meets hers as he reaches behind him to turn the shower tap off. “Is she feeling lonely without her big sister?”
She huffs, something of a half-laugh tumbling from her lips. Her eyes drift away from him. “I don’t know if she misses me. Probably not. Because after the last two years when we spent Christmas together, well…I understand that she would be angry with me again.”
“Again,” he says. It’s not a question, but a cautious invitation. He wishes he had something to do with his hands instead of looking down at them.
“And I know it’s unfair for me to feel this way, so…” She swallows. “If I keep myself busy writing songs, I don’t have to think about it. I chose this life - I don’t get to hesitate.”
The feeling burning up in Kaeya’s chest is familiar - three years of believing he’d never have another shot at having a brother. “And how exactly,” he asks, “does exhausting yourself make either of you less lonely?”
“It doesn’t, but at least I’ll have something to show for the time,” she protests. “The label is expecting another album by March. If we don’t start working on it now, we’ll never make it.”
“That is fair, but I don’t see how risking your performance on tour is going to help you write more songs. How many have you come up with?”
Jean goes quiet at that. “I’ve been working on the same verse for the last week.”
“Maybe that means something,” says Kaeya, throwing a hand out for lighthearted flair. “Something like, oh I don’t know, that it’s time to put it down for a while. Play some card games with us, maybe even Facetime Barbara - she’d probably like that.”
“I don’t think I have a right to.”
He gives her a sad smile. “You don’t think that she might prefer that over a text? Or over r adio silence? I may not be her, but I think I would’ve wanted that, instead of having to use Rosaria’s Instagram just to know whether Diluc was alive - mad at him or not.”
Jean bites her lip and brings a hand up to the nape of her neck. She wrings the skin there nervously as she looks at Kaeya again. “Even when you were?”
“Even then,” he says softly. “It’s always worth a try, isn’t it?”
Her gaze drops to the bubbles. She takes a deep breath of lavender and vanilla. “I…I’ll try.”
Kaeya laughs, then, leaning forward to tuck a strand of hair behind Jean’s ear. “That’s always the first step.”
A flush suddenly spreads high across Jean’s cheeks - a splash of red that makes her squirm, shoulders rising high up her neck. God, he wants to kiss her.
He stands up from the bath instead, making his way back out the door. “And if all goes wrong anyway,” he says over his shoulder, “you’ll always have us. Even if we’re not a family in the ordinary–”
“You are,” she says firmly. It’s the most sure of herself she’s sounded all day. “I’ve never thought otherwise.”
Kaeya’s jaw goes slack, warmth swelling in his chest as he laughs. “I’m glad you think so too.”
“Phew, it’s cold outside!”
Lisa breezes past Kaeya where he holds the door open, Rosaria closely following behind her with a bulky plastic bag hanging from her elbow.
“You look like you had yourselves a nice walk,” says Kaeya.
Rosaria nods at him as she unfurls her scarf from around her neck and sets the plastic down on the table. “It was. Very quiet out there.”
Lisa sighs and kicks her shoes off by Jean’s bed. “That makes one of us, at least.”
“What is all that?” Jean asks, pointing to the bag.
“Just something for your cold, dear - some chicken porridge.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says shyly. But it’s quiet, more instinct than anything else.
“The lady running the place gave it to us for free when she heard you were sick,” adds Rosaria. She digs through the bag for a moment, then groans. “But she didn’t pack any spoons.”
Lisa laughs and begins to make her way back to the kitchenette by the door.
The room grows warm with the smell of Liyuen congee and stir-fries as Rosaria continues to unpack the containers. Kaeya feels himself pulled towards it, taking a step forward towards the table when suddenly a pair of arms wrap around his middle.
His breath catches, and he turns his head to look behind him. There is only the smell of vanilla and lavender now as Jean mumbles into his back, “Thanks, Kaeya.”
She lets him go before he can say anything - before she approaches Rosaria first and pulls out a chair, thanking her and Lisa for bringing the food. Her cheeks are rosy, and when she smiles they are light and sure, despite the dark circles that remain under her eyes.
Kaeya sidles up to her, his own steps steady. His hand comes up to the small of her back and he smiles against the shell of her ear.
“You are most welcome.”