Work Text:
The snow swallows all sound. It's a welcome change after the clatter of the editorial office.
He really should stop staying at work after midnight. It's not like they pay him enough. But hey, he gets to see Snezhnaya at night. It has its charm. There's something primordial about winter nights—it's you or the cold, the air itself reminds you that you're not supposed to be here.
Most windows are dark now, the city deep asleep, only the restaurant nearby casts squares of honeyed light on on the ground. Odd. It should be closed already. Athis glances inside, expecting to see a party of some sort—glimpses of other people's stories are among the best things living in a large city can offer.
Behind the glass sits his calamity of a brother, too engrossed in the contents of his cup to notice him. He looks sad. Tired too, judging by the slouch of his shoulders.
Athis hesitates for a moment, then pushes the heavy door, stepping into the ambience of the restaurant. A scent of wood polish, citrus peel and fine spirits blows in his face, his eyes take a second to adjust.
There are no other visitors and the air is tense. The hostess looks at him like he walked into something a person doesn't want to experience; the only waiter seems on edge too. Is he, perhaps, interrupting some government business?
"Sir, we're closed..."
"Athis!" Yasha exclaims almost at the same time, hand raised in greeting. The staff seems to relax. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Athis comes closer, struggling with the heap of clothes one is forced to wear in their dear homeland. The hat goes onto the hanger first, then he pulls off the gloves.
"Was there an invitation I missed?"
"I know you pass here every evening." Yasha shrugs, watching him unwrap the third layer of scarf from around his neck.
"A bit dramatic, don't you think?"
He laughs awkwardly. There's no trace of the earlier sadness.
Finally getting rid of the heavy coat, Athis drapes it over the hanger and lands on the seat on the opposite side of the table.
"You're not doing a very good job at keeping watch," he attempts to tease. "You almost missed me."
"Didn't need to. You noticed me."
Yasha pushes the menu to him with a wide grin.
"I recommend their seafood section."
"Were you waiting for a reason or out of boredom?" he asks, diving into the lengthy tome.
"Just... wanted to see you."
He taps his fingers on the table as Athis reads—same as Father, he can't sit still. Athis makes a mental note to convince him to wear better gloves. These are atrocious, spiky uniform should be balanced with something more frivolous.
The waiter takes their order; by how stiff he is Athis can assume he's indeed scared of his dear brother. He tries to give him the warmest of his apologetic smiles and wonders if he should perhaps never show up in this place again.
He watches the waiter as he moves away. They certainly hire people with a good sense of style here, ends of his hair are painted teal and...is that eyeliner he sees? Makes him look a bit like lochfolk.
He must have stared a bit too long—Yasha frowns, following his gaze.
"Is something wrong?"
"He's cute."
His brother chuckles barely audibly.
"How did you know this place would be open tonight? They normally close at midnight."
"I paid them to stay open."
"You're insane."
"Why?"
"Workers' rights?"
"I didn't threaten them?" Yasha looks at him incredulously.
Athis gives up.
The conversation doesn't really flow. Yasha hangs on to every word about their siblings but Athis doesn't have that many stories himself. He has moved away too, after all.
He pulls out a jewelry box with earrings at some point. "Do you think Tonia will like these?" She'll love them but perhaps he should ask if Mother would even allow her to get her ears pierced.
In the half-light of the restaurant he looks like a perfect image of a changeling, with his too expensive gifts and smiles and awkward pauses. As the story goes, sometimes the forest takes a kid and spits out something else and that very well might have been what happened.
There's still no uniform opinion in the family on whether it's the same boy that got lost in the woods a few years ago. Last time Athis was home Vlad suggested a betting pool.
Personally, Athis doesn't think it matters. He's sweet and they are stuck with him anyway. And he tries so hard to make everyone happy.
(and in the chance that it's still Yasha perhaps it's better to be nice)
"How's your novel doing?"
"Please don't ask." Why does everyone have to ask. He got another rejection from the publisher just yesterday.
"Vlad says I should pull a few strings."
"Don't even think about it."
If he can't get published on his own, he shouldn't get published at all.
"You know everyone will still say I did it," Yasha murmurs, chin resting on his palm.
"Yeah... but I'll know."
"Suit yourself."
The long day is catching up to him and he wonders how to hint at ending the conversation.
"By the way, you do realise normal people do that thing called setting up a meeting, right? Next time you want to see me, please do me a favour and send a note."
"And scare half of your coworkers with a Fatui agent delivering it?" Yasha's eyebrows twist dramatically.
"Surely they don't all dress in uniform for courier work?"
"It's still obvious."
"How?" Athis wonders if he can make a story out of it.
"The boots mostly." Yasha shrugs. "Too polished. The haircut. Loose clothes." Ice clinks in his glass as he stares into it. "Also they look like shit."
"Mhm."
"It's obvious, really," he repeats.
Maybe to him it is.
"Anyway. It was nice seeing you."
He places a pouch of mora on the table, standing up. Athis watches him leave, pondering the pointlessness of this conversation.
He has learned recently that Old Mondstadtian for haunting was heimsuchen. Homeseeking.
The absence of metaphor is striking.