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Something was wrong.
Albedo was usually never this affectionate.
She knew he loved her, don't get her wrong—Archons forbid he'd ever dare let her forget. Albedo’s love came in the form of the little reminders he'd leave scattered all around her teapot whenever he came to visit; like watching with eyes full of mirth and amusement as she'd run around her home on the weekly, a pensive frown on her otherwise ethereal (his words, not hers) face, muttering to herself about yet another way she could rearrange her furniture or redecorate her home.
(The alchemist would always be found sitting at the center of the room on her couch, hands neatly folded on his lap and intelligent eyes following the whirlwind she left behind wherever she went. He'd tell her that nothing had to change; that her home was beautiful as it is and full of her personality, yet he'd never refuse her when she'd finally make up her mind and request for his help on her latest design.)
It was in the way he'd worry for her on her travels, yet never dare hold her back if only because he knew that it was simply in her nature. Lumine, much like the other two women in his life, was one that could not be caged. She was a traveler not just by name; a being once referred as a god. She'd seen and lived through far more than Teyvat had to offer, and she would see and live through far more so long as she had the chance. His only solace was that unlike Alice and Klee, he could trust her to be at least at the most careful she could be, if only due to the presence of Paimon.
(He'd never fail to send her off with an abundance of potions and gadgets crafted under the pretense of having her ‘test them out’ during her travels, yet the both of them knew fully well were made especially with her safety in mind.)
It was in the way he'd disappeared entirely, once, leaving no shadow nor form of his presence for up to three weeks. The only real proof of his existence being a hastily scribbled note of ‘be back soon’ left behind in his office.
Yet eventually the season started to change and with it, soon seemed like nothing more than a pipe dream. She was about ready to tear her hair out and start looking for him herself had he not shown up at her door one night, carrying an exact, non-artificially created replica of her signature flowers, as well as a meticulously detailed mapping of the locations where they grew for her to investigate the next time she went out on her journey to find her brother.
(Touched as she had been, Lumine had not hesitated to chew him out for that one. The knights and his sister might have been used to his frequent disappearing acts, but Lumine was still nursing the very fresh wounds of her own abandonment, and she'd made him promise never to do that again without at least leaving a far more informative message of his whereabouts.
He'd chuckled—a gentle, soft sound—before pulling her in, gloved thumbs wiping at her damp eyes and cold lips pressing gently against her hairline. His request for forgiveness, as well as a promise, whispered into the kiss with such sincerity she'd never dare doubt him.)
All of which to say, Albedo's love was something quiet. Discreet, even. Something sacred and precious and not at all displayed as heavily as it is now.
His eyes lighting up when she'd walked into his office was nothing new. The way he'd pulled her in immediately and held her close to his chest, was. His nose buried into the skin of her neck, lips pressing a light, almost reverent kiss to it that had her body freezing up in place and her hands awkwardly hovering over his back in a half hug, unsure how to navigate this sudden onslaught of affection.
(He'd hugged her before, of course. Many times, even, so the hug itself isn't what sets her off. It's the way he holds her—tight; desperate. As if he needed to pour out everything he felt within that singular moment.
Not even when his double had attempted to kill both of them had he hugged her this tight, and Lumine doesn't know if it's her instincts warning her, but the sense of unease she feels is almost crippling.)
“Albedo?” She tries, concern laced within her voice.
“Forgive me,” he mumbles, still not pulling away. “I've just…missed you quite a lot.”
“I…can see that,” she blinks, hands finally resting on his back. Her fingers trace shapes along his back as she holds him. Starsong. A script so ancient and long forgotten that the only two within this world that still speak it are the two that had never belonged to this world in the first place.
There's no real meaning behind the shapes she draws, but Lumine's always had a poor habit of falling back onto the things she knows and trusts whenever she feels uneasy. It's comforting, sinking back into familiarity, and her lover's sudden out of touch behavior leaves her anxious enough for her eyes to inadvertently zero in on the four-pointed star crested on his throat as soon as he starts pulling away.
She's not subtle, and the way the alchemist's face falls as he catches her in the act is enough to have her immediately regret ever doubting him.
“Sorry,” Albedo says, refusing to meet her eyes as he lets her hand fall from his grip. He turns away, heading for his desk in pretense of continuing whatever work he'd been handling before she'd walked in. “I'm making you uncomfortable, aren't I?”
“N-no! Not at all! I just–” he's still not looking at her, eyes set on the open notebook covering his desk and clever fingers hastily flipping through the pages. Drawings of Cecilia's, the flowers in her hair, crystal flies—all research topics already completed, or temporarily stagnated.
Rejected. She realizes. He's feeling rejected.
For as many questions as she might still have, Lumine can’t stand to see him this way. She crosses the room and cups his face with perhaps a little more force than is needed, pulling him in until they are face to face and he has no choice but to bear the full brunt of her words. “I wasn't uncomfortable,” Lumine promises sternly, sincerity so heavy the words almost carry a weight of their own. “Maybe a little uneasy, yes, but never uncomfortable. I guess I'm just…not used to you being this affectionate.”
He raises his brows, and for a moment, it's as if everything is back to normal. His lips pulling in that sly, playful smile of his he only shows whenever he's looking to tease her. “Are you meaning to say I don't show my affection for you enough then, Miss Traveler?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Her alchemist hums, one of his hands coming up to cover hers. “I'm sorry,” he repeats, the breath leaving him in a deep exhale before his eyes dare to meet hers again. Vulnerable. “It's just….Please believe me when I say I've missed you, Lumine.”
Her frown deepens. There's something so…mournful, about his words. Desperate, even. As if he needs her to understand this at all costs, and it sends chills down the traveler's spine.
She presses her forehead against his, scans his face with worried eyes as he closes his and covers her remaining hand with his own. “What's wrong?” She presses carefully, but he only shakes his head.
“Nothing you ought to worry yourself about,” he pulls away again, attempting to play at nonchalance this time instead of turning his back on her. Honestly, she doesn't know why he even attempts; they both know she can see directly through him.
“Albedo.”
“I promise–” he stops, eyes falling shut as he inhales deep. The sight makes Lumine's stomach drop even further; he’s…never needed to center himself like this before. “I promise, Lumine, I'll explain everything in due time. Please, don't worry about me.” When his eyes open again, the look in them is soft, his smile almost sad.
“Do you need my help?” She asks almost shakily, voice barely above a whisper.
“No.” A pause. “...Not yet, at least.”
“Albe-”
“Please,” there it is again, that rare vulnerability. Lumine had never thought she'd ever be able to describe Albedo as having a puppy-dog stare, but the look in his eyes as he stares at her; a mix of hopefulness and nerves….it does her in in the exact worst way.
“Trust me,” he says, and like a complete lovestruck fool, she listens.
Klee and Paimon are long-asleep by the time Lumine steps out of Albedo's shower; fluffy white towel swung over her damp hair and her usual white dress replaced for one of his old shirts she'd claimed rather early on in their relationship.
When she steps into his room, it’s to find him seated at his desk, legs crossed and eyes deadlocked on the vibrantly red chessboard placed directly in front of him. His stare is pensive, fingers gripping his chin and brows furrowed in a look she'd seen many a time before whenever he'd lose himself within his research and studies once again. Normally, Lumine would sneak up behind him. Playfully nudge his shoulder or wrap her arms around him from behind as a simple yet effective reminder that she was, in fact, still here.
Yet the traveler finds herself just as focused on the peculiar chessboard as he was. This was her first time seeing it, but with the pieces and the checkered pattern tinged so heavily in red, Lumine was sure it could be no one other than Alice’s.
The sight leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and perhaps it's just the lingering effect of Albedo's ongoing behavior that's tipping her off balance, but she can't help but feel uneasy at seeing the board, as well as her boyfriend's utter fixation on the pieces laid out in front of him.
The board—and, by extension, the Hexenzirkel’s entire existence—reminds her far too heavily of a certain children's story. One that surely did not exist within this world, yet every time she stumbles across one of the Hexenzirkel's—admittedly mainly Alice’s—antics, it was as if she were being directly slapped in the face with the book.
(A few years ago, she'd have been ecstatic, the sense of whimsy and wonder leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling inside her chest if only because she knew it to be Aether's favorite story.
A few years ago, she'd still had the solid, yet naive hope that her brother could be brought back from whatever brink he'd walked himself into.)
Instead of lingering on that thought for far longer than would be healthy, Lumine approaches the desk, somewhat curious despite her unease as she rests her hands on Albedo's shoulders. “What's that?”
“An old gift from Alice,” he answers immediately, cold gaze never leaving the board, but his hand still moves up to grip hers, gently tugging it close enough for him to press a soft, casual kiss to the back of her hand. “She made it by hand a little while before she left.”
The gesture is relaxing, almost. The exact kind of quiet affection Lumine had come to expect from Albedo over the years, and she really does have a problem of stubbornly clinging to familiarity, as it is exactly enough for her to drop her guard if only for a little bit.
“I've never seen it before,” she muses, playing on casual as she pulls his chair back just enough to perch herself on his lap. Up close like this, she can get a much better look at the pieces, biting her lip at the division of red and white scattered neatly across the board. “What made you bring it out?”
(Up close like this, there is one distinct piece that immediately catches her eye. The words Red Queen blaring so heavily across her mind she has to force herself to look away.)
He doesn't respond immediately, ever careful with his words despite how blunt he is known to be at times. Lumine's found that he's rather prone to biting his tongue whenever the topic of Alice arises, never sharing exactly what he knows—or perhaps barely knowing anything at all, given the mage's enigmatic nature—but never refusing to speak of her entirely, either.
Alice's name always comes with a healthy combination of affection and exasperation alike; the alchemist sounding much less like his usual indifferent and aloof self during those moments. The one time Lumine had had the pleasure of meeting the woman in person, the shift had been even more clear, and she had been very pleasantly surprised to see her calm and composed boyfriend turn into the perfect picture of an uncomfortable teenager in front of his doting mother.
It comes as a bit of a surprise then when his only response to her question is a clipped “Nothing in particular,” before he's easing her off of him, touch gentle as could be as he stands from his chair and turns away from the board in such a way a part of her thinks it's performative. Their conversation evidently cut short.
His hands hook around the ends of the towel still hanging around her neck, tugging lightly on the fabric to get her close enough to press a light peck against her lips. “There's been lots of stories about the war in Natlan clearing up lately,” he says. Suddenly. Unnaturally. A clear attempt at changing the subject. “I'm sure you wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?”
Lumine swallows, uneasy. That distinct feeling of something being wrong still resting heavily within the depths of her stomach.
It's different from that time in the mountains, where Albedo as a whole just felt wrong. No, Lumine is certain that the man in front of her is the man she had fallen for long ago, he's just…trying very hard to compensate for something. Something he isn't telling her.
She should ask him. She knows she should, but the unease makes her hesitant. Albedo was always honest with her; a bit short with the information he shared, sure, but he'd never intentionally kept something from her like this before.
The thought of why—of what could be so heavy he felt he needed to keep it from her like this….it's not something she feels ready for just yet, and so instead of doing as she knows she should, Lumine takes the coward's route, and chooses to play along.
For as long as he needs her to, she tells herself, but she knows it is a lie.
(Albedo had slept beside her that night, and while it certainly hadn't been the first time within their relationship, it also hadn't been the first time since her return. In fact, he'd been with her for all three days she'd been back, and while she certainly wasn't complaining, she most definitely wasn't used to it, either.
It didn't help that he'd stayed awake far longer than she had, too. Playing with her hair and memorizing the shape of her face as if he were branding it into his memory. As if he were afraid he'd never get to be with her like this again.
She'd woken up in the middle of the night to see him still awake, fully met with that gentle, almost melancholy look, and she hadn't been able to take it. Lumine had wrapped her arms around him, removed his hands from her hair and entangled her legs with his. She'd tucked his head into her collarbone, urging him to sleep, telling— lying to him that she couldn't sleep peacefully unless he did, too.
His protests, lighthearted as they were, didn't hold up for long. His eyes had started to droop eventually, and as they did, he hit her with a bombshell.
“I love you,” he'd said, pulling away from her grip if only to cup her face and run his fingers along her soft skin. “For as long as you'll have me; as long as you forgive me, and even beyond that. I love you, starlight, never forget that.”
It was the most chilling confession she'd received from him yet.)
“Klee would love to have you around the house more.” Albedo tells her one night, entirely unprompted. “I would too, for that matter.”
Lumine blinks, sitting in front of the fireplace with a warm blanket and a cup of tea he'd urged into her hands after coming home shivering and soaked from an unexpected snowstorm up in Dragonspine.
(It had been her fault, really. Venti had warned her not to take too long up there when she'd left, a sly, but telling smile on his face as he'd said so. Initially, Lumine had figured this was just his way of psyching her out again, but she's known the bard for far too long to settle for a conclusion like that. Venti always spoke in tongues, yes, but he never spoke untruths.)
The cup feels slippery within her suddenly clammy hands, the cogwheels turning over within her head as she goes to put it down onto the coffee table in front of her. When she turns to face him, eyes blinking wide and curious, it's like he hadn't spoken at all. He's still standing further inside the room, behind the couch she's sitting on, casually sketching away at the canvas situated directly in front of him.
“...Is this a proposal, Sir Chalk Prince?” Lumine asks, very carefully. Calculating. Watching.
Albedo does freeze then, his pencil stopping over the canvas mid-stroke. He still isn't looking at her, but she can see the way his eyes drift back and forth, lips halfway parted as if unsure how to respond.
“Now…isn't a good time,” he eventually sighs, and her brows raise in a mix of muted surprise, but mainly confusion. A feeling that only intensifies when he does finally lock eyes with her, that same gentle, yet chillingly sad smile back on his face. “But in the future, it could be.”
This again. Lumine's hands fold over the back of the couch, her stare turning scrutinizing as she eyes him. “Albedo,” she calls softly, and when he hums in response, “what aren't you telling me?”
For the briefest of moments, Albedo stiffens. It's gone just as quickly as it had appeared, the man the epitome of collected control even at the worst of times, but she'd seen it anyway. She'd been looking for it, after all.
She's still laser-focused on him even as he puts the pencil down with a deep, incredibly tired sigh. “You know I'd never lie to you, starlight,” he starts, the words slow and deliberate. “But I can't answer that without falling into one.”
“How come?”
“I…can't answer that, either.”
Lumine rests her head on her hands, golden eyes never straying from their eerily calm stare. Truthfully, she can feel her heart all the way in her throat, but panicking has never gotten her far. She'd seen the best of men fall in battle due to something as brief as panic, and so she tries her best to stay level-headed even as the alarm bells are blaring loud enough to rival even Paimon’s shrieking.
(And Albedo must sense it too, because he doesn't try to distract her with fleeting touches nor does he try to change the subject this time. He keeps his distance, not moving an inch from his spot beside his canvas and easel. A deer in headlights.)
“You're worrying me,” she settles on instead. Another truth. “I don't like it when you keep things from me.”
“I know,” he says immediately, sounding almost pained. “I never meant to. Truthfully, if I could tell you, I would have done so from the beginning–”
“So what's keeping you?”
“I–” the next breath he takes is shaky. Defeated, almost. It sends a sting directly through her heart. “I promise, Lumine. Everything I do is with those I love in mind. It might not make sense to you at first, I know it won't, but please, if all else fails…at least remember that.”
(That night, Lumine sneaks a peek at the canvas he'd been working on.
The sketch work is beautiful, that much she had expected. For as much as he claims it to be a mere hobby, Albedo can be awfully meticulous about his art; never striving for anything but perfection even when he's teaching her during their shared free time.
Even now, it's far too easy to recognize Klee in the sketch, as well as Paimon, herself and even Alice, yet….
Lumine stares at the sketch; at the first draft of what inevitably will end up to be a family portrait, and feels absolutely sick to her stomach.
Albedo isn't in it.)
Something. Was. Wrong.
And now she knows why.
With Paimon at her side, and a sniffling Klee stuck between her arms, Lumine’s hands futilely covering the child's sensitive ears, Dahlia's verdict was declared.
“On the charges of murder and unlawful disposal of human remains, the court finds the defendant…guilty.”