Chapter Text
The cold of Dragonspine was similar to the biting winds of Nordkrai, but the noises of the city were starting to fill the air; yet, Albedo’s mind was miles away, still in the past. The more time he spent with Wanderer, the more the urge to capture his likeness grew into an obsession he could no longer ignore. He finally surrendered to it: he would draw him when he was back in Mondstadt.
He sat on a wooden bench near the alchemy crafting station, his fingers tracing the edges of an old sketchbook. Even though Wanderer was no longer standing before him, his image remained burned into Albedo's mind with frustrating clarity. Driven by a sudden, restless inspiration, Albedo opened the blank page. The alchemist began to draw him from memory, trying to capture a likeness that was already starting to feel like a dream. He reprimanded himself for not having paid more attention to every detail of the man when he had the opportunity to see him.
He began with the eyes: sharp and indigo depths that always seemed to hold a challenge. He was drawn to the way his eyes betrayed a turbulent human storm that no creator could ever truly synthesize. Then came the slope of his nose and the thin, porcelain line of his lips, usually set in a smirk that teetered between mockery.
Albedo worked with a feverish precision, trying to recreate the way the light had hit those violet tresses. However, no matter how many times he smudged the paper to soften a shadow, the drawing felt incomplete. It was a beautiful imitation, but it lacked the sharp, electric soul of the man who haunted his thoughts.
"It’s not enough," Albedo muttered with a frustrated tone.
“Is something wrong?” a familiar voice asked. The silhouette of a boy with purple hair who was sitting on the bench next to the cavern's entrance.
“Ah, don’t worry Durin. It’s just something in the drawing that doesn't seem right,” Albedo smiled politely.
Durin nodded while silently accepting that Albedo’s problems were likely beyond his understanding. His gaze still darting toward the laboratory entrance every few seconds.
“Maybe I should ask you if something is wrong?” Albedo asked while slightly tilting the head.
"Hm…I'm worried about Hat guy,” he confessed with a small frown. “Is he almost here?"
The name hit Albedo with a sudden clarity. He had been so buried in his research reports for the Knights of Favonius that he completely forgot today was the day Durin asked Wanderer to visit the Windblume Festival with them. The realization made his chest tighten as he looked down at the paper.
"Patience," Albedo replied with a faint, grounding smile. "He has a long way to travel from Sumeru."
Durin nodded and turned his attention back to the gift he had been working on for days. It seemed to be a family trait; since their return to Mondstadt Durin had proven to be just as much of a perfectionist as Albedo. He had asked for lessons to create the perfect present for Wanderer and Albedo had naturally agreed. Even Klee helped, offering her huge collection of drawing pencils.
They both shared that same relentless drive when it came to creation. Albedo continued to stare intensely at the paper for a moment longer before finally deciding to close the sketchbook. Perhaps later, after seeing his inspiration in person, he could pay closer attention to those details again and finally resolve his artistic block.
"Do you think he'll like the drawing I made for him?" Durin asked, holding up a crinkled piece of paper where he’d tried to imitate Albedo’s precise strokes, depicting a simple, heartfelt scene of the three of them together.
"He has a peculiar way of showing it, but he values effort far more than perfection. He’ll see the heart you put into this." Albedo said, his voice a steady anchor for the boy's rising nerves.
Durin let out a small breath of relief, grabbing the drawing to his chest as he turned his attention back to the path.
When Wanderer arrived at the campsite the bells on his familiar hat jingled softly against the mountain's silence, growing louder with every deliberate step. The journey to Mondstadt hadn't taken too long, since he flew using his Anemo vision, while taking short breaks to rest along the way.
"It 's him! I’d recognize that hat anywhere!"
A loud and familiar voice echoed from above. He immediately recognized the boy who was waving frantically at him from the mountain path. Wanderer let out a long sigh because, seriously, does this boy ever run out of energy? He continued his steady climb until he finally reached the clearing.
"I could hear you shouting from the bridge," Wanderer grumbled as he stepped inside the camp. He crossed his arm, looking at the energetic boy and the alchemist, who was sitting by a table cluttered with probably research books and various tools.
Albedo rose from his seat while watching the scene unfold with a quiet and practiced eye. He noticed the way Wanderer entered the cave with his usual pout, while Durin hovered beside him like a sunbeam. Albedo let out a light breathy laugh, because the contrast between the two was a study in opposites that he never grew tired of observing.
"You took forever!" Durin exclaimed while practically orbiting around the newcomer. "We were starting to think you decided to head back to Sumeru halfway here."
"Don't be ridiculous" Wanderer retorted though his tone lacked any real malice. "The winds were unstable near Liyue and I wasn't going to rush just because you can't sit still for five minutes."
His gaze finally drifted away from Durin and landed on Albedo who still maintained that polished and enigmatic smile. The alchemist felt the weight of that eye contact and immediately realized his memory hadn't exaggerated a single thing. Wanderer’s eyes were even sharper and deeper in person and that look from Nordkrai was there again challenging Albedo to try and decipher it.
"Albedo," Wanderer said as a dry greeting while tilting his head slightly.
"It is good to see you arrived safely," Albedo replied with a mild and welcoming tone. "Durin has been waiting quite a while and he has something he wants to show you.”
"Oh?" Wanderer raised an eyebrow and shifted his attention back to the boy who was now practically vibrating with excitement. "I assume the alchemist hasn't been boring you to death with lectures on soil composition while I was away?"
Durin giggled, the tension breaking as he stepped forward, extending the crinkled paper with both hands. His fingers trembled slightly, the gift he had labored over finally held out for its subject to see.
"I made this for you," Durin said, his voice small but clear. "So you wouldn't forget us when you go back to the Akademiya."
Wanderer’s expression went still as he took the paper slowly, his fingers grazing the edges where the crayon and lead had been applied with such earnest, clumsy care. It was a drawing of the three of them: Albedo, Durin, and himself, standing together.
He looked at the lines, seeing the effort to replicate Albedo’s precise style, and then looked at Albedo, who was watching him with that same observant, quiet gaze.
For a moment, the puppet’s hand twitched, a faint echo of the defensive flinches from Nordkrai. He looked at the drawing, then back at the boy. "It’s... messy," Wanderer muttered, his voice lower than usual. "And your proportions are all wrong. I don’t look that short."
Albedo caught the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of Wanderer’s mouth, a sight he made a mental note to sketch later.
"But," he continued, looking away toward the alchemy bench to hide the softening in his eyes, "I suppose it’s better than looking at empty trees all day."
"Does that mean you like it?" Durin asked, tilting his head with wide, hopeful eyes.
Before he could reply, Albedo answered for him, his hand remaining on Durin's shoulder. "I believe that is his way of saying he intends to keep it forever, Durin. Isn't that right?"
Wanderer huffed, his back now fully turned to them as he pretended to inspect a nearby vial. "Don't put words in my mouth," he murmured, before casting one last glance over his shoulder at the boy. "But yes... I’ll keep it."
Durin’s face lit up with pure, radiant happiness, sensing the quiet victory.
Albedo watched in silence while Wanderer carefully stowed the drawing into his sleeve. He didn't just look, he observed. Albedo caught the slight drop in Wanderer's shoulders and the way his guarded edge softened into a rare contemplative stillness. Every micro-expression was a new piece of data for the alchemist to deconstruct.
Albedo stepped closer, his presence calm but intense in its focus. "Well then," he began, his voice a low hum. "Now that the critic has given his review, I believe you two want to visit The Windblume festival, right?”
Wanderer grumbled, adjusting the tilt of his large hat. "Fine. But don't expect me to participate in any of those ridiculous frivolous festivities. I’m only going along to ensure the brat doesn't get swept away by the wind."
As he spoke, Wanderer’s eyes flickered toward Albedo, and he immediately stiffened. He caught red handed the alchemist’s gaze, which wasn't wandering but was instead anchored to the sharp lines of his face and the stiff defensive set of his shoulders. Wanderer felt a jolt of heat. It was the discomfort of being read like an open book. He quickly shifted his stance while trying to reclaim his composure under that relentless scrutiny.
"Stop that." Wanderer murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
"Stop what?" Albedo asked innocently, though the slight tilt of his head suggested he knew exactly what had been caught.
“That,” he snapped while adjusting his hat to shield his expression. ”Analyzing me. I am not one of your alchemical reagents."
Albedo didn't look away. Instead, a small, thoughtful smile played on his lips. "I wasn't analyzing, I assure you. I was merely appreciating the composition of the moment."
Durin, sensing the strange air between them but not quite understanding it, reached out and caught the edge of Wanderer’s sleeve. "Hat Guy! We have to see the fountain first! Bennett said the flowers there are the tallest! Oh, and at the statue, there are bards and music and-"
"Yes, yes, I hear you. Let’s go then." Wanderer turned abruptly, eager to escape Albedo’s perceptive eyes. He let out a long, resigned sigh and began to walk, but even as he matched Durin’s shorter stride, he could still feel Albedo’s gaze lingering on the back of his neck.
Albedo remained by the alchemy bench, watching them depart. He reached for his own sketchbook, his fingers tracing the weathered cover. He had seen the ghost of a smile on Wanderer’s face today, a precious sight. He had also seen the way the puppet’s pupils dilated when they made eye contact, a physiological response to being noticed.
"I'll find you both once I've finished these last few reports for the Knights," Albedo called out.
"Take your time, alchemist." Wanderer's voice drifted back, though he didn't turn around but he pulled his hat down even lower, as if trying to shield himself from a gaze that was already miles away.
As Wanderer and Durin began their descent from the alchemy station toward the snowy path in Dragonspine, Albedo watched them for a moment longer before turning back to his work. But before picking up his pen, he stopped by the small collection of personal items he’d brought from the Starsnatch Cliff last night. There, tucked away safely, was a Cecilia he had set aside, a flower known as the ‘sky lily’. He decided to keep it with him for later.
As they both began their descent toward the city, Wanderer deliberately slowed his pace so the boy wouldn't have to run. The afternoon was peaceful, the air filled with the quiet rustle of leaves as they walked side by side away from Albedo’s station.
"Is the paper still there?" Durin asked softly, glancing toward Wanderer’s sleeve. "I made sure to use extra lead so the lines wouldn't fade, but I don't want it to get wrinkled."
Wanderer didn't huff or complain this time. Instead, he reached into his sleeve and adjusted the drawing with a gentle touch, ensuring it sat flat against the fabric. "It’s safe, Durin. It would take more than a walk to ruin your hard work."
Durin beamed, his small hand swinging as he walked. "Albedo told me that in Mondstadt, flowers can be a way of saying things without speaking. Do you think there’s a flower that says 'I’m glad you came back'?"
Wanderer went quiet for a moment, looking toward the distant windmills. He was simply present in the moment with the child, letting the old weight of his history rest for a second. "I wouldn't know. I’m not an expert on local greenery. But if there is such a thing, I imagine the Alchemist would be the one to find it."
A full minute of silence passed between the two before Durin broke it.
"I'm glad you're here for the festival," Durin said calmly, his eyes fixed on his shoes. "Albedo told me that Mondstadt feels different during Windblume, but I think it only feels special because we're all together again."
Wanderer slowed his pace, his gaze shifting from the distant windmills to the small boy beside him. "Is that so? Most people find my presence rather unsettling. You’re the only one who seems to enjoy having me linger around."
Durin stopped walking and looked up, his expression earnest. "That’s not true! Albedo likes having you here too."
Wanderer raised an eyebrow, a skeptical glint in his indigo eyes. "We only know each other because of you. I highly doubt it goes much further than that."
"No, it’s more than that," Durin insisted, stepping closer. "He told me that you're actually quite easy to be around once the noise stops. He said your silence is comfortable and that you have a very striking look! He even called you remarkably balanced from an artist's point of view."
"Sure." Wanderer went quiet, his gaze dropping to the path. His mind suddenly flashes back to the moment in the cave. He remembered how Albedo had stood there, the memory of his eyes tracing the lines of his face with such quiet, focused intent, made Wanderer’s skin prickle.
A faint, dusty rose color crept onto his pale cheeks, a subtle blush he couldn't quite suppress. He quickly adjusted the brim of his large hat, pulling it lower to hide his face from the afternoon sun, or perhaps from Durin’s perceptive eyes.
Durin, however, was already looking up at him, tilting his head to see beneath the shadow of the hat. A wide, knowing grin spread across the boy's face. "You're turning red! You're acting like Klee when she gets a compliment," Durin chirped, his voice full of innocent delight. "That means you're happy, isn't it? I heard that people get warm when they hear something nice about themselves."
"It's the heat of the sun, idiot," Wanderer grumbled, though his voice lacked any conviction. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual composure as he felt the warmth persisting on his face. "I don't get red. I'm a puppet, remember?"
It was a blatant lie, and he knew it. He could practically feel the heat radiating from his cheeks, mocking his attempt at denial. Even as a being created by divine hands, the surge of human-like emotion was a variable he still hadn't managed to override.
"And stop staring," he added sharply, hoping to deflect the boy's focused attention. "It's rude. You and your brother have serious bad habits when it comes to this."
Durin didn't press him further, sensing the quiet victory. He reached out and took Wanderer’s hand, feeling the firm, careful grip close around his own. Wanderer hesitated for a heartbeat, his fingers twitching in a subtle echo of the defensiveness he was slowly letting go of. Finally, he closed his hand around Durin’s, his grip firm yet gentle.
As they reached the stone bridge leading into the city, the music of the Windblume Festival began to drift toward them, vibrant and full of life. The transition was marked by the sudden increase in floral scent and the distant, chaotic melody of lyres. As they crossed the bridge, the guards at the gate shared a surprised glance at the sight of the famously aloof Wanderer holding hands with the energetic boy.
"I'm going to show you everything!" Durin exclaimed, squeezing Wanderer’s hand. "We have to see the decorations and then we have to find the best spot for the sunset!"
"Keep leading the way then, newbie artist," he murmured, his blush finally beginning to fade into a look of quiet acceptance. "But I already told you, if we run into those loud friends of yours, you’re the one who has to do the talking.”