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Wanderer treks down the stairs north of the Favonius Cathedral to clear his head. After the events in Nod Krai and overcoming some of his recent academic endeavors, he had found himself itching for a change in scenery and a break. Which is why, right now, he’s taking a small vacation in Mondstadt City. As a puppet, traditional sleep isn’t exactly necessary, so he’s always liked to occasionally explore the vicinity, more so than ever, as he’s gained a new appreciation for the world around him, partially thanks to a certain dragon.
Wanderer perks up when he spots a familiar blond down the steps ahead of him, floating companion noticeably absent. This travel schedule alignment is wholly unintentional, especially after their last encounter with one another.
The Traveler’s stare in the dim moonlight is melancholic, peering down the lake with a glossy sheen on his eyes that Wanderer pretends not to see. Golden locks dress his head to his neck before meeting in a braid that’s gradually gotten tied a little messier over the years. Not that Wanderer’s noticed or anything.
The Traveler abruptly jolts in surprise, and his head jerks to his left to make direct eye contact with him. Wanderer decides that this is obviously the right time to approach him, so he harnesses his vision and carefully drifts down the steps. The Traveler’s shoulders slump at the sight of him. Those hands as gentle as his character, but in no way delicate, brush along the ledge of the wall and fall to his sides as he waits.
“I didn’t know you were staying here,” the Traveler tells him, voice slightly hoarse.
Wanderer touches down and shakes his head. “It’s been a rough month or so. You know just as well as I do.”
“Yeah,” the Traveler says, turning his attention back to the water. Wanderer looks at the same view, bathed in the Frost Moon’s newborn light.
Wanderer debates addressing the elephant in the room. Well, there were a couple, but the Traveler’s rosy undereyes were the most telling sign of another personal problem he’d refuse to tell anybody. Although Wanderer would never admit it, he likes to pride himself a bit on his ability to read the man well, but in situations like these, his interpretations always come out blank. And Wanderer has grown out of his phase of assuming.
“Hey,” the Traveler surprisingly breaks the silence instead, “do you think… it’d be hard to empathize—to even sympathize—with an alien? Someone so far unlike yourself that you can’t conceptualize their experiences?”
Wanderer is no stranger to feeling outcasted. Identifying with the Traveler’s emotional distress has his joints feeling a bit achy. Whatever that means. But there’s still an indulgent satisfaction knowing the Traveler feels comfortable enough in his presence that he's willing to ask him such a personal question—one that's so obviously about himself.
“If you’re asking me specifically, I’m not sure it’d be too difficult,” Wanderer responds. And depending on the degree of dissimilarity, all it takes is time. “But my perspective might be significantly different compared to the typical human.”
“Ah, that’s right,” the Traveler shakes his head, “You’re not unfamiliar with the feeling.”
Wanderer knows Dottore’s many manipulation tactics all too well, so he reassures the Traveler, “Don’t let anybody get into your head about it. Look at all the people that care about you as you are.”
The Traveler draws away from the ledge and stares at his feet, but Wanderer can see the smile subtly forming on his face anyways. And those golden eyes beneath equally golden lashes.
Wanderer places a supportive hand on the Traveler’s shoulder and brings him back to the present. “Just because you’re extraordinary doesn’t mean you don’t belong. And I’m not one to put people on pedestals, so don’t feel so disconnected,” he says.
Wanderer meets the Traveler’s honeyed eyes, simultaneously searching for words to articulate a subtle urge within his core, but the Traveler’s gaze quickly falls and rises, which pulls Wanderer out of his trance. It doesn’t make him feel any more lucid than before, however. On impulse, he lifts his hat and leans forward, head stopping a couple centimeters short of the Traveler’s own face. The other stays frozen, shutting his eyes, which cues Wanderer to take the lead and close the distance.
The first thing he notices is that the Traveler’s lips are much warmer than his own. Being artificial, the contrast in body heat only draws him in more. He squeezes the Traveler’s face between both of his hands and presses his mouth closer, as if he were just another abyssal entity for the Traveler to absorb. With that thought, Wanderer realizes he wouldn’t mind merging mind and body with the purity on his lips.
The Traveler’s lips part, which prompts Wanderer to follow suit. Their tongues meet and collide, left, right, across, and suddenly, his hands shakily grab Wanderer’s shoulders as he tilts his head back. Wanderer chases him. He keeps the pace going before the Traveler lets out a strangled cry against his mouth, and it clicks in Wanderer’s head.
Retracting his arms and controlling his strength, the Traveler pulls away with a loud gasp, catching his breath, brows pinched together. Wanderer steadies the man as he calms his breathing, preparing to apologize for his indulgent carelessness. He opens his mouth, but before he gets the chance to vocalize anything, the Traveler reaches an arm up to lift Wanderer’s hat this time, and he subsequently pushes forward to continue where they left off, leading the kiss. Their mouths open and shove and pull in searing crashes and departures.
As soon as the Traveler pulls away for air, they come right back together, repeating the process over and over. Lips, mouths, tongues, and a breath. Neither of them seem to find a reason to stop.
It isn’t until the Traveler accidentally bumps his head on the brim of Wanderer’s hat that he withdraws and shoots an arm up to rub at the site of impact. It’s only fitting that Wanderer’s response to this circumstantial, probably avoidable, situation is to rise up on his toes and press his lips to the crown of the Traveler’s head. And to let out a laugh.
Instead of sucking each other’s faces for another countless set of minutes, they ultimately end up joining hands and bask in the near silence. The voices and ambient noise from Angel’s Share at prime drinking hours just barely make it this far.
“‘Alien,’” Wanderer recites. He huffs in amusement. They are both still as human as they try to be, so engaging in something this intimately human is enough of a sign that they’ve already succeeded.
“Does this… mean anything?” the Traveler asks him, tone hopeful and open. He’s chewing on his lip.
Wanderer says nothing, but he lifts the Traveler’s hand to his own lips and presses his newest kiss to gloved knuckles.