plus, if soulmates did exist, rosaria would not imagine they were severed parts of the same thing; if anything, they would have worked to become impossibly one.

that is not an urge she understands, perhaps debilitated in her perception by limited experiences. nonetheless, she likes her space, and she likes that kaeya likes his. and she likes the tree, too.

“ maybe i crossed barbartos by drinking all his wine, ” she kids on a muted laugh. several, if not all, have figured out their archon's identity, save for a few too stubborn to accept a drunk as the face of freedom. “ so here comes our punishment. a draughtless summer, too imperious to let autumn take over. ”

she stretches her arms with her back against the trunk. the heat may be insufferable, but it gave her an excuse to undress. it's been suffocating to be clothed and covered all the time in the name of decency; all the sleeves and leggings and collars too cagey for an animal like her.

LAUGHTER SCRAPES HIS THROAT ON THE WAY OUT, eye drifting shut. he’s shed layers over the course of the day, now left in a blouse and his riding pants, and the vision clasped to his hip. everything feels sharper in the summer heat — and he’s tired. they’re tired.

rosaria has always been more a knight than a nun, though she doesn’t wear the armor. neither of them are religious — kaeya has never looked at a statue of the seven and felt anything other than fear. nevertheless, they pretend. it is a game they play well. rosaria pretends to pray, and kaeya pretends he cares for the gods that looked the other way as his entire nation was made a mass grave. and so it goes and goes.

some days, he can talk to venti over drinks and laugh, and the rift between them does not seem so vast. other days, the bard is all flight and feathers and kaeya is damned down to the blood that runs through his veins.

he has a star in his eye and nothing to show for it.

❛ you’re not alone. ❜ he sighs, stretching long legs out until his spine arches. ❛ if not for my vision, i think heatstroke would’ve claimed my life by now. that would be embarrassing. the cavalry captain, bested by summer. the worst part is that somehow, klee is completely fine. it’s like the heat doesn’t even affect her, and i have to chase after her all day long… ❜ he heaves a woeful sigh. ❛ all i’m saying is, don’t be surprised if i don’t make it through this horrible season. ❜ mostly a joke, though some part of him always wonders if this august will be the last.

Kaeya was easy company. He never asked too much or reached too far; he was clever without a doubt - CLEVER enough to know where the boundaries were and refrain from overstepping them, astute enough to be cordial and inviting such that lips came loose around him, but simultaneously guarded enough to hold his cards invisibly to his chest.

Aether liked him for his intricacy and contradiction. It kept things interesting.

KAEYA SITS BACK DOWN AND YAWNS, AND LONG LIMBS STRETCH OUT. he reclines against the tree trunk looking quite content. his constellation is the pavo ocellus — the peacock. he’s as colorful and flashy as one, too.

like this, though, he is more reminiscent of a lazy cat.

he peers at aether from the corner of his eye, arms tucked behind his head. ❛ oh? who’s this letter from? ❜ predictably, he seems to straighten up a bit at the mention of his brother, intrigued.

“ you can cry. just don't throw up on me. ”

rosaria isn't good at comforting others; she herself struggles with comfort. with crepus dead and diluc missing, she can only imagine how distraught kaeya might be. she has no experience that could have served as a reference: she doesn't remember her birth parents, and the man who later played her father she killed.

AS KAEYA IS PULLED TO LEAN AGAINST ROSARIA’S SHOULDER, he blinks. he wasn’t expecting this kindness from her. everyone is being so gentle with him nowadays. even rosa has come to attend his pity party.

he does settle against her, staring blankly at the opposite wall. he needs another drink. she’s being too nice. he raises his hand, fiddling with the bandages peeking out from under his half - buttoned shirt. he feels dirty. he’s going to make her dirty.

like the monster he is, he doesn’t pull away.

❛ can’t cry, ❜ he mumbles. ❛ wish i could. haven’t cried at all. some son i am. ❜ a clumsy shake of his head. ❛ ‘m not a ragnvindr anymore, did’ja know? diluc told me so. so i changed my name t’day. ‘n i’m leavin’ the winery tomorrow. ha. what a shitshow. i won’t be here, so don’t come looking, ‘saria. ❜

albedo does not bother to refute these rebukes. it is not his fury to pacify, nor would he deem it more fruitful than cumbersome to correct kaeya now. he owed nothing to a grown man who would accuse him on no grounds of harming a child while shaking just like one, who would equip this child now to catalyze his own insecurities, who would rise to the position of cavalry captain with such little understanding of mondstadt's historical alliances. but maybe that history was simply lost on him, too.

khemia destroyed khaenri'ah. so this is his narrative? albedo does not know what stake kaeya alberich has in that lost land, but he recognizes when bias clouds truth. he could not be half the alchemist he was otherwise; gold would never have raised sloppy work. knowledge, forbidden and not, seemed to evade some more than others. perhaps that is why kaeya speaks so hushedly about the nation, as if taboo were being committed again.

kaeya is right about only one thing: albedo does not care. it had been before his time—not by all so much, but still. the cataclysm had nothing to do with him, desperate as kaeya seemed for a villain tonight, and everything to do with the chess pieces of its ex-royal court. five subjects. one tyrant. one outlander. a guard. it had only some parts to do with the art of khemia itself. if kaeya did not already infer that much, there was hopelessly little albedo could imagine learning from him. some immeasurable injustice must have scorned him beyond repair; albedo recognized it, and sympathized, but fundamentally could not empathize.

albedo voices none of this, though. he could not even be acting if he tried, but kaeya either wanted from him that which was not honest, or kaeya wanted too much from a bystander he had approached in entirely bad faith. neither were anything albedo could provide. if the bare truth was being received like this now, met with more poison, then nothing he said would be salve in the other's eye.

HE’S NOT SURE WHAT HE WAS EXPECTING. his jabs, which were meant to provoke, have been brushed away like eraser shavings on a notebook. there is a realization that is beginning to sink in: he thoroughly lost in this conversation. he exposed the tender, bleeding parts of himself typically hidden behind layers and layers of armor, and albedo struck each one. effortlessly. he doesn’t even seem to care.

he’s here. going to jean about him would mean exposing himself. there is nothing kaeya can do. he will reside in that house, with klee, and kaeya can’t protect her.

he was utterly reckless, to no avail. he only gave albedo more leverage. he purses his lips.

would he feel this way, if he had not been shunned that night? would he still harbor this hatred, if it had first not been leveled at him? years ago, he used to dream that someday someone bearing the same star would come to mondstadt. now, all he can feel is fear and anger. and, even worse, jealousy.

it’s not fair. however albedo is linked to khaenri’ah, he’s clearly made his peace with it. in a way kaeya never has.

he purses his lips, raising his head so as not to give the impression of defeat. the comment about solitary confinement almost makes him bristle, but he doesn’t show the anger on his face — he’s not the one that locks her in that room. he’s the one that sneaks her out of it. albedo hasn’t even been here long enough to realize that much. albedo knows nothing of mondstadt.

the thought almost makes him laugh. gods, albedo acts so high and mighty. he just got here. kaeya knows his city like the back of his hand, and he will keep it safe.

always. no matter what. albedo and his alchemy is just another problem he will solve.

he straightens up, expression returning to a calm, impassive one. long strides bring him to the door, and he opens it with a faint click. his last words are hushed:

❛ very well. tread carefully, albedo. i dearly hope i’m wrong about you. ❜

he leaves the office without another glance.

( continued from here. )

nothing makes her feel more cagey than a function as such: proper attire wherever she looks, proper language wherever she walks. there was a time she entertained the idea of changing her speech to better blend in, only for the attempt to never move past her lips — it was not the lying that was hard. it was the cognitive dissonance it inflicted. the failure was much to her chagrin, though not for a reason anyone would've guessed: she thought her inability to match her disguises with their respective tone greatly hinders her prospects in infiltration.

whatever she lacked in that regard, she made up with stealth. she has learnt to keep herself quiet in the background, her back always against the wall.

to attend this banquet — to meet her social quota as set by sister victoria — she has given up on her leather and sharp accessories, fitting her body into a low profile off-the-shoulder dress that's more charcoal than black. she is wearing earrings, thanks to barbara's persistence, which cleverly encapsulates her personality in two miniature daggers. there is little one could do with hair length like hers, though her side bangs offer a twist at the work of a light touch of curl iron.

she has been watching everyone, him included. always the diplomatic peacock, flaunting and prancing across the dancefloor must be his second nature. but she knows him, this man, kaeya alberich; he only approaches her when he is done with the rest.

“ nice goading. you think i won't. ”

and he is right. her body is tense and on edge for she has only ever known moves that harm; to dance where everyone else could see would be putting her shame on exhibition. still, his hand is waiting, and she knows he would be the last person on teyvat to judge her. if she were ever to rewire her brain and reconstruct the paradigm that connects her body and self, it might be best in his hands.

quietly, she goes through all the dances she has studied tonight. her pulse is rushing as her nerves pick up. she gives him her hand — gloved in velvet without her claws, soft as can be but nonetheless lethal — and that's her leap of faith.

“ it just feels so weird. all of this. ”

IT’S NOT THAT ROSARIA DOESN’T LOOK NICE. her black dress is striking, and her hair has been touched up. she looks great.

but not quite like herself.

kaeya has known her since they were adolescents, novices of different rights — one in the knights, the other in the church. he remembers the years she went without uttering a word to him, or anyone. they hadn’t been particularly close as children, with her muteness and his attention being occupied by diluc and jean.

it was after diluc left that they started talking more. she was there, when jean looked at him like something she might break and the rest of mondstadt stared at the bandage on his eye. she didn’t treat him any different. it was such a relief. she didn’t ask to hear more than he was ready to share, nor did she eye him like he had a sign on him that said ‘FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE.’

he won’t lie and say he knows all about her — her secrets are well kept. but he’d hazard to call them good friends.

which is why it’s so bizarre to see her like this.

a blink, as the weight of her hand settles in his. he wasn’t expecting this in the slightest — he’s caught off guard. this, he supposes, just goes to show that he doesn’t know her as well as he thought. she’s still as unpredictable as ever. usually, that would put him on edge, but with rosaria it’s more of a thrill.

he grins, pleasantly surprised, guiding her other hand up to his shoulder and placing his own on her waist. carefully leading her further into the room, to where everyone else is dancing.

he’s well aware that people are staring, shocked by the fact that sister rosaria of all people is dancing. it makes him snicker quietly to herself. her gloved hand is soft in a way he’s never known the woman herself to be.

❛ i know. i’ve been going to these banquets since i was thirteen, and i’m still not used to it. ❜ he murmurs, dipping his head to be close to hers. ❛ my father made diluc and i dance together, to learn how to waltz. he stepped on my foot so hard, sometimes it still aches. ❜