Bee :P

FREMINET

Freminet understands the sheer weight of the stress on your shoulders. When you finally falter, he’s better prepared than anybody else. In his own time he’s prone to anxiety attacks and has learned how to stop them well.

He rushes you out of the meeting you both were attending, never once letting go of your hand as he pulls you into a random coat closet in the hall. You sit down criss-cross, facing each other, now bathed in the darkness. It was warm, and his hands never left yours.

Usually, he struggles without prompted direction, but when it’s for someone he loves (i.e. you) protection is his highest priority. His helmet is off so you can look him in the face, which usually makes him nervous, but he wants you to truly know he’s there.

He counts slowly and softly, encouraging you to breathe until your chest is no longer heaving and tears are no longer pouring down your cheeks. His hands still never leave yours, rubbing circles on your palms with his thumbs.

“I know it’s scary, I’m sorry I can’t take it all away. Just keep breathing now. Nothing else can bother you here… besides me anyways. You’re doing so well. We won’t go anywhere until you’re ready”

LYNEY

After a life as hard as his own, you’d think Lyney would’ve closed off by now, but instead it’s quite the opposite. He’s grown to search the expression of every face for any sign of distress, and after days of you seeming weary, he breaks.

Next he sees a glimpse of sadness in you, he immediately asks what’s bothering you. You deny it. It wasn’t that big of a deal you thought. But he persisted, until you too caved and once it all came tumbling out your mouth your breath had quickened in a way that only worried Lyney more.

Always listening, always engaged, he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. He sits you on the edge of the bed and begins to brush your hair while you keep talking about your woes. He asks questions, runs a hand reassuringly over your shoulder, and finally ties your hair back neatly.

After, you turn to face him and he cradles your cheeks in his hands, rubbing away any remaining tears and kissing the tip of your nose with a charming softness.

“Oh mon amour, that sounds so troubling. I wish you had come to me sooner. Admittedly I could tell you were upset. I did not wish to pry, but I can only handle seeing your distress for so long before I have to take matters into my own hands, cherie.”

WANDERER

He is literally a puppet. I don’t know how well this would go over realistically, but we can dream okok. That being said, you get home, toss your stuff aside, Wanderer asks about your day, and you just start hysterically sobbing.

At first he is just stunned. When it doesn’t stop, he realizes that ok yeah something is gravely wrong. He crosses the room in barely two steps, analyzing you from top to bottom assessing for any physical injuries, his hands resting on your shoulders to keep you still.

This is where you latch onto him like a leech, sobbing into his top, and grabbing at him wherever you can take hold. This… confuses him. He freezes again, nobody tends to search him out for comfort. Not after all he has done wrong. So once again, he waits.

When a few minutes go by of him being stiff as a statue, your cries still unwavering, Wanderer finally begins to loosen up, a hand begins to pet through your hair, and he tilts your head just slightly to get you more air. He sways you softly, hoping you find the motion calming. Internally? He’s freaking the fuck out.

“If you don’t breathe normally soon you’re gonna pass out and I’ll have to leave you on the floor while I go pick up the groceries. You wouldn’t want to miss picking this week’s dessert would you? There you go. Easy. You’re fine.”

ORORON

When you show up at his doorstep, teary eyed and shoulders caved inwards, he doesn’t notice right away that you’re sad. He just doesn’t see it. He’s trying his best, ok? The only person he sees upset often is Granny Citlali and she’s more of a rage type than a sad type.

What he does notice is you’re much quieter than usual. And you’re not hungry for the snacks he just put together. So THEN he asks what’s wrong. You shrug, and the tears start again, quietly.

Ororon just grabs a glass, fills it in the sink, grabs the snack he made, places it all on the coffee table, and sits beside you on the couch. He coaxes your head to his shoulder, and that’s when he starts to ask what troubles you.

After a long talk, your eyes are dry, and your head’s slipped to his lap from exhaustion. Before you can drift off for good, he makes you sit up, drink the water, and have some of the veggies he’d cut for you. Then you’re allowed to curl up again. When you’re finally asleep, he tucks you in, and returns to his chores, never leaving earshot just in case.

“You can rest here any time, bug. I cannot promise I will always pick up on your woes, but once you tell me I will always be gentle with you. Pretty things need tender care to grow, ya know?”

RAZOR

Razor is… ill equipped to handle the big issues the average human faces. It’s not that he doesn’t understand, not at all, he is very empathetic, but more that he has no frame of reference. Job layoff? Grades? Finances? Yeah good luck explaining in wolf terms.

That’s why he’s changed his strategy. You’re often alone, hiding, holed up in your bedroom. When Razor begins to worry that it’s been too long he treks out to the city to find you. Your bedroom window always stays unlocked for him to climb through. Just in case.

You’re asleep this time when he enters. He empties his pockets, a bag of wolfhooks for a snack and a nice feather he found on the way over, then tucks the blanket over you tighter, and finally curls up to doze on the end of your bed. Not lurking, just protecting. Like lupical.

When you wake, he snaps to attention. You smile, as you hoped he’d break back in again. You wave him over and he obeys, crawling up the bed to lay on top of you. He’s your weighted… blanket? Razor just wants to soothe your mind any way he can, and the best way he knows is to just be present.

“Lupical missed you. Razor missed you too. Sorry I don’t do mail like city. Maybe I ask Miss Lisa for help? Go back to sleep, I protecting now. Turn off your brain, it’s not good for you to worry, like poison.”

-

MY STOIC LOSER BABIES (and lyney, who's just loser baby) ugh they’re dorks. I want Ororon to show Razor his veggie garden so bad bro. They would be friends idc.

This is probably the last part bc everyone I have left I'm not super compelled, but if anybody has suggestions for Aether, Bennett, Baizhu, Ifa, and Zhongli.... I can ponder on it some...

FREMINET

The seashells left outside your home were a constant, even after you’d moved. For years now you’d find small, pearlescent shells left in inconspicuous locations. It made you sad, yes, but you had come to treasure the jar you had begun to fill with them. One day, your usual shell was larger than average. When you picked it up, a carefully folded note fluttered out from inside, into your hand. 

All it said was I can explain now, with a location, date, and time underneath it. No signature. You didn't need it to know it came from Freminet. It was a beach you two frequented often back in the day. Back when things were normal and you were truly partners. The day of, you packed a small bag and made the walk over. 

When you arrived you found Freminet sitting on a rock, your usual spot, fiddling with Pers in his lap. You sat beside him, mumbling a quick greeting under your breath. You both have always been on the shier end of things and this was a really difficult conversation. Nevertheless, you sat shoulder to shoulder, like nothing had changed, and it calmed both of your heartbeats slightly.

Slowly he unraveled, beginning to catch up with you, then saying where he’s been, then why he left (this is where the tears start), then how much he missed you, and now he was sobbing into your shoulder, fistfuls of your sweater, begging for you to forgive him. You were crying now too, shushing him and rubbing his back. You assured him that you understood he had his reasons, even when he could not be up front. He had always been soft, especially for you, and this whole crapshoot had torn him to pieces from the inside out for years. He missed you, maybe more than you did him. 

That’s when he told you that the bounty had finally expired. It wasn’t perfect. You’d both need to be exceptionally careful, but the surveillance around his loved ones was severely lessened and it was finally time to talk. So you did. You chatted about everything until late in the night. Planning your future, albeit hesitantly, until you started to drift off against him and he took your hand to guide you back home. 

Freminet returned you back to your bed, and as he turned to leave you quietly asked if he could stay. He nodded, uncertain but hopeful, slid off his boots, and climbed into the sheets beside you. You drifted off easily, feeling lighter than you had in quite a long time, and Freminet followed behind not long after. 

LYNEY

An invite is in your mailbox one afternoon. You’d left the city center long ago to pursue a life in the countryside of Fontaine. The bustle of the city life was something you’d enjoyed, but you needed a break from the constant reminders of what once was. The invite was from him. His next magic show. In a curly script on the back you knew all too well it was signed. I saved you the best seat in the house. Love, Lyney

You arrive at the show twenty minutes early. Your outfit feels too tight, your shoes are uncomfortable, your hair won’t sit quite right, everything was screaming at you to just turn around and go home. That was until you saw him, he was hurrying around the lobby of the palais, bringing in the last of his props. When he saw you he stopped in his tracks, and you could see the tension melt from his shoulders. You felt the same way. Like this was right where you needed to be. 

At the counter the attendant winked when giving you your seat number, which could mean nothing. It was in the front row, right in the center. It really was the best seat in the house, just like he’d said. As the crowd filled in, some patrons gave you knowing glances, and it began to feel like you were missing something, but you couldn’t figure out what. 

When the show began it was just how you had remembered. That was, until the end. For the finale he said he was going to select a volunteer from the audience. Everybody around you was eager, raising hands and whispering excitedly if Lyney so much as looked their way. After all of the fuss, he selected you, his hand extended to pull you onto the stage. 

The trick was splendid, and Lynette even gave you a smile from across the stage. He ended up revealing a large bouquet of rainbow roses from his hat, presenting them to you as he wrapped his arm around your side for a final bow. He squeezed you close, dismissed you to your seat, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Stuck inside your bouquet was a note detailing your next reunion. 

On the aquabus ride back toward the countryside, you played with the card in your fingertips, wondering how so much could have changed. It filled you with hope, a stark contrast to the dread you’d felt leaving for the evening’s events. The flowers looked great on the dining room table as a centerpiece, where he’d promised to see you next for dinner. 

CHILDE

One morning on your usual Sunday grocery run, you look up from the box of berries you were inspecting to see a familiar face down the walkway. Your mind had been playing tricks on you for a while now, seeing him in places he would never have been, so you paid no mind at first. But the mirage did not fade. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, looked up, made eye contact, and he smiled, giving you a sheepish wave. 

Suddenly you were full of nerves, seeing someone like this after so long, after so much sorrow and rage and despair, it was jarring. You placed down the container and waved back. He started towards you, slowly. You adjust your bag over your shoulder and wipe your hands on your clothes. It felt good, seeing Childe again, but it was also anxiety inducing. It had been years since things went haywire, since he’d left in a huff, leaving you to pick up the pieces alone again. 

“Need a hand with your bags, sweetheart?” It was shy on his lips, but almost like no time had passed at all. You murmured something vaguely agreeing and he slid it off your shoulder like it hadn’t been years since you last touched. The contact seared against your skin like a burn. “We’ll take these ones, thanks,” he says to the shopkeep as he takes the carton of berries you’d been eyeing. 

After you finish your route of the market, he links his arm with yours, and heads in the direction of where you once lived together, where you now reside alone. When you reach a bit of solitude, you stop, pressing him on where he could’ve run off to and what he was doing here now. Childe sighed, placing the bags on the sidewalk, and clasping your hands in his instead. That’s when the confession began. 

His words ran fast, desperate. He needed you to understand that he didn’t ever want to hurt you, that he beat himself up for the years he was absent, and how badly he wanted you to accept him into your life again. He knew that he couldn’t fix it all, but the best he could do was grovel like this on a street corner, practically weeping until you took him back or shrugged him off. After everything you knew just how hard the Fatui pushed him.

Your only response was to grab the bags, sling them over your shoulder once more, take his hand, and say “come on, let’s go home, yeah?” It wasn’t an immediate fix, but it was a start. 

WANDERER

It starts with a paper crane. It was left on your windowsill from the outside, just above your sink, so you noticed it grabbing a glass of water when you woke up. You opened the window, and brought it in, leaving it on the inside of the same sill. The next week there was another. Another four days later. Then two. Then every day. For a week. It had been years since you’d seen a crane like this, only one person you knew folded them slightly off kilter like that. You recognized it immediately, but it felt too good to be true. 

The next one had something written on the outside. Unfold them idiot. And so you start with the first one. Inside is a fine pencil script, a letter, incomplete. You hastily begin to unfold them all, sequencing the letter from your former lover, reading the familiar handwriting through streams of tears. He confessed everything; he said he had to leave to keep you safe, he’d thought of you every day since, he had never wanted to do any of this, he thought that if he was mean it would hurt less, and at the end of the last one it was signed with the special nickname only you have for him. 

This had honestly floored you. You never had expected to hear from him again, as when things ended it was so abrupt. So sharp. So painful. But you’d had it wrong all along and now that it was safe for you to meet again you were haphazardly changing into a more suitable outfit and sprinting down the city streets to Nahida's office. You needed to know where Wanderer was. You bust into her office, get the address, and take off running once more.

Upon entering the Bazaar, you stop to scan the room. Eyes searching, taking in every stall, every platform, every body, until something wraps around your waist from behind and a chin is planted on your shoulder. “Gotcha. Did you miss me?” You did. A lot. 

You whip around in his arms and crush him into a hug so tight it would bother him a lot more if he weren’t a doll. Your nose is buried into his neck and before you know it the tears are back in full force. Wanderer usually thought humans crying was pitiful, but now he was just wounded, seeing how badly he’d harmed you in an effort to keep you alive. 

“I know. I’m sorry it had to be that way. I wish I could ever make it up to you. I’m not going anywhere again,” he cooed into your ear as your cries eased. Any stranger who looked at you funny earned a death glare, but his eyes softened when he looked back towards you.