nana

the funny thing is... it's like seeing a mini albedo talk to current albedo. "hello, [s/n]." "hello mr. albedo. i hear you like art and science." the child remains their stoic little expression, but their little hands out an intricate drawing of a bird.

"what's this?" carefully taking the painting, he tips his head while examining the detail. "bird i saw. i wanted to ask if you knew what it was." albedo continued to stare until he didn't, "it's a hummingbird."

they only look at him for about fifteen seconds longer until a mutual nod leaves the both of them. "can we keep him?" the same kind of dead pan expression with a sprinkle of brightness, making your heart warm up-

"...i guess we can?" "you realize you are speaking of me like i'm a pet." "oh. [name], can we get a pet too?"

then you start to notice how easily they start to slip into your day with albedo while you both come back to dragonspine, peeking their little head over the table to see what vials or potions he works on.

or maybe even the shared canvas they would paint on while trying to sketch out your favorite flower as a gift to you when you'd wake up. it's adorable, really...

you just sigh, thankfully your mini you seems to take a liking despite very few words being shared.

alhaitham is a bit iffy about meeting your sibling. you say they're similar but he thinks otherwise when he sees them being a little shy at first, hiding behind your leg while holding onto a book in one hand, and the other covered in small splats of chocolate on their fingers.

"this child is similar to me? really?" he kneels to get on eye level, immediately their face swishes away, hiding behind your leg fully when they see him get down on one knee. "just try and talk to [s/n]... go on sweetheart, he's a nice man."

you place a hand on their head, giving them a light push to say hi to your boyfriend. "hello, my name is alhaitham. what's your name?" having a hand out for them,

despite being reluctant... they quietly hold onto one of his fingers to shake his hand, "...[s/n]." "well it's very nice to meet you, [s/n]. i hear you like literature?"

still a strong yet small firm hand was holding (or pinching more like...) onto your leg as they curiously looked at alhaitham. "mmn. i... i do." "have you ever heard about veil rosenhearth?"

almost in an instant your sibling's face changed from cautious to sparkling with excitement, "you know 'the tales of adenroda'?!" a small audible gasp as they launch themselves into his hold, making you laugh a little. "hmm, you could say i own a few volumes." "even five through ten? i've been looking everywhere-"

by the end of the day, your sibling is begging for you to stay a few more days before you both go back to sumeru. it's one of your favorite things to see your two favorite people bonding over something,

its too bad he has to tuck them in good night after a long afternoon of just discussing and- hell even debating with your sibling. probably a core memory for them now,

safe to say your sibling wouldn't have problems with him for a while. if ever they would have problems it would probably be about whose favorite character is better.

capitano is staring back in just as much anticipation your little sibling was who almost seemed bursting at the seams of your arms whilst he remained seated. he wasn't bad with kids at all, it's just... well he didn't want to scare them off, so he put his helmet back on.

he was just as eager to meet a younger you yet, well... he never knew a child could be quite literally be bouncing on the walls waiting to meet him. "[name]! let me go! i wanna talk to him!!"

trying to kick at your chest, they continue to squirm in your hold while sitting on your forearm. "he can hear you, you know. he's right there." you place a soft kiss on the kid's head when they turn to capitano with a bright smile.

"hi! i'm happy my sibling is dating someone cool!" the words are already blurted out before you can stop them, "how about you introduce yourself first?"

capitano slowly gets up to see the child eye-level, tipping his head as he silently observes up close before-

small palms are already on the surface of his mask, giggles filling the room as your sibling cheers; "so it's real! is this your face? i'm [s/n] by the way!"

not even a word and yet...

"it's nice to meet you, my name is thrain."

their smile is blinding, placing the small child into his arms gently, the squirming they had been doing for way too long now was at ease. frozen even,

just looking at your boyfriend in awe while touching the cold metal of his helmet. "ahem, do you like it?" "i looove it!"

you can only sigh, they'll get along just fine.

childe is similar to capitano, eager and now just as excited to show his emotion off but... well the kid doesn't seem to say too much at first which starts to get him nervous. what? him? not good with kids? he has... siblings of his own- how could a kid not like him?!

your little sibling had just been sat on the floor while he brought all kinds of gifts. not even a gasp of awe, or a look of admiration- nothing! this kid was just stare of nothing while sitting with the same plushie you had given to them a long time ago.

"it's like they don't even want to see me!" "trust me it's quite the opposite."

giving you a raised eyebrow, childe just sighed and trusted you. but really, this kid was quite literally giving him nothing. just sitting there and inspecting the things with a stick, where did that even come from??

"i just... look i don't know what am i doing wrong..." running a hand of frustration through his ginger locks, he takes a seat at the dining table as you come over to pat him on the back. "i'm just saying.. that's how [s/n] tells someone they approve. they don't say anything."

before he can try another reply of wail and sorrow, he feels a small hand tug at the hem of his shirt, looking down to see the same small figure he was about to cry over.

he feels the words that were supposed to come out completely vanish when he feels the light weight of a plushie that matched their own, a tiger to be certain.

oh god he could cry right now.

wriothesley doesn't really mind if they like him or not, he'll try his best but if he is disliked, then so be it. but what he prioritizes is teaching the teenager the importance of self-defense, and it comes in handy when you aren't there to help.

"is there a reason i'm learning all of this? it seems so boring..." "combat is the least boring thing out there, kid."

the rambunctious adolescent you had introduced to him not too long ago felt a bit of caution around him. like they always had to watch their step, their words, their mannerisms, anything really. i mean, their older sibling, you, is dating the duke of meropide.

but tea and combat is probably the few things he could bond over with anyone younger than him. you took the tea, so the skills of defense and proper offense goes to your rascal.

"whatever you say, old man." they roll their eyes as they continued to follow him from behind, trailing him like a wolf pup does to its father. "you hungry?" wriothesley breaks the silence before waving them over to the closest gelato stand. they just stop in their tracks before raising an eyebrow, "are you for real?"

"yeah i'm 'for real'. cheat day today, let's go before i decide otherwise."

your sibling fist pumps the air with now a bright smile on their face as they bounce with every step toward the dessert stand; already taking the mora from wrio with an eagerness that needs to be studied.

he just sighs and waits by the sides until a band of thieves suddenly tries to attack the stall owner-

keyword: tries.

your sibling quickly took them down with a kick behind one of their knees, another toward a man's neck, and lastly a kick to the thief trying to harm the owner.

...

after a while, sitting down at a nearby bench, they both got extra scoops for saving the vendor's life, eating in silence was the one thing they could both mutually agree on doing together without one side complaining.

the silence is broken a few bites later.

"...your training isn't that bad if i can eat like this on weekends."

your sibling can't see it, but internally that had gotten him to smile. as if he were finally completely at ease. well, it wasn't a complete 'thank you' but implication would do for now.

neuvillette is a very pecuilar man, and wanted the way he met your little sibling to be fully articulated, knowing what to say and do, he prefers knowing when something would happen in general... so what happens when they come find him first and hope for the same?

an awkward silence echoes through the room, your sibling stares at him while he returns it (although internally is in shambles. has no idea what to expect since all you tell him is 'oh they'll love you'). "so... does your older sibling know you are here?"

"nope. they getting me ice cweam.." the small yet noticeable little error, neuvi tips his head, “you like any certain flavor?” “sowbet!!”! (name) knows i like sohbets……” (sorbet! i like sorbets…)

now both his eyebrows raise in praise to the child’s taste, nodding, “very well. i fall in favor towards vanilla.” the child’s eyes light up almost immediately, “oooh, weally? that’s like my second most favowitest fuwavor!!” (second most favorite flavor)

“i see. i’ll keep that in mind.”

the kid previously sitting apart now has a piece of paper and is drawing on the very table of where he continued to eat his lunch with while waiting for you to come back. “wow, is that a missing tooth if i’m not mistaken?”

this was the first time a child has understood the ‘fancy language’ he’s used to using, “yeah! (name) doesn’t know yet though… can you keep it asth a suwpuwaise?” (as a surprise)

he just gives a warm smile. “of course.”

i guess there wasn’t really anything to be worried about in the first place.

dainsleif didn't mean to talk to them at first actually. he had too scared that he'd make a bad impression, so when you left to go get snacks for the both of them... he kind of just stared. most children would've ran away with how... toneless his 'glare' was and-

they stayed and did the same thing to him. except their look was a lot less menacing because of their adorably big eyes, the kind that would get you wanting to pinch a cheek or two.

"...hello." "hi."

their hand stayed clasped around the plushie you had handmade, still ordering a parfait for each of your sillies that sat at your table. one swinging their feet, and the other's leg shaking nervously. "i like your cape."

you tip your head to look at the both of them, your eyes widen in a bit of shock, you quickly grab your order and rush over to your table. "dain where's- oh..."

apparently sibling couldn't wait to come and inspect his cape, so they did, and is in shock that the cloth and fabric used feels so silky and soft. what your sibling didn't notice though... was the way dain was already profusely turning red.

leaning to go whisper into your lover's ear, "you good?" "yes... it's just heartaching to see something as adorable as this."

they had placed their little bunny plush onto his lap while inspecting his intricately designed starry cape. "aw, [s/n], you like dain's cape?"

"mmn... can i have one? i wanna be like dainnn..."

like klee said, diluc is not one who the children are very fond of, that alone makes him pretty on edge around your sibling while you give them a tour around mondstadt. but little does he know that they actually like him for the things the others don't like.

"hello mr diluc!" a cheery voice appeared beside his leg when he's washing the dishes in the sink. "hello [s/n]."

a small silence played through while your sibling just stared up at him with a big heart and eyes that were probably bigger. "can i help?" their small voice echoes as they quickly go to grab a stool. clearly diluc doesn't actually have any choice that isn't 'alright'.

he simply gives a nod before moving to give the child space. "just wash the dirt off and i'll soap them." "got it, boss."

diluc couldn't help smiling hearing their serious tone as they reached far for the leftover dirty dishes from the party he had hosted at the manor not too long ago (against his will). "do you really like [name], mr diluc?"

he freezes for a moment before sighing. "you could say that, yeah." and after staring at each other for a bit again, they shared a nod and continued to do dishes in silence.

"wow would you look at that, my two favorite people just did a chore together!" around fifteen minutes later, you finally ushered every guest out of the house and hug your little sibling close. "did you have fun with mr diluc?" "mhm. can i come by again next week?"

well, not everybody thinks he's grumpy all the time, klee.

Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city you’d barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.

“My mother wants to meet you,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Tonia, too.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. “They know about me?”

“Of course they do, silly” he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Who do you think I write all those letters to?”

When you didn’t respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.

“Would you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.” Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didn’t want to hear. The journey is too long or I’m needed at work or I don’t love you, Ajax. But the words never came.

“Of course I’ll go,” you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.

In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.

The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.

Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.

“Here! It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.”

She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.

Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, and you hugged her.

Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.

“It gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,” was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajax’s childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.

On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. “You have to see it.”

He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.

The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. “I have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,” he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.

“We won’t!” she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. “Now, I can show you the really cool stuff.”

With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.

“That one’s my favorite,” she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.

Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?” Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.

As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.

That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.

“Now, don’t you go losing that, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.

In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. “And, open.”

A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally got to say.

“It reminded me of you.” Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.

His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.

His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.

But here, he’s all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like he’ll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe that’s why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, it’s easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.

By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brother’s incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucer’s hat on for him, too.

On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a child’s handprint.

“You know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,” his mother began from the silence.

Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. “Mama, not this story again.”

“Hush, hush,” she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. “He was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.” With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. “Just as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. ‘Papa, run!’ he called. ‘There’s a bear!’ But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-” she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, “-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!”

Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. “It was scary for a kid!”

“I know, I know,” she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. “And you were very brave for a kid, too.”

The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, “Good morning.”

Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold in that old room last night,” she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. “Yesterday was one of the chillier days we’ve had. I’m glad you two didn’t have to go anywhere.” She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. “Have you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.”

You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isn’t too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). “Yes, we’re sleeping very well, thank you.” Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. “Have you seen Ajax?”

“Oh, yes! I think he’s out by the lake.”

Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.

“May I ask you something?” she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldn’t help but nod. She blurted, “Does Ajax seem happy?”

Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. “It’s just…” her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, “you see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.”

The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. “I do. I do think he’s happy.”

That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.

The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.

The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didn’t flinch as you approached. He didn’t speak, either.

Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.

“Have you caught anything?” you asked.

”Not yet.” He didn’t look at you, he didn’t move a centimeter, not even to breathe. “You know, after so long doing this, you’d think I’d be better at it by now.”

”Is fishing something you can really get better at?”

His lips parted in a grin. “I suppose not. It’s mostly waiting.”

“Are you good at that?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Do you like it?” You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” he observed.

“I must have forgotten.”

He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the water’s surface as smooth as glass.

“Do you think my family is alright?” he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, you’d have to do.

In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. “I think they are.”

Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.

“Your mother loves you,” you continued. “Tonia and Teucer, too. They all do.”

Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. “Let’s go back home.”

The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.

“The cold never really bothered me,” he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but here’s proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.

Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.

He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. “And there are animals out here, if you know where to look,” he rambled. “Rabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and it’ll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but it’s easy once you know what to look for.” His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. “Some people think the animals are dangerous, but they won’t hurt you, not while you have me here.”

Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.

Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.

The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.

“Oh, must just be an old tree,” he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. “The snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees can’t take it anymore, and they fall.”

You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.

The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If he’d been back there (he hadn’t), if he’s still afraid (he’d tell you he’s not).

He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them. 

When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but they’re always there, of course: you know where to look.

You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.

He sounds different here, too.

You’ve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: “It’s a rough language,” he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; “You wouldn’t even understand anything I say,” and yet, when he turns to his mother and says “спасибо,” as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.

She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, he’s always ‘Ajax’ or ‘my son’ or ‘my precious boy’ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).

Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, he’s not a Harbinger, he’s not a killer, he’s just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.

ZHONGLI

Opening the door and being greeted by your co-worker is not what your sick and half-asleep brain managed to comprehend. One moment you’re opening the door, and the next you have Zhongli in your kitchen, heating up the soup he said he brought for you.

The thing is, Zhongli isn’t just a co-worker. 

You just happened to be co-workers after a few years of not meeting each other since college, and your friendship simply rekindled– but it’s still not something your sick ass can comprehend at the moment. 

Because for one, Zhongli has been your work crush. Hell, college crush before you went your separate ways and now he’s in your apartment. Two, he’s heating up soup for you. Three–

“Wait, shouldn't you be at work?” 

The man in question simply stirs the soup with an almost offended level of calm, as though appearing unannounced at a sick co-worker's apartment was the most natural thing in the world.

“I requested a half-day.”

You blink, your mouth parting slightly before you manage a “You what?”

“The workload today was manageable.” Zhongli glances over his shoulder, golden eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the pot. “Besides, your condition seemed rather severe from the message you sent me this morning.”

Your condition. You snort. 

The message he was referring to was one you typed before passing out: Caught a cold. Ow. Dying. Can’t come in.

“That's what convinced you?”

“I found your choice of wording concerning.”

You stare. Zhongli continued stirring, like the actions of requesting a half-day out of concern for a friend/co-worker was normal. It’s a good thing that their workplace wasn’t as strict as usual companies. 

“Oh.” You mumble, eyes flickering from Zhongli, then to the soup. For some reason, your face is hot. You reason its from the fever. 

“You also seemed to have neglected to take medicine.” 

Your eyes widen. “What? How’d you…” 

“Your medicine cabinet is empty. You were supposed to go out after work for those, I remember you speaking out it yesterday.”

Your mouth opens, and shuts. Right. You did mean to go out today to fill up your medicine cabinet again, and your body also decided today was a good time to shut down just when you’re out. “Right. Well, my body apparently hates me.”

Zhongli laughs under his breath. “It would seem so” He looks away from the heating soup to the paper bag on the counter. “There’s medicine there. I’ll give it to you with the soup.” 

Following his gaze, you notice the familiar paper bag sitting neatly on your counter. Medicine. Soup. You spot a cap of bottled water peeking out, and Zhongli continues speaking, mentioning even throat lozenges.

You hadn't even asked. And the other thing was that he remembered what you were talking about the other day, too.

Something warm settles heavily in your chest. The problem with Zhongli has always been this.

He cared, in ways that weren't loud or needed attention, but just in the small, quiet little things. 

Like how early in your work days, he got you your coffee order, and surprised you by still remembering how you got your coffee even years later. In the middle of work, he would send you links to articles or videos that would pull you out of the bored haze of work. 

Once, he even replaced the dead batteries in your handfan when you complained about it. 

Zhongli cared in a way that slipped beneath your defenses before you realized what was happening– and made it impossible for you to not fall harder every time. 

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

He pauses, and for the first time since arriving, Zhongli turns fully toward you. His expression softens, “You are ill.”

The answer comes so simply that your heart nearly stumbles.

“Still…” You mumble. 

He sighs, quietly, and the next thing you know, he’s crossing the kitchen. Before you can react, a cool hand settles against your forehead.

Your entire brain short-circuits.

The gesture lasts only a few seconds, but  it feels longer than just a few seconds.  “You're still warm.”

You forget how words work, “Oh.”

“Your fever appears lower than this morning, however.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You should eat before taking medicine.”

“Right.”

Zhongli studies you for a moment. Then his lips curl up. A small, faint smile. Gentle– and it's really, seriously dangerous for your heart.

“You seem particularly compliant today.”

Your face burns.

And unfortunately, your fever can no longer be blamed for it.

THOMA

If Thoma was a light, he would have blinded you already with the large smile he gave you the moment you opened the door. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”  You squint at him, tugging your blankets closer. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Yeah. Actually.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s my day off”

You blink. Oh. Right. “Right.” He lifts the bag in his hand, and you’re once again hit by that sweet smile that won you over years ago. 

“I heard you’re sick. So I got you soup.” 

And now he’s in your kitchen. Heating up soup for you. 

You're watching from your position on the couch, coughing and sniffing and you did offer to heat it up on your own, but when you stumbled the moment he handed you the bag,  Thoma insisted he do it instead. 

He’s always been like that. 

Thoma, your friend turned co-worker and in the past months has become something of a not-exactly co-workers and more of a crush on each other.

You’d think you weren’t obvious. 

But there’s a bet (that neither of you are aware of) going on in your office regarding when exactly the two of you will stop dancing around whatever this is. 

Apparently everyone is tired of waiting.

But you don’t know that, even if your fellow co-workers kept teasing you about it. You kept denying them. I mean, sure, maybe Thoma is the one who brings you your coffee everyday. Maybe he remembers your favorite snacks and would hand you one whenever he knew you were feeling hungry. And perhaps, he smiles differently when talking to you. But that doesn't mean—

“Careful.”

You nearly jump when a warm hand steadies your shoulder. Apparently you'd been staring. Again.

Thoma laughs softly.

The sound is embarrassingly nice.

“You looked like you were about to fall asleep sitting up.”

“I might.”

“Well don't.”

You purse your lips. “You’re so bossy.”

“Only because you're sick.”

You can’t even argue with him at this point. 

The smell of the soup fills your apartment, and moments later, Thoma places a bowl in front of you, before taking a seat on the smaller couch near you. “Eat.” He nods to the bowl. 

“Are you just going to keep staring at me?”

“Well, if it's to make sure you’re eating, then yes.”

“That’s weird.” 

He huffs a laugh, the soft smile on his face just making you stare at him just a bit longer. Because even in your sick daze, his smile is just pretty. “Just eat, will you?” He mutters with a fond smile, and you roll your eyes, but you still obey. 

“Good?” He asks you the moment you have your first spoonful, and Thoma watches you melt. “Mm.”

His shoulders visibly relax, like he was hoping you would like it. Something in your chest tightens at the relief in his face, and you pause, searching the smallest details before speaking. 

“You were worried for me.”

“Of course I was.” His response is immediate. The way he lifts a brow like it was expected he would be. “I mean, you sounded pretty miserable when you called.” 

“You were there?”

“Yep. Well, I just caught bits and pieces of it.” He repeats it again. “And you sounded miserable”

You cough, and let out a groan. “Well, I still am.” Another cough wracks your body, and before you could reach for the glass of water on the table, Thoma is already handing it over. 

“You know,” you mumble after drinking. He puts the glass back, and you continue eating the soup. “you're making a very strong case for keeping you around.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You lift the spoon to your mouth.

Thoma smiles, and he looks like he wasn’t even registering what he was saying. “Good. That’s kind of the point.” 

The answer comes far too quickly.

Both of you freeze, and you stare at Thoma, the spoon very much still in your mouth.

Silence– And you watch as pink creeps onto Thoma's ears.

Your own face feels suspiciously warm, and you put the spoon back in time for Thoma to abruptly stand up. “I think I should make tea.”

You laugh. Then cough. “You're running away.”

“No I'm not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Thoma points a finger at you. “You focus on recovering.”

“Thoma—”

“Nope.”

“Thoma.” You laugh despite the itchiness and pounding headache.

“Finish your soup.”

“Coward.”

“Soup.”

And despite his attempt to hide it, you don't miss the smile he wears all the way back to the kitchen.

VARKA

The knock that wakes you up is loud. Not really aggressive. Just loud. 

Three knocks that are both firm and somehow cheerful. You groan, planning to ignore it as you shift in bed. It’s more of a, you can’t find the will in you to move– then your phone buzzes near your bed.

> Big guy dude: Open upp

You squint at the screen, because your fever-addled brain takes several seconds to actually process what your reading. 

> You: why

The reply comes immediately, and you have to blink at the words that pop up. 

> Big guy dude: Because I’m outside.

Another squint, then you scoff in sruprised. 

Somehow, despite yourself, you find yourself opening the door, and the first thing you see is Varka’s grin, followed by the enormous bag hanging from one arm– then the too pleased look on his face. 

“Morning.” Surprisingly, Varka’s voice isn’t the usual boisterous one. It’s lowered, and more softer to keep your head from pounding. 

You blink at him. “Morning.”

Five minutes later, he’s in your apartment like he lives there. He ushered you to your couch, then placed the really big bag on the kitchen coutner, already rolling up his sleeves. From your spot on the couch, you squint at him then at the bag. 

“Did you just buy half the store?”

“No.”  

You give him a look, and he smiles at youi sheepishly. Then he starts bringing out the things inside. Soup ingredients, medicine, fruit, tea… “Are those crackers??” You gape as he brings out several containers of food. “Oh my god, Varka.” You glare at him, he avoids your gaze. 

“You did buy half the store!” 

“I was worried! And I was being, what people call as, prepared.”

“You brought enough food to survive a natural disaster!”

“Well, I mean,” Varka shrugs. “What if your cold gets ambitious?”

You groan, and he lets out a laugh when you attempt to throw the couch pillow. The sound of his laugh fills the apartment effortlessly, and its unfair how it immeidately makes you sink into the cushion, despite your glare. Becuase you always like his laugh. More or less, liked Varka himself.

And he’s about 90% of your problems. 

Because Varka isn’t just your co-worker. He’s your close friend. Your incredibly attractive friend that you insist doesn’t smile at you differently despite your other co-workers jests.

You refuse to look closely at the implications, because, you reasoned, Varka smiles at everyone. So you’re not exaclty an exception. 

Your thoughts are cut off when a cough has you curling up on the couch, and the next thing you know, just as your coughing fit ends, a large hand offers you water. 

When you look up, Varka is frowning as he lifts a hand to your forehead. Your heart stutters, and you force yourself to focus on the water. 

“You okay now?” He mutters– soft and gentle as he takes the glass. 

Wiping your mouth, you nod. “Yeah. I’m good” He eyes you carefully, before nodding back. 

“Have you eaten?” 

You make a face, and Varka narrows his eyes. “Not even breakfast?”

When you shake your head, he sighs, and moves to get up. “Okay, I’m fixing that immediately.” He gently nudges you to lie down. “Lie down first. If you fall asleep, the soup can wait till you wake up.”

You move to protest, mouth parting, but he quickly shuts you up with a look. Grumbling, you settle on the couch. “Bossy.” 

That makes him snort, the serious look in his eyes softening into amusement as he grins. 

Your chest warms. For some reason, Varka always seemed to make things feel a bit better in an effortless way. Even if your head still hurts and your body still aches real bad. 

He grabs the couch blanket, and drapes it over you. “Five minutes.” 

You didn’t fall asleep. 

So now you have soup on your lap, and Varka in the ktichen, getting your medicine ready. By the time you’ve gone through half the bowl, your body starts shutting down again, exhaustion settling heavily over you. 

You barely register Varka taking the bowl from your hands before you fall asleep on it. But you do register him adjusting the blanket over you again, tucking it gently– and you register his fingers brushing hair away from your face. 

“Get some sleep,” He murmurs softly. You catch the affection in his tone, but you’re too sleepy to even call it out. You do manage to crack an eye opne, mumbling a quiet, “Are you staying?” 

The question slips out, and you barely register it. 

For a moment, Varka freezes, his gaze set on you, eyes dangerously soft and close to affection. “Yeah.” He nods. “I’m staying.”

And maybe it's the fever or maybe it's the exhaustion. Or it’s just the way he says it.

But as sleep begins pulling you under, you can't stop the small smile that finds its way onto your face.

The last thing you hear is Varka's amused chuckle, and the quietest words he's spoken all day. “I’ll even stay longer if you wanted me to."

𓏲ּ𝄢  he mostly streams valorant, cs, fortnite, apex, weird games on roblox, sometimes random horrors when he feels like torturing himself for fun, but if his viewers want to see something else he will do it

𓏲ּ𝄢  a WHALEE he doesnt care frfr, just give him his v-bucks </3

𓏲ּ𝄢  his setup would be expensive as hell but weirdly messy. top-tier pc (he built it himself, this man is such a try hard) multiple monitors, expensive keyboard… and then an empty redbull can balancing dangerously on the desk for three days straight

𓏲ּ𝄢  definitely the type to stream for “just two hours” and accidentally stay online for nine because he got too invested in ranked games and started having fun with chat

𓏲ּ𝄢  LOVES competitive games

𓏲ּ𝄢  anything where he can either carry the team or start beefing with enemies in all chat while laughing the whole time

𓏲ּ𝄢  his laugh would absolutely be famous. loud as hell, pretty, contagious. one of those laughs where everyone in chat starts spamming emojis in chat

𓏲ּ𝄢  weirdly terrifying at games. like he acts unserious, keeps joking, talks about some bs, starts random stories mid-match-and still somehow drops insane kill counts

𓏲ּ𝄢  absolutely the type to lean way too close to the camera while reading chat. messy orange hair falling into his eyes, blue eyes squinting slightly while he grins at donations.

“chat, be honest, was that play hot or was it HOT.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  he is such an attention whore

𓏲ּ𝄢  definitely sits in his chair horribly. someone should make posture compilations of him 

𓏲ּ𝄢  his fans would constantly thirst over him, but he handles it in the funniest ways possible. sometimes he flirts back jokingly, sometimes he acts dramatically offended

“objectifying me again? unbelievable. disgusting behavior. keep going.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  he canonically loves fighting and adrenaline, so modern childe would 100% chase excitement in stupid ways. horror games at 2am, rage queueing ranked, random gym streams, paintball tournaments with other creators

𓏲ּ𝄢  collab streamer btw. EVERYONE wants to stream with him because he naturally makes things entertaining. he’s chaotic in a very magnetic way

𓏲ּ𝄢  his fans would adore him because he’s weirdly attentive. remembers usernames, asks how people are doing, notices when regular viewers disappear for a while

𓏲ּ𝄢  lowkey makes chat feel like a friend group instead of a fanbase

𓏲ּ𝄢  his mods are exhausted btw

𓏲ּ𝄢  literally impossible to control him once he gets excited

𓏲ּ𝄢  but despite being loud and playful online, he’d actually be extremely careful with privacy. especially regarding relationships or family

𓏲ּ𝄢  mentions his siblings constantly though. like every other stream somehow turns into “my little brother did this” or “my sister roasted me so hard earlier.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  if he has a girlfriend? oh he is GONE

𓏲ּ𝄢  not in a “posts couple content every second” way. actually the opposite. he keeps you mostly private because the internet is weird and he genuinely wants to protect that part of his life.

𓏲ּ𝄢  BUT.

𓏲ּ𝄢  he cannot shut up about you.

𓏲ּ𝄢  like literally every stream:

“my girlfriend made me coffee earlier”

“my girl said i look sleep deprived”

“nah chat she’d bully all of you” 

𓏲ּ𝄢  he thinks he’s being subtle btw. he’s not 

𓏲ּ𝄢  chat would know more about your personality than appearance because he talks about you constantly without realizing it

𓏲ּ𝄢  if you randomly walk into his room mid stream? he’s immediately distracted

𓏲ּ𝄢  like full golden retriever mode activated

𓏲ּ𝄢  “baby wait, is that food for me?? chat LOOK what she made me”

𓏲ּ𝄢  if you speak ONCE during stream the clips go viral immediately.

“OH MY GOD SHE TALKED.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  and he’d just sit there smiling like an idiot because he loves when chat likes you <3

“yeah? cute voice, right? i know.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  he needs his fair share of cuddles after every stream

𓏲ּ𝄢  let him lay his head on your chest and play with his hair

𓏲ּ𝄢  he will melt.

𓏲ּ𝄢  he yapps about everything and nothing until he falls asleep

𓏲ּ𝄢  genuinely just gives off the energy of a guy who loves having fun and loves loving people even more

a/n: THANK U SMM FOR READDINGGGG LUV UUU <333 (consider rebloging and following me if u liked it pls hehe...)

The employee whose photograph had occupied the "Employee of the Month" board for so many consecutive months that some customers jokingly claimed management had simply given up choosing anyone else, and you could see why.

Thoma somehow managed to take orders, prepare drinks, answer questions, clean tables, calm down upset customers, and still have enough energy left to ask how everyone's day was going.

It was honestly unfair.

Especially because he was cute.

Painfully cute.

The kind of cute that should have been illegal before eight on a monday morning. You’re pretty sure he’s the sole reason why the cafe has this much traction, but maybe you’re just exaggerating.

"Your usual?" His voice brings you out of your thoughts, and you blink. Right. You were staring. Now that's embarrassing. 

You move to order, but he’s already halfway through preparing your drink, and you pause. “I didn’t even order yet.”

“You didn’t need to.” He grins, and points to you with a syrup bottle. “Medium vanilla latte. Extra shot. Less ice.”

You laugh. “Oh my god. Have I really come here that often?”

“Enough that I’d be worried if you stopped showing up.” The words slipped from his mouth so naturally that it took both of you a second to process them.

Your eyes widened, and Thoma froze mid reach for the espresso machine. Then his ears immediately turned pink as he stammered, “Ah– I mean– Well–”

The poor man looked like he wanted the espresso machine to swallow him whole, and you let out a laugh, waving a hand, “It’s okay.” You giggle. “I get it.”

His shoulders relax, and he purses his lips slightly as he starts the espresso machine. “You’re mean, you know that?” 

You snort. “Me?”

“You enjoy watching me get embarrassed."

A beat, and you grin. “Maybe a little.” 

The dramatic sigh he lets out gets you to laugh again.

Truthfully, these conversations have become your favorite part of the day. What started months ago as brief exchanges while waiting for your order had slowly evolved into ten-minute chats.

Then fifteen. 

Then entire afternoons where you'd sit near the counter with a drink while Thoma worked, talking whenever the shop wasn't busy.

You learned he loved dogs, and he learned your favorite books. 

He would tell you stories about difficult customers, and you complained about work.

And somewhere along the way, seeing him became something you actively looked forward to. 

Apparently, you weren't the only one.

Because one afternoon, as you stepped through the door after a particularly exhausting day, Thoma looked up from the register, and the moment he spotted you, his entire face brightened. 

Actually brightened.

Like someone had turned on a light.

"There you are." The words escaped before he could stop them, his tone filled with relief that you stepped through those doors.  And if possible, his ears became even redder.

You felt your heart do something embarrassing in response, while you just smiled, “Yep. Here I am.”

For a moment, neither of you looked away.

Then a customer approached the counter, and the spell broke.

Still, the smile lingering on Thoma's face remained for the rest of your visit.

When it came time to leave, he handed over your drink. "See you tomorrow?"

The question sounded oddly hopeful, especially when it’s paired with the same hopeful glint in his eyes. You take your drink, and smile,"Same time as always."

His grin was immediate. "Okay."

You wave goodbye before stepping outside. The autumn breeze greets you as you walk down the sidewalk, sipping leisurely for a few minutes, before you finally glance down at your cup.

And you pause, because there, written neatly beside your name, was a phone number.

For a second, your brain completely stopped working. Then you looked closer, raising the cup higher —If you're interested :) 

Your face grew warm. Very warm. You’re definitely blushing. 

It takes just a few seconds before you make a decision and you spin around, retracing your steps back to the cafe. 

Through the shop window, you could see Thoma pretending very hard to wipe down a perfectly clean counter.

The second your eyes met, he smiled. It’s nervous– hopeful, and despite the distance, you could clearly see the red coloring his ears.

You smile back, lifting the cup, and his expression brightens instantly. 

By the time you got home, you were already dialing the number.

The call connected after only a single ring. "Hello?"

You blinked, lips curling into an amused smile. "Wow. That was fast."

The silence that followed was immediate, and Thoma clears his throat. You can already clearly see him rubbing the back of his neck as he murmurs,  "...I was definitely not staring at my phone waiting for you to call."

You snorted. "Uh-huh."

"You don't have proof." His voice sounded so ridiculously pleased that it was impossible not to smile.

You could practically picture him pacing around his apartment.

"So," you said, settling comfortably onto your couch. "Was writing your number on customer cups always part of the service?"

A laugh crackled through the speaker.

"No."

"Just me?"

A pause.

Then, softer:

"Just you."

And somehow, hearing that made your heart flutter far more than the phone number itself ever could.

KAZUHA

The first time you met him, it was because he spilled coffee all over your table.

You had arrived at the café early, as usual. The morning rush had yet to begin, leaving the small shop pleasantly quiet. Soft music drifted from hidden speakers while sunlight filtered through the large windows, bathing everything in warm golden light. It was peaceful enough that you had settled into your favorite corner seat with a book in hand and a freshly made drink beside you, fully prepared to spend the next few hours in comfortable solitude.

Unfortunately, solitude lasted exactly twelve minutes.

You heard footsteps approaching from behind just as you reached for your cup.

Then— Thunk.

The edge of your table jolted, and your drink tipped over. You could only watch in despair as your coffee spilled across the wooden surface, and irritation bubbles in your chest at the same time you hear a startled “Oh.” from the person that just tipped your drink over. 

You look up– and promptly forgot about the coffee, because standing beside your table was quite possibly one of the prettiest men you had ever seen. 

Soft white hair framed his face, touched faintly by the morning sunlight. Crimson eyes widened with genuine alarm as he stared at the disaster he had accidentally caused. There was something almost unfairly gentle about him, from the calmness in his expression to the way he carried himself, like a breeze made human.

For a brief moment, the two of you simply stared at one another, and the pretty man bows his head, "I am terribly sorry."

The apology was so sincere that it completely disarmed any irritation and thought in your head to snap at him. He quickly muttered, "I wasn't paying enough attention."

"It's okay," you said automatically.

Your response makes him frown. "It is not." And the firmness in his voice caught you off guard.

His brows furrowed slightly as he examined the puddle spreading across the table. "I interrupted your morning and sacrificed your coffee in the process."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I mean, you put it like that..."

"I should make amends." Before you could answer, he was already turning toward the counter.

Several minutes later, he returned carrying not one drink— But two.

You blinked. A server had come by earlier to wipe away the mess, and you just stare at the two cups in his hand. "What's this?"

"The replacement." He placed one cup in front of you.

The second cup followed shortly after. "And the apology."

You stared at both drinks. A beat passes, then you stare at him, then back at the drinks. "I… I think that's too much compensation for one spilled coffee."

A small laugh escaped him. "Perhaps. But my conscience tells me I should do this." He gestured toward the empty chair across from you. "May I sit?"

You found yourself nodding before your brain fully caught up. The smile he gave in response was enough to make your heart skip embarrassingly.

The conversation started simply enough.

From names;

“Kazuha.”  “Like, the instrument?” He chuckles, and even that makes your stomach twist from the butterflies.  “Sure, whatever makes it easier for you to say it.”

To favorite drinks, and even just the simple “What are you here for?” 

What should have been a brief exchange somehow stretched into an hour, then three more hours. 

The book you had originally intended to read remained forgotten beside your untouched bag, because somehow, listening to Kazuha speak was much more captivating. Everything sounded poetic when it came from him. Small talk about the changing weather, his comment on the smell of coffee in the cafe, and even the way the sunlight reflected against glass.

At some point he spent nearly five minutes describing the wind outside, and you listened to every single word. 

Not because the topic itself was particularly fascinating (who waxes poetry about winds on a Monday Morning?), but because he was.

There was something incredibly easy about talking to him.

The conversation flowed naturally, moving from one subject to another without awkward pauses or forced effort. He listened attentively whenever you spoke, never interrupting, always seeming genuinely interested in whatever you had to say.

By the time evening arrived and you both went your separate ways, you realized two things. First, your original plans for the day had been completely ruined, and second, you had developed an enormous crush on the stranger who had spilled coffee all over your table.

Honestly, it felt like a fair trade, especially considering the free drinks, and the cute guy you met today.

You expected that to be the end of it. Just a once in a liftetime encounter that you would remember years down the line and smile about.

Instead, you saw him again the very next week. You were seated in the same corner seat, intending to read the book you couldn’t read last time, and with the same coffee on the table– and you catch sight of Kazuha just as he walked through the cafe door. 

He noticed you too, and his expression brightened with that small, gentle smile. You lifted a hand in greeting, and he returned the gesture before approaching. Kazuha opened his mouth to greet you, then– Thunk.

The table shook, and you both stared down at your tipped drink. A beat passes, and Kazuha closes his eyes while you burst out laughing. 

To his credit, he looked genuinely horrified at himself. 

"I have done it again."

"You have." You giggle.

"I owe you another coffee."

"You do."

That became the beginning of a very strange tradition.

For reasons neither of you could explain, Kazuha somehow possessed an alarming ability to accidentally bump into your table. It doesn’t happen all the time. But often enough that it became apparent that it would definitely happen.

The third meeting ended with another spilled drink.

The fourth nearly did.

The fifth absolutely did.

After that, Kazuha eventually stopped pretending it was unlikely. One morning you watched him enter the café and head over to the counter almost immediately, before approaching you with the two drinks and his own. 

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your own coffee. "Kazuha." 

He sat down across from you, smiling sheepishly. "I have accepted my fate."

"You bought a backup drink?"

"There is approximately a seventy percent chance I spill yours."

"You calculated it?"

"I estimated." His expression remained completely serious, and you laughed even harder at that.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, he accidentally clipped the side of the table while reaching for his bag. As expected, your drink tipped, and in the same movement as him wiping the spilled coffee, the backup was pushed towards you.

Neither of you even reacted anymore, but the amusement in your face was palpable.

It had become expected. Normal, though it wasn’t exactly sustainable, but he didn’t seem to mind. It was just another part of your mornings together, and if anyone asked, you would insist it was merely unfortunate coincidence.

You would absolutely ignore the fact that Kazuha somehow always ended up sitting with you for hours afterward. Or that your meetings would extend past the cafe and into daily routines of walks and texts until late into the night. 

After all, some people meet through fate. Some meet through chance.

And some meet because one extraordinarily charming man keeps accidentally knocking over their coffee until they fall in love with him.

ALBEDO

The café was full. 

The kind of full that you would have to crane your neck to look for seats, and would also make you immediately regret even stopping by on a weekend afternoon. 

Every table was occupied. The line stretched halfway to the entrance. Conversations blended together into a constant buzz of noise that filled the entire room, and good for you, because you had somehow managed to secure one of the last available tables near the back window and were currently protecting it with the determination of someone defending valuable real estate.

Your coffee sat untouched beside you as you scrolled through your phone, reading through emails and texts before you would start on your own work. 

Then a shadow fell across your table, and you looked up. 

Ah.

A very attractive man stood there, and you had to blink a few more times to make sure you aren’t daydreaming.

Blond hair fell neatly around his face, pale turquoise eyes regarding you with quiet curiosity. There was something oddly elegant about him, even dressed casually. The way he carried himself was calm and composed, as though the crowded café somehow existed separately from him. He was holding a laptop bag, and in the other, coffee.

"Excuse me." His voice was soft as he greets you, and you straightened your back and tilted your head. "Yes?"

He glanced around the packed café, "There don't appear to be any available tables."

You nodded. There really weren't. You had to dash through the cafe to claim this one.

"Would it be alright if I shared yours?"

Did you hear him right? You blink. A cute guy was asking to sit with you.

A very cute guy.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you nod, offering a smile. “Sure.”  

"Thank you." His lips curved into a small smile at the response, and he slides into the seat across from you

You settle into silence, with the cute guy across from you taking out his laptop and a few papers, while you try your very best to not stare at him. Because you just have a cute guy working across you and— 

He starts bringing out more papers, and soon enough, when you glance back up at him, he has a stack of papers, printed and handwritten and suddenly your brain hurts because there were so many diagrams and equations written there. Chemical formula’s, research notes, graphs… what even is that word there?? 

You stared for approximately five seconds before deciding that whatever he was doing was far beyond your level of understanding. Dear god is he building something or what? 

You wouldn't have been surprised, because he did exude the academic type but wow, just staring at the papers hurts your brain.

The stranger continued typing away completely focused, occasionally making notes in the margins of a paper before switching to another document.

The sheer amount of concentration was honestly impressive… and intimidating. 

You glanced down at your own table space, and your contribution consisted of a coffee and a half-finished novel, plus your laptop that you’re supposed to opem minutes before but you got distracted.

Suddenly you felt very underqualified compared to his stack of complicated equations and numbers, but, still– you couldn't exactly waste this opportunity.

Cute boys didn't just randomly sit across from you every day.

"So..."

The typing paused, and his really pretty eyes moves up to you. “Yes?”

You immediately forgot everything you planned to say, and your mouth dries. Just for a bit of courage, you sip your coffee and gesture over to his papers. "...that looks complicated."

A small silence followed, and he looked at you like he was trying to figure something out, and to your surprise, he smiled. It’s a small, faint smile, but you count that as a success.

"It can be." He hums, and you lean over to look at the paper at the very top. “What exaclty is all of this for?”

His gaze drifted toward the documents. "Research."

"Research for what?"

"Alchemy."

You blinked. "...alchemy?"

Another small smile appeared.

"It's essentially chemistry."

"Oh."

That sounded significantly more reasonable. Or maybe not. You’re just trying your best to not fumble but maybe you actually are fumbling right now.

You glanced at the formulas again. Yeah, nope, you can’t find a good topic related to whatever those are. "Right."

His expression softened.

"You don't seem convinced."

You shrug. "I'm trying my best. I look over and my brain starts to hurt"

A quiet laugh escaped him, and the sound makes you blink. Because now you’re very much screwed with how his laugh just made him more attractive and you hope you’re not messing up your chance.

The conversation continued from there, though admittedly awkwardly at first.

You tried asking about his work.

He tried explaining.

You understood approximately twelve percent of it, and eventually, the two of you mutually abandoned that topic for the sake of everyone's sanity.

Then his gaze landed on the book beside your coffee. "You've read that?"

Your eyes lit up. Finally. A subject you could actually contribute to.

The conversation became significantly easier after that. You did get each other’s name in the middle, and you find that Albedo really matches his entire vibe.

He reads surprisingly the same things as you, so your find a middle ground by talking about your favorite books. Authors. You got him to share a theory on one of the series you both were fans of, and you found it cute that he had his own conspiracy theory for something very mundane.

You didnt notice when the early afternoon eased into dusk. When his papers stopped recieving attention entirely and you didn’t notice your coffee becoming cold, and you completely forgot that the reason he sat down in the first place was because there were no other seats available.

By the time evening arrived, you were actually disappointed when he finally began gathering his things.

"I should return home."

Your heart sank slightly. "Oh."

Albedo paused, and gave you a small nod and a smile. "I enjoyed speaking with you."

Your chest warmed, and you smiled back. "Me too."

And then he left.

You stare after him, before it hits you that you didn’t even get his number or social media. All you know about him is his name, that he liked books, he understood terrifying chemistry papers, and had a smile capable of causing emotional damage.

Tragic. Absolutely tragic. 

Well, damn, atleast you had a nice afternoon.

Just a week later, you saw him again. He entered the cafe doors, and this time, the cafe wasn’t crowded. You could count atleast eight empty tables, so you won’t exactly get your hopes up that you’d be able to talk to Albedo again.

Then a shadow over your table, and you look up. 

Albedo stands next to your table, coffee in hand, laptop bag in the other, and you blink. 

Then you smile. “Hi.”

"Hello." His gaze briefly flickered toward the empty tables surrounding you, then back to you. "May I sit here?"

Your heart nearly launched itself out of your chest, and you look around again. There were literally empty seats everywhere. 

You look back at him, fighting  desperately to maintain a normal expression. "Sure."

He smiled that same small smile that made your chest twist, and settled across from you again. This time, however, you notice he brought significantly fewer papers, and suspiciously, he seemed far less interested in working than before.

You glanced at the mostly closed laptop, then to him, squinting your eyes at him, before an amused smile grows on your lips. 

And judging by the faint upward curve at the corner of his lips when your eyes met— Albedo knew exactly what realization you had reached.

After all, there was no shortage of empty seats in the café that day.

Yet he'd still chosen to sit with you.

Lohen who met reader when they were both kids and he still lived in the streets. Even as an act of pure innocence, you invited him to play hide and seek, and teached him when he said he didn't know how to. After that, both of you would meet everyday in the same spots, with you often giving him food, patching him up, or just showing him something that was far from being acknowledged in the cruel world of the cold roads. But even so, you showed him nothing but warmth. A warmth he slowly learned how to accept, and then how to seek.

He wasn't one to constantly remind himself of the past, very rarely did he 'waste his time' on it. But any of his memories with you would bring the same warmth to his chest almost instantly, so that was something he clung onto while on the expedition in Nod-krai. He'd remember very well how you ran to hug him when he was rescued by Adorno, how his cold temperature clashed with your warm one.. How he suddenly felt safer, even.

That being said, it was quite obvious he was very much devoted to you, in some sense. And that was since an early age too! somewhere between his days as an adventurer to nowdays? Maybe even longer. You just needed to say the word and he'd to it without any complains (although he might throw around some teasing..But come on, we're talking about Lohen). You want to get better at fighting? He'd be delighted to do some sparring! Might even go easy on you in his own way. Craving food? he's already on your door with a bag full of your favorites. You don't have time to get new clothes? Your dearest friend knows your sizes for a reason! Even if you're sure you never told him before.. Well, he's a long-time friendship, must have figured out. But honestly you wouldn't even NEED to ask him favors, the vice captain has a knack for reading you as if you were one of the books in the Knights of Favonius' library.

Oh, and there is no restrictions, just as there is no end for his devotion. Lohen himself isn't the biggest fan of restricting things in most areas of life, so you wouldn't—well, shouldn't expect him to hold himself back when it's something for YOU. He'll kill for you; Hilichurls and variants..or maybe ruin guards? He could do the same with people too if so you wish.. Or not, since he'd knock out anyone who even dared to do you wrong, behind your back or not.

But it's not his fault he owes you so much! And it's also not his fault he feels less empty when you're around.. Or maybe it is. Either way, you should know by now that Lohen is hopelessly devoted to you, in his very much twisted way.

𓏲ּ𝄢  he mostly streams valorant, cs, fortnite, apex, weird games on roblox, sometimes random horrors when he feels like torturing himself for fun, but if his viewers want to see something else he will do it

𓏲ּ𝄢  a WHALEE he doesnt care frfr, just give him his v-bucks </3

𓏲ּ𝄢  his setup would be expensive as hell but weirdly messy. top-tier pc (he built it himself, this man is such a try hard) multiple monitors, expensive keyboard… and then an empty redbull can balancing dangerously on the desk for three days straight

𓏲ּ𝄢  definitely the type to stream for “just two hours” and accidentally stay online for nine because he got too invested in ranked games and started having fun with chat

𓏲ּ𝄢  LOVES competitive games

𓏲ּ𝄢  anything where he can either carry the team or start beefing with enemies in all chat while laughing the whole time

𓏲ּ𝄢  his laugh would absolutely be famous. loud as hell, pretty, contagious. one of those laughs where everyone in chat starts spamming emojis in chat

𓏲ּ𝄢  weirdly terrifying at games. like he acts unserious, keeps joking, talks about some bs, starts random stories mid-match-and still somehow drops insane kill counts

𓏲ּ𝄢  absolutely the type to lean way too close to the camera while reading chat. messy orange hair falling into his eyes, blue eyes squinting slightly while he grins at donations.

“chat, be honest, was that play hot or was it HOT.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  he is such an attention whore

𓏲ּ𝄢  definitely sits in his chair horribly. someone should make posture compilations of him 

𓏲ּ𝄢  his fans would constantly thirst over him, but he handles it in the funniest ways possible. sometimes he flirts back jokingly, sometimes he acts dramatically offended

“objectifying me again? unbelievable. disgusting behavior. keep going.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  he canonically loves fighting and adrenaline, so modern childe would 100% chase excitement in stupid ways. horror games at 2am, rage queueing ranked, random gym streams, paintball tournaments with other creators

𓏲ּ𝄢  collab streamer btw. EVERYONE wants to stream with him because he naturally makes things entertaining. he’s chaotic in a very magnetic way

𓏲ּ𝄢  his fans would adore him because he’s weirdly attentive. remembers usernames, asks how people are doing, notices when regular viewers disappear for a while

𓏲ּ𝄢  lowkey makes chat feel like a friend group instead of a fanbase

𓏲ּ𝄢  his mods are exhausted btw

𓏲ּ𝄢  literally impossible to control him once he gets excited

𓏲ּ𝄢  but despite being loud and playful online, he’d actually be extremely careful with privacy. especially regarding relationships or family

𓏲ּ𝄢  mentions his siblings constantly though. like every other stream somehow turns into “my little brother did this” or “my sister roasted me so hard earlier.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  if he has a girlfriend? oh he is GONE

𓏲ּ𝄢  not in a “posts couple content every second” way. actually the opposite. he keeps you mostly private because the internet is weird and he genuinely wants to protect that part of his life.

𓏲ּ𝄢  BUT.

𓏲ּ𝄢  he cannot shut up about you.

𓏲ּ𝄢  like literally every stream:

“my girlfriend made me coffee earlier”

“my girl said i look sleep deprived”

“nah chat she’d bully all of you” 

𓏲ּ𝄢  he thinks he’s being subtle btw. he’s not 

𓏲ּ𝄢  chat would know more about your personality than appearance because he talks about you constantly without realizing it

𓏲ּ𝄢  if you randomly walk into his room mid stream? he’s immediately distracted

𓏲ּ𝄢  like full golden retriever mode activated

𓏲ּ𝄢  “baby wait, is that food for me?? chat LOOK what she made me”

𓏲ּ𝄢  if you speak ONCE during stream the clips go viral immediately.

“OH MY GOD SHE TALKED.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  and he’d just sit there smiling like an idiot because he loves when chat likes you <3

“yeah? cute voice, right? i know.”

𓏲ּ𝄢  he needs his fair share of cuddles after every stream

𓏲ּ𝄢  let him lay his head on your chest and play with his hair

𓏲ּ𝄢  he will melt.

𓏲ּ𝄢  he yapps about everything and nothing until he falls asleep

𓏲ּ𝄢  genuinely just gives off the energy of a guy who loves having fun and loves loving people even more

a/n: THANK U SMM FOR READDINGGGG LUV UUU <333 (consider rebloging and following me if u liked it pls hehe...)