"Tremble. I won't judge♡."

From his perch against the southern bookcases, Lohen watched you with his arms crossed over his chest. In his right hand, he held his favorite blade, twirling it around his finger until the hilt pressed into his palm, then twirling it around again. The soft sound of his knife hitting the fabric of his glove was quick to fill the space around him, which had returned to near silence yet again after Theodore’s departure.

You walked past him with a stack of books in your hands, giving him a glance. “Can you put that away, please?”

He sighed through his nose. Slotting his dagger back into its sheath, he pouted dejectedly at your back. You didn’t pay him a shred of attention, instead focusing on your duties of restocking the bookshelves and rearranging any misplaced codices.

Lohen sighed aloud. When you still didn’t turn around, he sighed yet again. Sighing so hard and so repetitively that he was nearly going dizzy from it, you eventually turned around with a smile that didn’t match the glare in your eyes.

“What is it, Lohen?”

Lohen. It was always ‘Lohen’ with you. But with Theodore, it was ‘Theo’.

“Nothing,” he said, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Nothing at all.”

You stared at him for a moment, then eventually frowned. Your voice was gentle. “You look upset.”

“Upset? I’m not upset.” Lohen shrugged again, glaring down at the wood floor. “What would make you think I’m upset?”

Your hands directed his face to yours. He ignored the flush of warmth that it sent through his cheeks, and tried further to ignore the sudden thrill in his chest. When you smiled, he swallowed his nerves.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

“N-nothing,” he answered, his hands rising to your wrists. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”

“If you were fine you would have been using your cryo-infused hand to scare me when my back was turned,” you laughed. Softening your voice, you said, “Please, just talk to me. I don’t want you to be upset, Lohen.”

The way your thumbs brushed over his cheeks felt all too tender. Smiling rather awkwardly, he squeezed your wrists between his fingers.

“We started at ‘Vice Captain’,” he said, “and then we got to ‘Lohen’. But we never got much farther past that.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Theodore. Theodore is ‘Theo’. But me? I’m ‘Lohen’.”

“Well, that’s your—...oh,” you said inquisitively, your eyes widening. “I see what you mean. You want me to give you a nickname?”

“It doesn’t…have to be a nickname,” he babbled, feeling oddly out of his element as he did. “I mean, I call you Bun and Princess. But you only ever call me ‘Lohen’, even though I know you call other people shorter names and stuff.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to, Lohen. How does handsome sound?”

Your arms looped around his neck, and as you smiled with those half-lidded eyes of yours, Lohen’s nervous laughter burst from his lips. Staring at you with wide eyes and a face so hot, he was convinced his vision had flipped to pyro, he quickly said, “That’s a lot more embarrassing than I thought it would be.”

“Hm?” You tilted your head, staring down at his mouth as you grinned. “What, you don’t like that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” Lohen stammered, his eyes shifting around the library. “Bun, quit.”

“But honey,” you purred, the heat of your breath tickling his upper lip. “You’re the one who wanted me to call you something different. You mean you don’t like it?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” he answered, his grin hurting his face. “Stop it.”

“Oh, but, baby. You look like you like it.”

“Let’s just…let’s just go back to Lohen.”

You laughed, and with a chaste press of your mouth to his, he laughed back. He glanced around once more, ensuring the library was as empty as ever before throwing his arms around your hips. Backing you into the bookshelf, his grinning lips pressed against yours before he gave you a playful little nibble.

“I’m working,” you laughed.

“Take a five minute break,” he crooned.

“Vice Captain,” you murmured. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Oh, yeah? That so, Library Girl?”

The way you giggled tickled his ears. He pressed his lips to your cheek, peppering kisses against the corner of your mouth as you laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Lohen,” you said, ever so dearly. “You know I just like the sound of your name, right?”

He cracked a smile.

“You know, whenever you say it, Bun…I like the sound of it too.”

His colleagues earnt shrivelled up expressions of disgust, a violent shudder would pounce on his spine whenever he saw how relaxed they were, drinking their hearts out 'til midnight and puking out on the streets.

(If getting wasted was so necessary, at least remain somewhat competent—Lohen counted twelve opportunities for Gunther to get killed as he stumbled away from the Angel's Share the other night; he should've been grateful it was Lohen judging him, and not a member of the Fatui.)

Human life was fragile, it expired early and death pounced on the nearest person without mercy, and never took breaks, thus, neither should humans. 

Today, was no exception to Lohen's discomfort.

He arrived to work late—as always, greeting Mika on his way to the Grandmaster's Office with a lazy wave before slouching into his seat, where an obscene stack of paperwork awaited him. The quill between his fingers was abnormally heavy, and Varka's gaze wouldn't leave him.

"Y'know. You don't have to stare me down that hard."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Brat. Who's the one who shortened your confinement?"

For once, Lohen kept his mouth shut, deciding the Grandmaster deserved his best behaviour. It was the least he could do

Solitary confinement, you managed to make tolerable. He wrote of everything to you, from details of his Nod Krai expedition to Adorno's passing and his punishment, scrawling away to process what happened, and to pass the time. Though his solitude remained true, writing to you was essentially the same as company. Day melted into night when he thought of you. He had to regularly call for more paper, only when his words to you reached a length rivaling the novellas of the Favonius Library, Varka convinced Jean to mitigate his punishment. On the basis of his good behaviour, he argued that he deserved the privacy to mourn Adorno, and mail his letter to you. Lohen was free to return home and live normally, at the expense of strict supervision and paperwork during his hours.

(You remained to be a blessing. First, giving Lohen the best childhood and teenage years, and now you were bailing him out of punishment, without even being in the nation.)

Lohen missed you, a lot. Absurdly so. Mountains and oceans apart, you were in Inazuma, where he hoped you felt the same.

Six years was too long. In the first year, he went strong, told himself that you'd be back in no time and that letters were sufficient. By the second, he was going even more insane than he already was, actively searching out ruin guards to bully at Stormbearer Mountains in the dead of night as stress relief.

He wanted to touch you, feel your skin against his and to listen to you rant and laugh—a melody that no choir could ever recreate. He wanted to pinch your cheeks again and watch them redden. He missed how you'd cling onto him whenever you got scared, and he wished he was there for every adversity you were facing over there. He wished he could watch how much happier you were becoming with his open two eyes, instead of reading it with months delayed.

Lohen wanted you. Not your letters. Those wouldn't come sleep over when the nightmares became too much, nor bandage his injuries when they were placed so awkwardly. They capture only your handwriting and nothing else. He would’ve forgotten your voice long ago, had he not thought about you constantly, reciting memories like prayer.

Confinement to letters wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have to wait months for mail to arrive. Letters only satiated so much. And they were volatile—who knows if the mailman would drop either one of your letters, or if storm strikes down the ship it sails on. Only Barbatos himself would know of what happens to them.

(With every victory, you came to mind first. Varka and Jean read of it first through paperwork, then word of mouth would inform the rest of the knights. Sometimes it reached the citizens of Mondstadt.

The best Lohen could do was write it for you first, and pretend it was the same as finding you in your favourite spot at the library, or knocking on your window to demand your attention. In his head, you were the first to know because he wanted you to be. It was far better than agreeing with reality.)

After hearing of his complaints, you opted to mailing him a diary, a collection of thoughts and stories you wanted to share with him, organised by date. Inside, you sandwiched a response to the letter he'd send, alongside folded papercraft (known as 'origami', you said). Lohen built a small bookshelf for these, adorning his empty bedroom with your days.

His gaze wandered to the window, surely he could keep his mind preoccupied. There should've been something remotely interesting to watch—the statue of Barbatos stood proud, as always, welcoming all to the open arms of Mondstadt. Towards the bottom was Barbara, serenading a group of people. That stupid, green bard was nearby, and Lohen rolled his eyes and decided it was time to stop looking outside.

His quill hauled itself across the page, leaving the mere date in its trail.

You can do it, I'll wait for you!

Lohen sculpted every drifting thought into an illusion of you, imagining you were there with him, seated on the couch across the room, waiting for him to finish so the two of you could go skip rocks at Cider Lake.

(Back in the day, Adorno would give you guys 'homework', insisting that puzzles were good for your brain. Your logic flowed as seamlessly as your hands, finishing his tasks with ease; Lohen couldn't say the same for himself. Adorno had to give you guys separate worksheets, since you'd simply give the answers to Lohen.)

The room was drained of its sunlight, fading into a soft pink. Every scratch of his quill against the parchment whittled time away. Varka didn't need to snap at him, and

He finds himself connecting his letters. You wrote in cursive ever since you were little, and still did—

Fuck, his concentration was breaking. What he haphazardly glued together were falling apart, shattering into even smaller bits and pieces.

He tried to fall back on his initial tactic, but all he could think of was how different you must've looked by now. You mentioned getting much more exercise. Did you bulk up, or were you the kind to slim down? Maybe you managed to grow a few centimetres, or perhaps you had a tan now? He had no idea what the weather was like over there.

He was unable to conjure an image of you, only wonder and curiosity, and a desperation to see you once more. Questions blurred his vision and hypotheticals presented possibilities without rest. His energy and attention slipped away, leaving him to soak in his pathetic longing.

"Fuuuuuck offff." Lohen slouched onto the table, cheek resting against the cold, polished wood. He entertained the thought of smashing his head into the table until he was out cold, that way, he wouldn't have to do paperwork, nor be forced to cope with the fact that he couldn't see you.

The stupid pile of paperwork was just as prominent, and infuriating, as his inability to focus. Why couldn't you leave him alone?

(Stupid fucking Barbatos. If the god of freedom out of all beings out there couldn't bring you back, he could've at least freed him of this constant craving of you. This was exactly why Lohen hated gods and refused to partake in anything religious)

Then there was the Sakoku Decree too. You insisted the Vision Hunt Decree only targeted Vision wielders, that you were safe and he had nothing to worry about, but Lohen did the exact opposite. A dictator was never honest, a leader that would approve of such policy would not be one fit to protect its people. Those stuck in Inazuma, including you, requested the help of the Knights to return home, though they were fruitless.

Any resemblance of concentration was long gone. It abandoned him the moment he thought of you again, leaving him to spiral.

Varka's heavy footsteps approached him, his large hands sifting through the paperwork Lohen had (somehow) managed to complete successfully. "...not bad. I've never seen you do so much. And your handwriting's neat." Lohen peeled himself off the desk with disheveled hair, and hollow eyes begging Varka for freedom. "You've done enough, I don't like paperwork too. Good improvement."

For a brute that drank like a fish, he was surprisingly thoughtful.

"I'm gonna kill myself."

The Grandmaster chuckled, ruffling the Vice Captain's hair and patting him on the shoulder. "Paperwork does that, kid."

Dusk stained Mondstadt pink. Remains of day bled everywhere, as Lohen walked across stone pavement alongside Varka, watching over children that chased each other by the fountain. The Good Hunter kept many company, its patrons howling with laughter and cheersing obscenely large tankards. His fingers twitched at his sides, missing their skinship with his dagger and lance, while the wind caressed his face.

Doing paperwork was so awful, that Lohen considered getting drunk, calculating whether the vulnerability would be worth the mindless bliss of being wasted—there had to be a reason why everyone in Mondstadt loved beer, and why even the Grandmaster himself had no problem with drinking to his very limits.

"So." He drawled, itching to leave the city and head to Wolvendom to fight something. "Why am I here again?"

"Because you're under supervision. And I need a beer." The man groaned, stretching an arm and scratching his back. "You look like you need a drink."

"A fight, you mean."

Varka slapped him on the back, enough force to almost make him fall over. "Be grateful I didn't make you do my paperwork too, hm? Maybe it's a good thing you didn't become captain. You wouldn't last a day." Before Lohen could retort, something else grabbed Varka's attention. "Be right back—someone looks lost." A finger pointed forwards, Lohen's halflidded eyes didn't bother tracking them as he let out a wordless grunt.

Maybe now was a good chance to run off. And if Varka tried to get him into trouble again, he'd snitch on Varka to Jean for drinking.

He took an analytical glance at Varka, only for his heart to freeze on the spot.

The sun had already set, yet you managed to glow in its absence.

Lohen's feet didn't move, they couldn't—all that went through his head was relief, leaving him in a stupor.

The world went silent, all that was nonessential melted into nothingness. What remained was you, with wide eyes marveled by your home city again.

You. Here. In Mondstadt. Where Lohen was.

You didn't look so different, contrary to all the different theories he had conjured in his curious boredom. You must've lost a bit of weight from travelling so much, but you looked stronger overall. Your smile was bright, as always, only this time it made Lohen choke on his own spit, and question if he had really lost it.

The Vice Captain of the Fifth Company does not cry. However, he'd make an exception for you.

His body finally awoke, and he took a step towards you. And another. Until he could hear you.

You were looking up at Varka, a bit unsettled by the height difference, but friendly nonetheless. "Oh—I'm from here, it's just been a long time. I haven't spoken the language in a while too. I might be lost..."

Lohen didn't even get to say hi, before you pounced on him.

"Oh my god—" Your voice hitched, on the brink of crumbling into tears. "I missed you so much."

Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and he squirmed—the closest to hugging he ever did was wrestling new recruits, who could never lay a hand on him.

(But his arms reciprocated, carefully feeling your back as he held onto you. It felt harder than before, your working out must've paid off. The muscle was warm, even through your clothes and his gloves.)

He still couldn't speak. No words would come out, immobilised by his shock. All he did was nuzzle his chin into your shoulder and rediscover your warmth.

"Ahem." Varka cleared his throat, immediately pulling you out of your hug. You scrambled to stand straight, glowing a furious red while muttering out apologies. Varka mirrored your words, saying that he hates to ruin your moment.

(Stupid old man. Lohen wasn't nearly as big as enough to throw him into the fountain, unfortunately. He was going to up his dosage of poison next time. He'll spit in his next beer while he's at it, too.)

As if he wasn't going through every emotion he yearned for, Lohen deadpanned, droning at his boss. "Yeah?"

"You guys...friends?"

You answered first. "Yup! I haven't seen him since before I left."

Lohen thought that was sufficient for his question. "You're back...how—? The decree—you never said anything about returning."

Joy scrunched your face. "It ended a while back. I wanted to surprise you, so I didn't write about it."

(Lohen was young, and very much in great shape, but he thought shock was going to force his heartbeat to a halt. He now owes Barbatos for every time he cussed him out bitterly in his head.)

"You're back..." He repeated.

"I am!"

Besides you, Varka cocked a brow. "Decree? You mean Inazuma?"

You nodded. And Varka went pale. He took a step closer to you.

"You must've been scared. Being trapped in the country. I heard about everything that happened over there." Varka was solemn, regret clouded his face and his voice went dry.

You shook your head. "Things have gotten better over there. It feels normal again." There wasn't a sign of dishonesty, but Varka sank down to a knee regardless, hand over his chest.

"I'm sorry we couldn't do anything. Even though it's our role as knights to protect the people of Mondstadt, we couldn't save you guys. As Grandmaster, I failed you all."

He must've been referring to all the letters that were sent, from merchants to separated family members, asking for help and some sort of intervention.

(Lohen used to press his ear against Varka’s door, picking up bits and pieces of his discussions with Jean on what to do, though now wasn't the time to admit that.)

You were flustered at the chivalrous act, frantically glancing around at the stares you were receiving. "It's not your fault—the shogun and her people aren't fond of foreigners. Please don't kneel—"

Lohen rolled his eyes and tapped Varka's calf, bordering on a kick. "You heard 'em. You're embarrassing us."

Now flustered, Varka stood, rubbing the back of his head. "I still feel bad. Adorno was upset when he found out what happened. He even considered sailing all the way there to negotiate on our behalf."

(Lohen remembers that. When he came running to Adorno to lament about the news, the man was equally as heartbroken. While Lohen panicked, Adorno was already planning to use his retirement funds for an expedition there.)

Your eyes lit up. "Speaking of Adorno—how has he been?"

Lohen's throat closed up, before glancing at Varka.

Adorno's grave was still clean from last time he stopped by. That was good.

The cecilia was beginning to wilt, a light brown began permeating its white petals. He's surprised the wind hadn't blown it away—maybe Barbatos was good for something after all.

The two of you were behind the Cathedral, Adorno's final resting place where many lay peacefully. Daylight was no more, and the cold bit at his face.

His gaze trailed over to you, where you were frozen in the evening, staring at the stone cross. "I wrote about it to you. You just got here before it could arrive."

You said nothing in response, blinking slower than usual.

He sucked in a sharp breath of air. "Do not stand by my grave and cry. My life, I gave to wipe tears dry." Lohen recited Adorno's final words, the last wish he made before his passing. He took a step closer, too apprehensive to dare touch you yet. "There's no need to be sad. It was painless, and peaceful. He was gettin' old, too."

Adorno, in bed, life and colour long gone from his face. Despite tethering on the borders of life and death, his wrinkled hands were abnormally warm, far more than the campsites of their expedition. Lohen's eyes burnt and his nose felt funny, but he subsided it for the sake of his last wish.

"But. If you need to cry, go ahead. I won't tell him." Lohen's hand rested on the small of your back. "We can go around the corner for a bit. And come back. O–Or I can give you some time alone if you need—?"

"—no. I'll stay." You scrunched your nose and blinked hard, but you didn't cry. "It's been too long."

So you sat down, and Lohen joined you.

"It was his health, wasn't it? You said he was getting worse a while back. 'm surprised he lived for that long." You murmured, squinting at the date of birth and death. "He only passed recently."

Lohen prepared himself to tell the whole story. His gloves felt uncomfortably stuffy before he told you everything.

By the end of it, your eyes were wide as saucers, bewildered at it all.

"Yeah." He wasn't proud of it, but it felt worse admitting it to you, out of all people. Had you been there at the time, you would've told someone immediately, out of pure concern for everyone's wellbeing. "I wrote it all down for you during my solitary confinement. Haven't even seen Theodore since then. He probably got longer than me."

(He should pay a visit, he thought to himself. Though Theodore was the main instigator, without Lohen, he wouldn't have made it that far. He wonders how he's been doing.)

You, were still processing everything. "So you and Theodore...injected Adorno with Ursa's flesh...the same stuff that we were supposed to be experimented on for?”

Lohen nodded.

"And you were the test subject?"

"Yeah."

"Are you stupid? Why would you willingly do that to yourself?"

You hit him in the shoulder, with a new kind of strength you didn't have last time he met you. "I know—I don't feel good about it either. I was desperate, and y'know, I thought it'd make me stronger, since Ursa's a dragon and all, and whatever. But yeah. It was stupid. I don't really regret it, though. Got to talk to Adorno for a bit longer, and the whole thing helped me accept I was weak.”

He stared at his outstretched palm, where he had pierced with his dagger. Ursa's screams echoed in his skull, and he squeezed his eyelids tight to ignore it. She was dormant, but his fears weren't. At the end of the day, he was nothing more than a mortal.

You nudged him. "I don't think you're weak. Acknowledging it makes you stronger than most people. And I don't think you were wrong for wanting Adorno to live longer."

Lohen shrugged. "I'm only strong among the weak. I'm nothing compared to the people I've met." Racher of Solnari. The Honorary Knight. Even Varka, the Grandmaster—those who belonged in fairytales and legends to be passed down from generation to generation. They all existed in a realm separate to Lohen's, a random boy who almost fell victim to a harbinger. "I'll get there. Someday. Just not today. I won't do anything like that again, old man."

(Of course, the grave did not respond. But he imagines Adorno ruffling his hair and telling him he was proud of Lohen.)

As long as he didn't lose sight of his goals, nor himself. Lohen had no need for power he couldn't control, for it wouldn't be known as power anymore—only poison.

You agreed with a hum. "You better not. You can't get stronger if you're dead."

Lohen let out a dry chuckle, then silence spoke next.

The wind got colder, though gentle, the grass danced alongside it. Fireflies paid a visit, some fascinated by the gravestones that stood tall, others preferred the flowers gifted to them. Day was no longer, aside from the dainty lights of streetlamps standing guard and the lantern sitting nearby, there was no light.

"Your turn." Lohen nudged you.

"What?"

"Tell him all about Inazuma. He wants to know how you've been doing. This time from you, and not the letters you sent over."

(Lohen never shut up about you, Adorno was the closest thing to a father for him, so naturally, he endured the most of his rambling. You'd write him something as simple as "I love sashimi" and Lohen managed to turn it into an essay's worth of conversation, pondering to Adorno on how he could prepare some as a gift to your return, or marveling at how the people of Inazuma ate fish raw, commending their bravery and immune systems.

Adorno often joked that you wouldn't be able to tell him anything about your time away, since he'd have already heard it from Lohen too.)

"You don't have to say it out loud. I just say it in my head if I don't want someone else to hear." He clarified. "Or you can pay another visit next time, if y'know, you need time to process?"

You shook your head. "I'm alright—I just don't know where to start."

"Wherever you want."

You took a deep breath, Lohen noticed the ever so slight tremble. "Hi Adorno. Long time no see." He leaned back on his palms, watching you tell your story. "I've gotten a lot better. Like really better, the psychologist I was seeing was actually a youkai. It's a kind of spirit from Inazuma and..."

...you told Adorno of Yumemizuki Mizuki, the dream eating tapir, and your psychologist, whom you held a world of gratitude for. You shared your progress, from learning to open up about your past to no longer having nightmares.

The story trailed to your job. It started as Mizuki providing you work at her bathhouse, a role where you prepared their snacks and meals for her clients. It was life-changing, as you described it. You let Adorno know that he didn't have to worry for your future, the job had given you the confidence to pursue culinary school, and you'd been financially stable by yourself ever since. Your career had given you a sense of direction, and you finally felt you belonged in the world.

"Having money's a lot of fun, to be honest. I'm glad I could finally do something for my parents with it."

Your words were soft, yet it strangled Lohen violently.

It was a long time ago, but there was a time where you cried more often than you smiled. Regrettably, you had argued over it. Multiple times.

I hate being so useless. I wish I wasn't a burden to everyone.

The fuck are you talking about? Lohen usually snapped, a tone he wished remained foreign to you. If you need money I'll give it to you. Stop beating yourself up over a stupid job. It wasn't worth your time if everyone there picked on you, was it? Your boss was a piece of shit anyways.

Nausea hit him in a violent wave. He always apologised without fail and you talked things out properly, but he knows he shouldn't lose control. Not towards the people he loves.

"...now that the Sakoku Decree's lifted, I'm back here." You concluded, look back at Adorno with a smile. "I'm probably going to...Lohen? Are you crying?"

Only then, did Lohen notice the wetness on his cheeks.

"No—" He lifted his half cape to conceal his face, recompose himself, and blame it on his dandelion allergy that he'd killed off years ago, but you were faster, prying his wrists away.

Your eyelids fluttered, as if you were the one crying instead. "Is it Adorno...?" You let his wrists go and crawled closer, soft thumbs wiping his tears away.

He shook his head, vision blurring with more tears. "It's yo—you, you're so happy now. And I dunno—I just feel relieved." His sinuses began to clog. "I thought of every time you cried and talked badly about yourself. And then I thought about whenever I lost my temper at you. And now I feel like shit. " His voice crumbled to nothing but weak sobbing. Lohen aggressively rubbed his eyes, as if he could rid of his tears that way.

Your last night in Mondstadt, six years ago, flashed in his head. Your posture was slumped, a contrast to how you stood tall today. He didn’t have to work for a full smile from you, it replaced the half-assed one you donned to cover up your feelings.

(Lohen wasn't sure what was fluttering in his stomach. Pride? Relief? A hybrid of both? He knew you were far more capable than you deemed yourself to be, so he wasn't sure why he was getting so emotional.)

His tears died down, and you wiped each and every one of them, until they were no more. Your hands remained on his cheeks, holding them, before giving them a gentle pinch.

"Nmmph?"

"Your skin's so soft!" You pinched again, this time tugging on his cheeks. "You really haven't changed. You're just a bigger version of your little self."

(Lohen would've smited anyone else who tried to touch him like this, or made such a patronising comment about him. And although you were the sole exception, he'd also never admit he likes being coddled like this.)

"You're sooo cute." You let go of his cheeks, leaving him feeling bare. Your skin was no longer on his, but his face remained warm. "It's okay though. I told you, I'd be back as a happier person."

He nodded, sick of how he sounded when he spoke. The quiver in his voice was nothing short of embarrassing and pathetic. He watched you shiver, hugging your knees tighter for any sort of comfort.

Lohen sniffled. "You're cold. Sorry, not tryna change the topic or anything. But you're shaking."

The moment you became aware of it, it seemed to intensify. "A bit. It rained a lot on the way here."

He sighed, huddling closer to wrap his cloak around you. "You should've rested first then, before doing anything."

"Probably." You coughed a couple times, pressing closer to him. "I got too excited though. I'll just eat a bunch of ginger."

Lohen huffed, guiding you to stand up. "I'm not going anywhere, neither is Adorno. Let's get you home."

You didn't resist, dusting off your knees. "Alright, alright—see you Adorno." You gave the grave one last stare. "And thank you for everything. Without you, today wouldn't have existed for me. For us."

A solemn nod from Lohen, and he silently agreed.

As you walked into the night, you gasped, peering down at the city before walking down the cobblestone stairs. “It’s so pretty. Look at all the lights from everyone’s house—oooh, and the stars!”

Lohen watched you smile. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. Very.”

“I missed Mondstadt.” You declared, jumping down each step one at a time.

(And Lohen missed you. Dearly so.)

“Mondstadt missed you too.” He murmured, a gloved hand reaching out for you, just in case you tripped or hurt yourself.

Together, you walked down the empty streets of Mondstadt City. The working week hadn't ended yet, leaving the city quiet and desolate, Lohen preferred this over seeing drunk men cheer and trip over their own feet.

"Where are you staying?"

(Though he appreciates your surprise return, he wishes you would've told him. Not only he thought he was having a heart attack, but he wanted to let you stay at his place—show off the fruits of his efforts and be the best host he could.

His shock died down, and now all he could think of was his confession to you. The moment he sends you back to your place, he was going to launch into frenzied brainstorming.)

"I'm renting a place at the moment."

His paranoia flared, questioning whose property it was. Shady landlords always targeted foreigners. Obviously, you weren’t one, but anyone could easily treat you as one after how long you were gone for.

But he didn't want to intrude. You’re smart enough to be cautious of scammers. "You could've stayed in my place. I moved into a bigger house since you left." He says, as if he hadn't told you this over parchment and ink already.

You chuckled, a tune he was addicted to. "I know, but I told you, I wanted this to be a surprise. The rent isn't too bad."

Maybe it was better that you weren't staying at his place. It gave Lohen better opportunity to figure out how he wanted to declare his love. It'd be awful if you walked into his preparations.

"Whatever you say."

Past the Good Hunter you turned, and there it was. You pointed to a building, it wasn't anything grand, but felt excessive for only one person to live in.

"We're here. Thanks again for walking me home." You grinned before sneezing, immediately covering your nose with your palm. The other hand fumbled through a pocket for a tissue.

"Geez—I thought you said your cold wasn't that bad?"

Before Lohen could speak, another voice reached for you.

The door to your house was open, and out came a man. He was tall, short, blond hair propped up by a black hairband. He donned a red jacket, over a tight, black shirt decorated by a silver dog tag.

Down the stairs he hurried, to check up on you and nag about your health.

Who the fuck is this?

After blowing your nose properly, you recomposed yourself, standing straight. "Sorry—I didn't think I'd be out this late." You looked back at Lohen. "Right. Lohen, this is Thoma." You gestured to the man besides you, who waved politely at Lohen, resembling a carefree dog. "Thoma, this is Lohen."

What the fuck is Thoma?

Despite being a man of quick decisions and logic, Lohen had little coherency in his thoughts.

"Nice to meet you, Lohen!" Thoma reached a hand out, and Lohen took far too long to reciprocate with his own. "Thanks for walking y/n home."

Were you seeing someone? This guy?

"Uh—yeah, no worries. Anytime."

No, he's jumping to conclusions. Friends travel and live together—

An aggressive shade of red dusted over your cheeks, reaching even your ears. "I'll see you soon. Thanks again." You quickly turned away from Lohen, ushering Thoma inside, muttering something about being cold.

With a final wave, you were inside. Through the window, he could see your blurry figures talk, and muffled laughter slipped out.

Lohen's expertise was vast, but was not applicable to romance in the slightest. However, everyone knows that a blush that deep had to indicate something, a crush, possibly even love, considering how far you had traveled together.

Paralysed and cold, he stood there, a storm of frantic thought brewing in his head. There's no way you guys were dating, right? You would've told him if someone had asked you out, or if you had a crush in the works. But what if this was another surprise?

For a brief moment, he pictured you guys on a date, and was met with immediate nausea.

(He was going to kill "Thoma", or whatever his name was, if it was the last thing he'd do.)

Since then, he was oddly provoked by Thoma, despite his polite demeanour and warmth.

When he returned home, he laid in bed and tried to rationalise the situation.

You. "Thoma". Dating?

Oh my god—what if you were married? Lohen didn't notice any rings on you, but you guys were reaching that age. You could've been intending on it, or maybe you packed your engagement ring away, all that’s valuable doesn’t belong in the open.

He buried his face into a nearby pillow, 

It's not like you've ever loved him back that way, nor did you vow to remain single forever (not that it'd even matter—you're allowed to change your mind whenever), but he felt a sliver of betrayal. If he was going to get rejected, he at least wanted to stand a good chance, rather than being nations away.

Lohen dismissed the thought, reminding himself to simply ask next time he saw you before preparing to go to sleep.

The next morning at work, he earned nothing short of concern and judgement.

"What even happened to you?" Eula commented, poking Lohen's head. His cheek was pressed up against the wooden table, neglected paperwork somewhere off to the side and his quill laid just as dead.

He heard Amber come over, too. "Dunno. He looked awful when he got here, then he kinda just gave up after the Grandmaster went out for lunch. Lohennn, are you alright?"

"Is traveling from nation to nation and living with each other a couple's thing to do?"

The two women paused. Amber spoke first. "I guess so...?"

Lohen's fist pounded the table. "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

With a worried, 'let's give him some time', Eula guided Amber away.

He finally sat up, eyelids fighting for their life to remain open. All he did was spiral instead of sleep, conjuring up all sorts of wacky possibilities. It tortured him until morning, and skipping work wasn't a luxury either, considering how he was already in trouble.

He slouched again, this time his chin resting on his forearms. He closed his eyes, hoping for a quick power nap before Varka could yell at him.

Eula came into the room again, heavy boots stomping and interrupting his attempted nap. He didn't react, until she knocked aggressively on the table.

"Fuck…I was trying to slee—"

From behind Eula you peered at him, an awkward smile plastered on your face.

'You have a visitor.' She said, then she turned to you. "Sorry about him. He hates paperwork."

He was tempted to interject, insisting that he wasn't that bad with paperwork, it was stupid Thoma's fault. All he did was tiredly squint, and burn with shame.

"Should I...come back another time? Work seems hectic."

He shook his head, excessively, leaving his bangs in his face. "No—what's up?" Frantic, he adjusted them,  

"I just...wanted to see you. And I have something I need to show you."

(It wasn't an engagement ring, was it?)

Lohen's gaze flitted around before returning to you. If he concentrated hard enough and made the most of his desperation, he'd get all this paperwork done. Hopefully soon. "Okay. Yeah that's fine. Just give me a bit more time, I'll be done soon."

The throbbing in his temples disagreed with him.

"Your library's so nice, I had a fun time talking to Lisa."

Lohen himself was impressed with his own performance. He powered through paperwork, a perfect balance of speed, and care, as to avoid being scolded and ordered to redo it all from scratch.

The fresh air helped out a bit, it woke him up and forced his eyes to stay alert. Being so openly weak was stressing him out, even with the confines of Mondstadt City and its walls, he couldn't help but worry about whether he'd be able to defend the two of you if anything happened.

"Lisa? Yeah she's alright..." He rubbed his eye, fervently.

Your hand clasped around his wrist. "You'll hurt your eye if you do that...did you not sleep enough?"

Not at all, actually. "Somethin' like that." His eye begged to be scratched again, but he held back for your sake. "Had...things on my mind."

You released him and nodded slowly. "Is being a knight that hard?"

(Being a knight was fine. Possibly having an unrequited love was far worse and nothing in comparison.)

He made an incoherent noise, before changing the topic. "Where are we going?"

"Back to mine." You smiled, and the exhaustion clinging onto his eyelid was beginning to fade. "I have stuff for you."

Lohen's face soured. Not at the thought of you, nor whatever you wanted to show him, but at Thoma. Lohen thinks he's going to throw up if he has to think about you two again.

"Wouldn't...Thoma be upset? Isn't he staying there as well? Don’t wanna intrude on you guys."

You shook your head. "He's visiting his mother today. Plus, he's a really sweet person, I'm sure you'd like him too.”

Lohen thinks not. "Are you guys like...friends?"

A pause filled the air. "I guess you could call it that. We met at culinary school."

(So are you dating or not? What kind of answer was that?)

Lohen nodded. He decided to take what he could get, and appreciate that he wouldn't have to see you and Thoma together, whatever your relationship was. He can worry about Thoma when he’s not sleep deprived and barely holding himself up. As you walked the familiar route from yesterday together, he found himself wincing whenever sunlight came too close for his liking, another predicament, alongside his brooding.

‘Oh yeah. I forgot to ask, but how are your parents doing?”

Lohen shrugged.

“Still not talking to them?”

“Yup.” He had no need for them or their ways. The most he did was pay a visit on their birthdays, dropping off a gift and a letter. He popped by on holidays, too, limiting conversation to basic greetings. You questioned it no further, just the way Lohen liked it—it was refreshing for someone to accept the way he lived, rather than yapping on about the importance of family and blood. “Yours?”

“They’re good. Turns out they prefer Inazuma far more than here.”

Lohen liked your parents, it was a shame they didn’t come with you. You inherited your kindness from your mother, who’d always encourage Lohen to come over for a meal whenever, and you had the same understanding as your father. Lohen never confided to him with his familial issues, yet he provided more insight on his situations than anyone else. He wished he could say hi again.

“What about you?” You haven’t told him exactly what you were doing here. “Are you just visiting?”

“Kind of? I’m planning to stay here for a bit. I don’t have a concrete plan.” You hummed, as the wind fluffed up your hair. “Might travel around, now that I’m not in the middle of nowhere.”

Good. That granted him a decent amount of time to confess to you.

 “Well, let me know when you figure it out. I want to hear all about it.”

The house you were staying in came into view, but the sound of crying snapped your neck towards it. “What happened?”

Lohen scanned the vicinity, nearby was a child, a young boy, wailing and clutching at his bloodied knee. You wasted no time, rushing to his side. 

“Are you okay?”

The kid cried some more.

Lohen joined you two. “Can you walk, kid?”

His tears didn’t stop, but he planted his small hands against your shoulders and pushed himself with a heave, biting his lip and gluing his eyes shut.

The kid turned to Lohen and nodded.

You inspected the graze. It appeared fine, with no visible dirt, and it was relatively shallow. “Well done. That must’ve hurt a lot, hm?”

He nodded. “It still does…”

With a subtle frown, you dug through your pockets, bringing out a small bag. “Want some candy? It’ll make you feel better.”

(Lohen wanted to ask for one too, but he refrained.)

As you tugged the pouch open, the kid deadpanned. “Mummy said I shouldn’t accept candy from strangers.”

Lohen couldn’t help but snicker, turning his face away to hide his amusement. “Smart kid—” He placed a hand on his back. “Mummy and Daddy are raising you right, hm?”

The kid stared back with judgement. Now it was your turn to laugh.

(Who knew kids were so unfiltered? Lohen knew kids were difficult, but looking back, he must’ve been a nightmare for every adult in the vicinity.)  

“Sage—I told you not to run.”

The woman’s voice almost echoed across the city, frantic and booming. The boy reacted immediately, hobbling into her arms and resuming his crying. You both stood up as well.

“C’mon, what do you say to the nice couple?” She urged him to say thank you, and the boy reluctantly turned around, hands still clinging onto her clothes. “Thank you for looking out for him…oh, you must be a knight?”

She looked Lohen up and down, he saluted in response. “Yes. Your son should be fine, as long as you clean and bandage it. It doesn’t appear to be serious.” It felt wrong, performing his formalities in front of you. He reserved this tone for diplomatic meetings, where pissing off an official could ruin an entire agreement, not the gentle streets of Mondstadt City, where you could speak to anyone as if they were close friends.

The woman sighed, and thanked you as well. “You guys would make wonderful parents.”

Your eyes grew wide. “P–parents?”

“Yeah.” She repeated, as if it were common sense. “Aren’t you a couple?” 

(See? Even the citizens of Mondstadt knew you two would be a great pair. Fuck you, Thoma.)

You corrected her with a stutter and flustered cheeks. “N–no ma’am.”

She was unbothered by it, and seemingly unconvinced as well. “Oh. What a shame, you seem to be close to each other.” With a final goodbye, she walked away with her son, excusing herself with needing to prepare dinner early tonight.

Together, you watched them return home. “Aw. I wanted him to taste test my candy.” The pouch laid in your hands and you frowned. “I didn’t know kids were so…sassy, nowadays.”

Giddy from the woman’s assumption, Lohen leaned closer. “I’m always here. I’ll eat anything and everything.” A random kid wouldn’t appreciate it as much as him, anyways. Those would eat anything as long as there’s enough colour and sugar.

You smiled. “Of course you will. You can try some after I show you what I planned out for you.”

A grin crept onto his lips. With anticipation akin to a child’s, Lohen followed you into your house like a puppy, overflowing with joy. 

When he reached your living room, you stopped him, slipping behind the knight before encasing his eyes with your hands. They were soft, and warm, nothing in comparison to the calluses that inhabited his palms. “You’ll keep it a surprise, right?”

He despised the unpredictable and unknown, but he nodded and his eyelids shut willingly. “Of course.” 

By his hand, you led him through the place, until coming to a stop. 

 “Open.” You requested. Then he obeyed.

Lohen blinked. It was just a living room. A bit bare, but it was a normal living room. There were crates stacked in a corner, presumably the belongings you and Thoma brought to Mondstadt.

He began sweating, wondering if he was just being incredibly dense. “Am I…?

You pointed to the corner, scurrying towards it and grabbing the closest one. “Souvenirs. For you. I probably should’ve considered how you were going to bring it home…”

Souvenirs? Those crates could probably carry every possession to his name.

“Come here—” You ushered him closer, placing the crate on the floor and prying off the lid. 

He crouched beside you. “A crate is a lot for souvenirs, isn’t it?”

“Is it too much? These are all for you.”

(Lohen has infiltrated illegal auctions. Embarked on trecherous journey to the lawless nation of Nod Krai. Even went face to face with a sinner of Khaenri’ah. But he’s never felt more lost than right now, at this moment.)

“W—How’s there so much? I thought these were all your things.”

You blinked. “Nope. They’re for you.” You shrugged, beckoning him to look through his gifts by himself. “If something made me think of you, I bought it.”

Inside were an assortment of weapons, alongside bottles of what he assumed to be poison.

“Ah—this stuff’s for work and your training.” You beamed. “A friend of mine, his family specialised in bladesmithing. You said the more weapons you have, the safer you feel.”

“Y–yeah I did but—” He gestured to the stack of crates nearby. “But this is insane—this would’ve cost a fortune.” He remembered your family being middle class, neither struggling nor subjugating financially, but this was an absurd amount for anything.

“It’s over six years! I promise I’ve been working hard, I stayed with family majority of the time anyways.” Your eyes sparkled with promise. “Plus, I wanted to do something nice for you. You never buy yourself anything. I bet you still hardly treat yourself.”

(You were right. Unless it was a necessity or gift for another person, Lohen seldom spent money. It was a waste, considering the Knights funded all equipment, which included most of Lohen’s collection, and he preferred to have a great sum saved up, just in case something ever happened to him.)

“I guess not?” He scratched at his nape. Protecting himself and guaranteeing safety was a good enough “treat” for him. “Dunno what I’m supposed to get for myself, anyways.” He craved the things money couldn’t purchase. Getting Varka off his back, never running out of stamina, you—

“Then let me do it for you. You’ve always worked hard, Mr Captain.”

The title made him stutter and blush. “Vice. I told you, I didn’t get the promotion after what happened.”

But you didn’t care. “Well, Adorno and I think you’re worthy of it. And it’s basically yours since it’s vacant, no?”

(God, he’s getting way too far ahead of himself, but Lohen really wants to propose to you on the spot.)

“I—” For a moment, Lohen thinks to hug you, thank you in his own special way, with affection and his entire being—

“y/n! Do you have someone over?”

Great.

“Yeah—it’s Lohen.”

Thoma’s head popped into the doorway, and he grinned from ear to ear. “Hey. Hi again.” He greeted Lohen, who responded curtly. “What are you guys up to? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

(Yes, yes you are Thoma. Read the fucking room.)

You patted the crate. “Souvenirs.”

Despite his irritation, Lohen wore a smile as he got up. “Hello again. How’s your mother doing?”

Thoma was caught off guard, glancing towards you. “She’s good, it’s been forever since I got to see her. Thanks for asking.”

“I didn’t expect you to remember that.” You mumbled, pushing off the crate to stand up. “He’s really attentive, isn’t he?”

His smile grew into something genuine in the praise. Thoma nodded along, hardly meeting Lohen’s gaze. “Yeah. Do you have any dinner plans?”

(Fuck. Lohen should’ve asked you to dinner before Thoma could.)

You shook your head, turning to Lohen. “Do you?”

He shook his head back, and internally, he was brimming with pride, celebrating the fact that you immediately turned to him.

Thoma readjusted his jacket. “Then since we’re all together, wanna go for a drink? It’ll be on me. I’ve hardly spoken to your friend yet.”

You immediately shook your head. “Lohen doesn’t dri—”

He lied, insisting otherwise. “It's alright. I couldn't possibly decline the kind offer."

And so, Lohen was seated in the Tavern besides you. Conversation of its patrons blended into one big mess, the noise infuriated Lohen, not nearly as much as his drink did.

Alcohol was fucking disgusting, Lohen thought, as he gulped down another ungodly mouthful. He glued his eyelids shut and swallowed, careful not to choke and spill any.

On the way to the Tavern, he watched you two carefully. So far, his theory of you two dating appeared false. There was hardly any physical contact between you two, nor did Thoma seem protective of you (and if Lohen’s assumption was correct, then Thoma was an awful boyfriend—who knows what could happen at night, near a bar where many drunk people were).

Logically, Lohen still stood a chance. However, getting you to like someone like him back, was an entirely new challenge he had to tackle.

Unlike Lohen, you and Thoma were fine, casually sipping without even a flinch. Conversation bounced between you with ease.

“I forgot how different Mondstadt’s beer was.”

“I wasn’t even old enough to drink, last time I was here.” Thoma finished the last of his drink, peering into the glass with an eye. “To be honest, I still prefer sake.”

With your glass to your lips, you chuckled. “Me too. This isn’t too bad, though.”

Lohen picked up his pace, you were finishing up too, he couldn’t fall behind. To find drinking alcohol enjoyable was weird, Varka, or anyone of the knights, had no right to call him insane when they could drink beer as if it were water, and derived pleasure from it.

(His stomach complained and groaned for help, but he kept going. He’ll make himself puke it out his system if needed. Lohen refused to appear weak in front of Thoma, out of all people.)

Another round of beers paid a visit, and Lohen already felt sick at the sight of a full glass.

“So Lohen, I had no idea you were Vice Captain! That’s really impressive.”

(What was that supposed to mean? That he didn’t appear worthy of his position?)

He played it off with a chuckle, thankful that speaking meant he didn’t have to drink. “It was nothing. Just took a few years of work.”

You butted in, protesting. “Liar—what do you mean Vice Captain isn’t a big deal?”

Lohen shrugged. “It’s not like I had to fight for my life for it.”

You huffed, taking another swig. “You still deserve credit.”

“You’re doing much better than me. If anything, hard work should be rewarded.” You were a cook because you dedicated your blood, sweat, and tears to it. Lohen was vice captain because he liked killing shit.

A smirk creased his lips, high off your praise, as he leaned forward to speak to Thoma. ‘What about you, Thoma? What do you do for a living?”

His face was hot and the insides of his mouth didn’t feel like his anymore, but he had to check what sort of guy you were possibly with. He took another large gulp, concealing his disgust with a sigh. 

Despite it all, Thoma was unbothered by him. “I’m the housekeeper and Chief Retainer of the Yashiro Commission.” He clarified, proud and bright. “Nothin’ special.”

Damn right. But that was too impolite to say. Lohen kept to himself and nodded. “I see. Any good in a fight?”

You answered before Thoma could. “He actually is—he faced the shogun.”

Lohen choked on his own spit. “What?”

Thoma aggressively shook his head, pink blooming on his cheekbones. “All I did was throw a spear.”

“Oh shut up—you threw it at her and somehow survived.”

“Stop bringing it up already.” But he laughed alongside you, the two of you happily bickered and drank beer. 

Lohen doesn’t get what you see in this guy. He took another swig, already adapting to the ugly taste.

Sure, Thoma did have a vision. And he was decently built, his muscles peeked out a bit from his tight top. And he was tall, really tall, but not in the same obnoxious, oversized way as Varka. He had blond, well kept hair and bright, green eyes that resembled green apples and ripe limes sold in the markets of Dornman Po—

Fuck. Now he was just listing all the good things about him. And there were plenty. Lohen himself couldn’t account for all the memories and feelings only you two shared and knew of. Thoma got to be there for you. Lohen was in a completely different continent.

Being blond wasn’t that important, was it? Varka’s blond and he wasn’t even close to marriage, neither was Jean. And it’s not like being short was a bad thing—a super tall partner would be unsettling anyways, wouldn’t it? Lohen had a vision too, and he’d say his physique wasn’t too shabby as well—

“...en? Lohen? Are you okay?”

(Just like how Lohen had to come to terms with his own mortality, he had to come to terms that maybe you weren’t meant to be. He should appreciate he gets to see you, and be within your presence, much like how he needs to acknowledge his human limits.

There was no point in brooding and complaining about Thoma, he’ll probably remain a bit bitter for the rest of time, but he should at least accept that you wanted someone else.)

It hurt, so Lohen drank some more.

His head spun and his face was warm and fuzzy. He rubbed his cheek with his own hand, despite the glove in the way. Even though it acted as a barrier, it felt abnormally warm. 

“Lohen?”

He blinked. “I’m fine. I can handle my liquor juuuust fine.” He slurred a bit, but he knew what he was doing, and where he was. He took another gulp. He’ll just get tipsy enough to forget about you and Thoma for a bit. This is why people drank, right? “Something happen? Need me to fight anything?”

Through half lidded eyes, he watched you shake your head. “You seem a bit…drunk?”

He gulped down some more to compensate. “I’m not. You have nothing to worry about.”

You acknowledged it with a hum, and went back to staring at your drink. Lohen wondered why you stopped talking to Thoma—maybe he went to the washroom, or something.

“You never told me you started drinking. I could’ve brought you back some sake.”

Thoma’s absence tempted him. He slouched over, resting his cheek on your shoulder. It was wrong, to snuggle so close with someone else’s lover, but he wanted to do it one last time. 

“It’s fine. It tastes like shit, anyways.” He reached for his drink, but you pushed it out of his grasp, and he gave you an indignant look, pale cheeks pouting, round and soft. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re very drunk. Drink water first. You need to flush it out your system.” You turned around, finding someone to call for water, but Lohen refused. With an immature whine, his arms wrapped around you, chin nestled into your shoulder. 

He could easily kiss you. All he had to do was move forward.

You smelled nice. A scent he couldn’t name, but it was far more pleasant than the colognes and perfumes he’s ever encountered. Something that didn’t fit into existing definition. His eyelids relaxed, and he embraced your proximity. 

“Y–you’re drunk—”

“And you’re pretty.”

Lohen pressed even closer, his nose brushing against his neck. He wanted to press a kiss on the flesh, bite a bit, even. He thought to himself, about how badly he wanted to kiss you all over, spoil you with all the affection he could possibly conjure. Maybe leave even a mark or two, bruising you with his love for the rest of the world to see.

(But he held back. It was audacious enough to cling onto someone taken. He needs to pull himself together and apologise before Thoma returns.)

Despite his effrontery, your hand made its way to his head, caressing his hair before patting his back. “Are you alright?”

(He wanted to throw up. Not because of the alcohol.)

“It’s not fair.” Lohen slurred, now burying his face into your shoulder. “You were gone for so long, how was I meant to stand a chance?”

He should’ve scraped up the money and joined you on that boat, and travelled across treacherous seas while by your side. That way, he wouldn’t have to swim in all his desire. Now, he found himself drowning, with no way of reaching the surface again. Lohen’s love filled him up to the brink, from his heart to his lungs, dragging him down to the depths of nothingness.

(Lohen charged at any sort of peril of ease, even back then with six years less of experience. A simple love confession may appear pathetic in comparison to the dangers he faced, but wounds heal and flesh grows back, while a rejection would leave a scar uglier than the ones his skin donned.)

His hand squeezed you even tighter. “I love you—I should’ve told you before you left. Maybe then I would’ve stood a chance against…Thoma.” His words were punctuated by a violent hiccup, it tasted of beer and misery at the back of his throat. “And got to be there for you. All I could do was write letters.” Lohen’s voice broke, almost crumbling into tears. “Do you know how scared I was? What if I somehow forgot your voice, or how you looked…”

Lohen’s face peeled off your shoulder, and his lips daringly inched closer to your ear, though he didn’t go any further. "I know I can't make you love me—” He whined, a pathetic noise, one that not even children could make. “—but I should've found a dandelion instead of tearing apart my letter. Maybe fate wouldn’t have taken you away from me.”

(Pull away, do it now, Lohen told himself. It grew into insistent commands, echoing in his skull. You’re not his. What he was doing was wrong and was only going to make things harder for everyone, especially you. He could barely excuse himself spewing his emotions like this, now was the time to let go. And throw up.) 

You weren’t replying. Of course you weren’t. He’ll have to apologise tomorrow, when his head wasn’t spinning and bile wasn’t growing at the back of his throat. 

The world faded to black.

For the first time in his entire life, Lohen was mortified at himself.

He carried not an ounce of shame when poisoning Varka’s oversized beers, nor when hunting down and blackmailing Kaeya for a forged signature. Rumours did nothing to him, he did not care for the opinions of others, only freedom reigned his actions and philosophy.

His eyes hadn’t even opened yet, and behind the darkness of his eyelids, all he saw was disgrace. He’d be impressed by how self conscious he was, if it weren’t for the fact that it was you he embarrassed himself in front of—he probably tarnished your reputation too, the one you barely got to rebuild after your return.

But he was remorseful as he was humiliated. You deserved an apology, and so did Thoma, even if he was envious of him. He’d let you beat him to a pulp if needed, if that was what it took to earn a chance of redemption.

“Fuck…” He groaned, pushing himself up. “Everything hurts.”

The sunlight oozing into the windows was blinding, despite being gentle and soft, all it did was make his head throb uncontrollably. His muscles screeched for help, soreness seized his body hostage. Lohen’s head felt too heavy, as if he could collapse at any moment.

He thought about last night, and everything beyond his body began to hurt.

It really wasn't a nightmare. You being in love with someone else.

Lohen cackled to himself, all alone in his bed. He's a fucking idiot, and loser, and should never be in the proximity of alcohol again. 

Why was he even surprised? You were perfection and sunlight personified, it was no wonder whenever someone asked you out. If anything, it was Lohen’s fault not considering that during his last goodbye.

But instead, he tore his confession into pieces, for a wish that came true far too late.

“I'm an idiot, aren't I…?” Lohen whispered, to no one in particular.

“I don't think so.”

“What the fuck—?”

You had just walked in with a glass of water. “Sorry. I heard you laughing and realised you were awake.” You approached his bed with a glass of water. “Feeling okay?”

Lohen accepted wordlessly. He wasn't sure what to be embarrassed for, from his unrequited feelings to whatever the hell he was doing earlier, it felt as though he’d done everything possible to make a fool of himself.

‘Good job.” You praised, taking the glass from his hands.

(You were attractive, even when talking to him like a child. Being praised for drinking water seemed absurd, but he wasn't allowed to say that when he was relishing every word.)

Now wasn't the time—he watched you place the glass on his bedside table, as you settled onto his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.”

Come to think of it, he hardly had any recollection of last night, aside from his shameless antics. It felt worse, not knowing the full extent of his predicament.

He glanced around his house. “How did I get back home?”

“I carried you.”

Lohen didn't remember that.

“Th–thanks. You didn't have to.”

“I didn't have a choice. You were clinging onto me and saying I had to come over.”

He didn't remember that either.

“It was pretty cute, actually. You were really excited to show me your new place. For good reason, too—”

‘I’m so sorry. I–I–I can slit my stomach open for you—that's how they do it in Inazuma, isn’t it?”

(He enjoyed being called cute far too much. Now was not the time for it.)

“No—I mean yes, they do—that's not the point.” Your hand held his, reassuring him with the rhythmic stroke of your thumb. “No one’s mad at you, Lohen. I’m definitely not.”

God, even now, you managed to be kind. Lohen would go insane if someone behaved as ridiculously as he did.

“Yeah but I bet Thoma is—”

“Why would Thoma be mad at you?”

He waved his hands around frantically. “I was hitting on you—I’d be pissed if a guy was all over my lover like that.”

You blinked once. Then twice.

“Thoma and I aren't dating.”

He was so shocked, that relief didn't even pay him a visit. In fact, nothing went through his head.

“Did you think we were together?”

“Y–yeah?”

You were stunned too, mouth hanging open as you processed his words. “Is that why you were one-upping him?”

“I was doing what?” A sharp pang throbs in his head for speaking too loud.

“While you were drunk—you were rambling about how Thoma. You said stuff about tall men being difficult to date and blond people being insanely overrated—”

Lohen snapped, unintentionally. “Stop. I'm gonna die if I hear the rest of that.” 

First, his one and only love didn't want him back, then he got wasted over a conclusion he jumped too, and now he was hungover in front of you.

He swallowed. “I still owe you two.” If anything, he’d prefer you to slit his stomach open, or beat him ‘til you were satisfied. Anything over how calm and understanding you were being. “You must’ve been embarrassed.”

You shrugged. “I told you, it was cute. I've never seen you so clingy.”

Another hot, uncomfortable wave of embarrassment washed over him.

He should bring up his feelings now, shouldn't he? Apologise for confessing in such an inappropriate, dramatic way in a public setting. Then he should walk you home and apologise to Thoma while he was at it.

Where should Lohen start? He drafted an apology in his head; about last night, sorry for—

“—I love you too, by the way.”

“The fuck?” 

A hand clasped over his mouth and he felt another urge to profusely apologise.

“Last night. You said you loved me.” 

He watched you inch closer, his heart racing even more when he felt your warmth in his proximity. “I did say that.”

“Why are you so surprised then?” Your hand holds onto his, abnormally warm compared to his body temperature. “I'm giving you an answer.”

“Wh—are you sure?” Since when were you this ballsy? You used to be so timid and shy, now you were essentially climbing onto him. “I must be going insane.”

“I had six years to think about you while I was gone. Yes, I’m very sure.” You pinched his cheek, gently tugging at the flesh. “See? You're not dreaming.”

Lohen’s mouth hung open, yet no sound came out. He stared at you, and at your thighs that were on top of his, and the pink permeating the apples of your cheek.

(Words were never his thing. Paperwork was pointless when all the information was in his head and made perfect sense to him. He even had a hard time adapting to writing letters, it didn’t sound nearly as nice when it was in ink instead of speech.)

So Lohen pulled you closer. You landed on his chest, his arms clamped around you like a vice.

You yelped, peering back up at him. “Lohen?”

His fingertips played with the back of your shirt. “May I?”

“Sure but what are you—” A shaky gasp interrupted your question, and the noise drove Lohen insane. “Cold—your hands are so cold—what are you doing?”

"Need to feel you more—" His hands massaged the soft flesh, he was right, you’d gained quite a bit of muscle since you left. His hands paused and his hollow eyes held something akin to sorrow. “Fuck. Do you know how upset I was? I–I–I was worried you were engaged.

You snorted, pinching his cheek again. “Engaged? Why would I be engaged with Thoma, when all I wanted was here in Mondstadt?”

Lohen’s gaze drifted away. “You were blushing.”

“Hm?”

“You were blushing around him. When I dropped you off. So I thought you had a thing going on.”  

This time, you burst into laughter. Normally, he’d enjoy how it sounds, but right now, all it did was fuel his embarrassment. He withdrew his hands from your back and rubbed his eyes as you composed yourself. “Sorry—that was mean. Did it not occur to you that I was flustered because of you?” 

Lohen frowned and scoffed. “You didn’t even look at me when I dropped you off.”

You rolled over, settling next to him. “Really? I probably got embarrassed. I told Thoma all about you, y’know? Since like...the beginning of our friendship? He kept telling me to confess to you during the trip here. He even made a whole gameplan for me. Y’know he only invited us to dinner to try to get us alone. He slipped away after you got tipsy.”

(Huh. Maybe Thoma was a good guy, after all. Not only does he owe him an apology, but a massive thank you, as well.)

“So. There’s no doubt that you’re the one I want, okay? It was like that long before I left Mondstadt.”

Weakly, he nodded, finally able to feel relief. “Okay.”

You liked him back, no, loved him back. For over six years, too. 

Lohen's heartbeat raced, to the point he began to worry about it bursting out of his chest. Unable to cope with all the emotions eating away at it and his pounding headache, he flopped back into bed. He’ll deal with it when he’s not hungover. For now, knowing of your feelings was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.

He turned away from you, burying his face into his hands, wincing at the aftermath of his drinking. "Ugh. My head fucking hurts...'m gonna die for a bit. Wake me if it's an emergency."

You sat up instead, already heading to the kitchen. "Oh. I just started preparing a hangover soup but—"

Lohen shot up, posture pin straight.  "I'll eat."

“You just said your head was hurting. You should rest first.”

But he stood up, throwing his blanket somewhere on the floor. “Soup. I want soup.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but you gave up. “Sure. Whatever you want. Let’s go to the kitchen, then.”

“I love you.” Lohen said, a plea for you to say that you loved him again. Even with evidence, everything still felt like a dream. He wondered if this was another pleasant dream, and he’d wake up, forehead to the desk in Varka’s office with groggy eyes, accompanied by paperwork instead of you. 

He begged for it not to.

You took his hand, pulling him along. “I love you too, Lohen.”

“So. Now we’re together.”

Lohen’s quill was nowhere to be seen, and his feet were propped up onto the table, as Varka groaned, arms crossed at his own desk.

“I get that young love is beautiful and whatnot. But might I remind you, that you’re still under strict supervision and you didn’t come in at all yesterday.”

Lohen rolled his eyes, his cheery mood undeterred by Varka’s disappointment. He had spent the entire morning rambling about you, celebrating your new status as lovers and verbally brainstorming his plans for the future. He told Varka of all the souvenirs you brought him (if it could even be called that—there were crates upon crates) and boasted about how lucky he was to be in love. He even went as far as mocking Varka, boasting about how you made him a special hangover soup, all from scratch, while Varka had to tough out his hangovers.

(He even ventured towards the topic of marriage, debating where to get an engagement ring commissioned someday and reminding himself to figure out your favourite gemstone. Varka scoffed when Lohen asked where he got his, rubbing in the fact that the Grandmaster was very much single. The closest thing Varka was married to was duty and responsibility—maybe even alcohol, too.)

A gloved hand rested over his chest. “To be fair, you did pull me out of solitary confinement for them.” He stared at the roof, unbothered by the chandelier’s glare as he swooned. He’ll pick up a nice bouquet of lovers on his way home for you. “Six years have never been more worth it. Barbatos, I'm sorry for cussing you out. You're not so bad.” He said to no one in particular.

The Grandmaster stood up, approaching the young man. He grabbed his quill and tossed it in front of him. “Was your lover worth getting wasted in front of everyone?”

Lohen’s heart sank to his stomach. His neck snapped straight and he looked Varka dead in the eye.

“Oh hey. You’re turning red now. You’re starting to remind me of Diluc’s hair.”

“How’d you even know about that?” Suddenly, his feet were off the table, heels planted to the floor and his body tensed up, as if preparing to escape or attack Varka at any moment.

“I was there? Had a drink with Kaeya and caught up with Thoma. His mother and I go way back” A slight smirk creased his lips. “You don’t seem very fond of him.”

You failed to mention that, all you told him was that he was being clingy and confessed, before begging you to come over. How much did you leave out? You were the type to omit details for the sake of another’s dignity, and the only things Lohen could recall by himself was his slurred speech and whining. 

Varka didn’t relent in his teasing. “Huh. You don’t seem so bad when you’re shy. I can see why you’ve finally found yourself a lover. Well done, by the way. Good thing Thoma wasn’t interested in them.” 

“I’ll do the paperwork, okay?” He snatched the quill, grip tightening to the point his knuckles faded to white. At this rate, he was going to do things worse than poisoning his beer. He’ll rush through this paperwork before running off to go see you again.

But apparently, his current state wasn’t amusing enough. “I can see why you don’t drink. You’re worse than me. You even threw mora at Thoma to prove you were richer. Kind of cute seeing you jump to conclusions and get all whiny—”

“Shut up.” He really will up his dose of poison. And throw out the antidote while he’s at it.

a sigh left out of the girl as she shakes her head before putting her phone in her pocket. ‘right, go to mr. pulcinella’s office to receive the portfolios and the schedule.’

teyvat university, a unique university since these aren’t just normal departments, these are actually different universities merged into one large campus. It was a miracle from the gods above as what locals or outsiders commented if they were asked about teyvat university.

due to the fact that each department represents a different nation of teyvat—and with a student population comparable to that of a small country—the university administration quickly realized that a single student affairs organization would be impossible to manage effectively. after much deliberation, the founders and deans of the seven departments unanimously agreed to establish independent student affairs organizations for each nation, allowing every department to govern its own students according to its customs, traditions, and administrative style while still operating under teyvat University's central administration. 

these organizations oversee student welfare, discipline, events, interdepartmental relations, and extracurricular activities within their respective departments, ensuring that each nation's unique identity is preserved while maintaining harmony across the university as a whole.

These organizations are called by their perspective names, such as;

Mondstadt Department, Knights of Favonius Student Council.

Liyue Department, Liyue Qixing Student Council.

Inazuma Department, Tri-Commission Student Council (Yashiro Commission • Tenryou Commission • Kanjou Commission).

Sumeru Department, Akademiya Student Council.

Fontaine Department, Maison Gardiennage Student Council.

Natlan Department, War Council Student Affairs.

Shezhnaya Department, Fatui Organization.

Despite being in different departments, the department’s founders also created the Central Student Affairs Council. the CSAC serves as the bridge and communicates between all of the departments to each other whenever they need help from another department or a scene was made and needs the opinions of other departments to come to the final conclusion.

“mr. pulcinella! it’s me, (Name)!” she announced after knocking on her advisor’s office door. of course, every council has their advisor to guide its student council members.

“come in, child.” was the reply from inside of the office.

with a quiet hum, (Name) entered inside of the chilling yet warm at the same time office of pulcinella. the old man was there, sitting on his office chair while his desk was neatly organized with two portfolios as well as a laminated schedule for this month.,

“mr. pulcinella, i came here for the portfolios and the schedule for the seven nations festival preparation.” (Name) stated, knowing that mr. pulcinella would prefer going straight to the point.

pulcinella nodded, gathering her requested things. “I was wondering why you were taking a tad long time, child.”

“ah, i apologies, mr. pulcinella. I admit i almost forgot about it if it weren’t for father to remind me about it in the group chat.” she sheepishly admitted as she accepted the portfolios and schedule.

pulcinella mused, “and here i thought i should be forgetting things since my age.”

“mr. pulcinella..”

“kidding , dear child. kidding.” 

“you don’t sound like it…”

it was late in the afternoon and around that time, lohen— vice captain of the knights of favonious, though he still wonders why he was even elected as vice captain by dean varka— was, as usual, lazing around in the k.o.f office after finishing a sparring session in the fencing club in mondstadt department despite being it earlier at around 2:30pm and he should have been checking around to inspect the preparations for the seven nations festival.

he should be working right now, or else jean— the president of the knights of favonious— will surely scold him about being a representative of the monstadt department and all that shaz sham but it’s only a tiny break, right?

“670… 671… 672.. 673..” lohen murmured, slowly but surely accepting his drowsiness.

a sleep break won’t hurt, no?

surely.

“her majesty’s nose is asymmetrical. shift the entire sculpture west!”

a sudden boom of a firm yet passionate voice being said in a megaphone was heard down the campus’ that resulted into lohen’s sleep bubble being popped and him being jolted back to the living.

“what the hell..?” lohen muttered, annoyed by the person who just woke him up from his deserving break nap.

he’ll surely ask for a spar with this person to teach them a lesson. annoying little thing.

“no, no, no! move it again going a bit towards north! i will not have her majesty’s statue bowing down to the anemo archon!”

that voice ordered again, quite frequently. as if the tsaritsa is watching their every move.

“by seven’s christ, just who is this person?” lohen wondered, rubbing his forehead.

with a sigh of exasperation, lohen approached the window, curiosity outweighing his frustration. whoever was making such a racket this late in the afternoon was about to receive an earful—if not challenge—  from him.

or so he thought.

years later, he'd look back on that moment and laugh at himself. the instant he glanced out the window, his entire train of thought came to a screeching halt. his eyes widened, his breath caught in his chest, and the irritation that had fueled him moments before melted away, replaced by something far more dangerous.

there were beautiful people at teyvat university, yes. lohen had met plenty of them. but beauty had never been enough to make him stop walking. 

she did. 

it wasn't because she was standing beneath the winter sunlight, nor because the crystalline ice sculptures reflected in her eyes. it was because she stood at the center of absolute chaos as though she had been born for it. a single gesture from her sent dozens of people into motion. a single glance was enough to make someone correct their mistake before she even spoke. she carried herself with the confidence of a commander and the composure of someone who knew exactly where she belonged.

lohen had always admired strength—the kind that stood firm when everything else threatened to fall apart. and there she was, directing an entire festival with nothing but a megaphone, a blueprint, and unwavering conviction in her voice. before he could stop himself, a dangerous thought settled into his mind with alarming certainty: there she is. as if every path he'd taken had somehow led him to this exact moment. as if, without ever exchanging a single word, he'd already met the love of his life.

PRODUCER'S ENDING CREDITS!

first chap omg! so sorry for the long wait, dearies! i was getting use to the, like, smau things. it's my first time doing this but it's always fun to explore new things once in a while >w<! also, why do some people i try to tag not get tag huhu

from that day, you made it a point to avoid him, and he accepted it without a thought. though, there were still a few moments in which he quietly watched over you between the centuries. moments in a warm room where you let your violin echo your loneliness, or the few times you were outside for a few minutes. your face would crumble as the sun which once felt overwhelmingly warm to you now did nothing against the curse on your body, still freezing your hands and arms even with thick coats.

as time progressed and decades passed, you'd make your disdain clear with side glares and dismiss his reprimands with meaningless and empty promises. though on the very rare occasion you tolerated his presence, you'd listen to his stories like you did centuries ago, because in that aspect, it was like a glimpse of your father lingered on in his tales of khaenri'ah.

01: the captain, capitano.

the relationship between the two of you was oddly meaningful. the man was as quiet as a mouse when the two of you were alone. you weren't blind; you knew he and many of the harbingers only kept you company to keep an eye on you. because of that, you didn't find the formidable man intimidating, but a man with wise words and great intellect.

when you picked up the sword after being bedridden for such a long time, your steps weren't even close to your former prowess. once a child who wielded the blade and polearm with the vigor of a graceful warrior now tripped and staggered with simple movements. yet he often sat in silence, watching the flaws in your stance and with a deep voice, he'd point them out.

"your feet are too far apart and your arms are too close to your body." his footsteps were heavy on the thick carpet. he knew better than to be too close to you, his cryo capabilities would freeze your skin. instead, the scabbard of your sword pushed your arms a few inches to your right side.

"having a firmer base and keeping your feet light will allow you to move like a swan and strike with the strength of a tiger."

some days, he'd come around just to watch you get back up to your feet. he'd heard about your achievements in your youth (wonder from who), and watching you struggle to keep up with simple exercises made something in him want to see you improve. other times. he'd simply come and drink tea in silence, listening to you vent your frustrations about your swordsmanship, and most importantly, your mother.

when your body started adapting to your curse, he started dueling you. while your limbs started freezing over and showing signs of fatigue, he looked like a boulder being brushed by a light breeze. when the jester heard about it, he discouraged the practice and relayed that your mother found it unwise. but you stopped listening to anything that came from him. you made it obvious you wouldn't listen unless your mother said it face to face.

the captain, despite his loyalty to your mother, couldn't refuse your demand to keep training you. and so he did, even when your body was at its limit and your fingers turned a deep cerulean. he was harsh, but by the time you were collapsed on the carpet shivering, he had already draped a thick blanket over you and ordered a servant to bring tea. it was through him that you learned how to insulate your body with the own coldness of your flames.

then when your body warmed enough to stand and move slowly, you'd sit and drink tea together in silence. it was poetic, how a man who was slowly eroding was teaching a child cursed with the same fate. though one day, you were tempted to ask about the thing that plagued you the most.

"what lies beyond your hat, thrain?" he was calm about it, as if he had been prepared for years.

"a face disfigured by time and the consequences of sinners." you could only assume he meant the same erosion that was chiseled into your left hand. dark blue coloring and cracks of light blue creeping up your arm, so different from the half of the curse that affected your vision.

as the years went by, you regained some of your former prowess, and even thrain had to admit that he was putting in effort in defeating you. you weren't near his level, clearly, but you were scarily close considering the curse that burned you at both ends.

shortly before he left for natlan, he confided in you. in came in simple conversation after one of your duels. he calmly his tea, faced clouded with darkness while you regained your breath and warmth. he told you of his anger of the pyro archon, the way the gnosis held the solution towards the night kingdom and ley lines.

of course, you knew the way they functioned. your limited freedom and confinement to the indoors often led you down rabbit holes of information found in the books in the library. but when he told you of the souls in his body and his plan for natlan, you shut down as a defense mechanism.

the day he left, he visited you one last time. you were quiet and distant, but despite that, he allowed himself to get close to you. he patted the top of your head and murmured goodbye before his heavy footsteps disappeared down the corridor.

when the news came of his dormant state, you allowed a single tear to escape the gap of your mask, for the man who was your mentor and made his peace.

but for now, your plan was set in motion.

02: the doctor, dottore.

you quickly found out the doctor was a complex and multifaceted man. his interest in you was quickly piqued, an order from the tsaritsa herself to monitor your wellbeing. you met him a few years after he became a harbinger, a young man expelled from the akademiya for illegal research with too much ambition and too much thirst for knowledge.

the laboratory created for him in the depths of the zapolyarny palace was cold, even by the standards of an acclimated snezhnayan. the first time you stepped foot in it (quite literally), ice crept up your leg and made it a dense block of ice before you could step back. servants had to carry you back to your chambers while dottore followed closely behind, muttering his observations.

your leg refused to thaw until he took the risk of placing fire on it directly. from then on, he made a makeshift lab in the corner of the drawing room in your chambers, visiting you a couple of times a month due to the tsaritsa's demands. you found that dottore was an unconventionally antisocial man. despite talking to himself about his observations and findings, he'd give you one word answers to the things to didn't understand.

"interesting. the compounds and composition hasn't been changed, yet the chemical traces suggest contradicting elements.. why is that?" he watched a small sample of your fire with fascination, seeing it gently lick a blank sheet of paper. in the blink of an eye, it became a thin sheet of ice that broke with a slight touch.

"what does that mean?" you swung your legs languidly with boredom.

"something."

eventually, begrudgingly, zandik, as you somehow forced out of him, found himself warming up to you. sometimes, he brought you sweets or played the piano in your room after the experimenting left you cold and weak. he even began to strike up irrelevant findings in his other experiments just to erase the awkward silence.

but then, his visits became weekly. he'd realized that for some reason, you weren't aging as you should have. sure, you were a godling, but even then, you should have aged until you reached adulthood. but a single year of human development became three for your internal timeframe, then five, then ten, and so on until you became physically stuck at the age of sixteen.

unlike you or pierro or thrain, zandik was human, despite all his attempts to become immortal. you watched his body become slower and strained, watched as wrinkles formed around his eyes and mouth. but he wasn't scared. one day, he told and showed you of his success. on one of your checkups, a boy around your age accompanied him and your heart nearly stopped.

he looked like your little brother, had he lived sans the red eyes.

segments, he called them, a way for him to remain immortal while decaying like a human. the boy was warmer than the original zandik, though he still carried the same sharp ambition and relentless intelligence.

when the original zandik died, you cried for hours, not because you were particularly close, but rather because he became someone else you lost. eventually as time passed and segments grew from children to old men, you stopped crying for them, and each segment strayed from the familiarity the original zandik had with you.

but perhaps out of the consciousness of their being, everytime one of the segments was close to their time, they'd leave with a farewell, something even zandik didn't do, in which you'd stubbornly say you'd see them the following week. of course, by then a younger segment had replaced them and continued as if nothing happened.

once the news from nod-krai and sumeru reached your ears, you did not weep for him. instead, you looked at the piano in your room and sat on the stool, fingers pressing the keys to a solemn melody, the same he played after tiring days. when the song ended, you could only glance back at the piano.

"for good, our final farewell, zandik."

03: the damselette, columbina.

she came to you a particularly lonely night. the palace was oddly quiet except for the gentle weeping coming from your cello, a rendition of a popular ballet piece from the korolevskiy troupe. the song served as the entrance of the grand dance between the male and female lead. you had seen it with your father and mother when it was first released, your little brother barely walking and babbling.

your mother naturally loved it, a grand orchestra piece made by a single composer, the song acting as a final goodbye to his beloved sister. (yes i love pas de deux) you didn't understand it then, too young to comprehend it, but old enough to have the melody remain in your mind. but by extension, you grew to understand why she adored it.

after all, the song was a final, grand act of love.

amidst the timbre of the cello, a soft voice hummed the voice. from surprise. the grip on your bow tightened and what could only be described as a squeal squeak out of the cello. you turned around, surprised to see her standing mere feet away from you. you hadn't heard her coming. she tilted her head, her voice as soothing as a balm for the soul.

"why did you stop?" your eyes tried to meet hers, only to find a crisscross blindfold over her shut eyes.

"i wasn't expecting people. did my mother send you?" you queried, distant but not unkindly.

"the tsaritsa? no, she did not. i was merely wandering about the garden, but the wind carried over the melody. what was it?"

"you've never heard of the grand step of two?" you asked with bewilderment, a break in the composure you were carefully building around yourself. "it's the korolevskiy troupe's best movement."

"i rarely get the chance to leave the palace." she hummed quietly. you took a few seconds to digest her words before placing your bow back on the strings and began playing the descending scale once again. this time, she familiarized herself with the scale before singing it back in cadence.

from then on, her voice became the harmony to the melody of your violin or cello, or even the piano in your room. her voice, soothing as it was, sometimes lulled you sleep in between playing and you'd wake up to her gone, the sleeping only becoming more frequent after the abyssal curse reached your neck. sometimes, you'd talk about mundane things.

"is it as good as everyone says? the play from the korolevskiy troupe?" she mused over tea.

"it's recognized across teyvat as one of the most successful ballet pieces. to think you haven't seen it, i can't deny it, it surprises me."

"perhaps you and i can go see it- oh. forgive me." you shook your head, the movement stiff with melancholy. with the raging winters, even stepping foot outside the palace would be enough to freeze you solid.

"just make sure you see it." you said with a sad smile.

the day she did, she came back to you a few days later. sandrone had accompanied her and cried during the second act, during the grand step of two. she confided in you then. the piece caused her to feel homesick. homesick to a place she never truly belonged and the exhaustion of being utilized for her ability.

you didn't know what it was. unlike the other harbingers, you had never seen her demonstrate any strength that belied her gentle appearance. but there had to be a reason why your mother ranked her so high. at first, it was only a mention that breezed past your thoughts, but eventually, you could see it in her face.

you didn't want to lose anyone else. sure, your heart had become colder and accustomed to death and loss, but even thinking about it made your gut clench as if to throw up. she was the first to simply coexist with you, the first to see you, not as the tsaritsa's daughter, but simply you.

at first, you tried to dissuade her with the obvious that your mother wouldn't tolerate treason against her or the fatui. if she got caught, it would be a death sentence. but you saw the smile on her face, melancholic and languid, her mind already set.

you let her go.

as expected, the rooster had issued the palestar edict on your mother's behalf. days passed following the chaos between the woman who was in fact, the trilune goddess, and zandik.

a single letter had been delivered to you, the emblem of the frostmoon scions colored on the back with a single sentence:

"we'll watch the korolevskiy troupe together someday."

the letter was burned to ashes in the fireplace.

the plan didn't leave room for hesitation.

04: the knave, arlecchino.

she was the first one to be sought out by you. it wasn't directly, but the ascension of the criminal who killed the former fourth harbinger to be her replacement had roused your curiosity. sure, lesser ranked harbingers or mortal ones were simply replaced once their time came, but to think it was mere child who defeated the fourth harbinger was astounding.

you rarely left your chambers for a couple of years. it was around this point where you began wearing a mask to hide your face. the curse had caught up to your face. you understood why thrain hid his, yours a disfigured atrocity that made you break every mirror in your chambers and refused dottore's checkups. even rosalyne, who you often sought out, was denied entry.

the guards stationed at the throne room didn't even stop you at the massive doors, staring at you with bewilderment before opening the doors. there alone in the grand space stood a white and black haired teenager around your physical age, her frame turning towards you. her eyes narrowed imperceptibly with suspicion.

"are you another harbinger?" she asked, though it came out more as a demand. you mere shook your head with a languid grace.

"a mere passer-by. i try to understand who the fools who serve my mother are." you climbed up the steps slowly, almost painfully. your vision had become more unpredictable with the centuries and instead of your body freezing every time the temperature was below your body's liking, it also started freezing things through your clothes, evident in the splotches of ice of the stairs where your feet were.

"mother?" she murmured before humming with realization as she looked at a lavish portrait in the throne room. the tsaritsa with a man, a little boy who looked just like her, and an older girl who took after her father with the tsaritsa's eyes. "you're the grand duchess."

you hummed absentmindedly. you avoided looking at the portrait, the change in what you looked like and now would have probably been another breaking point. instead, you fixed your gaze on her. "you're young for a harbinger, though i suppose life favors the victors." you paused. standing beside her, the ice beneath your feet melted and you felt a hint of warmth. it felt wonderful, the first time in nearly five hundred years in which you felt warm and not cold. "hmm.. perhaps one day, you could join me for tea."

she started coming over to your chambers often, surprising rosalyne who teased you for not inviting her over. simply put, it was refreshing having someone of similar age to you close, even more so someone as honest about her intentions. you found to be serious and stern, though sometimes when it was just the female harbingers and yourself at one of sandrone's tea parties, she'd relax.

her warmth was more than welcome, and you often found yourself falling asleep on her shoulder. often, she relayed what pierro told her about her heritage, about the fall of the crimson moon dynasty and the rise of the eclipse dynasty in khaenri'ah. sometimes, you would supply her with your own stream of information from years of reading about the matter.

the curses you shared, so different yet so similar at the same time only seemed to strengthen the amicable bond between the two of you. hers, which burned so brightly also burned and corrupted her soul. yours, which was once the brightest flame of them all reduced to a power that slowly killed your body from the sheer cold.

she told you of her past, growing up in the house of the hearth alongside the only friend she ever had and the cruel mother that tore the bond between them. her silence suggested the sheer cruelty. in turn, you told her the broader details of your disappearance from the public eye, why the citizens of snezhnaya hadn't seen the grand duchess for centuries.

the knave began leaving for fontaine throughout the year, now managing the house of the hearth her own way. you could see the changes in her, the way she began growing out her hair and wearing makeup to look older than she really was. you watched with a saddened heart and envy as the young girl became a truly formidable woman who cared deeply despite her aloof demeanor.

in the meetings that became less frequent, she began to talk about the children of the house. particularly a set of twins and a younger boy who was well versed with mechanics.

"freminet, he's talented in many areas, yet his lack of confidence holds him back." she said once, her voice much deeper than you remembered it. "you'd get along with him, considering your own expertise in the mundane." she said it as if you weren't a multi centennial being.

she noticed your unusual silence one day, thick and almost oppressive in nature. the tea that was usually in the table in front of you wasn't there, and neither was the cursed girl she grew to see as a valued friend and sometimes slept on her shoulder when the curse exhausted her.

"peruere." you started, voice low and pained. your heart and face burned, feeling the curse extend slightly further. "if the time ever came, where someone you loved dearly was at risk, and it went against the life you've constructed as a harbinger.. would you fight as the knave or as peruere?"

"where does this come from?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and intrigue. "i'd rather avoid that sort of thing. but in the hypothetical sense.. peruere."

she didn't understand it then, why she could sense you smile under the mask, but now after columbina was gods knows where because of dottore, the decision was much simpler to make as she clenched her fist with steady determination.

the moment she went back to snezhnaya, she went to see you. yet you did not open the door, not the first time, nor the second, or the third day.

you could only listen to her retreating footsteps as you sat against the wall, the room covered in ice as you shed the last tears you ever would.

05: the rooster, pulcinella.

he was much like pierro in terms of keeping you away from matters concerning the fatui. by the time he had come, you weren't interested anymore. you kept your distance from him. you had heard how he constantly twisted people's words against them and began rumors among the ranks about the other harbingers.

not only that, but it seemed the facade of the dedicated mayor who took care of ajax's was really just a means to control him. he was young, you knew childe trusted him implicitly, but you and most of the harbingers understood it was for leverage.

to you, he was just another obstacle in the way of you seeing your mother, but unlike the director, you didn't fight him. although if there ever came a time where he crossed the line, you were more than ready to put him in his place. you weren't a harbinger after all. the rules did not apply to you.

06: the balladeer, scaramouche.

you met him after one of dottore's checkups. the scientist told you of an interesting being he found while in inazuma, a puppet, hidden in the ruins of an old village. at first, it was just a mention until he quite literally crashed into you at the turn of a corridor.

he scoffed and walked away while you stayed winded for a bit, mostly because the captain had not gone easy during a duel and had you wanting to run away from the room.

you rarely saw him between going and leaving harbinger meetings or when you tried to seek out your mother despite the constant refusal from the jester or the rooster. he didn't pay you any mind, as if you were just another deluded person in the palace.

the first proper interaction you had with him was after your last attempt to see your mother. it had been successful, but the event that transpired left you feeling empty and cold. you found yourself in the balcony of one of the towers, not caring about your limbs as they became solid ice or the crystalization of the skin of your face. you didn't cry, but you never wanted to disappear as much as you did at that moment.

"to think the beloved grand duchess of snezhnaya isn't very beloved by the tsaritsa herself. amusing." his voice was as cold as the winter storm that raged outside the castle. you turned and looked at him, four pointed star pupils glaring at him with heat that contested the ice of your limbs.

"you cross a line, balladeer." your voice imitated the command in your mother's voice exceptionally well. "though, i must say that you are the pot calling the kettle black. the abandoned puppet of the shogun, that i fear, is far more depressing than my situation."

"i've made my peace with it." he scoffed. he stopped beside you, wearing only the black and purple clothes that were far too light for such a cold place. he couldn't feel it, you noticed. you envied it.

"if you made your way here to become a harbinger, then clearly, you have not. though, i can't exactly blame you for it." your teeth clattered together as frost covered your chin. he looked at you incredulously, before scoffing again.

"why are you here? are you really willing to suffer for the actions of someone who clearly doesn't want you near?" his words struck something in your and for that moment, they served their purpose. you clenched your jaw and went back inside the palace with difficulty.

there was a strange rivalry between the two of you, not oppressive, but that of two people with incredibly similar situations trying to coax the other to move on while clinging to the past. often, you'd find yourself in situations where you took turns insulting the other while other harbingers like dottore were around. it filled the room with light humor, considering that if any other person said those things to either one of you, they'd be missing by dinner.

however, the two of you also shared the appreciation of knowledge. it had come up in random conversation, but it stuck with you, his theory of a false sky. you found yourself invested in research about the possibility of it, eventually leading to your investigation of the four shades. particularly ronova, the shade of death.

when he started collaborating with dottore, you found yourself suspicious. you knew he wasn't over his past or the betrayals inflicted on him. but to become an artificial god, was a blasphemy that even you didn't consider wise.

"what are you trying to prove, scaramouche? that you can rewrite fate?" you asked him the night before he and dottore left for sumeru. he turned on his heels, answering as if it were the most obvious thing.

"fulfilling what i was created for. godhood is meant to be mine, even if it's achieved through unconventional ways." he scowled slightly. "maybe the reason you're curse hasn't gone away is simply because you let it control you."

you no longer remember him.

07: the marionette, sandrone.

you found the woman intriguing, really. you first met her when rosalyne invited you to her tea party on her behalf, dragging you along while telling you that it would be good for you. you simply let her, mostly because you didn't have anything better to do and you wanted to leave your chambers for a bit.

yet as you entered sandrone's room, what could only be described as a squeak left your lips as a giant automaton filled the room with its tall and rather wide frame.

"don't mind pulonia, take a seat." her voice was high and pompous. you sat next to rosalyne, naturally, far enough away to put some distance between yourself and the giant mecha. rosalyne never let you live your fear of pulonia down.

to say you were a bit terrified of her brilliance for mechanics was an understatement. her workshop was filled with books and parts used for mechas, complex where even your extensive knowledge of the sciences failed to grasp what half of it meant.

you rarely visited her workshop, as there wasn't much in common between the two of you. she tolerated you, as she put it, often spending time complaining about columbina's perpetual singing or rosalyne's habitual drinking habits. she did, however, find an interest in the aspect of your curse. she'd look at the frost on your hands that rarely went away and began ordering pulonia around, much to your dismay.

"why the interest?" you mentioned casually once, observing sandrone as she tinkered with a small device barely larger than a bracelet. she huffed slightly, shooting you daggers, her voice haughty and exaggerated.

"because every time you come over, i happen to find one of my teacups encrusted with ice." she pointed an accusing finger at you. "do you know how long it takes for it to melt?! or how many handles have been snapped off?! clearly gloves aren't going to be a long time solution so i'm making one."

"does that mean you want me at your tea parties? i'm honored." you teased with a small smile. she groaned and rolled her eyes

"please, i'm only doing this because i'd never hear the end of it from rosalyne." she muttered out. what she made was a carefully designed bracelet with constant heating. of course. the gadget froze over the moment it was placed on your wrist, leading to a groan from the woman.

she noticed the way that around her, you took after rosalyne and often teased her. it was probably one of the only things left that really showed that despite the curse, you were still a teenager. of course, whenever she did get annoyed, she'd "send" pulonia after you. she never really did, but watching you run out of the room was amusing enough.

she never did stop trying to build something for your hands. you were her guinea pig for the warming device, yet every time, it failed to work. she never got too discouraged, and by a few days later, you were pulled back into her workshop.

the teasing started dying down after years, as if the curse had hardened you, and it did, literally and metaphorically. but after rosalyne's death, it tanked, and not even threatening you with pulonia was enough to get you to act like before.

your presence at her tea parties became less frequent until you were just another empty seat.

08: the fair lady, la signora.

you were there when she became a harbinger out of formality, even though to had two servants flanking your side and helping you stand straight. you watched as pierro read your mother's decree out loud for the rest of the harbingers to hear. rosalyne-kruzchka lohefalter, the crimson witch of flames, to become the eighth fatui harbinger, and the title of la signora bequeath to her like a heirloom.

you only really met her when you were taken to the infirmary during a difficult night where you would not stop shivering. she was there, getting salve for the burns the liquid flame caused to her face. her eyes locked onto your frame, hiding beneath thick layers of blankets and sheets that barely did anything to stop the shivers.

"what's a kid like you doing here?" she asked kindly, the mondstadtian unaware of your royal blood. the servant beside you had looked at her with a pointed glare.

"this is the grand duchess and the tsesarevna, (name) anastasyevna." (yes matronymics) you were far too out of it to really listen to what they were saying, and eventually the cold brought you into a deep sleep. but when you woke up, you didn't see the servant, but rather rosalyne sitting beside you while reading.

she set down her book when she saw you stir slightly and gave a small smile. her hand was incredibly warm as it takes through the strands of your hair before settling on your cheek. surprisingly, frost didn't cover it and for the first time since you were cursed, someone gave you affection without the fear of your curse.

you quickly learned that your mother had specifically instructed her to look after you, mostly because it seemed that your skin didn't freeze with her touch and because the woman was instinctively maternal around children. as young as you were, you followed her around a lot when you were strong enough to walk like a duckling following its mother.

she never seemed to mind it, encouraged it, even. you, who never stepped foot outside of snezhnaya, often listened to her descriptions of her old home in mondstadt, though they were always laced with slight bitterness, and her studies in sumeru.

once you got better and began playing your instruments again, she often listened closely with a glass of wine, and in her eyes, a melancholy glazed her eyes, especially if the song was ever slightly solemn. you never questioned it. sometimes, she had sheet music sent from the other nations, ballads from mondstadt, anthems from sumeru, or folk songs from liyue.

in every aspect except blood, she became a partner in crime and something of a guardian. the two of you often teamed up to tease sandrone, more so when she began developing a bit of a temper. though you found yourself asking rosalyne more and more about your mother, which she always changed the topic to something else.

she was your constant source of heating, often finding yourself with your head on her lap while you complained about your mother or the endless checkups that she insisted. she'd pinch your cheek lightly with a light chuckle or rub the points of your ear when they were covered with frost. (she never lost that habit, even centuries later when you were taller than her and lost your childlike behavior.)

later in the centuries and after you had seen your mother, rosalyne remained as one of the people who had a deep bond with you. your new antisocial behavior made her push you into interacting with the other harbingers, such as sandrone and pantalone.

"what did the korolevskiy troupe perform this time?" peruere asked, handing over her plate for a slice of cake while you languidly sipped your tea beneath the mask.

"the mountain sparrow. you missed a good one." rosalyne answered, lying next to you on the couch, her hand twirling with your short (or tied up) hair. you ignored sandrone's sharp comment about sitting next to dottore and pantalone. and columbina's rebuttal of seeing sandrone cry.

"the composition was crafted from love and death. it'd be difficult to sit through it without shedding a tear." your voice was a low hum.

"perhaps a rendition?" rosalyne teased lightly, though peruere did seem interested. you shook your head.

"perhaps another time." the fair lady frowned slightly but didn't push.

she had seen you grow from a warm-hearted child to an antisocial teenager, the curse consuming and eroding your being. alongside it, you had developed a thirst for power that wasn't there before, spending more and more time researching abyssal energy and the ley lines.

inazuma was a region you knew little about, even through all the literature in the palace. rosalyne had promised to bring back a few light novels and to tell you about the region when she got back, as she did every time she departed for a nation.

only this time, nothing but ashes came back.

09: the regrator, pantalone.

you met feofan before he became a harbinger, one of zandik's experiments. originally, he was just a name in passing after a check up, though the doctor eventually began talking about him more in his pursuit of an elixir of immortality.

he was much like zandik in terms of ambition, a man born with nothing who hated the gods for interfering in mortal affairs. you didn't think much of him until he became a harbinger by zandik's recommendation. it was then that he and zandik were rarely seen apart, even during your checkups.

your blood was one of the materials zandik sought to try and craft an elixir of immortality. while it didn't work on him, it did for the chain-smoker. despite his hatred for the gods, it seemed the rule didn't apply for you. he felt indebted, even if he never said it out loud.

most of the time, his actions were subtle. you'd open the doors to your chambers and you'd find various assortments of sweets or silks from liyue. he was the reason you owned a cello, finding it in your room after a particularly bad winter night.

"are cigarettes really worth another set of lungs, feofan?" you asked once, nose wrinkling slightly from the smell. you had made yourself comfortable in his office, the room warm and covered with thick tapestries and carpets in front of the hearth. his smile was small and he answered with a hum.

"life's simple pleasures will always have a place. besides, there's nothing a good cigarette can't fix. i may as well make use of immortality to appreciate it thoroughly." you rolled your eyes.

"no being in teyvat is truly immortal. even the gods you hate will eventually erode to the works of time and death. it's only a matter of duration." he gave a light chuckle to your words and simply let out another puff of thick smoke.

"that just gives me more reason to take pleasure in these vices."

one time, he offered you a sip of his wine. he knew you wouldn't get any older physically, but your life was limited, so why not give you a glimpse of adulthood? it was only the one time, both because you spat out the bitter drink and stained a very expensive coat of his, and because he had been reprimanded by the rooster.

part of you knew the man would die not much longer after you eroded, the elixir no longer having a donor for the immortal aspect. you knew he knew, but he always told you the same thing. forget the past, live in the present, and ignore the future.

"if everyone had the same mentality you did, the world would cease to exist." you said over the gentle weeping of the piano dottore played. "equal attention to the three are necessary for survival."

"they distract from the moment. could you imagine being focused on something you couldn't control that you miss the time you spend with a good bottle of wine or comrades?"

needless to say, you appreciated his somewhat absurdist view on the passage of time, even if you couldn't relate to it.

you wanted to take fate into your own hands.

10: ???

11: childe, tartaglia.

you refused to see him for the longest time. it wasn't just because the rooster had personally sought him out at an absurdly young age, but because your mind betrayed you. instead of seeing ginger hair and deep blue eyes, your brain changed his features to a platinum white and eyes that held the four pointed star.

the fourteen year old didn't know who you were, a result of centuries of hiding away in the palace because of your curse. but all he knew was that you were mentored by the strongest man there was. and that was enough to get him to plague every walk around zapolyarny palace.

you'd leave your chambers and walk around the corridors only to have a second set of footsteps imitating yours. you'd shoot him a pointed, but heatless glare through your mask to try and get him to stay away, only for the boy to stubbornly follow you. eventually, his presence became expected and you'd save him a seat next to you in one of the drawing rooms.

"stubborn child, why do you insist on following me like a stray?" you demanded once, watching the boy take multiple biscuits from the serving stand on the coffee table, completely ignoring the warm cup of tea in front of him. he stuffed one in his mouth.

"cause you're the captain's student. he refuses to duel me." he stated, as if it made perfect sense for one of the strongest humans alive to duel a fourteen year old boy. "and if i beat you, then he'll be sure to consider me as a fine duelist."

you sighed in disbelief and continued drinking your tea.

you didn't think much of it until you started realizing more and more lower ranking fatui members were coming back injured from training. when you observed the training one day, you realized that it was childe's doing. despite his age and childish behavior, he had an intense bloodlust not even some vengeful gods had.

you indulged one day, picking up a wooden sword from one of the many racks lined up against the wall and walked over to the ginger, who stood over a well beaten pyro agent. his eyes lit up with adrenaline and he rushed forward, swinging his wooden staff. it only hit air as you side stepped it easily along with the other swings and grabbed him from the back of his collar like a petulant brat.

"what gives?!" he complained, freeing himself from your grip. you huffed lightly.

"if you cannot land a single hit on me, how do you expect the captain to duel you." you watched him huff with disappointment. you sighed through your nose and set the wooden blade down.

"from now, you come to me. other harbingers have already complained that their fatuus are out of commission because of your ruthlessness. understood?" you ordered. his eyes twinkled with satisfaction and victory. you won the battle, but he won the war.

of course, your duels often consisted of his calculated swinging that hit air and your constant side stepping before poking him with the end of the wooden blade or simply making him fall on his ass.

though, you felt.. proud.

once he was tired enough, you'd sit him on a couch and give him sweets. it was in those moments where he'd tell you about his family, especially his younger brother teucer. you listened out of politeness, but inwardly, anger consumed you. you knew the rooster was only taking care of his family as a way to control and manipulate ajax.

with time, he proved to be an exceptionally talented fighter, especially after he gained a delusion. you actually had to carry some of his attacks and his movements were in tandem with yours. even some of his techniques with the polearm were influenced by some of your own, untraditional methods. but you did make sure to put him in his place when he got too cocky.

"at this rate, you might actually make me take this seriously someday." you said, extending a hand towards his form. he shifted back from his alternate form and took it. he had grown taller than you, yet he still carried that childish behavior. you had grown used to it at a certain point.

"only seriously? i was hoping i'd defeat you." after his orders to go to liyue, dueling became rarer because of the schedule conflicts. but after rosalyne's death, even going near you seemed impossible.