possum sanctuary

here is my ao3 where things are posted more consistently than on my tumblr

and i will update this as soon as i do more interesting stuff !!

Dear y/n,

I doubt you will ever see this letter. It’s hard to remember how many years of my life I have left, but if I do succeed in returning to my hometown, it won’t be long before I will have to pass on my power to the next generation of warriors.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, but I don’t think you would want to. I’m sure you probably hate me now, and I don’t blame you for that. I can’t even bring myself to say that I regret what I did, but I know that I am not proud of myself.

I remember looking down and seeing you during the breach of Trost, and then again before Reiner and I deserted. I remember the terror in your eyes. I remember the way you ran away from me, instead of running towards me, like you always did when I would see you out on the training grounds. I hate myself for making you feel afraid. I never wanted that.

If you do someday see this letter and you don’t immediately burn it, I would like to clear up a few things.

I don’t think you’re a filthy devil. I don’t think any of you are, but especially not you. I don’t know how anyone could look at you and find a single thing wrong. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met. I wish I had known you before Zhiganshina fell. I can’t promise that it would have changed things, though.

I was raised to do exactly what I did. I was given a mission, and I did it to the best of my ability. I was only a child, then. I was a child when I inherited this power at all. I won’t try to justify myself to you. I don’t deserve forgiveness for what I’ve done, but know that there are reasons why I did it.

I love you. That is the most important truth I want to convey to you. If you ever loved me, I’m sure that it has run out. A happy ending was never possible for me, but it can be for you, if you keep surviving as you have for so long. The fight ahead will not be easy, but I hope you come out alive on the other end. I hope you can find peace and happiness. I love you, and I want you to be happy, even if I am not there to see it.

Please, please survive.

All my love,

Bertolt

~

“Hoover! You’ll take your head off if you keep swinging that close. Your height can be an advantage on the ground, but when you’re in the air, you have to watch it,” Shadis screamed. The man’s lung capacity was perpetually astounding. It was a miracle that he awoke every day with his vocal cords still intact, after having shrieked his head off at the cadets the day before.

Bertolt took the advice in stride, however, keeping his head ducked as he lifted off from the ground below a tree branch. When he made it to the treetop, Reiner was already there, surveying the territory from above.

“If we take out the small titans in the clearing, we likely won’t have any competition,” Reiner began strategizing aloud, “but if we take out the larger ones by the creek, we’ll rack up more points.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

“Alright. Let’s take the creek, but—wait, where are the other two?”

Just as Reiner turned to look for the other two members of their team, a hook thwapped into the trunk just below his feet, sending y/n hurtling upwards towards him until she landed, butt-first, on the branch beside him.

“Sorry,” she apologized, out of breath and clearly a bit embarrassed about flopping onto the tree like a large fish out of water. “Connie ran into a tree.”

Connie, who landed harshly beside her after a few moments, indignantly retorted, “You ran into a tree too, y/n, don’t blame me.”

“If you hadn’t gotten your lines tangled in a bush, neither of us would have run into a tree.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was,” Reiner interjected, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “We’re going to clear out the large titans by the creek and then move into the inner forest. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” y/n and Connie both saluted with questionable levels of reverence.

It was a group training exercise, which Bertolt appreciated and dreaded in measure. He was glad to have Reiner on his team, but that necessitated the presence of two other team members whom he did not know very well. Y/n and Connie seemed nice enough, but his nerves did not yield to nice.

Annie’s team was already perusing the area around the creek, having taken out three large titan standees, the feathers and dirt from their nape-bags busted all across the ground. Bertolt would have been content to have avoided all competition and settled for the middling points they could have acquired in the empty clearing, but Reiner was determined to take first place.

Y/n and Connie seemed content with not smashing into anymore trees.

“Reiner, how do you do that move where you pick your legs up mid-air and turn?” Connie called above the sound of pulleys and wires and extending blades.

“It’s about core strength, Springer. You’ll have to actually participate in conditioning if you want to learn how to do it properly.”

“What? I’m a master of conditioning. You could teach me right now, and I could—”

“Connie, you did seven push-ups this morning and were convinced you were bleeding internally,” y/n corrected as she zipped past the conversation. Once she was in the air, she found, she was quite fast. It was taking off and landing where she had to watch out.

“I—shut up.”

By the time they arrived at the creek, there were four standees left, which they divvied up between them and took down with relative ease. It wouldn’t be long before graduation, and y/n was happy to be on a team with three top-ten-hopefuls, even if she was only number 14 herself. She had planned to go into the Scouts, anyway, but the idea of having the option of living in the Interior was enticing.

She arced around the standee, spinning once to rip open the bag at its nape before picking out a decent landing spot on the ground, one where she was sure to avoid casualties even if her feet failed her again. Unfortunately, just as she began her uneasy descent, a figure flashed into her periphery—tall, dark, and wielding two razor-sharp blades.

“Bertolt! Watch out!”

She was too late in warning him. Before he could even turn his head to witness her grand descent, she was already flying towards him, landing on top of him in a massive heap of limbs and wires. She could be grateful, at least, that her own blades were already sheathed, and that he had loosed his grip on his, sending them tumbling away before either of them could experience impalement for the first and final time.

“Oh, shit,” she groaned as she shifted herself off of Bertolt’s flattened back. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Bertolt. My landing really needs work.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay,” he assured her, somewhat unconvincingly. The impact had squished him flat on the ground, and his long arms were crumpled uncomfortably beneath him. Not to mention the knot on his head that had immediately surfaced after he had landed face-first on the ground and smacked his forehead against a rock.

“Oh, my god,” she breathed. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine, really,” he muttered as he reached up a wary hand to skim over the goose egg now bulging like an alien was trying to break out of his skull. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but it was a stupid accident. I should know better by now. I have to get better at landings.”

“Bertolt, are you alright?” Reiner stepped into the situation with a furrowed brow.

“I’m fine, Reiner. Just a little run-in.”

Even though Bertolt was adamant in assuring y/n that he was okay, she eyed him warily for the rest of the day, watching the knot swell to a disgusting size as big black and blue splotches gathered around it. He was checked for a concussion, but his brain seemed to be in proper working order, so he kept a cold pack pressed against his forehead in hopes that the lump would shrink down by the next morning.

“Heard you and Bertolt had a fun afternoon,” Jean remarked, so smug that it boiled y/n’s nerves. “That’s a real nice bump on his forehead. Did you land like a dying duck again?”

“Shut up, dumbass,” y/n argued. “I feel terrible about it. He kept saying he was alright, but that thing can’t be comfortable. It’s embarrassing.”

“How the hell are you number 14?” Jean doubled down as he took the seat right beside her. “Your academic score must be almost as high as Armin’s for you to be so high in the rankings.”

“My hand-to-hand combat score is in the top four, so if you would like to keep talking, I would suggest doing it at a distance, Kirstein.”

“Leave her alone, Jean,” Eren agreed quite loudly, obviously trying to weasel his way into the conversation so he would have a reason to battle with Jean again. Y/n appreciated the back-up, but the constant bickering between the two was getting on her nerves.

She excused herself from the table and walked outside into the evening air. The sound of hammering footsteps in the distance signaled that Sasha was making the rounds again, and the sound of haughty flirtation meant that Ymir was in the middle of another wooing session with Krista. Two more figures stood shadowed at around the corner, sheltered between the sloping roof of the mess hall and the high walls of the barracks.

Y/n knew immediately from the sheer heigh of the figure on the left who it was.

“Y/n,” Reiner called to her, flagging on hand in her direction to pull her into the conversation. “You saw Bertolt’s performance this afternoon. What did you think?”

“Oh, I—”

“Y/n, you don’t have to answer that,” Bertolt interjected hurriedly. As he turned to face her, she could only focus on the swelling knot on his forehead. “I’m sorry, Reiner just—”

“Bertolt is saying that he doesn’t think his performance is enough to secure his position in the top ten. What do you think?” Reiner entirely waved off Bertolt’s protest and y/n’s obvious distraction, crossing one arm over his chest and bringing the other hand to rest on his chin as though deep in thought.

“Um… Bertolt is really talented, I think. He seems to be a really well-rounded soldier. I think he’s more than worthy of being in the top ten.”

“You see? I told you, I—” Reiner began with a heavy clap to Bertolt’s shoulder, but before he could further embarrass his companion, someone called his name from afar. “I’ll be right back. You two keep talking.”

“Reiner!” Bertolt called in a sort of whispered shout before turning to y/n, praying that the shadow of the alleyway would mask the red of his face. “I’m sorry that he pulled you into this. Thank you for your kind words, y/n.”

“You’re welcome. I meant them, too. I wasn’t just saying it because Reiner was around. You’re really talented, Bertolt. I, on the other hand, could use some work.”

“What? You’re close to the top ten yourself. You’re doing a great job.”

“Bertolt, I landed on top of you today. I smashed you flat like a pancake. Have you looked in a mirror recently? There’s a knot on your head the size of a small titan.”

“Oh, I—well, that’s nothing. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, but it’s an accident that’s happened too many times before. I can’t land for shit. Last week, I nearly took out Eren when I tried to land beside him. I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if Mikasa had seen.”

Bertolt didn’t respond immediately. He could practically hear the proud thump of his heart in the uncomfortable silence that followed, but the proper words would not come to him. He didn’t know y/n very well, but she was friends with nearly everyone else in the 104th. She was helpful when she could be, and she watched her teammates backs when she had the chance. He wouldn’t mind getting to know her.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t there to make friends. Bertolt remembered clearly the mission for which he had been selected, whether or not Reiner always did. Then again, with Reiner dipping in and out of conscious understanding of their situation, it would be nice to have someone else to talk to.

“Well, I should get back to the mess hall,” y/n began awkwardly, just at the same time as Bertolt asked, “Would you like me to help you?”

“Help me?” she clarified. “You mean with my landings? You don’t have to do that, I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste of my time. We could go out into the forest tomorrow, and I could show you a few tricks.”

“I would really appreciate that, Bertolt, thank you.”

~

Dear y/n,

I have thought about my family a lot in the past few years. I haven’t seen them since I left my hometown to complete the mission to destroy the walls. They don’t even know that I’m still alive. I suppose that I don’t know that, either. They could have all died in a house fire, and I would never know.

I told you the truth about them. Everything I said to you about my family was true, except for the place I grew up in. I did stay in the mountains inside Maria for some time, but that is not where my family is.

I was born in a place called Liberio. I wish I could show you sometime, but I fear what they might do to you if they found out you were from Paradis. I would never want to put you in a dangerous situation like that, but there are so many beautiful things about my hometown that I wish I could share with you.

There’s a market at the center of town where farmers and artisans gather to sell their products. Along the boardwalk are little shops that sell all kinds of things, from food to jewelry to books. You would love to see it all. I can see the light in your eyes, the excitement in your voice. It would be so lovely to spend a day with you there.

Sometimes, I dream of bringing you to dinner with my family so they can meet you, so they can see how wonderful you are. You changed my perspective on everything. I’m sure you could change theirs, too.

I doubt we will ever make it to Liberio together. I doubt that I will make it there myself before I die, but if you do get the chance to visit, please say hello to my family for me. Maybe they can take take you to see the ocean, if I never get the chance to.

All my love,

                                                                                                                            Bertolt

~

“Congratulations, Hoover,” Jean said with a thump on his back, jolting him forward with the unexpected force of it. Bertolt felt that he was constantly getting thumped on the back, or clapped on the shoulder, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it. It was all very friendly—he appreciated the camaraderie of it all—but he did not like the suddenness of it.

“Thank you, Jean. Congratulations to you, as well.”

“You beat me this time, but you’d better watch out. I’ll surpass you one of these days.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bertolt laughed uncomfortably. He was unaware of any soldier-ranking system outside of cadet training, and he doubted that Jean could realistically surpass years of his rigorous warrior training, but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I suppose it won’t matter too much, once I’m safe in the Interior. Where do you plan on going?”

“Oh, I guess I—”

“Bertolt! Think fast!”

Bertolt whipped his whole body around and just barely managed to catch y/n as she hurtled through the air towards him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her legs around his torso. For all his hatred of sudden movements and touches, he had become quite accustomed to this odd ritual.

It had started as a joke, when he had first ventured deep into the woods with her for extra training. He had intended to teach her all his tips and tricks for landing with ODM gear, and though this task had been accomplished somewhere along the way, they had ended up exchanging advice for different types of training, opinions about other cadets, and even stories about their families and hometowns.

‘I wish I could teach you something in exchange,’ y/n had told him one afternoon, pouting as she kicked as a pile of split-open training bags. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you need to work on?’

‘You don’t need to repay me. I’m happy to help. My reaction times could always be quicker, but—’

‘Maybe if your reaction time had been quicker, I wouldn’t have flattened you like a pancake,’ she had said with a laugh. The bump on his head was nearly gone at that point, but he remembered the smack of his skull against that rock and wished that he had seen her inbound before the collision. ‘Is there something I can do to help with that?’

He hadn’t been able to think of anything in the moment, but by the end of their training session that day, she had obviously come up with something on her own.

The first time she had run at him full-force, yelling, ‘Bertolt, think fast,’ he had not, in fact, thought very fast, nor had he caught her before she latched onto his back and sent them both tumbling onto the ground. This time, there was no rock for him to smack into, much to the relief of the both of them.

“I caught you,” he mumbled into her shoulder. Usually, she clambered off of him immediately after the reflex test was over, but this time, she was obviously quite excited to hang onto him.

“Good job, Bertolt. You caught me. And, you made number 3 of the top ten.”

“It’s thanks to you, probably.”

She scoffed as she finally set her feet back onto the ground, saying, “Don’t lie. I just attacked you a few dozen times. You were the one who got me from number 14 to number 12. That’s a pretty impressive leap.”

“It’s because you worked hard, y/n. Accepting help doesn’t mean that I did all the work for you. You had to really put in the time and effort. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you, too, Bertolt,” she returned, extending her hand for a high-five. “Do you think you’ll choose Military Police? I know that before, you said you weren’t really sure where you would go, but the appeal of getting in the top ten is that you can go live in the Interior. You have to promise you’ll send me a souvenir, though. Like some of those expensive cakes that they eat in Mitras. I don’t even know if you can send those by mail, but you’d better try.”

“I don’t know if I’ll go to the Interior, honestly. Reiner’s been talking about the Scouts, so maybe I’ll go with him.”

“But where do you want to go? If you want to go to the Scouts, you should go, but if you want to go to the Military Police, you should do that instead. You don’t have to do what Reiner wants to do.”

He did have to do what Reiner wanted to do, not only because he and Reiner were working towards the same goal, but because Reiner had not been entirely stable as of late. The far-off look in his eyes that appeared from time to time was concerning. The amount of times Bertolt had brought up their hometown, only for Reiner to assume that he was talking about Wall Maria, frightened him considerably. He not only needed to stick with Reiner for logistical reasons, but for personal ones. If Reiner was unwell, Bertolt needed to keep an eye on him.

“I’ll consider it,” was all he replied, and y/n seemed content with the answer, though he doubted she would drop it entirely. “What about you?”

“I think I’m going to join the Scouts.”

“I was hoping you had changed your mind about that,” he murmured aloud, more to himself than to her. “If this is because of Eren making all those speeches, then you should reconsider.”

“No, it’s not just because of Eren and his speeches. I don’t think I’d do well in the Garrison. I don’t like to just… sit around. Not that there aren’t engineers in the Garrison who do perfectly good work, but, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess I can understand that.”

He did understand. She had that type of personality, that natural curiosity that drew her to explore the outside world. It didn’t mean that he was happy about it, or that he didn’t wish she would accept a boring but ultimately safe life in the Garrison. Aside from the massive death toll characteristic of each mission outside the walls, Bertolt was unsure when he and his fellow warriors would be launching a new attack, and he couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t have to fight his friends in the Scouts directly.

This was why he hadn’t necessarily wanted to make friends, but with y/n, it had been natural. She hadn’t been warded off by his shy temperament, nor had she been intimidated by Reiner’s constant presence in his life. She had directed her curiosity towards him, and he had found that he did not mind the attention, when it was from her.

“You’ll be safe though, right?” he asked her, and her face lit up.

“Of course I will. I have to be alive to respond to all the letters you send me, right?”

“Right, good.”

~

Dear y/n,

Do you remember the battle for Trost? I’m sure you do. It would be hard to forget something like that. I was so nervous that day, and yet, I was so sure that I was doing the right thing for the people of my homeland. When I looked down and saw you running away, tears in your eyes, I hated myself for it.

I did what I could to keep from hurting you. As soon as the wall was breached, I looked for you. When I found you, and you were unhurt, I was so glad. I was so happy to know that I hadn’t hurt you. When I’m all the way up there, I can see everything, except for the small things, except for the things that are really important.

I don’t want to manipulate you into thinking that I’m not a bad person. I am. Or, maybe I’m not. I’m not even sure of it myself. This world is so cruel, and I have had to be cruel to survive it, but does that justify the lengths to which I have gone to survive? Does that justify the cruelty I have enacted upon others? I don’t know.

I wish I could talk to you about this in person. You were always so comforting. You were always so kind. When I was with you, I felt like the world was alright. I felt like whatever I had done did not matter as much as what I was going to do in the future. You have such a beautiful perspective on life. You have such a lovely soul.

If we meet again, I want to thank you for changing me. You may not recognize that I have changed for the better. I’m sure that from the outside, it looks as though I am a villain. Perhaps I am, but I do not have that hatred in my heart.

If you are reading this letter, I hope that you do not hate me. I would not blame you if you do, but if I am allowed to be selfish, I would want you to love me.

All my love,

                                                                                                                                Bertolt

~

She knew she was going to die. There was no way she would survive this, for a second time. The first time she had seen the Colossal Titan, rising tall even above the 50-meter walls outside of her hometown, she had barely made it to the boat before the bridge had risen, before the Armored ran through the breach and breathed a stream of smoke and steam so hot she could see it bristling over the surface of the water.

Y/n tried to look for her family—her brother was dead, she knew that as soon as she saw the roof of his bakery smashed underneath a massive, pot-bellied titan with yellowing teeth, dripping fresh blood and bits of organs from its jaws. Her mother and father were nowhere to be seen, but the Garrison soldier who dragged her to her feet gave her no time to look back before she was thrust onto the boat along with the last wave of passengers.

Now, staring up at the Colossal once again, she felt that same fear rush through her body like a crashing wave. She was older now. She was stronger now, and she should have steeled herself to face the oncoming threat, but as it shifted its huge bloodshot eyes to look in her direction, she felt like a frightened child again.

“No, no, no,” she said over and over like a mantra, like a prayer that this was all a terrible dream. “Please, not again.”

She did not stick around long enough to watch as it lifted its massive, sinewy leg and took down the gate just as easily as it had five years before. Y/n took off towards the district supply building, awaiting new orders, but she took one last look at the monster, at the expression on his face.

If such a disgusting mass of muscle and bone could express anything, she swore she saw some discomfort in its clenched jaw. There was an uneasiness behind its eyes. All titans somewhat resembled humans, despite obvious physical distortions and the lack of certain organs, but part of their terror was their sheer similarity. It was the emptiness behind a titan’s eyes that marked them as other, that separated them from the humans that fled from them.

The Colossal Titan did not have that emptiness. It was smarter than the rest, she was sure, but she dared not think that it could feel.

Y/n turned on heel and took off, searching for her friends amidst the chaos.

“Annie, have you seen Bertolt?”

“I don’t know,” Annie responded, without so much as turning to look at y/n as she spoke.

“I can’t find him, I—I hope he’s okay.”

“Bertolt is strong,” Armin assured her, though the look in his eyes suggested that he didn’t quite believe himself. “I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

“I hope so.”

It was hours later when she finally found him, descending from a rooftop after felling a 10-meter. When she spotted him, she ran, not even giving him the courtesy of a think fast as she tackled him to the ground.

“Y/n, oh my god,” he huffed as they hit the ground. “You’re safe, you’re okay. God, I’m so happy to see you.”

“I didn’t know where you were, Bertolt, I was so worried.”

“I’m alright. But how is it that I always end up on the ground when you show up?”

She giggled as she moved off of him, saying, “Sorry. I just got excited to see you. I just… I’m just really happy that you’re safe. I was afraid I would never see you again.” She went to stand up, but his hands pulled her back down to the ground to sit beside him, if even for just a brief moment of peace before another titan clouded the sun above them.

“I’m sorry I worried you. I was worried about you, too. I’m glad you’re safe. I want you to always be safe.”

His admission was far too tender for the circumstance. She felt it warm her, lifting her expression into a genuine smile, but neither of them had time to assess the feeling. There were far more pressing issues to deal with.

“Let’s stick together, Bertolt. Okay?”

“Of course.”

~

Dear y/n,

I am so sorry.

I grieve every day for the life I could have had if I had not been born in Liberio, if I had not set out to become a warrior, if I had never received this curse. I grieve every day for the life we could have lived together. I am sorry that I can never give to you all that I want to.

Most days, I try to think of you in sunlight. I try to imagine you alive, with your head held high. I imagine you happy, surrounded by friends, never wanting for anything. I imagine you without me, because a future where we are together can ever come to pass. I know that I have to let you go, so I think of you living a fulfilling life where I am not present.

I can’t help that I dream of you, too. I can’t help that after I fall asleep, I see a future where we can be happy together. I dream of you on quiet rainy days, lying in my arms and reading a book. I dream of you visiting my hometown and meeting my father. I dream of him telling me how proud he is that I found someone so perfect to love.

I grieve every day for the happiness we could have had together, but I hope that you can still find that happiness without me. I know that you will. I know that you are strong.

All my love,

                                                                                                                                Bertolt

~

When she found him, he was trying his best not to be found. He had crouched to sit on a small box in the storage room, his height reduced by more than half as his knees rose to meet his chin. It was almost comical, had he not been in obvious distress. His face was pressed into his palms, his elbows digging uncomfortably into his knees.

“Oh, sorry, Bertolt,” she muttered absentmindedly, focused intently on locating the shipment of gas canisters she had been assigned to find. When he didn’t respond, she peered at him from behind a storage shelf. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he answered quickly, pulling himself together and sitting upright, though it was hardly convincing. “I just needed a moment.”

“I hope I’m not intruding on your moment. I just need to find a box, and then I’ll be out of your hair. Unless you want to talk about it, in which case, I’m happy to stay and talk.”

“I don’t want to force my problems onto you.”

Bertolt was sincere in his statement, but there was an underlying deception that only served to further sadden him. He did want someone to talk to, but y/n could not know the full truth. He could only share so much.

“You’re not forcing them. I’m the one who offered to listen. Do you want to talk about it?”

He did not speak, but bit the inside of his cheek and nodded as she came to sit down beside him, pulling up a box that was a bit bigger than his.

“There,” she spoke as she settled uncomfortably onto the crate. “Now I’m the same height as you. We’re on the same level. That means we can talk about anything you’d like to talk about, and I won’t judge you for any of it. If it’s someone else who’s made you upset, though, I can’t promise I won’t kick their ass.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need to beat anyone up over it. I’m just worried about the future, I guess.”

“Anything in specific, or just the future in general?”

“When I joined the military, I didn’t think I would make any friends other than Reiner and Annie. Now that I know everyone, it’s hard to go into battle and think that anyone might die at any time. After Trost, I realized that I wouldn’t know what to do if you got hurt, or if you didn’t come back.”

“Hmm, I see. I understand what you mean. It’s hard to watch your friends go out and risk their lives for this. The world is cruel, but we’ve all made the same decision to do something about it. It helps to know that everyone knew what they were signing up for. It’s not like we were tricked into joining the Scouts. If I die out there, I will have died in pursuit of something I believe in.”

He couldn’t look at her as she spoke. Her confidence was enviable, but it was more than confidence. Connie and Jean were confident, but they were brash and loud. Eren was confident, but he was reckless. Y/n was sure of herself, and it showed in the even tone of her voice. It showed in the way she so casually spoke of her own fate, and in the way she looked at him unabashedly when he couldn’t even bring himself to make eye contact.

“I’m worried about Reiner,” he admitted, rushing the words out as though if he spoke fast enough, she might not hear it. She was a good listener, though, and as comforted as he felt when she accepted his fears with no judgement, he felt equally as vulnerable when he spoke about himself.

“Reiner is strong. He scored above you at graduation, remember? I’m sure Reiner can take care of himself. I know that you’re good friends, and it’s good to feel protective of the people you love, but if you truly trust him, you can trust that he will defend himself when the time comes.”

“I’m not worried about that. He’s… different. I don’t think he’s feeling well.”

“Oh. I see. Do you think he’s sick?”

Bertolt shook his head, becoming increasingly more desperate as he gained momentum.

“There’s something wrong with him, I think. Sometimes, he acts as though he’s a different person. He forgets things about our hometown, and about why we’re here.”

“Do you think it’s just his personality that’s changed, or do you think it’s some kind of mental illness?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him act like this before. I don’t even think anyone else notices it, because no one else has known him as long as I have. I try not to call him out on it, because I don’t want to startle him or embarrass him, but I’m afraid that he’ll forget who he is. I know I have to help him somehow, but I don’t know how. If I can’t help him, what will happen to him?”

Y/n’s brow furrowed as she hummed in thought, resting her chin in her hand and idly looking across the shelves, as though the answer to all of their problems could be found amongst the rations. Bertolt was innately nervous—he called himself a coward, but she could hardly agree to that—so it wasn’t uncommon for him to express his anxieties to her. Usually, a bit of honest reassurance and a few jokes would lighten his mood, and he would be back on track.

The look on his face was concerning. His lips downturned, his eyes watery and wavering, his arms clutching over his stomach—he looked as though he was going to be physically ill. She wasn’t sure if he wanted someone to listen, someone to advise, or someone to take action.

“Bertolt, I have to be honest with you,” she eventually settled, extending an open palm towards him as though coaxing a frightened animal. “I don’t know what to do in a situation like this. I don’t know Reiner like you do, but I know that you are someone he trusts implicitly. If you think it would help to talk through it with him, you should at least try.”

“Hmm,” Bertolt grunted. He wished to say something more astute, but the words would not come to him.

“But something else that you should consider, is that you are not fully responsible for Reiner.”

“But I—”

“You’re his friend. You’re a fellow soldier. If you want to help him, that is very admirable. I’m sure he’s grateful to have a friend as caring as you. But ultimately, if this is some kind of mental or medical issue, you’re not a doctor. You can help him and encourage him, but you can’t cure him. Do all that you are able, but don’t feel bad about what you can’t do. I’m sure Reiner would understand.”

“There has to be something I can do,” Bertolt uttered weakly. His voice broke as he spoke, and he felt pathetic.

He wasn’t only a soldier, but a warrior. He had surpassed dozens of other children his age, trained and studied ceaselessly, so that he might keep his father safe and make his homeland proud of him. He had been granted the power of the largest titan. With his transformation alone, he could destroy entire cities. With a single step, he could crush thousands.

What was he, when all of that was taken away? Bertolt Hoover was a whiny, nervous young man with no ambition. At least Reiner had the confidence to be a proper soldier and a proper friend. Even when he wasn’t armored, Reiner was strong beyond belief. The only reason Bertolt had made friends at all was because of Reiner. What would Bertolt be, if Reiner was no longer Reiner? Annie was in the Interior, and Marcel was dead. He would be alone. He would be only Bertolt, and that was certainly nothing impressive.

“Look at me, please,” y/n whispered as she took her outstretched palm and gently tapped her fingers on her underside of his chin. “Bertolt, you’re so sweet. You’re so good. We’re all so lucky to call you a friend. I think that might be the best thing you can do for Reiner. Be a good friend to him, like you already are. Don’t blame yourself. It might be hard to watch your friend go through something like that, but it’s not your fault. Understand?”

“I… I guess so.”

“That’s not a solid answer, Bertolt,” she admonished him with a laugh. Her hand still rested under his chin, and he found himself seeking the warmth of her palm like a cat leaning into a pet. “Try again?”

“It’s not my fault. I understand.” He wasn’t sure how, but he knew in his heart that he meant it.

“Good. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped you at all, but if you ever want to talk like this again, I’m always happy to talk to you.”

“Yes, you helped,” he rushed to tell her as she stood to finally gather the gas canisters. “I’m sorry I kept you so long. I hope you don’t get in trouble.”

“Ah, I doubt it,” she said as she stood and rolled her shoulders, cracking her arms behind her back. “I know I just spent the last few minutes telling you that other people aren’t your sole responsibility, but if I could borrow your height for a second—”

“Oh, of course!”

He hurried to his feet and carried the box down to her from the top shelf. Once it was safe in her arms, she gestured for him to lean down, so he did, learning to his right as though preparing to hear a secret. Instead of speaking, she planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight, Bertolt. Sleep well!”

“Oh, I—goodnight, y/n. Sleep well.”

She was already gone before he could reply. He was glad, though. He could not see his face, but he knew that it had to be bright red.

~

Dear y/n,

                 I don’t remember exactly when it was that I fell in love with you. It was a collection of little moments, I think. Maybe it was the first time you fell on top of me during training and flattened me like a pancake. I always thought it was funny how you described it the same way every time. “Flattened like a pancake” was such an odd phrase to me, but I grew to love it the more I heard you say it, and the more you actually did it.

I miss the times when I would hear you call out my name before running to leap on top of me. It was the first time I felt like someone was truly excited to see me. That was something that made me fall for you, too—physically and metaphorically, if you’ll pardon my bad joke.

I remember the morning I slept through breakfast, and you covered for me when Shadis yelled at me. You saved me one of your rolls from your breakfast so I wouldn’t be hungry during training. I remember asking you how I could repay you for your kindness, and you said that you didn’t do it in exchange for anything, but because we were friends.

There was the day we did training in the forest, and even though we were on opposite teams, you cheered for me when my team won more points than yours.

You listened to me every time I spoke to you, and you always gave me thoughtful advice. You knew when I needed to hear something serious and heartfelt, or when a joke would cheer me up. You knew when I needed space, or when I needed to be held. I could never understand how you knew what I needed without asking. When you said it was because you loved me, everything made sense. I knew what you meant, because I loved you too. I still do.

You are the only thing that has ever been mine.

When you said that you were mine, I couldn’t believe it. I don’t deserve to have you, but you told me over and over that you were mine, and that you would choose to be mine every day. You said that you would choose to be mine, even if I wasn’t yours. I didn’t know how to feel about that. I thought you must be crazy to think like that, but I accepted it, because I wanted you to be mine.

I gave up my body for my homeland, cut my life short so that my father could live in peace while I fought for a country that hated us. I dedicated my mind to my studies and to strategy. Every drop of my blood that was shed was shed for someone else. When I became a warrior, I no longer belonged to myself. When I became a soldier again on Paradis, I signed away my life and pledged devotion of my heart, but I never gave it. How could I, when you could take much better care of it?

All that I was belonged to someone else, but my heart belonged to you, and you were mine.

All my love,

                                                                                                                                Bertolt

~

Y/n had experienced her fair share of injury, but none of it was ever quite so painful or humiliating as the day she got smacked right out of the sky by one of the smallest titans she had ever seen.

The titan looked a bit like Armin, if she was being honest—shoulder-length blond haircut, big blue eyes, unimpressive height. That didn’t take away from the uncanny grin it bore on its distorted face. That didn’t detract from the terror she felt as it ran for her on its wrong-jointed legs, catching her at the exact moment she had intended to restock her gas and blades.

“C’mon, c’mon, shit,” she swore. As long as she could replace her gas, she could get away. She didn’t need to kill it, just to evade it until she could get some space. As soon as she had slid the new canisters into her gear, she pushed herself up from the ground to reach a nearby ledge that would just barely clear the titan’s head, but the little runt was too fast. It whacked a pudgy hand through the air in an arc just wide enough to smack y/n clear out of the sky.

She landed face-first, head smacking the dirt with an uncomfortable thump that rattled whatever brain she had left inside her head. The titan didn’t pursue her, though, and y/n could only guess that some other Scout had stumbled upon her misfortune.

“You owe me, dumbass,” Ymir said as she made her landing just beside y/n, having split open the titan’s nape mere seconds before. “You’re going to let that fucking thing kill you?”

“Maybe,” was all y/n whispered before she blacked out.

When she came to, the sounds of voices blurred all around her. She couldn’t tell who was around her, or how many there were, but she could pick out at least a few distinct tones.

“I’m sure she’ll be awake soon.”

“She got hit pretty hard, though. Right Ymir?”

“Yeah, idiot got smacked out of the sky. She’s lucky I was there to take care of it.”

“Ymir, don’t be cruel. Accidents happen, and you’ve had your fair share of incidents with titans.”

“She’ll be okay though, right?”

“She’s not dead. Look, you can see that she’s breathing.”

“Right. But after that, what if she… she won’t be permanently hurt, will she?”

“No, but she’ll have one hell of a headache.”

She did have one hell of a headache, so much so that she didn’t want to open her eyes, but she figured that she would put her friends out of their misery.

“Look, she’s waking up,” Jean announced, a bit too loudly for her comfort.

“I’ll go get some painkillers.”

Krista rushed from the room, but every head remained fixated on the pitiful patient laid out on the medical cot, squirming uncomfortably at both the pain and the attention. Aside from Jean and Krista, Ymir was also there, as was Bertolt, who sat closest to her with his arms folded on the edge of her cot.

“Y/n,” he whispered, unsure of what to say but burdened that he ought to say something to her. “You’re awake.”

“Mmhmm, I am.”

“I was really worried about you.”

Bertolt kept his voice low. He knew that the others could hear him, but he wished they would all turn away. He wanted to be selfish in that moment, to have all of y/n’s time for himself. When Ymir had showed up at the base with y/n slung over her shoulder, he had panicked. She had looked dead. When Ymir had slung her down onto a medical cot, and he had finally found her pulse when he pressed two fingers to her wrist, he had nearly wept with relief.

“I’m alright,” y/n sighed dreamily, stirring only when Krista returned with the painkillers. “I got whacked.”

“You did, you got whacked. You hit the ground pretty hard.”

“Yeah, that hurt really bad. I got… I got flattened like a pancake.”

Despite the worry that still sat heavy right at the center of his chest, he smiled. He was so wrapped up in her that he did not notice the others, smiling knowingly at one another before leaving them be.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hmm, the painkillers are helping. I feel all stiff, though. I landed funny on my arms.”

She lifted an arm and for the first time realized that her hand was wrapped in gauze. Her other arm appeared unscathed, but the sting suggested that she had skidded heavily against some rocks before making her landing.

“They had to pull some twigs from your arm,” Bertolt explained to her, taking her hand in his when she winced at her own movement. “You were pretty beat up when Ymir brought you back, but thankfully, it’s nothing that they couldn’t fix.”

“I still have all my limbs?”

“You still have all your limbs, yes.”

His thumb rubbed soothing circles against the back of her hand as he peered at her, looking up through his pretty lashes. He was awfully pretty. His hair had grown in the last few months, but she liked it. The ends fell in front of his face and softened his sharp features. His nose was elegant, aquiline. He could have been a noble, living in the lap of luxury in the Interior, but instead, he was a soldier at her bedside, holding her hand and batting his eyes and looking at her as though she were the only luxury to covet.

“You need to be more careful next time,” he admonished lightly. “You could have died.”

“I’m alright, Bertolt. Just a stupid mistake. I’ll try not to do it again.”

“Please, don’t scare me like that. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I’m sure you’d be alright. I’m nothing to get all worked up over.”

“You are. You mean so much to me, I—y/n, I can’t explain to you how much you mean to me. I care about you more than anything. I want to protect you, and keep you safe. I want… I want to do something stupid, y/n.”

“Hmm? What kind of stupid?”

“I don’t know. But it’s like you told me, weeks ago—confidence isn’t about always getting everything right. Confidence is about making a choice that I believe in, regardless of the consequences.”

“Alright. Should we get a healer first, then? Are you about to do something medically dangerous? I suppose it helps that we’re in the medical wing.”

He didn’t answer. Before she could question him further, he had already planted a soft kiss to her lips and backed away embarrassed.

“Wait—don’t leave, Bertolt, come back,” she called after him. He had already begun standing up, assuming the worst.

“I’m sorry, y/n, I shouldn’t have done that when you’re not feeling well. I probably shouldn’t have done it at all. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Bertolt, don’t leave. Please, come back.”

“You should rest. I did something stupid, and now I have to go figure out how I can make it right afterwards.”

“Bertolt, I want you to do it again.”

“What?”

He froze mid-step. Her bandaged hand was latched onto his shirt, lightly tugging at him like a small child, begging him to stay but not having the strength to force him. He stammered. He couldn’t process the fact that he had just kissed her, much less the fact that she wanted him to do it again.

Did that mean she liked it? Did that mean she liked him? Surely, there was no other reason to request a kiss besides attraction, but she had suffered a head injury earlier that day. Perhaps she wasn’t in her right mind.

“I want to go back to sleep, but I want you to stay here with me. Will you give me another kiss before I go back to sleep?”

“I—yes, if that’s alright with you.”

“It is. I’m the one who asked for it.”

“Okay, then.”

He took his seat beside her again, shaking with nerves but buzzing with the anticipation of it. The first kiss had been so brief that he could hardly appreciate it, but however brief, it had managed to make him feel like he was floating, drifting through the air unanchored and unburdened. The second kiss was a bit longer, a bit firmer, and she accepted it with a smile on her face.

“Thank you, Bertolt. Will you still be here when I wake up?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, y/n. Sweet dreams.”

~

Dear y/n,

I don’t know how much you know about my homeland. I don’t know if you’ve ever even heard of it. There’s a lot more going on than you might think, and a lot of it is not pleasant. I am hated there, so is Reiner, so is Annie. The only reason we can live decent lives is by becoming warriors. If we use the power of the titans to protect our homeland, our families can live in peace.

The world is cruel. I doubt I need to remind you of this.

When you asked me about the ocean, I began to believe that the world was beautiful, too. I dreamed of taking you for a walk by the sea, watching you in the sunlight, watching you laugh as you played in the water.

I wanted to tell you that I have visited the ocean before, and that it is very real. All that Armin said about it is true, but words and pictures can’t capture the way it makes you feel. I took it for granted before I lived on Paradis. I should have appreciated it more while I had the chance.

I’m sure that you all will find it, someday. I wish I could be there to see the sunshine on your face. I know you will be beautiful.

All my love,

                                                                                                                                Bertolt

~

“Y/n, stay close to me.”

“I’m right behind you. And I also have my very own swords, so I’ll be alright.”

“I know,” Bertolt agreed reluctantly. When he turned to illuminate her face by the light of his lantern, she was grinning up at him. Even in shadow, she was lovely. “But it helps to know that you’re close. Stay with me, please?”

“I will,” she promised, quietly so that no one else could hear. “Lucky for me, you’re easy to find in a crowd.”

The length of their cloaks concealed their hands, held tight and swinging between them as they walked the perimeter of Wall Rose. Since their first kiss, they had come to the mutual decision that pursuing a steady relationship would be unwise. That didn’t mean that they refrained from holding hands whenever possible, and sharing the occasional kiss when circumstances allowed.

Bertolt knew he was living on borrowed time. The Survey Corps was closing in on Annie. Titans had appeared within Wall Rose, and though there was no breach to speak of in the wall itself, Bertolt was almost sure he knew exactly what had happened to the inhabitants of Ragako Village. He hadn’t been able to look Connie in the eye.

When he had watched Ymir transform, he knew that he was in the midst of a problem that he and Reiner could not handle alone. All the time he had spent idle, savoring the time he could pretend he was not a warrior, was long past.

It drove him mad to know that y/n was still holding his hand, despite all that he was, despite all that he would inevitably have to do.

Didn’t she know? Couldn’t she tell? She looked into his eyes so often, telling him that their color was so beautiful, that he seemed to hold so much love in just his eyes. Couldn’t she see behind it all? Surely, she could tell that behind all the love he held for her, there was a boiling mass of guilt that weighed his every action.

“That’s so strange,” she mused quietly as she lifted her lantern, illuminating yet another untouched portion of the wall. “I don’t see anything, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Hold on—there’s a little spot up there. See it?”

“I think so. Right above that brick?”

“Yes, right there. Lift me up, please?”

He ducked down, allowing her to clamber on top of his shoulders, as she had done several times before. She liked to use him as a ladder at times, or as a step-stool, and he happily obliged just to feel her close, just to hear her giggle as he adjusted her to sit on his shoulders.

“Hmm, I think it was just a trick of the light. You can put me down now, Bertolt, thank you.”

He carefully hoisted her down, letting her stop on the way to place a grateful kiss to his nose. They walked in silence for the next few minutes, enjoying the calm of the evening after such a chaotic day, but Bertolt still could not quiet the unease that sat in his stomach.

“Y/n, I think that things are about to change,” he said, forthright and confident—he had nothing to fear in her presence. He did not have to dilute his worries in front of her. “Today was difficult, and I think it’s only going to get worse from here.”

As she turned to him, her face was broken into shadow in the low light, her furrowed brow and scrunched nose creating shadowed planes across her pensive face.

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I’m not even sure what to think about everything that happened today, honestly. It’s kind of scary. I guess that’s what we signed up for, though, right?”

“Yeah. Right. But y/n, if something happens to me, you’ll be okay.”

“What? Don’t talk like that, Bertolt. I don’t want to think like that right now.”

“Look at me, please,” he said, tugging on her arm to catch her attention. The dark sheltered them from the prying eyes of their friends, so he pulled her to his chest. “I’m not saying that something will happen to me, or that something will happen to you, but if it does, you’ll be okay.”

“I know. I will be okay. I try to be prepared for it. I know that it’s coming. Not all of our friends will make it out of this alive, and I know that, but it’s hard to think that it might be you. You’ll try your best to stay alive, though, right?”

“I will, if that’s what you want.”

“I do, but I want you to want that. You should stay alive for yourself, not for me,” she playfully admonished him, burying her forehead into his chest and relishing in the sound of his beating heart. “And if I’m the one who dies first, I want you to be okay.”

“I don’t even want to think about that, y/n, I… I love you. I love you, and I want you to be safe.”

“I love you, too.”

It was the first time they had exchanged those words, but it hardly felt out of the ordinary. It was more an observation that anything, as though recognizing that the sky was blue or that the sun was bright. Had they never said it aloud, it would not have made it untrue.

The world was cruel. Bertolt knew this as well as anyone. But as long as there was love to be found in the quiet corners of the world, he could find a reason to survive it.

~

Dear y/n,

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

~

“I’m the Armored Titan, and Bertolt is the Colossal.”

Reiner had well and thoroughly lost it, and no amount of damage control that Bertolt could muster would save them from the confrontation that would inevitably take place. He gritted his teeth and tried to convince his friends that Reiner was telling a poorly-timed joke, but the tension had already risen beyond breaking point.

He didn’t want to transform. His transformation wasn’t a pleasant experience, nor was the aftermath of it all, but for a brief moment, Reiner had been restored.

Reiner had turned to Bertolt, looked him in the eye, and told him that he intended to fulfill the mission for which they had trained for so many years. In that moment, he was Reiner Braun, Marleyan Warrior, hero to his family and his homeland. It had been enough to convince Bertolt to follow through.

“Are you a soldier, or are you a warrior?” Reiner had asked him, leaning in close before the wall erupted in a flash of light.

Now, all he could see below him was rubble and steam. Little figures buzzed around the wall like flies, but he knew that none of them could come close to him with the sheer amount of heat that radiated from him. He was disgusting, and he knew it. The Colossal Titan was not strong and terrifying like the Armored, or lithe and quick like the Female or Attack. He was a mass of open muscle and bone. He was ugly, and his actions were as well.

Through the chaos, he could not see the single figure that pressed forward towards him, held back only by her comrades.

“Y/n, you can’t get any closer, I’m sorry,” Jean yelled to her through the noise. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“No, no, please,” she gasped. The heat was sweltering on her skin, but she knew she could get closer. Even if she could get close enough to look him in the eye, maybe she could do something. “Let me go, let me see him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Connie shouted. “He’s the enemy, now. He’ll kill you if you get any closer.”

He wouldn’t. She wanted to believe that, but she couldn’t she sure. If she was enough of an obstruction to his mission, would he crush her? Would he bury her in rubble and leave her to be eaten by a meandering titan?

“Bertolt!” she shrieked, but the sound did not reach him. He was too far away, and he was too far gone.

~

Dear y/n,

I think I am losing myself.

Do you remember what I told you about Reiner? He seemed like two different people at times. I couldn’t explain it to you properly then, but I understand it now. He couldn’t reconcile the respect he had for his fellow soldiers with the terrible things he had done. There were times that I looked at Eren, knowing that it was my actions that led to his mother’s death, and I wished that I could separate that from myself, that I could be an entirely new person who had never committed such atrocities.

I feel the weight of my actions now more than ever, but I do not have the luxury of losing my mind. I am all too aware of the things I have done, and the things I must do.

If there is ever a way I can make any of it right, I pray that I will have the courage to take that chance.

All my love,

                                                                                                                                Bertolt

~

Bertolt had been right about the ocean.

Even if he had tried to describe it, y/n was sure that nothing could compare to the feeling that bubbled in her chest, the way the sunlight shined like gold across the laughing faces of her friends. She couldn’t help but smile herself, despite the sadness that weighed heavy on her with every step across the shore.

They had been talking about eating Bertolt as though it was the only option. The Commander should eat Bertolt, Armin should eat Bertolt, someone had to eat Bertolt.

They could have let him live, she thought. They could have waited until he had woken up, tried to bargain with him. He could keep his life, if he would come back to Paradis.

She knew it was an untenable position. No one would have listened to her if she had spoken it aloud. She only would have been mocked as a lovesick fool, but she was alright with that. Being a lovesick fool had kept her alive that long; surely, it couldn’t hurt to live in that delusion a little longer, at least.

When Armin—the thing that was supposedly Armin—had crawled onto the rooftop, she had closed her eyes and covered her ears like a frightened child in a thunderstorm. She didn’t need to see how Bertolt fought to get away, or to hear how he cried out for help in his final moments.

“You’re thinking about him,” Mikasa spoke up from beside her. “Don’t.”

“I can’t really help it, can I?”

“You two were close. I’m sorry that things happened the way they did.”

Y/n couldn’t blame Mikasa for her nature. She wasn’t one to dilute her opinions or hold back her emotion, particularly where Eren was involved. Bertolt’s death was just another number in among the hundreds who had died to keep Eren safe, and while y/n couldn’t disagree with Eren’s importance, she wasn’t keen to look over the incident entirely.

“I know, Mikasa. I’ll try not to think of it too much. And if I do, I’ll only use it to push forward. That’s the only direction we can go from here, right? We can only go forward.”

“That’s… an admirable way to look at it.”

~

Dear y/n,

I can hear you outside the wall. Even when you’re shouting, your voice is so pretty.

I don’t know if I’ll live through the day, but I want you to know something important. Even after I am dead, my memory of you will live on in the next colossal titan. For thousands of years, anyone who inherits this power will see you in their memory.

They might not know who you are, or why they remember you, but they will know that you are brilliant and beautiful and kind. They will know that you are loved, and they will know that I loved you.

I hope that this will keep you safe. I hope that the next doomed fool who takes this power will recognize you, and will protect you.

The fighting outside is getting closer. I don’t know how this will end. I don’t know what I will do, even in the next few seconds, but I am reassured by the sound of your voice. As long as I can hear you fighting, I can know that you are still alive.

I hope that you will not have to see me as I die, but I want your face to be the last thing I see.

I have said it before, but I will say it again, and I will say it as many times as I can before I die: I love you.

I love you, and I hope

~

She tugged uncomfortably at the strap on her waist, the one that kept her skirts from falling to her ankles. It was a bit too snug, but she couldn’t afford to be picky, under the circumstances. She was already unaccustomed to wearing skirts at all, given that her usual attire consisted of knee-high boots and gear straps.

She stuck beside her group for the most part, not wanting to get lost or discovered in such a dangerous place, but she couldn’t help but linger around familiar places.

Y/n had never been to Liberio, of course, but she could recognize all the little details Bertolt had described in his letters. She had long since given up the wish that he could be there with her, but as she looked over the marketplace, the pang of yearning struck her suddenly.

“He loved you,” Armin said, low but clear even under the noise of the bustling street.

“Armin, I—”

“I mean, he really loved you. He loved you.”

“Armin, that’s—”

“He thought about marrying you, and spending the rest of his life with you. He thought about running away with you, and—”

“Armin, that’s enough. Thank you for whatever it is you’re trying to do, but every time I look at you, I have to try to forget that you consumed the love of my life, and you’re not making it any easier on me.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t do it again, please.”

Armin left her alone, but she could feel his sympathetic gazes on her for the rest of the day. She could never be sure exactly how much about her that Armin knew, or how much he felt for her. He didn’t seem to retain quite the same feelings that Bertolt had for her, but sometimes, when he looked at her, there was a curious softness to his eyes.

Armin didn’t love her, but he knew what loving her felt like.

Y/n clutched the roll of paper that she had hidden in her bag. She hadn’t told anyone that she had it, but it wasn’t their business anyway. She wasn’t even sure where she would put it—throw it in the ocean, perhaps, or leave it in a tree hollow. It would never reach its intended audience, no matter where she put it.

It wasn’t until they reached a quiet corner of the city, hidden away from the markets and the boardwalk, that she found the right place. A row of simple plaques set into stone, honoring the warriors who had given their lives for Marley, sat in the middle of an unimpressive garden, behind an unexciting building. It was clear just how little the Marleyans regarded Eldians, even when bestowed with the power of the titans, even when their blood was spilt on foreign ground and in lonely places.

She pulled the note from her bag and buried it just beside the stone, under a bush where likely no one would be digging it up.

Dear Bertolt,

I’ve made it to your hometown.

I read all of your letters, and there is so much that I want to say to you. I don’t know if I can ever express it to you in words. When we sat together in silence, that was always enough. None of the words I spoke to you ever meant as much as the time we spent together, as the unspoken conversations we had.

I don’t know that I will ever understand what you did or why you did it, but I don’t need to. By this point, I have done plenty of things that I am not proud of. I know now that in the coming days, I will have to do terrible things. I am doing it to survive, as I always have. I am doing it for the lives of my friends, and the lives of all those on Paradis. I know that if you could read these words, you would understand.

Liberio is beautiful. The people here are lively, and the market is full of little treasures that I would love to bring home with me. I’m sure I will leave with my pockets full of souvenirs. I understand why you would want to protect this place.

I wondered if I might meet your father while I am here, but I don’t think it would be wise to look for him. If he is still alive, he might still be in danger simply because he is Eldian. I am having a hard enough time concealing my own identity. I would not want him to be caught up in our schemes. I would like to tell him that he can be proud of his son. I would like to tell him that you died defending your friends and your home, and that even when lost in a land of strangers, you managed to find love and beauty and small moments of peace.

Most importantly, I want to tell you this: I loved you, I love you, and I will always love you.

Your sins are not so great that they could ever erase that truth from my heart.

I do not know what awaits any of us after death, but if there is a place where I can meet you again, wait for me there. I’ll come find you when my time is through. When we meet again, we can forget all of it. I will forgive all that you have done, if you promise not to judge me for what I now must do.

Until then, rest in peace, and know that my heart is yours.

                                                                                                                             All my love,

“I asked him to describe his ideal woman, of course,” Lisa supplied as the end to her story, sending the knights around her into laughter and groans at the very idea. “Timaeus was so red he could hardly breathe. He looked like a tomato.”

“Oh, poor Timaeus,” Jean lamented, though the other knights hardly shared her sentiments. “You know how flustered he gets, Lisa.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the Chief Alchemist get flustered,” Kaeya lamented, planting his face in his palm as he leaned heavily on the bar. “Tell me, Albedo, with all the romantic attention you receive, surely someone has managed to make you blush.”

Albedo, barely aware of the conversation at hand but all the same adamant to willfully ignore Kaeya’s salacious suggestion that he was the recipient of any amount of romantic attention, merely furrowed his brow and stared past his cup at something the other knights could not perceive.

“Speaking of romantic attention,” Venti swooned after loudly gulping down the remaining contents of his glass, “a little birdie told me that Donna—”

“Quiet, bard,” Diluc ordered with seething vitriol, but the bard had little regard for Diluc’s discomfort.

“—brought a whole bouquet of flowers to your door the other day. Are you going to send her a thank you? I could write a poem for you to gift her, in exchange for a little off the top of my tab, of course—”

“No, I won’t require your services. And while we’re on the topic of your tab—"

“I don’t believe I am capable of such a thing,” Albedo finally responded, interrupting whatever Diluc had been planning to threaten, much to Venti’s delight but to the confusion of the other knights.

Venti hardly missed a beat, replying, “I’m sure you could write a poem if you tried, Mister Albedo, no one is incapable of making art.”

“No, I am referring to the prior conversation. I don’t believe I am capable of blushing.”

Kaeya’s mouth dropped open as though the alchemist had just shared with him the secrets of life and the universe, but Rosaria maintained a flat aspect, sipping politely at her drink until the commotion from Albedo’s comment settled.

“He’s probably right. I’ve never seen him go red, even in the cold of Dragonspine. If that doesn’t make him flushed, I doubt any foolhardy romantic advances would be able to do it.”

“Though it is true that I bleed when injured, I have yet to study the patterns of my internal blood dispersion beyond its basic course through my heart.”

“Albedo, everyone bleeds when injured. Stop talking like you’re mechanical.”

“Yes, of course,” Albedo agreed with little hesitation before excusing himself from the bar, returning his glass of tap water to the bartender as he wandered off, muttering under his breath about veins and ventricles and all form of scientific babble that the other knights were simply too drunk to process.

“Well, I for one would like to make a bet,” Kaeya announced as soon as the door had clicked shut. “A competition, of sorts. Any takers?”

“I’m in.”

“Venti,” Lisa cooed from beside the bard, startling him as though he hadn’t known she had been there the whole time. “You haven’t even heard the stakes.”

“Yeah, but Kaeya’s fun. And if I can earn a little extra drinking money, then why not?”

“You won’t be drinking until you can pay off your tab,” Diluc reminded. “And knowing Kaeya, it’s a bet in which he’ll have an unfair advantage. He only makes bets he knows he can win.”

“Now, now, Diluc. That’s rather unkind, don’t you think? I don’t have any advantage here, aside from my charm.”

Rosaria scoffed, “Get on with it. What’s the bet?”

“First to find out what makes the alchemist blush gets free drinks every Tuesday night for a month, courtesy of the losers of the bet.”

“I thought we established that he can’t blush.”

“We haven’t established anything. Albedo himself said that he was unsure. So, who’s to say that he doesn’t get flustered at all?”

The group was pensive for a moment, weighing the prospect of putting Albedo in potentially uncomfortable situations when they respectively found him either highly respectable, strange and off-putting, or possibly dangerous given cause. But, one by one, they all silently agreed that the reward was worth the risk, and hummed their approval of Kaeya’s idea.

“I’m in,” Diluc finally spoke aloud, startling the whole bunch.

“Why, Master Diluc, that surprises me. Could it be that you have an unfair advantage here? And tell me this—should you win, however doubtful that outcome may be, do you intend to take advantage of our good nature to buy you free drinks that you won’t even consume?”

“If I win, you’re all giving me a month of peace and quiet. Every Tuesday night, you’re staying home or finding someone else to bother. Go to the Cat’s Tail, I don’t care, just don’t come here.”

“Interesting. I accept the terms of your agreement. Shall we drink to it, then?”

And thus, Albedo was in for the most confusing week of his already strange life.

Jean had hardly been paying attention to the conversation at the bar, and she certainly didn’t have time to be playing into Kaeya’s meddling games, but when the opportunity presented itself, she could hardly pass up the opportunity to save some mora at the Angel’s Share. Albedo was hardly ever at HQ in person, after all.

“Good morning, Albedo,” she greeted, knowing full well that her tone was abnormal as she fought to find a natural way of introducing her theory, but also knowing that Albedo, intelligent beyond reason as he was, was not particularly well-versed in conversation.

“Ah. Good morning, Acting Grand Master. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you could help me find Sucrose. Have you seen her this morning?”

“Sucrose,” Albedo mused aloud as he pressed a hand to his chin in thought. “I have not seen Sucrose for a few days. It is likely she is in her room, studying bones or some other organic matter. If you need to speak with her immediately, I recommend knocking on her door, as it’s unlikely that she will reemerge until the end of the week, at least.”

“Oh. I see. Thank you, Albedo.”

“You’re welcome.”

With that, Albedo continued on his way down the library stairs until he was almost hidden from sight, pulling dusty tomes from ancient corners that hardly anyone but Lisa’s apprentice ever touched. Jean watched as he greeted Lisa's assistant, asking her a question Jean could not discern, and pointing towards a book on the upper shelf.

“Was that your attempt at winning the bet?” Lisa sighed as she emerged from behind her desk. “Oh, dear. You really don’t know much about him at all, do you?”

“Does anyone?”

“That is the question, isn’t it? But I’m far more interested in the little exchange that just occurred. Were you under the impression that Albedo is overly fond of Sucrose?”

“I just wondered. They work so closely together sometimes that I thought perhaps there might be some feelings there.”

“Hmm, no, I don’t believe so. He can be protective of her, the shy little thing, but it’s hardly romantic.”

“Well, what’s your grand plan, then?” Jean asked, defensive of her own tactics even as she realized that she had marvelously failed in plain sight of Lisa. “How do you plan to win the bet?”

“You think I haven’t made anyone blush before?”

“Lisa, please don’t make him uncomfortable. If he resigns, there won’t be anyone qualified to replace him.”

Albedo had thought nothing of the exchange with Jean—it was perfectly reasonable for the Acting Grand Master to inquire about the location of one of her knights—so he had gone about his business in the library and headed straight for the section under the stairs, where he frequently found the most appealing books on the origins of natural species, as well as the librarian’s assistant.

“Good morning, y/n. How are you?” he asked politely, trying not to startle her as she reached up to secure a hefty encyclopedia into its designated spot.

“Good morning, Albedo,” she sighed. As soon as she had settled properly back onto her feet, her hand swept a cloud of dust onto the top of her head which briefly made her cough. “I’m alright, but I think I’ll have to put off my alphabetization of the fiction section until I can finish dusting these shelves.”

“I see. It seems I am alone in my interest of these topics, then?”

“Just about. Sometimes, Cyrus will come in to study for a specific commission, but you’re the only one in the past fifty years who has checked out—” here, she paused, squinting at the title he had returned only a few days prior, “—The Anemo Archon’s Aviary: A Comprehensive Study on Local Wind Patterns, Development of Localized Bird Species, and How Anemo Affects Avian Wildlife.”

“A fascinating read,” he chuckled. “I would recommend it, if you have the time.”

“I’ll put it on my list, but I promised Fischl that I would finish reading that fantasy series she’s been telling me about.”

Just as Albedo was about to agree, perhaps adding some remark about what the prinzessin’s dramatic reaction might be should y/n not heed her decree, the click of Lisa’s heels turned the conversation towards the librarian herself, stepping grandly down the stairs with one hand tracing the banister and the other holding a purple rose.

“Funny seeing you here, Albedo,” Lisa intoned as she swept into the conversation with ease. “Have you come to pester my little assistant again? I’m distraught that you didn’t come to greet me first. How is a lady supposed to feel when a handsome gentleman caller pays her no mind?”

“I apologize, Miss Lisa. In all honesty, I did not realize that you were here.”

“Hmm, you’ve always got your mind on something fascinating, don’t you? I would love to hear all about it, dear, but I do have a question for you, if you don’t care to hear me out.”

“Of course.”

As Albedo turned his attention fully to Lisa in preparation of her inquiries, y/n excused herself with an awkward, pardon me, and returned to replacing all the books on her cart.

Lisa turned over the rose in her hands, allowing Albedo to take it in from all angles as she eased him into light conversation about basic alchemical principles and natural floral phenomena. It wasn’t the conversation that she intended to use to leverage some reaction from him, but her own actions, motivations, and physicality that she hoped might dust his cheeks even the slightest bit red.

“I understand your concern,” Albedo mused, hardly noticing one bit when Lisa began drifting ever closer towards him. “The forests of Sumeru experience dense rain and fog during all seasons, providing the soil with an intense moisture that simply cannot be recreated by any natural climate of Mondstadt. However, many roses of this quality do grow in the temperate hills. If you were to start a garden just outside the Mondstadt gates, I predict that your roses would grow quite well.”

“Interesting.” Lisa swept her hand across the uncovered skin between Albedo’s coat and gloves, skillfully masking the gesture as an accident. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to—oh, your skin in marvelously soft, Mister Albedo. How do you manage that in the cold of Dragonspine?”

“Hmm, I am unsure.”

Albedo jotted down a few simple notes for Lisa to take with her— instructions on the best conditions for growing Sumeru roses outside of Sumeru—and pressed onto the next inquiry she had asked of him. She continued running her fingers across the band of skin on his upper arm. When he did not flinch or fluster, she pressed closer.

“Miss Lisa, is there something else I can do for you?”

“Does it make you uncomfortable that I watch while you work?”

“No, not at all. You are free to stay, if you wish. But I may require some measure of concentration.”

“Concentration?” she gasped, eyebrows raised. “You certainly seem like a man with indomitable focus. I wonder, though, what kind of enticing situation might distract a man like you?”

As if to answer her question, he did not respond, fully immersed in his work and entirely shut off to the outside world. Lisa’s ruse went on for at least the next half hour. She would ask a question, often a flirtation disguised as innocent inquiry, and Albedo would respond with genuine interest in her query and not an ounce of heed for her more lascivious intentions.

“How did it go?” Jean asked, more excitable about the whole ordeal than she had meant to be.

“Miserable. The man is made of rock, or steel, or brick. He’s dead to the world.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration.”

“I tried everything. He had no response for me.”

“Perhaps you’ve lost your charm, Miss Lisa.”

“Don’t push your luck, Acting Grand Master.”

Rosaria wanted to drink, free of charge, and that was the only reason she was doing anything so stupid as trekking through the cold of Dragonspine, up towards Albedo’s lab, Sister Barbara in tow.

“Why would Mister Albedo require my assistance?” Barbara’s teeth chattered as she spoke, and she pulled her arms in close to her chest to bar off the cold. “He has never requested healing before.”

“I don’t know. He just told me to bring you up the mountain with me.”

Rosaria was lying. She was outside of church grounds, so it didn’t really matter how honest she was when Bartobas wasn’t watching. It did, however, give her an uncomfortable chill to know that it was Barbara she was lying to, of all people, the most honest and innocent person ever to stroll under the sunshine of Teyvat. If any of her fan club members were to find out that Rosaria had dragged their precious idol onto a frozen mountain, they would have her head on her own pole.

“Albedo, I brought Barbara,” Rosaria called into the cavern, hoping that if she could be loud and confident enough, both Barbara and Albedo would believe that neither of them were being led astray.

In all reality, Rosaria really hadn’t planned very far ahead. She only knew that when Barbara danced her cute little dance and winked her cute little eye and tilted her cute little head to the side, whomever was on the receiving end of such gestures always went pink in the face.

“Good afternoon, Sister Rosaria, Sister Barbara,” Albedo greeted with a slight pitch of his brow. “If you required my assistance, I could have easily made the journey down to Mondstadt proper. I hope you have not suffered from the cold. Before you return home, please allow me to provide you with a heating potion.”

“No need, Albedo. We won’t be here long.”

“Mister Albedo, Sister Rosaria told me that you need healing,” Barbara announced before Rosaria could fully take control of the situation. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I appear to be alright. Ah—I suppose you are referring to my arm?” The alchemist lifted his arm to reveal a loosely-tied bandage around his forearm that was beginning to show a patch of crimson bleeding through the white material. “I must have forgotten. I… don’t even remember how this came to be. How did you know?”

“I heard about it.”

“You heard about it? I see. You must have run into y/n. I informed her that I could tend to the wound myself, but it would not surprise me to hear that she would turn to Sister Barbara for help. She was quite worried about the whole ordeal.”

Rosaria quietly gave thanks to Lord Bortibos for his good graces. She didn’t even know who y/n was, but Barbara seemed to recognize the name, nodding as she cheerily made her way over to Albedo to take a look at his arm.

Barbara did her cute little dance, and she sang her cute little song, and she winked her cute little eye, but Albedo’s face remained still as a statue and pale as the snow outside the cavern throughout the entire experience. Rosaria at least felt comforted, somewhat, that if Barbara couldn’t get him to blush, surely no one else would discern any other way to do it. She had exhausted every possible avenue, in her mind, and now, it was time to return to more important business.

Amber and Eula tag-teamed the challenge, but their plot failed as soon as it had started. Amber had laid out their game plan as a subtle, masterful appeal to Albedo’s emotion, but Eula Lawrence was not subtle.

“Albedo. Have you ever cried?”

“I—hmm. Perhaps as a child, Captain Eula. Is there any particular reason you ask?”

“Amber wanted to know.”

“No, I didn’t!” Amber shouted to clear her name. She had wanted to know the answer to that strange and invasive question, but she hadn’t wanted Eula to bring it up so brazenly. “What Eula means is that—”

“What was it that made you cry as a child? Your parents? A childhood bully? If you need vengeance to be extracted—”

“Eula means that we were interested in your upbringing. We didn’t mean to pry, Mister Albedo,” Amber physically stepped in between the two before Eula could threaten any figures from Albedo’s past. “We just don’t know much about you.”

“Ah, I see. There is not much to know.”

“Understandable. Have a nice day, Mister Albedo!”

Amber tugged Eula away by the hand, rattling off all sorts of explanations as to why Eula’s questions had been inappropriate, but Eula saw no real merit to such accusations. If Amber had a question to ask, she should ask, not beat around the bush.

Venti knew that he had the upper hand, because who could possibly resist a love ballad played by the dutiful and skilled hands of the Anemo Archon himself? If Lord Barbatos could not woo the alchemist with his dulcet tones and witty lyricism, then surely nothing else could be done.

“Excuse me, dear y/n, but have you seen Albedo today? I heard that he’s in town, and I’d like to pay him a visit.”

Y/n finished placing the return date card in the back of a freshly returned novel, complete with slight electro elemental traces from Lisa’s famous late fee policy, and eyed Venti up and down, taking in the way the bard’s fingers plucked the air just above the strings of his lyre as if practicing.

“Have you written him a song?” y/n asked, buying time. She had seen Albedo, not five minutes prior, and he had paused his deep and entrancing train of thought to greet her, but she worried that any other distraction would simply bounce off of him like Jean repelling a pyro slime. Even Venti’s greatest masterpiece would go unheard with Albedo in that state.

“I have written a song, and I have the feeling he’ll like it, but I need to try it out first. Have you seen him?”

“Venti, Albedo’s in kind of a mood today.” She winced at the way his countenance dropped entirely at the idea. “I don’t mean that he’s upset or anything. He’s just got his mind on something important, so it might not be the best day for a performance. I’m sorry, Venti, I’m sure he’d love to hear it on any other day.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright, y/n, thank you for—”

“Y/n, I’ve come across something interesting, and I wonder if you might take a look at it,” Albedo announced as he took great strides down the hallway towards y/n. “The specimen you helped me collect from Starsnatch Cliff has successfully adapted to synthetic photosynthesis. The primary difference to the naked eye seems to be an odd discoloration of the inner petals, but I would appreciate a second opinion, as well as a second set of hands, so that I might extract—oh, hello, Venti. I did not see you there.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour!” Venti announced. He seemed to lift right off of the ground as he bounded towards Albedo with his lyre held aloft, giving a playful strum to the strings. “I was just looking for you, Mister Albedo! Would you be interested in hearing a song that I wrote?”

“Venti, I must apologize, but I am exceedingly busy with an experiment, and I fear—”

“Nonsense! You should always take some time to rest, have a break, enjoy some local entertainment. Come now, sit down. Y/n can listen too, if she’d like.”

Albedo scratched across his forehead with a weary hand before sighing, deciding that humoring the bard would be far easier than prolonging the conversation. His eyes traveled briefly to y/n, who stood awkwardly but graciously smiling between the two. She, at least, seemed interested to hear what Venti had to show for himself, so it couldn’t hurt to rest his feet for a moment, for y/n's sake.

When the song began, Albedo was not overly concerned with the melody or the lyrics or the performance at all, but the more he tuned his ears to really listen to it, the more bemused he became. A love song, of all things, in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of Knights HQ, in the middle of an experiment he was quite keen to finish. Why had Venti been so enthused about performing this for him right then and there?

The lyrics were well written, if not a bit esoteric to a man quite literally made from chalk, and he could appreciate the artistry of it. It didn’t hold his interest quite as much, however, as y/n, who, by the third or fourth chorus, had picked up the lively tune and began humming it under her breath as she swayed gently in her seat.

“So, how was it?” Venti exclaimed.

“It was pleasant.”

“Y/n, you seemed to enjoy it.”

“I did, thank you, Venti.”

“Well, I’m pleased to hear that you both enjoyed my latest masterpiece. You know, when I wrote it, I—”

Venti’s explanation was cut off when he realized that Albedo had risen to his feet, picking up right where he left off mid-ramble. As he watched the two disappear down the hallway, Venti couldn’t help but think that he had somehow ended up on the right path, just with the wrong motivation and at the wrong time.

If Venti had been close, Kaeya was near right on the mark, if not slightly to the left of a bullseye. He was a master of gathering information, an expert in the field of loosening inhibitions and coaxing secrets from anyone from gossiping servants to high-ranking Fatui officers.

The sweet little librarian’s assistant would be no challenge for him, or so he thought.

“Oh, come now, y/n,” he crooned, leaning conspiratorially across the counter to peer up at her. “Everyone has a weakness. Don’t tell me that Albedo is so composed all the time.”

“A weakness?” she pondered aloud, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation but more uncomfortable with the idea of confronting Kaeya about it. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“No? Don’t you have a weakness, y/n?”

“Do you mean physically, or…? I suppose I’m not very good at using a claymore. I can’t seem to get used to the weight distribution.”

“You’re lucky you’re adorable, y/n. I’m talking about an emotional weakness. What flusters our dear chief alchemist, hmm? What makes him blush?”

“Blush?”

“Yes, blush. Just like you’re doing right now.”

She lifted a hand to her cheek as if to physically try to wipe the red off of her face before Kaeya could make any more untoward comments about it, but he only pressed onward, willfully ignoring her own flustered behavior.

“Why do you ask?” she elected to sidestep his original question with one of her own.

“I’m merely curious. And you two are friends, correct?”

“Um… yes, we are. Captain Kaeya, if you would like to know more about Albedo, I doubt he would be upset if you asked him yourself. He’s not particularly shy, he’s just not… talkative, I suppose.”

“Right,” Kaeya muttered. He hadn’t anticipated that y/n would be straightforward, if not a little coy, about the matter, though he should have guessed. Anyone who was as close to the chief alchemist as she would have to have some similarities in personality. Kaeya couldn’t imagine Albedo befriending anyone garrulous or grandiloquent.

“Is there something else I can help you with?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I have a few more questions about Mister Albedo. Nothing too personal of course, just some basic information, if you happen to know the answers.”

“I can try, but again, I’m sure Albedo wouldn’t mind if you asked him yourself.”

“And what if I’m planning some sort of surprise?” Kaeya intoned. Y/n’s brow furrowed at the thought, but Kaeya swooped in to reassure her before she backed out. “Nothing too extreme, of course. A private gift, perhaps. He helped me with a problem I had recently, and I would like to thank him properly. Does he have a favorite color, perhaps?”

Reasonably, Kaeya could do nothing with that shallow information, but if he intended to ask anything beyond surface-level attributes, he was obviously going to have to ease y/n into it with softball questions that wouldn’t raise her hackles.

“He does like blue—that kind of deep blue that’s on his shirt. I wouldn’t say that he necessarily has a favorite, but he does tend to favor colors that aren’t garish.”

“I see, I see. A favorite flower?”

“Cecilias,” y/n answered easily, with a brief smile that Kaeya might have missed had he not been watching her closely. Even though she turned from him to stamp a return date, he could read her honest expression plain as day. “There’s a species of large flower that grows in Sumeru, primarily in open, grassy areas, that he always mentions he would like to see someday, but I wouldn’t say that it’s his favorite. He’s very fond of Cecilias.”

“Interesting. So you two are quite close, then?”

The blush returned to her face, and she cleared her throat before she spoke, “Yes, we’re… close. Albedo is—he’s a good friend of mine. Do you have any other questions?”

“Just a few more, if you would humor me.”

“Of course, Captain Kaeya.”

“Since you work in the library, I’m sure you know—what genre of book does Albedo prefer?”

“Non-fiction, usually.”

“Usually?”

“Almost always some scientific study for an experiment he’s working on. I’ve managed to talk him into reading a few adventure novels, though, and he seemed to enjoy them well enough.”

“Does he read romance novels?”

“No, that’s not something he’s ever expressed interest in.”

“He’s not a romantic?”

She blanched, an interesting reaction, but one he didn’t pay near enough mind to. Y/n appeared to be skirting some issue—she had been honest and gracious in playing along with Kaeya’s questioning, but she shifted her gaze uncomfortably from time to time as if desperate to find an out from certain topics.

She’s shy, he thought to himself as he watched her fingers busy themselves with the fraying edge of a hardback novel. And I am being awfully forward, especially to someone who spends more time around books than people.

“He’s—” she began, then stopped abruptly, trying to rephrase her thoughts, “he’s not typically interested in romance, I suppose. That’s not to say that he’s incapable of… or uninterested in… um, do you have a different question?”

“You think he would be interested in romance, given the right circumstance?”

“Yes, I suppose. That makes sense.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it does. Well, thank you for your time, Miss y/n. I apologize for taking up your afternoon with my silly questions.”

“Oh, that’s alright, Captain Kaeya. If you need more help finding a nice gift for Albedo, I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you, y/n.”

“You thought that he was romantically interested in Sucrose?” Eula scoffed before downing another full glass of something so strong that Jean could smell it several seats down.

“Don’t tell me that your approach was any better, Captain Eula.”

The knights and friends, defeated after a week of attempts at catching the chief alchemist off guard in hopes to catch him blushing, had nearly decided that the man was incapable of going red at all.

“Maybe we should tell him that he can’t blush,” Amber suggested. “He said himself that he wasn’t sure if he was capable of it. I bet he would like to know the answer.”

“But then we would be giving away the game,” Kaeya retorted. “And we need a full mission report before deciding that he’s a lost cause. Lisa, how did you fare?”

“No better than Jean, unfortunately. I gave him just about everything I could without being indecent. He hardly noticed I was there.”

“Rosaria?”

“I called in Barbara. Nothing.”

“Amber?”

“Well, I was going to try something simple, but Eula was a bit too forward about it. We got no results at all from it.”

“Venti?”

“I played him my song.”

“And?”

“He liked it, of course. But he didn’t blush.”

“Well, then, that leaves me, I suppose,” Kaeya sighed. He had saved himself for last, despite having nothing to show for himself. His conversation with y/n had been only slightly illuminating, but nothing he had attempted during his subsequent conversation with Albedo had produced results, and he was ashamed to tell the group as much. “I suppose none of us are getting free drinks, then. A shame, really. I was interested to see the results almost as much as I wanted free liquor.”

“You’re forgetting someone,” Diluc suddenly announced as he stepped lively into the room, taking his place behind the bar with a chipper attitude that was unbecoming of him. The entire group was baffled at his words, and at the smile that graced his usually stern features.

“Oh, Master Diluc, don’t tell me that you’re the one who has actually been successful? Turning someone’s face red with pyro will get you disqualified, you know,” Kaeya intoned, hoping to slightly infuriate the man but only lifting his countenance even more.

“I have proof, and as soon as I show you, I will have an entire month of peace and quiet. If I see even one of you lurking around my tavern on a Tuesday night, I will personally ensure that you never see the inside of this establishment ever again.”

“We all agreed to it, Diluc,” Lisa bargained, leaning over the counter as if Diluc’s proof were hiding behind the bar, just out of sight. “Go ahead and show us, dear, don’t leave us hanging like this.”

“Charles?” Diluc asked.  

Charles nodded firmly, “They’re just outside.”

“Good.”

With this, Diluc wordlessly stepped towards the back door, pressing a gloved finger to his mouth to signal that the rest of the group should be quiet. He poised his hand over the doorknob for several agonizing seconds until suddenly and forcefully, he flung the door open, sending the couple on the other side flying apart.

“Barbatos preserve me,” Venti muttered drunkenly, the only one of the group who could speak at the moment.

The sight was startling, but after the initial shock had faded, it became increasingly obvious to all of them precisely how oblivious they all had been in their research. It should have been obvious. There was a common denominator to nearly every respective conversation they had conducted, and it was not a thing or a topic or an action, but a person.

Albedo was behind the door, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears as he and y/n sheepishly parted. What they had been doing before the door opened had gone unseen by the bar’s patrons, but they could wager a strong guess based on the way y/n was quick to cover her lips with her hand.

“Oh, my—” Kaeya began. “Well, this is interesting. Why didn’t you two tell us about your little arrangement? I’m sure we all would be quite happy for you.”

“You did not ask,” Albedo replied simply. By the time he stepped in properly through the door, his face had returned to its normal color, though y/n was still the color of an unripe sunsettia.

“And to think, we were all going about it the wrong way.”

“Going about what?”

“These idiots made a bet,” Diluc said, straightforward and stern as he moved towards the front door, preparing to physically toss the knights out by their collars. “And they’ve all lost, so now it’s time to leave. Y/n and Albedo, of course, are free to stay.”

“Oh. Thank you, Diluc,” y/n muttered, half lost in thought. “Wait, is that why everyone was acting like that this past week? You were all trying to get Albedo to… to do what? What were you trying to do?”

Albedo was quick to respond, having connected the dots rather easily, “I see. This is because of our conversation last week, yes? You were performing an experiment to see if I am capable of blushing. And, judging by your expressions, you seem to have gotten a satisfactory answer.”

“Yes,” Diluc interjected. “Goodbye.”

With this, the knights were summarily kicked out of the tavern for the next month, and Diluc was rewarded handsomely with his peace and quiet, for which he was happy to provide the happy couple with a set of drinks, on the house. He did feel a bit uncomfortable, after all, that he had exposed their relationship for the explicit purpose of clearing out his bar.

“Did they make you uncomfortable, y/n?” Albedo asked her quietly after Diluc had disappeared into the back to refresh his ingredients. “If I had known that they might confront you for an answer, I would have asked them to refrain.”

“I’m alright, Bedo. I just hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable, trying to make you blush like that.”

“No, I hardly noticed. I do commend their dedication to their experiment, however. I hope their results were satisfactory.”

“Hmm, I guess so. But if they wanted to know if you’re capable of blushing, they could have just asked me outright. I’ve seen you blush plenty of times.”

“Have you really?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Fascinating. When does this happen?”

“Well—different times, I guess, but… most of the time, when I kiss you, you turn red.”

“I would like a demonstration, if you don’t mind.”

For two weeks, she had fought to find interest anywhere other than the nagging thoughts in her brain, seeking company from just about anyone who would humor her for even a moment. She was not usually one to stop to converse with street-side merchants for no reason but friendly chitchat-- that was more her husband’s domain, after all-- but everyone from the perfume seller to the old kite-maker to the shaky fishmonger by the docks had entertained her insatiable need to kill time. 

She was running out of topics of conversation. The weather could only get her so far, and she was loath to discuss the death of Rex Lapis, given that she was not good at keeping secrets.

When she failed to sleep for the nth time since her husband’s departure, she grew sick of her ordeal, sick of the inside of her house, and sick of the empty bed that was far too big for her alone. She knew precisely where she was headed when she opened her front door, and even the bite of the stinging rain could stop her from completing her mission. It was, undoubtedly, a drastic measure, but she had put up far too long with drastic times.

Two weeks prior.

“I will not be away long, dearest,” her husband promised, though his own eyes were laced with a distinct sorrow that even his unending wisdom could not mask. “I will write when I can. Will you write to me, as well?”

“If I don’t, will you come home sooner?”

He laughed. She would miss the sound.

“I will return as soon as my job is complete.”

“And you’re sure I can’t come with you?”

“I fear your boss at the book house would not appreciate your sudden departure,” he argued, frustratingly practical to the extent that it made her pout. It wasn’t fair that he always made such good points. She deserved to be impractical every now and again, but her husband always made far too much sense. “And I could hardly put you in such danger. I fear that the days ahead will be harsh. You should not be subjected to such hostilities.”

“And you should?”

“I have survived far worse.”

“Yes, but you can’t exactly hurl mountainsides anymore, can you?” She muttered under her breath, folding her arms like a cross child, if only so that he would dote upon her.

“While it is true that I cannot control the earth as I could in my youth, you underestimate my resolve. I am no feeble old man, my love. I will return to you safely, as I always have, as I always will.”

Eventually, she had been convinced, though hardly happy about it. She may have been a lowly bookstore clerk with a penchant for adventure novels, but she was also a seasoned adventurer herself. Who better to judge such subject matter than one who has experienced it firsthand?

Y/n could have easily boarded the boat with her husband and traveled to Inazuma to fulfill whatever harebrained request had been made of him. Why some random Inazuman citizen had any authority to commission a funeral parlor consultant from Liyue, she did not know, but if she ever met the doushin who had sent for her husband to cross the sea under such treacherous conditions, she would not be kind.

But despite her dramatics, she woke up the next day, rubbed her eyes of sleep all by herself, made tea all by herself, and made the walk to work all by herself, feeling all the while that the sun was a little dimmer without her companion to help guide her step.

She felt desperate. She felt pathetic, like some poor little lost puppy, following her husband around and giving him big moony eyes every time he so much as cleared his throat to speak, but before she had met him, she had been lonely for some time. She was quiet by nature, and when she had packed her life up and moved to Liyue on a whim, it hadn’t been long before she realized that her only friends were coworkers and books.

Meeting him amongst the shelves was a dream, and falling in love with him was a fresh adventure every day.

As she stepped behind the desk at the Wanwen Bookhouse, she remembered exactly where he had stood when she had first met him.

She didn’t want to bother him—most who wandered onto the top level of Wanwen Bookhouse enjoyed the quiet. The Liyue sun was good to them, pleasantly wandering across the spines of books but not so harsh that it bore down on the patrons as they leisurely paced through the shelves. She tended to let her visitors experience the shop at their own pace until they signaled a need of her.

This man, however, looked so remarkably pensive that she could not help but ask. His one hand pressed lightly to his chin and the other tucked behind his back, the only part of him that proved him not to be an elegant statue was his hair, bristling at the ends as the wind flitted through the pages around him.

“Can I help you find something today?” she asked him, approaching as though opening her hand toward a timid animal. “You look awfully deep in thought.”

He took his time responding, but his kind smile was enough to assure her that she had not overstepped. When he did speak, his voice, sturdy as stone and smooth like honey, warmed her.

“I am glad you asked. If I might take a moment of your time, I have several questions regarding this series.”

“I’d be happy to answer, sir.”

He took a single book into his gloved hands, cradling it gently yet weighing it as though assessing its contents through feel alone, as if it would somehow whisper to him the precise questions he ought to ask of her. She took his brief distraction to watch him unabashedly. The people of Liyue were pretty, certainly, but this man had eyes made of precious stone a face of ageless beauty. The way he carried himself alone was enough to make her feel only two inches tall, but the ease with which he spoke to her and the care of his words calmed her.

“I am curious about the author. Zhang Jianning is a name I have yet to encounter. Do you know of his history?”

She nodded, a quiet smile rising on her face. Thankfully, the man had asked her about a beloved adventure series, one which she was immensely fond of. If there was any single employee at the Wanwen Bookhouse who could best answer his questions, it was her.

“Zhang Jianning is actually a pen name. Call of the Ocean Void was actually written by a woman, who used the name of her husband so that she could publish her works.”

“Fascinating,” he replied, and she sensed that he meant it. Sometimes, a customer would ask her for a recommendation, and she would get overexcited at the prospect and accidentally bore the patron into pitying her, nodding along though they had stopped caring long ago. It wasn’t often, after all, that she got to talk to people about a subject she loved so dearly, so when someone asked a question, she really let herself go.

“Her name was actually Zhang Ting, and her work was revolutionary at the time. The genre was flooded with a whole lot of men telling the same stories, and when Ting published the first book of her series, it was an instant success. She revealed her true name when she finished the last installment of the series, and then published everything afterwards under her own name. But instead of changing newly published editions of Call of the Ocean Void, she kept them under her husband’s name as thanks to him.”

“That is a wonderful tale,” the man complimented her, and she flushed at the praise. It wasn’t every day that she had tall, handsome men praising her for her ability to ramble about her favorite books. “Do you enjoy this series yourself?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You are obviously quite interested in its history. Do you enjoy the content, as well?”

“It’s one of my favorites,” she explained as her fingers brushed across the book spines, coming to rest on one particular novel. “The fourth book is my favorite. It’s—well, I won’t tell you, in case you decide you’d like to read it. Do you like adventure novels?”

“I often find myself consuming solely non-fictional accounts and entirely neglecting fiction, but I have recently become quite appreciative of the thrill of adventure.”

Y/n had helped him purchase the book, and within a few days, he had returned for the next book in the series. By the fourth book, he decided that he would buy all of them at once, and she, though pleased by the idea that she had sparked his interest in a beloved series, lamented that she would no longer be encountering the man who was turning out to be her favorite customer.

As she carefully jotted down the details of his newest purchase for her records, he cleared his throat, and for the first time, she witnessed a slight discomfort in his stance.

“Miss Y/n, I wonder if you have ever taken the time to listen to the local storytellers? I find that Tian is quite skilled in his art.”

“Mr. Tian is the storyteller at Third-Round Knockout, right? I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Then, perhaps you would be interested in accompanying me tomorrow evening.”

“To… to listen to the storyteller?”

“Yes, if you would like. If you have other matters to attend, I understand.”

“No, I would like that.”

Y/n sighed sweetly at the memory, cursing her past self for being so oblivious and so cowardly. If she had accepted that their first trip to the storyteller had been their first date, then perhaps they could have moved on with the whole relationship with considerably more efficiency than they did, dawdling and pining for at least a year.

Despite the memories that lived amongst all of the shelves, she completed her job as efficiently as she could without daydreaming.

Eleven Days Prior.

Several days later, and she was desperate enough to wander into the halls of the Northland Bank, seeking the company of the man who had attempted to drown the entire city with her inside it, and yet, somehow became a friend to both her and her husband. Tartaglia, if rumor was to be believed, had killed her husband, but she only rolled her eyes at such tall tales. The bloodthirsty Eleventh Harbinger would never kill without a proper fight, and despite his grandstanding, a row with Morax was not a fight Tartaglia could reasonably win.

“I’m here to see Childe,” she muttered to the baffled attendant behind the counter. Usually when she made visits to the Northland Bank, she was accompanied by her husband, whose stately presence made up for the fact that the two of them were seemingly nobodies come to call on a high and mighty harbinger. Now all by herself, she was just a shy little civilian who no doubt appeared visibly unnerved by the hollow and clean halls of the bank.

“Lord Tartaglia does not take meetings without an appointment,” came the steady reply. The guards eyed her warily. “What is your name?”

“Y/n. I don’t have an appointment, though.”

“Then I’m afraid you will have to return once you have made the appropriate preparations.”

“Oh. Sorry, then, I—”

“Y/n! There you are, comrade.” If the voice wasn’t unmistakable, the fiery head of hair that bobbed down the stairs was a clear tell from a mile away. As soon as his boots hit the expensive marble floor, all heads in the room bowed in reverence. Y/n felt a swell of pride in her chest. “Don’t tell me that Levin was giving you a hard time.”

“He was just making sure I wasn’t coming to assassinate you, I suppose.”

“And? Are you?”

“Don’t sound so excited about it, Childe. I’m a decent adventurer, but I would be far too easy of a fight for you.”

“Yes, I fear that you would be,” he uttered, though his voice was still riddled with the humor that made his threats so chilling—the ease with which he spoke of conquest and battle, followed by a cheery laugh, made talking with him unnerving at times. It was only because he was a dazzling conversationalist and a loyal friend that she and her husband were able to skillfully repress Tartaglia’s rocky past.

“So why do you still look like you want to try it?”

“Ah, because after I’ve successfully gotten you out of the way, then your lover would have no choice but to fight me. Where is Mr. Zhongli, by the way? I’m surprised he’s left you to roam the streets alone.”

Her face scrunched so pitifully that Childe nearly laughed, had it not been for the unutterable sadness that filled her eyes.

“He’s in Inazuma,” she whined, trekking with heavy step up the stairs behind him. “Some stupid doushin asked for his expertise on a case or something.”

“Inazuma. That’s awfully far. How long will he be gone?”

“Two weeks.”

“Aw, poor little thing. You look like someone’s knocked the wind right out of your sails. But, if you’re lonely, we could always go outside the city and find some treasure hoarders to knock around a bit.”

She pondered the idea longer than she was proud of.

“Ask again in a few days,” she finally sighed. “I might get bored enough to take you up on that.”

One Week Prior.

She had, several days later, taken up Tartaglia on his offer to go adventuring, and even though he had been more than happy to take care of any enemy that passed their way, y/n still ended up aching in the joints and riddled with little cuts and bruises all over every inch of skin that had been exposed during their journey.

So, she hobbled up the long and arduous path to Bubu Pharmacy, praying to all the archons that the tall stairs would miraculously shorten to make her journey less painful.

“How am I supposed to pray to Rex Lapis for the earth to bend to my will,” she muttered bitterly as she heaved another step upward, “when he’s out of town on a business trip?”

“Good afternoon, y/n! You’re looking a little worse for wear. Might I inquire as to why you’re so beaten up?”

Hu Tao skidded to a halt beside her, and somewhere, Qiqi let out a relieved sigh that the director had been momentarily sidetracked by another potential client.

“I went out adventuring yesterday, to pass the time.”

“To pass the time, or to pass away? You know, I have been designing an attractive pair of couple’s coffins for you and Mr. Zhongli, but if you go ahead and die now, you’ll get a significant discount.”

“I don’t plan on dying right now, but thank you,” y/n muttered, somewhat gratefully. She had been quite sure at the bottom of the stairs that she would survive to the top, but somewhere around the middle, her faith in herself wavered.

“Let me know if you change your mind. Have you heard from Mr. Zhongli since he’s been gone?”

“Mm, he sent me a couple letters. The weather’s been rough in Inazuma lately. Apparently, their stormy season is particularly trying.”

Y/n grimaced as she recalled her husband’s wording, and the way she knew he was masking some of the peril he had experienced. No doubt, he was trying his best to keep her from worrying so much that she hopped on the next boat out of town and tried to fight the Raiden Shogun in his honor.

My dearest y/n,

           I write to inform you that I have safely landed in Inazuma’s port at Ritou. The maple trees are rich with color, and the air is clean, when the storms have subsided. Ritou is lined with quaint little markets, and I have found the time to pick up a few souvenirs you will no doubt find interesting.

I did remember my wallet, this time.

The famed Yae Publishing House is my next prospect, and I intend to visit as soon as I have reasonable time. Perhaps if I find a suitable novel, I can read it aloud to you when I return. Though, I miss your voice so much I may request that you read it aloud to me, at least for a night. I could never fully give up the sight of you curled up at my side, dozing off to sleep at the sound of my voice.

I hope you are faring well in my absence. I know how reluctant you were to leave me by the docks, and it pained me just as much to watch as you faded into the distance. I could see the tears in your eyes, and my heart begged me to beseech the captain to turn the boat around just so that I could comfort you.

I digress—I do not wish to make you feel lonely.

Inazuma is a beautiful nation, despite its weather becoming volatile at times. There is no need to worry, however, as my lodging during my journey provides me a sturdy roof. I doubt, as well, that this nation’s archon would be so quick to strike me down with her lightning.

Rest assured that the Shogun’s thunder is a terror I have survived many a time.

I hope to bring you here someday, during a season in which the weather is far more temperate. The Sakura trees surrounding the Grand Narukami Shrine are loveliest at the peak of their blooms, and I believe you would enjoy the long and winding walk to the mountain’s peak. The pathway is paved with stone, and the red of the wooden terraces is rich against the pale blue of the sky.

Nothing compares, however, to the way you shine under the Liyue sun. I hope the sun shines on the day I return to you, darling, but even if it does not, I will be equally overjoyed to see you.

                                                                                   All my love,

                                                                                               Zhongli

Y/n hoped that Hu Tao couldn’t read the way her lip barely trembled at the thought of the poetic letter. She wished, after all the beautiful books she had read, of all the brilliant and descriptive words she knew, that she could write nearly as well as Zhongli. He always went on about how he loved the way her words sounded on her tongue or on the page, but she knew that she was hardly impressive compared to him.

She swooned when he so much as asked her to pass the sugar bowl.

Hu Tao, despite having offered y/n a comfortable means of transport to the afterlife, helped her up the stairs until Dr. Baizhu could properly prescribe a salve that would hopefully heal all of her wounds by the time her husband arrived, though she wasn’t opposed to the idea of her beloved doting on her as he cooed at how pitiful her wounds looked.

Perhaps she would skip a few applications and let Zhongli give her a massage, for good measure.

Four Days Prior.

She stared down the incense burner with an intense passion, as though lighting the embers with her very eyes. Of course, she could write letters to her husband, but it wasn’t fast enough. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as talking to him in person, and even though he wasn’t nearly as involved in Liyue’s affairs as before, he was still at least semi-divine, so she was willing to stake her chances that he might hear her should she direct all her wishes to Rex Lapis’s little effigy that sat atop the stone burner instead of waiting for Zhongli to reply.

She spoke to him with little regard for the other supplicants milling about the terrace—if anyone should hear her, they would likely think her some enthusiast of the former Geo Archon, mourning his loss and pining for his return.

“I miss you,” she spoke as the fragrance began warming the air around her. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I miss you so much it hurts.”

Waiting on a sign was silly, but she still hoped beyond hope that the smoke might give her some kind of signal. When nothing happened, she addressed him again, this time listing all of the names she could remember, just in case. The earth might not respond to Zhongli, but it would certainly recognize Morax.

“Zhongli. Rex Lapis. Lord of Geo. Morax. If you can hear me, you should say something now so I don’t look like a buffoon talking to a dead god.”

It could have been her eyes playing tricks on her—her sleep schedule had been wretched in her husband’s absence—but the smoke gave a slight hitch to the left as it rose.

“Yes, I know you’re not actually dead, but no one else knows that. What’s the point of marrying a former god if he can’t hear you when you pray to him?”

She sighed, sitting down on the sun-soaked pavement with her legs crossed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be snippy. I just forgot how lonely I was before I met you. Now that we spend so much time with each other, it’s hard to be away from you for this long without going mad. I’m starting to doubt that you can hear me at this point, but if you can, please try to cut your trip short. I don’t know if I’ll last four more days.”

For the next hour, she sat in the sun and mumbled sweet supplications to Rex Lapis, hoping that at least one of them would reach his ears.

He had told her of his identity the night he asked her to marry him. It was a prerequisite, he said. Before he asked her the all-important question, he had to ensure that she was comfortable with all of him—his past, present and future selves.

“Y/n, if we are to proceed with this relationship, I must inform you of something which might alter the course of your feelings towards me. I… have not always been a funeral parlor consultant.”

She expected that perhaps he had been wild in his youth, running with treasure hoarders or engaging in the shady trade that always littered the lower docks. Never could she have imagined that his prior job had been Geo Archon, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He had, more times than she could count, corrected arrogant historians on minute details, filling in narrative holes with all sorts of odd accounts that somehow lined up entirely with historical fact.

Besides that, there was one occasion on which Tartaglia had referred to Zhongli as, “the guy who sealed up Osial in the first place,” which y/n had written off as some strange inside joke between the two.

The night he had revealed the truth to her, it had taken her several hours of questioning, which he had valiantly endured, to adjust to the new information, though her heart never thought twice about her decision to agree to his proposal. When he finally asked the question, she responded so immediately that it shocked him.

“Darling, I am overjoyed to hear this, but I must ask if you are sure. This is quite a lot to take in at once. If you require a few days’ thought, I would understand.”

“I know my answer now. I love you—every bit of you, even the parts that are complicated. I don’t mind what other names you’ve been called in the past, or other lives you’ve lived. You’re my Zhongli now, and you’ll be my Zhongli forever, if you’d like.”

“That is more than I could ever ask.”

When she agreed to marry him, she never pictured herself awaiting his return by sitting cross-legged before his draconic visage, muttering under her breath for only the cool stone to hear. It was worth it, however, to feel that he was so close even when he was so far away. No one else in the harbor could claim that their lover’s figure sat handsomely etched in stone in statues overlooking the city. She was the only one who could confirm whether Rex Lapis at all resembled his statues.

And she was quite smug about that, as well.

One hour prior.

He begged his heart not to expect the sight of her at the docks, her figure swaying amongst the silhouetted crowd as his ship crested the horizon and set for the docks. He had not discussed his arrival time with her, as he did not know it himself, and thus, it would be impractical for him to assume that she lingered at the docks for his return.

Even still, when he saw that the docks were empty at such late hours of the night, his heart stung with the pang of loneliness that would have to last just a bit longer.

He filled his mind instead with visions of her swaddled in blankets, chest rising with steady breath as she dreamed peacefully. When he finally arrived home, he could finally remove his business clothes, let loose his hair, and participate in that sweet domestic ritual of curling up in bed beside his wife, wishing to see her eyes but hating to wake her.

When he opened the bedroom door to find the house entirely empty, he fought to keep himself level. Surely, there was a reasonable answer for this. She had written him hardly a day prior, so he assumed her to be still in good health. Perhaps, even, she had overexerted herself in filling his absence, attending some late-night party from which she would eventually crawl home, exhausted and socially spent.

He doubted this. She had begun to appreciate light conversation more since the start of their relationship, but she was hardly the type to stay out past bedtime to engage in any social activities.

He searched the whole house one more time, thoroughly exhausting all his options until he was left with only the impractical—his wife could hardly fit in the vase by the fireplace, but he had to be sure of this. Compiling a list of her most frequent haunts, he took to the streets, not caring a single bit that the gray clouds had pooled all in one adumbral mass above the harbor, pouring rain that startled the seas with its force.

The Wanwen Bookhouse was, of course, closed at such a late hour, its wares sheltered in billowing tarps that pushed and pulled loudly in the strong winds. He thought she may be there, too, drenching herself to the bone as she fought to keep the pages of her favorite books safe, but she was not hiding amongst the shelves.

The Terrace was empty, save for the dimming light of the glaze lilies, closing their buds to the storm that threatened to pull their stalks from the earth. The incense that had once burned in the public altar was dampened entirely. Just as he was about to head for his next destination, however, the dome of a single lavender umbrella cut through the driving rain.

“Mr. Zhongli, I am surprised to find you here at this hour,” Keqing spoke in measured tone, as though it was perfectly normal for her to be there at that hour. “You’re soaking wet. Might I offer you an umbrella from my office for your journey home?”

“Forgive me, Lady Keqing, I do not mean to be abrupt, but I cannot seem to find my wife.”

“Quite alright, Mr. Zhongli. I assumed she had met you at the docks. I haven’t seen her since yesterday, but if I do, I will be sure to let her know that you’re looking for her.”

“Thank you, Lady Yuheng.”

He was gone long before he could acknowledge the quiet wave of farewell she gave. His next destination—and he prayed this to be wrong—was the pharmacy, where a single lamp flickered in the front office.

“Good evening. Or… is it now morning? Qiqi… does not own a watch.”

“Qiqi, have you seen my wife?” he questioned hurriedly, forgetting in his haste that the smallest of the pharmacy employees was also the slowest.

“Your… wife? You are Mr. Zhongli. Qiqi wrote down your name, because you always compliment Qiqi on the selection of violetgrass. Should Qiqi call for Dr. Baizhu?”

“No, thank you, Qiqi.”

A wasted venture, but one that took him to one of the last locations on his list, and the one place he would find someone who might truly have information. The Northland Bank was, after all, open at all hours of the day and night.

“Enjoying the rain, Zhongli? You don’t seem like the type to go out without an umbrella. I’d be happy to lend a few mora, if you need to procure a new one.”

“Thank you, Childe, but I fear an umbrella would be of no use to me at this point. Pardon me, but I do not have time to speak with you just now, I—”

“No time to speak?” Tartaglia asked him with a strange sort of glimmer in his eye that caught in the moonlight. “That’s odd. It’s rare that you don’t have a story to tell me, though, I suppose it makes sense. You wouldn’t go out in the rain and get soaked for no reason. Tell me, Zhongli, what’s your mission today? You look awfully determined.”

Zhongli sighed. Childe was, by some odd event, a friend to him, and though the two had spent hours exchanging stories, Zhongli was in no mood to humor his friend’s conversation, however amicable. As the hour drew on, his worry grew until it sat heavy right in the center of his chest.

“I have been looking for my wife, to no avail. I am aware that she is capable, but I am beginning to worry.”

“Y/n has certainly been lonely since you left on your little adventure. She’s stopped by the bank on more than one occasion, just to chat. The first time it happened, I thought something must be wrong. I’m not used to seeing one of you without the other at this point.”

“Childe, have you seen her today?”

“I haven’t. But, I might have an idea of where she may be.”

“I would be incredibly grateful for any information you are willing to spare.”

“She’s with you, of course,” Childe answered with a laugh, as though it should be obvious. When Zhongli’s brow furrowed, the younger man’s smile only grew.  “I did say that I hardly see one of you without the other, didn’t I? So where else would she be, than with you?”

Childe lifted one long arm to point upwards towards the horizon, dotted with brightening stars that grew as the sun dissipated behind the harbor’s wavering border. Rising tall, just above the rolling hills beyond the city’s gates, stood a singular, familiar figure, glowing faint blue against the darkening sky.

“I see,” Zhongli whispered. The waver in his tone faded into a fondness that untied the great knot of worry that had tangled his heart. It was silly, of course—he should have been upset that his most beloved had ventured out into the rain on such a wild and sentimental hare, but he could not bring himself to feel even the slightest bit of resentment towards her.

He had left her alone for two weeks. It was only reasonable that she should seek comfort in the next best thing. He hardly took time to thank Tartaglia before rushing towards the hillside, following the faint glow of the Statue of the Seven.

As he approached the statue, he saw her, shadowed by stone and sky, huddled into an uncomfortable mass on the statue’s lap. He fended off the passing sting of jealousy—it was his lap, but it wasn’t.

He hardly had trouble making his way up to the top, though as he did, he could not help but wonder how she had climbed there, and in the rain, of all things, but he thought to ask her later. There were far more pressing issues on his mind.

“Darling, wake up,” he cooed, brushing his fingers across the side of her face and warmed at the precious sight of her squirming and mumbling sleepily. “We need to get you out of this rain. You’ll fall ill in this cold.”

“Zhongli,” she whispered, as though in the midst of a sweet dream. “Get home, already. I can’t sleep when you’re not here.”

“I’m sorry, dearest. I am here now. Come—let me take you home.”

“Mmhmm. Okay. Carry me?”

“Of course. Hold on tight.”

“You’re really home?”

“Yes, my love, I am truly home.”

“Oh, no,” she whined, burying her head into his chest. “I’m sorry. You must be tired, and here I’m making you carry me. You can put me down, I can walk on my own.”

“Nonsense. How long have you been curled up against nothing but unyielding stone? It is my pleasure to carry you home, dear.”

She hummed happily as he crossed the threshold of their house, the amber glow of the kitchen lamp flushing their cheeks red with warmth as they sought shelter from the cold rain. Once she was on her own two feet, she quickly returned to the cradle of his arms, hiding herself away against him as though he would disappear if she did not hold him close enough.

“I must seem pathetic,” she whimpered, and he only laughed in response. The gracious rumble in his chest was enough to give her a smile of her own.

“Of course not. Should it be of interest to you, I found it difficult to sleep apart from you as well. The only way I found myself able to close my eyes at all was because I kept something of yours with me.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“Oh, I—” he stammered, uncharacteristically flustered at the sudden turn of the conversation that placed all attention on him. “I borrowed a shirt of yours.”

“My green shirt? The one with the pocket on the front? So that’s where it’s been.”

“I apologize if you missed it.”

“I missed it a little, but not as much as I missed you.”

“That is good to hear,” he sighed. He pressed his lips quietly to her forehead, letting himself enjoy the weight of her in his arms before he went to move again, this time taking her by the hand and leading her towards the bedroom. “Come now, darling. We should rid ourselves of these clothes before we both fall ill.”

“Oh?”

“What an odd look in your eyes, dear. I am merely suggesting that you should not remain in wet clothes for very long, for your health.”

“You’re not suggesting anything else?”