alexis !

Her books occupied half the shelves in his study, his spare clothes had long since stopped being “spare” and remained at her place, and neither of them could remember the last week they had spent entirely apart since the crisis. What began as a conversation about their living arrangements and finding a larger space together eventually circled back to one revelation: if they were already idealising a home together, there is no reason to delay everything else.

“If we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, do I really need to wait until we have a house to show it?”

Before she could answer, he reached for her hand and turned it gently in his. His thumb brushed over the bare ring finger before he lowered his head and pressed a kiss there.

(Is he asking what I think he’s asking?)

(I am asking what you think I’m asking.)

The delighted squeal that escaped her was so sudden and bright that it startled a few birds outside her window. Her eyes welled up with tears but she could not contain her excitement. She nearly threw herself on top of him in an embrace, clutching at his shoulders as another squeal slipped free, “Can we look soon—?”

“We can still look for the house,” he said, chuckling. “But I see no reason we can’t start looking for rings… today.”

That had been the original intention: simply to look. But somewhere between trying on rings, discussing dates, and realising wedding planning was a meticulous affair, the rest of the day snowballed into something else entirely.

By the afternoon, they were slipping matching rings onto each other’s fingers and selecting ornate fabrics that would become outfits befitting for their impromptu elopement, which was sealed in a handful of signatures and officiated by the lovely gentleman who did his utmost not to reveal that he had recognised the scribe. (Strange, he thought. Though, not altogether surprising. Alhaitham seemed like the type to elope).

Laughter escaped them both at the absurdity of how easy it was.

Afterwards, they submitted leave requests under the pretense of a much needed vacation. Being the former Acting Grand Sage had its perks, for their request got approved within the hour.

Just like that, there was nothing left standing between them and marriage, and later, they quietly disappeared from Sumeru City without much explanation. Their friends would discover the truth eventually, but for now they intended to travel to a place so far from the Akademiya, no one would think to look for them there.

Tucked in their little corner of no where, they spend their days napping under the golden sun, stealing kisses whenever they please, and growing accustomed to the new, wonderful sound of calling each other husband and wife.

The celebrations can wait until they return.

aaaaaaa i just wanted to say a quick but very sincere thank you to my beloved @/sylure for this beautiful gift. i was so lightheaded after crying over it ;-; the timing of the gift was just… divine LOL. i love you so much! and also honourable mention to my tulip girl rae @/sleepyqinfei for associating this song with ryuhaitham ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡🕊

so it doesn’t even have to be a date! i love the idea of you becoming so woven into his life that he, idk, pushes out the second chair in his study because he knows you’ll wander in eventually. whether you yap his ear off or read quietly beside him, he’s pretty much prepared for your presence and i think that’s so cute sksdjdkdkdk.

i also think about alhaitham accompanying you to places that tend to have clusters of people like the grand bazaar, not because there was anything he particularly needed there or that he wanted to go, but because you did. additionally, he’d never make it feel like a sacrifice. if he’s chosen to spend the afternoon with you, then he’ll be fully present. maybe even happy to let you dictate the pace of the day.

Ser Duncan had always known that princes were strange.

That, at least, was something he’d made peace with.

They were born strange, raised strange, and lived their lives in a world that did not much resemble the one the rest of them walked in. They spoke in courtesies that meant threats and in threats that meant nothing at all. They smiled when they were angry and grew angry when there was no cause he could see.

Still, he thought he understood them well enough—he’d been wrong all along.

He knows he is wrong because there he is, seated at a crystal big table amidst the gorgeous midday sun-drenched gardens of the Red Keep, ogling like a big oaf at Prince Aerion Targaryen—no, not at him, but at the lady sitting by his side, near the head of the table.

She is laughing, that is the first thing he is struck by. A melodious, gentle sound, like sweet honey. And then, the second thing that hits him is the sight of Aerion laughing with her as well, very quietly, with his head tilted towards her.

Hearing him laugh with genuine joy must be the most unnatural and eerie sound Duncan has ever heard.

Her hand rests casually on Aerion's forearm, intimately and so naturally, as if that's where it belongs. As if it's always belonged to touch him.

Dunk frowns and then he frowns even harder as his thoughts stumbled over themselves.

He keeps watching as she says something else—he can't hear what—and Aerion gives a slight tilt of his head, not in a scornful way, but in an expression of attention and delight.

Of course, Dunk has seen you before. You are no stranger to the Red Keep. You address the guards by name, thank the servants when they bring you things or offer assistance. Once, you even had smiled at Dunk himself, and he nearly tripped over his own feet when you did.

You are kind, gentle, and sweet. Everything Aerion is not, so Dunk naturally kept assuming you must be some cousin or sister or relative to the royal family.

Dunk just sits there, taller and clumsier than usual, and definitely feeling like a fish out of water among the majority of the Targaryens. He fiddles with his fingers in front of him, like that might stop him from saying something stupid, but it's already too late.

Next to him, Prince Aegon devours a fig with an expression of utter indulgentment; they went through this phase of confusion weeks ago and now seems to find it a source of amusement.

“Is something wrong, Ser?” asks Egg, his mouth partially full. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Dunk doesn't respond immediately. His eyes remain locked on the other side of the table, where the shade of the vines reaches upon you and your husband.

Aerion, who usually looks at everyone as if they were insects beneath his boot, is doing the most horrifying act: he is peeling an orange with the greatest of care. In one perfect spiral, he strips the peel and offers it to you along with a faint smile.

“She's Prince Baelor's daughter, right?,” Dunk asks cautiously, leaning toward Egg as far as he can without falling over. “A niece. Or maybe a distant cousin whom Aerion has kindly decided not to terrorize today for reasons of royal courtesy.”

Egg chokes a little on the piece of fig and bursts out in a dry laugh, which sounds more like a little bark. “My Uncle Baelor's daughter? Oh, Ser—”

At that very moment, your laughter fills the air at something Aerion whispers in your ear. The Prince allows himself another smile; not one of those malicious grimaces that Dunk knows so well, but a genuine, gentle one.

You place a hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his jaw with a tenderness that makes Duncan's stomach churn with unbridled astonishment and revulsion.

“Come on, Ser, let's go meet her!” Egg suppresses a mischievous grin as he tugs on the sleeve of his tall friend's doublet, urging him to stand up as well. “I can see you like her. Let me introduce you, then.”

Dunk lets himself be led along, trying to remember every lesson in courtesy he never really learned, and as they reach the table, Aerion lifts his gaze. His eyes narrow with that characteristic coldness as he recognizes the knight, and all his gentle, carefree demeanor from mere seconds ago seems to vanish when he lays sight on Duncan.

“Ser Duncan,” Aerion drawls the name, his voice reverting to that harsh, extremely contemptuous intonation. “What a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming. It seems you're encroaching on my family's privacy a little more each day—”

“Prince Aerion,” Dunk greets him back dismissively, disregarding what the prince is saying to him, and not even bothering to listen to his passive-aggressive nonsense, since he is too concerned on gazing in awe at you. “My lady.”

“It's a pleasure to have you here.” You flash him a cheerful smile, glancing sideways to see Aerion's plump lips gaping in shock and offense at your side. “Ser...”

You pause for him to introduce himself, and he rushes to do so, inclining his head once more.

“Duncan, my lady,” the tall knight pronounces his name with more trepidation than pride. “At your service.”

Aerion frowns, his eyes squinting with growing annoyance. “Your service? What—”

“You are very kind, Ser Duncan,” you interrupt your prince, struggling to stifle a giggle at his expression of pure bewilderment. “Thank you for taking such good care of Aegon.”

“You don't have to thank me at all, my lady,” Dunk replies, his voice coming out softer. “Looking after Egg—Prince Aegon, is truly an honor. And seeing you here, being so patient... well, it just confirms what everyone at court says.”

You tilt your head curiously, as Aerion stares at him with cautious defiance.

“Oh? And what do they say, Ser Duncan?” you ask with a twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

“That you have a noble soul,” Duncan states with complete conviction, nodding to himself. “One can tell in a heartbeat that you are Prince Baelor's daughter”

And he carries on, even when Egg sneaks a kick to his shin, and the whole dining table drops silent, with everyone turning to look at him with expressions of either bafflement or disgust—in Maekar's case.

“He must be immensely proud to have such a kind and compassionate daughter. Only someone with his blood could have the strength to...“ His blue eyes glance at Aerion with barely concealed distaste, “Well, to spend the entire day entertaining your cousin Aerion and still keep a smile on your face. You are an exemplary cousin, my lady.”

Egg muffles out a strangled laugh and has to cover his mouth with both hands to keep from spitting it out.

Aerion, for his part, is not amused and remains petrified beside you. His lips part, uttering a gasp of outrage, and his violet eyes gleam with a fury that promises a death of agony.

“Daughter?” Aerion hisses, his voice rattling like a viper’s threat. “Did you call her my uncle Baelor’s daughter? And my cousin?”

You blink, glancing first at your husband, whose face is flushing through various hues of red, and then at the tall knight standing in front of you, who is frowning in innocent confusion.

“Ser Duncan...” you begin, trying to maintain your composure as the situation descends into absurdity. “I’m afraid your compass for kinship is a little... misguided.”

“Misgui—what?” babbles Dunk, batting his eyelashes as slowly as an ox that has just been struck on the snout.

Before your husband or you can answer, a soft, vibrant laugh comes from the head of the table. Prince Baelor is leaning back in his chair, attentive to the unfolding scene before him, in his usual courteous silence. His eyes now sparkle with genuine amusement.

“Gods be good, Ser Duncan,” says the King's Hand, his fingers absentmindedly twirling the wine glass he holds in his hand. “I appreciate your loyalty and your high regard for my character, but I fear you are attributing merits to me that I do not possess.”

“Prince Baelor is my uncle-in-law, by marriage, not by blood, Ser Duncan.” you clarify, reaching out to Aerion’s hand, that had been resting on your lap the moment Duncan had arrived at your side. “I am Aerion’s wife, not cousin.”

“W–wife?” Dunk repeats, his voice breaking with disbelief. “Aerion's? But, my lady, you're kind and beautiful and—”

“For five years, you bloody twit!” Aerion explodes, springing up from his seat now in defense of your honor and his own as well. The chair scrapes violently against the floor. “She’s been my wife for five years! My wife!”

You quickly rise to your feet as well, standing between your husband's fit of fury and Dunk's monumental state of embarrassment.

The difference in height is almost laughable: you attempting to calm a fuming Aerion, with Duncan looming over you both, appearing to wish the ground would open up and swallow him now that he has finally realized the mistake he has just made.

You bite your lower lip, battling to keep from laughing, knowing that would only further wound Aerion's pride.

“Calm down, my love,” you coax him gently, pressing both hands on his chest to push him back a step away from Duncan. “I’m sure Ser Duncan meant no harm.” “He called you my cousin!” Aerion retorts, his burning gaze finally dropping from Dunk and focusing on you, relenting at the way you’re gazing at him, fearful of his anger.

His hands immediately curl around your waist, drawing you closer to him reassuringly and further away from the hapless hedge knight.

Dunk is as red as a tomato and his ears are turning crimson.

“Oh fuck— I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, my prince, my lady,” he blurts out, bowing his head apologetically over and over. “I didn't mean to... it's just that she's such a good person, and you're... well, you're...” His voice trails off the instant Egg kicks him again, without even trying to be subtle about it this time. “A thousand apologies to both of you for my clumsiness. Five years... Seven Hells, five years—”

“Cease your stammering, you simpleton!” a sharp voice growls from the other end of the table. “Have you no sense at all in that thick skull of yours?”

Prince Maekar is looking at Dunk with his characteristic loathing, there is a hint of fatigue in his eyes, as if being surrounded by such a load of idiocy is costing him years of his life.

“You've caused enough of a commotion with your lack of brains, Ser,” Maekar went on, glaring at his son Aerion to shut him up as well. “Sit down and keep your mouth shut before I decide that your penance for being a dimwit should be spending the rest of lunch standing next to the horses!”

Baelor breathes out another quiet snicker at his younger brother's interruption, visibly enjoying his nephew's humiliation.

Dunk straightens up at once, rigid as a plank, still pleading for your forgiveness under his shaky breath.

“There's no need to apologize, Ser Duncan,” you try to soothe him, leaning against your husband's chest.

Clinging to your body, Aerion glares at him with hateful, menacing eyes. “I won't forget this.”

“Aerion,” you call out in disapproval, pulling yourself back in his arms so you can face him, but he just keeps eyeing Duncan, who finally stumbles away from you two and back to his seat at the table.

You seize the moment to gently tug at your husban's hand, forcing him to sit back down as well. And he lets himself fall into the chair, still holding you in his arms, and pulling you onto his lap. And you let out a light, melodic laugh as he does, twisting a little in his arms to nuzzle your nose against his affectionately.

The garden eventually settles back into its rhythmic hum of clinking silverware and low conversation. The initial shock of Dunk’s blunder lingers only in the faint, lingering flush on his face as he focuses entirely on his plate, determined not to breathe in the wrong direction.

Aerion doesn't let you go. Even as he resumes eating with his free hand, his other arm remains firmly wrapped around your waist, his thumb tracing idle, possessive circles against over the fabric of your dress. He leans his head against yours appreciatively.

“He thought we were cousins even when we treated each other like this,” Aerion whispers into your ear after taking a bite of his slice of strawberry cake, his words still laced with indignation, although you can taste the sweetness of the pastry in his breath. “How could anyone be so—”

“Oh, hush,” you whisper, your eyes gazing at his with amusement and then you pick up the small silver spoon from the edge of his plate, scooping up a generous portion of the creamy pastry. “Now, stop pouting, my love. Open up for me.”

Aerion’s obeys you, naturally, leaning forward to take the sweet offering from your hand. He chews slowly, his violet softening eyes never leaving your face.

“Is it good?” you ask softly, wiping a tiny stray bit of cream from the corner of his mouth with your thumb and sucking on it to taste the flavor yourself.

“It’s tolerable,” Aerion purrs, and then kiss your lips tenderly, his mouth lingers close to yours as he pulls away, flashing you a mischievous look. “Hmm, that is far more delicious...”

While Duncan sits frozen—staring at his plate as if the roast swan might testify against him—the rest of the table barely bats an eye at the scene unfolding at his opposite side over the table.

For the Targaryens, such public displays of affection are a common occurrence, perhaps too common during family gatherings or outings or feasts.

Maekar, though still wearing a permanent scowl, simply reaches for the wine carafe, maneuvering his arm around Aerion’s sprawling form without a word. He’s seen his son go from a bloodthirsty terror to a purring housecat in your presence too many times to count. To Maekar, your lap-sitting and sweet-feeding is a necessary evil—a price he’s willing to pay for a quiet afternoon without Aerion setting something on fire.

“You see, Ser Duncan?” Prince Baelor calls out, his voice smooth and teeming with mirth as he watches you feed Aerion another spoonful of the cake, but loud enough to make the hedge knight jump in his seat. “The Prince is quite manageable when he is well-fed and well-loved. It is a pity we cannot bottle his lady wife’s influence and distribute it among the rest of the Realm.”

Your husband scoffs, though there's no real heat in it as he tries to steal another kiss between your spoonfuls, making you laugh.

You broke the news to him on a random Tuesday, quietly announcing your departure. Your gaze refused to meet his, and his couldn't pull away from you.

You already know my family's from there. They want to support me and my parents. And they know a renowned clinical psychologist there that's willing to help me.

Lohen had gritted his teeth.

Why are you looking at me like that...? I can finally get better now. I won't have to be a burden anymore.

He couldn't stand it when you described yourself as a burden.

At the tender age of ten, Lohen was kidnapped—you were one of the children in his cell, alongside Theodore.

It changed both of you for the better, everyone, really. Even someone as logical and calculating as Lohen couldn't help but sometimes wonder, how different would the trajectory of his life be, if his father hadn't let their carriage get held up by those treasure hoaders?

Lohen spat venom that day, snapping about how ridiculous it was to think of yourself as something to be fixed. He knows you best and knew you were far more capable than you described yourself, there was no need to run away to Inazuma. He went through the same thing and turned out fine—he believes you did too.

Since then, you hadn't spoken to each other. Not even glance at one another in the rare moments you passed each other.

Now, he watched you sit, staring towards the ocean while hardly moving. Adorno had lectured him, and for once he listened, urging him to say goodbye. Even if he didn't muster the courage to do so, he could at least stand guard for you—to make sure you'd return unscathed tonight.

"I know you're there, Lohen."

He haphazardly stuffed the letter into his pocket and grunted, before settling in the grass. He didn't say anything, there's was so much on his mind that he couldn't even start.

"I'm sorry."

Lohen scoffed. "You didn't even do anything wrong, You need to get rid of that habit." He wonders and worries, if it'd make you an easy target when you're gone.

You chuckled, a soft, tired noise. "Probably, yeah. But you seemed so upset the other day. I felt bad."

Lohen, you need to stop being so immature. Adorno had chastised him, after he heard about your argument. You can swallow up your pride and apologise, or you can make your final moments together a petty argument that they didn't even deserve.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

"I was in the wrong...I'm sorry for being so...childish."

His heart raced, faster than it ever had in combat. Even the Knights of Favonius entrance exam, he passed with nonchalance. He cleared out monsters with a bloodrushing excitement, but not once did he feel as stressed as he did now.

(Lohen never knew love was this exhilirating. He looked down upon the romances of fiction and the crushes his colleagues would gush about. Now, he felt, and probably looked, even more pathetic than they ever could.)

The waves took their turn to speak, licking up the shore as he stared at a crab to keep himself occupied. Crickets hidden in bushes somewhere sang, and his mouth went dry.

"I missed you." You whispered, and it stung more than any injury he's endured. "I'm glad I got to see you again before I left."

It was callous. Rude, even, but he didn't restrain himself. "Do you really have to go...?"

Trembling yet amused, you sighed. "Yes, I do. I told you, my dad's family's there to help me, and they're friends with—"

"—a renowned psychologist yeah. I was listening." He trailed off, guilty for cutting you off. "But still. Mondstadt's your home."

Where the wind watched over its people. Where dandelions granted dreams and wishes. Where Lohen was.

"I know. That won't change. I wasn't exactly excited to move away, y'know?" You pulled out a blade of grass, picking it into smaller pieces. "But, I don't think moving to Inazuma is a terrible idea. Having a fresh start will be good for me. Like getting away from what happened."

Maybe it was your smile, or how the move was entirely logical, that makes Lohen lose it.

"You don't need a fresh start—"

"I do, Lohen. I know we went through the same thing and all, but it doesn't mean I'm going to be just as successful. I'm nothing like you."

The words tumbled out before he could even filter them, moving faster than his brain ever could. "If I'm so successful why won't you let me protect you—? I can provide everything you need, a—and want. Heck, I could get you a job too—you're smart, and good with books, you like them—I'm sure Lisa would want an assistant or something—"

"That won't fix me. I want to reclaim my life by myself. I want to stop being scared of our past."

He choked on his words, whimpering at how peaceful you looked, even if it meant leaving the nation you lived in all your life.

"...stop saying that. You're not some broken item to put back together..." Lohen's gaze tentatively drifted towards you. You didn't reciprocate, admiring the shore and the moon's blurry reflection.

Reclaim life—Lohen understands the feeling all too well. There was a reason why he trained relentlessly, constantly alert and on guard. He could never enter a room without scanning its entirety for potential dangers, nor could he go without carrying at least two weapons.

"Even so, can't you do it here, in Mondstadt? With me?" He nuzzled his face into your neck, too afraid to meet your gaze. The night air didn't feel so cold against your skin.

It was only thanks to you, that he feels a semblance of stability, and warmth. You were the only one who listened. Even if you enjoyed the predictability of routine, you never forced him to indulge in the same habits as you, something his parents failed to recognise.

Lohen despises routine and mundanity, but with you, it felt more like a break from life than mindnumbing monotony.

You were right, you're nothing like each other, you were gold and he was a lump of coal.

You even managed to interpret his bloodlust positively, always quipping about how Mondstadt was only safe because of Lohen. Lohen thinks that, even if you weren't trapped in that cell with him, you would've still understood his soul perfectly fine.

Lohen doesn't want you to go. He doesn't want to be alone. He wanted you here, in Mondstadt.

He wanted you to feel warmth with him, as much as he basked in yours.

Your cheek rested in his head, the reciprocation widened his eyes and drove his heart wild. "I wish. But it's too late, I'm already leaving tomorrow. I'm not going to change my mind."

This must've been Lohen's own failure. Had he taken your insecurities more seriously, maybe he could've done something. He's garnered a decent amount of experience with the Knights of Favonius and the Adventurer's Guild, he could've taught you to fight—that opens up plenty of opportunities, and you'd feel safer alongside them.

This was simple consequence, he thought. You were leaving because Mondstadt wasn't good enough.

You pulled away, and Lohen's heart sank. He sat up normally, deciding it'd be best to say his final goodbyes soon.

A sniffle interrupted his plans, followed by a choked sob.

You were crying. Furiously so. You turned away, hands rubbing away at your eyes.

"Hey..." A gloved hand reached out to you.

"Fuck—I didn't want to cry again...I don't want to go—"

The sight of you crying tortured him more than any mission could.

Lohen's been witness to your tears on many accounts, but today he was lost for words.

An arm wrapped around you, pulling you in as you wailed.

"I'm gonna miss you." You kept refusing to face him, even as he pulled you closer. Incoherent, you sobbed, hiccuping on your misery.

"I'll miss you too. Everyone will."

It's not "running" away, Lohen. Adorno had reassured him. Not all people heal the same, much like wounds. You have your own idea of healing. They have their own.

He understands that, yet something inside him pleaded to hold onto you forever, and never let you go.

I'll miss that child too. They've treated you well. But it's their turn to find themselves again. There'll be surrounded by love in Inazuma, their parents love them dearly to make that choice. It takes a great amount of courage to take a step that big.

Adorno was right. Leaving was for your sake. You'd be happy in Inazuma, your extended family there loved you dearly, often sending plenty of goods and letters over to you. That psychologist you mentioned would help you understand yourself better, and a change of environment was understandable. Leaving, was ultimately a good decision for you.

Lohen couldn't say the same for himself, but that wasn't important.

Your cries died down, Lohen waited until you were ready to speak, endearingly rubbing your shoulder.

You sighed, wiping your tears one final time. "I'm glad you came here. I was worried our last conversation would be a fight."

Lohen flinched, regret pouncing on him. Quite frankly, if it weren't for Adorno, he'd wallow in disaster and remorse for the rest of time, all because he was immature enough to avoid you after a fight he initiated.

"I'd rather shoot myself in the head then not say goodbye." You chuckled at the graphic joke. "Besides." He shifted, pulling you in so he could face you. Your eyes were traced in red and your nose was dusted pink, but it made no difference for him. "There's no 'last conversation' happening between us. You'll be back to vi—no, I'll travel there to see you when I can. I'm gonna be writing letters to you too, silly."

(Lohen's eyes were burning, but he refused to cry. Not when he regretted not being strong enough to help you. His pride tells him to minimise your guilt, for both of your sakes.)

You stopped making the effort to conceal your face, sniffling. "You're right. I'll be back. I'll bring you back all sorts of candy, okay?"

He smiled, a rare moment of happiness in recent times. "You better."

Your breathing had finally stabilised. "I'll be back." You repeated. "I'll come back as a happier person."

The determination glowing in your eyes comforted Lohen. Before he could speak again, you scurried around, searching the ground.

"Did you lose something?"

You shook your head. "Dandelion—I wanna make a wish."

(Your growth and return was inevitable in Lohen's head. But if a dandelion was what you wanted, then a dandelion was what you'd get.)

Neither of you could find anything nearby, you were about to lose hope, until an idea flickered in his head. Lohen fished out the letter, smoothing it out. You leaned in, curious. "What is that?"

"Stupid report I messed up on." He lied—he would never keep a botched report, nor redo one. 'But it should work equally fine."

'What do you mean?"

He tore it apart before you could see it, into the smallest bits and pieces he could. The fragments of paper pooled in his palms, and he made sure the wind wouldn't interfere with your wish.

Careful, he held his cupped palms to your mouth. "Make a wish."

You blinked, Lohen sighed.

"I know it's not the same, but I'm sure Barbatos will grant your wish either way. He's the god of freedom, it's...the thought that counts. Somethin' like that."

A grin bloomed across your lips. "How did you even manage to think of this?" Your posture straightened and you blew with all your might, before the wind carried the paper away.

Together, you watched the wish dance in the air, before falling into the sea.

Your hands were clasped tight in a prayer, resting against your forehead with your eyes closed.

(Lohen hated religion. He thought of praying as a pointless pass time for those who didn't want to seize control of their own lives. He'd never admit it to anyone, not even you, but in his head, he prayed alongside you—for you to return soon. Yet at the same time, he wanted this ephemeral night to last for eternity.)

He pried the silence away first. He knew if he sat here any longer with you, it'd hurt more when you had to go.

"It's getting late." Lohen declared. "You'll need the rest before the trip. And Varka's gonna scold me about sleep deprivation or whatever.

"Mm. Okay." You stood up, brushing the dirt off your knees, but your gaze was fixated on the ocean, where your 'dandelion' had flown to. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Y'know. Everything. And just then. I feel like you've always helped me."

"I could say the same for you." As he stood, it was beginning to hit him—it wasn't even a full day until you were gone—across the sea, all the way in Inazuma, a lonely archepeligo, further than he had ever been. "Besides, you don't need a wish to make your way back."

His fingers fiddled with an ear, before removing one of his silver and sapphire earrings. He held it out to you. You remained still with shock, as it glistened in pityful moonlight.

"Just take it. You give it back to me once you're back." He huffed, regretting not preparing a goodbye gift. All he knew was violence. "That way, I know you won't forget to return."

(He was familiar with bow crafting of course, but he wanted to give something meaningful, not a talent that he never cared for. He thought the letter would suffice, but that had gone into the wind and sea.)

Despite your teasing, you accepted the earring, carefully pocketing it. 'Are you sure you won't miss it? Now you only have one earring."

Lohen shrugged. "Eh, I'll look good either way. Plus, it'll minimise my chances of someone ripping off my ear in a fight. Do you want the other, as well?" His fingers already reached for the other ear. You declined, clinging onto his wrist.

"No. One is enough. It kind of feels like we're matching now."

The two of you began walking, with the moon peering down on you. You marveled at the occasional cat running past, or the fireflies fluttering around.

"Did you know Morax used mountains as weapons? He used them to seal away gods."

No, Lohen didn't. "The geo archon?"

"Yeah. I bought a new book about Liyue's history."

The topic changed out of nowhere, as you walked through Dornman Port together.

"Interesting. Tell me more."

(That night, Lohen had intentionally walked slower to stretch out your remaining time together. He liked to think that you did as well.)

It's been a year or so. Lohen was not used to your absense, but he has grown accustomed to writing letters instead of running to your doorstep.

Inazuma was treating you well. Pages upon pages replaced your excited ranting, and you pressed the local flowers for him—Lohen decided he'd learn to press cecilias for you when he had the chance to learn. Your letters recounted your adventures, from the new friends you made, to how the psychologist you were seeing turned out to be a 'yumekui baku', a spirit known for eating the bad dreams of humans. Turns out you stopped having nightmares as a whole, and you've learned to manage panic attacks better.

I've been enjoying culinary school so much! Life feels so much better now that I've found something I love. You should let me know what dishes you want me to learn, I'll practice for you.

Lohen always kept a page of your letters with him. It was reaching midnight, and he was dragged to the Tavern with the Varka, simply because it was the end of the week. He smiled to himself, rereading your handwriting as comfort.

Varka took a seat besides him, groaning and immediately asking Diluc for a beer. Lohen refolded the letter again, pocketing it. "You sure you don't need a drink?"

Lohen shook his head. "Tastes rancid. Being drunk isn't worth the taste. Apple cider's better." Before he could ask, Diluc had already began preparing one for him. "Thank you, Master Diluc."

The bartender grunted at the honorific, quietly before getting on with Varka's beer. Diluc of Dawn Winery was always stoic and composed, but today, eyebags were storming and he appeared more irritated than anything. Lohen knows he hates the knights, but he was in a worse mood than usual.

Varka, being the ever-so perceptive Grandmaster, called it out first. "You look tired. What's up?"

Diluc sighed. "Sakoku Decree. Can't import sake for the time being." He rubbed circles on his temple. "The tariffs are abnormally high, too. Can't sell or buy from Inazuma."

The mention of your (now) nation of residence piqued his curiosity. It must've been an commerce related thing.

The Grandmaster shrugged. "Mondstadt's beer always tasted better anyways." He joked, thanking Diluc for his drink. "But I never knew. Any reason why?"

He wiped down the counter. "No. It's indefinite as well."

"Poor Ulrike. Her son's living there, isn't he?"

Lohen's heart sank. "What are you talking about?"

Varka took a massive gulp of beer, wiping his mouth with a bulky forearm. "The shogun of Inazuma cut it off. Completely. No one can enter or leave. And we have no idea when that'll change"

His voice broke. "You're joking, right?"

Diluc scoffed. "I wish he was."

Suddenly, Lohen struggled to breathe, and his apple cider began to taste awful. A gloved hand pushed himself off his seat, and he left a pile of mora for his drink.

"What happened?" Varka tried to reach out, but Lohen dodged. Even Diluc was concerned. "You feeling alright?"

"Air. I just need air. I'll be back."

Before either of them could question him any further, he left.

No one can enter or leave. How were you meant to return or visit, then? Neither could he. And if it's indefinite, then it could be anything—the shogun was an archon, divine beings hardly consider the mortal.

Even outside, Lohen felt like he couldn't breathe. What about the letters you were writing to each other? Would the decree affect that too? Such an oppressive policy couldn't mean anything good either, what if something was happening in Inazuma?

What if something happened to you?

Lohen walked and walked, until he was alone enough to panic.

What about the wish you made? The promise to reunite some day—

Lohen couldn't help but mourn—if only he had found you a real dandelion that day.