Complete Faith Masterpost || KTH

Complete Faith Masterpost || KTH

(banner by the absolutely lovely @itaeewon)

Title: Complete Faith

Status: COMPLETE - all chapters now posted

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader; {background SJ x OC, mentions of YG x OC, and HS x OC}

Genre: coworkers to friends to lovers to idiots to lovers again, angst

Rating: R, minors DNI pls 🔞

Wordcount: 50k

Summary: It’s Taehyung himself who admits that it’s usually around the one-month mark that he starts to lose interest in his relationships. So even though you’re so drawn to him you can barely stand it, even though he’s attentive and funny, even though you’re helplessly crazy about him… when you start dating, you feel like you’ve got an expiration date from day one. But will it be Taehyung’s issues that get in the way, or your own?

TW/CW: excessive cursing, recreational drinking and occasional overdrinking, Y/N has a parent who is a recovering addict and this factors into her narration and mindset but there are NO scenes of drug use, Taehyung has a parent with MS, individual chapters have warnings

📌Notes: A HUGE HUGE HUGE thank you to @kookstempo for the amazing beta job tytytytyty! You were amazing!

All chapters also available on Ao3 here. :)

Faithless: a Complete Faith prequel

--

Chapter 1 : Always a Pleasure

Chapter 2 : A Long Time Coming

-> A Good Son: POV Drabble #5

Chapter 3: Oddly Vulnerable

-> Outside: POV Drabble #3

Chapter 4: A Dumb Analogy

-> Or Mine...: POV Drabble #4 Chapter 5: Such a Bad Idea

Chapter 6: Something Uninteresting

Chapter 7: Boyfriend Duties

-> Crazy About You: POV Drabble #9

Chapter 8: If You Want to Go

-> Say the Right Thing: POV Drabble #1

-> Without Walls: POV Drabble #2

Chapter 9: Of Course I'm Not

-> Get It Together: POV Drabble #7

Chapter 10: Complete Faith

-> Don't: POV Drabble #6

-> Don't Be Scared: POV Drabble #8

--

Faithful: a Complete Faith epilogue

sleepyhead. (version two.)

in which you can fall asleep at the drop of a hat, at the most unconventional of places, which is how the traveller and paimon find out about your relationship with him.

pairing. alhaitham, lyney x gn reader

tags. fluff, slight(?) crack, established relationship

notes. i wanted to write an alhaitham & lyney part for this idea that day but got tired so i dIDNT but here they are <3 also mightve sorta gotten carried away at lyneys part...

neuvillette & scaramouche vers.

“Paimon's so tired she could sleep for days,” Paimon complains, flopping against Lumine's shoulder. She points at someone off to the side. “Like that person over there! Paimon doesn't know why they don't just go inside their house to sleep, though.”

Lumine turns, curious. And there you were, slumped in the corner of the porch, clutching a lunchbox in one hand with a few books balancing atop it.

“Wait, isn't that Alhaitham's house??”

It was.

“Why's some random person sleeping on Alhaitham's front door? Let's go check them out!” Suddenly re-energized, Paimon floats over to your sleeping body.

You donned the uniform of an Akedemiya scholar, and on closer inspection, the books you held were on a variety of topics. Architecture, astrology, marine biology...? Lumine was vaguely reminded of Layla.

“We should wake them up. Alhaitham surely won't be happy to find someone in front of his house like this.” Paimon then glances around surreptitiously, voice lowering into a hushed whisper. “Plus, if they wake up when Kaveh comes home...”

Lumine sighs, giving your shoulder a gentle shake. You don't stir, not one bit. She moves to try again, crouching down to your level when—

“Don't.”

Paimon shrieks.

“Don't scare Paimon like that!” she whines, whirling around to face Alhaitham.

Lumine stands herself, tilting her head to the side curiously. Paimon asks the question for her. “Why not? Do you know them? Don't tell me you're friends — Paimon thought you didn't have any friends! Ahem. No offence.”

“None taken,” he says.

The most oddest thing happens then. He stoops down, a hand around your back, the other supporting your legs. He picks you up easily, and you only snuggle closer toward his chest, as if on instinct.

“Help me pick their things up. Thank you.”

“Wait, so you know them?” Paimon chirps in, filling the silence with ease as Alhaitham unlocks the door, allowing everyone inside.

Alhaitham nods. “I do. In fact, we are partners.”

“Like, in work or...?”

“As in romantically.”

Lumine studies the position the both of you were in. Your head buried in his chest, his arms tight around your figure. He raises an eyebrow, ever so slightly challenging, and she decides to say nothing. Aw, it seemed Alhaitham did have a heart.

Paimon shrieks, again. “You?! You're dating someone? How?!”

“Please keep your volume down,” he tells her, setting you on the couch softly. With an imperceptibly fond glance thrown your way, he admits you do not get a lot of sleep.

“Oh, sorry!” Paimon whispers. “But — but how?”

Alhaitham shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, but there is a tilt in his lip that hadn't been there before. “I have been told I make a good pillow.”

“Lyney's so cool, Paimon wonders how he does all his tricks!” Paimon gushes. The praise is not unfounded — that performance still had Lumine's head whirling. Paimon hums, “Do you think he'll tell us if we asked? He did so the last time...”

She shrugs in reply. It was worth a shot.

“Then let's go find him!!”

They turn backwards, walking down the steps toward the backstage — Lyney and Lynette would definitely be there still. The Opera House had already been cleared of anybody minutes ago, awestruck audience leaving the scene babbling away about the show.

Except for one last person.

Paimon frowns, pointing at someone in the front row seats. You're curled up in the cushy chair, fast asleep. Paimon tutts. “How could someone fall asleep during Lyney's show? It was so good!”

Lumine shushes her. There wasn't any need to comment about anyone else. They had to find Lyney, after all.

“Lyney!!” Paimon calls, peeking a head in. “You have to tell Paimon how you did those tricks!”

The magician in question turns, smile widening at the sight of them. “And if it isn’t my two most loyal fans! I'm afriad I must disappoint you, a magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Hello, Lumine, Paimon,” Lynette greets them. “We're about to have lunch at the cafe. Would you like to join us?”

“Food!” Paimon squeals, eyes shining now. She nods eagerly.

Lyney laughs smoothly. “Let's be off then! We mustn't let my darling be waiting too long. If not, they might just asleep.”

“That reminds Paimon! There was someone sleeping in the front row — the front row!” Paimon huffs, kicking her feet. “So rude! Your show definitely wasn't boring enough to sleep through.”

At this, Lyney and Lynette share a glance. Lumine doesn't comment on it, for Paimon's already on another spiel.

You're still asleep, curled up in the same cat-like way as before. Paimon points at you, mouth parted to speak, but Lyney beats her to the punch, shushing her.

“Let me,” he says.

“Erm, what's he doing?”

Lynette sighs. “Being a dumbass.”

Lyney cups your cheek with his palms, pressing a kiss to your nose. (“Does he do this with everyone who falls asleep??” Paimon asks, almost horrified.) He smiles, something softer, something sweeter than Lumine's ever seen him smile. “Rise and shine, mon ange.”

Your eyes crack open. At the sight of him, you avert your gaze.

“I'm sorry I fell asleep during your show,” you murmur regretfully.

He shakes his head. “Nevermind that, darling. Did you sleep well?”

“To the sound of your voice?” you ask, voice lilting, almost enchanting. “Perfectly.”

He flushes. Like an honest to god blush. Even Paimon is struck dumb at the sight.

“You flatter me,” he laughs, helping you out of your seat. His gaze never seems to leave yours.

“I can't help it.” You pout. The two of you seem to be in your own world at this point. “It's not my fault my boyfriend has the most soothing voice.”

“Wait. BOYFRIEND?!”

---

Smitten Kitten

Diluc, Alhaitham x gn! Reader

Summary: Your lover has magically turned into a cat! (Please help him)

Genre: fluff, crack?

Warnings: none

Note: a very late fic/hc inspired by genshin's april fools post :'> apologies in advance if this is similar to other fics, i hadn't read one yet so any similarities is by coincidence, it is not my intention to steal!

( Part Two ! )

Diluc Ragnvindr

After a long day of running errands, defeating monsters, and being away from your beloved, you finally make your way back to your new home: the Dawn Winery.

The sunset made a beautiful backdrop for your home, and you just can't wait to return to the warm and loving arms of Diluc to soothe your sore limbs and fatigued soul.

You finally open the doors, about to call out to your lover when a furry obstacle blocks your way.

"Dearest, I'm home─oh? And who might you be, you dapper looking gentleman?" You smile and tilt your head at the cat who was sitting patiently by the doorway as if waiting for your arrival.

The cat looks up at you expectantly in return, slowly blinking up at you. It exudes an aura of elegance not common in a cat. But why is it so irresistibly adorable?

It has midnight black fur with red highlights, quite an unusual yet very elegant appearance. What caught your eye further was the collar, necktie, and ruby red gem it adorned, identical to your lover's accessories.

You slowly reach out a hand to not spook it, cooing at the way it immediately rubs its face onto your palm.

"Aww, did Diluc get us a cat? You're adorable!" You chuckle as you shower it with affection.

"Speaking of Diluc, have you seen a tall, handsome, kinda scary looking but still very hot fella around? He owes me some cuddles as you can see," you jokingly ask the cat, who quietly meows back as if it was entertained.

You walk past the cat (much to its disappointment) and make you way further into the house, "Diluc? My loooove?"

The cat meows at each of your calls in response. Hmm, very odd indeed.

The further you explore inside, the more worried you get. He promised to be home before dinner after all, and he never breaks a promise.

The cat seems to notice your growing uneasiness and tugs on the hem of your pants with its claws.

"Ah, are you hungry, little baby? I guess I could get you something to eat while I wait," you ponder, reaching down to pick it up and hold it close to your chest.

Soon enough you push a plate of fresh fish in front of the cat, crouching next to it on the kitchen floor.

It stares at the food in disgust, before looking back at you as if to say 'really?'

"Oh come on, that's high quality fish!" You pout at it, leaning your face closer to its own.

After a staring contest, you affectionately kiss the top of its head, sighing and complaining about wanting your lover home already.

A puff of smoke wraps around the cat in front of you the moment your lips touch its fur. The smoke catches you by surprise and makes you cough a bit and... wait, why is the smoke adorned by glitter?

After the smoke dissipates, there sits your red haired lover.

You stare at each other with wide eyes, still processing the whole situation.

"...hey hottie, come here often?"

Diluc snorts (snorts!) at your attempt at flirting before kissing your forehead like you did to his cat form.

"Sorry to make you wait, sweetheart. I suppose I found your tall, handsome, kinda scary looking but still very hot fella."

If you melt into a puddle of goo in his arms, I won't blame you.

Alhaitham

You and your lover had arranged to meet up at Puspa Café for a date, how cute!

However, minutes have passed since your agreed meeting time, and you have yet to see a sign of Alhaitham anywhere. This was an unusual thing to happen as he valued you too much to make you wait even a second.

Before you got up to look for him in the Akademiya, a gray cat suddenly pounced on your lap.

You let out a surprised gasp at its sudden appearance before laughing it off.

"Hi there cutie," you rub at its chin, hoping it won't bite your fingers off.

Instead of a violent outburst, it instead closes its eyes and preens at your affections.

This gave you the time to take in its appearance. Fur with the same shade as your lover's hair, with the tips of its long coat turning white exactly like Alhaitham's. It even had an identical green ahoge on top of its head!

"Are you Haitham..."

The cat perks up, looking at you with hopeful eyes as if saying 'yes yes!'

"...'s cat?"

Its ears pull back in disappointment, and you almost feel bad if it didn't suddenly bite your fingers in annoyance.

"Ow hey!" You whine as you pull back.

Its eyes in sharp slits suddenly dilate and its ears droop. Huh, it reminds you of your lover whenever you scold him for being too blunt toward his subordinates.

"Aww cheer up lil guy, the bite didn't hurt that much! Although...what is it about my dear's name that made you so mad, huh?" You ponder for a bit, staring at the cat as if it would answer back.

You sigh and pick it up from your lap, embarking on a quest to search for Alhaitham around Sumeru City.

The cat wriggles out of your hands in order to perch on top of your shoulder. It holds itself with an air of sophistication and authority, like your proud little bodyguard.

(It also hisses at anyone who tries to get close to you, proving your thoughts to be correct)

After hours of searching to no avail, you meet up with your close group of friends outside your home to relay your concern.

Cyno, Tighnari, and Kaveh stand around you as you explain, not bothering to hide your distress, "I swear, no one has seen him all day! What if something bad happened?"

The General Mahamatra hums in thought before his eyes land on the cat, "Truly a cat-astrophe...we should still stay paw-sitive nonetheless."

You and the cat sigh in exasperation as Tighnari elbows him on the side.

Kaveh remained silent the whole time, only staring at the cat on your shoulder with suspicious eyes.

"Alhaitham?" He asks out loud.

The cat turns to him and meows in a tone that awfully sounds like 'what?'

"...oh archons," you take him off your shoulder and hold him up so that you're eye-to-eye.

"Meow twice if you're Haitham."

Lo and behold, it (he?) meowed twice.

"Actually, meow three times for good measure," Tighnari adds.

Cat-haitham did as told.

"Just to be sure, meow four times," Kaveh added again, looking highly entertained at his roommate's misfortune.

Instead of doing as told, Cat-haitham yowls in annoyance, similar to his typical sarcastic replies to the architect.

"Oh that's him alright," Kaveh snickers.

You look at the cat and back at the men in bewilderment, "How do we turn him back?"

Cyno speaks up again, "Maybe a true love's kiss would work?"

Just as Tighnari smacks the former's head, you pout and lightly kiss Cat-haitham on the nose anyway.

Poof!

After the smoke dies down, Alhaitham stands in the center of it all, a mix of relief, annoyance, and exhaustion adorning his handsome face.

He ignores your group of friends in favor of resting his head on your shoulders, mumbling incoherent words about being drained.

You pat his back as the rest bid the two of you goodbye.

"Guess we should reschedule our date?" You chuckle as he leans his weight further onto you.

He hums non committedly, "I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Right now, I just want to be as close to you as...paw-ssible."

"...Haitham??"

---

HAIKYUU BOYS WHEN THEY THROW THEIR WEDDING RING

ft. bokuto; suna; atsumu: kuroo; ushijima

a/n: the fact that i posted this exact prompt on my deleted blog but i don't remember it anymore—

jjk version

it was no secret that BOKUTO sometimes had problems controlling his emotions. he wasn't necessarily as affected by them as he was in high school, but there were enough moments that made him feel ashamed when he thought about them; just like he did right now. he was sobbing violently, his arms pressing you as close to you as ohysically possible. he wailed apologies, only stopping to take a breath every once in a while. he snapped out of his anger the moment the ring left his hand, but he was afraid that the damage couldn't be undone. he could only beg, proclaiming his love for you over and over, even if he knew that his behaviour just disproved his claims.

arguing with SUNA was tiresome. it was like he never even cared, not being attentive and only brushing you off. he never thought about the impact of his words once he did answer you, trying to get you off his back as soon as possible and with any means necessary. but even he understood when he went too far. he realized it when you took a deep breath, muttering something that he could not understand and turned around, disappearing into the bedroom only to come out a few minutes later with a bag over your shoulder, not even sparing him a glance as you rushed out the door. he clenched his jaw, picking the ring up and clenching his fist, staring out the window with a heavy chest.

ATSUMU was a prideful and confident person, he hated being confronted with his faults. he never really reacted well afterwards, either snickering a comment back or just waving the criticism off. no one was safe from this side of him, not even you. but he wasn't an idiot either. he saw the way your face fell when his ring landed on the floor, how you were shaking as you went and picked it up, only to retreat into the bedroom silently. he stayed still, not even daring to move an inch, only looking at the place you stood just a second ago. how did he let it go this far?

KUROO hated arguing and the yelling that came with it. he hated the irrational things he says during them, how every sense of reason is being thrown into the wind just to get to you because of his pride. and right after he threw his wedding ring across the room and stormed out, slamming the door behind him, he broke down, hugging his knees as he cried. he didn't know what came over him, he didn't know why he would ever think that what he did was okay but how could he face you after what he had done?

it was rare that arguments with USHIJIMA got so heated. you barely ended up shouting at each other, much less underline your words with some kind of big gestures. so it was even a bigger shock when he raised his voice at you, fiddling with the ring on his finger until throwing it away with some accusatory yell. you were too shocked to even say anything, only extending your arms in front of you to protect yourself as you stared at him with big eyes. he wanted to step closer, he wanted to hug you, he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness; anything so that you wouldn't look so afraid of him anymore.

reblogs are appreciated

---

we never go out of style!

PAIRING. haechan x fem!oc

CATEGORY. short smau, fluff, crack, humor, celebrity!au, athlete!haechan, singer!reader, strangers to lovers-ish

WARNINGS. language, hyuck being downbad

SYNOPSIS. what happens when one of the famous professional volleyball players of the country publicly shoots his shot at a global popstar? well, she shows up to his game with his mother, of course! [or alternatively: the whole world watches as a popstar and an athlete fall in love.]

STATUS. on going!

NOTE. this is based on the recent… taylor news… hehe 🤭 i know very little about volleyball (everything i know i got from haikyuu tbh) so im sorry in advance 😭 this will just be short, probably around 3-5 parts only! ignore timestamps!

— playlist!

PARTS!

min’s circle | hyuck’s circle

01 : just give him a chance!

02 : meanwhile

03 : quietly hanging out

04 : used to this

05 : ???

TAGLIST. closed.

---

under the seven stars of liyue lies one brighter than celestia.

a/n: my friend commissioned this...a year ago ; _ ; now it has become her birthday gift hfjshf

content: angst

word count: 12.6k+

[ childe x reader ]

–––––

There is something in the way the rain falls while waiting for the bait to catch that gives Childe a sense of self. Perhaps it is the chill it brings, though he’s grown far beyond shivering, having hailed from a land frozen in itself. Perhaps it is the sound of raindrops plinking on the water, rippling the surface and scaring the fish, making it almost pointless to cast a line out in the first place. Or perhaps—and this may be the most likely reason as it’s the one he is always first and most aware of—it is the simple sensation of droplets running down his skin, soaking into his boots and clothes. Childe is always aware of the feeling water brings, so he thinks that might be it. It is his vision, after all.

One might think it’s contradictory to have a hydro vision and live in a land where ice freezes all. Even he does. No one was more confused than the young, bright-eyed, eager boy who finally received his vision, a vision of an element that turned out to be the most vulnerable to the one surrounding him. It felt like a rejection, almost, from the very home he’d known all his life.

Prove that you’re fit to be here, Snezhnaya itself seemed to taunt him through the snow crunching beneath his feet, his vision dangling from his pocket like a proud, naïve, newborn baby.

Can a vision holder like you survive in this place where your power can’t even be used against anything here?

Prove yourself.

When he fell into the abyss, those were the bodiless words that constantly ran amok in his mind; it’s why he believed it when he was told he was meant to be down there. It’s why he didn’t fight his gift of a delusion. And it’s why, for the most part, he’s kept his distance from Snezhnaya, because ever since his descent into darkness, nothing ignites Childe more than chasing after his lust for bloodshed. And he’s found that the best way to spare his family and the home he loves from such bloodshed is to do it in places they will never set foot—in the rest of the open world of Teyvat.

Seven mighty, age-old nations, each marred by treachery Childe’s had his hand in.

…He thinks he’s proved himself quite well.

Above him, the rain begins to fall harder. Childe hunches closer over his knees and narrowly avoids slipping off the rain-slicked tackle box.

…It doesn’t matter how much he proves himself.

Cold, unwelcome, and drowning in hydro…everything about the rain while fishing is everything Childe sees himself as; everything he sees himself as is everything he hates, and everything he hates is the reason for his solitude. And innately, Childe is nothing if not in solitude.

It’s ironic how his highest sense of self is the utmost feeling of being alone.

He laughs harshly to himself as he adjusts the pole in his hand. The rain pelts down on him in an unrelenting overture as if trying to beat him into the ground, and the sky is slowly getting darker. Nothing like the abyss, of course. Nothing he’s seen in any nation so far, not its bloodshed nor its history, has proved as dark as the abyss.

Just as nothing’s proved brighter than you.

Childe sighs and flicks the raindrops out of his hair. Sitting and waiting to reel something in has long been his staple of gathering thoughts, but lately, in times like these when he thinks of the darkest, you gradually slip into his subconscious and one mere thought of you is enough to make it seem like the brightest.

Just as something in the rain makes him feel most like himself, something about you makes Childe question himself. Something in the way you talk, the way you hold your head up high, or walk around like you don’t know the slightest clue about the things or people that could harm you. Like you don’t realize there are people like him—things like him and what he does—that, if you knew the truth about, could bring your smile crashing down.

He doesn’t want that, of course. Childe has always loved your smile. Ever since before he received his hydro vision, back when he was just that young, bright-eyed, eager boy in Snezhnaya. And he still loves it now.

Even now, as a cold, unwelcome Harbinger, who carries more than that hydro vision, an epitome of rain preceding a thunderstorm, he still loves your smile. Even now, when he’s twice, if not more than, the man he was before the abyss—hell, even the man he was crawling out of it—he still loves your smile.

And you’re still the same, with eyes just as bright as his used to be, your smile still picking at what’s left of his heart—

Childe feels a pull on his line.

He knows it doesn’t matter how much he proves himself…not when smiles like yours forever taunt him with the words at what cost?

A sigh escapes him. Quickly, he reels in his catch of the day.

It’s a shame he’s been tasked to bring that smile crashing down.

–––––––

Something in the way the rain falls in the harbor always reminds you of Snezhnaya. It may be the empty echo of countless splashes hitting the waves and wafting out in all directions, or the dullness of gray that clouds over Liyue much like the bleakness of eternal winter, or the relieving sight of familiar blue when the sky and the waters have finally cleared.

Your heart pulls whenever you see ocean blue, so you think that might be it. And you think, evidently, that the way the rain falls in the harbor reminds you not just of Snezhnaya, but more so the boy who was in love with that place. The boy who you were once in love with.

The waters are much bluer in Snezhnaya than Liyue. That was the first thing you noticed when moving here. It was the first thing you grumbled when your family visited the harbor together, your parents trying to cheer you up after leaving your homeland behind, and it was the first thing you said to try and convince them to bring you back. Needless to say, your pleas didn’t work, especially coming from a child who was only a few years older than ten.

You like to believe your initial distaste of Liyue was because of him. After all, it’s hard for any child to leave behind someone they care about, much less when that someone is the closest friend you’ve ever known. Unlike going home after playing and horsing around all day, you weren’t just leaving him behind for the night; you were leaving him for as long as your little head could imagine. So how else would a child react to not knowing if she’d ever see her best friend again, other than refusing to accept a new reality without him?

You’re not a child anymore, though. You left him and Snezhnaya behind almost ten years ago, and a lot of those memories have been replaced or filled in with the new and unknown you’ve experienced in Liyue. The remnants of life from before you left are hazy now, most of them masked and buried and hard to find under the more recent vividness of the life you currently know.

Not all those memories are gone, but most; the important ones never really leave. They remind you starkly of their existence, of your existence from a thousand miles and a lifetime ago, every now and then when you drift off to sleep. And sometimes, they feel so real in your dreams that you wake up with your heart racing and your eyes seeing spots where the one you once loved had just been about to reach out to you.

They’re a reminder of where you come from and who you once were. They’re wistful, nostalgic, even aching at times, but they’re always a marked reminder. And what was an even more striking reminder was the seemingly normal day in Liyue as you made your weekly trip to the market and a boy, the very one who you still dreamt of till now, happened to round the same corner as you, colliding straight into your path.

You wondered that day if something like fate was at play.

Now, two weeks after stumbling across each other and receiving the best shock of your life that he’s staying in Liyue for business indefinitely, you continue to remind yourself that he’s not still a dream. You’ve welcomed him to stay at your place instead of his delegate hostel, yet still do a double-take when you wake up to him in your kitchen. There are days when he meets you at your family’s teahouse and you find yourself pinching your own skin to cement the fact that he’s really there, because it’s uncanny how the man sitting across from you is still so much like the little boy you remember.

Cheeky, jovial, energetic, curious…almost an exact same, unchanged Ajax.

…Almost.

Except he’s not Ajax anymore, or at least that’s what he’s told you. These days, he goes by Childe, so that’s what you’ve been adjusting to calling him. Your tongue slips by instinct every now and then, which he’s quick to forgive and understand, but you’re slowly getting better at it. You just don’t tell him that even when your lips say Childe, the name your head still speaks is Ajax.

“Take this,” you say, handing him a towel as he trudges through your cottage door. “Archons, Childe, you’re completely soaked.”

He drags the towel over his head and wrings his hair out back and forth. He drops the tackle box on the floor with a tired grunt and lays his fishing pole against the wall, closing the door to muffle the rumble of the storm outside.

He exhales lowly. “Figures I’d choose to fish on the one day it rains like hell,” he chuckles. You shake your head at him in fondness, then click your tongue when he sneezes into the towel.

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those clothes,” you say, ushering him to the washroom upstairs. “There’s a bath drawn already, so go ahead and use it. I was going to use it myself, but—”

“But you waited patiently for me to come back and let me have it first?” Childe interrupts, glancing back at you. He grins. “Always so sweet to me, Y/n-chan. What would I ever do without you here?”

You merely squint at him, frowning despite the affection that floods through you at his reckless smile. No matter what he says, he really is all Ajax to you.

“Learn to take better care of yourself, for one thing,” you mutter, giving him one more shove up the stairs as he continues to chatter over his shoulder.

“Oh, I will. I’ll rejuvenate in your warm, quiet bath—”

“Just hurry up, please.”

“—for as long as I want because Y/n-chan is so hospitable—”

“Ajax!”

The name flies out of your mouth before you even have a chance to register it. You laugh as its familiarity rolls off your tongue in a light-hearted scoff, amusement creasing your eyes and leaving you breathless from the rise of your cheeks and the slight upturn of your lips. It leaves you happy, a wave of nostalgia washing over with the sudden remembrance of times just like this, of you and him bundled in winter layers, earmuffs falling off your head when he’d launch a messy snowball your way and flee when you would chase him back, yelling his name out just like now.

But as quickly as the memory comes on, it’s crushed just as swiftly when the mirth in his eyes empties at the sound of his name, turning into a darkness so sharp you take a step back. His joking air is gone in an instant, replaced with a silence that instead makes you suppress a cold shiver and wonder if he shut the front door all the way. But you can’t turn around to check, because the look in his eyes seems to hold you in chains you didn’t even know are there, and it seems if you move, they’ll tighten their grip and impale your chest.

In that brief moment, he has you hung in his suspension.

He stops in his tracks and ducks his head away, bowing it forward so you can’t see his face anymore.

“I thought it was drilled into you by now,” he sighs softly, almost frigidly so you wonder if he’s angry. When he turns around again, you get your answer. “That’s not my name, princess.”

The blue in his eyes that you once associated with Snezhnayan seas, the reason you once hated Liyue’s ocean, is no longer fluid and soothing as usual. The dark flash you just saw in them is gone; now they’re filled with the complete opposite again—the same cheerfulness he entered the room with, his playful perk before you said his name, all gracing you with his faint smile like it’s been there the whole time and you were just imagining things.

You once thought his blue only looked like Snezhnaya; but this is a blue that feels like Snezhnaya. No longer soft and comforting as you knew, but frozen like ice sheets over a lake.

You shiver.

“Call me Childe,” he tells you with warmth, though the strain is palpable outside his tone. You feel it subtly try to gnaw at your heart. He opens his eyes and they immediately dip to the floor, his lashes fluttering and hiding his expression from you. “I’m not Ajax anymore.”

Before you can apologize, he turns and traipses up the stairs, and you hear the washroom door close.

A second passes and your breath falls out when you realize you’ve been holding it in.

You don’t know why you feel so shaken up. You try to replay what just happened in your head because whatever you saw, or thought you saw in him, was a completely different reaction than the times you accidentally slipped up before. The last time you called him Ajax was a little over a week ago, and you’ve been so careful to get it right since then. You’ve been on a successful streak till now, so maybe that’s why he seems so slighted. But even then, he’d usually laugh it off and say it’s alright; this time, though, felt like more than a simple mistake.

He’s hardly ever been one to change moods so fast, never as fast as he had just now, but that lack of light in his eyes—it struck at your heart, and the reverberations are still echoing through your veins. You’re sure you felt a chill when his eyes took on that look. You’re so, so sure what you saw wasn’t just an illusion, which means that strain in his voice wasn’t fake, either. Guilt starts to creep in at the thought that while he seems to have brushed it aside, his actions clearly say it means more to him than you assumed. You should’ve known better.

After all, you haven’t been in touch with the guy for almost a decade, and what are two weeks in the face of a decade? Clearly nowhere near long enough to know all the things that have or haven’t taken a toll on him in that time; for all you know, his name could be one.

It seems those years are a piece you’re still missing of the familiar-yet-indiscernible puzzle he’s become. Now, you feel the effect of it more than you thought you did before.

With a sigh, you knock yourself on the side of your head and make a mental note to apologize to him later. He may have been your closest friend once, but he’s merely like anybody else now.

He’s just like any other person, harboring his own secrets that you don’t know everything about, just as he doesn’t know everything about yours…particularly the one you always failed to confess to him.

You immediately shake off that thought and force your body back into motion. Distraction—that’s what you need.

And it comes successfully as you busy yourself with putting some supper together, adding a dash of spicy seafood to his serving since it’s his favorite from what you can recall. Though you hesitate before letting the spoonful drop onto his bowl of soup, the uncertainty of his change in mood still staying your hand, you swallow it down and tell yourself you’re overthinking. Besides, if you’re wrong, you’ll simply scoop it off later.

But if you’re right…well, you only hope you are as you lay it atop his food. It’s a trivial matter, doubting something as small as seafood. And maybe you don’t know everything about him anymore, but this…at least for one little thing like this, you hope you still know a little.

When he finally emerges with his damp hair dripping onto the washcloth hung around his neck, you’re laying out soup spoons next to both plates.

“I decided not to take so much time in the bath,” Childe says, pulling his chair out as you gesture at him to sit. “But I did warm it up for you.” You give him a dead-panned look when he simply winks and scans his supper. “Archons, I’m starving. Can’t believe you cooked all this, Y/n-chan.”

“You’re not the only one who’s changed since we were little,” you retort.

“Fair enough.” He angles his spoon to the top of his food. “Say, are those spice flakes I’m seeing?”

You nod.

Childe’s face lights up in glee. “You remembered!”

Your chest floods with immediate relief and you sigh into a smile when he scoops some of the seafood up for a taste.

It’s funny, the way such a nostalgic sight can make you feel so remorseful. The image of Childe digging into his food, stuffing his face and talking with his mouth full, hair flopping over his forehead and air-drying in that fluffy way it always has…for some reason, it makes your heart grow heavy but feel light at the same time, and tears you don’t know stem from sadness or content prick against the back of your eyes.

He’s been rambling about something for the past few minutes, but stops when he sees you haven’t taken a bite yet. “Y/n-chan?” he asks, cocking his head at you.

You laugh and it comes out a little bit shaky.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you tell him, adjusting your chopsticks and looking down at your plate. A small smile finds its way to your face. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You put a bite in your mouth and shrug. “You just look different like this,” you say plainly, “when you’re not in your uniform or on duty outside.”

You look normal, is what you want to add.

Childe blinks. “Oh. Well, yeah,” he says, “I’m off the clock now. So there’s no need for my uniform or anything.” He chews once more and swallows, a glint sparking to life in his eye.

You brace yourself.

“Something about my uniform you like, is there?” He leans back after a moment and crosses his arms over his chest, which you now notice is well-defined under his plain sleep shirt. 

“I didn’t mean that,” you shoot back, wanting to knock the smug smile off his face. “Just that…you don’t look like you’re in the Fatui.” When he raises a brow, you pick at your food and avoid his gaze. “I mean, you look like you did in Snezhnaya…you look like yourself. That’s all.”

It probably makes no sense the way you put it, but you don’t know how else to explain it. After a second, you peek up at him only to see he’s staring back at you, his smile dissipated into a thin line. You wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t and instead starts fumbling with his chopsticks again, you decide now’s as good a time as any to break the barrier.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you earlier.” 

Childe’s hands pause.

Your heart quickens at his continued silence, making you squirm. “It was an accident,” you say cautiously. “I’m sorry.” You watch as he sets his chopsticks down, trying to gauge his expression. It’s unreadable.

“You didn’t upset me,” he replies. “It’s only a name. But I just don’t think the Ajax you know and the person I am are the same anymore. So it makes sense to move on from that, no?”

You attempt a smile halfway and shrug.

“Childe is more fitting for me now,” he says. He nods slowly as if trying to convince himself as much as you. “You’ll get used to it. I can tell.”

“How can you tell?” you ask.

Childe returns your half-smile with his own. “Because you already are.” He finally gets a firm grip on his chopsticks, at least for the time being, and goes back to his meal.

You study him for a moment, then do the same when you realize the food’s getting cold. You’re not sure what exactly he means by that; maybe it’s his way of saying he accepts your apology, of reassuring you that you are indeed thinking too much.

It seems the former proves correct when his voice rings out as your mouth is full.

“Whatever you’re trying to figure out, stop.”

Your head jerks up to him, bewildered. You don’t remember him being so quick to read, or even being easy to read yourself. How he gained such a skill is beyond you.

“Don’t overwork that mindless head of yours for once, hm?” he says lightly.

You glare and stick your tongue out at him.

He laughs, the sound of it making your heart race just a little bit faster. “Now, tell me about your day.”

The rest of the evening ensues the same way. Both of you share the events of your day, sweeping the floor and washing dishes with a few flicks of water in each other’s direction; with his vision, Childe whips up a tiny whale made of bubbles and sends it crashing in your face. And all the while, as he runs his mouth and spews his wit, giving no chance for your smile to fall from your face, he manages to keep your misgivings at bay, replacing them with laughter and a feeling of home.

This is the part of him you remember the most.

Yet hours later, lying in bed, without him there to steer you from your apprehension, your sleepless thoughts come swirling back. The one that pokes at the front of your mind is the one you avoided in the first place tonight—the one he’s never known about.

You wonder if it’s still considered a secret. It was never a secret you were fond of each other as kids, but anything beyond that was strictly locked and hidden away, especially when you were that young. And you’re sure you were the only one who felt that way, because it was a first crush. Infatuation. It was never something serious, was it? It was a little girl’s secret, a fantasy that lulled her to dream in her sleep.

But life is no longer a fantasy. You’ve grown up. Puppy love like that doesn’t matter anymore. You haven’t even felt it in years, and so it matters even less.

So if it doesn’t matter anymore, is it really a secret? And if it’s not a secret, then wouldn’t it be okay to tell him? You could probably make a good laugh of it if nothing else, just by telling him, “I think I used to love you.”

Yeah…a good laugh, that’d probably be.

But for some reason, you don’t want to imagine him laughing at it. Laughing at it like it’s a joke would feel like he was laughing at you, at the very memories you hold dear of him; and what with his request of wanting to move past those, you don’t think you’re ready to give them up to jest.

If he were to laugh at it, at the way you felt when you knew him best, you think it’d kill a part of you inside. The him you knew as well as yourself would die the way he wants to kill it.

But you’re sure that version of him still lives in Childe. 

Telling him would only make that false. Saying that you used to love him as if he no longer exists would ensure the fact that he’s not real. And this whole time, ever since he wandered back into your world, haven’t you been trying to convince yourself he’s real?

It’s not as if you don’t want to do it. It’s not as if you ever denied it. If anything, you would love to tell him how you feel—felt, you hurriedly correct yourself—and have him say he felt it too, or just that he appreciates it. It was puppy love, after all. You wouldn’t expect much more from it.

It’s just that, with the way he wants to cast his old self aside, you’re afraid that he’ll cast you away, too. You were a part of his old self; does that mean he rejects you, as he rejects the name Ajax?

Telling him your secret…it’s not a matter of embarrassment. You just wonder if he’d even acknowledge it in the first place. You wonder if he remembers the days you had with him, if he ever reminisces them, if he cried like you did when you moved away, if he ever missed you the way you missed him…because if not, if you were the only one who did, then it’s hard to believe that he’d understand.

Childe is a different man now; he’s not the exact same as Ajax. You know that.

But it’s not as if he was never Ajax. He was, once. You know that, too.

So you can’t help but wonder if once, as Ajax, he ever felt the same.

–––––––

One week before his scheduled arrival in Liyue, Childe was hanging his arm over his face and blocking the sun out of his eyes.

“They were Fatui informants.”

He wished he could tune out the messenger debriefing him on his next assignment. He was tired as all hell from the past few weeks of being run to the ground with needless little tasks from the Doctor and Damselette around the entire seven nations. At this point, he was beginning to think they were giving him these missions as a joke. As the eleventh Harbinger, it certainly would not have been the first time.

“Ten years ago, they were relocated to Liyue as undercover sources for Her Majesty and the Fatui. They reported their findings on the Qixing and the archon of Liyue directly to the Harbingers, and that information was used to plan the extraction of the Geo Archon’s gnosis.”

Childe yawned.

“After some time, the informants began to neglect their tasks, and other sources revealed that they started to assimilate with the culture of Liyue. They ultimately defected from their mission, and thus from Her Majesty.”

Childe pressed his forearm tighter against his eyes, the sun creeping in through the crack of his elbow. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Tartaglia.”

When can I ever get a minute of sleep around here?

“How many in total?” he muttered, bored.

“There were three in the family. The two primary targets have died of natural causes.”

Childe groaned. “Then what the hell are you telling me all this for?” He switched arms when the one raised on his face went numb. “I have better things to do. Can’t you just send some no-name assassin to take out the last?”

The messenger cleared his throat. “The Jester requests that you take her out. And quietly. He doesn’t want the Qixing sticking their noses in our business if they hear of a dead girl under their watch.”

Childe frowned into his sleeve, still keeping his eyes shut. “Why would they care? Does she know anything?”

“It’s not certain. Our sources claim she doesn’t, but that’s why you’ve been assigned. The Jester says you know her personally, so even if her guard is up, you’d still have an in.”

His frown deepened. “Personally?” he mumbled. “Who?”

There was a quick shuffle of papers. “According to the Jester…a Snezhnayan girl by the name of Y/n, as I recall?”

Like a bow taking flight from an arrow, he whipped his arm off his face and immediately shot up in his chair, furrowing his brows at the messenger standing in front of him. Confusion coursed through his veins in a cold stream, and he felt his heart start to pound, his eyes narrowing in denial.

…That’s impossible.

“How…” The question faded as his lungs began to tighten, and his mind went flipping through various glimpses of a face he’d refused to think about since the age of fourteen.

Impossible.

“The Jester wants the remaining member of the informants’ family out of the picture, and to know whether she shared our intel with anyone. Considering the knowledge the first two had of the Fatui, they all became liabilities the moment they broke faith. We don’t know just how much all three of them were privy to or who they may have told, but the possibilities must be eliminated. For all we know, they may have turned for the Qixing.”

Impossible.

Childe’s throat closed in on itself. He felt like he was devoid of air.

“Feel free to find out her extent of intel for yourself,” the messenger went on, “but regardless of whether she knows anything or not, your assignment doesn’t change.”

He looked up in bewilderment. This was the first time in a long time he felt the old horror of being afraid. “Wha—”

“Tie up the loose ends, Tartaglia,” said the messenger curtly, shuffling the report notes in a neat pile. “Remove the outlier. However you choose to say it, it comes down to the same thing. The liability is too high a risk.”

His mouth had gone dry. It was difficult to swallow, but Childe forced the shake in his voice down and steeled himself to sound coherent despite the hysteria in his mind. The ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop rising in pitch.

“…Is there a timeline?” he murmured.

The messenger nodded. “Tonight’s a full moon. The Harbingers want her dead by the next.” He didn’t say anything when Childe choked out a sharp breath. “That should be plenty of time for you to get it done.”

The same thing kept circling in Childe’s head as he tried to come up with a response. He was grasping for words but couldn’t find any, because the same word kept echoing and blocking out the rest.

Impossible…impossible…

He didn’t realize the messenger was still standing there until he slowly looked up and finally picked the first words his frozen tongue could form, simply because they were the words wired in him like a response from an automatic system. A trained, reflexive reply.

“I’ll see it through.”

They were needles on his tongue.

The messenger nodded and bowed before parting. “For the Tsaritsa,” he said.

And faintly, vaguely, as if he were a machine, Childe repeated those same words back, watching the messenger turn and walk out of his office, leaving him in numbing silence.

By the time the doors closed shut, he still couldn’t breathe.

…Impossible.

And for the first time in his life, the vow of his pledge tasted like poison staining his lips.

–––––––

Rain was never really rain in Snezhnaya. It was hail. It was sleet. It constantly ricocheted off the windows like a tiny meteor shower of nothing but ice, sounding like pellets being shot through the glass.

Here in Liyue, rain is softer. You love rainy days in Liyue much more than in Snezhnaya, because instead of rattling outside your walls, it’s more of a pitter-patter that cushions the quietness of patrons in your family’s teahouse.

After a strain of illness took them, ownership of the teahouse passed from your parents down to you. Built from the ground up, it served as your family’s livelihood since moving here, and regulars still continue to come. From the get-go, it’s been a well-loved place right in the heart of the center square. Gold and green roof tiles compliment the architecture framed by hand-painted signage and red pillar-supported arches. The entrance of the teahouse faces into the square, and a glance out the front window from behind the counter is a handy lookout for customers seated on the veranda in case they’re in need of service from inside, as well as a fair warning of arriving guests about to enter through the double doors.

Inside, the walls of the teahouse are decorated with colorfully woven tapestries; subtle, watercolor paintings of tea leaves; and drawings of age-old Liyue stories. The atmosphere is warm, the company even warmer, and serving tea feels less like work and more like friends visiting your home. A tinge of mint and fresh-grown herbs filter through the air, the fragrance punctuating the senses with just one step in the door.

“The usual, please, Y/n,” says the seamstress who runs her shop across the square. She leans against the counter and removes the shawl over her head that you assume was her makeshift umbrella to shield from the spring showers outside. She comes here around the same time every day, just after lunch, and her order never changes.

You nod and pour some tea from the kettle. “Overbooked with clients again?” you ask.

She chuckles and tucks her graying hair behind her ears, the fine lines around her eyes more noticeable than last week. “It’s starting to show that easily, huh?” she says.

“Of course not,” you scoff reassuringly, because she needs to hear it. “You don’t look it at all.”

She shakes her head at you good-naturedly and takes her mug. “You’re far too considerate to an old thing like me.” After she hands you her payment in coins, she leans across the counter and motions you closer, hushing her voice. “Say, in the corner,” she says, “that young man over there…I think he’s here to see you. He comes quite often these days, hm?” She gives you a suggestive raise of her brow. “And he’s undeniably good-looking, for what it’s worth.”

You glance over her shoulder and easily take note of the subject of her jabs.

Childe is sitting at a table alone, legs crossed and chin resting on intertwined fingers as he bops his foot up and down in a rhythm and scans his eyes across the room. When he meets your eyes, he immediately grins and waves.

You smile back before remembering the seamstress is still standing there, hiding a knowing look behind her mug.

You laugh. “Oh, it’s not—”

“Go on now,” she cuts you off. With a flick of her hand, she ushers you away and you roll your eyes, obediently making your way towards Childe, more for her sake than for your own.

You take a seat on the wooden bench Childe is on and stretch your legs out on the tiled floor. “Work break?” you ask him, your question stretching into a yawn. It hits you like a boulder just then how tired you are from being on your feet all day.

Childe scoots over to make more room for you, letting you slump back against his side for support as your arms hang limply at your sides. “Work break,” he confirms, waving to the seamstress as she sits at a table on the opposite wall and out of earshot. “Well. She seems nice.”

“She finds you undeniably good-looking,” you say, drawling out her quote word-for-word. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her she must be going blind.”

“Now, now,” Childe tuts.

You chuckle when you hear the hint of a well-known tone in his voice, one he used to use with his few younger siblings back home. You almost forgot how gentle he could sound despite the air of foreboding when he’d scold them, much like this. It always struck you as contradictory, that tone of his, and when you were little, you could never decide if you were more in awe of or unsettled by it. Most of the time, you were just glad not to be on its receiving end.

Now, though, considering how times have changed, you think you’re just happy that a tiny, little part of him like this still remains the same.

“Just last week,” he goes on, “she told me she wouldn’t mind seeing you married off to me. Something about our faces pairing well together, about it being high time you settled down.”

You jerk. “Married?”

“Mm-hm.” He hums like it’s a weather report instead of tomfoolery. “She seems to think you and I are something of an item, princess.” When you feel him shift behind you, you tilt your head up and see him angling his head down at you, a glint in his eye and a small smirk on his lips. His voice lowers, darkening like the bangs of his hair that canopy over you. “Shall we confirm her suspicions?”

You blankly stare at him. “Like hell.”

Childe laughs and quickly retreats from sight.

You sit up and away from him. “But she’ll definitely think something of it if I keep laying on you like this.” You smooth your apron out and massage your shoulders, rolling out the knots and kinks embedded in your muscles. “Now, did you come here for something or am I going to have to shoo you out?”

He does a double-take and gawks at you. “You said you wouldn’t do that anymore,” he says. “You said I was allowed here!”

“You are if you order something instead of taking up my customers’ tables,” you shoot back.

He opens his mouth to complain again, but his eyes shift behind you and then there’s a soft tap on your shoulder.

“Um, miss?”

You spin around and scramble to your feet. “Er—yes! I’m sorry, sir, how can I help you?” you say to the customer holding an empty mug in his hand.

He smiles sheepishly. “Ah, I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I have some more tea?”

“Of course! I’m sorry for making you wait!” You take his mug and bow deeply in apology.

“Please, it’s not a problem, and I’m sorry for interrupting your conversation.” After he thanks you and takes his seat again, you turn around and scowl at Childe.

“See?” you hiss at him, cursing the carefree expression on his face. “You’re only distracting me! Go on, get out of here. I still have” — you look to the clock above the doorway and immediately feel your legs want to crumble again — “five more hours left…”

You sigh and droop your head. The day isn’t even halfway over yet.

As your eyes close in a silent prayer for the archons to give you the energy you need, you hear the scuff of boots and feel a presence in front of you. Your head tilts back up only to see Childe standing in front of you now, palm out, expressionless, and clearly waiting for something from you.

“Let me take over,” he says.

You blink at him. “Huh?”

He motions for the mug in your hands. “Let me take over,” he repeats. “At least for a while.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He scoffs and glances off to the side in disbelief. “You’re tired. That’s why. So let me take over.”

“But you don’t know—”

“How to brew tea?” he says, offended. “May I remind you who used to bring you homemade tea when you’d catch your death in winter?”

You scrunch your face up and cross your arms, refusing to give him the mug. “That’s not what I was going to say, you idiot,” you tell him. “I meant you don’t know the system here. You don’t know the names of the brews or what goes where and how to sort—” He grabs the mug out of your grasp from under your arm swiftly, cutting you off as you gape at him. “What are you doing?”

He swings the mug by the handle on one finger and your heart spikes when it almost goes flying to the ground. “I’ve watched you enough times that I think I can handle it,” he says simply.

“But you’ve never even been behind the counter.”

He shrugs. “Watching’s enough. It can’t possibly be harder than Fatui business. Or are you gonna argue that with me, too?” When he sees your hesitant face, he leans down and flicks at your chin.

“Come on, princess,” he murmurs fondly, eyes softening like the glow of the overhead lanterns. “It’s not like I’m going to burn down the place.” He gives you a lopsided grin. “Give yourself a break, hm, Y/n-chan? Let me take it from here.”

So after a moment, yet still a bit reluctant, you give in. “Fine. Alright.”

He straightens back up and puffs his chest out proudly.

“I’m not paying you, though.”

He shrugs again. “Wouldn’t need it, anyway.”

You scoff.

“I’ll be Y/n-chan’s best protégé in all of Teyvat,” he says as if he’s speaking to the world and not just to you.

“You’re the only one,” you say flatly.

“Even more special then, hm?” He winks at you and flounces to the counter, calling out to the customer about what kind of tea he wanted more of.

And when Childe gets the order, you watch as he turns to the stocked shelves behind him, hands on his hips and biting his lip in determination. He lifts the lids of each herbal jar, reading the faded labels you’ve long-ago written on them and tapping his chin.

He doesn’t know which one is which…

You groan and sink back onto the bench, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose in defeat.

The next few hours or so go better than you would have expected, though.

Childe starts out slow at first, taking his time to double check each brew he makes, and you watch with bated breath every time he pours it into a cup, eyes trailing the recipient like a hawk so you can gauge their reaction when they take their first sip; you’re not above punching him if he accidentally manages to sicken someone or trigger an allergic reaction.

But, much to your surprise—and his self-satisfaction whenever he catches you eyeballing him—each and every customer is pleased with his results.

Gradually, you’re able to relax the longer Childe carries on; and the less you focus on his somehow-natural technique and more on his interactions with people, you start to notice a pattern that, though familiar, you weren’t expecting to be there anymore.

He treats every single person with warmth. You realize this once you stop studying which jar he scoops out of or which tea kettle it goes in, and instead take note of how his smile doesn’t waver, his exchanges never falter, and his energy keeps up with both teasing elderly and hyper children alike. Even with the few impatient customers that come in, Childe takes his time to ensure they get what they need and avoid making their mood any worse than it is. As a matter of fact, you notice them leave happier than when they arrived.

You’ve never been able to handle those types of people well. It almost makes you wish he’d work here forever.

With the multitude of people he serves and treats as if he’s known them for years, you sink lower in your seat—not out of apprehension for his skills anymore, but out of content and a sense of belonging. Childe’s belonging.

Because there’s something in the way he so easily fits into the scene of the teahouse and talks to every stranger like they are all his friends…and they all appear to be, what with how kindly they take to him and how eagerly they converse while waiting for their tea. So you think it wouldn’t be so bad if Childe really were to stay. If he were to decide that he belongs here.

There’s a certain charm about him now, different than rose-tinted cheeks and snowflakes caught in honeyed hair, that breathes a spirit of Liyue. It’s cozy, and homey, and comforting in a way you haven’t felt since…well, you don’t remember when. And you wonder if he feels different here too, if he could see this as a home or still favors Snezhnaya over anywhere else—or if maybe, given the chance, he’d ever want to exchange frost and pine trees for wide plains and autumn leaves.

Because it doesn’t matter where he is; he really is still the same. He’s told you repeatedly that he’s not, and you want to do your best to agree, but if the saying is true, then actions do speak louder than words. And given his actions on a single day in this teahouse, by simply being here and doing nothing more than pouring cups and chatting harmoniously, you can’t chase away the gut feeling that he’s wrong.

Sure, he’s different, just as you’re different. And he’s changed a little, just as you have. But he’s not somebody else. He’s the same boy at heart whom you’ve always known, the same sensitive, empathetic boy whose smile is as true behind that counter as it was in a snowball fight.

Childe is different, yes. He’s taller and broader and less forthright, and he’s clever now in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. He’s less taunting and more alluring, more elusive than you want to give him credit for.

Yet despite all of those differences from the boy you remember, you still see that boy in him no matter what angle you look. That boy still lives in Childe’s voice, his mannerisms, his careless smile and airy laughter. It’s in his quiet consideration of you and these people, in the blue of his eyes that understands even when there’s something deeper behind them, the persona of an ocean that takes all in and won’t discriminate. Because that’s who Childe is inside, who he’s always been—an ocean of a person, attentive, ever-changing, bursting at the seams yet somehow always nurturing.

So you can’t help the smile that grows on your face, the happiness in your heart that bubbles little by little the more you see him care for your patrons as if this is his home, too. 

And when the teahouse finally empties out, and he comes back over to sit next to you, you feel more at ease than you ever thought you could.

He slings a dish towel around his neck as he leans back, closing his eyes and sighing out loud. “See?” he says to you, smiling through mild pants of breath. “Piece o’cake.”

You pat his head in appreciation. “I saw,” you tell him softly. “You did well.”

He pops one eye open and grins. “Yeah?”

You nod.

He huffs in amusement. “It’s too bad I’m not built for a life like this, huh?” His breathing evens out, and you watch him quietly.

The smile that was implanted onto your face slowly begins to melt away. “How come?” you ask tentatively. You don’t know why your heart feels suddenly low at his words.

Childe opens both eyes at you. “Because,” he says plainly, “I’m in the Fatui. I’m an envoy. A servant to Her Majesty.” He cocks his head at you, holding your gaze. “I’m not meant for everyday life like this.”

“…I think you are,” you broach. “You did pretty good up there, you know? You fit in well.” You offer him an optimistic shrug.

Childe shakes his head, sitting up as your heart pitches to your throat. You feel your stomach go uneasy with dread; you don’t know why, and you don’t like it.

“No, I don’t,” he says darkly. “Someone like me doesn’t belong in a scene like this.”

“But you do, though.”

He snaps his head towards you when you immediately object, narrowing his eyes the tiniest bit. But you resist the urge to flinch and push on, because the blue in those eyes speaks volumes. There’s conflict there; he says one thing, and his eyes say another. You’re determined to get through to him either way.

“You do belong here,” you say. “Everyone loves you. And the way you act with them…you don’t treat people that kindly just because you’re doing a job.”

He laughs ruefully. “You’re sounding naïve, Y/n-chan, don’t you think?” he says.

“If I didn’t know you, maybe,” you say. You inch closer to him, only slightly, and take it as a sign to continue when he doesn’t move away. “But I do know you. And you’re always like that—always looking out for people. You look out for me, too.” You study his features for any sort of acknowledgement, but there is none. You steel yourself. “That’s why I can say you belong here, Childe…you have the sort of heart that can belong here.”

When he still doesn’t say anything, you exhale and slump back, worried you came onto him too strong. Maybe you sounded too forceful than reassuring. And if there’s one thing about Childe, it’s that the more he’s forced into something, the less he’ll want to do it. Regret settles in as you peek at him from the side, and you bite your lip when he does nothing but stare down at the tabletop.

“I don’t mean you have to stay and live here or anything,” you quickly say, hoping to smooth over whatever he’s taken this for. “Just…if you ever thought about—”

“You said that everyone loves me.” You blink in surprise when he cuts you off, his fingers tangling on the table. He looks at you sideways, amber waves of hair falling over his shadowed eyes, the blue in them darker, almost melding with his pupils. When he speaks, his voice is vague, a rasp barely above a whisper. “You believe that?”

You take note of the faint crease in his brows and make sure your reply is firm. “I do,” you say with meaning. “They do.”

He doesn’t break his gaze with you.

“…Y/n-chan, do you love me?”

And you swear you almost squeak.

Childe searches you like he’s trying to look straight into your soul, and you feel goosebumps prickle your arms as you try to find what words to say.

Your tongue goes limp in your mouth, thick like it couldn’t even make sounds if you wanted it to. Your brain sounds like the rush of a waterfall, and it’s a few seconds later when you finally comprehend that you’re just sitting there, staring at him. The blush comes full-force then, burning hotly across your cheeks.

He looks away first.

You swallow, partly to make sure you still have control of your body, partly to shove down the undoubted rattle in your voice. You clear your throat and stutter out the first coherent thing that comes to mind.

“W–would you not want that?”

You almost don’t hear yourself say it, your heart so audibly pounding in your chest, drowning out your thoughts and rationale. You feel on edge, for some reason more panicked than you can recall in your life. And you internally shrivel because now it must seem so obvious what your answer really is.

Why couldn’t I just deny it? Because the answer is I don’t. I don’t, do I?

Immediately, you ignore the response that beats from your heart.

You watch as he examines the gloves on his hands, pulling them tighter and making a fist. “It’s not about what I want,” he says, though you see his jaw clench down hard. He glances at you, and there’s a turmoil in his ocean that you don’t know how to make sense of now. “It’s never about what we want.”

He looks away harshly when you instinctively reach out to him. It’s a reflex, you suppose, and you only realize your fingers are moving his way when you look down and have to tuck your hands back into yourself.

Neither of you says anything for a moment. The low hum of the rain outside, still rapping against the teahouse windows is all that muffles the silence between you. And when the silence itself begins to drown out the rain, you squirm, tired of this evasion that he’s been constantly throwing at you.

So you give him chase.

“Well, I want you to see what I see.” You cross your arms and prop yourself up, looking down at his figure hunched over the table now. He turns his head your way but still faces towards the ground.

You chase harder.

“To see the things about yourself that you don’t seem to know.” Your voice is rough, but you don’t care. Something in you is aching at the idea that he thinks every little thing you admire about him—all the things that make him who he is—are fake. That he sees himself as so much poorer than you do. It does nothing but sadden you to think how far he must have been pushed, how wounded he must have gotten in the time you’ve been apart, to be this crestfallen at his own self. The boy you knew was never this ashamed of himself or the qualities he had that were so obviously his best.

So if it takes you the entire night to remind him of that, you’ll stay up until sunrise. After all, he’s your oldest friend. He would do the same for you.

You sigh and uncross your arms, laying your hands in your lap. You watch his lashes flutter from above. “If someone like you doesn’t belong here,” you tell him slowly, “why did you give the flowers in the vase to that little girl earlier?” You bend down to his level to try and get any view of his face. “Or tell that kid you have a brother his age who likes all the same things he does? Or give that woman an extra serving when she said she was having a terrible day?”

Childe manages a flit of his attention your way. You put your hand in his hair, patting his head once and watching his eyes shut, then combing through his softened curls.

“You say you’re different, that you don’t belong in a place like this,” you say quietly, “but to me, you do.”

His eyelids clench tighter.

“You have a good heart, same as when we were kids—”

“Stop saying that!”

You flinch and your hand instantly draws back as if it’s been stung by his outburst. Your body seizes up and you just look at him heaving like he’s about to grab the table and flip it over on its side.

Instead, he just angles himself away from you, shielding again so you can’t read what expression he’s wearing. But the tone of his rumbling voice is enough to know he’s practically shaking—whether it’s in fury or fear, you can’t tell.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he grits out, strained. He sounds so tense, so on the verge of snapping in half, of falling off a ledge you can’t even see, that you want to wrap your arms around him and drag him back to you. He hisses, “You don’t know how cruel I can be.”

You frown deeply at that. “You’re not cruel, Childe,” you tell him.

He’s not. He’s not.

“You’re genuine,” you say, “and you care—”

“I’ve killed people.” In a split second, he whirls back to you.

You freeze.

His face is lined with distress, brows and nose and lips all screwed together in a way that can only be a prelude to the pain behind his reason.

Then he asks you point-blank, like grinding gravel out of his teeth, “Still think you can love me?”

Your next breath feels like inhaling icicles, straight from his piercing stare that traps you in an avalanche. Blizzards replace his once-distinct oceans, cascading over you and blinding your vision so you have nowhere else to look.

It feels never-ending, being pinned down by the weight of his presence, and any chance you have of even trying to come up with a meager response is lost when he breaks the tension himself and rises to his feet.

You don’t even follow as his face leaves your sight. You just continue staring at the wall where he was.

“I should go check in to work.” He removes your apron and lays it on the table. “I won’t be back till late tonight.” He pauses a moment, and you sense him hesitate like he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t.

All he does is walk away, brisk footsteps falling farther and farther until the door opens and shuts, and you’re left with nothing but your stillborn shock and the trepidation coursing through your ringing ears and veins.

I’ve killed people.

You can’t unhear it.

Slowly, you let your eyes wander to your crumpled apron he left behind, and gingerly reach out to pull it into your lap. You fumble with the strings, not really processing what feels like animated motions, until you realize your hands are trembling.

You stand and drop the apron onto the seat.

Still think you can love me?

That question alone was enough to know that he knows everything.

You choke out a breath and splay your hands out on the table, hanging your head between your shoulders.

He knows everything.

Still think you can love me?

You may have been certain he never knew of your feelings when you were growing up together, but there’s no doubt in your mind that he knows of them now. And your feelings—affections—are what’s twisting your gut and wringing your brain out, because if what he said is true, then his question is a valid one.

I’ve killed people.

Still think you can love me?

Can you? Can you love him?

A man who you’ve only ever loved, who’s held your heart in the palm of his hands before you even let him have it? Who’s taken care of you more times than you can count, who makes you feel at home just by being next to you?

…Who’s just told you that he’s killed people?

…Childe has killed people.

And you want to deny it at first, but there’s no excuse for that. There’s no way he could have lied with that wild look in his eyes, in far too much agony for it to be a mask. What you saw in him was real; what he said must have been real.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

Because how do you love a person who has killed another person?

You feel like you want to throw up, or collapse to the floor, or curl into a ball and pretend the past hour had just never happened, that it was still ten years ago and you were just a child, knowing nothing more than that you enjoyed his company and you didn’t want your day with him to end.

But you can’t, because the reality is that those days are gone, and the harsher reality is that Childe is somebody else.

…So can you love him?

You squeeze your eyes shut in frustration.

It’s not a matter of whether I can or can’t, you answer him in your mind too late, gritting your teeth because it’s an answer as much as it is an admission.

…I already do, Childe.

I love you.

The confession you still have never let out, the one years ago, the same until now.

And then you weakly let your pressured tears slip and fall to the table, because you don’t know how else to keep them at bay any longer.

You don’t know what else to do now but cry—for him, for whoever’s lost souls came into his mind when he said those words, for the boy you still see despite his cruel truth, and for the feelings you have and know are real but don’t know now if they’re even right to have.

Is this right of me to feel?

You don’t know how to answer yourself.

You only know that what you feel must truly be love at its most worst.

I love you, you admit to him silently, even if it’s wrong, even if I shouldn’t.

I still love you, and that’s all that I know.

–––––––

Ajax wipes the streak of wetness across his cheek.

“I’ll write to you.”

He sniffles and glares through the snot on his face. “I don’t want you to write to me,” he mutters sourly. “I want you to stay.”

You cock your head at him in that stupid way you always do when you don’t get what he means at first. He used to make fun of you and make you figure it out on your own, but right now he wants to punch you if you don’t understand in the next millisecond. He needs you to understand. To understand and listen and please, please, please do what he asks, just this one time.

So he says again, “Stay.”

And you smile.

He really wants to shove you over now because you’re leaving. You’re leaving without him, and you’re smiling about it. All while he’s standing here trying to stop his face from leaking everywhere.

He hates you.

“I want to,” you reply. “But I can’t.”

“Did you even—”

“I asked my parents,” you finish for him, clearly exasperated but knowing exactly what he was going to say. “They said we can’t.”

Ajax sniffles again. “That’s so unfair,” he grumbles under his breath. “Why do you have to go with them?”

“Beats me,” you say. “They said it’s to find better work or something. I don’t even wanna go.”

“Then stay!” he repeats like it’s obvious, which it is. If you’re gonna cock your head at anything, it should be this.

You want to stay, he wants you to stay, so you should stay. It’s as simple as that. So he doesn’t know why you’re still going away. It’s nonsense.

“Where would I live?” you ask hopelessly.

Idiot, he wants to call you.

He doesn’t.

“With me,” he tells you firmly. “You can live in my house. You can have Tonia’s room.”

“Then where would Tonia go?”

“I don’t know! Let your parents take her to Liyue instead!”

You roll your eyes at him but he pouts resolutely because he’s serious. He pretends everything you say is always a joke to him, but you’re the one person about whom Ajax has always been serious.

Not that he’d ever tell you that. Not when he knows how smug it’d make you look. Never, ever.

“I bet Tonia would like Liyue.” You’re quieter when you say that, and it makes his heart soften, because now you sound wistful. You sound sad.

But he refuses to cry more in front of you. So he replaces sympathy with mockery; everything’s always easier that way.

“I wouldn’t,” he says bluntly. “I’d hate Liyue. Snezhnaya is much better.”

“You don’t have to rub it in, Ajax,” you say, a little hurt.

He crosses his arms. “It’s true. You’re stupid for going to stupid Liyue.”

You hop off the fence you’re both sitting on and land wobbly in the ankle-deep snow. You’re getting angry, he can tell. 

Good. Then you can know how he feels now.

“It’s not my fault my parents have—”

“Yeah, whatever,” he butts in.

You sigh and he refuses to look at you. Whenever you make that sound towards him, he always ends up doing whatever it is you want. And he knows what you want is for him to make the best of this. But he won’t. He can’t. He refuses to.

Because how can he? You’re leaving him.

You clamber back up onto the fence next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder. He hopes you’ll stay like this till you have to go home.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you say. Your voice is unsteady and thick, and he can tell you’re welling up in tears.

Finally, he’s not the only one crying.

You swing your feet next to his and he petulantly still avoids your gaze. 

That’s your fault, then. You’re leaving me, he thinks back.

You poke him in the side. “Ajax.”

“What?” he snaps.

You poke him again and hiccup. You’re definitely crying now. “I said I’ll miss you.”

He snorts. “You better.”

You hiccup once more. He sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye and sees you rub your sleeve across your face. It makes his heart lurch.

He uncrosses his arms and nudges your shoulder with his. “Fine…I’m gonna miss you too, Y/n.”

You look up at him and your smile is brighter than the sun shines on the purified snow. Ajax thinks you’re the brightest thing that lives in Teyvat. You’re certainly the brightest in Snezhnaya alone.

You tell him, “I know you will.”

And he tries to take back all his admiration at that, but it’s hard when you just keep smiling at him.

He squirms and looks away from you; his heart’s beating fast and funny in that way it tends to do around you. Even till now, it’s something Ajax never gets used to.

He loves you. He’s pretty sure of that.

So he hates that you’re going somewhere he can’t follow.

“Wanna skip rocks on the lake before I go?” you ask him, nose all clogged up so your consonants just sound like mush.

He jumps off the fence and takes your hand when you jump too. He makes sure you land steadily this time. “If my rock skips more than yours, you have to stay.” He looks intently at your tear-streaked face.

He loves you. So he’s serious about it.

You laugh and squeeze your mittened hand in his. “Okay, Ajax. If you win, then I’ll stay.”

He squeezes back, and twice as hard.

His rock skipped seven times that day.

Yours skipped four. You were always bad at skipping rocks. You both knew it.

Ajax won, and you still left.

It’s the hardest defeat he’s ever had till this day. The worst loss he can recall. The only loss that doesn’t make him want to move forward, so instead he locks it away and does everything he can to avoid thinking about it, because even though he won, you still left him behind.

Even though he won, you’re never coming back to him.

Childe jolts upright in bed.

He frantically looks around, back and forth, up and down, coming into his surroundings and remembering where exactly he’s at.

He breathes a sigh of relief.

He’s in his bed, in your spare room, in your house in Liyue, and it’s the middle of the night.

…It was just a dream.

He pants from the rush of adrenaline that races through him and the all-too-real vividness of his mind’s reminiscence.

What the hell was that about…

Shaking his head to clear his consciousness, he forces away the haze of the snow and the color of your woven mittens that day. He rubs his eyes and tries to forget it. He doesn’t even know what brought that all on.

No…no, he knows.

With the way he left things at the teahouse today, he supposes this should have been expected. It only makes sense that telling you what he did in that bout of raw emotion would reawaken things he’d buried so far away.

Childe sighs and draws his knees up, leaning back against the cool wood of the headboard. He drapes his arms across the blanket between his legs and blows out air that flutters his matted hair on his forehead.

He wonders if having a dream like that—can he call it a nightmare?—is only because of the guilt he feels from having yelled at you. He didn’t mean to, really. He’d never in his life intend to yell at you. He just let his emotions get the better of him, something he hasn’t had to deal with in the longest time until now. Which, again, he can probably chalk up to you.

Not that you’re at fault or anything. You were just telling him how you feel, and in the process, confirming his suspicions of you. He should be grateful to you, as a matter of fact; you’ve given him answers plain as day, made his reconnaissance much easier than he predicted, largely in part because you’re as open of a book as ever.

And he hoped you’d perceive him as an open book too, because it’s always easier to garner information that way. He’s done his best to get on your good side, to make you comfortable enough to be transparent, and you haven’t resisted his attempts to pry at all so far. He was pulling you closer and closer under his wing, an unsuspecting prey he was slowly sinking his talons into.

But he let himself slip. He clinched you too hard. Now he’s sure all his progress will be undone, because he lost his cool and yelled at you. An immature, tactless, rookie mistake.

He drags a hand down his face.

Worse yet, he didn’t even fix it. He left the situation at that and stormed out with no remedy, avoided leaving work until it was late enough that he knew you’d be in bed by the time he came back, and now all the tension will go unspoken and fester and push you completely out of his grasp. 

Any intent he had of executing this mission smoothly has been whisked away just as fast as it came.

And now, he’s going to lose you in more ways than just one again.

Childe knows how you feel about him. Years of perception and honing his craft, studying body language and tone of voice and little habits that make one tick have culminated in his ability to read a person well enough to know what they think. It’s practically battle strategy, a sixth sense, almost. A basic technique to ensure victory.

And maybe once upon a time, he would have been elated to find out you feel this way. He once felt the same thing, too. But that was a long, long time ago, and he can’t help but think it’s just bittersweet to learn it’s reciprocated too late now. He doesn’t even feel that way anymore, so this information is useless anyway.

So you love him. So what?

Childe rakes a tired hand through his hair and lets his head fall into both palms.

…I’m in this far too deep.

He can say all he wants about what he denies feeling for you, but even if he won’t say that it’s love, he can’t say it’s not anything. He’s self-aware enough to not be that dense, at the very least.

It’s not nothing. Because if it was nothing, he would never be reacting this way.

The fact of the matter is, his heart plummeted when he asked if you loved him. It burned and it seared, going hot in his chest with a hunger and yearning, but it still plummeted. Because he saw the answer, plain as day, in your eyes. And it hurt, because it was the answer he was hoping, praying not to get.

…Because now, if you love him, how in the hell is he expected to kill you?

Childe screams silently into his hands, more in his head than anything else, letting it ring through his mind instead of off the walls and risking waking you up. He’s being awoken to reality far enough on his own, and the least he can do for you, before he’s expected to silence your breath, is let you live in what dreams you have left.

He hates this.

Hates you for loving him.

If only you didn’t, it would be so much easier. If only you didn’t, he wouldn’t be doubting himself so much. If only you didn’t, he wouldn’t be hating this…so…much.

He digs his nails into his head and winces.

It’s been a few weeks since the emissary from the Jester first gave him this mission to carry out, to his chagrin. There’s still half a month left until the next full moon, his deadline for bringing them your blood on his hands, and already he’s finding himself stumbling and choking up.

He has to push up the timeline. And fast.

There’s no other way he can accomplish this otherwise. Childe’s had plenty of missions, plenty of murder sprees where he’s either had to take his time or rip it off on-sight, and this one proves to be the latter. 

Just rip it off. Yes. That’s it. That’ll be the way to do this. The much easier way to do this.

…Won’t it?

He grimaces and curls his fingers harder into his hair. It stings, but still not enough to outcry the storm that’s brewing inside.

It’s not his fault that he has to do this. It’s not his fault that he has to hurry; he has no choice. The longer he stays with you, the more agony he’s in. The longer he stays with you, the more he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

He could slip. He could fall. He could end up right back where his whole life started, back with you and snow-tinged smiles and the innocent thinking that life is nothing more than what it seems. Blissful.

Delusional.

He himself is proof that that’s all false. He himself is proof that nothing is as it seems, that everyone hides under their surface that’s perceived, that you can never trust anything, anybody, unless it’s from yourself.

But you make Childe doubt himself. You make him feel more than anybody has. More than anything, any place in this world, ever has.

So he can’t trust himself around you. You make him forget who he really is.

A Harbinger. A death-bringer. A curse-holding, blighted outsider who knows no matter where he goes, he will never be able to feel at home.

He doesn’t belong here. For all that you claim he is, you’re wrong. A man like him, sleeping in your house and plotting to kill you while you lay in the very next room, can never, ever belong anywhere.

…He contemplates that.

And for the first time in the ten years since you left, Childe just wants to curl up and cry.

He wishes you were right. That he did have a heart, or at least a good one. That maybe, if he wanted to—and, gods, does he know he wants to—he could really call this place home someday. That he could stay here and somehow find his place in your quiet teahouse with you.

…But no.

Childe relents.

After you’re gone, he doesn’t think he’ll set foot anywhere near Liyue ever again. He doesn’t think he could ever bring himself to.

Not after he’s killed you, and the country swims red like your blood fills its seas.

–––––

part two.

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