Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dragonspine feels a little like it was made with Kazuha in mind.

It’s generally deserted, save for the occasional hilichurls he usually kindly avoids or the fatui agents he gets rid of easily in a rush of maple leaves and crisp mountain air. The few foxes or weasels he runs into blink at him in a sleepy confusion before running to find cover among the trees, and the birds chirp less here than elsewhere. It’s quiet, peaceful, which Kazuha is grateful for; with his enhanced hearing abilities, he’s used to hearing even the slightest of sounds. A useful skill, but also one that can get tiring and weigh heavy on what he’d hope would be relaxing nights.

Here, even the rare noises that could prove disturbing are drowned out by the snow. Oh, how Kazuha loves the snow. White and sparkling and endless and oh so silent. He wishes more places around Teyvat were blessed with snow. He’ll have to visit Snezhnaya one day, if the winds will lead him in its direction.

More than that, however, it’s how beautiful it all is that speaks to him. The scenery is that of a fairytale, and the snow makes everything more beautiful, more tender, more magical when it’s sprinkled atop it. It’s their third day here, and yet Kazuha feels no less enraptured by the view than when he first set foot on this strange mountain.

The only problem with the snow is that, for whatever reason, Tama takes a liking to it as well.

His closest friend, Tomo, entrusted her to him, and Kazuha now takes this responsibility very seriously, even if his travels are not always the right place for an animal as small as her. But the cat clearly doesn’t share his concerns. Sometimes, when he’s not paying attention, she’ll leap out of the warmth of his clothes and into the snow; she’ll start nosing at it or running after a snowflake or chasing a crystalfly or stretching against a pine tree with no care in the world.

“Tama,” Kazuha will say every time, soft and lightly chastising, like he’s dealing with a child. He may well be. Adopting a cat does feel a lot like adopting a child would, if he had to guess. “Again?”

Tama will meow, or throw him an innocent side glance and a yawn. Sometimes she reminds Kazuha so much of Tomo it’s almost dizzying, but for the most part it’s simply endearing.

“You’ll get wet,” he explains patiently, “And cold. Then it will be I who will have to dry you and warm you up again.”

Tama doesn’t seem particularly impressed by this. As if to make a point, she walks further into even deeper snow, sinking almost halfway in. She’s barely keeping to the surface, but presses onward with no hesitation. Kazuha can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at the sight.

For all she flinches away at the mere sight of water, she certainly remains blissfully unaware that snow is, in fact, also water.

Still, as a fellow wanderer, Kazuha sympathises with her curiosity and lets her explore for a couple of minutes. As he waits, he passes the hot, red crystal from hand to hand, kicking some warmth into his body. He’s not entirely sure what these crystals are, only that they’ve been more or less the only thing keeping him warm up here these past few days. Whatever natural power they hold within them, it lasts for quite a while before they turn cold again and he has to look for yet another one to break and put into his pocket.

They should probably reach the other side of the mountain soon, and with it, Mondstadt. He’s been to many places, but not yet there. The land of freedom; he quite thinks Tomo would have liked it there, had he got the chance to go. Kazuha will just have to explore it all the more enthusiastically for the both of them.

Tomo... It’s all he can do not to lose himself in the darkness of his memories. The crystal is keeping him warm enough for the cold not to sweep across him, yet he still shivers for another reason completely.

No, that’s a closed chapter of his life. The traveller helped it be so. He’s not about to reopen it.

“Alright, Tama. I think it’s time for us to-” he begins, but he’s not met by a meow this time. Not one of those feline glares, nor an impatient, wagging tail. All he’s met with is a now heavy silence and the sight of snow for as far as the eye can see.

“Tama?”

The sense of doom spreads over him so quickly he almost freezes in place. He tries to look around, hoping she’s merely hiding behind a tree or sunken too deep in snow. She’s nowhere to be found, and Kazuha, much unlike himself, feels the panic surging forth, rendering him helpless and afraid and alone again.

Not this. Not Tama. Not Tama too, please.

The more rational side of him manages to push aside the dread at the back of his throat and start looking for her. Cats know how to cover up their scent far too well, but all the same, Kazuha catches the faintest trace of it in the air. Paired with the trail she left in the snow, he’s able to follow after her. Desperately, he prays she won’t run into danger before he finds her. He should never have let his feelings get the better of him. He should have been watching her.

His steps are quick and unthinking, heavy on the snow like they never are, and the few minutes he runs after her blur together in his memory.

Her footprints lead him downhill and towards the right, where the mountain breaks into a cave. Not a barren, deserted one—one lit up by torches, with bookcases lining its walls, tables stacked with yet more books as well as lab equipment.

A fatui camp? Because if it is and she got in...

But it isn’t. A combined fragrance of burnt coal, old books, simmering potions and... chalk? drapes over Kazuha. It’s bitter, pungent, yet simultaneously deeply soothing. With it comes a sense of familiarity, which lowers Kazuha’s defences a great deal more than he would like. While he’s never one to feel out of place anywhere, his travels have always lacked… belonging. The life of a wanderer is, after all, belonging everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time. It’s a journey, not a destination.

This, though... This has the same safety one expects of home.

These thoughts are overpowered by the sight of Tama curling around a young man’s feet (the sole person there, it seems, which further allays Kazuha’s fears). The boy—ashen-haired, elegantly dressed, holding a vial up in the air and far away from the intruder—is staring down at Tama with a befuddled expression, unable to pinpoint what a cat, of all things, is doing in his camp.

If Kazuha had time to consider it, he might find it quite endearing. But he doesn’t; he’s got a cat on the loose, and he may wilt away if he doesn’t hold her in his arms in the next two minutes.

“Tama!” Kazuha calls out in a sudden avalanche of relief. Not forgetting himself, he bows minutely to the man when he approaches, but all it achieves is to harden the guardedness on his face. Kazuha offers a quick, hopefully comforting smile, before dropping down to take Tama into his arms.

“Tama, you- You gave me a proper scare. Please don’t run away like that. Please. Never again, understood?”

Tama answers with an all too innocent meow for how she nearly brought Kazuha to the edge of his sanity. He laughs, though, the gratitude to see her well and unharmed overshadowing any remnants of frustration.

"Silly," he breathes, deflating. He nuzzles their faces together, then slips her back into his kimono, where she presses herself against him in an instant, purring. As if she didn't run away moments ago. As if she isn’t getting Kazuha’s clothes wet as well. This is why Kazuha can never stay mad at her antics.

Above him, the young man clears his throat.

“Oh, I apologise,” Kazuha says, getting back to his feet. “It was ill-mannered of me to burst in on your camp like this. I thought I had lost her,” he throws a dejected look down at Tama, “I could not think of anything else.”

The boy nods, crossing his arms across his chest. There’s something rather emotionless about his face, despite his amiable expression. Why might that be?

“No need to apologise. It’s understandable that you would worry about her well-being. You are not from here, are you? What brings you to Dragonspine?”

Kazuha tells him he’s a wanderer from Inazuma, set out to see as much of the world as he can. He took the road through Dragonspine instead of around because he loves the snow and wanted to experience it at its peak, as he had heard it is up here.

Albedo listens and, to his credit, manages to tame the astonishment on his face. To purposefully come to Dragonspine is unusual in and of itself, but to come here purely for the scenery is nothing short of spectacular.

No one likes Dragonspine, after all; no one but Albedo himself.

Truthfully, Dragonspine has always felt a little like it was made with Albedo in mind.

It being a desert of snow that few dare approach means he’s left to his own devices more often than not. He can conduct his experiments undisturbed here, as slowly or quickly as he needs to. While Sucrose and Timaeus do visit every now and then, it’s days, even weeks on end of utter isolation. There’s an endless supply of intriguing things begging to be studied up here as well, and where would he be without those?

But the quiet—the quiet is what Albedo likes most. The quiet is where he can concentrate best. And he must concentrate: he’s found some stone tablets that light up only once read. He’d been attempting to prompt their luminescence in another way, and this next experiment would probably have been the key, but—

But now he’s face to face with a young man, dressed in clothes imprinted head to toe with maple leaves, holding a runaway cat in his arms.

His name is Kaedehara Kazuha, he learns.

“An alchemist?” Kazuha asks when Albedo introduces himself in turn. “A remarkable occupation. I cannot say I envy you—yet your knowledge is likely second to none. That is truly admirable.” He takes on a serious expression. “Then I presume you’re here because you’re researching something?”

Albedo glances down at the vials of his neglected experiment.

“You could say so. But rather, I am researching something because I am here. I'm here more often than I am not.”

Kazuha nods, eyes shut for a moment. “I can see why. The atmosphere and scenery are unlike any I have seen. I rarely stay too long in one place, but I could be tempted to linger here.”

Albedo isn’t sure if he should break the news that he is not, in fact, here for the view. But Kazuha’s expression is so relaxed, so serene, like even at this moment he’s relishing in the simple truth that he gets to be here. In... Dragonspine. Dragonspine.

It throws Albedo off guard. And not only his uncommon joy, but also how unwary and at ease he is in the presence of someone he’s just met. ‘Is this guy a bit off his trolley?’—that would be the uncomplicated assumption to make for the average person, but this is Albedo, and Albedo knows few things are as simplistic as that.

“Indeed, it is a… one-of-a-kind place,” Albedo says.

Kazuha smiles, eyes fluttering open with a smile of their own. He then lowers them to Albedo’s neck, a thoughtful glint passing through them.

“You have a Geo vision,” he observes.

Albedo spots the mint green peeking from behind Kazuha’s shoulder; a modest place to keep a vision, somewhere that isn’t immediately noticeable at a first look.

“And you an Anemo one.”

Kazuha breathes out a chuckle. “Complete opposites, aren’t they? How fascinating. Regardless, it means this won’t seem out of the ordinary to you.”

He sits down on a nearby stool and takes Tama out of his kimono again, setting her in his lap. He mumbles something like ‘you love getting wet over and over again, don’t you?’ and pins her with a steady look, a silent warning known only to them, at which the cat goes surprisingly still. Then Kazuha passes his hand in a gentle motion across her head and back, a soft gust of wind materialising in the palm of his hand and following his movements. Tama rolls on her back the moment her back is dried and purrs delightedly as Kazuha continues the process on her stomach and paws. When he’s done and all traces of water have evaporated, she nibbles on his hand affectionately.

Albedo watches this with interest, arms crossed across his chest.

“Just an observation,” he says, “But it would seem Tama enjoys your little drying session. One would assume that is why she goes out of her way to get wet.”

“Oh,” Kazuha chuckles, a blush creeping to his cheeks. “She’s… Well, quite spoiled, it’s true.”

He doesn’t say this with any malice and proves it by producing a small pouch from his interior pocket, in the same maple pattern as his clothes. Tama perks up at that, sitting up and leaning her front paws on Kazuha’s chest, tail straight up in the air.

“I shall be out of your hair in but a moment, just as soon as I make sure she's okay. Now, Tama—patience.”

He murmurs the last part before he starts feeding the cat small dry fish which Tama eats primly but eagerly.

Albedo tries, admittedly, not to stare, and to return to his experiment. But try is the right word here because he fails atrociously, though he does manage to throw some furtive glances at his earlier notes and vials on occasion. Rather, he's a little more preoccupied with how delicately Kazuha is giving Tama each fish, one at a time, how much warmer his smile grows in the process. He obviously puts the cat’s well-being at the forefront.

With that course of thought in mind... When was the last time Kazuha himself even had a proper meal? Before reaching Dragonspine, surely. He isn’t carrying any bags with him, which must mean his provisions are likely limited to the same type of dry fish or the occasional lucky catch he might have made while traversing the mountain.

That leaves a curiously bitter taste in Albedo’s mouth. Kazuha is probably famished, but not only is he not showing it, but he’s also more concerned with feeding his cat.

“I was thinking: would you be opposed to having dinner together?” Albedo says before he can stop himself, one arm propped up on his hip, like it might make the suggestion seem more casual.

Kazuha blinks up at him from under pale lashes, suddenly surprisingly out of his depth. But he waits for further explanations, which is not a no at least, so Albedo continues.

“It is getting late and I was planning to prepare something for myself soon. Since you stumbled in like this... It wouldn’t hurt to enjoy the company. I rarely get it here.”

Which he prefers, unless it’s Klee, but he never counts Klee in with other people. Still, he’s not one to let harm befall anyone if it may be avoided. As things stand, he wouldn’t be surprised if the young ronin was one wrong move away from either freezing or starving before ever crossing the mountain, despite his supposed affinity to Dragonspine.

He’ll admit it’s partially because he'd rather like to continue watching Kazuha. Just a while longer. There’s something about him, his gentle breeze of a presence and his quiet kindness and his content wandering through one of Teyvat’s least-loved regions that is quite intriguing to Albedo.

Nothing more than a casual observation, naturally. Another captivating experiment. He’s been running low on them lately (frankly, the stone tablet was a last resort, one he doubts would have yielded any groundbreaking results), so he may as well make use of the opportunity while it still presents itself.

Completely unsuspecting, Kazuha breaks into a smile. He seems so trusting of Albedo that Albedo has to wonder if he’s like this with everyone, and if so, if this hasn’t put him in more tricky situations than it should have.

“Very well, master Albedo. I shall hope to be agreeable company.”

Kazuha is a very attentive person, Albedo soon discovers. He hovers around Albedo as he works, occasionally helping by looking for ingredients or filleting the fish (which he does with a skill comparable even to Xiangling), but he keeps a comfortable, unobtrusive distance between them, is more quiet than talkative. Yet he has a way of noticing every little detail all at once, from Albedo’s technique, to the ingredients, to the subtleties of the smell and the smallest of sounds.

That last one in particular sparks Albedo’s interest.

“It has always been so,” Kazuha explains, as they wait around the fire for the fish to cook. “Nature, as well as every living thing, has a story to tell—one needs only lend his ear and have the openness to listen, and he shall hear.”

As if on cue, he pauses, looks upwards and to the side, closes his eyes, then gives a simple nod.

“As I thought. A blizzard is headed this way tonight. It would be wise to keep as far inside your camp as possible.”

“A blizzard?”

Whether Kazuha’s prediction is to be believed or not, it’s not a chance Albedo wants to take, so they move further inside the cave.

While the fish fizzles in the pan, Kazuha takes out a small comb and starts running it across a napping Tama’s back, humming quietly as he does. It’s a slow and bittersweet tune Kazuha’s dulcet voice carries with ease, with small pauses between notes that hang in the air and claim the silence as part of its melody.

As he does, Albedo notices that beneath his gentle demeanour lie a grace and a refinement likely instilled since birth—a noble heritage, it must be.

Is then his attunement to nature something he was taught? Is this a skill common to Inazumans or their nobility? Albedo knows the world’s secrets better than anyone, yet it has never spoken to him the way Kazuha insists it should. Only extensive research and ample knowledge have allowed him to learn, discover, invent the things he has. Either this is yet something he’s lacking, or there’s more to Kazuha and his talent than meets the eye.

“There is no secret behind it,” Kazuha says suddenly, rightfully interpreting Albedo’s silence and the frown on his face. “It is not something I learnt—at least not in the proper sense of the word. I suppose it’s just my innate talent, as yours is alchemy. But I think we could all stand to learn a great deal by listening and smelling, rather than only focusing on our other senses. Like now, actually; wouldn’t you say that the fish is ready?”

Albedo spins around and returns to the pan, where, to be sure, the fish is the perfect shade of golden brown, cooked all the way through. He raises an eyebrow at Kazuha, who only shrugs innocently and lowers his gaze back to Tama.

Huh. Kaedehara Kazuha.

To make up for Kazuha’s faulty diet these past few days, Albedo puts his favourite dish together—one he very eloquently calls Woodland Dream, though Klee was kind enough to remind him that ‘Albedo gege, sprats don’t live in the woods! Mister Kaeya told me!’. Which... Well, fair enough, although why Kaeya feels the need to torment Albedo in any way he can is beyond him.

Though not a complicated dish in terms of ingredients, it is complex in regards to what it represents. Not that anyone cares, of course. Food is supposed to be eaten, its flavours savoured; it’s not supposed to tell a story. That overly complicates things.

When he hands Kazuha his plate, the latter claps his hands together and thanks him for the food, before he takes a long look at the plate. He tilts his head to the side, takes on a thoughtful expression, and soon his eyes are back on Albedo, firmer than expected, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What?” Albedo says, uncomfortable at the prolonged silence.

“This dish. You put so much thought into it.”

Albedo blinks, startled. “Did I?”

“Of course. These vegetables... some are grass, some trees... A forest. And the fish is…” He hums, considering this. “A small city. Yes, a city surrounded by forests, hidden from the rest of the world. There are battlements, narrow alleys. They’re all leading inside towards the main square, no?”

“The castle,” Albedo whispers. Kazuha nods.

“Ah, indeed. I should have known. A castle. A lone but happy castle.”

His smile persists when he picks a broccoli floret, runs it through the sweet sauce (all the way from the woods, towards the alleys), and then cuts a small piece of fish from the middle—the castle. When he pops them into his mouth, his eyes slip shut with the weight of the flavours, his face softens in a clear satisfaction.

“Light, soft. Like sunshine creeping in through the castle’s windows,” he says, still enjoying that one small bite like it’s the simplest, yet equally most wonderful honour to eat it.

The second bite is the same. Kazuha does not open his eyes, just savours the food one bite at a time.

In front of him, Albedo’s fork has frozen in mid-air. He stares, he thinks, at Kazuha, but then again he’s so overwhelmed he isn’t sure he’s even entirely present anymore. He feels weightless, though he knows that’s impossible of even the lightest of creatures. He attributes it to his lack of oxygen—because he is, realistically, breathing a lot slower, breaths shallow, his pulse more obvious in his throat, his mind focused on something else entirely.

Kazuha... Kazuha just described his dish in almost perfect detail to how Albedo envisioned it. No one has ever... They never... Not Klee, or even his master... They didn’t have to, because it doesn’t matter, because it’s an oversight on his part, nothing but a pointless sentimentality, nothing with any impact in the long run. Just a story in a dish, unnecessary of him, an excess of zeal—

But it wasn’t for Kazuha. He understood it. He chose to understand it.

When Kazuha opens his eyes again, he finds Albedo hasn’t eaten a single bite, but that his eyes are on him, the turquoise shimmering now, crinkling into a smile.

No, it wasn’t sunshine—flowers. Flower petals, golden, fluttering in the wind. That was who Albedo was.

“It was wonderful. You haven’t eaten?” he asks, quietly, because everything feels quiet to him all of a sudden, despite the quickly approaching blizzard outside.

“No, I... I ate earlier. I’m fine. Would Tama like some instead?”

‘Ate earlier,’ he says, when not long ago he was telling Kazuha he was planning on having dinner. Yet Kazuha doesn’t question it, and Tama certainly doesn’t. She all but jumps to the occasion when Albedo offers her the fish. Normally Kazuha might complain about Tama eating too much, but after three days worth of such lacklustre food, he figures she deserves it as much as he does.

And she looks happy with Albedo like this. It should do her good to spend time with someone other than Kazuha again.

He brings a leg up to his chest and stares outside, humming another tune—a livelier one.

It’s this tune that helps Albedo shake off his daze. He looks sideways at Kazuha, trying to figure out what exactly it is about this young ronin that is making everything simultaneously feel like both a question and an answer. What it is about him that’s singular, that’s an anomaly.

When Tama finally finishes eating, she rubs her head against Albedo’s knee in what he assumes is a thank you, but in seconds she’s back in Kazuha’s lap as before, prim and proper and with the glow of being well-fed. Kazuha too looks just as relaxed as he did when eating Albedo’s food, and Albedo—

“You could stay a while,” he says feebly. Kazuha’s eyes meet his, that crimson sunlight, and though Albedo has never asked this of anyone before, he feels more and more like this time, he ought to. “You have not seen the inside of the mountain or the peak, have you? Perhaps I could take you. And once I’m done with my research, we could head to Mondstadt together.”

Kazuha smiles, nothing more than a small tilt of the lips.

“A kind offer. I do quite like it here… and having a guide could be a nice change of pace.” His words are gentle, like pattering raindrops that soothe Albedo’s nerves. Then Kazuha runs a hand over Tama’s back and asks, “Hm, what do you say, Tama? Shall we brave the cold a little longer with the kind alchemist?”

The meow the cat gives sounds a bit like a deal struck, and Albedo instantly decides cats must be the best animals in all of Teyvat.

In a happy turn of events, Albedo finds a second bedroll stashed among the scrolls in his bookcase, so he has no need to create one alchemically. Sucrose must have left it in case something happened to Albedo's. Oh, Sucrose. Goodness knows how she’d react if she knew Albedo had invited someone else to stay the night in his camp. Probably give him an inquisitive, shy look before starting to flap her arms up and down and shake her head, eyes squeezed shut in mortification, saying “I’m sorry I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t pry!”.

Kazuha has no such restraints and shamelessly inquires if the sleeping bag belongs to anyone, which Albedo denies.

“It’s Sucrose, my assistant. She’s always trying to take care of me. A bit too much, perhaps. To make up for my own failings to do so, one presumes.”

Kazuha sets his bedroll near the fire, slips into it while Tama cleans herself next to him. He lifts his hands to the fire, rubbing them together in an attempt to warm them. It’s colder now, and the wind outside is strong, carrying snow even to the corner of the cave where they’ve retreated. It turns out that Kazuha’s weather forecast was right.

“Hm... And is that all? Care for your well-being?”

Albedo raises an eyebrow at Kazuha while shrugging his jacket off.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing as such. I have only just met you and I don’t know her, so making assumptions would be uncouth of me. It is, really, only a question, with no other implications behind it.”

Inquiries into his personal life have always... spooked Albedo. If nothing else, because he himself avoids the subject more often than he faces it. He’s got other things to fill his time with rather than concern himself with so dull a matter. Nevertheless, it’s an innocent enough question.

“Yes. Just care for my well-being,” he says. “She’s my assistant. There’s nothing more to it—for her or me.”

Kazuha hums. “I see."

"Why? Is there someone special in your life?”

Kazuha falls immediately quiet at that—uncharacteristically so. He sinks deeper under his covers while Tama curls against his chest and goes to sleep. For a while, her soft, comforting purring and the howling wind outside are the only sounds permeating the silence of the cave.

Albedo is beginning to consider backtracking and changing the subject, when Kazuha, with the same carefully stable voice, says, “No. I do not.”

There’s nothing in his expression that betrays any emotion; a blank cover of calm which nevertheless feels more thunderous than the storm outside.

Albedo asks no more, lets the quiet envelop them, and falls into a deep sleep by the crackling fire and the quiet presence of the maple ronin. He thinks, however, for the briefest of moments, of the steely, copper-red Kazuha's eyes changed to when he answered the question.

The following day, they set about exploring Dragonspine, after Kazuha insists he won’t leave Tama unsupervised at the camp. Albedo warns him that it’s dangerous, that the mountain is no place for her. But Kazuha placidly explains that she’s been with him through the thick of battle and that she’ll be safer with him.

“She’s not above getting into trouble,” Kazuha says when they leave the camp, “You saw how she ran away yesterday. I would rather know her to be by my side, watched over and taken care of. I’ll rest easy this way.”

It’s amusing to Albedo how different the two of them are. Tama is a cat, certainly, but Albedo has known cats to be mellower, more lethargic creatures. While Tama does mostly hang out in Kazuha’s kimono, either napping or observing the scenery with a blank disinterest, she’ll suddenly slither out, running after something she finds interesting. She’ll meow, spoiled and melodramatic, when Kazuha takes her back into his arms, so much so that a bystander could swear she was being treated with utmost cruelty. She’ll randomly start playing with a strand of Kazuha’s hair, sometimes leaving light scratches on his chin or the side of his neck, scratches she licks pacifyingly after.

Kazuha stays unflinching throughout all of it, takes it all with a calm so placid it feels like nothing can shake it.

Still, Albedo supposes one’s pets resemble their owners, more often than not. With Tama, it’s like two opposites meet in the middle; a contradictory mix. Part Kazuha, part... something else.

It turns out there’s a reason for that.

“Your friend... gave her to you? To travel all across Teyvat with? Why?’

Kazuha pauses. Catches a falling leaf and twirls it around his fingers. Breathes a gentle sigh.

“He has since passed away.”

It’s a silent revelation, one that sounds like he’s admitting it to himself rather than Albedo. There’s that same intentional blankness on his face, but now it speaks loud enough for an expression not to be necessary.

“Oh,” Albedo says. Being comforting is not his forte, but, “I’m sorry.”

Kazuha nods and his eyes say thank you for him.

“He lived well while he did. True to himself and to what he believed in.” He gives Tama a pet behind the ear, which she leans into. “She often reminds me of him.”

Albedo sneaks a look at Tama, falling in and out of sleep, her calm settling over him like a warm summer haze. “Yet she takes after you too.”

That brings a genuine smile to Kazuha’s lips. “You think so? I like to believe that myself.”

Before Albedo can say anything more, Kazuha points to a couple of cryo slimes, the big kind that is cold enough to develop an armour of ice around them, gathering in the very middle of the road. They’re too far away and too easy a target for even one of them to take on to warrant any pointing-to, but Albedo gets the message.

There’s a whole mountain to explore, after all.

And Kazuha does love the inside of the mountain. It’s grand yet simple, coloured in the most beautiful shades of blue. Sparkling, icy flowers sprout at intervals from the bed of snow, crystalflies float in the air lazily. It is dangerous—huge icicles will fall at times, but Kazuha hears them before they ever do and steps out of their reach, pulling Albedo along. The surprise and confusion on the alchemist’s face grow with each such occurrence, which amuses Kazuha. To research so much but to be blind to nature’s most obvious language.

Still, Albedo is pleasant company. A little guarded, perhaps, but Kazuha doesn’t hold that against him. And there are plenty of opportunities for him to get out of his shell: he becomes infinitely more animated when he starts explaining Dragonspine’s history, its unique climate. He relates how the traveller (a common acquaintance, as it turns out) managed to break some immense ice blocks and, after a series of extensive exploration, uncovered a pillar that now sits atop the summit in mid-air.

“We can rest tomorrow and go there the day after—it’s a long climb,” Albedo says, which Kazuha is happy to acquiesce to.

An entire civilisation is also thought to have lived here, and a dragon now calls Dragonspine his resting place.

“Like Yashiori Island back home,” Kazuha says, which predictably catches Albedo’s attention. Not unwillingly, Kazuha gives in and tells him the story of the great serpent god, Orobashi, and the current state of Yashiori Island, smiling every time Albedo jots down some notes in his notebook.

“I knew of the story, but I have never seen the remains with my own eyes. It’s remarkable to hear from someone who has,” Albedo says, and his already big eyes seem even bigger with keenness lighting them up.

It’s easy, sharing stories with Albedo like this. They do this until well into the evening, which does a number on Tama’s patience; she hates not being the centre of attention. Albedo is able to placate her when they return to camp by making his special dish again, this time leaving an entire portion only for Tama. To show her appreciation, after dinner, she curls up in Albedo’s lap, head tucked under her paw, and falls asleep with a soft, not quite there purr.

Kazuha shakes his head fondly at the sight. “You have won her heart, it seems," he says, motioning encouragingly for Albedo to pet her.

Albedo does, massaging behind her ear; the purring immediately grows louder. She’s so soft, so fluffy. Like a cloud... Although no, Albedo knows clouds to be nothing more than vapours of water.

A sheep’s fluffy coat, then. Yes, that’s an accurate comparison, he decides with a triumphant smile.

“If it is so easily won, then I suppose I did.”

Kazuha stretches and falls back on his bedroll before he looks at Albedo with a curious spark in his eyes.

“Actually, it usually takes her a while to warm up to people. She’s never outright hostile, but for her to be comfortable enough to fall asleep next to someone? That takes her…” He stops in sudden realisation. “Now that I think about it, I don’t believe she has ever done that with anyone aside from me and Tomo.”

Tomo? Her previous owner? Kazuha nods, as if catching onto Albedo’s course of thought.

“Tomo found her when she was a kitten, hiding in some bushes by the side of the road. She was drenched and slimy with mud, her paw was badly injured... Clearly someone had hurt her on purpose. I’m surprised she ever let him take her.” He chuckles, light. “Though he told me he did end up with a fair share of scratches from the affair. But she didn’t try to run away and let him clean her up and tend to her wounds. I assume she sensed his kindness. That is how it started.”

He sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a few beats, and when he speaks again, the previous sadness on his face gives way to a smile.

“They were inseparable after. I should have... I didn’t take her with me when he passed away. I had promised Tomo I would take care of her if anything ever happened to him, but I left her on her own, many months more than I should have. But just like when Tomo found her, when I returned to her, she stayed. Forgave me. Even if I still have a few scratch marks to commemorate the reunion.”

He shows Albedo his forearm, where two scratches are still visible, though almost entirely healed. A chuckle sneaks its way past Albedo’s lips, and he almost wishes he could take it back—but Kazuha also chuckles, and the sound is starlight gentle, so maybe it was worth it.

“Are you okay? After what happened?” Albedo asks minutes later, unsure if it’s the right question.

Kazuha’s since closed eyes flutter open, seemingly measuring Albedo up. Not unkindly, but... curiously.

“Hm... Yes,” he finally decides. “I once could not imagine myself being okay again, but... I am. That does not mean it doesn’t still hurt to think about at times, when the reality of it creeps up to me. Yet I have made my peace with it. It was the path he chose, and the path I didn’t. I still live, and I must do it well. There is too much beauty in this life for it to be clouded by grief any longer. What is life if not the hope that we can live it happily?”

Oh.

A piercing pain makes Albedo’s head throb. He drops it in his hand, trying not to hiss—though he’s unsure if he ever succeeds.

A series of images flash before him: a woman looking down at him, eyes glinting with a rare sort of genius, firm and strict yet kind deep down; her steady hand guiding him through a dungeon painted in a dark purple light; a discovery, her eyes growing frantic, her once calm hand now almost shaking—with joy or fear? Albedo never found out. Then a note, words scribbled in small, neat handwriting; one last assignment. The most difficult one.

‘Show me the truth and the meaning of this world.’

When he opens his eyes again, Kazuha is kneeling in front of him, holding him by the shoulders, worry contorting his normally gentle features. Tama is staring up at him from his lap, startled awake and confused.

“Albedo. What is the matter?”

Albedo rubs his eyes and shakes his head in an attempt to shake off... whatever that was as well.

Rhinedottir. His master. Why, of all people, did he think of her now?

‘What is life if not the hope that we can live it happily?’

It’s a sentiment Albedo has pondered on too. Not in the same wording, but at its core... the same idea. He had wondered, for some time, if that wasn’t perhaps the answer his master had wanted all along. Maybe, instead, it was the answer he himself wished for. Maybe living a happy life was the true meaning of this world, its real purpose. Maybe it was the meaning he hoped for it to have. But alchemy doesn’t work on wants and needs, but on hard truths, facts, experiments.

Yet his master never told him if this final assignment was a scientific one or... simply a question he needed to find the answer to for himself.

“Nothing, I’m well now,” Albedo says, and some relief seeps back into Kazuha’s expression. It’s ridiculously comforting, so Albedo continues, still in a half daze, “I, too, lost someone dear to me. I suppose, until now, I never realised how much it had truly affected me.”

Kazuha sighs. “We all cope in any way we can,” he says. “But I’m willing to listen, if you wish to speak about it.”

Perhaps because of the remnants of pain or the drowsiness dulling out his better judgement, Albedo does speak about it. Not everything—there’s a lot he, himself, still doesn’t know, and more he doubts he could speak of to anyone but his master.

But he tells Kazuha what he can, and Kazuha listens.

When they reach the summit two days later, after an almost three-hour-long climb (and some beautiful scenery along the way, Kazuha happily muses), the sun is shedding a lukewarm light atop them. It should be colder here, given the altitude; but instead, it’s like the heat of the sun is closer, if only slightly, and it makes their wandering much easier to focus on. As there’s hardly any activity up here save for a few centuries-old machines, it’s a welcome breather.

“I see the weather is on your side,” Albedo says. “Barely any clouds in sight—You’ll be able to get a perfect view of Mondstadt and Liyue from the top.”

“The top? You mean…” Kazuha trails off.

“The pillar, yes. The traveller didn’t unearth it for us not to make use of it, did they?”

Kazuha tilts his head back, shields his eyes from the sun with his hand, and stares at the huge pillar. Even up here, it feels incredibly high. How it floats the way it does is beyond him, massive as it is. But the world’s mysteries no longer surprise him; they merely fill him with awe. He’s certain Albedo would gladly tell him about his theories on its origin and floating mechanism. He’s so certain, in fact, that he decides not to ask—some mysteries are all the more fascinating unsolved.

“Not jumping for joy?” Albedo says, and there’s a suspiciously teasing lilt to his voice. “You wouldn’t happen to be afraid, I hope?”

Kazuha knows glaring is not respectable behaviour, but he’s not quite a noble anymore, so he indulges in it and glares, rather brassy, at Albedo.

“I’m merely considering the safety of such an undertaking. I can be quite sensible, you know.”

Albedo’s unduly amused, so Kazuha steps ahead of him without waiting for an answer, bracing himself for yet more climbing.

And after the many times he’s been up here to study the great pillar, Albedo knows there is still a decent amount of climbing involved. His research hasn’t uncovered much, other than that he is not an avid hiker by any means. There’s no manmade path either, so the foreseeable solution is to, quite literally, climb, gripping the rocks in any way possible.

Only Albedo’s got a better solution; he’s not an alchemist for no reason, is he?

“Here,” he says, setting one of his blooms on the ground, at just the right angle. “If you climb on it, it’ll--”

But when he looks back beside him, Kazuha has vanished.

Wait. Where--

“Up here!” a voice calls. Kazuha’s voice.

He’s sitting on a rock, already halfway up the hill, looking sheepishly down at Albedo. When... How?

“You’re not the only one with tricks up their sleeve,” he explains simply, a hint of mischief in his tone. Then he’s crouching, a whirlwind gathering around him which, seconds later, propels him further up in the air, and he giggles as he goes.

Oh. Anemo users, Albedo thinks, with a carefully unimpressed expression on his face, though he is, for all intents and purposes, quite impressed. Alchemy is all he needs, and his Geo vision helps as well, but it remains unmistakable that there are doors that’ll likely never open to him without the respective visions required to unlock them.

His blooms will do the trick just fine, however. They’ve never failed him thus far.

It’s not a fair competition, given Kazuha started before him, but the ronin is already at the top by the time Albedo joins him, gazing wistfully out into the horizon. Tama has popped her head out as well, and it must be a nice view if it’s got even her enticed.

Albedo pats him on the back. “C'mon.”

With Kazuha’s vision to prop the Anemo column, they get there quickly, and when they do, the first thing Kazuha does is press a firm hand to where Tama is, making sure nothing but her head is out. His gaze is even when he looks at her, and it’s mind-blowing how serious he can turn in the blink of an eye. To say nothing of how Tama calms down every time he does, as though she understands. Another talent Albedo should look into, perhaps?

Indeed, she makes no move to escape while they’re there, but Kazuha keeps his hand protectively on top of her.

“It’s... breathtaking. Words fail to describe the pure beauty of it all,” Kazuha whispers once he has allowed himself to enjoy the view.

It’s true. Even Albedo has rarely seen it this clear. There’s some fog in the distance and some places are too far away to be seen—but what should be visible can be seen clearly. He points to certain noteworthy places, like Mondstadt, Springvale, Wangshu Inn. Kazuha is able to name some from his travels around Liyue, and though he doesn’t say anything more, the smile in his eyes is a telltale sign he’s recounting good memories from those places.

He’s so amazed by everything, but not in an outward way, like Klee or Amber would be. It’s tender amazement, quiet, flickering around him like a balmy aura. He’s amazed in the purest sense of the word, because he falls silent, doesn’t try to describe his feelings, and simply… feels. It’s somehow so infectious Albedo has no choice but to do the same. He admires the view by Kazuha’s side, trying to keep any analytic lines of thought drowned in the back of his head. He doesn’t fully succeed, yet still, he feels... at peace.

“I can only imagine how wonderful the bards’ songs are in person,” Kazuha says all of a sudden.

Albedo frowns.

“Where did that come from?”

“I heard a song just now,” Kazuha says, smiling, “I’ve heard nothing like it before, and since Mondstadt is known for its bards, I can assume it comes from there.”

Alright, no, this is where Albedo draws the line.

“You heard a song? Up here? All the way from Mondstadt? That can’t be possible.”

Either Kazuha is less sane than he seems or his talents reach much further than Albedo could have imagined. And in such a case, how? How is he doing it? What is it that Albedo is missing?

“Can’t it?” Kazuha asks, pensive. “The wind never stays in one place, does it? And there’s wind up here—why could it not carry songs from afar?”

Albedo tries to consider this rationally. It should, in some ways, be true. But it extends the lines and laws of nature as most know them, and so, if it is true, it stands to reason that Kazuha too should be above them in one way or another. Perhaps there is an organ he possesses that the average human does not. It may be a different structure to his ears, or a completely different perception of sounds and sound ranges. There has to be something, because Mondstadt is miles and miles away, they’re on the tallest mountain in the region, and sound can travel far... but can it travel this far?

It’s all questions he poses Kazuha, in a very matter-of-fact way, and instead of a serious, or at least half-serious answer (like the traveller gave, back when he’d hoped to test their otherworldly provenance), Kazuha only looks away with a smile.

No, it’s not his usual smile. It’s almost a grin. Almost.

A grin? Why is he grinning?

“The wind carries what it must, however far it can. I have never heard anything being carried such a distance either, but then again I’ve never been this high up or this exposed to the world from all sides. And on that note.” He turns back towards Albedo. “We’re literally on top of the world, on a pillar likely hundreds of pounds heavy, floating in the air with no apparent explanation, and yet what you think to ask me is how I can hear a song whispered to me by the wind?”

...Okay. Maybe he’s right.

“A valid point,” Albedo says, crosses his arms across his chest, straightens his back, and does his very best to stay quiet.

Or, as it looks from the outside: he sulks.

He really is sulking, Kazuha realises, and it’s likely the most human Kazuha has ever seen him other than in his moment of vulnerability the other night. But that was pain, and pain has a way of taking its toll on even the strongest of people, whereas this is simply a youthful reaction, hesitant and earnest and so very endearing.

Kazuha lets him sulk, revelling in this brilliant bird’s-eye view for a few more minutes.

“The only way down is by gliding, I assume?” he asks a while later. Albedo hums in agreement.

“Not a fan of gliding?”

“Actually, I love few things as much as gliding. And you—you liked it when I used the wind to take me up the hill, no?”

Albedo’s eyes widen imperceptibly before his blank expression returns. “Why would you say that?”

“Ah, so you did,” Kazuha says. Then, gravely, “Tama, you know what we do when we glide, okay?”

If Albedo didn’t know any better, he’d think Tama nodded, before disappearing entirely in Kazuha’s kimono. Kazuha wraps the fabric tighter around himself, makes sure the strap across his chest is freshly tightened, and then, in a complete turn of events, walks up to Albedo and grabs him by the forearms.

“What are you doing?” Albedo asks evenly.

“We’ll glide together,” Kazuha announces, the definition of serenity.

“What?” Albedo asks, more concerned now, trying to pull his hands away from Kazuha. For how dainty he looks, he sure has the powerful grip worthy of his samurai title. “That’s physically—”

“Impossible? Not with the wind on your side it isn’t. You’ll see. You’ll enjoy it, even.”

Albedo gets a few more complaints out before he’s unceremoniously pushed back from the ledge and falling, falling, falling.

It’s not an issue, rationally. It’s a long fall; there’s enough time to open his glider, to get things back on track. But he’s falling, and falling, and falling, and—

“Open your glider!” Kazuha yells, because it’s surprisingly loud when the wind’s howling in your ears at such speed. Having already opened his own glider, Kazuha is awkwardly holding onto Albedo’s dead weight, trying to keep them both from crashing.

Finally, Albedo opens his glider, the hesitation strangled at the core, and now that they both have theirs up, they’re... Well, not gliding, naturally, since they’re facing one another, but rather descending at a mellow speed. Albedo wants to complain again, but Kazuha is giggling, free and joyful and utterly radiant.

“Are you ticklish?” Kazuha asks, and Albedo squints at him, not about to give away another weakness. “I am only asking because this may tickle a little until you get used to it. And remember not to let go of me at any point, okay?”

That’s an odd request and Albedo still has no idea what Kazuha is planning, but he is not about to look too much into it while they’re stranded in mid-air.

It is a ticklish sensation when it finally happens. It wraps around him delicately, which is why it tickles, but the current is strong enough to take Kazuha—and with him, Albedo—up into the air, and for a moment he’s flying. Not gliding, he thinks, but actually flying. It’s light, and it sort of does a number on his stomach, but the air Kazuha summoned is cool and refreshing and it keeps him grounded.

Grounded is the right word, because it doesn’t last more than a few seconds, and before long they’re falling again.

“Albedo, your glider!”

Swoosh. With the reminder, his glider comes back up, familiar and safe and... lacking every ounce of life Kazuha’s wind trick did.

“That was--” Albedo begins, but none of the words that come to mind can accurately describe it. He smiles instead, which might speak just as plainly as any number of words.

Kazuha is clearly pleased with his reaction, because he says, “Want to try again?”

Albedo nods, a bit giddy. He feels... He’s not sure how he feels. But he doesn’t have time to figure it out, because he’s flying again, and again, and Kazuha must get better at doing this with a second person added to the mix, because each time seems to hold them up longer and longer, and every time Albedo gets to see the green shining from the vision on Kazuha’s shoulder and then again lighting Kazuha’s eyes, hear Kazuha’s occasional giggles when they reopen their gliders (and the muffled, indignant meow from his kimono), feel the steady hold Kazuha has on his arm, and that’s a happy feeling indeed.

When they land back on solid ground, Kazuha’s breathing is a lot heavier than before. He takes Tama out and leans forward, hands on his knees in a position of physical exhaustion. He waves Albedo off when asked if he’s okay, but accepts a sip of water.

“That was… enjoyable,” Albedo admits, looking anywhere but at Kazuha.

“I’m glad you thought so. It’s freeing, isn’t it? Light. Like you’re--”

“Flying,” Albedo finishes for him, then clears his throat. “...Yes. I enjoyed it. It’s the complete opposite of anything I’m used to feeling.”

When he glances back towards Kazuha, the ronin is smiling at him in an oddly fond way, a way that feels a little like Albedo’s standing in front of him with his feelings openly written across his chest.

“Then I’m happy you accompanied me to the pillar. And even happier my plan worked.”

“Plan? What plan?”

“Hmm… Which plan might it be?” Kazuha says, retrieves Tama from the snow and walks away with that same infuriatingly gentle smile.

“Here,” Kazuha says hours later, on their way back to camp, and stops them dead in their tracks. The sunset is turning everything around them a deep pink. It’s become Kazuha’s favourite time of day up here. “Allow me to try another thing. Close your eyes.”

Albedo frowns. “What for?”

“Close them and you shall see.”

He uses the word ‘see’ quite literally. He wants Albedo to see beyond what he’s limited himself to. It’s an idea that sparked just like the gliding one, out of nowhere. Both a risk, but if there’s anything Tomo and his time with the traveller have taught him, it’s that facing any odds head-on with bravery is the only way to live.

“But--”

“Do you not trust me?” Albedo’s expression is something of a ‘not yet’, but he nods slowly. “Good. I promise you shall be in perfect safety. Go on.”

Albedo, more or less willingly, does as told.

He’s quite beautiful like this; innocent and taken off guard, almost timid, like a flower closing its petals at night. Kazuha circles behind him and holds him by the shoulders.

“Now. What do you see?”

Albedo pulls a face. “Is that a trick question?”

“No. Tell me what you see.”

Kazuha feels the fall in Albedo’s shoulders, but the latter plays along. “Nothing? Black. Darkness. A void, if you will.”

“Very well. Now take a moment to listen and then tell me what you see.”

Albedo frowns even with his eyes closed, but he’s generous enough to do as told. Kazuha watches his face change from dubious to pensive, notices him trying to puzzle out what he must think of as riddles.

“There’s a bird chirping, and-”

“Where?”

“Somewhere up to the right.”

“How high?”

Albedo almost opens his eyes, likely to glare at Kazuha, but Kazuha presses a palm over them before he ever succeeds.

“How would I know, Kazuha? I can’t-”

“You can see. You heard the bird chirping, but you saw it too, did you not? An image of it, a flash of an image atop that darkness. The world still exists when your eyes are closed. If anything, it is more there than it was before, because you are relying on all your other senses to acknowledge it rather than focusing on but one. Your imagination comes into play too—is that not magical? Now,” and he takes his hand off of Albedo’s eyes, setting it back on his shoulder, “How high up would you say the bird is?”

Albedo breathes in sharply, thinks it through. “Close to the top?”

“Well then. Why don’t you look and check if you are right?”

Albedo opens his eyes, looks for the tree, searches amid its branches, the thick cover of leaves. He can still hear the bird, so it’s definitely there, but--

“I... can’t see it.”

Kazuha’s grin is decidedly proud. “Indeed.”

“Then what--” He pauses. Chuckles despite himself. “I understand. I could see it with my eyes closed but not with them open. That’s the metaphor you were going for?”

Kazuha shakes his head. “It is not a metaphor, but a fact. Simply because your eyes are open does not mean that you’re seeing everything there is to the world. It’s a bit different for me--I don’t have to close my eyes, or only use my imagination. I can feel the wind, the air around us, the murmur of leaves; everything says, shows something to me, it’s all more. But the idea remains. You needn’t be surprised every time I notice what you don’t, or hear a bard’s song from far away. We simply experience the world in different ways.”

For all of Albedo’s genius, he needs a moment to comprehend a perspective so contradictory to his own. Kazuha notices it in his eyes—a glint of defencelessness like he’s lost and wandering and unsure. It’s as much him as the shrewd efficiency or the calculating erudition he otherwise portrays. But Kazuha wants him to understand.

He squats, and Tama takes the opportunity to jump out. Yet she doesn’t go out to explore, only sits next to him and waits to see what’ll happen.

“I have another example. Sit with me?” Kazuha offers. Albedo does, lowering himself into a similar squat. He looks almost childlike, curious, youthful, eager. “The ground, or soil—what can you tell me about it? It can be anything; there is no right answer.”

"Well, I have done a great deal of research on it,” Albedo begins. “It is unlike other soil in Mondstadt, from what my tests have shown. Like most of Dragonspine's uniqueness, it is likely because of Durin’s presence, it seeping into the ground and changing its composition. It’s part of the reason not much grows here. But it’s older too, likely older than—”

The wind blows colder up Kazuha’s back as he listens to Albedo’s findings and theories on Dragonspine’s origins. The scarlet quartz they last took is beginning to run cold. But he bears with it; it’s fascinating, hearing Albedo speak this way. Everything is also more to him, but in a completely different way. His knowledge, his intuition, his heart of an alchemist, they see the world, deconstruct it, find its smallest, forgotten pieces and tie them back together into a coherent image. He enjoys it, clearly—yet as he does, his gaze is analytic, cold almost, lifeless, not like it was back when they were gliding.

“Hm… When you explain things in this way, I’m intrigued to learn more. Do you want to know how I see it too?” Kazuha asks once Albedo has finished. “It’s buzzing with life. A hilichurl passed by here not long ago; the wind blew away his footprints, but his presence and smell are still imprinted in the ground. Right underneath here, there’s a mole. I can hear it crawling through a tunnel. And under that blanket of snow to the side, two crystalflies are just waiting to spring free.”

Albedo sighs, but there’s something softer in his expression, something like understanding.

“That is… impressive. How you simply know all that. There should be an explanation for it, but--”

Kazuha can’t help the endearment tugging at his heart. “But it won’t change anything. Perhaps there is a reason nature speaks to me the way it does, but I have never wanted to figure it out. It is part of me, one way or the other. Will knowing the answer make me any more myself?”

Albedo considers it, at an impasse of sorts. He must be the kind to never leave a mystery unsolved, unresearched, untested. This must sound counter-productive to him, and yet...

“...Perhaps you are right. It’s your world, like mine is alchemy. And it is, uh…” He clears his throat, a blush rising to his cheeks. When he next speaks, his words are merely a whisper. “It’s a beautiful world.”

Tama meows softly, which only makes Albedo’s blush turn darker.

Oh. ‘Beautiful’. Would you look at that.

“Thank you, Albedo,” Kazuha says, his own voice hushed, and he means it. For Albedo to understand something so foreign to him... well. “Shall we head back to camp? It is getting cold. Or, well, colder.”

Albedo gets back to his feet in record speed, dusts himself off with a charming yet altogether disastrous attempt at pretend nonchalance, and claims to be leading the way when he starts walking ahead of Kazuha. Blinking after him fondly for a few lingering moments, Kazuha retrieves Tama and makes to follow, though he now knows the way well enough on his own.

Belatedly and much like a whole sack of bricks falling on his head, it dawns on Albedo that he was supposed to be researching something.

It’s what he told Kazuha when he asked him to stay, that they’d head to Mondstadt together once his research was finished. But he quickly forgot himself by making his new object of research Kazuha himself, which was hardly prudent of him to do without at least still pretending to continue his previous enterprise.

When he requests Kazuha (finally) to accompany him to the Entombed City for some groundwork after a week and a half of simply strolling around the mountain together, the ronin accepts without question or hesitation.

Kaedehara Kazuha. Even his whole ‘understanding nature’ is less strange than his usual way of being.

He’s happy to simply follow Albedo around, wherever he may take him, and any change in itinerary affects him less than a small gust of wind ruffles the leaves on a branch. He starts talking more, but usually in lush, condensed bouts, followed by longer periods of silence, when he listens, genuinely curious, to whatever Albedo has to say or merely takes an interest in his surroundings. And he always finds something of interest, no matter how apparently uninteresting. Albedo is fairly sure Kazuha has watched weasels enough this past week for him to be able to write a thesis on weasel family dynamics and submit it to Sumeru Academia.

He’s baffling, truth be told. He often looks lost in the clouds, like some romantic writing haikus in his head—which he does, he even recites them to Albedo, but that’s not the point. He seems like an airhead, but instead, he’s entirely present, aware of even the smallest changes in the environment: spinning around split second before running into something, dodging a camouflaged hilichurl’s arrow with utter nonchalance, pointing to a squirrel he heard moments before they reached the tree it was climbing.

He fights with the same elegance he does everything. Balanced, calm, but rapid like a breeze. He summons the wind to his side protectively, lets it lift him up in the air, only to plunge to the ground with renewed strength. He makes fights easier to finish, and though their opposite elements barely react to each other, their teamwork is enough to ensure every fight is seamlessly fought and won.

He speaks of poetry, travels, nature, animals—a romantic at heart, clearly, yet equally down to earth. He treats every living being with compassion; he’ll take the long way around to avoid some birds bathing in a pond, will stop to set down some nuts he’s gathered for the squirrels or some dry fish for a small fox that readily eats it from his palm, even as Tama’s hair stands on end. He’s kind and gentle, but his mischievous side is awakened on occasion. Even if it’s not as extreme as pushing Albedo off a ledge to take him flying, it’s obvious even in smaller doses.

After the conversation they had about their polar approaches to life, Albedo thought that would put an end to things. After all, with Kazuha’s most unusual talent out of the way, there was nothing to hold Albedo’s interest. Because that’s why he’d wanted to keep Kazuha around in the first place, isn’t it? An experiment, or something along those lines.

Yet here they are, days later and over a week into knowing each other, and Albedo’s grown more intrigued by the day, more obliged to continue spending time with him.

But why? Why is he so enraptured? Why is he so unwilling to let go? Why is he feeling and acting so much unlike himself?

He’ll go mad thinking about it at this rate.

But Kazuha at least should want to move on to Mondstadt, right? He’s a wanderer, a traveller, not supposed to spend too much time in any one place. He should continue his journey, leave this freezing place, see the lovely, milder sights Mondstadt has to offer.

And yet... And yet...

“Albedo? Isn’t this the place?”

It’s a slap that brings Albedo back to earth, only to find Kazuha standing in front of him, leaning slightly towards him. He looks worried.

“Are you okay? You spaced out for a moment there. Do you have a fever?”

And, before Albedo can react, he presses a hand to Albedo’s forehead. His hands are like actual blocks of ice so the sensation isn’t exactly pleasant, but for some reason, Albedo latches onto it regardless.

“Hm,” Kazuha mumbles, retracting his hand. “You seem okay. Is something troubling you? Like last time?”

You are, Albedo would very much like to say, but that sounds odd even to him. Kazuha is doing the complete opposite of troubling him. Then why is he always plaguing Albedo's thoughts?

“No, I was just…”

Huh. They are in the Entombed City. He didn’t notice getting here.

Kazuha waits with patient-looking eyes, gorgeous scarlet quartz.

“...thinking. Did you not want to go to Mondstadt?” Albedo says once he’s made sure to lift up his notebook and place it as a reliable wall between them. He’s too busy staring at it to notice Kazuha’s reaction, but he hears the surprise in his voice when he answers.

“Are you done with your research?”

What research, what research? Albedo wishes he had something palpable to research. Wishes he could bury himself in his experiments and forget. Wishes he could keep his mind from returning to Kazuha like some lost puppy.

“No,” he says instead, poking at the paper with his pen instead of writing anything. “Not yet, I think. Is that… why you’re staying? You’re waiting for me to finish my research?”

“In part, yes. It is what we settled on, isn’t it?”

So he has been keeping Kazuha around all this time for no reason other than his own foolhardiness. Even today—while there are a lot of things to still look into in this historic place, he’s mostly going in blind, without a plan of attack in mind, just to do something like he said he would. It’s absurd, is what it is. Childish. And again, more than anything, it’s unlike himself.

“Oh. In that case, we could always-”

“In part,” Kazuha cuts him off, “Meaning not as the sole reason. I am staying because I want to. I like it here. And I like spending time with you as well.”

Albedo dares to look up, which is a half-mistake, as he’s immediately faced with the full power of Kazuha’s open warmth.

“I don’t want you to rush your work. We’ll go when you are done. I am enjoying myself in the meantime, so I hardly mind,” Kazuha continues. He pats Albedo on the arm. “Is that what was troubling you? It needn’t. There is a new adventure to be had every day up here. Rest easy. I am sufficiently satisfied.”

Kaedehara Kazuha. Another strange fact about him—he always seems to know the right thing to say. The comforting thing.

Still. Albedo will make sure Kazuha will see the rest of Mondstadt soon too.

Once he finds it in himself to let go, that is.

The same way a few days turn into a week, a week turns into two, and before Albedo realises, it’s almost three weeks of... this strange living arrangement.

The biggest issue, after the fact that Albedo doesn’t want to let go of Kazuha, is that he is equally poorly equipped to spend this much time with other people. He’s disorganised, not particularly tidy, feels at home when his things are spread out across a space. He gets random bursts of genius, spaces out and mumbles to himself to get to the bottom of a certain concept. He forgets meal times, or even that he was supposed to go hunting or searching for eggs or the rare herbs up here, or even more wood for the fire.

He’s comfortable with Kazuha, more than he can explain, likes their conversation and Kazuha’s presence, but there’s a point when even that becomes too much. There are moments when he needs some space, and he becomes... grumpy if he doesn’t get it. Having never been put in such circumstances, it’s a surprise even to him.

Despite his wide-eyed look the first time he’s faced with the change of mood, Kazuha adjusts to it with ease. Learns to retreat to a far corner of the camp or even go out for a while on his own, gathering things they may be short on, doesn’t make it into a bigger deal than it is. He simply gives Albedo what he needs, and when the grumpiness has worn off, he sits back down next to him, pats him on the back, and plays him a tune on his leaf. It’s somehow more soothing than the act of being left alone.

And it always helps set things back on track, because Kazuha will let him know what the song was about, where he first heard it, even how learned to play songs in this way.

“Tomo taught me,” Kazuha reveals one day, and Albedo feels a little like his heart turns to stone and starts beating the wrong way the entire time Kazuha tells the story.

It’s a little absurd, for more reasons than one. First, because he usually enjoys hearing stories of Kazuha’s past, his travels, the people he’s met along the way, the sights he’s seen, fights he’s fought, lessons he’s learnt. Second, because Kazuha told him he had moved on, that Tomo and the past they shared was behind him now. Third, because Tomo sounds like a good man, undeserving of such scrutiny. Fourth, because jealousy is an immature, possessive emotion, one he thought to be above, and one he has no right to feel towards Kazuha of all people.

Whatever Tomo was to Kazuha (friend or lover, though Albedo is leaning towards the latter), it’s obvious he meant a great deal to him. His influence is still felt, from Kazuha’s leaf playing to Tama’s very presence. It is, then, unfair of Albedo to feel this way. Unfair and unkind and... for whatever reason, unavoidable.

But Albedo still loves watching Kazuha play. Regardless of how he learned the skill, it’s evolved into something special. He plays like he’s played his entire life, like it comes naturally. He plays like it’s as simple, as intuitive as breathing. He plays because he loves it.

It’s in the ghost of a smile on his lips when he blows into the leaf, the relaxation in his shoulders, his easily closing eyes.

He’s so spellbinding when he plays that Albedo starts sketching him on his little sessions.

It starts innocently enough; he doesn’t even notice it. He’s writing down some thoughts on a recent experiment, when Kazuha starts playing one of his melodies—sentimental, slow-paced, in a higher note—and when he finishes, Albedo blinks down at his book to find a messy sketch of Kazuha’s side profile in the corner of the page.

He crumbles the page and quickly disposes of it.

But he finds himself doing the same thing again and again. Usually, quick sketches sprinkled among his notes, nothing detailed. Little by little, he also gets better at drawing Kazuha from memory, so it helps with the fear that Kazuha will notice him stealing glances at him.

One time, he draws him properly.

It’s one of those times Kazuha retreats to the edge of camp to give Albedo space. He sits on a rock that’s been sufficiently warmed by the sun—a habit he seems unwilling to let go of even in the coldness of Dragonspine—leans back on the cave wall, and starts playing.

He plays for a long time. Numerous tunes, some happier, some mellower, and he looks so at peace, so peaceful, so peace-inducing that Albedo’s need to be alone or unbecoming grumpiness dissolve on the spot. He sits down at one of the tables and, from between lab equipment and a stack of books, he watches Kazuha.

He’s relaxed, serene and unspeakably beautiful. He’s one with the afternoon sun, a gentle sunshine that brightens everything around him. He’s a warm summer breeze, a blooming flower in spring, the crack of fallen leaves underneath one’s feet in autumn. None comparisons that do him any justice, but poetry doesn’t come naturally to Albedo like it does to Kazuha.

But his sketchbook is right in front of him, and sketching is like second nature to him now... so Albedo draws. He draws Kazuha in as much detail as he can, even uses some coloured pencils Klee once gifted him to bring the drawing to life. It’ll never be as beautiful as the real thing, but it’s the closest Albedo can get to... to…

To what exactly? Albedo cannot say.

There. A thoughtful ronin dressed in red against a background of snow-laden pine trees, with a white cat stretched out across his leg, lulled to sleep by his melodies. Yes. It’s a lovely drawing.

Kazuha catches Albedo’s eyes on him when he stops playing. He offers him a smile, but with it Albedo is flooded by a sense of dread. He never gives Kazuha the drawing, like he’s done for other people he’s drawn. He never mentions its existence. He stashes it somewhere safe before Kazuha walks up to him and never looks at it again. He drowns the memory of it in his mind, and the few times it resurfaces, he gets no closer to figuring out why he is so adamantly keeping it a secret in the first place.

He’s almost discovered once—or so he thinks. When he returns to camp to find Kazuha leaning over his table, holding a piece of paper in his hands, Albedo’s breath catches in his throat and he has to consciously stop himself from dashing to the scene.

“Sorry, I was tidying up and this slipped from one of your books... But Albedo, you draw? You’ve always drawn and I didn’t know?” The glint in his eyes is boyish. “I’m surprised, I will admit. I’m not sure I would have pegged you for an artist. All this time I thought you were only writing, not drawing.”

Thankfully, it’s only a painting of a hilichurl and not the cursed drawing.

Albedo clears his throat, adjusting the vision on his neck. “I started it for my studies, actually.”

“Oh. But? I can practically hear the but on your tongue.”

Albedo discards his gloves in favour of picking up one of his sketchbooks. He flips through it as Kazuha peers over his shoulder with interest. They’re all skillful drawings, Albedo believes that much. Well-executed, meticulous, detailed. He’s proud of each one of them, even his earlier ones, which, though underwhelming and full of mistakes, remind him how much his art has improved.

“But then I discovered I was quite... lacking. My drawings were hardly worth mentioning. Thus I continued, hoping to improve. I came to find I enjoyed it as well. It helps centre me, clear my thoughts. It’s quite relaxing.”

“And also a form of alchemy, isn’t it? Creating life, as it were.”

“...Well, I do use it for that. In the literal sense of the words.”

He tells Kazuha about his more impressive attempts in the field, and the ronin welcomes the stories with genuine enthusiasm in his eyes—none of the bewildered gasps and the stupefied expressions Albedo usually gets. His other, more faulty attempts earn him a muffled chuckle, and one even a full-blown laugh.

“Oh, I wish I could have been Sucrose in that moment. Seeing a half-coloured, half-sketched vishap tumbling out of a canvas and starting to wobble around in front of you sounds straight out of a children’s book,” Kazuha says, having snatched the sketchbook from Albedo and examining every drawing in part.

“I’d argue that it was more out of a horror story for Sucrose.”

“Ah, she’s no fun,” Kazuha jokes. It’s not something one would normally expect from him, but by now Albedo is used to Kazuha’s more playful side as well. “But you’re truly talented, Albedo. I don’t think you need to bring these to life; they’re sufficiently alive on their own.”

Albedo raises an eyebrow. “Alive? How would they be alive?”

“One could argue that all art is alive. But then again, some art is stale, without a soul. Yours has that soul, that heart. It feels like it will come off the pages and appear in front of you. And no,” he enforces, when he notices Albedo wants to interrupt, “Not because of your alchemical attempts. They’re merely... beautiful drawings. They speak to you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Albedo doesn’t. He likes his drawings just fine, but they can’t be alive no matter how you look at it.

Kazuha tsk-tsks. He grabs Albedo’s wrist and pulls him down onto the same chair as him. It’s a silly position: both of them can squeeze in only one leg on top of the chair, but Albedo’s biggest problem is how close they now are. Very close. Too close. Or it should be too close, but...

“Is this drawing truly nothing more to you than a drawing?”

The drawing in question is one of a ruin grader, one Albedo had to study and draw from afar. It took two days, so a bit more tedious than most of his drawings, but the results were worth it.

Albedo opens his mouth, closes it, then tries again. The proximity is testing the limits of his attention.

“You’re about to tell me something similar to the hearing, seeing test?”

“No... Well, perhaps. It is simpler than that. All good art makes you feel something; that is a universal truth. What the awoken feelings are is unique to each of us, but that is not the point. You are the artist, so it may well be different for you... but when you were drawing, did you not feel anything?”

He felt calm, relaxed, happy even. But it was the act of drawing, not the subject itself and even less so the drawing that made him feel this way. He will gladly admit that he likes his art, that it is all the things others say of it and that he himself believes... But to pretend it makes him feel anything would be a lie.

“It is nothing more than a drawing of something tangible, real, alive. It is a copy of reality, not even reality itself. Why would I feel anything looking at it?”

Kazuha bites his lip, trying to find an answer, an analogy, anything that may shake Albedo’s beliefs. He comes short because he sighs, props one elbow on the table and drops his head in his hand, turning his body towards Albedo to look at him. Albedo is once again reminded how close they are when he sees the subtleties in the red of Kazuha’s eyes, which seem to almost turn pink near the edges. If he had a canvas right now, if Kazuha let him, he could…

No, Albedo.

“That is a rather cold way of putting it. But... Hm. I won’t insist. The only one that can change your mind about this is yourself. Perhaps one day you will draw something that will awaken something in you. That will make you feel something. I will be glad to hear of such a turn of events.”

Albedo sneaks a glance in the direction of the one book, the one that holds the secret drawing of Kazuha. He thinks about it, and he feels, deep down, that that may be the one. That it’s the reason he hid it the way he did, the reason he has never looked at it since.

It’s a disorienting thought though, so this time, incredibly so, Albedo decides he’s better off not testing the theory.

That same night, as Albedo reviews some of his notes by the fire before heading to bed, he notices Kazuha curling up in a foetal position, holding his legs up to his chest and burying his head in his blanket.

Albedo takes a moment to assess the situation. He wonders if perhaps Kazuha is feeling unwell or has come down with something, and if so, if there is anything he can do to help. The more likely conclusion comes a few minutes later when the wind starts blowing even more viciously, so much so that the fire dwindles to a few fading embers. No matter how hard Albedo tries to rekindle it, it shows no sign of coming back to life. Even the books on the tables flutter open in the strong current, and the cave howls with a steady, low rumble.

Ah. Kazuha must be cold.

It goes without saying that nights in Dragonspine are harsh, but for Kazuha to be trembling like this, even more than he was on the first night they met, it must be a colder night than most.

Albedo suddenly feels horribly frustrated with the layout of the cave. What possessed him to choose so open a cave for a camp in the first place? Surely Dragonspine has better caves to offer—even though this one is, quite auspiciously, positioned so close to Durin's heart. But that's hardly a point in its favour, not when Kazuha is struggling with the cold because of it.

He stashes some of his things in boxes or in the bookcase, just to ensure his camp will survive the night, then gathers his blanket and stacks it on top of Kazuha's. He won’t need it anyway; if it’ll help keep Kazuha even the least bit warmer, that’s all he cares about.

When he stands to leave, however, Kazuha’s hand latches onto his wrist, holding him in place.

“Kazuha?”

“You were not intending to give me your blanket while you yourself sleep bare, were you?” Kazuha says, his eyes the only thing emerging from under the thick layers. His eyelashes flutter open and shut sleepily, but he looks keen and awake. “Because you cannot believe I would allow it.”

Albedo chuckles. “I do not mind the cold, as you know. I was more concerned about you. Take the blanket. I will be fine.”

He makes to leave again, but Kazuha’s hold is still strong against his wrist.

“Kazuha, I am-”

“I won’t hear it. Either we both take one blanket each or we share the two of them.”

Wait. Share… As in…

Kazuha holds the blankets open with his other hand. He shuffles to the corner of the bedroll, gesturing with his eyes to the space next to him. Albedo would indeed fit, but it would be… crowded, so to speak.

“Come on. I would not be able to sleep in good conscience if I knew you did not have a blanket because of me. Even if the cold doesn’t affect you like everyone else.” His expression is loving when he nods towards Tama, who is still curled up against his chest, sleeping. “And you can’t deny an opportunity to sleep with her, can you?”

Tama may be the last thing on Albedo’s mind at this moment, but he allows himself a hesitant nod before slipping under the covers next to Kazuha. He should see someone about that, by the way. It can’t be normal, the way he can’t get himself to say no to Kazuha.

Crowded was a bit of an understatement, because he is all but pressed up against Kazuha, the only spot where they’re not being their chests. And even that by conjecture, since Tama is between them. Albedo feels lightheaded, and it takes all of his will to fight the pressure against his lungs and breathe normally. Kazuha’s so… he's so…

“Thank you,” Kazuha says, halting his train of thought. Albedo could swear Kazuha is a bit flustered—his cheeks (so close) look flushed even in the vague flickering of the dying flames—only it must be the wind that has coloured them red, surely nothing else. “For… For worrying. And the gesture. And accepting, too.”

“I didn’t want you to be cold,” Albedo says, then clears his throat. “That is, you could catch a cold. I hear they are quite the hassle. Your time could be better spent on other things.”

That sounds ridiculous, but Albedo is happy to have been able to concentrate enough as to say something in the first place.

And it makes Kazuha giggle, so that’s a plus in his book.

“And yours too—You would take care of me if it came to it, would you not?” He smiles, looks Albedo up with an amused, curious expression, but does not wait for an answer. “How very time consuming that would be.”

A frown pulls at Albedo's forehead. “It… wouldn’t be.”

“Hm?”

“It wouldn’t count as time-consuming if it involved you,” Albedo admits, quietly, to his own surprise. The position must be doing something to him. Having Kazuha this close must be playing with his common sense. “And I would. Take care of you if anything happened.”

The smile that blooms on Kazuha's lips has to be one of the softest, most endeared ones Albedo has seen so far, and maybe the feeling Albedo is feeling isn’t that of falling—maybe it's that of having already fallen. But how, and where, and why?

“Ah,” Kazuha says. Grabs Albedo’s hand, squeezes it, then drops their intertwined hands between the two of them—or, as the position would have it, in the small space left between their hips. “My saviour.”

“Kazuha,” Albedo says, in what he hopes is a chastising tone, but it mostly comes off rough, affected by his own emotions. “Let us sleep.”

“As you wish… my prince.”

Albedo chokes on his own breath, but instead of repentance, Kazuha is trying to stifle his laughter.

“Where did that come from?”

“Did you not just say we should sleep?”

Albedo glares, or tries to glare, but mostly he’s just flustered. Kazuha only breathes a sigh of laughter, then squeezes Albedo’s hand once more in a placating gesture.

“Alright, alright. Saviour sounds a bit unimaginative, does it not? While prince fits you so well. Your grace, your attire, your fighting, your entire way of being… and of course, your beautiful, fluffy, golden hair.” He accentuates the point by untangling their hands and instead brushing one of Albedo’s loose strands of hair behind his ear. “Princely.”

Albedo doesn’t want to focus on the way his heart flips when Kazuha calls him that, at the low heat in his stomach as he struggles with wanting to hear it again and praying Kazuha never utters it ever again.

He lets out an embarrassing sound, halfway between a huff and a snort (decidedly the most un-princely sound in the world), and shuffles in the bed sheets until he’s turned around and his back is to Kazuha, until he’s certain Kazuha cannot sense how flustered he is. He probably does, anyway, because he’s Kazuha, but Albedo pushes that thought aside hastily. He goes to sleep with Kazuha’s soft laughter enveloping every part of his being, and he’s distantly aware Kazuha keeps a hand resting on his waist the entire night.

Cats really are the best animals in all of Teyvat—that's what Albedo thinks yet again, in a burst of affection, when he wakes up the next morning to Tama rubbing herself all over his cheek. She's soft, and she's fluffy, and she's warm. Warm. Very warm.

Now, Albedo does love Dragonspine, but it must be said that even he likes a break from the cold every so often. He may not feel cold the way the average person does, but there's something uncomfortable about being in it for too long. That's why he doesn't spend his entire time out here—that, and he's fairly sure Sucrose and Timaeus would reach the end of their wits if he did. The last time he had Sucrose accompany him on a few experiments on the extensive uses of cryo slimes, she ended up with a cold that tormented her for nearly two weeks. He's not above teasing them once in a while (he enjoys it, if anything), but he's not one for emotional torture either.

Still, Tama is warm warm, cozy warm, and in his sleepy state, Albedo reaches out to her, squeezing her to his chest. A few minutes pass (centuries, even) and she stays blissfully quiet... until she shrieks with a mournful meow so pained and tragic Albedo startles awake on the spot.

Yet the devilish sound is followed by another one: crystallised moonlight, a honeyed breeze, a bubbling brook.

Albedo blinks through his drowsiness, trying to find his footing in reality again, only Kazuha is standing in front of him, laughing, and it's... well. It's the most beautiful sound Albedo has ever heard.

"Morning," Kazuha says, and his voice is brighter now somehow, the laughter still softly woven in it. "I'm sorry she woke you up like that. You know she loves being held, but it has to be on her own terms."

With a little more alertness kicked into him, Albedo realises that the sound Tama made was less that of something dying a painful death and more of an overdramatic, theatrical wail befitting her usual spoiled self.

But that's the last thing on his mind because Kazuha laughed. And now he's cooking something while Tama curls around his legs and he bites his lip in concentration. His hair isn't in its usual side ponytail, but instead gathered higher in a small bun, a few loose strands falling over the nape of his neck.

Has Albedo really woken up? His thoughts feel oddly fuzzy.

"Good morning," he says on some faraway instinct. "Are you... What are you doing?"

"Ah! I did not want to wake you, so I thought I would prepare some late breakfast for us. I borrowed some of the fish we caught yesterday—I hope that's okay."

He pauses, waiting for Albedo's assent. Albedo nods. What a thought, that he could be mad about Kazuha using the fish they both caught for this exact purpose.

A few minutes later, Kazuha sets a plate in front of Albedo, after the latter has got dressed and they sit at the table. Most of Albedo's things have been orderly set to the side, as Kazuha always makes sure they are. The only person, aside from Albedo, who can navigate the chaos.

"Here. One of my favourites. I'm used to making it with dry fish, but I improvised a little. One must always make the most of their circumstances."

Albedo laughs. Yes, that's a suitably in-character thing for Kazuha to say.

"I hope you like it. A little treat after last night. Because of you, I luckily didn't catch a cold."

It's a simple, filling dish that feels somehow soul-soothing, but it's the conversation that accompanies it that Albedo clings to. Kazuha has always been surprisingly conversational when he's enjoying his food—he talks of Inazuma, of a beach where the waters shimmer and sparkle after sunset, of an island where jellyfish hang in the air and bubbles burst against your cheeks when you're not careful, of a priestess at a cat shrine called Neko, a talking cat, of the illusions of the past hanging in the air on another, more distant island.

He speaks of things even Albedo is in careful awe of, of a world yet unknown to him, things from years of travelling Albedo has not been privy to since becoming Chief Alchemist.

Before Kazuha, it had been a long time since he had felt so eager to know more, a long time since he had heard of intriguing things he has not experienced and analysed through and through on his own, a long time since he had hung on someone's every word.

Perhaps Kazuha notices because he sets his chopsticks down with a thoughtful hum and says, "I could—that is, naturally, if it so pleases you—show them to you one day. I rarely go accompanied, yet... if you wished to see it... Inazuma's no longer closed off as it used to be; going would not be as treacherous of a journey."

A soft flutter comes to life in Albedo's chest, and he looks down at his food all the more insistently, not daring to see Kazuha's expression.

"That is all very well, but it still takes a seasoned sailor to even get there. It would not be easy to find one," he says, just to say something. Something that isn't instant agreement. Something that doesn't show how flustered he is at the prospect.

Kazuha chuckles. "Captain Beidou is a dear friend of mine. She will gladly take us." He pauses, gives another quiet hum. "But you needn't agree to anything if it is not to your liking. The thought simply crossed my mind."

He sounds vaguely embarrassed, and when Albedo lifts his eyes again, he finds that there's a faint dusting of pink on Kazuha's cheeks.

Against his better judgement (or rather, aided by what feels like his real, better judgement, the one that speaks to Albedo's true wishes), Albedo leans across the table and sets a solid hand on Kazuha's forearm, looks him straight in the eyes, and says, "We should. I would be happy to."

The crimson of Kazuha's eyes turns lighter, warmer, a beautiful rose red. He presses his hand atop Albedo's, holding it in place.

"As would I."

Somewhere at the back of his head, Albedo realises that for the first time, the reason he wants to see such extraordinary things as Kazuha described isn't to test their provenance, discover their essence or hidden properties, examine and prove every likely theory on them he can come up with, but rather...

...just to admire them.

Admire them... with Kazuha.

Huh.