Chapter Text
Lord Kamisato was known for his expansive collection of things.
On his tenth birthday, his father brought home with him a variety of board games from Liyue. On his eleventh, his mother started Ayato’s collection of pressed teas from around Teyvat. After they passed, Ayato extended the hobby to books of all sorts and fine wines imported from Mondstadt that he had no particular interest in drinking alone.
Lord Kamisato was also known for his stunning and calculated wit. For those lucky enough not to meet him on the dimly light cliffs on Inazuma at night they knew him to be quite the diplomat; a man with fanciful tastes and whimsical ways, who could negotiate the hardest of deals and fiercely protect his loved ones.
Tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
“My lord, on your right!”
Ayato is quick to adjust his footing so that his weight is favoring his left side. A sidelong glance over his shoulder confirms that Thoma is no longer down on the beach and has quickly rejoined the battle up on the embankment. Their eyes meet and Thoma’s smile flickers like an ember, defiant in the wind.
“Shall we?” Ayato asks, his hands adjusting on the hilt of his sword as he gestures to the man clad in black charging at them.
“On three?”
“Make it two.”
And they swing, perfectly in sync. From Ayato’s blade comes a long jet of water, a shadow of a sword’s slash, angled directly at the knees of the assailant. Thoma’s spear aims higher. A burst of fire erupts around them, serving as both a guard and as a deterrent. Expectedly, the thief falls to his knees, knocked off balance from the torrent of water. The moonlight casts shadows on his face, keeping his identity hidden even as Ayato puts his sword away.
Thoma stands at his side, his hand still tightly wrapped around his spear. Another quick look is shared between them before Ayato takes a few, measured steps closer to the unknown enemy.
“Now, that wasn’t very kind of you,” Ayato muses to the night air, dropping down to crouch in front of the man who is nursing the side of his face where a scar inevitably will form from where Thoma’s flames had burnt him.
“Fuck you,” the man seethes, narrowing his eyes behind the clothed mask that shields his face.
“So crass,” sighs Ayato, feigning insult as he taps his lips. “You’re at our mercy, aren’t you? Isn’t this usually where the loser grovels for their life?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” the man snaps, spitting at him. “You’re just as much of a coward as your father was—”
The crack is deafening in the night air. Ayato can hear the sharp intake of breath behind him, can hear the shift of Thoma’s feet forward and then back to where it was, hesitating. Calmly, Ayato retrieves his hand, sparing it an idle look as the man winces and moves his own to cradle the cheek that had been slapped; the sting seems to hurt worse than the burn.
“It’s unlucky to speak ill of the dead,” Ayato says, voice devoid of that lilt from before.
Ayato refuses to meet Thoma’s gaze as he gets to his feet. There’s a raw sting in his chest that wasn’t there before and he walks a few paces beyond Thoma, hand lightly glancing his retainer’s arm. In a low whisper, he orders, “Leave him here.”
“Are you sure?” Thoma asks, barely above a whisper.
“Let’s go home.”
Ayato walks off, brushing his hands together as he heads toward the dirt path that will lead them back to the Estate. When his footfalls are the only ones he hears, bookended by the waves on each side, he spares a glance back over his shoulder.
He’s surprised to see Thoma still there, glaring at the man as if he had been the one to receive the brunt of his insult. Ayato is used to the ridicule, the judgment, the jabs at his upbringing. He’s also used to the loyal way that Thoma defends the Kamisato name as his own.
What Ayato isn’t used to is Thoma disobeying.
So Ayato stops, body angled back toward the beach. He watches as Thoma crouches down and meets the watery eyes of the man still nursing a nasty collection of burns. He can’t hear them, but the man recoils once more, falling flat on his ass before he forces himself to his feet and takes off into the night, in the opposite direction of the Estate.
When Thoma rejoins his side, he’s greeted with a quirk of Ayato’s brow.
“What was that about?” Ayato murmurs, tired but endlessly intrigued.
“Eh.” Thoma rolls his shoulder, his eyes locked on where the man had disappeared. When he turns to Ayato, there’s an almost sheepish look that blends with the sunny determination Ayato so often admires. It’s a complicated mix of emotions and Ayato is no stranger to trying to pick apart each and every of Thoma’s words and actions, thinking he can learn him just as well as he knows himself. “Just told him the truth.”
Ayato’s smile leaks through, even in the dark of the night. “And what would that be?” he asks.
Thoma stands up a bit straighter, hand coming up to rest over his chest as it has so many times before, in the toughest of moments, the hardest of decisions. Their eyes meet and Thoma says with a doggedness that belongs to only a few in Inazuma:
“That if he dares to come anywhere near the Estate, your husband will personally see him off the island.”
Ayato smiles even brighter.
*
“You’re going to Liyue?”
Ayaka looks up from her tea with a rather confused look on her face. Ayato doesn’t flinch, but he knows without looking that Thoma is wilting under her gaze. Sighing, Ayato drags his fingers back through his bangs before he restlessly reaches for his tea, needing to keep his hands occupied. He had feared this, this reaction.
“Now that the decree has ended and the waters are suitable for travel, I’d like to continue our family’s efforts in Liyue,” Ayato explains, choosing his words carefully. If he can appeal to the sentimental side of his younger sister, perhaps she won’t be as angry for his seemingly rash decision to leave Inazuma.
“Isn’t it a little soon?” Ayaka asks and her gaze lands sternly on Thoma who hasn’t taken a single bite of his breakfast. “Are you going too, Thoma?”
“I… well, that’s…” Thoma restlessly clasps the back of his neck with his palm.
“You are,” Ayaka says, deflating, and then irritably shoots a tiny little breeze of snowflakes at her brother. “You’re both leaving on short notice. Wouldn’t it be best if I joined you?”
Thoma tries to batt away the ice before it can hit Ayato. As harmless as it may be, Ayato finds it strangely endearing that Thoma is so defensive of him, even in the face of friendly fire.
Ayato, to his credit, keeps his calm as he playfully points his index finger at Ayaka and shoots a small spray of water at the book she was reading earlier. She lets out an undignified sort of noise and hurriedly shuts it before it can be water-damaged further.
“Your home is here, Ayaka, and your skills are best suited for it, too. You’ve done a wonderful job leading things and attending to our rich culture,” Ayato says and tries to ignore the way Thoma shuffles uncomfortably beside him. “Thoma is expected to be at my side. It would be strange for a married man to show his face without his spouse, especially in Liyue. It would breed distrust.”
Ayaka screws her face into something scrunched-up. “But you aren’t actually married,” she reminds, for the hundredth time, watching in utter exasperation as Thoma starts to nervously fuss with refilling their cups of tea.
Ayato’s pout comes instantly. “Now, now, just because I’m springing this on you and taking your best friend with me thousands of miles away…”
“Brother, please,” Ayaka complains, shoving her face into her hands as she lets out a particularly loud groan. “All right, but you must promise you’ll be safe. Both of you.” And to herself, quieter, “and I was just starting to get used to things returning to normal…”
Ayato’s gaze softens. He reaches across the table and clasps her hand. “I assure you, we’ll come back in one piece. Or, I suppose, two pieces, unless the romance of this time of the year in Liyue during the Lantern Rite is to be believed.”
Thoma’s face scorches a beet red and he nearly spills the tea he’s in the middle of pouring. Ayaka peeks out through her fingers, deeply unimpressed, and wrinkles her nose. “That’s not funny.”
Ayato supposes it’s as close to a ‘yes’ as he’ll get from her.
*
Ayato watches the storm come in over the horizon. Unlike before, when the whole of the island was under lockdown, he finds the lighting to be comforting now. In a way, the storm reminds him that all things return to the earth - that life is a cycle and one day, like his parents, he too will fall.
The rain also reminds him of the night Thoma decided to stay. It had been a difficult decision, to even suggest that Thoma stay when his clan was in such turmoil and their future was uncertain. Even worse, he had selfishly asked Thoma for a favor that went beyond the typical duties of a retainer.
”Your… what?”
Ayato doesn’t meet his gaze at first. There’s a rare pink in his face as he tries not to look directly at his best friend and tries harder to ignore the pounding of his heart and sweating of his palms. In a way, he hates to ask this of him, but deep down, the selfish part of him delights in it.
“The head of the Kamisato Clan is expected to be wed,” Ayato explains, voice hoarse as he turns to look out the window to avoid the conflict in his friend’s eyes. “It’s tradition. As you know, I have no interest in… rushing into such things. The elders would be quick to decide things, and it would be near-impossible for me to unwind things once they were set in stone.”
Thoma nods, slow. “But surely you can hire someone?” he asks, voice small.
Ayato winces. He had been expecting to be rebuked — why wouldn’t he? It was unfair to ask your best friend to be your fake husband, to rip away their future, to ask that they serve at your side and convince the public that they were your dearly beloved. It was unfair but Ayato couldn’t think of anyone better suited for it.
(Because he cared for Thoma, and he knew that connection he had was something deeper than what they admitted it was. For Ayato, his heart already belonged to Thoma, even if he was blind to it. For Ayato, marrying Thoma would be as easy as breathing. For Ayato, this would have been the easiest decision he had made so far, had it not been for the difficult position he was putting Thoma into.
Because Thoma would be expected to be a loyal husband. Even if the marriage were fake, he’d be unable to date openly, unable to pursue a family, unable to truly live in Inazuma. And it would all be for the sake of duty.)
“There’s no one else,” Ayato says, feels it in his bones, clenches his fists at his side. “I understand this is a lot to ask of you. We’re…” So young, best friends, the list goes on but Ayato holds his tongue. He’s used to self-sabotaging, but tonight, he won’t. He can’t.
“My lord,” Thoma whispers, and Ayato can hear the tremble in his voice.
“It will only be on paper, of course,” Ayato insists, finally looking to him, smiling sadly. “You have my word that I will do whatever I can to ensure you have as normal of a life as you can, if you decide to stay, if you decide to join my side.”
Thoma is quiet. That sunshine seems to flicker and Thoma’s gaze is steady on the floor. Ayato prepares for his young heart to be broken for the very first time, ignores the churning of his stomach and the way he wants to cup Thoma’s cheeks and kiss him — and god, why is it now, in this exact moment, that he’s realizing that the strange heat he feels when Thoma is close is because he —
“I’ll do it.”
Thoma lifts his gaze, hand sliding over his chest. “I told you that I am loyal man. I refuse to walk away from this. Allow me to serve the Kamisato Clan once more.” And with that, his voice drops lower, as do his eyes, and Ayato dares to think they land on his lips, “And allow me to serve you.”
Ayato’s face scorches red but he does a wonderful job of hiding it with a sharp turn of his head. His chuckle is airy but he swears he can hear the quake in it. Thoma has no idea what he does to him, and if Ayato is lucky, he never will have to know that his best friend has a big, ugly, impossibly large crush on him.
Ten years. Ten years of feigning a marriage shouldn’t have been as easy as it was. Even with Ayato’s feelings, they had remained best friends, never skirting into any dangerous territory of taking themselves too seriously. Thoma had remained his best friend, blissfully unaware of Ayato’s feelings, and Ayaka had grown closer to them both.
Together, they were a family. Even if Ayato’s heart ached for the caricature to become reality, he knew that it already was: Thoma already had given them as much of himself as he could. (Ayato was just selfish enough to want all of him.)
One day, he’s certain, Thoma will want to get married and start a family and end this charade. And one day, Ayato will be in a position to not need the guise of being married. Ayato knows that day will come, but it still chills him to the bone to ponder about; it feels like his lungs are flooding with icy water and the longer he thinks about it, the less he can breathe.
So he tries not to.
Another glance out over the water confirms that come tomorrow, they’ll be setting sail for a honeymoon that’s ten years late. In a way, Ayato thinks, that it’ll be good for them, to start afresh with a brighter future in Inazuma.
(But the rational part of Ayato knows that this is emotional suicide. Water and fire were never meant to be together.)
“My lord? It’s late. You ought to be heading to bed.”
Ayato looks to him with a sad smile, his chest full of ice. Thoma looks beautiful with the lightning illuminating his frame, standing in the doorframe, lips worrying with concern. Ayato wants to capture this in his memory forever, because if his gut is any indicator, this trip will be the end of it all.
“Just give me a moment longer, Thoma. I’m admiring the view.”
And he doesn’t mean, has never meant, the sea.