Work Text:
Keqing slumped onto her side on her big comfy couch, eyes staring into nothing in particular as the saddest, moodiest music played from her expensive vinyl setup. Empty cups and bottles crowded her normally spotless coffee table.
She was never normally one to drink beyond her limits, but this Friday night, beer was her best friend. Maybe her only friend. If beer were a person, would it like her back? Or was she just too unlovable? As if to stem the sudden rush of thoughts from spilling out into her consciousness, Keqing bolted upright, downing the last of her current bottle.
“I just don’t think this is working out. Maybe we should see other people.”
Keqing palmed her face. The words, spoken just a few nights ago, branded themselves into her brain, a fresh sting to the heart whenever she remembered them. She had walked away then, at a loss for what to say. She went to work the next morning, and then the next morning, and then the morning after that. Then it was Friday evening, and Keqing felt all the repressed emotions take over as soon as she walked through her front door.
She was hungry. She didn’t want to think about her newly ex-girlfriend. She wanted something to eat. Unfortunately for her, her fridge was void of anything solid, so takeout would have to do. She whipped out her phone, ignoring the bright red icon above her messaging app and swiping over to food delivery.
Ooh, golden shrimp balls. Shrimp balls were her real best friend, even more than beer. Shrimp balls had never wronged Keqing. Especially the ones from Wanmin. After a few moments of internally debating if she really needed a double order, Keqing shook her head—she was being ridiculous. She tapped a few buttons and checked out. One triple order of shrimp balls, ready in forty-five minutes.
Unfortunately for Keqing’s sluggish brain, forty-five minutes may as well have been five hours. She decided to close her eyes to stave off the hunger, boredom, and heartbreak. The doorbell would surely wake her up once her food was here.
Keqing drifted in and out, head spinning from a mixture of alcohol and fatigue. She distinctly remembered her music coming to a halt, and then one high-pitched doorbell. Then two. Then three. Then—
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Keqing said drowsily, forcing herself on her feet and off the couch. Her body felt heavy. She shuffled to the doorway, yanking the door open with budding enthusiasm once she remembered her appetite.
Blue hair. Serious expression. Heartbreakingly beautiful eyes staring directly into her soul.
Keqing stared back. “You’re not Xiangling.”
She closed the door.
Keqing leaned her head against the door, heart pounding in her chest as the woman on the other side continued to call out her name.
“Keqing, please. I just want to talk.”
Talk. Communication. Wasn’t this what she always wanted? Keqing took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. She put on her best face and opened the door.
“What do you want?” she said flatly.
If Ganyu was put off by her snippiness, she showed no sign of it. “I was hoping I could come inside,” she said quietly, eyes shifting up and down the hallway.
“Can’t you just text me or something?” Keqing asked, suddenly feeling the need to retreat back into her home. “I kind of have plans.” Plans with her midnight snack, yes.
“I did text you. You never responded,” Ganyu said simply. “And I couldn’t find you at work.” She peered over Keqing’s shoulder into her living room. Her eyebrows furrowed suddenly. “Do you have company or—”
“No!” Keqing cut in, hurt by what Ganyu was insinuating. “I—fine. Come in.” She moved aside to let Ganyu in and locked the door after her. Where the hell were her shrimp balls?
Ganyu came to a halt in front of her coffee table. “Have you been drinking alone?” she asked, concern evident. She gestured to the empty beer bottles, which sat next to the larger bottle of Inazuman whiskey Beidou had gifted her for her birthday. “Where did you get this?”
“You left it in my cupboard.”
“Oh. Right,” Ganyu said, embarrassed. She moved to sit on the couch, right where Keqing had been lying. Keqing remained standing, arms crossed. “Please, Keqing. Sit with me.”
Keqing let out a sigh. She sat as far away as her couch would let her, crossing her legs along with her arms. She remained silent. If Ganyu interrupted her night after a terrible week to talk, then she should do just that. She refused to speak first.
There was a moment of silence as Ganyu gathered what to say. Against her will, Keqing sank further into the couch—the drinks were starting to catch up to her. Her body felt like lead. She forced her eyes open, focusing on Ganyu’s hands in her lap.
Ganyu’s hands tightened around themselves, before her body shifted with an inhale. “About the other day. I… I didn’t mean what I said.”
Keqing’s eyes darted to Ganyu’s face, ready to retort. “What do you—“
“—That came out wrong,” Ganyu admitted. “I mean, I know you should always mean what you say. And I did. At the time. But I think afterward, I realized I said that because I wanted you to challenge me. And that was wrong of me. I’m sorry for speaking in absolutes, and I’m sorry for putting it on you to fix things.”
Keqing turned the admission over in her sluggish mind, trying to make sense of it all. There was one thing she knew for sure: whatever was driving Ganyu’s subconscious had miscalculated. Since day one of their relationship, a small voice in the back of Keqing’s head had always warned that Ganyu could leave at any moment. The reasons given would change every time: Keqing would mess up, Ganyu would grow tired of her, she’d realize she wasn’t ready for a relationship. Keqing had done her best to ignore the doubting voice, all the way until this week. When Ganyu had been checked out during their date, and waited until they were about to part to say something. While it had hurt, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.
Despite what others may have thought of her, Keqing was no stranger to rejection. She wouldn’t be where she was today if she weren’t. But her ambitions and career goals did not apply to her romantic life: if someone didn’t want to be with her, she would let them go. She wouldn’t beg anyone to stay.
But Ganyu was here with her now, clarifying what she really meant. But she had still meant it at the time. But she was being communicative! But she hadn’t been communicative in the first place.
Keqing didn’t know whether to feel relieved or frustrated, happy or sad. She closed her eyes, head resting against the back of the couch. She didn’t know what to feel at all.
The longer she sat there, eyes closed and unmoving, the more tension left Keqing’s body. Both physical and emotional exhaustion washed over her, wrapping around her like a blanket. And although she did not feel her touch, Ganyu’s soft voice was the last thing she heard.
Keqing woke up on her side, still on her big comfy couch. It was even comfier than usual, which she quickly realized was due to the fluffy blanket draped over her. She sat up, confused. Last night, she had drunk herself stupid, dreamt that Ganyu had come over and…
Her eyes fell to the coffee table. No bottles or cups—just a single glass of water placed on a coaster. Gone was the pungent scent of alcohol. Her record player was still playing music, although it was a remarkably happier record than the one Keqing remembered picking out last night.
“Oh, good morning.”
Keqing’s eyes darted to the kitchen table where Ganyu sat, phone in hand. There was a steaming mug and a plastic bag on the table. “You’re here,” she said dumbly.
“Mhm,” Ganyu said, unfazed by Keqing’s bluntness. “You let me in last night, remember? By the way, Xiangling just stopped by. She was wondering why you ordered so much food to be delivered at nine in the morning…?” She gestured to the plastic bag.
Damn it. That would be her first and final drunk purchase. At least the shrimp balls were probably still hot. “You’ve been here all night?” Keqing asked, hoping Ganyu wouldn’t realize the food was supposed to be her ‘plans’ last night. Or comment on her low alcohol tolerance.
“Just here,” Ganyu said, gesturing to her phone and the kitchen table. “I had some work I needed to do, anyway. I made coffee,” she added sheepishly, as if sorry for using Keqing’s kitchen. Keqing felt a twinge of sadness at that.
For the first time, Keqing noticed Ganyu was wearing her work clothes from yesterday, her shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned a few more buttons than what was usual. That there were dark circles under her eyes. She had probably come straight from the office after some self-imposed overtime. Even now, she was still working.
Ganyu must have mistaken Keqing’s staring for silent judgment. “I meant to leave after speaking with you, but you fell asleep,” she explained, almost shrinking into herself. Keqing hated it. “I didn’t want to leave the door unlocked.”
Right. It wasn’t like Keqing had ever given Ganyu a key.
“So I was thinking,” Ganyu said, biting her lip, “that I would leave after hearing what you have to say.”
Leave? Keqing imagined Ganyu walking home after whatever it was she imagined Keqing would say, bags under her eyes and shirt still wrinkled.
Keqing’s chest ached, but she still didn’t know what to say. Her head pounded and despite the hour, it felt too early. “I don’t think we should talk about it right now,” Keqing said honestly.
Hurt briefly flashed across Ganyu’s features before she nodded slowly and stood up. “I understand. I—”
“I mean,” Keqing said hurriedly. “I’m still tired. And you’re very tired. We could rest first.” She lifted the corner of her blanket. “Together?”
Ganyu stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. “I—my clothes,” she gestured to herself. “They’re dirty.”
“That’s okay,” Keqing said, slipping back under the blankets and scooting to the back of the couch. “You can keep your clothes on, you can take them off. I don’t care.”
As Keqing was settling into her new spot, she heard a zipper, and then the rustle of fabric. She turned on her side and held the blanket open as Ganyu settled next to her in just her tights and her undershirt.
She figured this would happen. As if the days apart had been years, Keqing immediately moved into Ganyu’s space, tucking her head under her chin. She paid no mind to Ganyu’s surprised inhale, looping an arm around her waist. Gradually, she felt her body relax beneath her. “We’ll talk when you’re awake,” Keqing promised. I missed you.
“It’s a good thing this couch can fit the both of us,” Ganyu murmured into Keqing’s hair, wrapping her arms around her. She let out a sigh, one Keqing hoped was out of contentment.
“I know,” Keqing said, already drifting off in Ganyu’s embrace—the most comfortable of all. “That’s why I bought it.”