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fabricated-misslieness · 2 years

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𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝕷𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 Chapter 13: Stories of the Dearly Departed

Hero Kaeya x Villain male reader

Summary: Stories were what made up civilizations. They served as fairy tales and bedtime stories for children and legends that invoked inspiration as one grew older. But, Kaeya comes to find out, the true stories are always tragic.

Word Count: 9,200

Warnings: death, gore, murder, blood

Mayb’s notes: I had Covid while writing this

Everything reeked of death. He did. You did. It was everywhere. For a necromancer, perhaps that would be good, likeable in a way. It was far from the truth for you. You got out of there fast, and even faster, you found yourself a river to clean off the odor.

It wasn't the first time you'd bathed in the wild. While it certainly wasn't cleaner than baths in civilized country, it felt a bit more relaxing.

The sound of its cascades was riveting. You closed your eyes, sitting cross-legged in a shallower part of the river. The original purpose of that was to wash your face, to scrub it clean from the laps of drying blood splattered across your skin; but you found yourself enjoying a moment afterward.

Nevertheless, you opened your eyes. The cascades moved down slopes and past rocks like a draping velvet. The grass bordering the river was dewy, as if from fresh from a rain. Its blades were a cool green, effervescent in its darkness.

To feel connected to nature, it was something you loved. Even if the very magic you mastered took the life from it.

A groan to your right catches your attention. You shift your gaze to your partner. At this, Kaeya lowers himself to a squat to... hide.

You chuckle to yourself. "Sorry."

He waves you off. You turn away.

The water around you pools in red. You grimace. The sound of water being cupped in your hands and draped over your body was different from that of nature's, but it was welcome all the same. It was a nice sound. Somehow it felt even nicer accompanied by another.

<★>

Kaeya dried his hair with a towel. It was the smallest of things, the biggest you could pack with every other necessity. It was rather clear he was struggling.

Regardless, he starts conversation. "I don't get you."

"How so?" You ask, though you have a feeling you know what the answer is.

"One moment we're all... buddy-buddy–"

"To put it lightly?"

"To put it lightly." He agrees, "The next, we're all far apart. You're leaving me behind all of a sudden. And," He sees you begin to speak, so he stops you before you can, "don't try to lie to me. It clearly wasn't your plan to come back. What even brought you back? Wise old lady in the woods?"

"No," You hug your knees, "Nyx did."

"The horse?"

"I think that's enough to tell you how I teetered from decision to decision, to be persuaded by a horse."

He rolls his eye, "What matters is that you chose to leave me first."

"But I came back for you." You argue.

"A redeeming quality, maybe," He points a finger at you, "but leaving your partners behind is not a right decision, even if you fix it later."

"You're right." You sigh.

The kettle over the campfire begins to whistle for your attention. The conversation pauses as you make the both of you cups of coffee, and it stays silent as you take your much needed sips of coffee.

Kaeya abandons the task of drying his hair in the meantime. That brings up an idea.

"Hey," He shifts his gaze to you from his cup, "face me."

He furrows his eyebrows; nevertheless, he obeys, thinking the command harmless. You circle around him and kneel there. "Let me take over this for you."

If Kaeya agrees, he does not say a thing, and if he disagrees, he doesn't vocalize it either. He likes it, anyway. You can tell by the way he leans into your touch. "How was life in Mondstadt?"

"Without you?"

You stifle the rudeness of 'obviously' and say, "Yes."

"Well," He bites his lip, not that you can see, "it was... hardly anything remarkable, to put it into words." What Kaeya would never tell you, not right now, was that you were the part of his life that changed the most; you were the man who kept his life interesting.

"Did you miss me, then?"

"I mean," You were really putting him on the spot here. "yeah. You?"

"Of course, Kaeya." The response comes without a thought. "I loved you."

You freeze in disbelief of yourself after you register what you said, just for a second. You couldn't show him you didn't mean to say that out loud.

"I loved you too." He says.

You both leave it at that.

The moment was rather domestic, if not awkward. The campfire's heat nips at your skin. Its dim light is the warmth of the forest in the midst of the stars and the moonlight, the dull brown trees and evergreen leaves. In the middle of it all–the plants and animals–is the two of you.

What a weird thing it was, to dry your hair in the middle of the forest, to prefer its landscape over the fireplace of your home.

"How about you?" Kaeya asks. "Tell me of your travels."

You grimace, "The searching?"

"No—well, yes." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "Tell me the beauty of it. Tell me of the people you've met, the ones that I haven't."

You take a moment to think, but the answers are all clear. "Nature... muddles together. In time, every forest looks like the other. It doesn't undermine its beauty, the peaceful coherence of its sounds or its thriving flora; but after so long, you've seen it all." As for the people...

Just a second later, or that's what it feels like to you, Kaeya prods. "Mhm?"

"Well, the people..." You sigh, "they're unique. Everyone is."

"Tell me who you've learned from, then." He offers an idea, "A mentor is hard to find, right?"

"A mentor is not the only person you learn from." You remind him with a tap on the head. "As we both know... so I'll go with that instead. Someone I learned from."

He nods.

"Throughout my journey..." You begin slowly, recounting stories in your mind. "a handful of people have really changed my life. The first year, I met a woman. She was a general during the Inazuman Civil War–"

"Who's side was she on?"

"The shogunate's." You respond, "Her fighting prowess was strong, and so was her taste and resistance for liquor." He laughs at that. "I didn't let that get to me though. She lived like the war hadn't come to an end. She continued to train, even when the shogunate let her go.

"When she wasn't fighting, she was drinking. Truly, she was sorrowful. Her pride welled up inside her like it threatened to burst. She couldn't believe she had lost, certainly not because her Shogun gave up the fight over a pitiful traveler. But I didn't quite know that about her.

"I only knew she was ex-Shogunate."

Standing straight ahead of the new Shogunate guards were two.

A woman, six feet tall, clothed in the Shogunate armor of a bygone era; and a man with death following him at his every trail.

They didn't know each other, but to the Shogun's guards, they must've been accomplices. Why would two fugitives mingle with one another?

So they fought. The woman took the first step. She was quick with her feet and quicker with her blade. She took down several men on her own, using her expertise of their fighting style to her advantage. There was once a time she was trained under the very same sword art.

From behind her, the man took offense in distance. He launched spell after spell at stragglers or the backline. He didn't much care who was in the way, especially this woman.

"Hey!" She seethes, only able to spare a glance behind her.

The mage only shrugged. To him they were not allies. They only had a common enemy for the moment. If the alliance didn't last after the battle, so be it.

They both had managed to live as fugitives for a reason. They knew how to fight, when fleeing wasn't enough.

The woman breathes hard, leaning against her sword. She wasn't used to this magic, it felt new. It wasn't the resistance's magic, that which was based off of the elements. This was something different.

With the fight over, the man turns heel to leave.

"Mage."

Curiously, he stop in his tracks.

"What magic was that?"

She considered herself to be an expert in magic. It was all she fought to prevent. Only the Shogunate's worthy wizards were supposed to wield it. Anyone else was a criminal. It's funny, most criminals clung onto their innocence; but it was clear you had grown used to being wanted.

So the fact she didn't know what it was she was feeling was surprising.

"Necromancy."

"Hm." She considers it. "The last necromancer was executed–"

"A millennia ago." He says simply, "I know the story.... and so do you."

The realization gets him to turn fully. She smirks, "Yes, I do indeed." She takes long strides towards the mage. His eyes are cool and calm, they watch as she comes. Good, he wasn't afraid. She takes note of it. "What's your name?"

"(y/n)." You reply.

"(y/n)." She tests the name on her tongue. "Yes. I know it."

You quirk a brow, but she doesn't try to explain herself. "(y/n). Do you want to have a drink with me?"

"She was a charismatic, happy woman." Kaeya can hear the happiness in your own tone as you reminisce. "It seemed that everything she wanted in life was already fulfilled, and clearing her name wasn't exactly something she wanted. She thrived in the battlefield and she loved it.

"I was jealous of that. She found something she loved." He knew you had too, but he wasn't about to say anything of it. "And her ambitions were dealt with. If death came knocking at the door, she wouldn't mind. All she would ask for was one last swig from her tokkuri.

"I used to be jealous of her. And now… well, she’s gone, and I’m not."

Inazuman culture was new to you. Before the Inazuman Civil War concluded, the Sakoku decree prevented it, of course. Aside from that, it was an island far off from the mainland. The nations were intertwined by export and import, traveler and festival. The journey on boat took its time; and for the traveler, A journey at sea was far more monotonous than a journey on land.

The former Shogunate soldier took you to a bar. It was lively, as if in celebration. Whatever it was celebrating, she didn't much care.

Inazuman music was played by instruments you've never seen before and so much different than anything you'd ever hear in Mondstadt. It was so lively.

The woman allowed herself to be carried away by the music.

She swayed and danced to its every beat and rhythm, enjoying a duo with other Inazumans sometimes; and being the center of attention other times. Between songs or at the beginning of them, without fail, she sat at the bar, took a swig of sake, and continued.

She was a sight to behold on the dancefloor.

This wasn't what you imagined when she asked you out for a drink, but you welcomed it all the same. This particular dance, you weren't familiar with, so you stayed back at the bar.

Many times, as she took her swig, she tried to coerce you to join the dance floor. All those times, you denied.

This time, though, she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Perhaps you allowed yourself to be pulled.

She smiles as she pulls you along with her dancing, fixing your rhythm every once in a while. The music on the dancefloor seems louder than it is at the bar and you find yourself absorbed in it.

It only occurs to you now that you don't know her name. It takes a couple tries for her to hear you. "What's your name?"

"Ume!"

"The war was as much a part of her as she was of it. Her life, without it, felt meaningless to her. It was something she hated about the home nation she so loved. When the war ended, the people moved on. They accepted defeat.

"She didn't. She was willing to do what the world was so afraid to. It was her self-sworn duty. That was..." You sigh to yourself, "to kill every last unworthy mage by herself."

You had found it weird that she always claimed the mage to herself. The moment her eyes landed on a single unfamiliar spell, she shouted with a laugh. "The mage is mine!"

It was all the same, really. In the end, everyone who opposed you would be dead. You didn't much care.

It was just odd.

Perhaps it was issue of inferiority, you reasoned. A regular soldier was always valued lower than a wizard. In this way, the butchering of a magic-user, she proved to both herself and her former army that it wasn't true. She was everything an army could ever need.

"I never did get your cloaks." You peacefully sip at your drink from the stool beside her. She was a talker, and you were the opposite. "They don't do much of anything, especially when the new bounty posters incorporate it into the witness drawing." She rants away, and you ignore her. The conversation wasn't very important.

Whilst you weren't taking note of what she was saying, you were aware of her constant speech. She stops talking and the bar stool scrapes against the floor. "I'll be right back." She says, her voice devoid of emotion.

You elected to ignore it.

Soon enough, though, 'right back' turns into something else. Her lack of presence was very much present to you.

So you go check on her. The bathroom is the most likely place she's in, of course. Why else would she excuse herself? Well, you checked that, and there was no one there.

Then, you look outside. The snow crunches under your steps. The constant fall of it hinders your sight, as well as the fog the storm provides.

"Ume?" You call into the night, "Where are you?"

No one answers.

You continue to walk under the darkness, following a trail of footsteps in the snow. There's a pattern of two footsteps, left and right, leading forward. Right beside them, as if following, is a drag through the snow that doesn't lift.

The howling of the snow storm is loud in your ear. You wonder if Ume responded, only for the sound to be drowned out in the wind.

"What the hell?" You stop as your eyes catch onto red in the snow. It melts the snow below it. This was not good.

The storm doesn't hold you back anymore. You hurry through and follow the trail. From the beginning droplets, the dragged trail is pooled with increasing amounts of blood and melting snow.

You run and run, the crunch of snow doesn't stop, until...

Ume. She leans over a body, and if it weren't for her evident panting, you'da thought her dead. "Ume?"

She turns her upper half entirely towards you. Her chin is dripping with blood. Her hair is slicked back with drying crimson and the snow that falls atop it melts.

The person below Ume is long gone and her sword remains in their chest. Their layers of clothing tear apart and you can see the path the blade took through their chest.

"(y/n)!" She greets pleasantly, "Really didn't have to worry for me."

She stands up, taking her sword with her like it was nothing. She wipes at the blood on her chin, but it remains insistent on her skin. "We should get me to a shower..." She says, more to herself.

When you don't reply, she finally takes in your face. "Are you alright?"

"No." It was almost a question. Of course you weren't 'alright'. She had just murdered someone—and for what? They weren't trying to kill her, it was evident in the way she remained unscathed, 'side from the blood splashed on her.

"Just a mage, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about."

Just a mage. Like a life didn't have value.

"I was never an exception."

Ume had always known it in her heart that she'd, someday, have to put an end to you as well. You were unworthy of your magic, especially because you had mastered Necromancy. That kind of thing in the wrong hands would reek havoc across Teyvat. She didn't want that for the world.

At the very least, for a mage, you were likeable. Even in your stubbornness, quiet attitude and contrary beliefs.

But you were beginning to suspect her of being "bad". She wouldn't let you stop her from doing her duty.

She would miss travelling with you.

Ume stands beside your bed. Her hand rests on the handle of her blade, sheathed still.

You stir, and she hesitates.

"Ume?" You call groggily.

She brandishes her sword too late; because, as she brings it down, you dodge. It's shoddy though.

You roll off the bed, clutching at your cheek. A nasty cut runs along the skin, spewing blood like a waterfall.

Ume hesitated once, and it cost her a clean kill. She wouldn't let it happen again. You were quite the opposite. "What are you doing?" You question.

She doesn't reply.

You continue to dodge her every attack, but as you know, she's quick with her sword and quicker on her feet. There's only so much you can avoid.

You throw her off her feet with a spell. The groan she gives as she lands on the floor is the only sound that you've heard from her. "Ume–"

"Enough." She says, "Stop trying to reason. Just fight."

It's as if that makes you realize your fate, or at the very least, that she was seriously trying to kill you.

The fight that ensues, its a blur you wished to forget. The wish was mostly granted throughout the years. You didn't want to think about it, what you did to her.

The process was a blur, but you'd never be able to forget the result.

Her own sword goes straight through her chest, nailing her to the ground. One of her hands grasps the blade. It cuts through her fingers, but in her last moment, she tried desperately to get the metal out of her flesh. Her other hand had grasped at your ankle, but you had torn her hold from it. The various cuts and wounds littered across her body smoke black in whisps that wrap around her and everything close to it.

And her eyes... remained open. You never had the guts to close them.

A long silence follows after you finish the story. Kaeya knows that you won't break it on your own, all too filled with guilt or regret or anything. "So what did you learn from her?"

You don't have a response, not yet anyway. The towel scrubbing his hair dry stops. Kaeya grabs a hold of your hand, and the towel, and brings each away. He turns to you, offering his eye.

He's alive. He's blinking on his own. He's not Ume.

"Don't give out your trust so easily."

Kaeya wasn't pleased with that. He turns to you fully, body and all, and takes your hands in his own. "Trust is something earned. It's not something you think to give out consciously."

Your lips press into a line, "I should've known. I should've known after that instance, finding her out in the snow leaning over an innocent mage."

"If," Kaeya begins, dipping his head forward towards you, "she never tried... that, she would've continued to do as she pleased with other mages. She would spill their blood over her hands with no remorse."

You turn your head away from him, but Kaeya prods you with a hand on your cheek to face him again. "If you hadn't done what you did, she would've never stopped."

You nod. He was right.

When Kaeya wakes up the next morning, you're already up. The smell of coffee fills his nose and he takes a deep breath. Ah. Not a bad smell to wake up to.

"Good morning." You greet.

"Good morning." He greets too.

He was still waking up. He half registers the world as he runs his morning routine mindlessly on muscle memory.

The coffee was good. Its taste was too strong for him to think of it being too bitter, dull or sweet. The breakfast you make is fine, but he has no intention on commenting on its undertones and bases and outstanding accents. The heat of the fire is hardly anything on his skin. The sun isn't too harsh on his eye.

To him, the world was at peace.

To you, though, it was a bit different.

You had made coffee in the morning with the purpose of wakinh yourself up, but as the water boiled, you found that you were already awake enough. The story from last night was stuck in your head. It was nothing more than that, a story from the past; a memory—and yet, she was still here.

The first sip of your coffee made your body move on its own. Subconsciously, you threw the metal cup across camp with no thought of its clanging. The coffee was bitter–a product of your lack of sugar–and it was everything like you remembered it.

It didn't taste like coffee. It tasted like an Inazuman alcohol you never bothered to ask the name of. Bitter. Her favorite.

It used to be the nectar of the Gods, a second victory after your successful battle.

Now it was just a phantom that haunted you.

When the coffee finally awakens Kaeya, he's finished his food. It was clear that you had too, so he began to speak. "Do you have any plans as to where we're going next?"

You don't reply. His gaze remains on you, anyhow. He doesn't prod again as he examines your look. Your eyes were distant, far away. You looked down, at the campfire. He could see its constantly changing waves in your irises. Your shoulders were hunched and you supported yourself with your forearms on your knees.

Before he could move on from that, you spoke up on your own. "Was Mondstadt truly unremarkable?"

He huffs and takes a seat beside you, "Yes."

"Really?"

Kaeya looks to the side, debating whether or not he should tell you. Ultimately, he decides it won't do any harm. "...I got another boyfriend, or two. Tried a girlfriend once. Found both to be satisfying."

"You're not dating someone right now, are you?"

"No, no! Gods, no." He laughs, leaning against his elbow. This really wasn't as bad as he thought it out to be. "Wrong time, right person most of the time..."

Kaeya sulks, so you decide to change the subject. "I do have a plan."

It was a bit of a pity leaving the forest, but the scenery stayed ever changing. The day's travel had brought you the remainder of the way through the forest, and through the beginnings of a flowering valley.

Nyx and Raph were still recovering from their injuries. You didn't want to give them any more pain than they already had.

"Any more stories?" He gives you a hopeful look. Seeing your raised brow, he continues, "You're a good storyteller."

You huff, "Alright." The sun's setting behind Raph, to your right. "Let's set up camp first."

The setting sun was a beautiful backdrop while you set up, if a bit tedious as the light was getting dimmer. Kaeya, on his part, seemed to be in a bit of a rush. He was happy to get another story, as tragic as it may be.

He set up his tent quick, but took frequent little breaks every now and then. Walking all that way was taking a toll on him.

"Shall we go with the same theme?"

"How about," Kaeya taps his knees with open palms as he thinks, "a past lover?"

...

"Seriously?"

"It's got to be a raunchy relationship if you dated someone as a villain. Another villain? Hero and villain? Some regular civilian?" He spits more suggestions out, not gaging a reaction from you once. This doesn't seem to affect him outwardly, until he gasps loudly and says, "Don't tell me–"

"Kaeya."

"–you haven't dated anybody since!"

That had brought out an unintentional reaction from you, a hefty sigh. Kaeya knows he's struck the truth (and gold, for that matter). "Oh, you poor soul."

You roll your eyes, "I've come close."

"Then tell me the story." He grins, "The closest you've ever gotten."

You had agreed to give him a story, and if you chose a different topic instead of this one, no matter how much of an epic it was, it wouldn't be as satisfying. And maybe it was nice to vent, for once.

"Fine." With one last look at the sunset, you begin. "His name was Émile.

"Émile was from Fontaine. In the City of Justice, there was no way past rigid rules. That's why he decided to run away. He was very ambitious. With the money he stole from the most timid of farmers, he would make a million. He would con the most desperate Sumeru researcher, Mondstadt's wealthiest alcoholic, and the Inazuman soldier that wished for power.

"Obviously, his dreams were never accomplished, at least not so easily. It was like this that I found him, thrown out a pub on his ass."

Afraid of ruining his facade, Émile stood up as quick as possible. He looked around first–straight through the man in a cloak–then wiped the dust off his bruised hands. "Fuck." He muttered.

Unfortunately for other bystanders, Émile hadn't moved away from the door. It wasn't entirely on purpose for him, but it opened up opportunities.

Once a stranger came close to squeeze past him into the bar, Émile tapped their shoulder. The man sighed but politely turned to him. "Yes?"

He reaches behind him, "Give me all your–"

Before he can finish his sentence, the small knife behind his back clanged as it hit the floor. Two seconds later, he was on the dirty floor too, for the second time that night.

"Ow.." From the impact, all his mora spills from his pocket. There was not more than a dozen.

The cloaked man clicks his tongue, "Do me a favor, find yourself a better way of life."

Émile just barely manages to dodge as a pouch of mora falls right where his head used to be. He bites his bottom lip, "H-Hey, I don't need this–!"

Without replying, the man turns heel and heads inside.

"I didn't think much of him the first time. He was nothing more than an amateur and a petty thief. His speed was lackluster, and I could tell he had no technique merely from a glance. I was right about him. He was an amateur, he was petty, and he lacked skill.

"However, in a year, most of those things changed. Apart from the fact he was petty."

Ever since Émile had met that stranger, he had made it his goal to never need another man's penny. The mora he gave him was enough for the inn, and he gratefully used it; but the next morning, he had made it up in his mind. That was the last of a stranger's money–that he hadn't stolen and claimed for himself–that he would spend.

Though, he had quickly learned that it would be hard. With every successful crime, Émile was handed his ass back to him by the local knighthood or police or mercenary group.

That's when Émile realized he needed more skill than anything. For six months, he lived the worst he ever had (even worse than how he did in Fontaine!) to train under the Knights of Favonius. For one, they squeezed him dry of all the energy he had in the day; and two, he had to behave.

Either way, the means were justified by the end. The sword he was given was cool too.

After that, by Queen Esmée's name, he was going to find him. He was going to rob him. And he was going to show him just how little he needed the money he got from him. He would throw it back in his face. Maybe spit if he wanted to. And he would turn heel and leave. This was his life goal.

Well, for a year, the "life goal" was on the back of his mind. Primarily, it was running away from guards now that he was deemed something more than a petty thief.

Until one day, he finally sees you.

He doesn't waste time spitting commands. He had learned the hard way last time, and many times after that, that it was just a waste of time that could ruin his opportunity. Instead, he brings his blade forth to press against the back of your neck and then speaks.

"One year. It's been one year. Do you remember me? Of course you do. I'm that man you took pity on. Shame we meet like this. For you, at least. I am enjoying this. I don't need a coin of your mora. But am I still taking it? Yes! Why?" He was monologuing, big mistake.

Émile lies on his back on the dirty stone floor. His own sword is pointed at his neck. "Fu–"

The hood of your cloak is off your shoulders, allowing him to see your face, and... damn. You're more beautiful than anyone he's ever seen, all combined and he's been fucking everywhere. Was that really you? The guy who insulted him with pity? As much as he hated it–not so much really–this really was you. You had the same skills as a year ago.

"–uck..."

Émile liked to think he was a well put-together handsome. He put effort into his outfits, instead of throwing something together. He did his hair each morning and he made sure his skin was clear.

Right now, though, he was a raggedy handsome, a messy handsome from getting his face smashed into the dirty ground. Not everybody was into that—he hoped you were.

"Maybe you haven't been a "bad guy" for so long, but monologuing is usually not a good tactic." The blade of his sword swings side to side as it gets stuck in the cracks of the stone floor. "I'd take you under my wing, but–"

"Will you go on a date with me?"

"What?"

"Straight forward like that, huh?" Kaeya leans back, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. You couldn't quite tell his emotions right now. He was clearly impressed, but there was something more than that. You had a hunch, though.

"You're jealous."

"No." He denies it outright. "No, no. Absolutely not." You try to speak, but his yammering doesn't pause for you to do so. "For a guy you used to like, what, two years ago? No. He's in the past. I, I'm in the present."

You shake your head at him, but continue on with the story. "Days with Émile were... mixed. He thought himself my rival. He would greet me with a knife to my throat and generally inconvenience me. It was like he saw me coming and stuck his foot out. Obviously, he failed at really harming me or my search."

"So–"

In two or so seconds, Émile is unarmed, but not on the floor. That was a nice change. He clears his throat and continues as if nothing. "Anyway, as I was saying, you should fight me sometime."

You raise a brow, but Émile doesn't explain himself. You keep silent, and he takes the hint. "Without disarming me, you know, cause I think that's like, cheating."

You continue on your not so merry way. Émile sticks close next to you. His hands move erratically as he pitches his point. "Let me have a chance! I know you're like, super powerful or something– at least that's what all the bounty posters warn you about–but I think I can genuinely stand a chance. You're not so tough—just look at you!"

You come to an abrupt stop, forcing him to do so too. He digs his boots into the dirt ground and spins around to face you.

You hold your hand out, his eyes follow it. Your fingers snap.

Suddenly, Émile is swept off his feet; but he's not on his back like always. This time, he's upside down in the air.

With that done, you continue your trek forward.

"Hey!" He calls out. "Hey, you–you're not just gonna leave me here, are you?!"

There is no response.

"Sometimes, he behaved like anyone else, like a friend. Well, most friends don't flirt, but that's besides the point. On these days, he had the best of intentions, of course. He greeted me with flowers on the occasion. He was an inconvenience anyway, but on the nicer end."

"I was, um, wondering–" Your silent stare was on him as always. Usually he took it like a champ, smiling at you while you kept up the poker face. Right now, however, he was far from chill. He gulps and looks down, rubbing at his neck. Sweat is forming on his forehead. "Are you doing anything... villan-y this weekend?"

Émile says it was the rush of adrenaline or the ecstasy of catching sight of your face for the first time that allowed him to ask you out blatantly. The times following, he's not been able to be so straightforward.

Your lips draw back as you debate on whether to say something. He was harmless, anyway, it was whatever. "No?"

"That's... good. So," He leans forward, arms behind his back and head inclined forward. His eyes are pleading. "would you, I don't know, want to do anything with me thi–this weekend?"

You bite your lip. Émile was a nice guy... most of the time. But he was an amateur. His sense of danger, it wasn't exactly coherent. If anything, he was lucky to have made it this far—he was luckier than you, anyway. You liked him, sure. Sometimes he made you laugh. You sort of needed that to mix up things. You just didn't want to drag him into the mess of your life.

He seemed very insistent, still, and he would probably never stop until you said yes. "...sure."

"Yes!" Émile exclaims. He takes a few steps back and jumps in the air, fists raised up high. He does a few excited spins. Then, once he turns back to you, he freezes. He clears his throat, "I mean, cool."

"Some other times, he was both."

Émile was harmless, but after Ume, you couldn't trust anyone. If he... was just pulling a facade, warm and friendly just like she was, you wouldn't forgive yourself for killing another friend.

But as time went on, and more and more often he asked you to do something throughout the week, you grew... closer and more comfortable around him.

Émile was like that. He was so happy-go-lucky, you could never assume he had something going on below the surface. He was an open book you could maybe even write in. He was everything you needed after your last relationship.

Émile greets you with another bouquet of flowers. The last ones didn't last long, having no vase to inhabit; yet he gives you more anyway. "Hello." He greets, a smirk on his face that you should've minded.

Your hand covers his as you take the bouquet from him, and at that moment, a knife protrudes from out of the bouquet. It nicks you on the chin.

"Ow! You ass." You groan, wiping at the blood.

Émile merely laughs in return.

If that's how he was gonna be, you were going to be worse. Rapidly, as if a week had gone by, the flowers begin to wilt. The cut on your chin heals just as quick and the blood on your fingers dissipates.

"Wow," Émile's smirk turns into a grin. "that was cool! What was that?"

"Something," You pluck his sword from the bouquet of wilting flowers, "you will never have the capacity to learn." With those happily spoken yet insulting words, you tap the bulb of his nose with the flat of the blade.

He purses his lips in return and snatches the sword out of your hands. "You sure? I've got a lot tricks up my sleeve, clearly."

"I don't imagine you've got years of magic experience hidden behind your ear."

He raises his finger with a nod forward, his lips pressed into a line. "You... would be right."

"I thought so." You take a wilted flower from the bouquet. It's brittle, practically breaking apart under the light hold between your fingers. Still, in some kind of sick romance, you tuck it behind Émile's ear. "You better get training."

He smiles.

"So what happened to him?"

You bite your lip and look down. "He..." You can't bring yourself to say it. Kaeya brings a hand to your shoulder. He shows you his sympathy. His hand's warm, its heat spreads comfortably throughout your body. "He died. I was the cause, and I couldn't prevent it."

There were so many things you wished to forget, so many things you regret. The list will always pile up.

Émile knew of this early on in your relationship. You hadn't explicitly told him anything, he just... sort of knew. It was evident in the way you carried yourself. You wanted to be unseen. Your cloaks riveting fabric kept you hidden from the world. You stayed silent. You frowned often. You were always stuck in your head.

If you wouldn't tell him of your past, that was fine. He just wanted to be there for you. You've always been a solemn kind of man. He liked cheering you up, making you laugh. But what would you have when he wasn't around?

Word on the block was that there was a new artefact in the Museum of the People. The museum housed a collection of items and strange machines from the antecedents of Natlan's immigrants from five hundred years ago.

This one seemed to be a child's plaything, a nightlight or mechanical torch or so. It could be turned on and off. When it was on, it painted a sea of images out of light that spun around in a circle. It was a magnificent thing.

Émile had made it up in his mind that he would get it for you. When he wasn't with you, this would remind you of him. It would be a wonderful gift.

His mission hadn't quite gone as planned. The museum, it turned out, had a dozen skilled and armed guards. Émile hadn't accounted for those. He hadn't scouted out the area either, being wanted and all.

Émile was always reckless, but he was brave and brazen. If he faced danger, he could fight it and survive no problem. That hadn't been the occasion this time.

You only managed to catch him as he collapsed in an alleyway, already spewing his last breaths.

"I love you." Were his last words.

He wasn't able to hear it back from you before inhale became exhale and no more air came in.

His eyes, you would have the courage to close; shutting his beautiful blues and hiding them from the universe for the last time.

His body you would bury on your own. You buried him in a plain covered in flowers, by a river that draped over its rocks like velvet, facing the sunset.

...and his revenge, you would enact.

"He taught me," You begin without Kaeya's prodding, "that I should not get so attached to others. In a way, it was almost the same lesson Ume gave me. They both prevent the same thing, anyway."

Kaeya frowns. He could see it in you, the sorrow, without having to look you in the eye. Silently, he brings you into a hug.

You sigh, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Of course he knew. He knew you best out of all people, even after so long apart. Many things had changed about you, but a semblance of the (y/n) Kaeya remembers will always be in you.

"His death wasn't your fault."

"If we hadn't been so close–"

"You would've lived the loneliest life." He brings a hand up to your hair to comfort you, "(y/n), people will never stop caring for you. Zero, Lorelai, and Morden are proof of that."

He takes a deep breath and says, "...and so am I."

The next morning, when Kaeya wakes, the sun's in his eye, shining bright through the tent. He lays still there for a moment, covering his eye from the sun's bright rays.

He's not trying to sleep again. Instead, he's thinking.

He's thinking about Émile.

Émile had done everything for you. He lived to seek you out. He lived to love you.

In many ways, Kaeya had been the same. When he was still young, a boy in naivety, he lived for you... and you had lived for him. As the days went by, you grew more and more attached to each other again. The lessons you'd learned, he'd undone unintentionally. If he was to die, what would become of you?

He sits up quick after that thought, clutching his head with one hand and his stomach in the other. He couldn't think of that possibility. He wouldn't allow it to be a possibility.

He struggles to stand and part the flaps of his tent, but when he does, his eye catch your figure.

You sit atop a makeshift seat, stoking the dying embers of last night's fire. The uncooked rations of breakfast lay next to you.

Your eyes flicker down his body briefly, then back up at him. "Good morning." You greet.

"Good morning." He greets too.

Breakfast was not ready, and neither was coffee. It was alright. He was already awake. Although, there was not much to do. He resorts to sitting around aimlessly.

After the pan for breakfast is laid atop the fire and the rations are cooking, you turn to him. "There was a sort of game Émile and I used to play."

Kaeya sits up attentively, "What is it?"

You hold a finger in the air, "Hold that thought." Where were those cards you'd taken from the bandit camp? You'd packed up your things in a hurry then, and—there they are!

You return and sit closer to him, cards in hand. "Let me tell you what he used to say." You clear your throat, "Play a game of cards with me. If I win, you travel with me for a while. If I lose… well, we’ll find out afterwards."

Kaeya smiles, "We'll have to figure out different rewards. You're already stuck with me."

"I'd say," You begin, picking out fourteen cards from the pile and dividing them for the two of you, "you're stuck with me actually. But anyway, I guess you can hand me something that you took from the bandit camp."

He nods his head. Not a bad prospect. "Then I'll say, after all this is over," He likes to remain positive, because you aren't, "you'll stay with me for a while." Your eyebrows furrow at that proposal. "What? I'm still fond of you."

"Fond of me." You chuckle, as if the idea is outlandish.

"The idea is not so far-fetched, believe you me." Kaeya spreads the seven cards out in his hand, showing himself each letter and number. "What's the game, anyway?"

"Ah, right. Go Fish."

"Go Fish!" Kaeya exclaims, "That simple of a game?"

"Émile was a simple man." You laugh. The mention of him again, with such a dopey laugh, gets Kaeya a little jealous, but he doesn't mention it. "Do you remember, as kids, Go Fish was that one game that was so easy, we children thought it was too childish? Then, as teens you and I, we were too busy to even play cards. Émile thought it good to go back to your "inner child" or something like that."

Kaeya shakes his head with a laugh but continues on with the game regardless. Then, one of the cards in his hand catches his eye. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Do you have a... King?"

"No." It wasn't "Go fish." like the proper game, rather a "no". Something was up with your hand too. "Do you have a... Queen?"

"No." He replies. Breaking all the rules in the game, Kaeya plucks his King from his hand and shows it to you. You do the same with your Queen.

Your cards are the very same as other Kings and Queens in the deck, yet their symbols and colors are so much different.

Instead of a landscape of reds, blues and blacks in harmony, the Queen was entirely light blue. Her symbol wasn't ace, heart, clover or diamond. Instead, it was a drop shape, like a droplet. It was a tear drop, clearly, by the similar tear drop depicted on her cheek. Her eyes were also closed, instead of open, and she wasn't smiling, rather frowning.

The King was much the same way, except he was entirely made up of red. Instead of a simple smile, his lips were open in a grin. The shape of his symbol was the same as the Queen's, a droplet. This wasn't a tear drop, definitely not, because many drops of the same shape were scattered atop the depiction of the King's blade. This was a drop of blood.

The Queen of Tears and the King of Blood. How... "Ominous." Kaeya remarks.

You bring up the card's packet. It looks like every other pack of cards you've ever seen before. Except, its manufacturing details read: "Made in Life." You read out loud, "Have you ever heard of such a place?"

"No, I can't say I have. Perhaps it's more metaphysical, rather than a place?" He suggests.

You nod, "Can't rule out the idea."

Those two monarchs... they seemed familiar.

A ghostly white carriage, accented in blue and a blood red carriage, accented in gold... Yes, that's it! The monarchs, they'd visited your town. The memories were coming back to you now.

The disease. It couldn't be... was that the Blood Parade?

"The withering."

The village ahead of you was nothing more than a ghost town. The grass in and around it for meters around the town was a dying yellow. There were no green, healthy plants around, and any and all tree bark was old and dead.

"Fuck!" You groan out in frustration, "This was supposed to be it."

Kaeya hated to see you like this.

You remembered this town, it was where many of the kids you were friends with came from. You shared festivals sometimes and you still remembered the way there. It was called Prosperity, the Town of Prosperity, yet here it stands today.

Your own town and its name, you couldn't remember, like a part of your memory was locked. You were hoping you'd be able to ask around for it here.

The withering slowly sucks at your magic reserve, but it allows you to be here long enough to search.

"Could your town be affected by the withering too?" Kaeya asks.

You bite your lip, "It's a possibility." You swear, though, that wasn't what took it off the maps. It was a disease, a plague, something that wracked your town mercilessly. It wasn't the withering.

You search around buildings, leaving your horses by the outskirts.

The first place you go into is a house by the outskirts. A simple try at the front door reveals that it's unlocked. You head inside, Kaeya close behind you.

It seemed like an empty house, as if vacant for new tenants. You trace your hand along the back of a couch. Layers of dust and grime litter its fabric. Just with basic sight, you can tell that the rest of the house is also dusty.

The next house looks about the same. Things that can't be moved so easy, like furniture, remain here; but the smaller things, the memorabilia, it's all gone. The villagers must've left in a hurry.

The place is empty, deserted. As much as you search, you can't find neither hide nor hair of where they must've gone.

"There's nothing here." Kaeya touches your shoulder.

"No," You disagree verbally, though you know he was right. "there's got to be something here."

He shakes his head, "(y/n)–"

"There's still a couple buildings we haven't checked–"

"(y/n)."

"–and one of them has to be the village leader's house. They have to have left something. I think... I remember their name. It was–"

"(y/n)." He moves you, forcefully, to spin around and face him. "There is nothing here." His eye digs into yours.

Fucking hell... there was nothing here. You had to come to accept it.

He couldn't stay here for long, not when he was weak like this; and you wouldn't be able to withstand the withering for long either. You had to go.

You sit in camp, back hunched and pondering. Kaeya knew that you were certainly not in the mood for anything at all that wasn't work, so he took up to making dinner on his own.

You had felt this emotion in your search before. It was like the feeling of a crushing defeat. But this time, it was far more than just that. You had spent long summers, long festival days, there. If the Town of Prosperity was abandoned, only so much less could've happened to yours.

Fuck.

"Stop fiddling with that knife."

"Hm?" You look down at your hands. Your dagger is in your right hand, the middle of the handle teetering from left to right between your thumb and pointer fingers. The point of it lay against the inside of your left thumb, already piercing the first layer of skin. When you finally see the wound, the pain comes to you. You hiss at its sting, lapping at the finger with your tongue for momentary relief.

If... if the Town of Prosperity was gone, what could have become of yours?

The withering was merciless and indiscriminative in its attack. If the Town of Prosperity, a place only so much farther from your village, fell under its crutches, yours could have very well suffered too.

But, when you dig far into your memories, you know it wasn't the withering. It was a disease, you're set on it.

"I said stop, you know."

"What?" Your thumb is still bleeding. The tip of your knife, this time, lays against the middle of your ring finger. It threatens to pierce.

"You could hurt yourself further." Kaeya takes a break from cooking, stealing the knife from your grasp.

"Sorry." You look down in shame.

He sighs, "No, don't apologize to me for it." He brings a hand to your cheek, slowly coercing you to look up at him. "Why were you even doing that?"

"You got me thinking of Ume and Émile the night before." Kaeya bites his lip. He regrets asking you for stories now. "And they remind me of someone else."

He curses his curiosity. "Who?"

"His name was Huanghun. He was even more roguish than I. Huanghun was a man always caught up in his brooding. His past, he never told me, but I had a feeling it shaped the way he behaved. He was always fiddling with that knife of his. It was engraved with something in the native tongue of Liyue, so I don't know what it meant. He... also taught me something. Would you like to hear the story?"

If Ume and Émile reminded you of Huanghun, he most certainly didn't want to ask. He supposes the notion is visible on his face, as you say the following: "Don't worry. It's not tragic or anything."

Kaeya purses his lips but nods, taking a seat next to you.

"Huanghun and I were alike. Though, whereas I tried to socialize, he didn't even want to try. But he and I mingled in the same area at the time and we were both wanted men. The first time we met each other, Huanghun sized me up and left. It was clear to me that he was powerful. The sword at his waist wasn't like any other and I could sense he was a magician of some kind.

"Many times, Huanghun and I met. That's why I proposed a sort of alliance. At first, he scoffed at it, but after some thinking, he ended up agreeing. I think he knew that if we were to fight, one of us would fall and the other would soon after.

"He reminded me much of myself when I first began my journey. I was bitter then, and he was still bitter. I was brooding, sulking, and so was he. Anyway, Huanghun was a sort of guide throughout my search. He pointed me in the way of many areas that I asked to know of. They were often dangerous places, though. He might've tried to set me up once or twice." You chuckle at the memory. "He eventually warmed up to me, or at least as warm as Huanghun could get. His scowl stayed and so did his silence about his past, but he spoke to me. He was actually humorous in the way that some idioms flew over his head or some things he said meant other things that he didn't know of."

"What happened to him?" Kaeya asks. Even through your assurance, he hopes that it's not something tragic like the couple of few times he's asked.

"We parted ways eventually." You sigh, "The search in Liyue had turned out empty. He's probably still alive today, powerful as he is. Don't know if he learned the same lesson as I did, though."

"And that is?"

"What is there to life, if I'm brooding and solitary? It almost completely unmade the past two lessons, the ones from Ume and Émile. In the end, though," You grimace, "it probably just led to a personality change. Some lesson, you know?"

"Ah, I dunno." Kaeya begins playfully, "I think brooding folk are handsome sometimes."

You raise a brow, "Over who I am today?"

"No," He smiles, "no, definitely not."

With that story and conversation done, Kaeya stands up to continue dinner. It appears he does it too fast or something, because he stumbles and holds onto his stomach.

You stand too, and steady him by the shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." He nods his head, "I'm alright. I probably just need some rest. The withering took its toll on me."

You purse your lips and nod, "Okay. Go get your rest. I'll take over dinner."

"But–"

He protests, but you flick at his shoulder lightly. "Nuh-uh. The withering, like you said, was harsh on you. You need to get your rest."

He nods and smiles. "Okay."

You smile, "Good."

#kaeya x reader #kaeya x male reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich x male reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #🌸 // success!#blurred lines #blurred lines series #🎟 // genshin impact #🎫 // kaeya #🎫 // kaeya alberich #🌂 // failure

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