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If the thunder rolls for a while
And the sky is clouded, bringing rain,
Then you will stay beside me.
On the days when the Alcor returns to her home in Liyue, Kazuha finds that he does not quite know what to do with himself.
Often, he wanders, as he is inclined to do. Solitary journeys to the nearby mountains, the beaches. But lately, they don’t quite sate him anymore, even though the landscape is beautiful and serene and makes for wonderful poetry. And so Kazuha makes for the harbour, for the people.
This is where he meets Childe. Tartaglia. The Harbinger, as Beidou likes to say with distaste. Ajax.
Kazuha doesn’t know all those names yet. He will soon, but at the moment, he only knows Childe as a tall, handsome stranger sitting alone in the crowded Wanmin Restaurant, who’d smiled warmly at Kazuha and asked, “Want to share a table?"
Kazuha says yes, of course. He has never been particularly afraid of strangers, has been open-minded about friendships ever since his life as a wanderer began. And so he finds himself sitting across from Childe, introducing himself over tea and black-back perch stew.
“You’re not from here, are you, Kazuha?” Childe says.
“No,” Kazuha says. “But neither are you.”
“Neither am I,” Childe admits, and grins. There is something conspiratorial about it, a quiet solidarity shared between travellers. Kazuha is glad for it.
“Snezhnaya?” he asks.
“You’re sharp,” Childe says, sounding impressed. “Have you ever been?”
Kazuha shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d survive the cold.”
“You’d be surprised what a good coat can do,” Childe says. "And you? Where are you from?"
"Inazuma," Kazuha says.
Childe blinks. Kazuha knows what he must be thinking—after all, the Sakoku Decree is common knowledge. "I see," Childe says, after a moment. And then he smiles. "Well, look at us both. Far away from home, aren't we?"
"Yes," Kazuha says, smiling back. Far from home, adrift in the world. "Very much so."
The rest of the meal is enjoyable. Kazuha learns about Childe’s siblings, his hometown, his perpetual struggle with chopsticks ("I'd rather eat with a bow and arrow," Childe huffs). He’s talkative, charismatic. A little cocky, but in a way that suggests true strength rather than hollow boastfulness. Kazuha is happy to listen to him.
After they’re done eating, Childe pays for the meal. “I enjoyed this,” he says, standing up. His smile is a bright thing—boyish, pleasant. “Thank you. Let’s meet again, yes?”
“Alright,” Kazuha says, almost before he knows what he’s agreed to.
Childe smiles again, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the throng of people. For a moment, Kazuha wonders if he’d dreamt it all up: an amiable stranger who couldn’t use chopsticks, a lively conversation on a hot afternoon. But then he looks at the empty cup of tea across from him, and thinks that perhaps he has just made a new friend in Liyue Harbour, after all.
True to his word, Kazuha sees Childe once more before the Crux sets sail again.
Together, they wander aimlessly through the streets of Liyue, eventually making their way to Yujing Terrace, where they stop at a bridge and look out at the water. The weather is nice today: there are children playing, people admiring the blossoming lotus flowers. The beautiful mundane, Kazuha thinks.
“Ah, so you’re a sailor,” Childe says. “Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen you around.”
“I didn’t come to the harbour too often,” Kazuha says. He rests his head on his arms, gazing absently at the shimmering gold of the koi below. “It’s not like I have anyone to see, anyways.”
“You can come see me,” Childe says.
“Oh,” Kazuha says, a little taken aback. He pauses. “If you like.”
“I do,” Childe says. “You’re very interesting, Kazuha.”
Kazuha smiles, amused. “I think that’ll wear off soon.” He tilts his head. “Do you go to Wanmin Restaurant often?”
“Occasionally,” Childe says. “Someone I know introduced me to it. And the chef likes me.” He smiles. “Some people don’t, and I can’t blame them.” He looks at Kazuha. “I won’t blame you, either.”
He’s smiling again—it feels like he’s almost always smiling—but his gaze has turned calculating, his expression unreadable. Kazuha feels like he’s being tested, somehow.
Truth be told, he isn’t clueless about Childe’s identity, what he’s done, what he’s tried to do; he’s heard from Beidou, who’d heard from Ningguang, who knows anything and everything, if the people of Liyue are to be believed. And he too has sensed a dangerous undercurrent in Childe: the frigid sharpness under the warmth, the amiability. But perhaps Kazuha really is much lonelier than he’d thought, because despite all that—
Kazuha hums, turns to look back out at the water. The koi are still swimming, sunlight dancing off of their scales. “You know,” he says, “I think you’re pretty interesting too.”
These days, even as his grief seems to ease, Kazuha has begun to feel that he is composed of emptiness, of loss. And this is bearable sometimes, if he doesn’t think too much about it, if he is surrounded by the wind and the infinite stretch of sky above the sea. But other times, well.
Perhaps that is why Kazuha does not object when Childe seeks him out upon his return to Liyue Harbour, despite all that he’s heard. Kazuha is not afraid of him. And there is something familiar in Childe’s warmth and cheeriness, his not-so-quiet confidence that makes Kazuha feel a little less empty, if even just for a while.
“I really have to give you my address,” Childe says. “It’s tiring trying to find you anywhere.”
Kazuha laughs. “How’d you know I was coming back today?” he asks.
“I asked around about your ship after you left,” Childe says. He pauses. “Is that creepy?”
“Maybe,” Kazuha says, amused.
“Ah,” Childe says. “Then you should tell me, next time. I don’t want to be creepy.”
Kazuha resists the urge to laugh. “What do you want to do, then?”
“Well,” Childe says, beginning to grin, “how do you feel about fishing?”
Fishing is nice. Being with Childe is nice. They make a respectable catch, and Kazuha cooks the larger ones to share. Dinner is a quiet affair—a picnic of sorts on the grassy banks. It reminds Kazuha a little of earlier days, when he’d been wandering Inazuma with another friend.
“You’re a good cook,” Childe says. He turns to Kazuha and grins. “I think I might be better, though.”
Kazuha huffs, amused and exasperated. “Childe,” he says, “you don’t have many friends, do you?”
“Okay, wow,” Childe says, pushing him gently. He’s smiling, though. “Wow. You didn’t have to go there.”
Kazuha laughs. On the horizon, the sun is beginning to set. “It’s getting late,” Kazuha says, and makes to stand up. “I should get going.”
Childe tugs at Kazuha’s sleeve before he can stand. “Hey,” he says, “are we going to see each other tomorrow?”
“Aren’t we?” Kazuha says. Childe is still holding onto his sleeve.
“I was just thinking,” Childe says, and he sounds less confident than usual, a bit younger, “if we are, then you might as well just stay over. It’ll save you the trouble.”
Kazuha blinks. Surely Childe knows what his invitation sounds like. But then again, perhaps Kazuha is reading too much into things. Either way, though.
“Thank you,” Kazuha says slowly. “But no, I don’t think so. I have to take care of something on the ship.”
“Ah,” Childe says. He lets go of Kazuha’s sleeve, looking a little dejected.
“I’m sorry,” says Kazuha.
“No, no,” Childe says, shaking his head, “that’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Kazuha feels a little guilty. Briefly, he puts his hand on Childe’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Childe,” he says.
Only a few crew members are still on the Alcor. Kazuha can hear them singing a little drunkenly, and he can’t help but smile. Someone taps him on the shoulder. It’s Juza.
“Hey, kid. Looking for that cat of yours?”
“She’s not my cat,” Kazuha says.
“Well, you brought her here,” Juza says, waving a hand dismissively. “And she comes when you call, doesn’t she? Same thing.” He gestures to the galley. “Saw her sniffing around in there.”
“Thank you,” Kazuha says, and bids Juza goodnight.
Just like Juza said, the white cat is padding around the drawers in the galley, perhaps looking for a snack. When she sees him, she meows accusingly but trots up to him anyways.
“Yes, yes,” Kazuha says, picking her up and heading to the sleeping quarters, “I’ve been away for a while, I’m sorry.” Another meow, now mixed with purring. Kazuha laughs.
The cat is quickly mollified by a few morsels of leftover fish, and Kazuha curls up with her in his cot. The seas are calm; the sound of the waves is as gentle as a lullaby. But as he drifts off to sleep, Kazuha wonders—just wonders—what Childe is doing: if he is asleep, if he is content, if he is thinking of Kazuha too.
The next day, Childe asks Kazuha for a fight. Well, just practice. A spar. Honestly, Kazuha’s surprised he’s held it in for so long. He’d felt Childe staring at his sword since they’d met.
“I mean, you’re not just a sailor, are you?” Childe had asked.
“No,” Kazuha had said, “I sell toys as well.”
Childe groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you that.”
“It’s a noble profession—”
“Oh, whatever, Kazuha—”
At any rate, Childe had waited long enough for it to be polite. And truth be told, Kazuha doesn’t mind too much.
“We can do whatever you want,” he says, and Childe brightens up like Kazuha had bought him a present. “But—” Kazuha points at the Vision hanging at Childe’s waist. “None of that, please. I wouldn’t want you to kill me.”
“Of course not,” Childe says. “You’re my friend now. I’d be so bored without you.”
“I’m flattered,” Kazuha says dryly, and Childe laughs.
Watching Childe fight is like watching a predator hunt, or a fish swim. It is the most natural thing, and all the more beautiful for it.
And if Kazuha ends up with a few bruises for his pains, well—at least he gives as good as he gets.
The Crux leaves again shortly after. It’s a little strange, Kazuha thinks, to be out on the sea and know that someone is waiting for him to return so they can cross swords and fish the rivers again.
A little strange, but not unpleasant. Far from it, really. Maybe he’ll write a poem about it.
“I like it,” Childe says. “You’re a good poet.”
It’s been a couple of weeks since they last saw each other. It’s easy to pick things back up with Childe, feels a bit like he’d never left.
“Thank you,” Kazuha says, a little flustered.
“I was never one for poetry,” Childe says. “But I can tell you’re good.” And then, completely unabashed, “Is it about me?”
“Well,” Kazuha says, reluctant because Childe is grinning a little too proudly, “a little. Yes.”
Childe laughs. “I’m glad,” he says. “Thought you’d forget about me out there.” He reaches out to gently touch the tassel on Kazuha’s cloak. “I missed you, you know?”
Kazuha blinks, taken by surprise. His face is a little warm—he thought he’d gotten used to Childe’s straightforwardness by now, but it seems not.
Childe looks amused, but thankfully, he lets it slide. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “I made a reservation at Liuli Pavilion, if you want to eat.”
And so, on the days when the Alcor’s anchor rests near the Liyue coast, Childe becomes Kazuha’s constant companion. It’s strange—in many ways, they are very dissimilar: their temperaments, their worldviews, even their bladework styles. Kazuha doubts that they’d have much to do with each other had they not both been foreigners. Perhaps they’d even be enemies.
But, well—their world is a strange and beautiful one. So despite all their differences, Kazuha finds himself wandering Liyue at Childe’s side: sparring with him on the peak of Mount Tianheng, fishing for rusty koi together, or simply sitting quietly next to him on a nameless cliff overlooking the sea.
It’s been a long time since he’s had anything like this, and Kazuha finds that he is powerless against this new, familiar happiness.
"A storm's coming."
Childe looks up at the sky, still blue and clear, and laughs. "Well," he says, "if you say so, it must be true."
Kazuha cracks a smile. Childe had doubted him once when it came to the weather, and then never again.
“So why don’t you come over?” Childe asks. “Until it's over, at least.”
Lately, Kazuha has found that he doesn’t much care for thunderstorms. They make him remember. He doesn't want to remember.
“Alright,” Kazuha says. “I’d be much obliged.”
It starts raining on their way to Childe's lodgings, large drops that fall cold and heavy on their hair, their shoulders. They make it indoors before the first flash of lightning.
Childe's apartment is spacious and comfortable, near the heart of the city. The monthly rent is probably more than Kazuha's ever held in his hands. It's clean overall, a little barren, but with a few clues of being lived in: a family photograph on the nightstand, a spare sock on the ground. Childe kicks the sock out of the way hurriedly, and Kazuha laughs.
"I don't usually have people over," Childe mumbles, and Kazuha is suddenly reminded that beneath everything, Childe is still a young man, just past the cusp of adulthood. Perhaps a little younger than Kazuha, even.
"I live on a ship, Childe," Kazuha says. "I’ve seen much worse.”
"Still," Childe says, sounding embarrassed.
They end up playing cards on the desk in Childe's bedroom, and there's only one chair so Kazuha sits cross-legged on the desk. Childe groans, frustrated, after Kazuha wins for the seventh time.
"We should've played something else," he says. "This is unfair. You're unfair."
Kazuha smiles, and pats Childe's head gently. "Don't be a sore loser, Childe."
Childe glares up at him. "I'm not."
"Convincing."
"Take your hand off my head. I'll bite you."
Kazuha does, but not before giving Childe’s hair one last ruffle. "We can play something else," he says, taking mercy.
“Sure.” Childe looks past his shoulder at the window. "Gods, it's really coming down," he says. He stands up to close the curtains.
Kazuha gets up as well to stretch his legs, wandering into the kitchen. He’s not particularly hungry, just curious. The kitchen seems well-stocked, which makes sense—Childe enjoys cooking, after all. A bottle of wine on the counter with strange text on the label catches Kazuha’s attention.
"Dandelion wine?" he reads out loud, not quite sure if he’s pronouncing it correctly.
“From Mondstadt," Childe says behind him. “I got it as a gift. Do you want to try some?”
“If you don’t mind,” Kazuha says, and Childe opens the bottle, pours a glass for each of them.
“To the rain,” Childe says dryly before taking a sip, and Kazuha cracks a smile.
"To the rain," he echoes. The wine tastes light and sweet. Childe seems to like it too—between them, they nearly finish the bottle while they chat in the kitchen.
"When are you coming back?" Childe asks, as they make their way back to his room.
Kazuha huffs, amused. "I won’t leave for three days, Childe."
"But you will. And I’ll miss you."
"You say that a lot.”
"I mean it a lot.”
Kazuha’s face is warm from the wine. “Are you drunk?”
“I’m from Snezhnaya,” Childe says loftily. “I’m never drunk.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“Yes,” says Childe, and sits down on his bed, patting the spot next to him. Kazuha settles down beside him. “It’s nice. You’re nice. And you’re never boring.”
Kazuha grins. “Yes, that’s important. Back when we first met, you said I was—what was it? ‘Very interesting?’”
“I did,” Childe says. “I did.”
Kazuha laughs. “Well?” he says. He tilts his head, smiles lazily up at Childe. “It’s been a while. Do you still think I’m interesting?”
Childe swallows. “Yes,” he says hoarsely, “I do,” and then his hand is curled around Kazuha’s nape, and Kazuha realizes that Childe is kissing him.
It’s been a long time since anybody had kissed him. And it’s nice, really—warm and pleasurable, tasting of sweet wine, and it sends a soft thrill through Kazuha’s body. Childe is unexpectedly gentle, as if holding back. And perhaps he is.
After a few moments, they break apart, breathing a little heavily.
Childe looks a bit guilty. “This—this wasn’t what I was aiming for,” he says hurriedly. “I just wanted you to stay longer, that’s all. Really.”
How unexpectedly honourable. Innocent, even. “I believe you,” Kazuha says, and he cannot help but smile, just a little. “But it’s alright.” He reaches out towards Childe, cradles his cheek. After all, it is late, and they are both a little drunk, and he is feeling particularly lonely. “Either way, it’s alright.”
“Oh,” Childe says, uncharacteristically quiet. He takes Kazuha’s wrist gently, slowly. His fingers, hot over Kazuha’s pulse. “Okay.”
They are both leaning in again, as if drawn together. As if two neighbouring stars in the vast night, inescapable, inescaping.
By the time Kazuha wakes, the sun is already shining in through the window. It’s been a while since he’s slept in a proper bed, and he takes a moment to register the silken sheets against his bare skin, the softness of the pillow. He’s still a little sore from the night before, but it’s easily bearable.
Childe isn’t in the room, but Kazuha hears the sounds of cooking through the door. Quietly, he gets out of bed and dresses himself, and follows the fragrance of food into the kitchen.
Childe is there, setting plates of food onto the small wooden table. He looks up. “Hi,” he says.
“Good morning,” Kazuha says.
“I made breakfast,” Childe says with a smile, sounding almost shy.
“Thank you,” Kazuha says, smiling back, and sits down gingerly. Absently, he wonders what it means about him that the first person he’d shared his bed with after everything is a battle-hungry Fatui Harbinger who, if rumour is to be believed, had tried to destroy all of Liyue Harbour, and then some.
Kazuha sighs, and tries not to think about it too much. From across the table laden with breakfast, Childe is looking at him, expectant. So Kazuha picks up a spoon and takes a bite, and—
Childe had been right. He really is the better cook.
They don’t really talk about it in the next few days. They’re a little more conscious of each other, startling at touches that would’ve been casual before. But it’s not awkward either, to Kazuha’s relief.
“I’ll be back in two weeks,” Kazuha tells him before leaving. “Don’t get into too much trouble in the meantime.”
Childe grins. “Are you going to write another poem about me while you’re gone?”
“Modest, aren’t we?” Kazuha says, huffing.
“Just hopeful.” Childe reaches out and fixes Kazuha’s scarf with a practiced gentleness, his fingers brushing against Kazuha’s neck briefly. “Travel safely.”
Kazuha wants to stay with him, just a bit longer. “Thank you, Childe,” he says, and smiles.
Back on the Alcor, the white cat ignores Kazuha pointedly for a day or two, downright offended at the time he’d spent away. Unlike Childe, she seems unable to say I missed you the normal way.
“Oh, come on,” Kazuha says, holding out a morsel of fish under the table. “I can’t be that bad, can I?”
The cat ignores him. Beidou laughs.
It reminds Kazuha a little of when he’d first taken the cat with him, when she’d been aloof and shy. Because after all, he isn’t her true owner, isn’t the one who’d found her as a kitten and carried her across the country in the warmth of his clothes. But that person is gone now. Gone to both of them forever, and so here they are, the bereaved bound together by loss.
It’s always unexpected, the things people leave behind. But Kazuha knows: just like the masterless Vision that weighs heavy next to his own, the white cat will never truly belong to him.
As soon as the Alcor drops its anchor, Kazuha is making his way off the ship.
“Aren’t you eager,” Beidou calls after him, sounding a bit suspicious.
Kazuha waves and doesn’t respond. Beidou will figure him out sooner or later—she’s too sharp not to—but that doesn’t mean he has to help her out. He’s halfway to the meeting place when he sees Childe.
“Welcome back!” Childe says, grinning. “I missed you.”
“Thank you,” Kazuha says with a smile, and is surprised at the sheer fondness in his own chest. “You look well.”
“I’ve been bored,” Childe says, sounding much more aggrieved than he probably should at such an announcement.
“Oh, the horror.”
“The horror.”
“Not enough toys to sell?” Maybe everyone’s been paying their debts properly to the Northland Bank recently. Probably because they’ve heard what happens when you don’t.
Childe huffs. He puts an arm around Kazuha’s shoulders. “Don’t tease me, Kazuha,” he says. “I cleared my schedule for you and everything.”
“I’m flattered, truly,” Kazuha says, laughing.
Together, they make their way up the path, the sun shining down on them gently.
It is afternoon by the time they settle down, a little drowsy from lunch. Even Childe, almost always itching for a fight, to do something, is near-serene at this time of day. Kazuha watches him yawn, amused.
“Oh,” Kazuha says, plucking a leaf from a nearby shrub, “Here, I’ll play you something.”
Childe tilts his head, watches curiously. Kazuha holds the leaf up to his lips and blows, as he has so many times before: the sound is reedy, soft. He plays an old song, well-known in his hometown, the lyrics still echoing in his mind: beloved, I saw you under the shade of the maples, beloved, I wait for your return…
When he finishes, Childe’s eyes are bright with delight and curiosity. He plucks a leaf too, and turns to Kazuha. “Teach me,” he says.
Kazuha smiles, and soon the hot afternoon sky is filled with the sound of almost-notes, music that hasn’t yet become. Childe uses too much air; his face grows red with effort, and Kazuha can’t help but laugh. Like this, he’ll say, demonstrating, do it like this, don’t strain yourself.
Childe catches on quickly. He tries and tries, until finally—a beautiful note, sustained. Kazuha watches him, a warm bloom of pride in his chest.
“I did it!” Childe exclaims, turning to him. He is almost boyish in his delight. “Did you hear, Kazuha? I did it, I played something—”
“Yes,” Kazuha says, smiling, “yes, I heard you.”
Suddenly, he realises that their faces are very close to each other, and their eyes meet for a moment before Childe sobers, his gaze flickering to Kazuha’s lips. And then he moves quickly, slanting their mouths together, as if afraid he might lose courage if he waited any longer.
Ah, Kazuha thinks, closing his eyes, letting Childe push him down gently into the grass. So this is how they are, now.
He’s not displeased. Belatedly, he realises that he’d been looking forward to this, had been hoping that Childe would touch him again. After all, Kazuha is only human. So he responds in kind, in that same intimate language of warmth, of giving and taking.
Childe’s mouth is hot on Kazuha’s skin, his hair silky under Kazuha’s fingers. And all around them, the flowers are blooming, filling the sky with sweetness.
It becomes a silent agreement, this new intimacy between them. Everything else largely remains as it was, but sometimes, Childe will place his hand gently but firmly on the small of Kazuha’s back, will say Kazuha in a voice that sends a small shiver down Kazuha’s spine. Or perhaps Kazuha will lean in and press his lips to Childe’s neck, nipping just hard enough for him to understand. Or perhaps, or perhaps. Many roads, leading to the same destination. Whatever the case, Kazuha becomes well-acquainted with Childe’s bed and everything that comes with it.
“You don’t have to be so gentle,” he’d told Childe, after the first few times. Not that he dislikes gentleness, but it doesn’t take much to know that Childe isn’t naturally inclined towards it. “Do what you like. I won’t break.”
Childe had nodded, a blush high on his cheeks, because for all that he is brazen and confident about everything else, he sometimes gets flustered about matters like this. It’s a little endearing, Kazuha thinks. It makes him easy to tease. Not that Kazuha has much breath left to do so after Childe is through with him.
Sometimes, they’ll bathe together afterwards, both drowsy from the exertion. In the soft lamplight, Childe’s battle scars are cast into relief, a latticework of violence. Kazuha traces over them with a strange greed.
Childe laughs. “That tickles,” he says.
“Sorry,” Kazuha says, smiling. He presses his lips to a particular jagged one, arcing from Childe’s collarbone to his shoulder.
“What, again?” Childe says, hand coming to rest on Kazuha’s hip. He grins lazily, suggestive. “Well, if that’s what you want.”
“Gods, no,” Kazuha says, laughing. “I’m exhausted.”
“Ah well,” Childe says, leaning back with a smile. He doesn’t move his hand away, though.
Kazuha continues tracing Childe’s scars, and it makes him wonder about the other side of Childe, the one that’s rarely shown to him. The dark side of the silver moon, as it were. Then again, Kazuha’s not quite sure he does want to know about it. Because he likes Childe, is endeared by him, but he is not quite sure he could say the same about Tartaglia.
After all, what they have between them—it isn’t love. There’s… care, definitely. Comfort and simple pleasure. But at the end of the day, they are just two solitary, foreign creatures in a strange land, licking each other’s wounds. Childe fills the empty loneliness that lives in Kazuha’s chest, and in turn, Kazuha alleviates Childe’s boredom, the bane of existence for people like him.
It isn’t love. Kazuha is grateful for that. He’s sure Childe feels the same as well.
They get used to it, all the meetings and partings. It’s not so bad. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.
“I’ll see you soon,” Kazuha says.
“Have a safe journey,” Childe says, and presses a quick kiss to Kazuha’s forehead before leaving. Kazuha watches him go, a little wistful. After all, it’s hard not to grow attached.
“Huh. I was wondering where you’re sneaking off to these days.”
Kazuha turns to see Beidou, who’d seemingly been watching their whole exchange. Her gaze flickers all too quickly to his exposed neck—the bruises, of course—before Kazuha can pull up his scarf.
“Anegimi,” he says, a little flustered. Just a little. “I thought you were on the Alcor already.”
“I was,” Beidou says, grinning. “I wanted to see why you were late.”
Kazuha huffs. “I’m not late.”
Beidou laughs. “No, you’re not.” She glances at Childe’s retreating form, raises an eyebrow. “So that’s what you like?”
“Well,” Kazuha says. Considering his history, maybe it is.
Beidou sighs. “Young people,” she says sagely, making Kazuha laugh. And then, more seriously, “You know what they say about him, right?”
“I can take care of myself,” Kazuha says. He does not say that Childe is kind to him, has been so from the start, in a way that feels like his kindness is reserved for Kazuha only. Beidou wouldn’t believe him, anyways.
“I know, I know,” Beidou says. Together, they head out towards the docks. “Just making sure.” She grins. “Then again, you’re a real piece of work too. Maybe he’s the one who oughta look out.”
Kazuha smiles. “Maybe,” he says.
Sometimes, if they wake up together in the morning, Childe will help Kazuha brush and tie his hair.
“You don’t have to, you know,” Kazuha says, amused.
“I want to,” Childe says earnestly. “I used to do this for my little sisters, but it’s been so long. I don’t want to be rusty when I see them again.”
“Well then,” Kazuha says with a smile, handing Childe his braided cord. “Please continue.”
Childe is skillful and gentle. By the time he finishes, Kazuha almost feels sleepy again. And then he feels Childe touch something on his shoulder—the masterless Vision, he realises.
“I’ve never seen one like this,” Childe says.
Feeling strangely vulnerable, Kazuha moves away from him. “It’s not uncommon,” he says.
“Did you know them?” Childe asks.
“Yes,” Kazuha says. He pauses. “He was a friend.”
They’ve never quite talked about their pasts with each other. Kazuha does not want to start now, even though he can feel Childe’s curiosity.
“Do you want to spar today?” Kazuha asks, changing the subject. He smiles. “I’ve got something new I’d like to try.”
Childe grins excitedly, combat fiend that he is. “I’d like that a lot,” he says.
From the bed, Kazuha watches Childe write in the glow of the lamp. Childe writes a lot of letters, sometimes late into the night. Mostly for his family across the sea in Snezhnaya. Despite his profession, his violent inclinations, he is a good son and a good brother, much in the same way that he is a good friend to Kazuha. Perhaps he would make a good father too, Kazuha thinks.
Kazuha’s a little drowsy, but the bed isn’t quite so appealing when he’s the only one in it. Quietly, he gets up and makes his way over to Childe.
Childe looks up. “Hi,” he says, smiling.
“Hi,” says Kazuha, and settles down on Childe’s lap so that he faces him, resting his head in the crook of Childe’s neck. It is warm and comfortable, and Kazuha is sleepy.
Childe laughs softly, a hand coming up to stroke Kazuha’s hair. “You should go to bed if you’re tired.”
Kazuha shakes his head. “What are you writing about?” he asks, his eyes closing.
“Lots of things,” Childe says. “You, mostly.”
Kazuha straightens up, curious. “What about me?”
Childe smiles, putting down his pen. “That you’re my friend,” he says. “That I like you.” He reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair out of Kazuha’s eyes. “And that you’re very beautiful.”
Kazuha’s breath catches in his throat. “Flatterer,” he whispers.
“But it’s true, Kazuha,” Childe says. He leans into Kazuha, his eyes closing. “It’s all true.”
This isn’t love, Kazuha reminds himself. Even if it is warm and pleasant like all the good things in the world. It cannot be, and so it isn’t.
Kazuha knows better than anyone: happiness is fleeting, just like everything else in this world. And yet to wake up one day and feel its absence is always jarring, like stepping into cold water.
Kazuha wonders, for a moment, the reason for his sudden misery. When he realises, he wishes he hadn’t. Because a year ago today, the man who’d been his first love had marched into Tenshukaku to challenge the will of the divine, and lost his life to that cold, unfeeling god who pursues eternity.
He and Kazuha had parted from each other when the maple leaves were at their reddest, just beginning to fall. It hadn’t been a sad farewell. Kazuha had been wistful, a little reluctant, but they were wanderers first and foremost.
“It’ll be fine.” A smile, a kiss to Kazuha’s forehead. “You’ve got somewhere to go, don’t you? And so do I. But after, I’ll find you or you’ll find me, and we’ll meet again.”
“Yes,” Kazuha had said, and smiled. Of course, of course they would meet again, because the world would never be so unkind. And so he wasn’t afraid. “I’ll see you then.”
That was the last time they ever spoke to each other. Fate is cruel, and so are the gods.
Now, Kazuha knows: they never should have parted ways. Kazuha should have stayed with him. He should have stayed with him all the way, even if it meant that he, too, would’ve met his end on the cold floor of Tenshukaku.
A year is a long time. After all, Kazuha has only known twenty-two of them. A year is a long time, and so he had thought himself stronger now, more resistant to grief. And yet he feels like this loneliness could crush him, until he is nothing but dust on the wind.
“Kazuha,” Childe says, reaching out to touch his cheek, “are you getting enough sleep?”
“Not really, no,” Kazuha says, smiling wryly. He dreams too much and too vividly, lately.
Childe looks concerned. “Did something happen?” He frowns. “Is your cat waking you up before sunrise again?”
“No, no,” Kazuha says. He smiles tiredly. “She’s been good. It’s fine, really. I’ll be fine.”
A moment of silence. “You know,” Childe says, and he looks uncharacteristically earnest, gentle, “you can talk to me. About anything.”
Kazuha does not want to talk. If he talks, he feels like he will scream. He wants the temporary reprieve of human warmth. He wants affection. Anything that will help him to forget his own hollowness, if only for a few moments.
Childe starts when Kazuha kisses him, but relaxes into it after a moment, kisses him back with the usual eagerness. Yes, Kazuha thinks, this is much better. But he knows it is not enough, will never be enough. It is like trying to fill a broken teacup—futile, foolish, impossible. And yet what else can he do? Tell him, what can he do?
One night, Kazuha dreams of heat, of being embraced. Pain and pleasure, intermingled. And that unspeakable emotion under it all, so intense it frightens him.
“Does it hurt? Are you scared?”
It’s him, pale hair even paler in the moonlight. Of course it’s him. Kazuha’s had nobody else.
“No,” Kazuha lies.
A quiet laugh, a petal-soft kiss on his forehead. “Brave. You’re always so brave.” And then, “I am.”
“Why?” Kazuha whispers.
His face grows serious, concerned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Kazuha smiles, feeling his fear dissipate. What had there been to be afraid of in the first place? There are only the two of them here, just as it has been for a long time now. His heart is full.
“You could never hurt me,” Kazuha says.
He wakes, burning. The blood in his veins runs hot like summer. There are tears on his face, and he wipes them away.
Half-asleep still and unable to deny himself, Kazuha presses his lips to Childe’s back, shoulder, throat, until Childe stirs awake and turns around. A soft chuckle in the darkness, a hand coming to rest on the curve of Kazuha's hip.
“Again?” Childe murmurs, and Kazuha kisses him on the mouth: yes, yes, yes.
Childe descends on him like a breaking wave. In the dark of night, they could both be anyone, anyone at all. Closing his eyes, Kazuha grasps at the fading wisps of his dream, trying to remember, trying to forget.
Despite everything, the world keeps turning, the sun keeps setting and rising. The Crux continues to sail.
“I’ll miss you,” Childe tells Kazuha. He grins. “Be safe.”
Kazuha smiles. “Thank you, Childe,” he says.
“Ajax,” Childe says.
Kazuha blinks. “Sorry?”
“Ajax,” Childe says again. He looks almost hopeful. “It’s what my family calls me. You could too, if you wanted.”
Kazuha’s heart sinks. He knows what this is. He knows what this is. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I have to go.”
This time, the Alcor’s journey is a stormy one. Despite the danger, Kazuha is almost relieved—at least it leaves him no time to think.
When he meets up with Childe again, enough time has passed that Kazuha only feels slightly on edge. They don’t do much out of the ordinary. After dinner, they go back to Childe’s apartment for the usual, and Kazuha finally lets his guard down. While they’re still in bed, entwined, Childe takes his hand, kisses his knuckles. Kazuha knows what he is going to say even before he says it.
“Kazuha,” Childe says. He is blushing, but his gaze is steady. “Kazuha, I love you.”
Kazuha’s heart twists. “Please,” he says. “Don’t—don’t say that.”
“Why not?” Childe looks hurt. “It’s true, whether I say it or not.”
“I just—” Kazuha sighs, extricating himself from Childe gently. “I can’t—I can’t give you what you want from me.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
Childe’s eyes flash. “Fine. Fine. I just—” He exhales. Kazuha can feel the frustration and sorrow under his skin, like a storm. “I just want for you to care about me. Me, as I am. Is that too much to ask?”
“But I do,” Kazuha protests. “I do, truly—”
“Do you?
“Of course, Childe, why would you—”
“You think I don’t know you’re thinking of someone else?” Childe demands. Anger is strange on him, and all the more fearsome for its strangeness. “Kazuha.”
The shameful truth, ringing out into the air. It cuts deep. Faced with it all, Kazuha does not know what to say. Somewhere, somehow, he had forgotten—perhaps willingly—that even in his own pain and suffering, he too was capable of hurting others. That he had become selfish in his mourning.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He cannot look up.
Childe stiffens. Perhaps despite his vehemence, some part of him had hoped that Kazuha would deny it. Lie, even.
Kazuha cannot bear the silence. He reaches out for Childe, wanting to comfort him, to be kind, to undo all that he has wrought. But Childe jerks away from him like an injured animal, and Kazuha’s fingers catch nothing but air.
Silence and stillness, stretching out into the night.
“Could you—” Childe’s voice is quiet. “Please, could you sleep somewhere else tonight?” His hand is a fist, white-knuckled. “I want to be alone.”
In the coming days, Kazuha cannot bring himself to return. Childe does not seek him out. And so it goes, and so it all ends.
Perhaps it’s all for the better, Kazuha thinks. What had he thought would happen, anyways? That they would keep seeing each other? That he would return from every journey to Childe’s smile, his honest proclamations of I missed you? They’d been from different worlds in the first place, and he’s sure they will be headed to different destinations. So really, this had been inevitable. So really, there is nothing to mourn at all.
This is what Kazuha tells himself. And yet he finds himself sleepless in his cot on the Alcor, even as the white cat purrs contentedly next to him. He wants to say sorry. He wants to go back in time and be kinder and wiser. Mostly, he just wants to see Childe again, to hear his laughter.
Surely, somewhere across the sea in Inazuma, the maple leaves are falling, redder than red and drifting on the wind.
Kazuha’s days are much quieter now. After all that time, he’d taken for granted the sound of Childe’s voice. Sometimes, Kazuha wants to visit him, if only to apologise properly. But he knows that Childe wouldn’t want to see him, anyways. And a part of him is a coward, too—is afraid of what will happen if he does.
Thankfully, Liyue is large, and its people are many. Sometimes, Kazuha thinks he sees Childe in the corner of his eye, though it always turns out to be someone else. It makes him feel relieved, but also lonely. He decides to forgo any new travelling companions in the meantime, aside from the white cat who’s now confident enough to follow him off of the Alcor, to walk beside his ankles. Unfortunately, she is also inclined to wander off and meow at strangers for attention. She is a cat, after all.
This time, the unfortunate target of insistent meowing is a dark-haired girl with pigtails and a hat. She looks delighted, though.
“I’m sorry,” Kazuha says to her.
“Oh, not at all!” the girl says, waving dismissively. “I love cats. I’ve got my own, you know, but they don’t move much.” Kazuha blinks and decides not to pursue the subject. “Hey, I’ve seen you around before! Nice to meet you; I’m Hu Tao!”
As it turns out, Hu Tao is the seventy-seventh director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour, and is rather brazen about her business tactics. Kazuha assures Hu Tao that despite his dangerous occupation as a sailor, he does not currently have the financial faculties to reserve her services at the moment, even with considerable discounts.
“Ah well,” Hu Tao says resignedly. She sits down cross-legged on the ground, and the white cat clambers into her lap. “It is what it is!”
Kazuha settles down beside her. There is something fascinating, he thinks, about a person surrounded by death and mourning, but who remains cheerful and bright as the sun. Kazuha envies her a little. For a few moments, they just sit there together, boy and girl and cat, watching the world go by.
“So,” Hu Tao says, “what were they like?”
Kazuha blinks. “Who?”
“Her first owner,” Hu Tao says, rubbing the white cat under the chin. She looks up at him, almost sagely.
“How did you—”
Hu Tao shrugs. “We all carry a few traces of the people we’ve lost,” she says. “You and her, too. It becomes easy to tell after a while.” She pauses. “You don’t have to talk. Not if you don’t want to.”
“No,” Kazuha says, and exhales. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” And so he speaks, and so he tells her. It has been so long since Kazuha has spoken of him; his voice shakes a little.
His friend had had a heart like the sun. He’d been the type of person who knew the cruelty of the world, and had only become kinder for it. He’d loved music, had taught Kazuha how to play a melody into existence with nothing more than a leaf. When he smiled, one corner of his lips went up higher than the other.
The way he held his sword. His stubbornness, his sense of justice. His threadbare haori, the same hue as maple leaves in autumn. Kazuha remembers and remembers, until he feels as if he is made of memories. And then all of a sudden, there is nothing more to say, and he falls silent.
Hu Tao takes his hand gently. It is only then that Kazuha realizes he is trembling. “I’m sorry,” she says. “He sounds like a lovely person.”
Kazuha swallows. "I never got to say goodbye," he says. “I’m not sure if I even want to.”
“Oh, Kazuha,” Hu Tao says. She looks so kind. “Holding onto your grief won’t bring him back.”
“I know,” Kazuha says. His heart is sore. “I know, I know.” And yet.
Hu Tao is quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, she sounds older than she is. “After my grandfather passed away,” she says quietly, running her hand through white fur, “I realised that there’s only really one thing we need to say to our departed: ‘I loved you, and I'll miss you.’” She gazes up at the sky. “And it was so, so hard for me to say! But it was the truth—it was the real truth, you know? And I think that’s worth saying, always.”
“Yes,” Kazuha says. He finds that he has stopped trembling. “Yes, of course.”
Hu Tao smiles, picking up the purring cat and handing her back to Kazuha. “You don’t have to say it now,” she says. “If you’re not ready, you can say it tomorrow, or next week, or next winter. But do say it. For yourself, if anything.” She stands up, stretches. “Well, my break’s over! Feel free to drop by the parlour if you change your mind. Ask for me!”
“Sure,” Kazuha says, smiling. And then, “Thank you. For listening to me.”
“Of course,” Hu Tao says, eyes bright.
And just like that, she's gone, and Kazuha is left thinking on her words, and marvelling—even after all this time—at the kindness of strangers.
It’s like a fog has lifted, after that. And despite the sorrow that remains on his shoulders, Kazuha can see clearly now. It’s time, he thinks, that he stopped being a coward. It’s time that he listened to his heart, which he has been denying for a long time now.
He doesn’t particularly expect Childe to be home, much less answer the door, but he tries anyways.
“Childe?” Kazuha says, knocking. “Childe, it’s me.”
No response. Kazuha is about to turn away when the door opens, and Childe is standing in front of him for the first time in… in a while, Kazuha realizes.
“Kazuha,” Childe says. His hair is a little messy, like he’d just gotten out of bed. He looks confused. It is all awfully endearing. “Why are you—“ He runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, sorry. Did you—did you want to come in?”
Kazuha blinks, cautious. “Do you… want me to come in?”
“I don’t know,” Childe says, looking a little conflicted. “I'm not sure.” And then he sways on his feet, and Kazuha realizes that there is something terribly wrong here.
“Childe, are you—are you unwell?”
Childe waves dismissively. “I’m fine,” he says. Now that Kazuha looks closely, there is a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his face is a little red. “I’m fine,” he says again, and then Kazuha fairly has to catch him as he sways forward.
“Maybe you’d like to rethink your answer,” Kazuha says, as he half-carries Childe into the apartment.
He helps Childe back into bed. Childe closes his eyes, unresisting.
“Is there anyone taking care of you?” Kazuha asks, kneeling down next to the bed.
“I can’t have people seeing me like this,” Childe says, sounding almost affronted, and Kazuha sighs. Childe and his pride.
“What about me?” Kazuha asks. “Are you alright with me?”
Childe opens his eyes. “I’m—” He swallows. “Why are you here, Kazuha?”
“I just wanted to apologise,” Kazuha says quietly.
A pause. “And then what?” Childe says. “What happens after that? Are you going to leave?”
“Well,” Kazuha says, “that’s up to you. What do you want me to do?”
Childe sighs. He looks so young like this, so vulnerable. He looks like any other boy with a summer cold. But when he speaks, his voice is steady. “Stay, Kazuha,” he says. “I want you to stay.”
“Okay,” Kazuha says. His heart is full. “I won’t go anywhere.”
He takes care of Childe through the night. When he has time to rest, he kneels at the bed, falling asleep from time to time even as his legs grow stiff.
Childe dreams restlessly. He seems afraid, almost. “No,” he’ll mutter, “no, get away from me,” and Kazuha will wake him gently from the nightmare, brushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay, Childe.”
Childe looks up at Kazuha like he’s not sure if he’s real. “You’re still here,” he whispers.
Kazuha takes his hand. “Of course,” he says.
When Kazuha wakes up, he is still holding Childe’s hand. His neck is sore from falling asleep in a strange position, and so are his legs. But he doesn’t mind. Gently, he tries to extricate himself.
“Where are you going?” Childe asks hoarsely.
Kazuha blinks, surprised. “I thought you were asleep,” he says. “I’m just going to get something to drink.”
“Okay,” Childe says, and lets him go reluctantly.
When he returns, Childe is sitting up. Kazuha sets down the water on his nightstand.
“Are you feeling better?” Kazuha asks.
Childe nods. Kazuha knows better than to believe him, though. So he presses his forehead to Childe’s, and finds that his fever seems to have broken. When he pulls back, Childe looks a little shocked, his face redder than before.
“Ah,” Kazuha says, blushing as well, “I’m sorry.” He’d forgotten, momentarily, the supposed distance between them.
“It’s fine,” Childe says, looking flustered. He reaches for the water, taking a few sips before leaning back against the headboard. “I didn’t think you’d come see me,” he says.
Kazuha looks down at his hands. “I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he says. And then, “I’m sorry, truly. I was mourning someone, and I took it out on you.”
Childe is silent. Kazuha is afraid to meet his eyes.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” Kazuha continues, and his voice shakes. “You don’t have to forgive me, and you don’t have to be my friend. I just—I want you to know that for what it’s worth, you were—you are… dear to me. And I do care about you, very much.”
When Childe finally speaks, he is quiet. “Kazuha,” he says, and the one word means a thousand things from him. “Could you—could you look at me, for once?” His voice is a strange thing: half a plea, half a command. “Kazuha. Look at me.”
Fingers under Kazuha’s chin, tilting his face upwards. Kazuha lets it happen.
He had always found it unnerving to look Childe in the eye, because seeing someone like this inevitably means being seen. But now, Kazuha finds that he could not tear his gaze away if he wanted to. Childe’s eyes are hidden world of honesty, of fondness, of affection. For him, Kazuha realizes with a soft thrill, and him only. Blue, blue, like the swell of the ocean.
“I’m sorry,” Kazuha says again, voice low. “I haven’t been good to you.”
“No,” Childe says. “You haven’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Childe says. “Just be better.”
“I can try to do both,” Kazuha says, smiling a little.
“Well,” Childe says, the corners of his lips quirking upwards, “that’d be nice.”
Kazuha almost feels like crying, but not for sorrow. “Childe?”
“Yeah?”
“I missed you.”
Childe begins to grin. His joy is beautiful to behold, the brightest thing in the room. “I missed you too, Kazuha,” he says.
They agree to be friends.
It’s for the best, Kazuha knows. It keeps things less complicated, gives them both time to heal, to know each other a little better. So they don’t share a bed, but they keep each other company and talk in a way that they hadn’t before: candid, unguarded. Tell me about this, Kazuha will say. All the things he’d thought he didn’t want to know. Tell me about you.
Childe doesn’t shy away with his own questions, either. Kazuha tells him about everything: the fall of his clan, his journeying in Inazuma, the masterless Vision next to his own. And Childe listens, quiet. In turn, Kazuha learns about the boy who’d fallen into the abyss for three hellish months, who’d been weak and afraid once, but never again. Never again.
Story for story, honesty for honesty. In other words, understanding. In other words, friendship. It is a rare and beautiful thing.
As Kazuha learns to know more about Childe, he finds that there is one thing he doesn’t quite understand. And so he asks Childe when they are outside one day, and the rain has just given away to sun. Kazuha carries the white cat in his arms, who gazes curiously at the geese flying in the sky.
“That day we met,” Kazuha says, “why did you ask me to eat with you?”
Childe grins. “Would you believe me if I said it was because you were my type?”
Kazuha laughs, pushes him gently. “No,” he says.
“Well,” Childe says, with a smile, “it’s not too far from the truth, really.” He shrugs, sobering. “I just saw you, and I thought you looked strong. Strong and lonely. And I thought—well, I wouldn’t mind being friends with someone like that.”
“Ah,” Kazuha says, quiet. And then he smiles. “So you just wanted a sparring partner, yes?”
“I mean, I did get one,” Childe says, grinning. “Your turn,” he says, eyes bright. “Why did you say yes?”
Kazuha does not hesitate. “Well, you were sitting alone in a restaurant,” he says, mischievous. “It made me a little sad.”
“Unbelievable,” Childe says, mock-exasperated, and reaches out to mess up Kazuha’s hair. Kazuha laughs, trying to push him off. “Unbelievable, really. You really are the worst sometimes, you know? And that’s coming from me.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Kazuha says. He pauses, grows serious. “Truth be told,” he says, “I thought it was very kind of you to ask. Because you were right: I was lonely.”
Childe is silent for a moment. “Are you still?”
“Not at all,” Kazuha says. He leans his head on Childe’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says, closing his eyes. “Really, thank you, Childe. For everything.”
Childe does not speak, but his arm comes to rest around Kazuha’s shoulders, a wonderful weight to bear.
One day, Kazuha holds his friend’s extinguished Vision in his hand, and thinks that perhaps it is time to pass it on. He’s heard of Visions reawakening for new masters; perhaps the same could happen for this one.
After some consideration, he seeks out Beidou.
“Anegimi,” he says, “I have an idea.”
Unfortunately, the Vision does not wake during the Crux Clash, even at the hands of that star-flung traveller. But Kazuha does not despair, nor does he give up hope. After all, the world is vast—there must be someone.
When Kazuha tells Childe that his next voyage is to Inazuma, Childe does not remark on the possible dangers, does not ask why. It is, in a way, a compliment that he believes in Kazuha’s strength.
“When will you come back?” is all he asks.
“I’m not sure,” Kazuha says. He takes Childe’s hand in his own. “But I will. I promise.”
“Okay,” Childe says. He smiles. “I’ll be waiting.”
Kazuha wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so much it almost hurts.
It is strange to set foot on Inazuma after all this time—it makes Kazuha keenly aware of how much he’s changed. He’d been a different person when he’d fled from these shores, younger and less certain. But his beliefs have not wavered, and so he fights alongside the Resistance, alongside old friends and new, with pride in his heart. And when the Raiden Shogun’s blinding strike threatens to fall on the traveller, Kazuha forgets danger.
Not again, he thinks, not again, never again—
He feels a sudden surge of strength, and his blade meets the god’s, stopping its arc through the air. Her power is unbelievable, overwhelming. And yet Kazuha stands, and yet he parries the blow with all he has. There, he realises: he is not alone. He has never been alone.
On his shoulder, the masterless Vision glows a brilliant violet for the first time in more than a year.
After all that strife, all the sorrow and loss. Peace, at long last.
Kazuha stands on a bridge in Hanamizaka, and looks out at the land, the beautiful land. He hopes it will heal, that the next generation of children will hear of these tragedies as nothing more than stories. Because despite everything it’s been through, the land stands proud and bright, its people kind and resilient. Eternally growing, changing. For the better, he hopes.
“So,” Beidou says, coming to stand beside him, “where are you going from here?”
Kazuha’s thought about it. For a moment, he’d considered being a true wanderer again, perhaps even staying in Inazuma for a while. But he’s quite liked his life in the past year or so, liked the people he’s shared it with. And he’s made a promise, after all.
“I think I’d like to stay, for now,” he says. “With the Crux. If that’s okay.”
Beidou smiles. “Of course it is,” she says. “You’ll always have a place here.” She laughs. “I don’t know how many times you’ve gotten us out of trouble with the weather.”
“Thank you, anegimi,” Kazuha says with a smile.
“Anytime.”
“Oh,” Kazuha says, remembering. He reaches for the masterless Vision on his shoulder, which is lightless again. At rest, Kazuha realises. “There’s something I have to do first.”
Beidou softens. “Of course,” she says. “We’re not leaving for a while. Take your time.”
He brings the white cat with him. Somehow, she seems to know, walking ahead of him with her tail held high until they reach the grave.
It is quiet here. Peaceful. Kazuha wipes off some of the dust that has settled on the sword in the ground, and places the Vision before it. And then he finds that he does not know what to say. There is so much to tell him: about the battle, about his voyages with the Crux. That the white cat is all grown up, that she still likes mackerel. That Kazuha is alright now, that he has fallen in love with someone new, that he is happy. But somehow, he cannot say a word.
As if understanding, as if a miracle, the white cat meows. She crouches, settling down next to the grave, wrapping her tail around herself. And somehow, Kazuha understands. She is staying here. She has been waiting all this time to come back to him.
Perhaps she will grow feral. Perhaps she will wander into the wilderness to hunt mice, nurse wild kittens. Kazuha does not know. But he does know that she is not coming back with him.
“I’ll miss you,” Kazuha says to her. To him. To the earth beneath his feet, the nation which had once been his home. “I loved you, and I’ll miss you.”
The cat purrs, narrowing her eyes in an affectionate feline smile, and brushes up against his outstretched hand in farewell. Kazuha smiles and strokes her one last time.
When he turns away, he does not weep. His heart is lighter than it has been for a long time. And he knows that on the shore of a distant nation where the moon shines jadelike over the sea, someone is thinking of him, waiting for him to come home.
It feels like a lifetime has passed when he returns to Liyue again, when he sees Childe.
“I missed you,” Kazuha says, before Childe can say it first, and Childe laughs, embracing him.
“I missed you too,” he says. And then, holding him tighter, “You’re back. You’re finally back.”
“Yes,” Kazuha says, smiling. Clean and light, Childe’s scent reminds him of winter. A frigid ocean: salt water, ice floes. Kazuha could know him in the dark, now. “I’m back, Ajax,” he says quietly, and he feels Childe tremble. He is ready now, he thinks. For whatever comes next.
“Are you sure?” Childe says, meeting his gaze. “Kazuha, are you sure?”
“If you still want me,” Kazuha says. “If you still—”
Childe kisses him. Kazuha kisses him back—this young man, as wild as a storm, who had chosen him of all people. His loyal, unlikely friend, his companion in this strange land.
How could Kazuha not love him?
The next morning, they sit on a cliff overlooking the sea—that great, sparkling mirror of the sun and stars, the capricious, beautiful mistress of the wide blue sky. Kazuha is warm with sunlight; there is a new poem on the tip of his tongue. Pressed close against him, Childe hums a familiar melody.
For a moment, Kazuha thinks about the past. He had been in love back then, well and truly and for the first time. And it had made him who he is today, but had also broken him in its absence, as love is wont to do. But the human heart, for all its fragility, is resilient beyond belief—steadfast in its ability to love and love and love again, and so here he is. Here they are.
It is, Kazuha thinks, a beautiful place to be.
Even when no thunder sounds
And no rain falls, if you but ask me,
Then I will stay beside you.