Albedo has left something for Kaeya once again - a painting propped up against his office desk. The painting is little more than calla lilies by a lake, reflecting in blue, rippled water. Upon closer inspection, a frog is poking its head out of the water causing the distortion. It seems Albedo has already left for the day.
the calla lilies of the abyss were nothing like teyvat’s. archon’s blessed, bountiful with water and sunlight, that the prince found comfort in an ideal so scarce in their homeland felt ... undeserving, in a way. he shouldn’t have been enjoying the sunlight when so many of his people still suffered under celestia’s tyrannical curse. small comforts such as these ; soft summer breeze scented with dandelions and the crisp ocean air, to be able to carve his hand through water and see beneath pools that weren’t made of inky darkness — sometimes it seemed to good to be true. one starlit eye would rove over the expanse of the painting, imagining the precise stroke of albedo’s brush as it dragged the colour against a plain white canvas. something from nothing, hands so capable of destruction compelled to create over and over and over again. their fates were unkind, their fates were not beautiful.
this temporary haven, where kaeya could indulge, where the worst of his problems was tracking down the next rogue thief, this was indulgence unlike any other. how could he know a home other than this one, where even the details of a simple pond would coax forth childhood memories ; tadpoles, and innocent children pushing each other into muddy waters, the cicada song, and evening fireflies. he wanted it to stay like this forever.
deft fingers moved over the strokes, swirling azure and green, red pollen stems vibrant against the crisp white of petals. it was a simple scene. he was sure that albedo hadn’t meant to invoke such nostalgia, such longing. if xe had only meant to make kaeya smile, xe’d done so much and more. paintings by albedo were sought after, marvelled at for an almost ... mechanical accuracy of the subject, an almost inhuman ability to capture light and shadow perfectly, as one would a camera. they seemed to be changing though, slowly, after all, the most personable of xyr pieces have always been that in the throws of creative drive, or, those on the brink of a block, when a dam of compulsion would urge xem to create, create, create. kaeya loved that about xem, how human they were without realising it, with their fear of acknowledging it.
when next he met the alchemist, arms would come to wrap around xem, pressing to xyr back affectionately as seeking lips trailed over the back of xyr neck.
‘ thank you for the painting, beloved. ’
and after a moment, a cheeky smirk.
‘ your self portraits are getting better and better. ’
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