today was meant to be a perfect day.
it's a day kaeya's spent weeks planning, to be sure: he's scrubbed and dusted and spruced up every single nook and cranny and scoured local flea markets for simple yet tasteful decorations in an attempt to turn his tiny, barren little flat into a welcoming, sun-filled retreat ( humble though it is, even with the newly-added dashes of color ); he's spent countless hours sourcing rare spices from far and wide, tracking down all the highest-quality ingredients this side of teyvat so that he can make the most creative and involved dinner he's ever come up with. he's put his favorite plants on display, set out sticks of his favorite incense to be burned, even tidied up the hearth and stacked plenty of wood to keep a cozy fire roaring all evening long. the planning of this special evening, meant to be shared with someone so impossibly close to his heart, has been such a source of cheer for him that even several of his fellow knights have noticed, commenting on the joyful spring in the captain's step. he's put his heart and soul into orchestrating it, has looked forward to it for weeks on end ...
... and now that it's finally arrived, he's gone and ruined it, as he ruins most good things that come his way: he's woken up feeling like death warmed over, with a throbbing in his head and a relentless ache in his throat.
( if a tear of frustration and sorrow slips from his good eye during his morning shower, followed by another and another, well ... at least nobody was there to witness it. )
come late afternoon, kaeya knocks lightly on the door to jean's office, then slips inside quietly, shoulders slumped; he plasters himself against the wall, making no attempt to enter further. he's dressed down, hair falling out of his bun, half his face obscured by a medical mask; he tries ( and fails ) to smile at her with his good eye as he drops his gaze back to the floor, every line of his figure weighted heavily with remorse. "i've finished those expense reports, as promised," he rasps, holding up a sheaf of papers; it's only then that he allows himself to approach her desk, dropping them off quickly before retreating back a respectful distance once more.
a pause , a heavy sigh, and then: "i, ah ... i think i may have to call a rain check on dinner tonight, jeannie." the regret in his voice is audible. "i'm not feeling well. i --- "
( the singular good thing about coughing right now is that it gives him a plausible alternate explanation for the wateriness in his eye. he wipes it away roughly, furious with himself on every conceivable level. )
" --- i'm so terribly sorry, yaa amelii, i truly am. i was ... really looking forward to it."
it was meant to be a perfect day.
IT TAKES A GREAT DEAL to lure the Acting Grand Master from the throes of work. Too much of her life is spent wrapped up with the Knights these days. Too many hours spent pouring over paperwork or getting her hands dirty and mucking in for even the most mundane of tasks. The Ordo is her life, it’s her sanity (although it often tests her patience) but it is thanks to the KoF that she has made connections she’ll keep for life. Bonds forged in blood and in battle, but also in the quieter lulls in between while each and every one of them still struggles to catch their breath before more chaos and uncertainty unfolds once again.
Yet despite the demands upon her time, for once Jean had deigned to take an evening off. For three weeks now, it’s been marked in her calendar. An evening spent with a very dear friend. Or perhaps, archons willing, someone more than that. They’ve skirted around it for long enough afterall, the elephant in the room conveyed in soft glances and softer touches. She’d seen the way his expression had brightened when greeted with a smile; how the weight in impossibly burdened shoulders had lifted and eased just by spending time together. It meant something didn’t it? Something deeper rooted and farther reaching than a childhood camaraderie?
As always, the blonde is seated at her desk when he makes an unscheduled appearance, pouring over another set of patrol routes along the Northern border of Mondstadt’s territory. For the briefest of moments her face lights up, genuine affection and joy at his very existence creeping into the alabaster of her face as she ponders both the curious nature of his arrival and the…oddity of how he had presented himself. There’s something strange about the way he keeps his distance, how he springs forth to drop off papers only to retreat again just as quickly.
In Kaeya’s defence, he does look a little worse for wear. Masked and dressed down, he’s a far cry from the usually well polished version of himself that so often graces her office. “You didn’t have to do that, Kaeya. They could’ve waited until morning…” Her voice is kind as it offers comfort and penance, much like the expression that continues to greet him until he lays waste to the evening they had otherwise planned.
There’s no denying the way her face drops at his words; the way so many misspent daydreams and hopes had been snatched from her grasp when they had been so painfully within touching distance. It’s a rejection in the kindest terms. A get-out-of-jail-free card in which illness has spared him the inconvenience of having to indulge whatever foolish notion she’d had of anything even vaguely romantic.
It shouldn’t sting so much and yet it does. Throbs and aches like a gut punch after so many days of genuine optimism and joy. Does he not realise the foolishness of his own words? That he is citing illness as a reason to blow her off, when by her very nature she is a healer at heart? She would’ve braved death itself if it meant easing his suffering, and yet he chooses to push her away. To seek distance, after so many months of creeping closer and closer together…
For the most fleeting of moments Jean feels positively nauseous at the thought, yet as ever dignity and composure prevail. With a slow intake of breath and despite the sorrow in her eyes, as ever the blonde paints on a smile - a parting gift to spare him the guilt of having to face her at all.
❝It’s fine, Captain. Go home and rest. I’ll pick up your shift tomorrow. ❞ At least if she’s busy she can’t dwell on it. Can’t stew in the lingering feeling of isolation that accompanies her position, nor the loneliness that dwells deep within her bones. It would’ve been silly to take a night off anyway. There’s still plenty of work to do. Plenty of reports to log and finances to review...
❝… I hope you feel better. ❞
