pairing: kaeya alberich/reader
rating: teen & up
summary: You know you have no right to feel this way, and yet, there is a lump in your throat, and an ache in your chest, a pain in your heart the only he could cure. But you are not lovers - never have been, never will be. And yet. And yet. And yet. And yet, you want him more than anything.
notes: based on an anon request! this is admittedly a little over the place, but i hope it’s still ok! i also finished this at like. 3 am. so i apologize for any glaring errors. anyway, happy weekends everyone!
It’s the holiday season, and once again, everything is much chipper than usual. Bright lights all over, casting a dreamlike glow all over the city—warm yellow light spilling through the streets, mesmerizing and ethereal. Everywhere you look, there are people all over, crowding the streets, the city: children and their mothers; groups of girls trailing lazily in the sidewalks, laughing and talking; and then lovers, strolling lazily around the city, taking everything in together. Smiles on their faces, their laughter ringing all over, loud and joyful.
And though you do not want to admit it, you feel a little envious. Here you are, on the streets, walking alone in the middle of the night with nothing but your own thoughts to join you. It’s the loneliest you’ve ever been, though it isn’t as if you could blame it on anyone but yourself—falling in love with someone who could only love you in secret: in empty alleys, in darkened corners, in empty rooms on quiet nights, away from prying eyes, from whispered rumors.
You frown, shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts. It’s not good to think about depressing thoughts like this, especially on a cheerful night like this. And so you, tear your eyes away from the strangers—blurry faces passing you by on the street, happy and cheerful—and keep your eyes on the ground, careful not to run into anyone or to trip over anything.
You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering at the sudden chill biting at your skin, trying not to let your thoughts stray toward him. His name on the tip of your tongue, his face on the front of your mind, drowning out everything else. Him. Kaeya. The only one who has your heart, even if you could never say the words out loud.
You miss him now more than ever, miss him more than you could even admit: his hands on your skin, trailing all over; his name on your lips, soft as a whisper; and his arms around you at night—safe and warm and secure. Even if he leaves again in the morning, the smell of him lingering all over you—the only proof he’s ever been here at all.
And now, it’s been a while since you’ve last seen him—a proper meeting instead of mere glimpses, secret trysts every now and then when he’s out patrolling the city; and it’s even longer still since you’ve last had a chance to talk to him—a proper conversation in the evenings, instead of whatever you’ve had for the last few weeks: a murmured apology and then a promise to see you soon—words that disappear just as soon as he walks away.
But enough of that.
You reach the corner of the street, and then stop, turning your head this way and that to study your surroundings. You’ve never been in this part of the city before: empty streets, quiet surroundings, abandoned buildings all around you, littered with graffiti—words and drawings that barely make sense, except perhaps for the ones who have put them in there.
Still, based on the description Lisa has given you, this has to be the right street. Frowning, you look around you, narrowing your eyes as you search for your destination. The Venus Retrograde, she tells you over the phone, nearly shouting the words out in order for you to hear them. Down in the corner street, shady-looking, with neon lights too bright to miss.
It takes a moment to find it, but still you manage to spot it—placed conspicuously in the street, sandwiched between two abandoned buildings, gray and crumbling even from a distance. The Venus Retrograde, in huge neon-colored letters, blinking brightly at you in the dark, sharp and vivid that it’s impossible not to notice. There is no mistake—this is the place where Lisa has sent you.
You take a deep breath, and recall what it is she has said over the phone. A party in the bar, along with all your friends and acquaintances, complete with food and drinks and liquor. Or at least, that’s what she’d told you, giggling on the other end of the line as she urges you to come.
You have been a little reluctant at first, uncertain if you should be in the presence of the Knights of Favonius when you’re not even one yourself, but Lisa has a way with words, and before long, you’re already promising to meet with her after work, writing down the address she’d given you on a crumpled piece of paper—something you’ve hurriedly snatched from the trash.
And now, here you are, standing in front of the door, uncertain why you’re even here in the first place. Why did you even agree, you think, scolding yourself. You don’t even belong here. You don’t even belong with the rest of them.
And yet, it’s too late to back out now. You take a deep breath and square your shoulders, contemplating if you should knock on the door or just barge in like she says you’re supposed to, but before you could think too much about it, the door suddenly opens, revealing a familiar face on the other side—Lisa.
“Hi, dearie!” she exclaims, smiling brightly at you. She is quick to usher you inside, welcoming you with a warm hug, something you’re a little too startled to return. She’s still smiling when she pulls away, and all the discomfort you’ve felt as soon as you arrived here in this place immediately disappears.
She makes small talk with you for a while, and everything seems so easy for the next few minutes. You turn your head this way and that, observing your surroundings for a while. Despite the shabbiness of the bar outside, it’s a lot more comfortable inside: warm lights surround the place, casting an orange glow on everything and everyone. Wooden chairs, wooden tables, wooden floorboards—everything is cozy and comfortable, a stark contrast to how you’ve initially imagined it in your head.
A fireplace in the middle of the room, burning low and bright in the night, orange flames flickering every now and then, beautiful and mesmerizing. And somewhere in the corner, a face that haunts you even in your waking moments. Kaeya.
Your breath hitches in your throat, though you remain still as a statue, glued to your spot. Beside you, Lisa is still talking, though her voice merely floats all around you, her words barely comprehensible against the sound of your pounding heart.
Kaeya doesn’t seem to have spotted you yet, at least not right now. Even from a distance, he has still remained the same, unchanged from the last time you’ve seen him. Familiar like he’s the only one you’ve ever known—a knowledge you’ve acquired from hundreds of sleepless nights, staring at his sleeping face until the sun begins to rise on the horizon, committing every little detail until you’re certain you have memorized every inch of him.
The same dark hair you’ve threaded through your fingers, the same dark eye you’ve gazed at almost every night, following you even in your dreams. Leaning casually against the wall, he remains oblivious at your presence, his attention completely on the woman in front of him, taking in every word that spills out of her lips, hungry.
She points at something above them, and he laughs as though he finds the whole thing amusing. And then slowly, he begins to lean in and kisses her: his mouth on hers, lingering for the longest time. A lump forms at your throat, and tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, and yet somehow, you couldn’t look away. Mesmerized as the day you’ve first met him, you continue to watch him, keeping your eyes on him the whole time until it all becomes too much—your vision blurry with tears, and your heart too heavy to carry.
It’s enough. You’ve had enough.
You turn back to your companion, mumbling a series of excuses under your breath, though at this point, you aren’t even certain what you’re saying. Every sound seems suddenly hollow against your ears, even your own voice, your own words. Hollow voices, ghostly laughter. Hushed conversations all around you, and yet everything feels distant, faraway, as though it’s happening somewhere else entirely.
As though you’re transported somewhere else entirely.
And then before you know it, you are already dashing out the door, with your friend shouting after you, yelling your name and urging you to come back.
But it’s too late.
You don’t know how long you’ve been running, or where you’ve run off to, but all you know is that you’re lost, ending up on some part of the street where you aren’t even the least bit familiar, in the middle of a darkened alley. And yet somehow, in your haze, he has managed to follow you, and now here you are, surrounded by him and a silence so heavy it’s almost unendurable.
“Hi,” he greets, and his voice is smooth, casual, leaning against the wall and acting as though nothing has happened at all.
“Hey,” you respond, and it’s hard to keep your face straight, your voice calm, when the corners of your eyes are still stinging with tears—a sight you’re certain is obvious, even to him, and a sight you’re grateful he hasn’t remarked about.
“Caught you at the last minute. You didn’t even say goodbye.”
The words are quiet, awkward, and all of a sudden, it feels even harder to breathe. The silence that follows is long, heavier than you could bear. You swallow a lump in your throat, giving him a careless shrug. “It got too hot all of a sudden. I needed some air.”
The lie comes easy enough, and yet, with the way he narrows his eyes at you, suspicious and disbelieving, it’s obvious that he isn’t quite convinced. “You haven’t even been there for five minutes.”
“And how would you even know it?” The words come out sharp, sudden. A scathing remark, bitter and venomous against your tongue. Like a knife, it cuts sharply through the silence, and yet he remains unfazed, staring at you with a steadiness that makes you want to curl in on yourself.
“Believe it or not, I was actually waiting for you to arrive.”
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, and stare at him in complete disbelief. You’re only vaguely aware of how you’re acting—childish and whiny, like a frustrated child throwing a tantrum when they couldn’t get the gift they want, and yet you couldn’t help it, not when it’s all like this. Not when you feel like this.
A moment of silence passes between you. He studies you for a little while longer, his eyes glinting brightly in the dark as he studies your face—the kind of glint that tells you he knows something that you don’t. He leans back against the wall, placing his hands on the pockets of his pants as he turns to face you once more. “Ah. So you’ve seen all that.”
You purse your lips, choosing not to respond. Instead, you let the silence wash over you, aware of the way he stares at you—intense and unreadable, his thoughts as distant as the rest of him seem in this very moment.
“Listen,” he begins, and the hint of amusement in his voice is so obvious that it’s almost unmistakable. “The two of us were under a mistletoe. Surely, you do understand what that means?”
Of course you do; you’re not an idiot. And yet in your immediate misery, you’ve failed to notice all that; still, you aren’t going to give him the victory of admitting your mistake out loud, and so you bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to stop you from telling the truth.
He flashes you a tiny smile. Unbothered by the silence and your lack of response, he continues, in that same smooth voice he has used earlier, his words still tinged with growing amusement. “Why? Were you jealous?”
“No,” you reply, the words spilling out a little too quickly. “Why would I be?”
And despite the pain in your chest, you couldn’t deny the truth behind your words. Why would you be jealous when you have no right to be? You’re not even his lover, and he’s never been yours, despite all the sweet little promises he whispers in your ear each time the two of you are together at night.
Whispered conversations in the dark; hushed laughter in the dead of the night, careful not to break the silence. Kisses shared behind empty alleys, in empty corridors, quick and faint as though it’s never there at all. Sweet promises whispered against your ear in the silence, forgotten once more in the daybreak, in the morning.
You don’t have a name for this, for what the two of you have, and yet. And yet. And yet. And yet. It is unfair to feel this way: a lump in your throat, an ache in your chest.
He hums under his breath, nodding his head, and there it is again: that glint in his eyes, brighter now than it has ever been before. “Hm. Sounds to me like you are.”
For a moment, you stop, surprised at how easy he has pulled the truth from your teeth. How long has he known? But just as quickly as the surprise flits on your face, it disappears, replaced all too quickly by a facade you’ve carefully perfected over the months—in front of strangers, of friends, of yourself. Of him.
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, ignoring the way your heart pounds against your ribcage, loud enough to drown out every sound, even your own voice, your own words. “You’re perfectly welcome to kiss whomever you wa—”
But the words never fully leave your lips. Within seconds, his already onto you: his mouth pressing against yours, kissing you, and somehow, despite everything that’s happened, it’s never felt this good. It is almost automatic, the way you ache for him, the way you crave for more: your arms around his neck, pulling him close, closer than before, closer than you’ve ever had him.
It’s a long and heated kiss, sloppy and haphazard, and suddenly, you are reminded of late afternoons in empty alleys, your back against the wall as he kisses you all over, quick and hurried, as though there isn’t any more time left to enjoy it.
And yet it is over too soon, and you are left panting when he pulls away, eager to catch your breath. It takes a moment to gather your thoughts, and slowly, you look up to find him smiling, the corners of his lips quirked up in amusement. “What…?”
“There,” he says, and his eyes are twinkling with an emotion you couldn’t name, an emotion you couldn’t quite recognize. “Didn’t you tell me to kiss who I want? I’ve done it.”
His words take a moment to sink in, and even as it does, it has left you confused, surprised, uncertain how to respond, except to stammer—the words incomprehensible in your startled haze, your voice pathetic to your own ears.
But he only smiles at you in response, leaning down to plant another quick kiss on the tip of your nose. A rare gesture of affection, soft and tender that it makes your heart flutter.
“Let’s go,” he says, reaching to grab hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together and pulling you alongside him before you could even utter a word of protest. “We don’t want to keep Lisa waiting for too long now, hm?”
You give him a quiet nod, still a little too stunned to give him a proper reply, and he grins back at you—knowing, mischievous, the way he’s done when the two of you have first met, and begins to lead you to the direction of the bar. And together, the two of you begin to walk: his palm warm against yours, and his touch safe and comforting, firm as though he doesn’t plan on letting you go just yet.
Even now, you still aren’t certain how to explain what has happened between you, but for now, you suppose: all’s well that ends well.