Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was the coldest winter Sumeru had seen in years.

The only one, some would argue. Sumeru's climate rarely deviated from its normal range— most days fell somewhere between warm and melting-hot, depending on the season and time of day. But this week, the world had seen fit to dump two inches of snow on the poor, unsuspecting city.

Lumine had cursed her Mondstadtian heritage countless times while she walked, drenched in sweat while her blood rose to a faint simmer— good for cooking vegetables, perhaps, but not for maintaining homeostasis— as she passed crowds of people who seemed miraculously unbothered by the sun trying its damnedest to flambé them alive. It had prepared her for only the mildest of summers, when the sun stayed hidden behind clouds and the wind softened its heat into a warm caress.

Now, though, bundled in a sweater and barely feeling a thing, she was grateful. If only because it meant she owned something suitable for the weather and hadn't freaked out when the sky had cast white powder upon them instead of their usual midday rain.

The snow glistened in the light of the streetlamps, almost luminescent beneath the night sky. It was piled on the sidewalks and on the streets it was lined with curved tire-tracks, hasty imprints left by drivers who had probably never heard of black ice, let alone tried driving on unplowed roads. Not that most Mondstadters were brave enough to go out before the plows cleared their streets.

At least Mondstadt had snowplows. And salt. Sumeru was unprepared for this onslaught of northern weather, and it was clear in the utter desolation outside that its people had not yet let curiosity temper their apprehension.

By morning, the snow would be gone, or there would be paths trodden in what little was left, marks from the soles of shoes neither made for nor accustomed to snow. But now, in the day's dying embers, Lumine was the lone sojourner on the road, braving the snow not out of bravery, but the simple monotony of routine.

Though she'd hung up her apron fifteen minutes ago, she still smelled like coffee. Even as the frigid air burned her nose— constricting blood vessels and hyperactive mucus membranes to warm the air before it reached her lungs, one of countless inconveniences that kept the body moving— she could almost taste it, bitter or sweet or pumped full of enough caffeine to kill someone. All made to order, all made by the ambivalent hands of the minimum-wage machine.

The day was over, at least, and it hadn't been bad. Her classes were tough and work was boring, but those were truths universally acknowledged. If that alone could sour a day, every day would taste like an old man's favorite blend: black and bitter, not a pinch of sugar or a dollop of cream to be seen.

Sumeru's sudden affair with winter had put a hamper on her garden plans, though. She'd been looking forward to getting her seeds in the ground this weekend, but anything she tried to plant in this sudden cold would die before it had a chance to sprout. It'd look as sad and confused as the trees lining either side of the street, vibrant leaves speckled with white. The cold snap had come on so suddenly their chlorophyll hadn't had time to break down; the leaves were going about their lives as though nothing had happened, probably wondering why it was so cold and where the sun had gone.

Lumine rolled her eyes, a half-smile biting at the corners of her lips. Stupid. The trees weren't wondering anything. They were going through the motions like anyone else, working to keep themselves alive in spite of the world and its wintry whims. At least it was easy for them— absorb a little sunlight, drink in some water from their roots, and biology would handle the rest. Lumine had to work for her keep and went to school so she'd be able to afford better keep in some far-off future.

Her stomach grumbled, pulling her from whatever potential existential crisis the silence and darkness of the night was leading her down. What was she going to make for dinner? That question, despite presenting itself every night, never failed to stump her. She would probably throw something quick together, some rice and beans and whatever seasonings or sauces tickled her fancy in the moment. Then she'd sit herself down for a miserable evening of studying before falling into a too-short sleep.

A shiver shot down her spine. She could feel goosebumps prickling up and down her arms, the cold worming its way past her sweater and through the cheap fabric of her uniform. Why hadn't she made herself something to drink before she left? She and Kaveh had been the only ones working closing— one missing to-go cup and a stale pastry wouldn't have raised any eyebrows.

She'd been distracted. She'd been watching the snow fall, so transfixed she'd left the coffee shop's last patron standing at the counter for two minutes before he'd cleared his throat, drawing her back to the real world where people didn't lose themselves in the weather and the thoughts of home it brought on.

Lumine ran her fingers through her hair. If only she'd brought a hat; then she wouldn't be chilly at all. Her hair was too short to provide her neck shelter from the howling winter wind, and her hood fell back with every gust. Fighting the cold in its domain was a losing battle. She would have to suffer through it until she got home. Then she could change into her thickest, fuzziest pajamas, wrap herself in a blanket, and huddle around the stove like a modern-day hearth.

Headlights lit the street ahead with blinding clarity, the twin high beams of a frantic driver trying to avoid disaster. Light filled the alleys that snaked between the buildings Lumine passed and cast dramatic shadows over the walls.

There was something ahead, in one of the upcoming alleys, a patch of dark unmoved by the transient light. Lumine caught it in the corner of her eye, head turning just in time for the car to pass, cloaking the night back in shadow. The streetlights did little to illuminate the side-streets and detours that ran like veins through Sumeru's suburban hell, always the subject of overheard rumor. One benefit to working at the coffee shop was listening in on an abundance of conversations; it kept her more well-informed than the news ever had, with the added bonuses of being more entertaining and less encumbered by ads.

She squinted, trying to focus, but her eyes told her nothing.

Had she been wiser or more cautious— and certainly if she'd watched the news or true crime and kept a conscious awareness about how dangerous the world could be— she might have turned around to take a detour. She might have trudged across the street, hoping no cars would come as she hurried as fast as possible through calf-deep snow-slush. But Lumine was tired and hungry, and all thoughts of the potential danger ahead were silenced by her desire to go home.

She wanted her little house, with its thin walls and crappy heating and the leaky faucets her landlord, Dori, refused to fix. She wanted to eat her sad dinner and to suffer through studying for her upcoming exams and to stare at her phone hoping someone would call. Or text. Only these little slices of comfort, punctuation marks between one long day and the next, made the mire of minimum-wage work and grueling classwork worth it.

Whatever it was, she was going to ignore it. If she didn't acknowledge it, it may as well not exist. Plenty of people succeeded with that philosophy, right? She was going to stare at the streetlights, stars on earth, drowning out the celestial bodies above with their electrical radiance, and ignore the mystery in the alley.

That was the plan, at least. Then another car rushed by, heedless of the snow packing into its tires, just in time for Lumine to see what she'd been trying to ignore.

A person. Lying prone, underdressed for the cold, and bleeding. Badly.

Heart sinking, Lumine fumbled for her phone, numb fingers resisting her frantic attempts at entering her passcode. Once it was open, she turned on her flashlight, getting a better look at the mystery that had thwarted her indifference.

The person looked to be about her age, with pale skin and short hair as dark as the midnight sky. A faint dusting of snow had fallen over them— they'd been here for some time. The snow to their left was red, the color bleeding out from a dark patch on their shirt.

Lumine knelt down, pressing her fingers into the stranger's neck, feeling for a pulse. There. The faint throb of a carotid artery. Weak, but present. They needed help and warmth, and they needed it fast. Faster than the Corps of Thirty could provide with the roads slick with snow and their phone lines undoubtedly clogged with reports of car accidents and roofs collapsed beneath the weight of their new snowy hats.

Though it was dark, Lumine knew the way home like the back of her hand. It would take five, maybe six minutes to get back. It would be warm there, enough to lift the chill from their skin, which Lumine could feel even through the numbness of her fingers. She could tend their wounds, too, there. Then she could call the Corps of Thirty about the stranger she'd found bleeding out and someone else could figure out what to do with them.

Shallow breaths clouded around their pale lips as Lumine maneuvered them upright, grimacing at their weight. They were heavier than they looked, though they seemed to stand at about her height. As she began the delicate task of shuffling back home while trying not to drop her newfound dead weight, their head lolled back, landing on her shoulder with enough force to make her wince. Out like a light. Dead weight, but not dead. Not on her watch.

The stranger kept her mind tethered from its usual wanderings; there was no time to dwell on how her life seemed to be fraying at the edges or how much she wanted to quit her job or her studies or give up on Aether and their dream when she needed all of her focus to keep herself upright. By the time she was fishing her keys from her pocket and jamming them into the lock, she felt more herself than she had in— how long?

Too long, probably.

Sliding the lock shut behind her, she kicked off her boots before dragging her unconscious plus-one into her bathroom, heaving them into the tub, and beginning the precarious work of extracting them from their clothes, soaked with melted snow and the smell of copper.

Lumine hissed as she worked their arms free of their sleeves, exposing a gruesome array of cuts and bruises across the frail pane of their stomach. The worst was a deep gash stretching from their hipbone to the middle of their ribs, clearly the work of a knife. Whoever had attacked them had taken great pleasure in their suffering and then left them to die.

The thought made Lumine's jaw clench as she reached under her sink for a washcloth, wetting it with warm water to begin scrubbing away the blood that had crusted over their skin. People did terrible things to each other all the time— she didn't have to watch the news to know that— and sometimes they had a respectable reason. But what could justify leaving someone to die in an alley like that? If whoever had done this had wanted this person dead, why hadn't they finished the job themselves?

It didn't matter. Not anymore. Because whoever had done this wasn't getting what they'd wished for; Lumine was going to save this stranger, no matter how much sleep it forced her to sacrifice. A future nurse ought to do nothing less.

Slinging the washcloth over the lip of the tub, she reached for the first aid kit tucked in the cupboard under her sink, nose twitching as she brushed a thin layer of dust off the top. She popped it open, grabbing a handful of butterfly bandages and the tube of antibiotic cream. Then she readied a cotton pad with hydrogen peroxide and began the treatment proper.

She'd done this countless times, but Aether had never gotten wounds this bad as a kid. Not that he'd had much chance to. He'd been sickly then, prone to catching every bug and virus that was going around and some more just for the hell of it. Most of Lumine's responsibilities had had nothing to do with treating wounds; she'd monitored his temperature, kept the washcloth over his forehead damp when he was running a fever, and goaded and threatened and coaxed him into taking more medicine than most people took in a lifetime.

The occasional scraped knee or splinter was nothing like a stab wound— could she call this a stab wound? It looked more like a slash, but as far as she knew that wasn't an official term— but the principle was still the same. Staunch the bleeding, make sure the wound didn't necessitate stitches, and disinfect it. The stranger's wounds had all clotted, so the hard part was over. The bad gash might need stitches, but that could wait until the Corps of Thirty could come.

That left disinfecting.

The peroxide frothed as she brushed damp cotton along the stranger's cuts, cleaning the rest of the blood. There wasn't much she could do about the bruising, but those didn't pose any risk of infection.

Once the disinfecting was done, she began to bandage the wounds. The worst cut garnered butterfly bandages that would seal them shut until a professional could assess if they needed stitches, and the lesser wounds received regular bandages, each applied over a generous balm of antibiotic cream.

The cuts were confined to their torso, but bruises bloomed along their jawbone and arms. Their knuckles were split, necessitating another few cotton rounds to clean the blood. The sight made her smile in spite of herself; whoever she'd saved, they hadn't gone down without a fight. The odds were against them, but they'd tried. Whoever had wrought all this harm hadn't escaped unscathed.

With the wounds taken care of, she left the room, shifting through her bedroom drawers to find something that would fit. Settling on an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, she returned to the bathroom to divest the stranger of their pants.

Like the shirt, they wouldn't come off without a fight. From winter nights innumerable playing in the snow, she knew how hard it was to take wet clothes off of herself, but undressing someone else was a different beast entirely. The pants clung like a second skin, first to their knees, then to their ankles. When they were finally off, the stranger was left in boxers and socks; she removed the latter while pointedly ignoring the former.

So her mystery patient was a guy, then? She'd have to keep that under wraps with Aether. He would freak out if he knew she'd brought a strange man into her house, injured or not. His worries would not be unfounded, but with a cut like that, the stranger would have a hard time causing trouble. If he tried to attack her, he'd do just as much damage to himself, if not more.

Drying the residual moisture left by his clothes with a towel, she began the much easier process of reacquainting him with clothing. Her hoodie fit well, but the pants were a bit loose around the hips. There wasn't much she could do about that, though.

With herculean strength that definitely didn't involve almost stumbling back into the mirror, Lumine lifted the man again, carrying him to the couch, where she wrapped him in the warmest blanket she owned. Color was returning to his lips and the frigid chill was beginning to wane from his skin. Those were good signs, but he still needed proper, professional medical attention. Which would be easier to get if she knew who he was.

His pants! They'd had pockets— unlike most of her own as a victim of some great conspiracy between the pants industry and purse industry— which probably held some sort of identification. Or a phone she could hand over for someone at the Corps of Thirty to crack into.

Rushing back into the bathroom, she dug through the crumpled, damp pile of pants until she found a pocket. She dug her hand in, expecting the bulk of a wallet or phone, and received a hand full of glass shards.

Hissing, she yanked her hand out, inspecting her palm as dozens of tiny flakes of glass stuck from their skin like swords in a stone. The sight sent her rushing for tweezers and another round of hydrogen peroxide.

After picking the shards out, she armed her hands with gardening gloves and went back to searching through the pocket. What she pulled out was indeed a phone, but it had been snapped in two, screen shattered to bits while a few limp wires held the pieces together, electrical arteries bereft of blood to pump.

Shit. Of course. He'd been attacked. Whoever had attacked him would've wanted to make identifying their victim as hard as possible, so they'd broken his phone and probably snatched his ID before fleeing the scene. Why hadn't she thought of that sooner?

Carefully cleaning the remaining glass, she searched for his other pocket. She probably wouldn't find anything in it, but it was worth a shot, wasn't it?

She pulled out a pouch of mora, thick with coins.

Frowning, Lumine thumbed the latch, debating whether or not to open it. Why hadn't his attacker taken it? It'd been spared the snowmelt soaking and clearly contained a lot of money.

It hadn't been a mugging, then. It'd been something worse, though the bruises should've given that away. Most thieves threatened with knives and used them if things went sour, but most stabbing victims didn't walk away with a field of blooming bruises trailing from their torso all the way up their neck.

What happened? What had they wanted from him?

Lumine shuddered; she had a variety of ideas, each more grim than the next.

She set the pouch aside, leaving it unopened. She couldn't put it in the laundry with the rest of his clothes, so she'd leave his belongings on the coffee table. With a note, maybe, explaining what had happened.

What a thing to wake up to. A throbbing side, a strange house, and a little post-it note saying he'd been found half-dead in an alley.

She searched his pants some more, then tried his shirt, but could find no more pockets, nor any other belongings. She'd have to tell the Corps of Thirty that they were dealing with a complete John Doe.

What if they didn't believe her? What if they accused her of attacking him?

Her heart lurched. They couldn't.

But they could. Her fingerprints were all over him and his clothes. She lived close to the scene of the crime. And she'd been out late on a night when every sane person in Sumeru had been tucked safely in the shelter and warmth of their homes, doing their best to stay warm.

Her stomach twisted in queasy knots. No. She didn't own a knife capable of doing that kind of damage, nor was someone of her stature probably capable of leaving such bruises. She had no motive, and her coworkers and friends could vouch for the fact that she always walked home from work— rain, snow, or shine. There was no way they could try and pin this on her. She had to get him help; any investigation that came after would be part of that.

As she opened her phone again, fingers hovering over the emergency call button, her screen lit up with an incoming call.

Uglier Half is calling…

Lumine grimaced, accepting the call. Why did Aether have such terrible timing?

"Hey," She grumbled, trying not to let too much irritation slip into her voice.

"Hey, sis. Something up?"

"It's just late. I'm tired. School, work, you know how it is."

Though he hummed in agreement, he did not, in fact, know how it was. He'd breezed through school as he got older and grew out of his childhood sickliness, earning the kind of scholarships to the Akademiya that people dreamed of the whole world over. With his tuition and housing fully covered, he'd decided against getting a job, choosing to channel all his focus into his studies.

If she had the option, Lumine would've done the same— her nursing prerequisites weren't that much different from his pre-med classes. But all of the brains and the essay-writing skills that made admissions officers fall in love had gone to Aether. Lumine was lucky to have gotten into the Akademiya at all.

Had she not pioneered their old school's gardening club— her only noteworthy accomplishment in a murk of average grades and test scores— she'd probably still be in Mondstadt, attending a cheaper university and spending her days in less expensive misery. She certainly wouldn't have an unconscious man sleeping on her couch. "Did you need something? I know you're busy with classwork, so I'll try not to keep you too long."

"If I didn't have time to talk, I wouldn't have called. Don't worry about keeping me from anything." Something rustled in the background. Papers, probably. The last time she'd seen his desk, he'd had a stack of notebooks half his height sitting on the corner, the cumulative work of half a college career studying biology, chemistry, anatomy, and all of the wonderful one-offs required to prepare him for medical school applications. "As for why I called, can't I just call to chat? We've never needed a reason to talk before."

Small talk was a skill they'd honed over many years, when Lumine hadn't been able to stand the silence of his bedroom as he lay bedridden from another bout of illness. She'd resented her role as caretaker in their parents' near constant absence, and though she'd never said it allowed, she knew Aether had picked up on it somewhere along the way.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just kind of late. I don't want to keep you up." Nor did she want to keep herself up. She was already pushing it after patching up her mystery man, and she hadn't even had dinner yet. "How've you been dealing with the blizzard?"

"I'd hardly call this a blizzard. We spent whole months like this back in Mondstadt."

"Sure, but there the roads got plowed and the sidewalks got shoveled. They're a little more prepared for weather like this."

He hummed again, and the sound of more papers flipping filled the static silence between them. "You're still walking home from work, right? Was it bad tonight?"

Lumine grimaced. It had been, but not for the reason he thought. Nor for a reason she could share. "Not really. There's no ice, so it wasn't bad. Just a lot of snow."

"If it's icy, call off tomorrow. The last thing you need is a broken arm."

Rolling her eyes, Lumine tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear and started toward the kitchen. If she was going to be held prisoner until Aether got bored or realized it was late, she might as well start dinner. "Dude, you have no idea what it's like there. They won't let me call off for something like that."

Especially since everyone knew she was from Mondstadt and well-acclimated to this sort of weather. In fact, if classes got cancelled tomorrow, there was a ninety-percent chance she'd wake up to a call from her boss, doing her best to act sheepish as she asked Lumine to work a double alone, since nobody else knew how to drive in conditions like these or was willing to brave the walk.

"Then tell them you're sick or something. They can't refuse you then."

That earned him yet another eye roll. He was still a spring chicken, naïve to the wicked ways of the workforce, so she couldn't hold it against him. Not too much, at least. "You'd be surprised. Last time I said I couldn't come in because of a cold, I got told to wear a mask and wash my hands between orders. Just suck it up and try not to cough in anyone's coffee."

Aether sighed; that was never a good sign. It meant he was winding up for one of his scolding-rants, which he considered himself entitled to as the older twin by a grand total of five minutes. "You really need to get a better job. You've already got experience— I'm sure it's enough to get you something elsewhere."

Clenching her jaw, Lumine poured a few cups of rice and a few cups of water into a pot, turning on her stove top. "Easier said than done." Most positions available to someone of her education were more or less the same— same hours, same slog, same expectations. At the coffee shop she at least had some seniority among her co-workers. "Anyway, I don't mind walking when it's bad out like this. It's kind of peaceful. Reminds me of the good old days, y'know?"

The good old days. Right. The days before their parents had died, leaving them to fend for themselves. The days when their parents had worked so much they may as well have already been dead, leaving Lumine to keep their household afloat while Aether languished under or recovered from one of his bouts of sickness. Those days could only be called good in comparison to now; then, at least, she'd had some hope for the future. She'd believed in the lie the world sold to children, that they were precious and special and that if they worked hard, they'd find success down whatever avenue their dreams took them through.

"I always hated winter, so I don't, actually. But be careful— you've gotta watch out for more than ice on the sidewalks if you're walking late at night. This may be a safe part of the city, but you're still a girl. Anything could happen."

"Did you call just to lecture me?" Lumine asked, no longer willing to play nice. He had no right to treat her like a child. Not after all the years she'd spent taking care of him. "I'm not stupid, Aether. I can look out for myself perfectly fine." And, though she couldn't say it aloud, her gender meant little to the ghosts that stalked the streets; his Y chromosome hadn't done much to help the stranger she'd dragged home.

He sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I just worry about you sometimes. You know how it is. We have to look out for each other." More rustling papers. What was he doing? Organizing his desk for once? "How're your classes going, by the way? I know your anatomy course is easier than mine, but it can't be that much better."

Grabbing a can of beans and her can-opener, Lumine sawed open a salty stew of black beans and whatever preservatives they were floating in. It didn't smell great, but once she got them rinsed off and heated up, the taste would more than make up for it. What would she add? Garlic and onions were a must, and some cumin and cayenne pepper would give it some much-needed flavor. And if she added some vegetable broth while the rice was cooking…

"Hey, Lumine, you still there?"

Shit. "Yeah, sorry, just got distracted. I'm making dinner." He'd asked a question before she'd got lost in thought. What was it? "You asked about my classes? They're going alright. As well as they probably can."

That was somewhat a lie. Last year she'd been able to keep her head above water, but this year each subject had ramped up the difficulty. She was trying to jam more information into her brain than it could fit, and more just kept on coming. Her plant morphology class was the only breather she got during the week.

"That's good to hear. I got an A on my last organic chem test, but the lab is a whole different beast. I broke another beaker last week— I swear the professor's going to mark me down just for that."

"That's not surprising; you've never been particularly graceful." Handing him glassware and expecting him not to break it was like handing a child a fork and expecting them not to stick it in the nearest electrical socket. "Sounds like you're enjoying yourself, though. That's always good to hear. Been doing anything fun outside of class?"

"I've been out with a few friends a couple of times. It's nice, getting to know other people who understand the pre-med grind." He sighed, a sound weighed heavily down by the alleged grind. "How about you? You're still talking with your friends from intro to theater, yeah?"

Lumine smiled. She'd picked that class for an elective on a whim, not expecting much out of it, but she'd been pleasantly surprised by how much she'd enjoyed the course and her classmates. It was good to hear he'd made some friends, too; he'd always been the shier twin. "Yep. And I'll be getting my garden ready soon; I was gonna do it this weekend, but the cold's caused a change of plans."

"That sucks."

Silence fell between them as Lumine poured vegetable broth into the boiling rice-water, stomach growling at the rich smell rising with the steam. Delicious.

"Well, it's getting pretty late. I've got class at eight, so I'd better get to bed soon. Anything else you wanna share before I head off?"

Lumine glanced over her shoulder, looking into the living room where a stranger's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as they slumbered on her couch. "Nope. Take care."

"You too. Talk to you soon."

He hung up, leaving Lumine in the silence and solitude of her kitchen. With one last look at the screen, she set it on her table and finished making dinner, eating quickly and stuffing a hefty container of leftovers in the fridge. Then she tapped her phone awake; the clock had nearly reached ten. Beyond her curtains, an abyssal darkness had fallen over the neighborhood, swallowing the stars and leaving only the streetlights to shine against it, a cavalry mounted thirteen feet in the air to fend off the encroaching night.

All that stood between her and her bed was the day's exhaustion yet to be washed away and one call to the Corps of Thirty.

This time unimpeded, she opened her dial pad, nearly dialing the Knights of Favonious before catching herself. They'd be little help with the entirety of Liyue between them.

Dialing the correct number, she trapped the phone between her ear and shoulder and set out for a pair of pajamas. This late in the day, multitasking was necessary if she wanted to get in bed by midnight. She didn't get up every day at the crack of dawn for 8 AM classes like Aether, but she wasn't a late starter, either. Between classes and work, she needed a decent night's sleep if she didn't want to nod off during lecture.

The phone rang once, then twice. At the click of a connection, she inhaled sharply to begin explaining the situation, but was not greeted by the usual curt interrogation of someone on dispatch.

"All of our dispatchers are currently assisting other callers. Please remain on the line and someone will be with you shortly."

Then came the cherry on top— hold music. It was a thin, serene tune carried by an instrument she vaguely recognized from the street music that had filled the bazaar the few times she'd visited. Venti had told her what it was called, once. A ney? Something like that. It produced a pleasant sound, perhaps the kind someone could content themselves with dying to in a situation more dire than her own.

She listened for a while, preparing for her shower, before the artificial voice cut back in.

Thank you for your patience. You are currently number fifteen in our queue. We estimate that—

Lumine hung up with a sigh. Fifteen? The snow must've caused more trouble than she'd assumed. With her mystery man safe from the imminent threat of blood loss, it would be stupid to bother the Corps of Thirty on a night like tonight. If people were lost in the snow or stuck in car accidents, they needed help more than he did.

She'd call in the morning. She would definitely remember to call in the morning.

Lumine woke to the blare of her alarm, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes as the haze of sleep cleared. Something struck her as off, but she didn't realize what until the world became clear enough for her to make out the numbers blinking back at her from her wailing alarm clock.

9:43 AM

"Shit!"

Jumping out of bed, she slipped on a blanket that had fallen from her bed mid-slumber, catching herself on the side of her desk just in time to avoid a full-force collision with the corner. Her ankle ached, unsatisfied by her haphazard attempts to placate it by shaking it out as she limped toward her chest of drawers. Yanking it open, she pulled out the first clothes she could find and began frantically changing, wincing every time she put pressure on her ankle.

Was it twisted? Maybe. But she had seventeen minutes to get to class; she had bigger concerns than a minor injury.

A minor injury that could turn more serious. But she'd deal with that when she got to that. As long as she was careful on the sidewalk and didn't try to limp too fast, she'd be fine. Thursday was one of her short days; even her shift at the coffee shop was more brief than usual.

Popping two slices of bread in her toaster, she stumbled toward the bathroom, thankful for her short hair as she brushed it out and arranged herself into a semi-presentable fashion. She lived to impress no one— she'd given up on that a long time ago— but looking decent kept people from staring. It won her brownie points with her boss, too, though those were worth absolutely nothing. All the goodwill in the world could be upended by one misspelled name on a coffee cup.

She didn't wake up late often, but it'd happened enough that she kept a travel toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste in her bag. All she needed was breakfast and she'd be all set for the day ahead.

Something stopped her as she headed back into the kitchen. In the midst of her hurry, her gaze wandered toward the living room, where her couch stood in its usual place in front of the television, bereft of the blanket she kept draped over it. Had it fallen? Had she moved it somewhere?

No, she'd—

Her toaster beeped, sending two golden-brown slices of toast sky-high. She dove to catch them, train of thought lost to the panic of losing her breakfast to the floor. No five-second rule shenanigans here; food on the floor was destined to become food in the trash.

Her breakfast was spared that fate; she caught both pieces before they could hit the ground, cursing her toaster with the same spite it heard every morning, always confident she would forget her anger by the time she returned. Which, to be fair, she would. During her waking hours, her mind was much too preoccupied trying to memorize the steps of cellular respiration and the mechanics of gas exchange between the blood and lungs to hold a grudge against a household appliance. One day she'd get a new toaster that didn't turn her breakfast into projectiles; today was not that day.

She glanced at the clock—she had seven minutes until ten. Seven minutes to run to class, sneak into the lecture hall, and pretend she'd been there all along.

Glancing again at the living room, Lumine bit into her toast, sending a spatter of crumbs across the floor. Crap. She'd have to vacuum when she got back. The whole house probably needed it, but if she didn't keep the kitchen clear of crumbs, she'd get ants. That was a sure-fire way to piss off her landlord.

Lumine had nothing against ants— they were hardy critters that helped aerate the soil and provided food for other helpful insects— but in a house they were nothing but a nuisance. She'd deal with them later, along with the countless other tasks that'd been waiting days for later to finally arrive.

Something prickled in the back of her mind as she rushed out the door, jerking the key to lock it behind her. She was forgetting something. But that wasn't unusual— she was always forgetting things. For all the shit she gave Aether about being a klutz, she wasn't much better. Whatever she'd forgotten, it couldn't be that important. Wasn't that a thing people said? She had everything she needed for class, plus her work clothes, tucked safely in her bag.

It would probably dawn on her later, when she was in the middle of making a customer's order, that she'd left a few pairs of socks on the floor in her scramble for clothes or she'd forgotten to turn the bathroom light off. All was well and all would be well. So long as she could get to class without doing any serious damage to her ankle, at least.

So the day began, another spin on the great wheel of the rat race, going nowhere and doing nothing of use. The door squealed like a startled child when she tried to sneak into her first class, but she blamed her tardiness on her injured ankle and got off free of fanfare. Her day continued with the same sideways momentum until she was freed from the shackles of work, ankle aching from a five-hour shift standing up.

She stopped in the bathroom before leaving, pulling off her shoes and socks to assess the situation. Her ankle was swollen and flushed faintly red. Probably sprained. She could still walk and put weight on it, but not much. That suggested overstretching or a minor tear in the ligaments. Nothing worth fussing over, but enough to send her to the nearest pharmacy on the way home to pick up an ankle brace.

Wrapping it around her leg, Lumine tested her foot. Much better. Between the brace and her thick socks, it was a tight squeeze in her shoe, but a little discomfort was well worth preventing a worse injury.

What would Aether say if he found out? In the end, it wasn't the ice that had done her in, but her own thrashing ineptitude. She could only imagine the pain in his eyes and the loud sigh he'd emit, the exhaustion they feigned about putting up with each other's bullshit. For all she begrudged his smothering concern, he was the only family she had. They had to look out for each other, even if that came with fundamental disagreements.

Ankle compressed and protected within its brace, she began the journey home. The detour had added a few minutes to the commute, but it was worth it to be able to walk without limping; her sad shuffle had earned her plenty of stares as she'd rushed through the Akademiya's halls between classes. It'd also been rather painful, and she would prefer to spend what was left of the afternoon in as little discomfort as possible.

Mud squelched beneath her shoes as she walked, trying unceasingly to sneak into the slim space between her foot and the side of the shoe. The snow had melted, leaving behind more water than the soil could absorb. It was lined with footprints, little traces of people or animals that had passed.

Walking home in the daylight always felt odd. Though the architecture and plants were different, she could almost believe herself back in Mondstadt as she waited for streetlights to turn and passed countless buildings, bakeries and butcher shops and businesses she'd never step foot inside. Under the sun, the streets gave their secrets willingly— they had nothing to hide. No one wandered the alleys draped in shadow, dealings hidden from the world and the cameras that watched it from every street corner. No one was lying bleeding in the—

Fuck! The guy!

The weight of realization struck her so hard she stopped. Someone stepped on her shoes from behind, muttering something she missed, too embroiled in awe of her own stupidity to hear. The guy. Her mystery man bleeding out in the snow. In her rush out the door and the subsequent chaos of the day, she'd forgotten all about him.

He was still in her house, wounds still held shut with butterfly bandages, disinfected but still desperately in need of professional treatment.

"Of all the things to forget," She muttered, shaking her head as she continued walking. Faster, this time, with a fire of embarrassment and self-disappointment at her heels. She'd been gone for hours; by now, the man might be awake. She'd left a note explaining the situation, but what was anyone meant to do with that? Hunker down and wait for their savior to arrive? He could've left; he'd had plenty of money. But without a phone, what good would that money do? He couldn't get a rideshare. He couldn't call an ambulance.

Maybe he'd walked to the nearest gas station and asked to use their phone?

What if he'd stolen something?

Groaning, Lumine nipped that train of thought in the bud. Whatever had happened, she'd find out when she got home. For now, there was no use worrying about it. There was nothing she could do ten minutes away from her house.

Besides, it wasn't like she owned anything worth stealing. The television was the only valuable thing in the house, and one guy with several stab wounds would have one hell of a time lugging it away. Did her renter's insurance cover that kind of theft? It didn't matter— her landlord would be pissed anyway. But everything seemed to irritate her, with the sole exception being her garden, which he'd been so impressed by during the last inspection that she'd agreed to finally fix the hole in her fence that was letting the neighbors reach through and steal her strawberries.

As she approached her house, she slowed, taking in the exterior to see if anything was amiss. The curtains were still drawn, obscuring any potential motion inside, and it didn't look like any of the lights were on. Nothing seemed amiss, but peace on the outside spoke little of what was happening inside.

Stalking carefully up the porch steps, feeling like a thief in front of her own house, she tried the doorknob. Locked. No one had left since she'd headed out in the morning. The man was still inside.

Swallowing, Lumine fished her keys out of her pocket. Despite the cold air, her hands were warm, clammy with sweat as she worked the locks open to let herself inside.

Peeking around the doorway, she stepped inside, finding nothing unusual about the foyer. She scuffed her shoes against the doormat and slipped them off, tip-toeing further in. The house was dark and quiet. But a glance into the living room told Lumine everything she needed to know— there was no longer a person sleeping on the couch.

Her heart sank. Adrenaline rushed through her blood vessels, kicking her heart into action. Where was he? In the bathroom? In her room? Had he eaten anything since last night? Was this how she—

Something slammed on her shoulder from behind— a hand, five fingers that dug into the flimsy sleeve of her uniform— and pulled her against a body. Then cold steel met her throat and her blood ran cold.

She glanced down to see one of her kitchen knives pressed against her throat, the serrations digging into her skin. A shaking hand held it there, knuckles wrapped in gauze and bandages.

"Who put you up to this?"

The voice was right against her ear, hoarse and furious and accompanied by warm breath, the culmination of which shot a shiver down her spine. This was it. This was how she died. She'd trusted a stranger, underestimated the danger she'd put herself in by taking him into her home. If only she'd listened to more true crime; then she would've seen this coming a mile away and would've… what? Let this stranger die?

"I… I don't know what you're talking about," She replied, willing her heartbeat to slow because she could barely hear herself over the drumbeat in her ears and the roar of blood. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Ouch. Bad idea; deep breaths pushed the skin of her throat right into the tips of the knife. "I saved you. You were— didn't you read the note?"

In moments of abject panic, rationality had the frustrating habit of packing its bags for an impromptu vacation, leaving Lumine to act on pure instinct. Between fight or flight, she would much rather choose flight, but neither option seemed favorable with a knife to her throat. Despite the man's slender build, he held her in place with painful force, and something told her that if she tried either of her reptilian brain's go-to options, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her.

Which left her one option: bargaining. With a brain exhausted and empty and a heavy tongue.

"That chicken-scratch? I couldn't have read it if I wanted to. But don't change the subject." He leaned closer, close enough for Lumine to catch a glimpse of his face in the corner of her eye. "Who put you up to this? Why am I here? Whatever you have planned for me, you're stupid if you think I'll let you see it through. Though I doubt a weakling like you could do any damage regardless."

Lumine's mouth was dry and she really had to pee. Why were stress responses so inconvenient? It was hard enough arguing with someone who was either delusional or had a deep misconception about what this was. "What are you talking about? I don't have anything planned for you. I don't even know you!"

"Then why the fuck am I here?"

"Because I couldn't just let you die! Y—You were bleeding out in an alleyway. It was cold! And snowing! You could have gotten sick."

The man laughed. It was a cold, jaded sound, the kind that could've landed him the role of main villain in any superhero movie without any other credentials. "No thanks to you all. What, it wasn't enough to almost kill me? Now you're trying to torture me, too? Is this how the Fatui treats all its pawns when they've outlasted their use?"

"The wha—"

"Shut up. You make me sick— quivering and sniveling and begging for your life the second the tables turn. Well, too fucking bad."

Without warning, he spun her around. His grip weakened just enough for her socks to pivot in place— and just enough for her ankle to buckle, brace be damned, and send her tumbling head-first into the coffee table. A sharp throb shot up her shin, overshadowing the ache in her skull. This was how it ended. Twenty years of misery cut short by an olive branch of compassion extended to the wrong person. A twisted ankle and her own bread knife to her throat.

Aether was going to be pissed. Her landlord was going to be pissed.

The man stood there, unmoving, making no attempt to attack as she cradled her ankle to her chest, fighting back tears as the pain ebbed and flowed. Though she'd tended enough injuries to shake off being squeamish, she'd sustained few herself. Her pain tolerance was average, but the way she'd stumbled or set her foot down when the stranger had whipped her around had compounded the damage she'd been gritting her teeth through all day.

"Seriously?" The man muttered, "This is what they send to do me in?"

Screwing her eyes shut, Lumine forced back the tears threatening at her lashline. She was not going to give this maniac the satisfaction of watching her cry. "B—Be quiet. You're the reason my ankle is like this in the first place."

"What?"

For the first time since he'd grabbed her, he didn't sound angry. That was confusion, pure and simple. A lifeline.

Opening her eyes, Lumine peeled off her sock, revealing the brace beneath. For all she liked to think of herself as someone strong, someone above groveling, she was going to win as much pity as it took to get out of this. "If I hadn't lugged your sorry ass here and patched you up, I would've gotten to bed at a reasonable hour. I wouldn't have overslept and hurried so much I twisted my ankle."

For the first time, she spared a glance at the stranger. His bruises had bloomed since she'd seen him last, drawing a patchy trail up his neck and across his jaw. And his face—

What a face it was. Narrowed eyes the color of midnight, thin lips pulled in a scowl, and hair nearly the same purple as his bruises. She hadn't noticed before, too exhausted from the day's events and frantic about saving him, but he was pretty. Beautiful, even. With cheekbones and a jawline that looked as sharp as the knife he'd held to her throat, he was an absolute sight to behold. Were it not for the knife in his hands, the bruises adorning his skin, and the cornered-animal malice in his eyes, he could have passed for an angel.

His grip on the knife slackened. "You… overslept?"

"For school. I've been walking on it without a brace all day." She'd bought the brace to avoid injury, but fate had held other plans. That or it was a cheaply-made piece of garbage. "Now I'll probably need crutches for it, too."

"School. You overslept for school."

Lumine frowned. Was he mocking her? His expression was impossible to read, and his voice wasn't any clearer. "Yeah. At the Akademiya. Then I went to work." To emphasize her point, she slipped her backpack off her shoulder, unzipped her jacket, and pointed to the logo embroidered onto her work shirt. "Puspa Café? The little coffee joint a few blocks down the road? I found you when I was walking home from there last night. I— maybe you're concussed? I can call an ambulance—"

"Don't."

She froze, hand already halfway into her pocket.

The man stood there for a minute, staring at her with some mix of disdain and curiosity in his eyes, then set the knife on her coffee table. "You're not— You're really not with them?"

"I don't think so?" Lumine asked, grimacing as the man's jaw clenched. Bad answer. "I don't know who 'they' are. You'll have to tell me so I can know for sure."

"So you just, what, picked a stranger up off the side of the road? Dragged me into your house? Took my clothes and cleaned my wounds?"

When he put it like that, it sounded strange. And stupid. "Your clothes are in the laundry. I— I left your stuff out, though. I didn't open your wallet."

Dryly, he repeated, "You didn't open my wallet."

"Look for yourself."

He did, scooping up the pouch, unclasping it, and giving the contents a lengthy once-over. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she awaited his reaction; if he wanted to, he could count up every mora he had— there wouldn't be a single one missing.

Finally, after an eternity of waiting with a dry mouth and hyperactive sweat glands, the man set his wallet down. "Why?"

Lumine held his stare, waiting for elaboration. None came, but his stare grew more scathing as the silence stretched between them. She couldn't wait forever— her nerves couldn't take it. "Why what?"

"Why would you do this for someone you don't know?"

"I couldn't just let you die. I tried to call the Corps of Thirty, but no one was available." What else could she have done? If she'd ignored him, he might have died. Whether from the cold or blood loss or from his assailant coming back, it was impossible to guess. But the only way to negate all of that had been to bring him somewhere safe. Here.

Scowl softening, the man crossed his arms. "Your charity was unnecessary. Not to mention stupid. It could've gotten you killed."

It very well almost had. She'd put another person's life before her own, gambling on their wounds making them less of a threat and the expectation of some gratitude for saving their life. It seemed she'd picked the wrong person for that. This guy sounded almost pissed that she'd gone through any effort at all to save his life. Like she should have left him there, unconscious, to be buried under the snowfall.

"I'll keep that in mind next time I find someone bleeding out on the side of the road," She muttered. The pain in her ankle had dulled, still present but enough to manage. Shakily and with one hand propped on the coffee table, she rose to her feet, grimacing at the faint dent her collision had left in the corner of the table. Yet another reason for her Dori to withhold her deposit. "If I'd known you were going to try and kill me as thanks for saving you, I would've left you…"

Left him to what? To come to frozen and bleeding, barely conscious and unable to walk? Without a working phone to call for help on the closest night Sumeru had had in decades to freezing? Yeah, right. Her conscience would've eaten her alive.

The man seemed to catch onto this as well, frown snaking into an unpleasant smirk. "Right. Because that's what you bleeding-hearted busy-bodies are good at doing. Leaving people."

Lumine frowned, gaze drifting from the stranger to the knife still sitting on the coffee table, rounded tips darkened with faint bloodstains. Would he react if she tried to grab it? It needed to go in the sink, to be washed with the same reverence reserved for blades dragged through raw meat or anything potentially poisonous. But whatever rapport they'd established, if she could call it that, was fragile. One wrong move and he'd have the knife at her throat again.

"Well. Now that you've decided not to kill me, would you care to explain what's going on?" It would be best, probably, to ignore his last remark. The venom he'd spat it with indicated previous dealings with bleeding-hearted busy-bodies that she really didn't want to unpack. Not when he was as emotionally volatile as a landmine. "You know why you're here, but I don't know why you're here."

Scoffing, the man replied, "Because you brought me here, dumbass. Do I really have to spell that out for you?"

Great. Fucking fantastic. Not only was the man she'd brought home comfortable with holding a knife to someone's throat, he was also high in the running for asshole of the year. Potential reigning champion. She'd heard that nursing was a thankless job, but no one should be this much of a prick to someone who'd saved their life. "Yeah, no shit. But why did I have to bring you here? How'd you end up looking like you lost a fight with a whole block of knives?"

She may as well have smacked the smirk right off his gorgeous, smug face with how quickly it vanished. "That's none of your business."

Oh hell no. He was not going to put her through a night and an afternoon of hell and tell her it was none of her business why. "Isn't it? I'm the reason your sorry ass survived whatever wringer you went through. I think I have a right to know what happened."

Pursing his lips, the man uncrossed his arms and jammed his hands in his pockets— her pockets, on her pants, which she'd so graciously given him to spare him from having to wear wet clothes. "Maybe you do. Doesn't mean I'm going to spill, though."

Lumine met his stare; years of customer service had taught her to whittle down entitlement with only her eyes, but her glare had no effect on the stranger. His eyes narrowed as she held their gaze, flashing with undeserved scorn and irritation. Despite his threats with the knife, something about him still reminded him of a cornered animal— flashing teeth and claws out of fear, some base survival instinct gifted by evolution and honed by years of experience.

Whatever was going on, it was fishy. From the way he'd been left to his insistence that she'd been put up to helping him by some group of people, everything suggested that this was deeper than one person attacking another and leaving them to die. It was something she'd be wise not to involve herself in.

Wasn't it a little late for that? She was already involved.

Taking a deep breath to calm her irritation, Lumine asked, "Is there anything you will tell me, then? If not about what happened before… Do you have anywhere to go?"

The man's eyes widened. His lips parted in a flash of the closest thing he'd shown to surprise since their encounter began. "What's it to you?"

What was it to her? Great question. She didn't know this man at all; she wasn't sure she wanted to. But the thought of letting him leave like this, with just a broken phone and one wallet full of mora to his name, if he had no way of seeking further help, didn't sit right with her. He'd been right to call her a bleeding-hearted busybody. None of this was her business, but she couldn't help getting involved. "You'll need rest if you want those wounds to recover properly. The bad one might need stitches, too."

If he left without any destination, setting out on the heels of the unknown, he'd be walking a long way. It would be painful and negate what little good her first aid had done.

"I could call an ambulance if you'd like to go to the hospital. Or the Corps of Thirty if you want to report whoever—"

"Keep them out of this," The man hissed, "The last thing I need is more people sticking their nose in my business."

No law enforcement, then. Or any sort of aid. Sketchy. "What do you need, then? Is there anything else I can do to help you?"

"I don't want your help." Turning on his heel, he began stalking toward the door. Halfway there, he bumped into the wall, gritting his teeth and muttering an impressive string of obscenities as he clutched his side. Lumine grimaced as he slumped back against the nearest wall, breathing heavily as red began to seep through his shirt.

"You may not want my help, but if you're not going to seek professional help, you're going to need it." She wasn't going to try and stitch his wound— she'd probably end up making it worse— but she could perhaps fashion a tourniquet to staunch the bleeding and make it easier for the bandages to do their work. "If you promise not to try and kill me again, you're welcome to stay here until you're healed."

Could she afford food, water, and electricity for another person? Probably. Would her landlord be pleased if he found out about this? Definitely not. But she wasn't going to turn this man out onto the street, stranger or not, madman or not. She'd spent an hour patching him up last night; she wasn't going to let him wander off and succumb to his wounds out of sheer stubbornness.

"You might be the stupidest fucking person I've ever met."

Lumine rolled her eyes, heading for the bathroom to retrieve the first-aid kit again. Years without action and now she'd used it two days in a row. Perhaps it hadn't been as useless a purchase as she'd thought. "What does that say about you, that the stupidest fucking person you've ever met is the only reason you're still alive?"

There was an angry smile on his lips when she returned, the kind that spoke of an inner violence and an inner hurt she'd only scratched the surface of today. "That I'm the unluckiest bastard alive, probably."

"At least you're alive." That must have made her the second unluckiest bastard alive, to have been the only conscience-ridden person to stumble across him last night. Not to mention the situation with her ankle. "You don't have to accept right away. Think about it a bit, then let me know if you want to stay."

"What's in it for you?"

Lumine shrugged. "If I knew why I was doing this, I'm not sure I would tell you. But I don't." Maybe she was a good person. Maybe she was stupid. Maybe she needed something interesting to spice up the dull routine she'd fallen into over the years, and the world had dropped the perfect thing into her life, dripping with danger and intrigue. "A little help with rent would be nice, but I'm not an asshole. I'm not going to ask anything of you, especially not when you're bleeding out like this."

He scoffed, refusing to humor her with a response. Setting the first aid kit down, she snapped it open and pulled on a pair of gloves, steeling herself for her first real nursing experience with a conscious patient. A real winner, he was; the world had thrown her right into the deep end.

"What's your name, by the way?" Lumine asked, pulling out the supplies she'd need. A gauze pad, medical tape, another army of butterfly bandages, her bottle of peroxide and cotton pads, and some antibiotic cream.

Looking over her supplies with narrowed eyes, the man replied, "Call me whatever you like. It doesn't matter."

He was right— she was impressively stupid. Only someone lacking any sort of rationality, intelligence, or sense of self-preservation would offer their home so openly to someone so hostile. Expecting a straight answer had been foolish.

"Since you're just passing through, I suppose you're something of a traveler." But that didn't feel right. If she had to assign him a nickname, it had to feel right. "More like a wanderer, maybe, since you don't seem to have a destination in mind."

He wrinkled his nose, saying nothing.

"Wanderer it is, then."

Chapter Text

The quiet clamor of the House of Daena, along with the smell of coffee etched permanently into its walls by a constant stream of exhausted students trying to stay awake, had never failed before to calm Lumine's nerves. If only by a fraction that was barely palpable, there was something grounding about the building. It was an open space for learning, academia manifest in bookshelves spanning floor to ceiling and countless tables around which students debated, studied,and stewed in the collective misery of scholarship.

Today, though, that ambience did little to quiet the chaos intent on veering Lumine's focus off-course. The presence of her friends didn't help much; though they gathered often to study together, they spent more time chatting than studying.

Which Lumine wasn't opposed to. Most of the time. But she'd gotten little sleep and almost no studying in the day before, mind too preoccupied with the stranger she'd offered shelter and everything that had passed between them to focus or fall asleep. She'd half expected to wake up in the middle of the night to him standing at the foot of her bed, knife back in hand, ready to finish what he'd tried to start.

But he hadn't. She didn't know how much of the house he'd wandered through after she retired, but he'd been sleeping on the couch when she left.

What was he doing now? Peeking through her things? Watching TV? Perhaps he'd gotten bored and rethought her offer.

"…been applying to all sorts, but I'd love to get an internship back home for the summer. If I could help out the park rangers in Dadaupa Gorge or Stormbearer Mountains, that would be so cool!"

Glancing up from the anatomy notes she'd been staring at for the past five minutes, Lumine met Amber's eyes, gleaming with excitement. They'd known each other back home— they hadn't quite been friends then, but Amber was social, so she knew everyone, and when she'd heard Lumine would be attending the Akademiya as well, she'd reached out. It was nice to see someone with genuine passion for her field of interest, though Lumine couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy at the smile that crossed Amber's lips when she gushed about her future as a park ranger.

Being a nurse was no less noble, nor was it any less fulfilling. But Lumine couldn't muster half of Amber's excitement about her own studies.

"You'll have to send pictures," Venti replied, pressing a hand to his chest. In a wistful voice, he continued, "I fear I'm already starting to forget the sights of our lovely home."

"You were droning on about the flowers for half an hour during theater yesterday," Lynette said, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. "Clearly you haven't forgotten much."

Lyney, seated between them, sighed. "And what a monologue it was. You should have been there." Flashing Amber and Lumine, the only non-Vahumana students within the group, a conspiratorial grin, Lyney went on, "A true masterclass in waxing poetic. Though perhaps a touch… verbose."

Lumine shook her head; she could only imagine what it had been like to live through that. She'd met Lyney, Lynette, and Venti in her introductory theater class the year before; since then, they'd stuck together like dollar-store glue, getting together now and then and bringing along other friends, expanding their social circles by osmosis into a wide range of acquaintances and half-remembered faces that would greet her when they passed, though she couldn't name most of them. Though her schedule was packed to the brim, she never passed up an opportunity to see them.

Their grand personalities brought some much-needed levity into her life.

Looking back at her notes, Lumine sighed. They'd made sense in class, but now that a day had passed, her brain refused to straighten out which arm muscles were where. Which one was the abductor pollicis longus and which was the extensor pollicis brevis? Wasn't it enough to know they both led to the thumb? Sighing, she resolved to go over the textbook again later. Or find a video online explaining the muscles, perhaps with a handy mnemonic or two.

"You're sighing quite a bit over there," Lynette remarked, drawing Lumine from her half-baked focus.

Closing her notebook with another sigh, Lumine propped her head in her hands. "Sorry. There's just so many muscles. How is anyone supposed to memorize them all?"

"Let me see." Snatching up her notebook, Venti began flipping through the pages, stopping and frowning about halfway through. "What language is this? Supinator? Pronator quadratus? These sound like weird sci-fi weapons. Like you'd turn someone into soup with your laser-powered supinator or something."

"They sound stupid, but a lot of them tell you outright what the muscle does. Which makes things a little easier, but not as much as you'd hope." Not to mention that most weren't so conveniently-named. Hundreds of muscles, all to be learned and forgotten at lightning speed.

Twirling a coin of mora between his fingers, Lyney remarked, "You don't seem to enjoy what you're learning very much."

Lumine shrugged. If she'd wanted to have fun at university, she would've stayed in Mondstadt. Or gone somewhere with a better night life. Or picked a specialization under her darshan that didn't require some of the hardest classes available. "I don't have to like it, I just have to do it. Once the year is through I'll be able to apply to the nursing program and actually start taking classes relevant to what I'm trying to do."

Anatomy and biology were important foundations for those classes, of course. But those foundations were being built by the skin of her teeth.

"Then you have to do clinicals, too, right?" Amber asked, "Those can get pretty miserable, I hear."

"Scrubbing bedpans and getting grabbed when you're taking vitals. Doesn't sound like the kind of thing you want to spend the rest of your life doing," Lynette added.

No, it really didn't. But there was more to being a nurse than whatever horror stories they'd picked off the grapevine. "Well, someone has to do it. I spent such a long time playing nurse for Aether when we were kids that I'm sure I'll manage just fine." She'd never scrubbed a bedpan, but she'd cleaned more than her fair share of vomit and taken temperatures more times than she could count. Few things fazed her.

Would she be able to stop herself from punching anyone who tried to get handsy? That might be a bit trickier. But she'd learned to weather the disrespect and entitlement in her many years working retail— with enough exposure, she could become desensitized to anything.

Well, almost anything. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the animalistic fear that had gripped her yesterday when Wanderer, as she'd taken to calling her nameless stranger, had held a knife to her throat. Nor did she want to. That was something she could spend the rest of her life happily without experiencing again.

She grimaced, fingers twitching with the urge to run across the faint marks the knife had left on her skin. They weren't deep or wide enough to catch anyone's eye, but bringing undue attention wouldn't make them any easier to hide. If someone asked about them, she had no excuse that sounded watertight enough to bullshit through with a straight face. The neck wasn't exactly a common place to get cuts or scrapes.

Because she couldn't tell any of them what was going on. What would they think, if she cleared her throat out of the blue and announced that she'd taken a stranger into her home? One that had tried to kill her, no less? Hey, I've got this dangerous guy living in my house. He won't tell me anything about himself, but I feel bad for him.

They would call the Corps of Thirty in a heartbeat, and whatever trouble Wanderer was running from would catch up with him in another. Or, worse, one of them might tell Aether. What a nightmare that would be.

"How's he doing, by the by? He's been ignoring all my texts," Venti whined, drawing Lumine from her thoughts.

It took her a moment to realize who he was asking about. "Aether? He's doing alright. Busy, but I think he's enjoying his classes." Much more than Lumine was, at least. It seemed like everyone else felt the same way. Even Lynette, lacking her brother's devotion to theater or Amber's constant gushing or Venti's embodiment of all things musical, spoke of her studies in behind-the-scenes management and writing with a reserved passion.

Try as she had, Lumine couldn't force herself to feel the same. She wanted this— she wanted her and Aether's shared dream of working together to help people— but the road ahead was lined with potholes and coated in black ice. She was always one step away from slipping and falling or tripping into a ditch.

And she was good at caring for people. She'd had to become good at it. There wasn't much else she could stake such a claim on. But did being good at something mean she had to do it?

More importantly, did she enjoy doing it? She'd never had the luxury of considering that before; it had been expected of her. Now, she was in university. The world was her oyster, diverging into countless pathways, all brimming with possibility. That was exciting and terrifying in equal measure; she didn't know what would happen if she changed direction. Only by taking on a new course could she illuminate it.

It was easier to stick with what she was good at. With what she knew she could do. Safer. The road ahead would be difficult, but wasn't it always? Anything worth doing was supposed to be hard.

"Tell him he should look at his phone more often. Studying hard is good, but you've still gotta make time for your friends. Work hard, play hard, y'know?"

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you work hard, Venti," Lynette remarked, tilting her head with a deadpan tone that might have sounded condescending coming from anyone else, but from Lynette was the closest thing she offered to teasing. "Most of your schoolwork involves playing instruments, and though you take theater seriously, you're always joking around. Your philosophy seems more adequately described as play hard, play hard."

Reeling back in his chair and slamming a palm over his heart, Venti all but wilted. "How cruel! You make it sound as though I've never worked a day in my life. I'll have you know that playing all of the instruments in an orchestra is not as easy as it seems."

"You've been playing a lot of them since we were kids, though," Amber said, "You've probably got more experience than some of the professors."

Perking up from his faux lament, Venti scratched his neck. "I don't know if I'd go that far, but yes, I am quite talented, thank you for noticing. In music, at least. I've been trying to grow succulents in my dorm for months now, but they keep dying; it's clear they don't appreciate my musical skill as much as you all do."

"How do you kill a succulent?" Lyney asked, brows furrowing in a look caught between concern and curiosity, the kind of look in the eyes of slowing their car to gawk at a crash on the other side of the road. "Aren't those supposed to be the easiest kind of plant to take care of?"

"They are," Lynette supplied.

Venti shrugged. "I've been letting them get sunlight, I've been watering them— I've even offered them compost! I've tried everything short of blood sacrifice, but alas, they are unsatisfied by my efforts."

"How often have you been watering them?" Lumine asked. Aside from roses, no plants required a blood sacrifice to grow. And you could even avoid the rose blood sacrifice by being careful around their thorns. "They're adapted to desert soils, so they don't need a lot of water. The roots will rot otherwise."

"Every other day."

Lumine's eyes widened. "You're drowning them! Most succulents need water like, once a week. If you know the species, you can look up the specifics online." Which he should have done after the first or second plant he'd killed. Or, since they were in a library, he could've found a book about them, looked for the species he was raising, and found his information there.

Groaning, Venti buried his face in his hands. "They're plants! Plants are supposed to appreciate water!"

Amber patted his shoulder, though for all her efforts Lumine could see she was trying not to crack up. "Apparently, some appreciate less water than others. You're lucky we've got a plant guru around to figure things out before you kill any more."

"Speaking of plants, are you starting your garden soon, Lumine?" Lyney asked, sparing Venti the pain of any more teasing. "The cold snap's probably pushed back your plans, but you'll have to let us see when everything's grown!"

Smiling, Lumine nodded, fingers tracing the spirals holding her notebook together. "They won't be grown for a while, but I will be starting them soon." Meeting Lynette's eyes, Lumine added, "And yes, I will be sharing my strawberries again. Hopefully I get a better yield this year."

"Good."

Last year, Lynette had gotten a mutual friend, Navia, to whip up a delightful assortment of desserts from the strawberries Lumine had given her. For a chance to taste those macarons or that shortcake again, Lumine would gladly give up half her harvest.

They conversed for a while longer, garnering stares from other students when their laughter or chatter got too boisterous. Eventually, Venti's phone buzzed, notifying him and everyone else at the table of his impending music theory class. In his absence, a keystone vitality drained from the table, and soon everyone else was excusing themselves to their respective responsibilities.

Alone, Lumine studied for a while, drilling muscles and their names and functions until her handwriting blurred into a meaningless pattern of loops and lines. A glance at the clock revealed that it was almost time for her microbiology lecture, so she left as well, leaving the highlight of her day behind.

She worked after, burning the rest of the daylight hours behind a counter, smiling and nodding and at customers until her face was numb. It was a long shift, made no easier than it had to be by the occasional throb of her ankle from beneath its brace when she shifted it wrong or walked too fast. But patrons had no patience for injuries— if she tried to give her foot some grace while carrying someone's order to them, she'd get a glare and the impatient drumming of fingernails against the countertop for her troubles.

At least it smelled divine in the café. Between the rich aroma of coffee and the sweet smell of baklava wafting in from the kitchen, it was hard to stay irritated for long.

Her shift ended with the setting sun; she locked the doors and slipped out the back, leaving the evening to the janitorial staff. Her walk home was plagued with thoughts of Wanderer, the stranger who'd refused to give her his name— any name, even a fake one. Would he still be there? How had he spent the day? Not doing anything that would worsen his injury, she hoped. He had a right to refuse medical treatment, even if it put him in danger, but his aversion to professional help meant Lumine was solely responsible for his recovery.

If he got an infection or worsened the wound and bled out, it would be her fault.

That pressure weighed heavy in her chest, raising in her an anxiety that coalesced around her plans for the future. If she couldn't handle a few knife wounds, how could she handle the cases she'd see as a nurse? Could she sit idly by, resigned that she'd done all she could, and watch someone die?

Gritting her teeth, Lumine shoved those thoughts aside. She would get used to it. She would grow accustomed and numb to the pain of others and to watching their heart monitors flatline, as she had grown accustomed to sacrificing her time to watch over Aether. And she would forget the stranger she'd saved as one of many faces in an innumerable slew of patients, names and symptoms and statistics in a chart. They would all be strangers whose lives she'd briefly touched, never to cross paths again.

Hands curling into fists, Lumine pulled out her phone, tapping the screen to life to check for notifications. A few texts, an e-mail, and a weather report. Nothing interesting, nothing of note.

The snow was gone; the temperature had climbed back up to Sumeru's winter norm, which was a barely perceptible let-up of the heat and humidity that plagued it year-round. All that was left of it were puddles on the side of the road, a rarity made mundane by the scorching sun. The grass looked a little greener, though, and the trees a little more vibrant. Whatever shock the cold had done to their system had been eased by the snow-melt, a much-appreciated influx of water.

Her house, as she approached, looked the same as ever. No evidence of anyone else inside. That was probably a good thing— she was allowed guests, but nothing long-term. If anyone was nosy enough to notice someone else living there, they would call her landlord, and no amount of impressive gardening could save her from the legal shitshow that would ensue. He wouldn't be staying long, but too long was a relative frame of time. But it gave her no hint of what to expect when she entered.

Not that it mattered. Aside from another knife to the throat, she could handle just about anything.

Digging her keys out of her pocket, Lumine pulled open the door. The house was as dark as she'd left it. Was that a good or bad thing? It wasn't great to sleep all day, but if it kept him out of trouble and gave his wounds time to heal, it might not be a bad thing. Unless he'd left—

Something rattled in the kitchen. Nope. Still here.

Shrugging off her backpack and jacket, Lumine strode into the kitchen, flicking on the light switch. It illuminated Wanderer shifting through the cabinet she kept her pots and pans in, eyes wide like he'd seen a ghost. Or been caught looking through something a lot less innocuous than crockery.

"Careful you don't upset the wound again. I'm gonna start charging you for the bandages and the peroxide if it keeps up." And the vinegar it would take to get the bloodstains out of her shirt.

Scoffing, Wanderer stood with the speed of someone who cared neither for his own health nor the amount of work it took Lumine to keep patching him up. "I took care of it. It's not going to be a problem anymore."

Lumine frowned. What was that supposed to mean? "Okay, then." Cryptic shit. And, like everything else, he probably wouldn't elaborate if she asked. She had the worst luck with house guests.

Trying to ignore his stare, Lumine opened the fridge, her stomach growling in hunger at the smell of food it could eat. Finally. After hours of standing behind and smelling mouth-watering assortments of Sumerian pastries, she could sate her hunger. On nothing so fine, unfortunately, but the food here was cheaper than anything they sold at the coffee shop.

As she pulled an apple and a bag of sliced cheese from the fridge, she heard Wanderer come up behind her, saying nothing. She couldn't see his expression, but the judgment in it was clear from the way he stood there, menacingly, like the contents of her refrigerator implied something distasteful about her personal character.

"What are you, some kind of vegan?" The scorn in his voice was palpable; it would have brought any vegan to their knees, weeping in shame and apology.

Lumine was not a vegan, though. Nor was she so spineless. "Vegetarian, actually." Jerking her head toward a carton of eggs, she said, "If I was vegan, there wouldn't be eggs or cheese here."

Backing away with crossed arms, Wanderer muttered, "Uncultured."

Sure. It was uncultured to stop eating meat because it was the most expensive damn thing in the grocery store. "If you've got a problem with that, go to the store." She hadn't sifted through his wallet, but she'd held it, and it was heavy enough that he could afford whatever prime cuts he considered cultured enough for his dignified tastes.

He huffed, nostrils flaring as Lumine closed the fridge, pivoting to grab the bag of bread from her bread cupboard. She brushed past him, trying not to wrinkle her nose as the iron-copper tang of blood assaulted her olfactory receptors. Just what she wanted to smell when she was making dinner.

Grabbing a flat pan from the cupboard Wanderer had been rooting through— nothing seemed out of place, though he'd looked so guilty when the light came on she might have thought him a pot-burglar— she opened what she'd brought out and flicked on her stove top. All the while Wanderer watched from a few feet away, presence almost caustic, surrounded by a miasma of misery that grated on her already fragile patience.

"What are you making?"

"Grilled cheese," She replied. Shouldn't that have been obvious?

"For dinner?"

Taking a deep breath in and resisting the urge to sock him with half a loaf of bread, Lumine nodded. "It's been a long day. Don't judge me."

Glancing at the doorway into the kitchen, where her backpack and jacket lay abandoned, he remarked, "You might be the most classless person I've ever met."

"Says the dude who's still wearing my bloodstained shirt and who was rooting through my pans like a squatter."

"Your—" He looked down at the shirt, realization softening the furrow in his brow. He'd called her stupid, but he must not have been too bright himself, to not have realized where the miraculous change of clothes he'd woken up in had come from. "The fuck else am I supposed to wear?"

Right. "Oh." Right. He didn't have any other clothes. "I can go get your stuff out of the laundry, if you want." It wasn't a permanent solution, but it'd have to do. Until he left or decided to buy some clothes of his own, he'd be stuck with that single outfit. "And maybe a couple of my shirts and pants, so you're not stuck in that every day."

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't need your clothes."

"And what are you going to wear when those are in the wash, then? Are you going to change into the same pair of clothes every time you shower?"

His expression soured, but he didn't protest. Too proud to admit she was right, then.

She set her bread on the pan to grill and headed for her room, picking up her backpack and jacket along the way to toss them somewhere they wouldn't be judged for her laziness. Then she leafed through her drawers, seeking out clothing that would be suitable for her stranger. Tempting as it was to offer him a wardrobe of bright colors or pastels, she didn't want to crumble whatever foundations of goodwill she may have built between them.

He was lucky they were similar in height and that she had a preference for larger clothes; everything should fit, though the pants would be too wide for his hips and the shirts rather baggy in the absence of breasts. If he had a problem with that, though, he could take his wallet and fuck off to the nearest store. And, because she was the epitome of generosity, she grabbed a few pairs of socks as well.

Swinging by the laundry room to fish his clothes out of the basket, she added them to the pile in her arms and set everything down on one end of the couch, opposite of the folded blanket and pillows Wanderer had monopolized for his makeshift bed. Wherever he wanted to put them, it was up for him to decide. There was a nightstand at one end of the couch, sporting a lamp Lumine had picked up for cheap to make it look a little less lonely. Its drawers were empty. Those could work.

Heading back into the kitchen, she found her bread flipped over with a slice of cheese already sizzling overtop. Two more slices of bread sizzled in the pan, one crowned with another slice of cheddar. The culprit stood a few feet away, in front of the refrigerator, avoiding her stare as a grin crept across her cheeks.

"Classless, am I?"

Was it wrong to enjoy teasing someone so recently recovered from death's door? Probably. But he'd made himself such a nuisance that it was impossible not to take sweet satisfaction in the scowl that broke through his laughable nonchalance. "Shut up, I'm only eating this swill because I'm hungry."

"You haven't eaten?"

His eye twitched. "No. I didn't want— Not without permission."

Lumine wasn't sure if she should burst out laughing or refer him to a psychiatrist. "You held a knife to my throat yesterday, but you're gonna wait for permission before eating my food? Don't tell me you're afraid of being rude." He was miles past rude. Any sane individual with an intact sense of self-preservation would have kicked him out ages ago.

"Would you rather I ate you out of house and home?"

"I'd rather you didn't starve. It'd reflect poorly on me to treat my second patient like shit."

"Second patient?"

Grimacing, Lumine turned her attention to the grilled cheeses, now golden-brown bordering on a little bit charred. "I'm going into nursing. Considering all I did to save your life, you're kind of like a patient." She pulled a spatula from one of her many drawers, then two plates. Scooping up and tossing the apple she'd left on the counter, she slid her toast onto her plate, mouth watering at the sight and smell.

She tossed Wanderer the spatula; he fumbled for a moment before catching it, shooting her an odd look as she handed him a plate. "What happened to your first? I'm not interested in helping you reach a one-hundred percent mortality rate."

Rolling her eyes, Lumine carried her plate to the table, watching Wanderer try to wedge the spatula beneath his toast. "He's alive and well, thank you very much. Just like you." Part of her wanted to withhold the answer— he'd refused to tell her anything about himself, so why should she share? But another, louder, less rational part of her craved connection and was willing to give up just about anything to get it. "My twin brother. Used to get sick a lot, and I got stuck taking care of him."

"Shitty parents, huh?"

She grit her teeth, lifting the apple to her lips. "Just busy. With work. Pretty much all the time." Until they'd died, they'd given Lumine and Aether a good childhood— there had always been food on the table and a roof over their head— but that had come at a cost. Long hours at work, overtime on the weekends, and no time to look after their constantly-sick son. She'd resented them for it, once, but it was hard to hold that against them in their absence.

He scoffed, finally managing to balance the bread on the spatula long enough to transfer it onto his plate. The corners were more than a little well-done, but he carried the plate to the seat across from her like it held a gourmet meal within its rounded edges. Then he went back, flicking off the stove top and putting the pan in the sink like someone with actual manners.

They ate in silence; Lumine was too exhausted to care for small talk, and Wanderer ate like he'd been starving since she dragged him out of the alley. Surely he'd eaten something between then and now? Some of the leftover beans and rice? Her fridge certainly did not overfloweth, but there was enough that he could've taken something and not been noticed.

The apple was refreshing and the grilled cheese was almost heavenly. She ate, almost entranced, until the weight of Wanderer's stare pulled her from her reverie. He was staring again— not saying anything, wearing an inscrutable expression. Watching her eat.

Now the silence was awkward. What was he waiting for? A dismissal from the table? Before this evening, it would've been unthinkable, but now she wasn't so sure. Her stranger was not entirely bereft of morals, but their moral compasses clearly operated on different cardinal directions.

"You can shower first, if you want." He looked like he needed it, and it would give him a chance to change back into his clothes. "I can help change your bandages after."

"I can do that myself. I'm not entirely helpless, you know."

"Right." So much for being civil. If he wanted to take care of it himself, though, she wasn't going to stop him. He'd either manage to keep himself alive or end up having to ask for help. "See you later, then."

He nodded, rising from the table to place his dish in the sink. Then he washed it, along with the pan, and set them both in the dish drainer. Without another word, he left, leaving Lumine alone with a single bite of grilled cheese left on her plate, presumably to take a shower.

What an odd guy. After yesterday, she'd expected to be walking on eggshells around him, but he didn't seem as overtly dangerous as the knife incident had suggested. He put up with her snark and gave as good as he got. If only he'd open up to her a little— tell her his name, maybe— he could almost be a tolerable house-guest.

There was no point in dwelling on something she couldn't change, though. Whatever his deal was, she'd figure it out eventually. And if she didn't, what did it matter? He was just a wanderer passing through; he'd be gone, and this would be nothing more than a funny memory to look back on when people asked about her most memorable patients as a nurse. Their meeting was an interesting coincidence, but that was all it was. A curious fluke of fate.

Chapter Text

There were an obscene number of toilet paper rolls on the kitchen table. It wasn't the best place to put them, but with her coffee table occupied, along with the rest of the living room, by Wanderer's general presence, it was the only flat open surface she had to work with. They were stacked together in troughs, at least, one thin plastic line between the mysophobia of the bathroom and the sanctity of the kitchen.

She'd have to do the real work outside, but the prep was best done indoors, within the air-conditioned, not humid comfort of her four walls. A bag of soil awaited her progress by the back door, the lone purchase she'd made at nine in the morning at the nearest hardware store. She wasn't sure what was worse— lugging it fifteen minutes back home or the cashier's confusion that a lone, single woman would be spending her morning buying glorified dirt.

He'd had the audacity to throw a pair of gloves onto the checkout beside her soil, winking like they were old friends. For her husband, he'd said, who he no doubt wished had accompanied her so he could crack a subtly sexist joke about all the work his wife was making him do. Then he'd had the gall to look confused when she pushed the gloves aside, explaining that she had no husband and was, in fact, buying the dirt for herself. And that if she had had a husband who was into early-morning dirt-buying, she would've made him go to the store himself.

He hadn't offered her a pair of gloves— her hands, apparently, mattered less than her hypothetical husband's. But she owned a pair much sturdier than the trash the cashier had tried to foist upon her; they'd served her well for five years and fit comfortably, which on its own was a miracle for a woman of small hands. They would see plenty of use today, but until she got her planters ready, they were sleeping in.

With reverence, she raised a pair of scissors to her first victim of the morning, pinched it flat, and snipped it in half.

They fell back into their trough with nary a sound, reverent of the silence of the morning as it spilled in through parted curtains, bathing the kitchen in the sun's embrace. Without the heat and humidity that came with being outside. Letting the sun light her house kept the utilities low, which was nice, especially since Sumeru didn't get dark as early as Mondstadt did in the evenings.

As the morning progressed, she continued her siege against her collection of toilet paper rolls. Each fell in halves to her mighty blade, tumbling amongst its comrades into their waiting, tearful arms. If she strained her ears hard enough, she could almost hear their pleas for mercy, shrill but rough, as she imagined cardboard would sound if it could talk, begging her to spare them this fate. They'd rather be sequestered in her dark closet once more than face this cruel bisection.

"What's with the toilet paper rolls and the psychopathic grin?"

Lumine jumped, the scissors flying from her hands as one lucky toilet paper roll was granted its wish. Wanderer stood in the doorway to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, which already brimmed with irritation. He was a grouch through and through, from the moment he rose to the moment he fell asleep, and no amount of coffee would fix that.

"They're planters. Biodegradable and a lot cheaper than anything ceramic." Harder to break, too. Lumine had fumbled enough flowerpots to know they weren't worth the effort. Was it noble work, spending her morning cutting toilet paper rolls in half like some kind of deranged magician? No. But it was better than watching another pot shatter into a million pieces as soil exploded out like shrapnel, maintaining some cohesion only thanks to the plant's roots.

"Planters," He echoed, looking between her and the cardboard as though deciding which was more deserving— nay, more worthy— of his scorn. "For… plants?"

"Yeah. To get the seeds started somewhere they can thrive a little before I toss them out into the real world." With all its heat and rain and humidity. She'd read enough debates online to write a book about whether it was better to start them like this or in the ground, but she preferred transplanting. She'd had better success with it in the past and it brought her some joy to see the plants coming to life so intimately.

"You garden?"

"Yep. Can't imagine any other reason a university student would rent a whole ass house with a yard." It wasn't cheap, but it was manageable, and caring for her plants was a vital counterbalance to everything she dealt with outside of home. In her garden, rude customers and difficult classes and the impending weight of her future were too far away to matter. It was just her and the plants, her and the soil and sun and water and the rich macrobiome underfoot that kept the garden alive.

Wanderer trudged toward the fridge as Lumine snatched up her scissors, returning to her work without any of the strange anthropomorphism she'd been entertaining herself with before being interrupted. "Privacy, maybe? Can't get much of that in a dorm."

"Privacy doesn't come cheap." And she wasn't paying triple Aether's room and board for privacy. If that was all she wanted, she could've been in an apartment, had most of the same conveniences she enjoyed here, and could've had all the privacy she wanted. But no apartment offered the kind of yard space she could get at a house, nor had any been interested in letting her set up an indoor garden. Too many concerns about bugs or mold or irritating other tenants' allergies.

Lumine glanced up from her work, watching Wanderer look through the fridge like it was a lost cause. After almost a minute of scrutiny, he pulled out the carton of eggs, pulling two out and grabbing a frying pan. He cracked them each with one forceful slam, the kind that should have, by all rights, gotten eggshell shards in with the yolk. But he didn't get a spoon to fish anything out. Either he was the most skilled egg-cracker alive or he liked them on the crunchier side.

The faint smell of cooking eggs filled the kitchen as she finished her work with the rolls, setting aside her scissors to restore some semblance of order to the troughs. Once they were stacked in the neatest rows she could force short, vaguely-cylindrical objects into, she carried them into the living room and out the back door, into the warm, fenced-in sanctuary of her backyard.

Some weeds had sprouted in the dark soil of her gardening boxes; she'd have to take care of those before the time came for transplanting. For now, though, she'd allow them to fester and spread their roots. It wasn't ideal, but she didn't have the time to fight a new crop of them every week.

Heading back inside, she pulled her box of gardening equipment from her closet, carrying it into the yard. Wanderer stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, plate of eggs in hand as he watched her lug the box, looking almost amused when the side bumped against the doorframe on her way out, nearly knocking her off her feet.

Thankfully for her dignity, health, and for all the seed packets that could've spilled, she regained her balance and maneuvered the box outside. Pulling on her gloves and tugging idly at the fringes, she brought the bag of soil outside and snipped the corner off with a pair of gardening shears.

As she reached into the bag, she felt the weight of eyes upon her once more. A quick glance over her shoulder showed that Wanderer had moved to the back doorway, leaning against it with a fork in one hand and his plate in the other, looking every bit the asshole he was.

Rolling her eyes, Lumine returned her focus to the task at hand. Getting soil into the rolls was almost as tedious as cutting them, but it meant she was one step closer to her real goal.

Wanderer stayed right where he was as she worked, fork occasionally scraping against his plate to remind Lumine of his presence.

"You're letting the cool air out," She called over her shoulder. As she spoke, her wrist twitched and her fingers loosened around the clump of dirt in her fist, spilling it all over her shorts. Shit. At least they weren't good shorts; not that she owned any clothes most would consider good. No name-brand anything for this broke college student. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Nope. Doesn't seem like there's much to do here."

Lumine grimaced, turning away so he wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing. He wasn't wrong; she didn't keep much to do around the house because she spent so little time there. "I've got a TV. And some books." Whether or not he'd be interested in the books was anyone's guess— he'd probably mock her tastes no matter what— but anyone could find something worth watching on TV. Then she could judge his tastes when she walked past and saw whatever he was watching.

Nose wrinkling, Wanderer set his fork on his plate, now empty. "There's only so much TV someone can watch before their brain starts melting." Right. He'd probably been entertaining himself with the television for the past few days when she'd been out. "Besides, this is interesting. It's not every day you see someone eager to take a dirt bath at nine in the morning."

A dirt bath. Right. Of course. That was definitely what she was doing, as he could see perfectly well from his perch on the porch. He spoke of the soil like someone who spent as little time outside as possible.

Maybe he was a vampire?

The thought lightened Lumine's irritation; if she coaxed him out a little further, maybe he'd combust. It would negate all the work she'd put into keeping him alive, but it would be solid payback for holding a knife to her throat. "You're welcome to join me if you're bored."

No reply. She looked back over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of genuine puzzlement before it hardened into something stonier. "I'd probably kill whatever you're trying to plant."

"You can do the soil, then. I won't let there be any casualties. Zero percent mortality rate, remember?" If they divided up the work, it'd go faster, and Lumine wouldn't be stuck out in the heat for so long. Already she was starting to sweat, the humidity clinging stubbornly to her skin.

"Some nurse you are, asking someone who nearly bled to death a couple days ago to do manual labor."

Lumine rolled her eyes, returning her focus to her work. "No one's saying you have to help. I'm just offering something else to do, since you're already so bored." He was acting like moving handfuls of dirt from a bag into a toilet paper roll was as taxing as hefting a pound of it ten minutes back home.

The door shut behind her, hinges singing their irritation at Wanderer's answer. So be it. He could be bored and miserable and irritated alone inside, watching TV until his brain turned to mush or reading some of her books.

A few minutes later, the hinges squealed again; Lumine jumped, spilling yet another handful of soil as she whirled around. Wanderer was once again in the doorway, this time with empty hands, striding toward her like it was the most natural thing in the world, but scowling like he was pissed about it. Like he wasn't choosing to walk over here.

Wrinkling his nose, he sat slowly, favoring his wound-free side enough to tell Lumine he was still in pain, though she'd never get him to admit it aloud. "So you're just putting dirt in the rolls, then?"

"Yeah. Same amount in all of them." Too much and the sprout might not breach the surface, too little and the seed wouldn't have space enough to spread roots. "And it's technically soil, not dirt. It will be once I get it in the ground, anyway."

"Are those not the same thing?"

Lumine clenched her jaw. If she strained her ears, she could almost hear the collective screams of frustration of every biologist, environmental scientist, and pedologist alive. Ignorance was alive and well, it seemed, a perpetual plight that no amount of schooling could rid the world of. "Soil is an ecosystem. It's teeming with life." Like worms and root systems and all sorts of creepy crawlies. "Dirt is just dirt. Dead and depressing."

"Like your house."

"Which I am so generously letting you stay at until you recover," Lumine spat. If he hated her so much and couldn't stand the house, why bother staying? Why didn't he find somewhere else to go undercover? He probably had enough cash on hand for an extended stay at a cushy inn somewhere, or to rent a place if he needed to get back on his feet. She'd invited him to, of course, but after accepting an invitation, it was rather rude to keep insulting his host and his host's house.

That, thankfully, shut him up. Lumine slid the bag of dirt between them, a flimsy barrier of plastic and soil that would keep him out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind. For good measure, she also reached into her gardening box and tossed another pair of gloves over the bag. They were bigger than the ones she had on, which she'd sought out specifically for people with hands smaller than the smallest standard adult size. If such one-size-fits-all tomfoolery didn't work for him, that was too bad.

She received no complaints, and soon a gloved hand was creeping over the other side of the bag, curling in to remove a fistful of soil.

They worked in silence for a while, making steady progress until all of the severed rolls were packed with a suitable amount of soil. There was still some left in the bag, so she twisted the top into a knot and pushed it aside, removing the curtain between them. By some foul twist of fortune, he was near spotless, save for the dirt on his gloves.

Lumine hadn't fared as well. Soil had fallen like rain through her fingers, and it had gotten everywhere. On her shirt, on her shorts, on her legs, on her arms. Since she had to keep brushing her bangs from her face, it was probably in her hair, too, and on her cheek. She looked like a proper gardener. He looked like some judgmental forest spirit looking upon her work with shame, beautiful in that unfair way she noticed only because the light was just so, the sun shining upon him like he was its favorite human. It gave him an almost inhuman glow, glinting light off piercings on his ears she hadn't noticed until now.

"What? You got a problem with me?"

Shit. She'd been staring.

"I— No, no problems. You've just got a bit of dirt on your face." She gestured to her cheek in a spot where he very much did not have dirt on his face.

"And you've got a bit of soil everywhere."

Lumine huffed; she couldn't argue with that. "It's all part of the experience."

"Right. And what's the next part of this experience?"

At least he wasn't dwelling on it. She'd have to be more careful in the future. No staring allowed— and if she did end up staring, she'd better have a good excuse. "Planting."

She scooped out the bags of seeds sitting at the bottom of her box, most folded in on themselves so they wouldn't spill as the box was jostled. "They should all have instructions on the back that say how deep to plant them. If not, let me handle it."

Picking up the pouch of sweet pepper seeds, Wanderer frowned. "You weren't kidding about being a gardener. You've got a lot of variety here."

"Yep. Keeps the budget a little more open, growing some of my own food and herbs." Not to mention how much she enjoyed it; there was nothing better than watching plants sprout and thrive. Except maybe indulging in the fruits of her labor. "I tried potatoes last year, but they didn't turn out all that well, so I'll be stuck with store-bought starches."

"What are the pencils for?" He asked, pulling two small, dirt-smudged pencils from the depths of her supplies box.

Crap, she'd almost forgotten. "Labeling. Once they've sprouted, I should be able to tell which is which, but it's good to know for sure." Reaching out, she pulled one of the pencils from his hand, trying to brush away some of the dirt. Her gloves were covered in the stuff, though, so her efforts were in vain. "Plus, if something doesn't come up, it's nice to know what. In case all my green beans fail, or something, so I know I screwed something up."

"How can you screw up something this simple?"

"You'd be surprised." Countless gardeners asked themselves that question every year. There was no easy answer— seeds were stubborn little things with a mind of their own. Some could sprout in the driest, most nutrient-poor soil imaginable, while others refused to come up no matter how aerated, moist, or rich the soil was.

Plucking a bag of strawberry seeds from the mix, Lumine reached her index finger inside and coaxed a few out. They were perennials, so most of the crop from last year would return, but it never hurt to plant a few more. It'd make sure she had enough to enjoy for herself and to go around. "They all need different amounts of water and sunlight. Basil needs a lot of water, but onions don't. Mix up the quantities and you'll drown one and parch the other."

"Sounds like more trouble than it's worth."

"Food is worth all the trouble in the world." Especially when she didn't have to buy it at the grocery store.

Silence fell between them as they began, scratching graphite labels into severed toilet paper rolls as they tucked seeds into the soil packed within. Lumine spared a glance at his progress when she swapped out her strawberry seeds for cilantro, noting the sharp, almost jagged quality of his handwriting. Though he'd called hers barely legible, his wasn't much better.

That gave her some solace as the sun crept higher into the sky, beating down with a familiar ferocity that Lumine wasn't sure she'd ever get used to. It seemed to be trying to make up for its absence over the past few days, reminding everyone under its light that they were in Sumeru, land of heat and humidity.

The heat was searing. Sunscreen would have been a great idea, but Lumine had been too engrossed in ignoring Wanderer to make a pit stop between prepping the rolls and taking them outside. This was probably what it felt like to be put in an oven; she could feel the UV light sinking into her skin, warming her blood to a low simmer and doing some wonderful damage to her DNA along the way.

The human body was about sixty percent water. If she stayed outside long enough, could she be considered soup?

Lumine shook her head, brushing her bangs off of her sweat-slick forehead. That was a stupid question. If she stayed outside long enough, heatstroke would be her main concern, not the half-delirious implications of her body's water content.

After a few more minutes of working, the heat became too much. Her thighs were pinkish-red and radiating heat, and though the air was heavy with moisture, her mouth was a veritable desert. She pulled off her gloves, flexing her fingers, searching for any blisters forming at the bases of her fingertips. None yet, but during gardening season, that wouldn't stay true for long. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna go get some water."

Wanderer didn't look up. Lumine rose, stretching out her back, and watched him for a moment. Despite his reluctance to help, he seemed to be taking it seriously; he glanced at the back of the bag with each pinch of seeds between his fingers, tucking them into the soil as though laying them to rest.

Perhaps it was cathartic for him, too. Being such an asshole all the time couldn't be easy— caring for something might make him feel more human.

Before he could comment on her lingering— or her staring— she headed back inside, sighing as the cool air of the house washed over her. It mingled with the sweat she was bathed in, making her shiver as she reached for two lidded cups in one of her higher cupboards, lifting onto her toes to reach them. Aether teased her often for keeping dishes where she couldn't easily reach them, but what was the point in having so much space, so many cabinets, if she didn't use them?

Popping the lids off, she filled each with water, then popped a few ice cubes in both. The cherry on top came in the form of cup sleeves, a birthday present from Collei, a friend she'd made in her introductory biology lecture last year, who'd called them absolute essentials for living in Sumeru.

She'd been right; they kept water cold a hell of a lot longer than ice cubes did. And though she'd been lied to about pouring cold water over her head— thanks to the humidity, it did not, in fact, help to cool her down— having a cold beverage on a hot day like this was the last line of defense between sticking out the heat and calling it quits.

Drinks in hand, she slipped back outside. Though the door was as loud as ever, Wanderer made no acknowledgment of her return.

That almost made Lumine regret helping him. Almost. Holding a grudge against someone was one thing, wishing dehydration on them was another. In the future, she'd probably have to help countless people she didn't like personally. That didn't make them any less deserving of care.

He did glance up when she set the glass down beside him, brows furrowing, breaking the almost serene ambivalence with which he'd been regarding the plants. "For the plants?"

"For you. Cold water's bad for roots, and I wouldn't waste ice on them anyway." As much as she loved them, they weren't worth the hassle of cracking an extra tray of cubes.

He eyed it warily, picking it up after a few moments and tilting the glass, narrowing his eyes like he was searching for something in the water.

"It's just tap water. Sorry if that's not classy enough for you." Stubborn or not as he was about it, he was still healing from his wounds; the bruises she could see had almost faded, and though he hadn't let her see the cuts, his clothes were blood-free, so they were probably holding up as well. He'd be more susceptible to the heat while his body worked overtime to mend the damaged tissue and blood vessels; that made staying hydrated even more necessary than usual.

Sliding open the lid, Lumine took a deep swig of her own water, relishing in the cold though it made her teeth tingle. It wasn't much buffer against the heat, but it was better than nothing.

As she set her glass amidst the grass, Wanderer picked his up, raising it to his nose before taking a cautious sip.

What was he wary of, poison? After all the effort Lumine had gone through to keep him alive and to prove herself trustworthy?

What was he being so vigilant for? If she asked, there was no chance in hell he'd give a straight answer. The closest thing she'd get to a reply would be the cold shoulder— he might even leave. And though she'd done this alone for years, she found it more pleasant in the company of someone else, even someone as pestilent as Wanderer. She'd try not to scare him off yet, not while things were still so rocky.

She received no thanks, but she hadn't expected any. They continued on in quiet broken only by the rustle of seed pouches and the occasional clink of ice cubes shifting against the side of a cup. Condensation formed along the sides of the cups, clouding the water within, and the sun crept higher still in the sky, intent on melting their ice as soon as celestially possible.

Once most of the seeds were planted, she pulled and unfolded a piece of paper from her box— last year's garden plan, annotated with observations she'd made throughout the year as the plants flourished or faltered. She'd have to erase the entire potato section and decide what else to put there, and she might consider swapping where the peppers and beans would go this year. Planting more legumes would give the soil a bit of a pick-me-up that would hopefully save her from another lackluster harvest.

As she erased labels and notes, a plume of warm breath met her ear. She jumped, elbow hitting her cup and knocking it into the grass, whipping around to see Wanderer sitting right behind her, staring at the map as it slipped through her fingers, catching in the wind.

He snatched it up before it could fly away, squinting as his eyes moved over the page. "With this much detail, you seem more like a farmer than a gardener."

"Hardly. I'm just a hobbyist." Tentatively, she reached for the paper. It crinkled beneath her fingers, but Wanderer's grip didn't relent. "A serious one, maybe, but a hobbyist nonetheless."

After a few moments of silence, Wanderer let go, fingerprints leaving faint smudges of dirt. "You could probably teach other gardening nerds. Start a blog, maybe."

Lumine rolled her eyes. The last thing the world needed was another gardener's blog clogging the internet. They could be useful, but most advice was situation-specific. Advice she gave about growing tomatoes in Sumeru would be completely useless to anyone outside of the nation; the climates were too different. Inevitably, someone would fail to realize this, kill their plant, and run a smear campaign in her comments.

"I'm interested in helping people, not plants." As a blogger, she wouldn't be able to work side-by-side with Aether. It would render all the work and misery school had put her through moot, too.

A few voices called out somewhere in the distance, beyond the fence protecting her garden from thieving passers-by. Footsteps accompanied them as they grew louder, until eventually Lumine could see flashes of color between the fence posts. Wanderer was watching as well, posture guarded, fists quivering with tension. He didn't relax until the people were gone, off to spend their weekend however they would, oblivious to the heat and the sun and the future looming just around the corner, creeping ever closer.

Applications for the Akademiya's nursing program were opening soon. If she wanted to get in next year, she'd have to submit one. And get accepted. It wasn't one of the school's biggest draws, nor was it the most notorious nursing school out there, but the prestige of Sumeru Akademiya's good name attracted the cream of the crop from every field, nursing-hopefuls included.

"…deserve help?"

The tail end of Wanderer's question pulled her from that rabbit hole before she could fall irreversibly far, which would have put a damper on the one enjoyable thing she had planned for the weekend. He was staring at her with narrowed eyes, the kind that issued a challenge, but she hadn't heard enough of the question to rise to the occasion.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

He scoffed, crossing his arms, the picture of petulance. "Case in point," He grumbled, "What did people ever do to deserve help?"

Lumine tilted her head. Why was he so irritated? "I— helping people is natural. Do they have to do anything special?" He hadn't. He'd been half-dead in an alleyway when she'd extended her help. And with his attitude he might not have deserved it, but a rotten attitude was no reason to refuse to help someone. "And anyway, it's what I'm good at."

His eye twitched; that answer had not been satisfactory. Not that any answer probably would have been, but that one seemed to have struck a nerve. "Sooner or later, you'll realize that people are shitty. All of them." He let his words hang in the air for a moment, heavy as the humidity and pessimistic as the clouds beginning to form overhead, harbingers of midday rain. "They're beyond help. I'm beyond help. Whatever you're trying to change or fix, it's never going to happen."

With that, he tossed his gloves aside, stood up, and brushed off his pants. "We're done here?"

Slack-jawed and reeling, Lumine nodded. Slowly. "Yeah. Everything's planted."

"Good. I'm going back in."

And he did, abandoning his cup and all the seeds he'd planted. He yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Lumine grimaced, watching it rattle on its hinges. At least he hadn't locked the door.

But what the fuck had that been about? They hadn't quite been getting along, but things had been civil. They'd been on the path to something almost friendly. Then, out of nowhere, he'd taken a sharp turn into nihilism.

With their every encounter, it became clearer that Wanderer was a puzzle broken in more pieces than she could hope to solve, all empty or adorned with unanswered questions. Who was he? Why was he like this?

And what did it mean for Lumine?

Nothing. It didn't have to mean anything. He'd made it abundantly obvious that he wanted nothing to do with her. It would be wisest to respect that wish, house him until he was well as she'd promised, and send him on his way. The path of least resistance. But something about that idea made her heart clench, that bleeding-hearted busy-body instinct that had driven her into this mess in the first place.

She wanted to learn more. To tear through the walls he put up around every little detail around himself until it was plain to see. Talking with him, vexing as it could be, was fun. A veritable sparring match between sharpened tongues. And something tired and shunned away in the back of her mind, something that yearned for a life beyond the tedium of the routine Lumine had carved out for herself, ached with curiosity.

She had to know. She had to keep prodding. She had to keep trying, because even if she couldn't help him, and even if he seemed convinced that she couldn't help anyone, she could try. Not to fix anything, but to understand.

Was it selfish, wanting to dissect her patient and guest's psyche until she could see exactly where his anger stemmed from? Perhaps. If not selfish, it was certainly unprofessional. But she wasn't a professional, and from time to time, she didn't mind being selfish.

It would take time and effort, like cultivating a stubborn plant. But she was willing to try, if only for a chance at something new and exciting.

Chapter Text

Another day, another eight hours of misery. Though it was only Monday evening, last weekend seemed an eternity away— something she'd dreamed up to salve the drudgery of scribbling notes until her wrists ached during lecture, preparing beverages to exact specifications, and walking on an ankle that was healing so slowly she was almost convinced it didn't want to get better. It was content staying like this for the rest of their coexistence, aching every time she walked, cursing her for buying the cheapest ankle brace she'd found. Her joints deserved better, dammit, and if she refused to see that, they were going to unionize.

Good for them. Lumine was also coping with her misery by considering forming a union. Against who? The general state of things. That was a cause she could get people behind.

What would they demand? Better conditions. Less humidity, maybe. Some change to their brain chemistry that would make happiness last, or at least make it easier to be content. But humans had been fighting for such causes since the dawn of their species— for all their troubles, nothing had changed.

Was this really all millennia of progress had yielded? Three hours of class a day, not to mention microbiology lab, five or six of work, a few hours to get done whatever needed doing at home, then a fitful night's rest? Had wars been won and lost, empires risen and fallen, the world been studied beyond anyone's wildest imagination, just for this?

It was evening again, almost night. Here, the time of year had little effect on when the sun rose and fell, so daylight reigned even as night fell over her home city in Mondstadt. That didn't stop her thoughts from wandering where the moonlight often led them, some stone unturned in her psyche that philosophized and lamented its existence but did very little of actual use.

Her brain could conjure a dozen existential dreads at the drop of a hat, but was unhelpful in creating a cohesive narrative for her personal statement. Try as she had, she'd yet to come up with an introduction, even. She had plenty to say, but putting it into words was proving a challenge far more difficult than it should have been.

There was plenty of time, but the sooner she finished it, the better. Then it would be done and dusted and she could go back to worrying about the day-to-day problems that kept her blood pressure from ever dropping below the norm. The personal statement— the application as a whole— was a one-and-done deal. She'd compose it, submit it, and wait.

If she got accepted? The rest of her coursework, the next three years of her life, were set in stone.

If she didn't?

Lumine clenched her jaw. She wouldn't have to worry about that. She had the perfect narrative— equal parts sob story and hero's journey, and especially emphatic of her qualifications. Her grades were alright. But if she did…

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing.

She would apply again next semester. It would be a roadblock, certainly, but a temporary one.

Her shoe caught on an uneven chunk of sidewalk, her injured ankle throbbing in protest. "Shit!" She stumbled forward, catching her balance before she could fall, but not in time to avoid the chorus of laughter from a passing car, windows rolled down.

Resisting the urge to flip them off, Lumine righted herself, glared at the protruding concrete that had stolen her dignity, and began walking again. She was almost home now. After dinner she could give her ankle the rest it deserved; she'd have to park herself at her desk anyway to study. Wednesday was fast approaching, and with it came an anatomy exam. Did she know enough to pass? Probably. But she wasn't confident she could do more than that.

To get into the nursing program, she had to be exemplary. Cramming wasn't the best strategy for success, but it was better than nothing.

Fortunately, she didn't have to waste any time cooking. Leftover chili from last night awaited her in the fridge, occupying nearly all the containers she owned. Half had gotten stuffed in the fridge, and she'd frozen the rest for later. Between her and Wanderer, they should be able to finish up the fresh batch before it went bad; he'd eaten it last night without any complaints, so he'd hopefully spare her the fate of three more nights eating as much as she could so it didn't go to waste.

Very few recipes were designed with a single diner in mind. That lent them well to leftovers, but not so much the misery of eating the same thing every day for an entire week.

Her house was, as she approached, innocuous as ever. Wanderer seemed to prefer it dark inside, which meant there was little risk of anyone noticing she had company. It wasn't great for his mental state, probably, but his problems ran too deep to be uprooted by a little sunlight. She'd need the willpower equivalent of a jackhammer to reach the heart of the matter, which she did not have.

She had on Saturday, but that was a lifetime ago, on a day when she hadn't been burdened with several hours of information to memorize and the finest specimens humanity had to offer at the café.

Reaching into her pocket, she fumbled with her keys for a moment before catching them between her fingers and unlocking the door. The house was dark and quiet, as expected, and she had no idea where Wanderer was or what he was doing.

If he wasn't going to make himself known, good for him. Lumine had better things to do than babysit his fragile temper.

Heading for the fridge, she found that some of the chili was indeed gone— she wouldn't be burdened with the gastrointestinal woes that came from trying to eat everything in two or three days. That softened her mood, but only slightly; the day had done a thorough job of wearing her down, and no mild convenience would alleviate that. She pulled a container from the fridge and grabbed a bowl, emptying several spoonfuls of spicy, delicious mush inside. Even cold and a day old, it smelled divine.

As she set it in the microwave, she turned and froze at the sight of Wanderer in the doorway, standing there with the casual indifference of someone who had always been there and didn't understand why she'd jumped at the sight. He was wearing some of the clothes she'd lent him, a gray hoodie and fluffy socks that had masked his approach with roguish stealth. Traitors. Once he was gone, they'd be banished to the farthest depths of the sock drawer for their treachery.

"You look more miserable than usual," He remarked, regarding his nails with the bored scorn of someone looking to pick a fight.

Lumine was neither in the mood to take the bait nor to twist it back. "Sure."

"How's the ankle? Looks like you screwed it up again, with the way you're limping."

"I am not limping," Lumine shot back, regretting it immediately as satisfaction quirked at the corners of his mouth. She was favoring her uninjured leg, but not to a degree where her gait could be considered a limp. How had he even noticed?

"You're pretty clumsy, y'know. It's almost impressive."

Fighting back the urge to glare, Lumine pulled on a pair of oven mitts and pulled her chili out of the microwave, steaming and bubbling and making her mouth water. "I'm aware. The consequences plague me every day."

Wanderer frowned, approaching the opposite side of the table as she set down her food, staring at it like he'd never seen something so unappetizing. "You work at a coffee shop?"

Lumine paused halfway across the kitchen. "How do you know that?"

"You come home reeking of the stuff every day," Wanderer replied, wrinkling his nose. "You must get a lot of students. Entitled assholes, too, though I'm sure there's plenty of overlap. It's a wonder how someone in the service industry still thinks there's something good in people— something worth saving."

Clenching her jaw, Lumine resumed her mission, obtaining a spoon and preparing a glass of water. She'd hoped for a quick, painless dinner that would leave her with plenty of time open for studying. She'd thought, after a Sunday of no acknowledgment, that Wanderer would leave her alone. Or at least drop this subject. On both accounts, she'd been wrong.

She slid into her chair, ignoring his pointed stare as she stirred her chili, willing it to cool faster. The sooner she was done, the sooner she could retreat into the safety of her room, where Wanderer's bad mood wouldn't be her problem. Until then, all she could hope was that he'd grow bored and find something else to take his irritation out on.

"You come back pretty late; your manager must be pretty shitty, too, to schedule you so long. Especially on an injured ankle." He didn't look indignant on her behalf, though. That extra misery was another point in his favor, another piece of ammunition for whatever grand argument he was building. "And your parents shoved all your brother's problems onto you. Seems like everyone in your life is a horrible person."

Lumine dropped her spoon, fingers twitching with the urge to throttle him. Patience. Deep breaths. He wanted a reaction— snapping back would only egg him on. But at a humble 5'2, she had scant experience being the bigger person. "Don't make assumptions about my family."

"What is there to assume? You've only got one picture of them in the living room, and by the looks of it, it's from a long time ago. No happier memories since then?" He was grinning now, smiling like he'd won the lottery, and it took every fiber of self-discipline she'd woven over the years of being trampled upon by customers and bearing the unfair expectations of her parents not to shoot up from her seat and slap him across the face.

She had no recent pictures of her parents because they were dead. But he had no right to know that— not after the living hell he'd wrought upon her life. "You know nothing about me. Or us."

"They say a picture is worth a thousand words." He stood, then, and sauntered into the living room with icy deliberation. The rational part of Lumine's brain stilled her legs, told her not to follow, that she was walking right into his trap. But another part of her, that stubborn, angry child who hadn't yet accepted that this was the way the world was, bid her to follow. Whatever he was going to do, however he was going to try and spin her one photo of her one happy memory with them— the one time they'd all gone out together, when Aether was well and neither of her parents was working or catching up on things outside of work— she wouldn't allow it.

He flicked the light switch on as he entered, bathing the living room in more light than it had seen in years. It was the same eyesore greige as the rest of the house, devoid of color in a way the sparse furniture Lumine had accumulated couldn't quite banish. Dust muted the dull shine of dark wood furniture and a faint sense of despair thickened the air, heavy as smoke, gut-wrenching.

She didn't spend much time here. The couch and television saw use only when she had guests over. Now, though, it looked a little more lived-in. Wanderer's broken phone sat on the nightstand, standing sentinel before his wallet under the lamp. There was a cup on the coffee table. And Wanderer stood next to the TV stand, next to the framed picture of her and her family.

It was a little blurry; they'd taken it with a cheap disposable camera and gotten the film developed too late for a re-take. They'd gone to Windrise and were sitting under the giant tree, Aether between their parents, Lumine behind them, making bunny-ears behind their heads while they beamed for the camera. She'd wanted to climb the tree, but her parents had refused. It was a site of cultural heritage, a monument of history, and even if it hadn't been disrespectful, it wouldn't have been fair to Aether.

Oh, she'd been furious. The memory still carried a slightly sour note, but it was the last time they were together like that. She couldn't let one small injustice ruin that.

Plucking the picture from the stand and bringing it closer, Wanderer frowned, scrutinizing the picture like he was playing spot the difference. Lumine stood in the doorway, frozen between worry that it would fall and the desire to slap it right out of his hands. The picture was a setpiece, the kind of thing that made a house a home. He had no right to analyze it, looking for some way to ruin it.

"They're both doting on your brother," He remarked, turning the picture to face her. His finger hovered just shy of the glass, pointing at the blurry remnants of her parents' faces, as blurry as their faces in her memory. "She's got an arm around his shoulders and he's looking at him like he hung the stars. And you're standing behind them all, oblivious. Or were you? Maybe this childish little prank was a bid for attention."

Lumine frowned at the image. For as many times as she'd looked at it, she'd never really looked. She hadn't noticed her mother's arm around Aether's shoulder, nor had she seen that her father had been looking at him, not the camera. "They were worried about him. He got injured as easily as he got sick; I was trouble enough to watch after myself, of course they were paying more attention to him."

The words came out weak and hollow, weighed down by a resentment she'd never let herself acknowledge. It had always been there, somewhere, buried under a child's mind's fervent attempts to explain what it could not understand, like a rock she'd never picked up to notice a fossil trapped in its underside. They were a concession as much as a refutation.

"Isn't that unfair? Doesn't it sicken you? They aren't supposed to play favorites— there's a world of things they aren't supposed to do— but they do." He stalked closer, hands shaking as he punctuated every word with a step. "And it fucks you up."

His breaths came shallow and erratic; there was something wild behind his eyes, that same cornered-animal fear she'd seen when he had the knife to her throat, but it was different. Deeper. Desperate to be heard, to be seen. To see itself in someone else, to demand that someone else acknowledge it. For a moment, Lumine saw the boy behind the temper, the soft core that had built its walls high and strong for lack of better protection.

Then she spoke, tongue moving with the exhaustion and irritation of a body running on empty. "Sounds like you're projecting." Was that what he was running from? A bad home life? That wouldn't explain the bruises and cuts, though. "Your family problems have nothing to do with mine."

Wanderer went dead still, statuesque, the photograph still clenched in his shaking hands like a lifeline.

Then the frame cracked under the strain and it slipped through his fingers, falling image-first to the floor with the unmistakable crunch of shattering glass.

For a moment, Lumine simply stared, eyeing the back of the frame, stand flattened against the plastic, like it had always been there. Like it was supposed to be there. On the hardwood living room floor. Because her landlord had no interest in the maintenance of carpets.

The photo. The picture.

"No," She breathed, sinking to the floor, reaching for the frame, for the few small chunks of glass by its corner, sharp and transparent and almost impossible to see. The kind that got embedded in the skin too deep for tweezers to reach.

As her fingers grazed the side, a hand grabbed her wrist, jerking her away. She glared up at Wanderer, yanking her wrist from his grip like it burned. "Don't—"

"The glass is broken. Go get your gloves or something if you're going to touch it."

Launching upright with the fury of a woman beyond scorned, Lumine demanded, "Why should you care? You've made it clear you can't stand me, so what does it matter to you if I cut myself?"

"I don't—" A pained look of frustration crossed his face, invisible to Lumine's anger. "Where are they? I'll go get them myself."

"Stay out of my room," Lumine hissed. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. If she wanted to assess the damage safely, she'd need her gardening gloves. They would protect her from glass as stalwartly as they kept her skin free of blisters. "Don't touch anything."

She went into her room, pulling the door shut behind her, and pulled the gloves from their box-home in her closet. She returned to find him standing beside the couch, looking as sheepish as someone of his self-importance could muster. She tossed the spare pair, the one he'd used on Saturday, when there had almost seemed hope for something beyond hostility between them. "Put those on; you're helping."

He raised a brow, doing as he was told. "Your spine makes an appearance at last," He murmured, pulling them on. She didn't dignify him with a response. "Here I thought you were all bark and no bite."

"I'll do a lot worse than bite if the picture's ruined." Squatting back down beside it, she gingerly lifted the frame, wincing as a hail of broken glass slid free. About half had remained intact, though scarred with an intricate webbing of cracks that looked ready to break apart at the slightest disturbance. There were no scratches on the photograph, though. All four smiles were intact, captured in fleeting eternity on film.

Carefully, she slid the photo out of the frame, brushing away the last stray shards of glass before setting it on the end table. "There's a broom in the hallway closet."

The air lightened, almost breathable, in his absence. Lumine knelt on the floor, searching for any pieces of glass that had traveled beyond the epicenter of the disaster. If she didn't find them now, someone would find them with their foot later. They might not even notice.

Wanderer returned a moment later, stopping at the other end of the table, looking between Lumine and the broom and dustpan in his hands. She pulled back, waiting for him to start cleaning, but he remained fixed in place.

"What're you waiting for?" She asked, crossing her arms. "Don't tell me you've never used a broom before."

His lips fell open, but no sound came out. Defiance flared in his eyes, tempered behind his silence— defeat. The closest thing to a white flag she'd wring out of him.

"You've actually never…" Just who was this guy? "Okay, give me the broom."

He held it out, lips pinching into a frown. "What about the dustpan?"

"Just hold it steady." The last thing she needed was an amateur broomer— broomist?— launching glass shards all over the living room floor. Lucky him; incompetence had won him the easy job.

His stare weighed heavy on her shoulders as she worked, cursing every god history had taught her of for rewarding her good deed this way. All she'd wanted was to help a stranger, to save them from death's door. And where had that gotten her? Sweeping up broken glass on the living room floor while the source of the problem stared at her like she was some sort of other-worldly freak. All while her chili grew cold on the table.

Corralling the shards into a pile, she inched it toward the dustpan. A quick glance up confirmed that Wanderer was still staring, still watching her face with an almost perplexed hesitation. Like she was the confusing one here. Like she was the one who'd come into a stranger's house and had spent every second of her time there antagonizing her host. Like she was the one with some cryptic one-sided beef with the rest of humanity.

She held his gaze for a moment, broom still in motion, easing the glass over the curved edge. He said nothing, and after a few heartbeats, looked away.

That should have been satisfying. Instead it was… irritating? It felt as though dropping the picture had affected him more deeply than it had affected her. He'd been playing with fire and was shocked to see that it burned. The mess, or something in cleaning it up, had shaken something in him, whatever resolve had driven him to disparage her sole immortalized memory.

"Hold on a second, let me go find something to put it in." If they dumped the glass in the garbage, it would cut through the bag. Someone— either Lumine or a sanitation worker, depending on when it fell free— would be in for a nasty surprise.

Fortunately, there was an empty jar of peanut butter on her windowsill, filled with water to try and remove the last smears from the sides so she could recycle it. It'd be difficult to siphon the glass through the opening, but it was the safest option she had available.

Sending her chili a longing glance, Lumine carried the jar back into the living room, setting it on the ground with one hand around it as she stabilized the dustpan with the other. Wanderer lifted it, balanced one corner on the rim, and began to slowly tilt the dustpan so its contents flowed into the jar.

Giving the pan a cursory sweep with her hands once all the glass she could see made it in, Lumine screwed the lid back on the jar, gave the floor one last, scrutinizing stare, then sighed. "You can toss that. The bag's weak, but no glass is getting through solid plastic."

"You aren't mad?"

Lumine raised a brow. Was he serious?

There wasn't a hint of humor in his eyes. He looked as serious as he'd been during their first official meeting, when he'd threatened her life over something she still didn't understand.

She laughed, chucking the jar toward the garbage can. It bounced off the rim and hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling back into the living room to announce her failure. "I will be, I'm sure. Probably. But right now I don't have it in me to care. It's been a long day, and I've still got a lot of studying to do before I hit the sack."

And she had a bowl of chili to reheat.

He spoke before she could reach the kitchen doorway, words stopping her in her tracks. "Do you have a car?"

Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder. Where had that come from? Had he sustained a concussion somehow in the time she'd been at school? That might explain his especially odd mood. "Have you ever seen a car in the driveway?"

His eye twitched, lips pursing. "How far is the nearest home goods store?"

"Maybe twenty minutes away on foot. Why, looking to redecorate?"

For a moment, he didn't respond; he looked around the room, gaze sweeping across the walls. Looking for something. His frown deepened and he scooped the remote control off the nightstand, turning the TV on for a moment, then turning it back off. "They'll be closing soon, probably. Get ready to leave."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What, exactly, is going on here?" Casting her dinner a longing stare— with every second that passed it seemed less likely she'd have the privilege of an evening meal— she pivoted to face Wanderer. He, who hadn't left the house since she'd dragged him inside, who was injured and hated her guts, wanted to go shopping? Perhaps there was some merit behind her concussion theory.

"I brok— You need a new frame. For the picture." The words came out stilted as he jammed his hands in his pockets, forced through clenched teeth. "Since I— I should replace it. So we're going. Do you own any sunglasses? A hat, maybe?"

Lumine frowned. "You're going to buy me a new picture frame?"

Jaw clenching, Wanderer replied, "Not if the store closes before we get there."

Sighing, Lumine retreated into the kitchen, lifting a cold spoonful of chili to her lips, regretting it the second it touched her taste buds. No rest for the wicked, no dinner for the kind. "What's a hat and sunglasses got to do with it? You in need of a disguise?"

The second she spoke the question aloud, something clicked. He was asking for a disguise. Whatever he was running from, it was serious enough that he wanted a disguise to go out, even with the sun already past the horizon. It would be too dark for anyone to recognize him, and whatever threats he was trying to circumvent were not likely found among aisles of knick-knacks and tinned cookies.

"You got a problem with that?"

Of course he'd be an ass about it, even when he was the one asking for something. "No. Everyone in Sumeru has sunglasses, I'm sure, and I've got a couple sunhats you can choose from." She'd bought them on a whim before moving here, hoping for a chance to wear one and look cute. But such things were reserved for movies and romance novels; she didn't care enough about fashion to coordinate proper outfits for them, and half the time she forgot that she owned them. "Check the closet. Lowest shelf."

As he fetched his disguise, Lumine forced another bite of chili down, gagging on the texture of the onions and tomato sauce and everything cold and soggy inside. Gross as it was, she wasn't letting it go to waste. "A forty-minute walk probably isn't the best idea in your condition, you know."

She could hear him scoff clear across the house. It brought a small smile to her lips, quenched immediately by another mouthful of food.

He came into the kitchen with the sunglasses and hat on— paired with his hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers, they looked absolutely ridiculous. Beneath a barely-suppressed snicker, Lumine said, "Maybe ditch the hat and wear your hood instead? You're probably gonna draw more eyes with that getup than you will out of disguise."

Red flared in his cheeks as he turned away, wrenching the hat from his head as he disappeared around the corner. He really was lucky they wore a similar size; he looked normal in her clothes, and they were unisex enough that he wouldn't draw any eyes that might take issue with a man dressed in feminine attire.

Her bland taste wasn't enough to mute his features, though. If he were getting any attention, it'd probably be from how attractive he was. Conventionally, of course— though she'd caught herself staring sometimes, Lumine would never look at him that way. In another time, perhaps, if they were strangers passing on the street, but she'd seen enough of who he was beyond sharp features and deep, piercing eyes to nip any attraction in the bud.

Shoveling the last of her chili in her mouth, she headed for the door, slipping on her shoes in all their old, worn, perpetually-dirt-smudged glory. Wanderer stood in front of the closet, looking less covert with a hood pulled over his head and the sunglasses perched on his nose. Those still might raise some brows, given the time of day, but they'd be easy to write off. Fashion was different for everyone; for some, it meant shades and a hoodie at seven P.M.

Pulling open the door, she stepped into the night air, holding the door open for Wanderer. It was nothing like the embrace of evening in Mondstadt, which was crisp and cool even in the hottest of summer, but it was tolerable. The humidity was gone, as was the worst of the sun, leaving the air warm but not unbearable. The sky was alight with brilliant hues of pink and orange and red, the sun's swan song before it sank beyond the horizon.

Wanderer stepped out a moment later, profile catching the light in a way that made him almost glow, radiant in the sun's dying glory.

Lumine quickly shifted her attention to her keys, fumbling for the metal and sliding it into the lock, cursing her clammy palms as she tried the doorknob to ensure the lock had slid shut. It refused to budge, so she slid the key back into her pocket, meeting Wanderer's eyes as she began to walk.

"It's this way. I don't know when they close, but we should have an hour or two." Plenty of time to buy a replacement frame.

They walked for a few minutes in silence, footsteps echoing forever into the night as the breeze caressed long fingers through their hair. Cars flew by mere feet away, headlights bringing momentary light to the world, each a remnant of the dying sun somewhere far to the west. The streetlights flickered to life as the sky grew darker, hues of sunset fading to the dusky indigo that came before the moon and its blanket of midnight.

Her ankle began to ache some few minutes later, a dull feeling that suggested too late that she too was injured, and walking this far wasn't a good idea for either of them. She slowed down, anticipating a snide comment from Wanderer, who'd been keeping up well for bearing the worse injury.

But he said nothing, falling back to match her pace, chin raised and gaze fixed ahead.

The darkness beckoned, as it always did, Lumine's thoughts into realms she preferred not to cross. Everything around them, save for the small havens encircling the streetlights, blended into a mesh of dark nothing, shapes and shadows that seemed to whisper on the wind, heralding the day to come and how distant it still was, though it grew ever nearer.

She didn't want to think about tomorrow yet— another day of classes and work, with an exam to sweeten the deal. But the night offered scant few distractions for a weary mind.

She glanced again at Wanderer, trying to discern something behind those sunglasses and that stony expression, a perfect resting bitch face carved from marble, armed with long eyelashes and stormy eyes and thin lips set in tentative peace, the ambivalence of someone waiting in the eye of a storm, waiting to be swallowed once more by the winds and the rain and the howling tide.

"So, bad home life?"

He paused mid-step, lips pinching into a frown. "None of your business."

His words lacked their usual venom; he sounded as worn-out as she felt.

But all the tiredness in the world couldn't staunch the dregs of her frustration, boiling over the weight in her bones. "Like my life is any of yours? What gives you the right to read into something you know nothing about, get all up in my face about it, and then act like any question I ask you is an invasion of privacy?"

Wanderer paused mid-step, tension coiling in his posture as he looked at her, gaze no less heavy for the shades that concealed it. "I don't know why you'd care. My past means nothing to you."

"Is it so hard to believe I'd like to get to know you, at least a little? If we're gonna be stuck together for a while, we may as well make the most of it." If they could get a little closer, if she could win some of his trust, perhaps she'd find the threads she needed to pull to unravel the mystery he cloaked himself in. If not, he might at least become more tolerable. "It's fine if you'd rather stay strangers, I guess, but if you don't want anything to do with me, I'm gonna need you to stop picking fights."

She'd been burning the candle at both ends long before their paths had crossed. With his temper added to the weight on her shoulders, she may as well have been setting fire directly to the wax.

He resumed walking, tilting his head back as Lumine waited, watching for any hint of an answer. "Fine. If you're really that desperate to know…" Pinching the bridge of his nose, Wanderer inhaled. "I have a sister."

"Twin?"

"Younger. Golden child of the family."

Lumine pursed her lips; now they were getting somewhere. "The favorite?"

"The one who gets everything. All the attention, all the praise. She's calm. Inhumanly. So fucking impassive." Sneering, he rolled his eyes. "Thinks she's above everyone else— I'd love nothing more than to smack that smug look off her face."

Oh.

"Damn." How much of that was true and how much was distorted behind childhood envy? She had no way of knowing. But the resentment was crystal clear; he'd assumed something similar simmered under the surface of her relationship with Aether. Had he been looking for solidarity? "Sounds like a real piece of work."

Like brother, like sister.

Pushing the sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, Wanderer scoffed. "One of these days she's going to fuck something up. Big time. Then everyone'll see she's not the perfect little heiress they think she is. Pity I won't be there to see it."

Whether anything he said was true, something must have happened to create such a rift between him and the rest of his family. People didn't hate this passionately without a reason, good one or not. If she asked, he probably wouldn't tell her, though. It wasn't her business.

"Is that why you left?" It didn't explain the stab wounds, nor the bruises, nor the smashed phone and lack of identification. But it was a piece of the puzzle, a corner piece, something from which she could build off of.

He met her eyes briefly, rage sharpening into something colder, more guarded. "No."

With that, he fell silent, leaving Lumine with more questions than answers. But walking so much after eating was starting to make her stomach hurt, and exhaustion was beginning to weigh on her eyelids. If she really wanted to know more, she'd wait until later. They'd made progress, if only a fraction, which hopefully meant he'd be open to sharing more in the future.

Until then, she had a test to study for and a half-night's sleep to catch. The future could wait.

Conversation settled, Lumine returned her attention to the path ahead. They'd nearly reached their destination; their surroundings had shifted from suburban sprawl to the bright lights and huge buildings of industry. Sumeru City, popular as it was among tourists, shared some concrete-jungle similarities with urban centers in Mondstadt, but it was home to many bustling markets as well. If they'd waited, they might have been able to find a hand-made picture frame at one on the weekend.

It'd be a lot more expensive than the mass-produced piece of plastic they'd be buying, though. Worth it in the long run, but out of reach in the short-term.

The store's bright fluorescents were visible three minutes away; they'd made it in time. Lumine had been there once or twice— never for anything substantial, since she wasn't interested in lugging actual furniture twenty minutes back home, but to gawk at the weird little trinkets and the interesting selection of food.

They crossed the street and waded through the dark, empty abyss of the parking lot. At their approach, the store's doors slid open, welcoming them into the oppressive brightness and the upbeat white-noise music of a building full of people who didn't want to be there. Lumine could feel the stare of the lone employee manning the cash register as they passed, heavy with a mix of boredom and scorn for the late-night customers who necessitated the shop's long hours.

Ducking behind a rack of clothing, Lumine scanned the overhead signs draping from the ceiling for one announcing where the home goods were sold. Like a lot of stores in the more touristy areas, which had been digging roots in Sumeru City for years as the Akademiya began accepting more international students, it didn't strictly sell furniture or household objects; it sold a little of everything, convenience eroding culture. The same stores were popping up in Mondstadt, modern eyesores of neon and towering signs amidst the old stone-brick buildings that filled most of the capital.

Though she'd rather not support them, it was the only option this late and this close; Wanderer had been insistent on going now, so she'd left them little choice.

He wrinkled his nose as they passed a few aisles of children's toys, bright with colors that seemed almost out of place amidst the off-whites of the walls and ceiling and floor and the bland accents somewhere between black and brown. "Is a place like this going to have anything worth buying?"

"Probably not," Lumine replied, lips twitching into a pained half-smile, "But it's all the city has to offer at eight P.M. on a Monday."

Wanderer scoffed. "Classless."

"Says the dude in sunglasses and a hoodie in Sumeru." It was a miracle he hadn't melted into a puddle of sweat on the walk there.

Clicking his tongue, Wanderer shot back, "You think you're any better? Your tag is sticking out of your shirt."

Lumine froze as his hands grazed the skin of her neck, knuckles pressing into the point where her cervical and thoracic vertebrae met. They were colder than they should've been, given the temperature outside; she shivered as they tucked a slip of fabric under her neckline. They were coarse, too, calloused in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Her skin tingled in their absence. Grimacing, Lumine ran a hand through her hair. Why was her brain kicking into overdrive? It was too late to be overthinking this kind of stupid shit.

They wandered along the edges of the aisles, peering into each one— each a treasure trove of oddities that ranged from bathmats and towels to the most impressive variety of garden decor Lumine had ever seen in one place. Eventually, though, she found one sporting a variety of picture frames and entered, stopping halfway, where a meager selection of four by sixes awaited, coated in a thin layer of plastic which was coated in a thick layer of dust.

If Wanderer's frown grew any deeper, it would leave permanent trenches in his face. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I think they had a better selection of garden gnomes," Lumine said, only half-joking.

"This city gets worse every godsdamned day."

"You're not from here?"

Eyeing her warily, Wanderer sneered. "No. I came here on business."

Business which was none of hers— his tone made that clear as glass. "Well, if you ignore the heat and the places like this, it's pretty nice. A lot of great people, and the food is to die for."

"You don't even eat half of it— what do you know about the food here?"

Lumine rolled her eyes. "Enough to know that it's delicious. Now, are we going to stand here bickering all day, or are you going to pick one of these frames so we can go home?"

"Me? It's your frame, you're supposed to pick it out."

"You're the one paying, though."

Breath hissing through his teeth, Wanderer replied, "Pick one, or I'll choose the ugliest one there is."

Considering the selection, it was a battle for last place in the visuals department. But if he was going to be stubborn about it, she'd go with something simple: a thin wooden frame painted the burnt orange of sunset with a thin pane of glass in front and one flimsy plank of wood to hold it upright. Nothing fancy, but she didn't need fancy. She needed to get home and study for tomorrow's exam.

"Your taste in frames is almost as bad as your taste in food," He commented, reaching to brush some dust off the plastic cover.

Lumine sneezed a few seconds later, jamming her arm into the sharp corner of a shelf. "Let's just get out of here." She wasn't eager to start on their long, awkward walk back, but it was the only thing standing between her and freedom from Wanderer's presence.

She led him to the checkout, where the store's single employee awaited. The look they gave the picture frame rivaled Wanderer's own as they picked it up, brushing more dust off the back to scan the bar code.

"That'll be one thousand, two hundred mora."

Wanderer scoffed as he pulled his wallet from his pocket. "Should've expected highway robbery. It's always the shittiest places that want the most money," He muttered, loud enough for the cashier to hear, as he dug out the required sum.

Lumine grimaced, shooting the cashier an apologetic glance. Did he have to complain every step of the way? Especially after being the one to insist on coming here, it was uncalled for.

To their credit— and the fact that they'd probably get fired if they offered the kind of response Wanderer deserved— the cashier said nothing, merely clenching their jaw as they took Wanderer's mora. They dumped it into the cash register and tore a freshly-printed receipt from its printer, sliding it across the counter.

With the last glimmer of enthusiasm she had for the day, she forced a smile. "Thank you! Have a good evening."

"You too," They mumbled, shooting Wanderer a wary glance before turning their attention back to the register.

Frame in hand, Lumine left the store, Wanderer following close behind. Compared to the sterile brightness of the store, the evening's dark corners and cloaking shadows were a welcome change. Though the air conditioning had been pleasant, the heat wasn't unpleasant; it felt more like walking into the bathroom right after a shower than the usual swampy-sauna scorch of the daylight sun.

"You could be a little nicer, y'know. Or at least a little less hostile."

Amusement glittered behind Wanderer's shades. "Customer service solidarity?"

"Sure, that and the fact that I'm a decent person."

"Most decent people would take offense at prices like those."

"Sure, but they'd have the decency not to complain about it in front of employees. It's not like we're the ones setting the prices." There would always be people who thought everything was overpriced. Sometimes they were right. But that was something to be taken up with the people who made those decisions— not the minimum-wage peddlers.

Wanderer shrugged. "Sure, but they should know they're practically scamming people. How can you look someone in the eye and name that price for something that looks like it's going to fall apart the second it's unwrapped?"

This conversation wasn't going anywhere; she may as well have been trying to reason with a brick wall. Though a brick wall might be a bit more well-mannered.

She didn't reply, and he added nothing else. The conversation between them fell once more to the wayside, leaving Lumine alone with her thoughts and the sound of their footsteps against the dying rush of traffic on the road.

She glanced at the frame in her hands, the plastic around it almost sticky with residual dust. Why had he insisted on replacing the other one? It was a kind gesture, and one she appreciated, but compared to all his other actions, it made no sense. He'd had no qualms about holding a knife to her throat, and he'd made no attempts to make amends for his sullen temper.

But he washed his dishes after every meal and kept the living room clean. He may even have helped clean while she was away; the crumbs she'd let loose on the kitchen floor all those days ago, remnants of a rushed breakfast she'd forgotten until she noticed their absence, were gone.

All of that was the bare minimum of courtesy from a guest. It should've been expected.

Curiosity piqued once more from the depths of her exhaustion, a dandelion growing in the cracks between slabs of concrete. Unbearable as he could be, he was an enigma that beckoned to be explained and a wrench in the every monotony she'd fallen into over the years.

Sooner or later, she'd figure things out. For now, she had other things to worry about.

Chapter Text

Lumine's heart sank.

36/50

Seventy-two percent. A C+. The cusp of failure, the last time a drowning woman's hand breached the surface before she became too weak to keep herself afloat.

Groaning, Lumine tossed her phone onto the table behind her. The piano stilled, as did Lyney's mumblings of the lines he was rehearsing for a skit he'd be performing in class next week. Even the scrawl of Lynette's pencil against paper died down, bathing the cramped practice room in absolute silence as all eyes fell on Lumine.

Splaying a hand over her face, she said, "D'you guys think it's too late to drop out?"

"I take it the test went badly?" Lyney asked, offering a sympathetic smile.

"I passed, but barely. That's not the kind of score that's getting me into the nursing program." Picking up her phone again, Lumine stared at her reflection in the empty, black screen, lined with years-old cracks because she couldn't muster the will to replace her screen protector. She looked as miserable as she felt. "I studied as much as I could and I thought I did okay, but I suppose I thought wrong."

Plucking out a few sad chords on the piano, Venti chimed, "Cs get degrees, y'know. I can't even tell you how many essays I've bombed."

"That's because you're more focused on witty wordplay than arguing your point," Lynette remarked, nose wrinkling as though a specific example had come to mind. "But I don't think one C is worth dropping out over; you've put too much effort in."

"Sunk cost fallacy strikes again," Venti sighed.

Inputting her passcode and closing the browser tab, banishing the bearer of bad news, Lumine sighed. "You're probably right. One bad grade doesn't completely kill my chances of getting in. I'll just have to work harder to make up for it. Provided I can find the time…"

"Something got you busier than normal?" Lyney asked, drumming his fingers along his papers.

Yeah. Wa—" She caught herself before the name could slip from her lips, shutting up fast. Too fast, perhaps; she'd drawn attention again. "Just the garden, y'know. Watering everything and making sure the seeds are all coming up."

At some point, she'd have to tell them what was up. Especially since she had no idea when Wanderer was leaving. Keeping secrets from her friends wasn't something she liked to do, but given the precarity of Wanderer's situation, telling them seemed like a bad idea. Venti wouldn't tell Aether if she asked, and neither Lyney nor Lynette had his contact information, but there was no way to guarantee they wouldn't react poorly.

Probably they would. A good friend would see the danger and stupidity of her situation and try to help her out if it. But if she wanted to help Wanderer, she'd have to be a little stupid and accept the associated risks.

Whatever he was doing to stay on the mend, it seemed to be working; he moved without any outward signs of pain. Even their walk two nights ago, which had flared up pain in Lumine's twisted ankle, hadn't brought him any trouble. He'd be healed soon, and then he could head off into the world to accomplish whatever business he'd claimed had brought him to Sumeru.

And then her house would be lonely again. There would be no one to bicker with in the evenings or to split her leftovers. Her garden would bloom for her eyes alone, and her hands alone would tend its soil.

Something about that made her chest ache, a disappointment almost more profound than that she felt for her grade.

Lumine frowned. She'd lived alone all of last year without a problem. What did it matter if she lost her company? It was destined to be temporary.

"Are they doing well?" Lynette asked, pulling Lumine from that train of thought.

She blinked, taking a moment too long to recall what Lynette was talking about. "The plants? They're fine. A few of the beans haven't come up yet, but I should see some green within the next couple days. They're probably just shy."

Lynette nodded, glancing away as Venti resumed playing, the room filling once more with music. "That's good. It'll give you something to focus on that isn't work or studying."

"With my grades the way they are, I'm not sure that's a good thing." Since she'd taken Wanderer in, focus, already transient, was almost impossible to achieve. He plagued her thoughts with questions that could not be banished, and even in his absence she couldn't help imagining what he might be doing.

Not angsting over a bad test grade, certainly.

"Hobbies are important," Lyney chimed, flipping a coin from his thumbnail. It spun in the air until he snatched it up, flicked his wrist, and spread his fingers to reveal an open palm. "Perhaps I could teach you all a few tricks?"

Raising a brow, Lynette shot him a sideways glance. "What happened to trade secrets?"

"I won't share anything too impressive," He replied, flashing a brilliant grin, "I can't have any of my students surpassing me, after all."

"I could teach you guys piano!" Venti shouted over his playing, fingers never leaving the keys. The melody carried on despite his distraction, free of any sour notes or missed cues.

Lumine grimaced. "I've got way too much studying on my plate to add learning to read sheet music to the mix."

"And I wouldn't trust you not to mislead us for your own amusement," Lynette added.

"Maybe you should have us all over and we could just watch TV. That'd be relaxing," Lyney suggested, the coin re-emerging between his index and middle fingers.

It would be. But the chances of having anyone over without discovering her temporary roommate were slim to none. And, to watch TV, they'd have to kick Wanderer out of his space; excluding her bedroom, there wasn't anywhere else in the house for him to go. "One of these days I'll get around to cleaning, then you can all come over."

"Your place can't look worse than mine," Venti chimed, "I don't mind a mess!"

Since Lumine was the only one with a house big enough to accommodate four— along with the occasional stray who tagged along with someone— her home was the designated hang-out spot outside of school. Having company made the space feel bearable, and there was nothing like staying up late watching movies or binging a TV show, ordering take-out and eating way too many snacks.

But that would have to wait.

Her phone buzzed, drawing her from the conversation. She tapped the screen awake to see she'd been saved by the bell; she had twenty minutes until her shift started at the café.

"There's my cue to head out," She said, trying not to sound relieved. As much as she'd rather stay here, if she kept pussyfooting around the idea of having them over, she'd start sounding suspicious. Work would save her from that, though it would throw her into its own kind of torture.

"Here's hoping you don't get too many rude customers today."

The possibility of that was slim to none, but she appreciated Lynette's hope nonetheless. "Me too. Have a good day, you guys."

They returned the sentiment and she slipped from the room, sliding her phone into her pocket as she made for the exit. The café wasn't far, but her manager smiled upon early arrivals, and she wanted a little wiggle room in case her ankle started acting up.

In the absence of her friends and their conversation, her mind was free to wander in every direction she'd prefer to avoid. Seventy-two. She may as well not have studied at all. Hours of drilling muscle names, locations, and functions, all down the drain with nothing to show for it. She had to stop getting so distracted.

At least her grades would not follow her into the coffee shop. There was no studying to be done except memorizing how to mix their blends; a year of practice had made each one second nature. She could fill any order on muscle memory alone; the only hard part was tolerating people who expected the world from an underpaid barista.

Everyone had their quirks— some people couldn't look her in the eye, some would look everywhere but her eyes, some people ordered mid-conversation with someone else in line or on the phone, and some people shouted midway through her task that she was taking too long. It was inevitable that a few rotten apples would sneak their way into the mix. If not for them, she could spend all day brewing coffee and fetching pastries from the display bothered only by boredom. It was a dull job; only the people made it interesting. Whether that was a good interesting or a bad interesting, she could never tell until they opened their mouths to speak.

She went in through the back, nodding with a small smile at Kaveh, a co-worker and fellow student at the Akademiya. The café's proximity to the school meant there was little time to fraternize with her colleagues, but she knew he studied architecture. That was all she needed to know to sympathize with the perpetual stress in his eyes; he was juggling more math classes than she could survive.

It was nice knowing that she wasn't the only one struggling to keep her head above water, selfish as it was to wish her misery on others. But with most of her friends coasting through courses they loved, she was glad for a reminder that she wasn't the only one struggling toward the future.

She changed into her uniform in the employee bathroom, tied on an apron, and set to work. The day passed slowly; she tracked the pass of time in people's orders— less caffeine as the hours passed— and in the sky outside, pale blue growing richer and darker as the sun began its descent.

One eternity later, the last customer took their order and departed. The ceiling lights shone down upon no one, spotlights on an empty stage. Napkins and crumbs and rings of condensation littered the tables, now the building's sole occupants aside from the employees. Rusty cogs in the coffee machine.

The leftovers, mercifully, weren't her problem. Nor were the few pastries left in the display. Those she wouldn't have minded cleaning out, but it wasn't worth the risk of getting caught. As much as she begrudged it, she needed this job. Unless she wanted to work on campus, with fewer hours and worse pay, there was nowhere closer and more accommodating to her class schedule. The place needed her, too; there was no shortage of students seeking work to build savings throughout their education, but few stuck around.

Lumine had been there barely a year and a half, and she was one of the senior employees.

That meant she shouldered higher expectations, but could shrug off unfavorable duties like late-night clean-up. Her part in closing was simple— lock the door, turn the sign, hang her apron, and head out.

She did it quickly, eager to be on her way. The evening air was, as always, never cool enough to be refreshing, but it was a welcome change from the blistering heat she'd escaped at the start of her shift. A few people mingled in the outdoor seating, chatting over coffee and mouth-watering snacks. They paid her little mind as she passed. Probably they didn't recognize her as the one who'd prepared their drinks.

Students loitered on the surrounding sidewalks, some emerging from a long day of classes, others heading back home. Its proximity to the Akademiya's campus ensured that Puspa Café got plenty of foot traffic, even when it wasn't open. The only thing more alluring to college students than coffee was instant meals. It was a prime location; even when closed, it drew eyes, tempting the wallets of tomorrow.

The crowds thinned as Lumine walked, slimming to a small trickle of people waiting at crosswalks or walking dogs, taking advantage of the last few hours of the sun's dying light.

With her anatomy exam dead and buried, she could rest easy in the subject for a few days and turn her attention to the next upcoming hurdle— a microbiology test.

There wasn't as much to memorize, but there were more processes to understand. It was a different beast, albeit one she felt more comfortable stepping into the ring with. She'd have to try to do as poorly on it as she'd done on the anatomy exam.

Lumine sighed, drinking in the evening air. It'd gotten more humid since she'd started walking; the smell of coming rain was unmistakable.

When she'd first come to Sumeru, she'd been shocked by how quickly the weather could change. In Mondstadt, most storms were announced by the rolling in of dark clouds over the horizon hours before any rain or thunder began. Here, though, the sky could open up in a downpour while the sun reigned over a near cloudless sky.

A drop of rain met her cheek; another pelted her arm. Soon it was drizzling, water seeping into her hair and plastering it to her face, but she kept a steady pace. Her ankle had been kind today; it had uttered no pain on her walks between classes or during her shift at work. If she broke into a sprint to beat the rain, she'd undoubtedly reverse whatever healing had begun.

And there was something pleasant about walking in the rain, something human about being exposed to the elements like this. It was the one way nature, in all its glorious wrath, could still reach her among all these buildings and roads that kept it at bay.

The rumble of thunder, followed a few seconds later by a brilliant flash of lightning, wasn't quite as welcome. But she'd reached her porch by the time the second crash rattled the sky; she was safe beneath her house's little awning, and soon she would be safe within its walls.

She shivered as she entered; the air conditioning made her rain-soaked hair and clothes unbearably cold against her skin. She slipped off her shoes and headed inside, catching sight of Wanderer standing before the back door, watching the rain fall without acknowledging that she'd returned.

Dropping her bag off in her room, she sidled up beside him. There was no way he missed the flash of her reflection in the glass, but he still said nothing, blind to her presence.

She turned her attention to the rain; it was coming down hard now. The tree in her neighbor's yard swayed as it was battered by wind and rain, almost glowing as another strike of lightning lit the sky.

When she'd almost forgotten his presence, Wanderer spoke. "You look like a wet dog."

She whirled back, glowering as a satisfied grin stretched across his lips. He wasn't wrong; she'd beat the worst of the rain, but hadn't escaped an impromptu shower. "Shove it."

"Rough day?"

"No more than usual." When every day was rough, none were. Wasn't that a saying? It'd be nice if she could acclimate to the misery a little more. Maybe then it wouldn't be such a problem. "How about you? Long day rotting your brain with the TV and watching the rain fall?"

He huffed, rolling his eyes. "Not like there's anything else to do. I made that recipe, though."

Frowning, Lumine tilted her head. "That recipe?"

"The one you left on the counter."

She had left a curry recipe on the counter last evening; Aether had texted it to her during work, claiming it was to die for. Mushrooms weren't something she often cooked with— or ate for that matter— but there could be no harm in trying it. "You cooked something?"

He cocked a brow, smug expression fading. "Not like there's much else to do here all day. I figured you wouldn't mind, considering how strapped for time you are."

What was she supposed to say to that? He'd made dinner. Not only did he have some level of culinary skill, then, but he'd actually put it to use. For their mutual benefit.

"Well, then," She began, unsure of what to say, "Thank you. Is it in the fridge?"

He nodded. "Bottom shelf. I already ate, so help yourself."

That left her with more questions than answers, like everything else he did. Sure, it was plausible that he'd just gotten bored, noticed the recipe there, and decided to make it, but something about that was so odd. He'd barely spoken a word to her on Tuesday. She'd assumed that the prior evening's outing, or some of what he'd shared, had bothered him. And now here he was, being kind.

It would be easier if he were always an asshole. Or always nice like this. The wishy-washy mix of both he embodied was probably why she couldn't get him out of her head. Most people made sense on some level; there seemed to be nothing sensible about Wanderer. On the same day, in the span of an hour, he could feel like multiple different people.

Footsteps sounded from the doorway. Lumine glanced over her shoulder to see Wanderer heading to the seat opposite hers at the kitchen table, sliding into a chair like it was normal, like they were sitting down for a meal together. He'd just told her he'd already eaten. Why was he here?

The faint aroma of curry washed over her as she opened the fridge, a precious moment's distraction from the confusion behind her. She took it out and prepared a plateful, stomach rumbling as she set it in the microwave. Oh, to have tasted it fresh off the stove. It would have been heaven in a bowl, perfection in a spoon.

But an hour freed from cooking was an hour she could spend doing other things. That made the sacrifice worth it.

"What's got you miserable today? Work again, or is school grating your nerves, too?"

With a bowl of piping-hot curry in her hands, she turned to fix Wanderer with a frown. "You're awful curious tonight."

"In this desert of boredom, even your life is interesting."

Lumine rolled her eyes. "Always glad to be someone's oasis." What could be the harm in sharing? Opening remarks aside, he'd been almost pleasant this evening. Perhaps they could have a real, genuine, adult conversation for once. Learn a thing or two about one another. Form some sort of bond that would make it harder than necessary to see him go. "But it's a little of both. Work's the same as ever, but class is always throwing new shit my way. I got a bad score on my anatomy exam and just kind of overall hate what I'm doing, but that's school for you, from the beginning to the bitter end."

Had the goodwill behind dinner loosened her tongue more than was wise? Absolutely. Had the rain brought some feelings to light she couldn't pass up the opportunity to acknowledge? Unfortunately. But he'd asked to be pulled into these trenches, so he was going to wade through right alongside her.

"Why study medicine if you hate it so much? You're bringing most of this on yourself. I doubt you'd be half as fatigued all the time if you were learning about plants or something you're actually passionate about."

There it was— the heart of the matter. All of this buildup, all of this almost-empathy, was nothing but a means to this particular end.

Even curry could not banish the sour taste from her mouth. "I'm not really all that passionate about gardening, actually. It's just the only hobby I ever really had to myself."

Twins did everything together. It was expected. Natural. "Our parents didn't want me going out alone, so I started helping out in the garden."

Really, they hadn't wanted her going out without Aether. The part of Mondstadt where she'd grown up wasn't the best, but it'd been safe enough to let children play outside in, so long as she stuck with a gaggle of neighborhood kids. But they'd been worried Aether would get jealous if Lumine went out when he was bedridden, so they asked her to stay in as well.

If she told this to Wanderer, he'd spin it against her parents. And, looking back, it was unfair. But it was also unfair that Aether had to spend so much time ill. Their parents were trying to play a bad hand as well as they could.

He hummed, brows furrowing, but didn't comment. Turning to gaze out the window, he rested his jaw on his fist. "Your plants would appreciate all this rain."

"They would." Following his stare, Lumine watched the sky lighten gradually as she spooned more curry into her mouth. Many of Sumeru's storms were like this— they left as suddenly as they came, though there was no guarantee the rain wouldn't start up again in five or ten more minutes. "If we get a decent break in the rain, actually, it might be a good time to put them out for a while."

"Transplanting already?"

Lumine shook her head. "Just getting them used to the world outside. The grow lights do a decent job acclimating them, but I can't replicate the exact conditions they'll be growing in. I'll give them a little time outside for a week or two before throwing them to the wolves."

"How generous of you. Seems all those plants are more labor-intensive than I gave them credit for."

"It'll be worth it once they're grown. There's nothing like a head of lettuce or a tomato you've grown yourself. They'll knock your socks off." She smiled, imagining his face when he tasted the fruits of their labor. The look fell quickly. "Though I guess you'll be elsewhere by then."

His expression soured. She didn't want to rush him out, not when she'd seen how bad his wounds were, but he would eventually leave. It couldn't be too long now before his cuts healed over. A week or two at most.

Fuck, he'd barely been here a week and she was used to his company like that of an old friend, like they'd been living together for years. She was going to miss him when he left. Why? He'd been nothing but unpleasant most of the time they'd spent together. She had no reason to look upon him fondly, but she did. For some odd reason, some flaw in her survival instinct, she wanted to be friends with this maniac.

He'd held a knife to her throat; she could still feel the cold press of steel against her skin, digging in just enough to draw blood, if she thought about it. Forget him— what was wrong with her?

Though she pondered this question over what remained of her curry, no answer had emerged by the time her bowl was empty. She took it to the sink, washed it, and abandoned it in the dish drainer to dry overnight. The rain had slowed to a thin trickle, too light to be audible inside. It'd be perfect for the plants. And for getting a little more conversation in before she retreated into her room for the night.

"If you're not afraid of the rain, d'you want to come take the plants out with me?"

He rose from his chair, cracking his knuckles as he stretched out his arms. "Takes a little more than this to keep me from venturing outside. Where are they?"

"In here," She called, pulling open the door to her room. She gave it a cursory scan, ensuring there was nothing out that might scandalize Wanderer, then pushed the door open.

Her room was, like most of the house, a place of function before beauty. She didn't spend much time here, but she'd decorated it to a tolerable degree so it didn't feel too much like a prison cell of monochrome. Her curtains were an omber of sunset, a brilliant mesh of reds and oranges and pinks that clashed somewhat with her blue bedspread, but not egregiously enough that she'd consider changing either out. The walls were covered in posters and shelves and decorations she'd accumulated from her few trips to the bazaar, all fighting their own battles against the template blandness of the house.

Aside from a desk, dresser, potted plant, and air purifier, there wasn't much else to see. Nothing to be shy about showing Wanderer, though she'd prefer he not peruse the room without her presence. He didn't seem the type to go digging through her drawers, but he hadn't seemed the type to cook dinner, either.

He lingered in the doorway as she shoved her closet open. It was hardly a walk-in, but there was enough space to support a few grow lights and her trays of soil-stuffed toilet paper rolls, a little bit of green peeking out of each. Several were perched atop her box of gardening supplies, granted closer access to the light.

"C'mon in, they're in here." She lifted one and turned to roll her eyes as he remained in the doorway, toes inching through. "Don't be shy; there's nothing interesting to see in here."

That was enough to coax him in; he huffed, rolling his eyes, and pulled another tray from the closet. His eyes wandered as he followed Lumine out. A smirk bit at her lips— was this his first time in a girl's room?

Probably not. He'd mentioned having a sister. Even if they weren't close, he'd probably been in her space before. It was different with a stranger, though. If he weren't holding precious cargo, she'd tease him about it.

She doubted he'd drop the plants, but on the off chance she caught him off-guard, she'd hold her tongue. His inexplicable shyness was probably for the better; it meant he hadn't snuck in while she was out.

Turning the back door handle with her elbow, she shoved it open with her hip, moving only once Wanderer was close enough to catch it. Though the thunder had ceased, lingering dark clouds suggested the storm wasn't quite through with them yet. It was cracking its knuckles, rearing up for round two.

"Let's keep them under the awning. Or the gutter if there isn't space." If it started pouring again, the soil might get too saturated. Or the rolls would float right out of the trays; either possibility boded poorly for the plants. "Give 'em just a little taste of what the weather here's like."

Wanderer set his down next to hers, neat little rows of cardboard, most proudly bearing sprouts. He stood a little ways out of the shelter of the awning, hair beginning to darken and cling to his face.

"Don't linger for too long, or you'll start looking like a wet dog, too," She remarked, flashing him a smile as he shot her a glare.

So they went, back and forth, bringing all of the plants into the damp, almost-cool air. Once all of the plants were safely outside, Lumine regarded them from the porch with her hands on her hips. They'd done a good job. Excluding the few that had yet to breach the soil, they were all starting to grow and they all looked healthy.

"If studying plants isn't up your alley, you could always try being a farmer. Or working at a plant nursery."

Her pleasant mood was gone in an instant. Why was he being so persistent about this? What she studied was none of his business. "As I've said before, I'm interested in working with people, not plants. It'd be pathetic to give up just because I'm struggling a little." The road ahead required a lot of hard work. She knew that. She'd known that since entering the Akademiya. "Besides, Aether would be disappointed if I changed paths now. My parents probably would be, too."

They'd been so supportive of their children's shared dream. It felt like a betrayal of their memory to consider letting them down. Not to mention how Aether would feel.

Clicking his tongue, Wanderer asked, "What does their opinion matter? They're not the ones who'll be spending the rest of their life miserable in a job they don't like."

"Not liking the studies doesn't mean I won't enjoy the role," Lumine argued. Studying to become a nurse was different than actually being one. A degree would offer her freedom and flexibility beyond what her current and future coursework could offer. She wouldn't have to stay up into the late hours of the night preparing for exams.

And really, what did it matter if she enjoyed being a nurse? Plenty of people hated their jobs. As long as it was fulfilling, she could be content.

"It's a pretty good indicator, though."

Rolling her eyes, Lumine headed for the doorway, trying not to let her irritation show. But she'd never been the best at hiding her feelings; though she could temper her expressions relatively well, there would always be something— a twitch of her nose, a crease in her brow— that she couldn't keep at bay. "How would you know? You don't seem to be studying anything at all."

"My field isn't the kind that studying gets you into." His voice was just behind her shoulder. He was following, ever cognizant even while picking a fight. "You've got to be born to it."

Curiosity simmered beneath her irritation. She met his eyes briefly as she pulled the door shut behind them, shivering as the warm air inside made her aware of how damp her clothes had grown. She already knew the answer the question poised on her tongue would yield, but she asked nonetheless: "And what field would that be?"

"None of your business."

"Of course. All of my business is yours, but none of yours is mine." Shaking her head, she sighed. Asking had been a fool's errand.

He didn't reply, vanishing deeper into the living room. The air remained heavy despite his absence; he didn't turn on the television, nor did it sound like he'd picked up a book. He was just sitting there. Waiting? Basking in the glory of an argument he thought he'd won?

Whatever he was doing, it anchored her in place before the back door, unwilling or unable to move. Her attention flickered between the yard and her reflection in the glass, satisfied with neither. The house seemed as cold and dark as the world outside, but for all the wrong reasons; if she went through and flicked on every light in the house, the feeling would not fade. Irresolution could only find peace in resolution. Heavy silence could only be resolved by someone's resolve to break it.

She was accustomed to silence after living alone for a year, but one week with company had diluted that comfort. Now she wanted nothing more than to speak— about nothing and everything, to say something that would leave them off on a better note.

This push and pull, one step forward and two steps back, was growing tiresome.

"I hope the strawberries come in well this year. It's unrealistic to expect the kind you can buy at the store, but they never grow as big as I want them to." What they lacked in size, they made up for in flavor. But most desserts necessitated an amount of strawberries that was a lot easier to reach with larger fruits. "A friend of a friend is good at baking; I'm hoping she'll make something with them again."

Silence, for a moment. Then: "You have friends?"

"Okay, I see how it is. Does that surprise you?" The absurdity and whiplash of the conversation brought a smile to her lips. "Did you think you were the only person I hang out with?"

Voice a bit closer this time, he replied, "I've had my suspicions. It's hard to imagine someone so perpetually exhausted having friends— not to mention how prickly you can be."

"That last part sounds suspiciously like projection. I take it you don't have many friends?"

"I know plenty of people, but I wouldn't call any of them friends." A bitter laugh echoed through the living room. "Friends aren't supposed to leave you for dead. Not that anyone would've deserved the title before."

Prying her gaze from the door, Lumine turned to meet his eyes. He sat leaning against the armrest closest to her, watching her every move. Waiting.

Another piece of his past, freely given. Whoever had attacked him, he'd known them. Well enough to have disdained them before it happened. Not that that meant much— Wanderer wasn't the type to reserve negative judgments. But it was something. Another clue to draw her into the puzzle of who she'd brought into her house.

A few moments of silence passed, then an idea struck. It wasn't the wisest, perhaps, but her mouth moved faster than her brain. "I'll be your friend if you're that desperate. I promise not to stab you in any alleyways."

Considering how he'd maneuvered the knife against her throat, he had more skills in that department; if she tried to attack him for any reason, she'd just make a fool of herself. Though that might not be the worst thing. Tripping and proving herself incapable of serious harm was what had convinced Wanderer of her innocence that day.

His eyes widened, composure giving way to surprise. For the first time, she seemed to have caught him genuinely off-guard. "You're going to regret making that offer. You barely know anything about me."

This was true. However, the rational part of Lumine's brain had left on an unannounced vacation, leaving her tongue to once again rush ahead. "I know I can trust you. That's all that really matters."

Wanderer laughed— not the bitter sound he barked out on occasion, but a real, humor-wrought laugh. Lumine frowned, tilting her head as she watched him run a hand through his hair, tousling strands that had gone wavy as they dried from the rain. "You have no idea how ridiculous you sound right now."

"W—Well you haven't stolen anything, and you haven't snooped around. And aside from holding a knife to my neck that one time, you haven't tried to hurt me, and you've been weirdly considerate for someone so snippy." It did sound ridiculous when she said it aloud, like she was trying to explain away a bad boyfriend's behaviors to a group of her friends. In other words, he'd done the bare minimum she could expect of a guest, and for that she was gifting him the honor of trust. Of friendship. Gods, she was such an idiot.

But she was a lonely idiot. She had friends and a brother; she wasn't entirely bereft of a social life. Coming home to an empty house every night, though, affected her in a way she hadn't noticed until she had persistent company. Though it was designed with a single bedroom, the space seemed too expansive to fill alone.

Wanderer was tolerable, and he was here. Pathetic as it may have been, that was enough to make him friend material.

"Now you're the one who sounds desperate."

"I'm not hearing an answer."

Brows raised and lips still curled in a smug grin, Wanderer replied, "That's intentional. Make of it what you will."

With that, he turned away, words lingering with a finality that left no room for argument. What was she supposed to make of that? He'd deliberately avoided answering the question. He'd flaunted his avoidance. Did he not want to answer? Did he want to avoid offending her?

Lumine rolled her eyes. There was no reason to start playing at politeness now. He'd proven himself more than willing to speak his mind; if he didn't want to accept the offer, he would've said so. Likely with several scathing reasons that would've sent her stomping off in irritation. But by that logic, if he wanted to be her friend, he should've said yes. There was no point in avoiding the truth.

Unless he didn't want to acknowledge it. Perhaps agreeing to be her friend would wreak havoc on his ego. He'd framed his answer to her first question in a way that made him seem too good for something so pedestrian as friendship. If he accepted her offer, he'd contradict that. For her, someone he seemed to have only a faint respect for.

Silence, then, was the only acceptable answer. It was a success she had to pick apart and analyze.

Lumine smiled, shaking her head as she crossed behind the couch, heading for the bathroom. He was way too much work for someone she barely knew. Yet here she was, trying to be his friend like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her phone buzzed from the kitchen as she was leaving the bathroom a few minutes later; she rushed for it, grimacing at the caller ID. Uglier Half. Perhaps Untimelier Half would be a better moniker.

Though she'd been looking forward to an hour or so of peace and procrastination, she accepted the call, slipping into her room without another thought of Wanderer. "Evening, Aether. You holding up okay?"

She could hear the ambient drone of a fan somewhere nearby on the other line. "Yeah, everything's good. Just thought I'd give you a call. You've had a busy week, right? How's that been going?"

Sighing, Lumine kicked off her socks and slumped into her chair. Her spare hand searched the desk for something to toy with, settling on an eraser. Always with the pleasantries and small talk. Maybe that was why Wanderer lowered her guard so effortlessly— she was desperate for someone in her life who could cut right to the chase, no matter how rude that chase could be. "Same as always. Work, school, test, repeat. I've got my plants started, though. We've just taken them out to get some experience with the climate here."

"We?"

Lumine's heart lurched. Shit. "The plants and I. Just us." Forcing a sigh, she offered the first excuse she could contrive. "It's been quiet here, lately. Been too long since I've had everyone over. Guess I've started seeing the plants as a surrogate roommate."

It was clearly bullshit, but it won a laugh from Aether, so it had probably been enough to dissuade suspicion. For now. She'd have to tread more carefully moving forward. "How'd your anatomy exam go? It should be graded by now, right?"

Groaning, Lumine tilted her head back, squashing the phone between her shoulder and ear to rub her temples. "It went."

Lying was tempting, but the constant smoke and mirrors front she was putting up for Aether and her friends was getting tiring. They'd never kept anything from each other when they were younger; it felt wrong to fib so blatantly to the only family she had left. She'd tell whatever tall tales she had to in order to preserve her strange coexistence with Wanderer, but she'd do no such thing to save her pride.

"Maybe you should join a study group or something. Make some friends in your darshan." He was trying to be helpful, she knew, but that didn't stop her jaw from clenching at his suggestion. "Spend a little less time chatting with your plants and a little more time hitting the books. You could screw with your availability to make them give you fewer hours at work, couldn't you?"

Stifling a screen, Lumine chucked the eraser in her hand across the room. It bounced off the wall with a soft thud, landing nestled in the fabric of one of her carpets. "Staring at my notes for hours isn't going to do me any good if I barely understand what they're saying. And I doubt any student's explanation is going to make sense if the teacher's won't." It wasn't like she couldn't comprehend the material. She'd memorized enough muscles to get a passing grade. But at the pace the class was going, she may as well have been trying to pour an ocean into a pond; not everything was going to stick.

"If it's not clicking, there's supposed to be good resources for anatomy at Amurta's tutoring center. A couple of my friends say it's pretty good."

Of course he wouldn't know himself; he'd breezed through anatomy with an A. From what little he shared over the phone, he didn't seem to find any of his classes particularly difficult, so he couldn't give any advice that might actually be helpful. Still, he wasn't trying to come off as belittling. Her jump to defensiveness was driven just as much by her self-frustrations as his words.

"That'd require more time than I have, probably. Really, I probably just need to get a little more sleep and to focus more on what I'm struggling with, and I'll be fine."

"The sooner you figure it out, the better. You'll need the best grades you can get for your application."

The application. The application. Fuck the application. There was nothing she dreaded more than that deadline, so far but approaching so fast. Her personal statement was still an empty document on her computer, waiting for words that refused to come. Why did she want to be a nurse? How would the Akademiya's programs and support help her realize her goals and become a more well-rounded individual?

She wasn't going to say any of that aloud, though. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm plenty good at worrying about myself— maybe put some of that energy toward studying for your entrance exam."

"Already on it. I've found some great resources online. I'll send you some if I think they'll help with your classes, too."

"Great, thanks."

With that, their conversation moved to other matters; she told him some of some of her worst customers since their last conversation and he shared a few stories about his friends. It felt like hollow chatter, but anything was better than dredging up the topic of school again and again. Though she could stand to study more, he could stand in equal measure to be a little less married to his studies.

Half an hour flew by before something else demanded Aether's attention, leaving them with a rushed goodbye. As soon as the call was over, Lumine placed her phone face-first on the desk, stumbled to her bed, and crumpled face-first into her blankets.

Why was talking with Aether so exhausting these days? The bond that had tethered them together through thick and thin seemed to be fraying. But their time at the Akademiya was shaping them into different people. People who no longer shared the same dream, perhaps.

Pushing herself up onto the bed, she rolled onto her back, staring into the ceiling. Was that the problem? Did she really no longer want to study nursing?

The answer was clear in the way the idea made her feel— it seeped the tension from her bones and eased some of the chaos swirling behind her skull. Did she want to accept it, though? That had been her plan since Aether first conjured the idea. They'd been set on this path together since they were ten, at least. Their parents had adored the prospect of them working together in the future.

And at the time, she had, too. When had that changed?

What would she do, otherwise? If she didn't want to pursue nursing, she'd have to find something else. Preferably within Amurta; switching darshans mid-career wasn't unheard of, but it was difficult, and few of her classes would count for studies in another specialization.

Plants.

Lumine shook her head, pushing herself off of the bed, leaving its comfort in search of pajamas. She had a shower to take before she could retire for the night. She could leave that question for tomorrow, or another day when she had the time to consider it seriously. She'd only thought of plants because Wanderer kept bringing them up; that wasn't what she actually wanted to dedicate her life to studying.

Right?

That was tomorrow's question. She would deal with it tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Lumine's alarm rang— the sound had already woken her three times this morning. She was tempted to hit snooze once more, but a slight shift of her curtains revealed that sunrise had already passed. She'd gotten all the extra sleep she could ask for; it was time to take advantage of the rest of the morning.

As she silenced her alarm, her phone opened to the e-mail that had granted her a few precious hours to laze about at home. Her microbiology teacher was sick, so he'd cancelled class. She was free until twelve, when she had introductory psychology, then headed to work for six hours right after. That left her with two and a half hours to spend however she liked.

Her stomach grumbled as she got out of bed, rubbing her eyes as she foraged for the day's clothes. Though the rest of her body appreciated the extra rest, her digestive system wanted no part in it. Two hours' extra sleep meant two hours' delay in eating breakfast.

A sticky note fell from her computer as she pulled her shirt over her head. She approached her desk, flipping over the offending paper, then immediately putting it back down.

It was too early to think about that. Never mind that she'd been putting it off for a week. She'd sit and ponder her future at some later date, when she had the time and energy to dissect her real feelings on nursing and the alternative career paths that might ease some of the apprehension with which she'd gazed upon the future for years. All the progress she'd made on that front was noticing how much lighter she'd felt over the past few days.

Even the idea of not pursuing nursing had dislodged a weight from her chest she'd never noticed until it was gone. She could breathe easier in its absence.

Sooner or later— preferably sooner— she'd have to give the future some real thought. For now, she had to make the best of a stolen morning.

Heading for the bathroom, she glanced into the living room, expecting to see Wanderer still dozing on the couch. The only thing she found on the cushions was the blanket she'd given him, folded neatly and left on the central crease. No sound came from the kitchen; she paused in the front hallway, ducking into the living room to try and see where he'd gone.

His wallet and destroyed phone were still on the nightstand. He couldn't have gone far.

After a minute or so of trying to play spot-the-difference, she noticed that the back door was unlocked. She sighed, shoulders slumping in unwarranted relief. He was probably just enjoying the morning air before it got too hot and humid to appreciate.

She entered the kitchen once she was freshened for the morning, popping a pair of waffles into her toaster and pulling a jar of peanut butter from one of her cupboards. Snacking on a zaytun peach while she waited, she fumbled for the waffles as they shot out of the toaster, catching one with ease and juggling the other around for a bit, saving it mere centimeters from the floor.

Had Wanderer tried out the toaster yet? It was hard to say. She could only imagine the slew of cusses he'd let fly at the sight of two slices of bread taking flight— the kind of language that might make a sailor blush. She would've heard it for sure. But she spent so much time away from the house that she could easily have missed it.

That was a pity. She wanted to see the look on his face the first time her toaster treated him like target practice.

She knifed a generous glob of peanut butter onto each waffle, then took her plate to the back doorway, bracing herself for the Sumerian sun. It wouldn't reach its peak for another few hours, but it could and would emit unbearable heat regardless of how high it was in the sky. The backyard was bright, the grass a vibrant green, and the fence shielded them from the rest of the world in a claustrophobic but necessary evil.

A stray pang of nostalgia wracked her heart, filling it with longing for the moors of Mondstadt, of grasslands that stretched forever in every direction, speckled with trees and dotted with bushes and flowers. Sumeru boasted plenty of natural beauty, but it never felt as freeing as Mondstadt's. Perhaps because Lumine lived deeper into the heart of a city, here, or because Sumeru's wilderness came with the danger of rishboland tigers and spinocrocodiles and all of the other horrors she'd read up on before coming here and since forgotten.

Shaking the feeling away before it could lead her down a train of existentialist misery, she elbowed the door open and headed out, biting into her breakfast as the morning light singed her retinas.

She found Wanderer staring at the plants where their trays leaned against the wall, all but three toilet paper rolls boasting a sprouted plant. Staring was a generous word— he was glaring in that way that served as both his default expression and his default reaction to anything irritable. She'd been on the receiving end more than enough times. What was he thinking about?

"If you keep glowering at them, they're gonna wither," Lumine said, stepping off the porch and into the grass beside him. Walking the yard without shoes on wasn't the best idea, but she wasn't known for having the best ideas. This was a whim, which were infamous for their lack of foresight.

His gaze turned toward her, but he didn't turn his head. She didn't deserve even that much, apparently. "You have peanut butter on your face."

"I also have peanut butter in my hands, on my breakfast, and probably in my hair. That's just how it is."

Wanderer rolled his eyes, but she could see how his lips twitched with the urge to smirk. He combated it well, though, clearly a seasoned veteran in fending off his emotions. Maybe they could share battle tactics sometime. "You're a mess. You know you're supposed to eat your food, not wear it."

"Spoken like someone who's never had long bangs." Compared to Aether's hair, Lumine's was short, but the strands framing her face were the perfect height to drape right into whatever bowl or plate sat in front of her. There seemed a certain magnetism between her hair and her food; she'd gotten used to washing it out alongside her hands after mealtime.

Rolling his eyes again, Wanderer turned to face her. "Whatever. I'm not glowering at the plants, anyway, I'm just looking at them."

Looking at them with murderous intent, maybe. If he didn't know how to look at things in a way that didn't appear hostile, though, that wasn't her problem. "You've been out here for a while, it looks like. They're not going to get any taller while you're watching them."

"I know that— I'm not stupid. It's just… nice." A strange expression crossed his face, something nostalgic and mournful and fleeting. "They've grown a lot."

They hadn't grown much in the week since they'd taken them outside, but if Wanderer had grown an affinity for the plants, Lumine wouldn't point it out. She remembered how excited she'd been the first time she'd planted something and it flourished; she'd measured them and taken pictures every day, recording their growth like the world's proudest plant parent. Though he was an ass more often than not, he deserved to enjoy that excitement while it lasted.

Using the last of her first waffle to brush away the brunt of the peanut butter smeared on her fingers, she replied, "They've got pretty short lifespans, so you can really watch them grow up. Almost makes me proud when they start bearing fruit."

Wanderer rolled his eyes. "How sentimental. I bet you mourn them when they die, too."

"Sure, that's just how it is." In the absence of proper winters, her garden in Sumeru didn't succumb to the seasons as it had in Mondstadt. Back home, her plants would begin to shrivel and brown at the first signs of winter; by the time snow fell, the backyard was a herbaceous cemetery. Here, they lived until a rare frost crossed the sea from Fontaine or until they could sustain themselves no longer. It was a long, drawn-out dying that made coming to terms with the loss of readily-available fruits and vegetables much harder. "All life is a cycle. Living and dying, mourning and moving on."

The words must have sounded ridiculous coming from lips stained with peanut butter, but Wanderer didn't laugh. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, brimming with anticipation for a verbal siege she didn't know she'd started. "What part of that cycle do you think you're at, then?"

The waffle slipped from her hands, sliding off her plate and tumbling butter-side first into the grass. Lumine remained frozen for a few seconds before picking it up, inspecting it and resolving to nibble around the bits of soil that had made a home in her breakfast.

Wanderer was still staring at her, waiting for an answer. She held his stare as she chewed, trying to come up with a response that felt adequate. "Well, I'm no philosopher, and I have no idea how long my lifespan is going to be, so it's hard to say." By the way his brows pinched together, it was clear Wanderer wasn't satisfied with that answer. Neither was she, so she kept going, "I'd like to think I'm going to blossom into something worthwhile at some point, but I have no idea when it's going to happen."

He hummed in response, betraying no outward reaction.

"How about you?" She asked. It was a long shot— though he'd been a bit more open as of late, this might have been prying deeper than she was welcome. But, while the topic was at hand, she may as well try.

Frown deepening, Wanderer tilted his head back, gazing into the sky above. Though the mid-morning was bright and warm, the sky was streaked with clouds, bright ivories and pale grays that drifted in front of the sun at their leisure. "I'm a weed wandering from garden to garden as people dig me out and toss me into someone else's yard. One of these days, I'm going to land somewhere I can't grow roots."

There was something final, resigned to blind conviction, that struck Lumine more strongly than the words themselves. He was clearly a pessimist, if not a nihilist, but there'd always been something rebellious about him that stood tall in the face of how he saw the world. Here, though, under what little sun graced the yard in which they stood, he looked defeated. A man bleeding out in the snow, closing his eyes and accepting the cold as it rushed to greet him.

He'd been here for two weeks, now. However he'd been caring for it, his wounds didn't seem to bother him anymore. It wouldn't be fully healed for a few more weeks, probably, considering how long and deep the worst cut had been, but he was at a point where he could, if necessary, leave.

It would be wise of him to leave. It would be wise of Lumine to ask him to leave. He was supposed to be a guest— with every day he lingered, that label faded. With every day he lingered, Lumine coaxed more out of him, invested herself further in his mystery and misery. Letting herself get attached to a stranger, especially one who'd proven himself capable of being dangerous, was stupid.

But she couldn't bring herself to voice this aloud. The thought of asking him to leave made her throat dry and her tongue heavy. If he left, where would he go? He wasn't from here, so he'd said, and the business he'd come here from had left him to die. What did that leave him, beyond the shelter of Lumine's roof?

"I only weed the garden boxes," Lumine replied, "Anything in the yard is free to grow as it likes."

"And if the weeds attract pests?"

Lumine frowned, meeting his eyes. In the conversation's mounting tension, she'd stopped trying to salvage what remained of her breakfast. They were treading choppy waters, and she needed all the focus she could get on keeping her head above water. And not saying anything stupid. And preserving the metaphor. "Pests are a part of life. They don't make the weeds any less deserving of life."

Conflict etched into his face, furrowed brows and shut eyes and the sigh of someone far older than either of them. "Your kindness is going to get you hurt, one day."

Her kindness had caused her nothing but problems. It had turned her into the go-to person to cover shifts when someone couldn't make it into work, and it had led her down a path she felt no passion for, for the sake of fulfilling her brother's dream. "Sure, it's been inconvenient, but I think you're being dramatic. I mean, I thought it was going to kill me when you held that knife to my throat, and look where we are now— friends!"

She grinned, expecting him to balk or scoff or tell her to fuck off, but the joke did nothing to soothe whatever was weighing him down.

"There's a lot worse than me out there. Some people wouldn't hesitate to—" He stopped abruptly, shaking his head. Turning away from the plants, he trudged onto the porch, shooting her a glance over his shoulder from the doorway. "Never mind. That shouldn't be an issue."

Following him inside, Lumine slid the dirt-stained remnants of her second waffle into the trash, set her plate in the sink, and headed for the living room doorway to hover there, watching Wanderer as he paced between the couch and the coffee table, pinching the bridge of his nose with a look of irritation.

"Is something wrong?" It was a stupid question; there was obviously something wrong. But if she asked directly, there was only a slim chance he'd tell her what.

No matter how she phrased the question, the odds would not budge. "No. Nothing's wrong."

"You're pacing a trail in the floor."

"It's none of your business. Can't you keep your nosiness to yourself?" He sounded more tired than irritated, but nonetheless, she would get nothing more out of him now. Whatever he'd been hinting at before, it'd cleaved his sharing mood clean through. Something had passed between them— she'd gained some invaluable bit of information, yet another piece of the puzzle. Trying to push too hard, to be too greedy, might erode the fragile trust growing between them.

She raised her hands in defeat, inching back into the kitchen. "Okay, I won't pry." Shooting a glance out the window, she slipped a hand into her pocket and checked the time on her phone. Half an hour until class. She'd best get going. "I imagine you're getting bored with the limited selection on TV, so I'm going to leave some books out, if that's fine."

Though he scoffed, Lumine was certain he'd appreciate the shake-up. The petulance was posturing to keep her at arm's length. Heading into her room, she pulled a handful of books down from the shelves screwed into her wall. They were cheap, plastic shelves, a splash of mint green against her beige walls. She didn't have much time to read anymore, but when Aether had been sick and she'd been guilted into staying in, she'd been voracious in literary pursuits.

Most of what she'd read back then had been children's books or YA novels meant for teenagers. She'd brought none of those with her to Sumeru; she'd outgrown them. All she had were a few classics and some fairy tales she'd pulled from her parents' room after they died, lacking the heart to throw them away and intending to read them one day when she had the time.

The time had never come, but perhaps Wanderer would appreciate them. Even if they weren't to his tastes, he could read them for the sake of touting his intellectual superiority over all the plebeians of the world who hadn't picked up a book since leaving school. That sounded like something he'd enjoy.

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she tucked the books under her arm and left her room, shutting the door behind her. Whatever was on his mind was still driving Wanderer in circles around the end table, so she left the books in the kitchen; he'd see them when he went in for lunch, and he could decide then whether to peruse or not. For now, it seemed best to leave him to stew in his emotions alone.

The sun greeted her warmly as she slipped from the house. A little too warmly for her liking. Her hair was too short to tie up, so there was little she could do to alleviate the heat except stay in the shade and try not to think about it.

A few minutes into her walk, her phone began to ring. She expected Aether, but found the caller ID to be Collei's.

They'd met last year in an introductory biology lecture. Since they sat next to each other, they'd been expected to talk amongst themselves whenever the teacher posed a question for discussion. It'd taken some coaxing to get her over her initial shyness, but Lumine had made a friend of her over the course of the semester. She smiled as she accepted the call, bringing the phone up to her ear.

"Hey, Collei, what's up?"

"I just wanted to catch up. It's been a while since we've talked— this isn't a bad time, right? I know you're pretty busy."

"Aren't we all?" Lumine asked with a sigh. "But you've caught me at a decent time. I'm walking to the Akademiya now. I've got twenty-five minutes until psych, if that's a good amount of time."

"Yeah! No, that works. I wouldn't want to keep you too long. I've got plant morphology in a little while myself." A fellow Amurtan, Collei was studying ecology. That was one option worth considering when it came time to decide what career path to choose. "Speaking of which, I hear you've got a garden growing again. How's that going?"

Lumine frowned; she hadn't told Collei about that, yet. "Alright. It's close to transplanting time. Who'd you hear about it from?"

"I guess it's what you'd call hearing something from the grapevine? Tighnari was telling me that Nahida's been asking about it, since Venti's been pestering her so much. It sounds like he really wants to come over and see."

Sighing, Lumine shook her head. That sounded like Venti, alright, though he was probably more interested in raiding her snack cupboard— which was rather empty, since she'd had no special company for a while— and convincing her to watch too many shitty movies than seeing her garden. "Sorry about that. For all of you. I know what he's like."

"Yeah," Collei replied, half-amused and half-exhausted; interaction with him, even by such distant proxy, had that effect on people. "Well, anyway, I think you'd really enjoy taking plant morphology if you have the time. It's so fascinating! And it's a lot more in-depth than the intro class."

She would, probably, enjoy it a lot. Plant anatomy was less widely-applicable than human anatomy, but it was probably easier to learn. Plus, she'd probably learn a lot about why the flora in Sumeru was so different from that in Mondstadt— all things that roused her curiosity. "What are you learning about right now?"

They chatted for the rest of Lumine's walk, parting ways as she entered her classroom for psychology. She was a few minutes early, so the room was quiet and bare, but a little wiggle room was good for a longer commute. Her ankle had, thankfully, stopped giving her trouble, and the swelling had gone down to the point where her legs looked nearly identical again, so that shouldn't be an issue anymore.

Provided she didn't sprain it again, and that she didn't exert it beyond what was necessary.

Lectures had a strange habit of flying by while also lasting way too long; by the time she could hear the rustling of backpacks being opened for packing up, it felt like she'd only been copying notes for ten minutes, but every word the professor spoke seemed to drag into eternity and her wrist ached after, carrying the full weight of an hour and fifteen minutes' worth of writing.

Work was not so contradictory. It crawled sluggishly by on the best of days, but on today, when the sun was scorching and few people, relative to the norm, were stopping in for coffee, each minute seemed to pass in the span of an hour. There was only so much people-watching and counter-wiping and machine-checking Lumine could do before she went completely mad.

Fortunately, she would not be bored for long. Unfortunately, her reprieve barreled through the door with an unmistakable countertenor and a smile looking for trouble.

Venti all but slung himself over the counter, melting against it like a man parched and starved. And possibly possessed. "Caffeine."

Several patrons shot him odd glances; Lumine couldn't blame them. Though it was clear from the bags under his eyes and the general state of disarray that was his hair that he probably hadn't slept in a day, most people behaved with more decorum in public, sleep-deprived or not. "You look like shit, dude. How strong of a fix do you need?"

"As strong as you'll give me. No, actually, stronger. Make me something so strong it's illegal."

Glancing warily around the café, Lumine shook her head. "You're going to want sugar in that, I assume? The stronger blends tend to be on the bitter side."

"Put as much sugar in there as they'll let you."

"What size?"

"Large."

This was a bad idea— a heart attack waiting to happen. A good friend would refuse to make such a blend, and any honorable barista would refuse to mix such a concoction. But Lumine had been there; though she tried to avoid all-nighters and she wasn't the biggest fan of coffee, there had been late nights and early mornings when only the most morally questionable of beverages had carried her ashore. "The crash this gives you is going to be legendary."

"Good. Maybe then I'll actually get some sleep." Pushing himself off the counter, Venti leaned forward, watching as Lumine grabbed a cup, braced herself, and began to prepare his order. She glanced over her shoulder at the faint tap of fingers on the counter; he was drumming them in a deliberate manner, miming playing a piano. Cramming for a recital, perhaps, or an exam.

She didn't envy him; piano exams seemed like a beast beyond comprehension. She could deal with scribbling answers on a test booklet in a silent room, one among dozens of ducked heads, but being expected to perform a piece one-on-one, with an increased awareness that she was being graded as she went, seemed unbearable.

Drink in hand, she returned to the counter, punching in his order. "That'll be nine hundred mora."

Highway robbery to most, it was a small price to pay for the desperate. Venti's hands shook as he shoved the coins into her hands, swiping his coffee from the counter and throwing his head back like he was preparing to take a shot. Before he could lift the cup, Lumine warned, "You're going to scald yourself; that's really hot."

Sighing deeply, Venti set it down. Steam plumed from the slit in the lid, evidence of the tragedy she'd nearly prevented. "And I'm really desperate. How's your life going?"

Well, all of her plans for the future had dissolved into smoke and she had no idea how to break it to Aether, but she was making headway with the stranger who'd been living in her house for two weeks. That was something, right? "Can't complain. I take it you are, as the kids say, going through it at the moment?"

"You have no idea. I think you were on to something, talking about dropping out last week." Through his theatrics, it was difficult to gauge how serious he was being. He was grinning and shrugging like it was no big deal, but his demeanor hummed a different tune. "Right about now I could really use an evening binge-watching movies. I could call up a few buddies, pick up the worst bottom-shelf swill money can buy, and we'll make a party of it. How's that sound?"

It sounded like something she shouldn't be discussing at work. But there wasn't anyone else waiting, and the person coming in from the kitchen to drop off more candied ajilenakh nuts for the display case didn't seem to care, so she could humor him. "It sounds great, but between classes and my fantastic job here and the garden, I'm a bit swamped. Still haven't had time to get the house in company shape." Not to mention she wasn't supposed to host parties. Their movie nights, fueled by alcohol or not, were rarely boisterous, but her landlord frowned upon them regardless, and she didn't want to endanger her situation more than she already had.

"Aww, but it's been forever since you've had anyone over! I promise I won't judge how messy the place is, and I'll try not to invite anyone else who will." Braving a sip from his drink, Venti perked up, eyes narrowing with a vigilance no amount of caffeine should've granted him so suddenly. "You've always been busy, but it seems especially bad lately. Don't tell me you've got a secret boyfriend or girlfriend you're not telling us about."

"Nope. Nothing of the sort." That was too close to the mark for comfort. "If I was dating someone, why would I hide it from you?"

Shrugging, Venti chugged a copious amount of coffee. "Self-consciousness? Maybe you're worried we'll think your taste is horrible. Or maybe you want to make sure it's something serious before getting to the whole meeting your partners' friends stage."

Though she'd never been in any long-lasting relationship, Lumine was pretty sure that wasn't an actual stage. Not in romance, and definitely not in whatever was felt between strangers turned temporary roommates. The fewer people who knew Wanderer existed, the easier Lumine's life would be. "If I did find someone, rest assured you all would know long before we started dating."

"That tracks. You're more the yearning across the room for way too long type than someone who goes right for a pick-up line with a stranger. I can respect that."

Lumine quirked a brow. She wouldn't go that far, but if that conclusion kept Venti off her back, she wouldn't argue.

Before they could chat any further, the door swung open, illuminating the tall figure of someone not dressed for a coffee shop. He approached the counter like a rishboland tiger stalking prey, side-stepping Venti entirely to stare Lumine down. There was nothing overtly malicious or hostile in his expression, but there was a weight to his stare, a sort of cold calculation, like he was deciding whether or not she was worth his time, that sent a shiver down her spine.

Venti backed away, scampering around the man to jump ship. Lucky bastard.

"Hi." She forced a smile, waiting for any kind of response. Most people didn't wait to be prompted before giving their orders. "Can I get you something?"

"Information. In a setting like this, it must flow as freely as the coffee you serve."

Lumine tilted her head, trying to keep an even expression. Great. They got oddball customers every now and then; this wasn't the weirdest thing someone had tried to order. Most people, when they were asking for something like this, made it clear that they were joking, though— pranking some poor barista to make their own lives a little less miserable. This man looked dead serious.

Well, she'd do the best she could. "I do overhear some interesting stuff, I guess." She glanced behind him, wishing the door would open. Another customer— an actual customer— would give her reason to cut this interaction short. Alas, the universe did not see fit to throw her a bone.

"Have you perhaps heard of a disappearance in the area? Or seen a strange man with purple hair wandering about?"

Lumine frowned. Of all the strange things she'd expected him to ask about, that was relatively normal. Was he a private investigator? A detective of some sort? It could explain the weight of his gaze and the scrutiny behind it, but that explanation didn't quite sit right. Weren't detectives supposed to try and blend in with civilians? "Well, I don't really watch the news, so if there's anything weird going on, I probably haven't heard about it."

She closed her eyes, trying to recall any overheard conversations that might be relevant. In most, she listened passively, treating them more as background noise than anything to engage with or remember. As for his other question…

The only man she knew with purple hair was Wanderer, and though he was strange, it probably wasn't in the way this man meant it. Despite the nickname she'd given him, he hadn't done much wandering lately, either. "And I haven't seen any strange people around, either. Though there's so many people in the city, I probably wouldn't notice if someone was acting weird."

Humming, the stranger folded his hands behind his back. "I see. That is most unfortunate."

A few moments passed; his eyes never left hers, like he thought if he pressed hard enough, her answer would change. Had she been lying, it very well may have.

"Are you, uh, going to order something?" She asked after a few more moments, unable to stand the silence any longer. Breaking eye contact, she glanced around the café, hoping to see anyone keeping an eye on the barista and the creepy dude at the counter. Everyone seemed too entranced in their drinks, food, or company to have noticed her plight.

Lips thinning, the man broke his one-sided staring contest to look at the menu scrawled on a chalkboard behind her. "A medium coffee. Black."

That was easy enough. "Can I get a name for that?"

His smile was nothing but teeth. "No."

Fair enough. There wasn't a line, so she didn't need to keep track of whose order was whose. He didn't have to make his refusal so threatening, though.

Palms growing clammy as his stare tracked her every move, Lumine prepared his order, set it on the counter, and readied the register. "That's going to be eight hundred mora."

Trouble pre-order tended to make even more trouble after hearing the price, but this particular flavor didn't seem to care that he was being charged more for the world's most boring order than most lower-profile coffee shops charged for specialty drinks. He paid without another word, took his drink, and left.

Lumine watched him go, bewilderment fading to apathy. One weird experience would make her shift memorable, but it wouldn't change anything. She wasn't allowed to go home early unless things got really out of hand— usually when hands or especially rotten language were thrown. It was something to ruminate on, at least, to distract herself from the uncertainty of her future and how boring it was to stand behind a counter making coffee for strangers.

Normalcy settled in like a layer of dust over an untouched shelf, dissolving the rest of her shift into a dance of muscle memory. Time passed unnoticed, and soon the last customer was leaving, inviting no light in as they pulled open the door. Evening had arrived, promising an uninteresting walk home and a hearty dinner of the mushroom pizza she'd cooked the night before.

All was well, and all was as it should have been. The odd customer was lost in the sea of countless faces she'd seen and served that day, all but vanished from her mind. There was no use dwelling on something one-off like that, no matter how out of place it had seemed in the moment.

Right?

Chapter Text

Shading her eyes with her forearm, Lumine took in the view around them. Given its location, the Akademiya's campus was full of places like this, where the gray, gold, and green architecture that denoted its location and prestige gave way to pockets of nature. There were no paved sidewalks or roads in sight, nor streetlights or signposts that bespoke civilization. If not for the bench and table at the center of the clearing, surrounded by such verdure that anyone passing by might miss it entirely, she could fool herself into thinking they were in genuine wilderness.

Such was not the case. She'd brought Lyney and Lynette here with the hope of taking advantage of the tolerable temperature lent by a thick cover of clouds; it would give them a pleasant opportunity to study outside and perhaps discuss her plans moving forward if she could work up the courage.

Then Venti, somehow, had found them, dashing any possibility of productivity. He'd brought company, too, which meant there would be no personal conversations shared in the pleasant afternoon air. Lumine had met Furina before, as a mutual friend of Venti, Lyney, and Lynette, but she only knew Charlotte as the journalism student Lynette sometimes went out for pastries with.

"…we could always watch something in an empty classroom. If we can connect someone's computer to the projector, I happen to know where we can find almost any movie we could ever want to watch." Grinning like she wasn't suggesting they all become complicit in her piracy— there were enough of them at the table, at least, to make a competent crew— Furina saved Lumine from coming up with yet another excuse as to why she would not house company.

"But all the chairs here are super uncomfortable. It's nothing like squeezing too many people together on the same couch," Venti protested.

"Maybe it's better that way. You won't fall asleep in one of the classroom chairs like you do on Lumine's couch."

Feigning hurt, Venti pressed a hand to his chest, regarding Lynette like she'd crushed his every last hope and dream. "Hey, it isn't my fault her couch is the pinnacle of comfort. It's worlds better than the dormitory beds."

"Perhaps you should invest in a mattress topper."

The new voice, low and feminine, drew everyone's attention away from the table. Dressed with the crisp elegance of the sole businesswoman who believed in ironing clothes in this day and age, Clorinde side-stepped a few wide, fanning leaves of a large fern to approach their gathering-place. Navia trailed behind, looking no less out of place in a bright yellow sundress. Beaming bright enough to rival the sun, she led Clorinde hand-in-hand to the last two available seats. They squished together on the end of a bench to Furina's right, exchanging pleasantries and getting comfortable.

More people. Navia and Clorinde were by no means strangers, but Lumine had come out here with her fellow twins in hopes of spending time together alone. Each additional person made the gathering less intimate.

"Of course the business people would suggest making investments." Cowering from Furina's other side, Venti said, "I can feel my soul being drained from my body. All that's left are taxes! And, uhh, supply and demand! And stocks!"

"Don't be dramatic," Lynette chided, "They may be business majors, but they're interesting people."

Clorinde shot her a slim smile. "Thank you, Lynette. It seems you're serving as a bridge between us and the Vahumanans of the group."

"And the Amurtan! Don't forget about Lumine," Charlotte chimed, looking up briefly from something she was sketching to point the eraser of her pencil at Lumine.

"Ah, you're here too! I should have known." Setting her elbows on the table and propping her chin on her hands, Navia smiled at Lumine. "How's your garden coming along? I hear we'll be getting more fruit this year."

"Pretty well, thanks. I've got strawberries, zaytun peaches, and harra fruits just starting out; I'll be transplanting them soon. And don't worry— I've already promised Lynette that I'd give you a good portion of the harvest to make desserts out of. Just make sure I get the best ones, okay?"

With a hand to her heart, Navia promised, "Will do!"

Nothing more was said about visiting Lumine, though it sounded like Furina and Venti were giving the classroom movie-watching some genuine thought. That was probably the best solution; it gave everyone what they wanted without disturbing the sanctity of Lumine's secret. It wouldn't be comfortable and it would probably be frowned upon by passers-by, but as long as they picked a room that didn't have any evening classes, they'd be able to stay until closing.

Plants rustled all around them, adding their own two cents as the group diverged, conversations splitting, a cell in meiosis. Lumine found herself caught in the middle, listening to both and neither at once. Her thoughts were all asunder, snatching focus from her grip just when she came up with something to say. She really had to get her shit together. Asking her friends had been a fine idea, but they were both happy in the darshans and specializations they'd picked. They could sympathize with her plight, but they didn't understand it enough to give good advice.

Really, she needed to talk to an academic advisor. That would get the ball rolling faster and on a steadier track than any number of sessions brainstorming alone. But then the decision would come— she'd be forced from the comfortable state of inaction. She'd have to face however much progress any alteration would set her back. She'd have to face Aether.

Something brushed against her arm. An elbow, jabbing enough to get attention but not enough to hurt. "Hey, you alright?"

Meeting Lyney's eyes, Lumine forced a smile. Weak as it was, it was all she could muster. "Yeah, just thinking. There's been a lot on my mind lately; sorry if it's putting a damper on things."

"Not at all. I'm not sure anyone else noticed." Lumine scanned the rest of her table-mates. They were engrossed in their own conversations, chatting and gesturing and quipping without a care in the world. It was fitting that Lyney would notice, though; chipper though he was, something somber sat shrouded beneath his wide smile and sparkling eyes, something she scarcely saw and more rarely prodded into. That made her a bad friend, maybe, for not trying to get to the bottom of his troubles, but he'd brushed it off before, so he might not appreciate prying.

"That's good. They're having fun— I'd hate to be an obstacle in that."

Tilting his head, Lyney frowned. "We're all friends here. Nobody's going to hold it against you if you're not at a hundred percent." He was quiet for a second, deliberating, then asked, "Do you want to talk about it? Is it something to do with school?"

Part of it. The safer part, the one she could talk about. Though it was only half-true, she nodded. The clearer she was in her deception, the less reason he'd have to doubt her. Once Wanderer was gone and had been gone for a while, she would tell them everything. She'd ask their forgiveness for keeping it a secret, and hopefully explaining the precarity of his situation from her limited understanding would be enough to warrant acceptance.

Her house would be quiet, then, and her garden would grow for her eyes alone. She wouldn't have the time to track their progress like Wanderer seemed to be doing. Their journey would be lost on her, an absent parent.

"Yeah. I actually invited you two here because I wanted to hear your thoughts before I do anything concrete." Though there were more people around than she'd anticipated, they were too busy with their own conversations to listen in. It couldn't hurt to share. Right? "I'm thinking about changing my major."

"You're what?" Venti demanded, breaking from his conversation to face her so fast it was a miracle he didn't get whiplash. Every other voice at the table fell silent in the wake of his exclamation. "Were you being serious about dropping out?"

"No! No, it's nothing like that. I've put in way too much effort to quit now." She grimaced; wasn't that exactly what she was doing? At a smaller scale, perhaps, but quitting was quitting all the same. "But I thought about it, though I've been meaning to think it over a little more, and I don't want to pursue nursing anymore."

Pencil poised over a clean sheet of paper, Charlotte remarked, "Ooh, that's a twist I didn't see coming. What made you change your mind? What are you looking into now?"

Lumine frowned. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

"Nope! Journalist's honor. I'm just curious. I've heard all about your plans with your brother from our other set of twins; this is a big change. Does he know?"

The expression on her face must have been all the answer Charlotte needed. "Oh, geez. You're in for a pretty heavy conversation, then. Do you know how you're going to break the news? If you'd like a practice round, I've got plenty of interview tips that might be useful."

"Perhaps that's something Lumine should work out on her own," Clorinde interrupted, providing a blockade to dam the flow of follow-up questions that would probably otherwise have persisted until Lumine's departure.

Perhaps it was. Only she could guess how her brother would react— though it didn't take a genius to get within the ballpark. It definitely wouldn't be well. Hence why she was trying to put it off, and if such procrastination required the guise of seeking advice, she would spin it however she had to to rationalize it.

It was wrong. It was one more secret atop the boatload she was already keeping from him. But the thought of telling him, face-to-face or over the phone, that she was abandoning the dream they'd been striving toward since childhood, made her want to throw up. How was she supposed to explain it? Telling the truth, that she'd never felt the same passion as he had for that future, that she'd gone along with it simply because it was the easiest thing to do, the path of least resistance, would only further hurt his feelings.

The table was quiet; all eyes were on her, waiting for an answer. Or a plan. Anything. But there was nothing she could offer.

She had twenty minutes until her shift started and the walk was only seven or eight, but now that normalcy had been broken, there was little hope of it being restored. "I'll think about it later. For now, though, I should probably head to work."

"Aww, but we've hardly talked at all!" With a shameless pout, Venti implored, "C'mon, be a rebel! Tell your boss you're sick or something and stay here."

"There's nothing I'd like more, believe me. But I'll feel it in my paycheck if I skip." One day wouldn't jeopardize rent, but now that she had another mouth to feed, she needed every penny she could pinch to keep the fridge and pantry locked and loaded.

Swinging her legs over the bench, Lumine slipped her hands into her pockets, trying not to grimace as she faced the crowd that had formed around her. "Catch you guys later."

"Bye!"

"See you soon!"

"Hope you don't get any weirdos today!"

She smiled as she side-stepped the foliage that isolated their sitting-area from the rest of the world. Their voices carried on the wind, then in her thoughts, echoing bittersweet farewells. Though her life felt at times— most times, nowadays— held together by duct tape, super glue, and the moment between a guillotine's rise and its sharp descent, she had friends. More than she considered friends, perhaps. People in her corner.

That was good. They deserved better than a lying, walking disaster, maybe, but that was the best she could offer. Nobody seemed opposed; as long as she supplied the fruits of her garden and movie nights when her house was free and whatever positive influence they found in her company, they'd stick around.

Aether kept telling her she should make some friends in her darshan, but why bother? She already had Collei and Amber and all the people she knew by proxy through them. With a network of friends and friendly faces already before her, she probably didn't have time, even, for more people. Arranging the ones she knew into her schedule was already a challenge enough.

His advice was given with the best of intentions. He was trying to help, but he'd always found school easy. Learning chemistry and anatomy and biology was fun, he said; he knew what he wanted to do from the minute he stepped onto the Akademiya's campus. Lumine could not say the same. Getting this far had been an uphill battle, and the slope was only growing steeper. Aether had never tried climbing this near ninety-degree angle. He didn't understand. All the well-meaning in the world could not compensate for that.

She worked it over in her mind as she walked to work, imagining all the ways she could break the news. It would be better face-to-face, so he could see firsthand how serious she was, but doing it over the phone would be infinitely easier. She wouldn't have to shoulder the guilt of his pained expression and voice. Next time he called, she'd ask to meet up.

Though they lived within walking distance, they rarely saw each other in person. Aether was too busy with schoolwork and extracurriculars and preparing for the placement test that would make or break his medical school applications; Lumine was constantly juggling work and her own studies and a social life— a delicate balance that seemed always on the brink of collapse.

It was sad, but also liberating. As twins, they'd done everything together. Their parents had intertwined their identities so closely it had been hard to tell where he ended and she began. Here, in a foreign nation where she was known first and foremost as Lumine, not as half of a pair, she was more herself than Mondstadt had ever allowed her to be.

Which was ironic, considering Mondstadt's reputation as the nation of freedom.

Alas, no freedom was absolute; she was soon standing before the back door of Puspa Café, letting herself in to change and loiter in the break room until her shift commenced.

Nilou, a red-haired student at a nearby dance academy— there was a program between her school and the Akademiya for students to take classes at either, but there had always been a rift of pretension and artistic pride between the institutions which had discouraged her from investigating, lest her double-crossing tarnish her transcript when it was evaluated for her nursing application— popped her head in, waving as Lumine looked up from staring at the clock. "Hey there! You're pretty early today."

Shrugging, Lumine replied, "Nothing better to do. How's business?"

"Picking up. I always feel a little guilty, leaving you to handle the afternoon and evening rushes alone."

They were, technically, supposed to have two baristas manning the front at all times. Since they were chronically short-staffed, though, that usually only happened in the mornings, when it was imperative to have someone at the counter and someone else doing the drive-through to get everyone their morning caffeine fix. Lumine was left alone to bear the brunt of the lunch onslaught and the five o'clock siege of exhausted employees in need of a pick-me-up after a long day's work. "I don't mind. I'd rather have a bit of a line than stand around waiting for people to come in."

Nilou smiled wearily, but it didn't seem like Lumine's words had done much to lessen her guilt. "That's fair. Anyways, I came back here to give you a little heads-up. We've got a kind of suspicious-looking customer at one of the window seats. She's been here since we opened. I tried bringing it up with Enteka, but she said since the customer bought something, she's entitled to stay however long she wants."

Grimacing, Lumine recalled the man she'd dealt with a few days before. "Was she looking for someone?"

Eyes widening, Nilou nodded. "You've seen her?"

"No, but a couple of days ago, a really creepy-looking dude came in asking if I'd seen someone with purple hair wandering around the city. Like this place isn't crawling with people of every hair color under the sun." For the sake of whoever the trouble plaguing their humble coffee shop was after, Lumine hoped they were far, far away. With dyed hair. And a disguise.

Purple hair and a disguise…

For a moment, the image of Wanderer, standing in her foyer donned in sunglasses, a hoodie, and a sunhat crossed her mind. She tried to brush it aside, but it persisted, clinging to her mind's eye. But they couldn't be looking for him; their target was someone stumbling about the city, not cooped up healing in a stranger's home.

Fingers curling around the doorframe, Nilou said, "I hope they don't give you any trouble. You're sure you'll be okay on your own?"

Lumine smiled. It was kind that she was worried, but Lumine had handled worse than an eccentric gaggle of people-seekers. Besides, Nilou had commitments of her own to attend to. "I'll be fine. If shit gets really bad, I'll find a way to get Enteka to do something." There was no guarantee she'd be able to, but believing it possible would do them both some good. "I should probably head up front, now. Thanks for the warning."

"Of course. Have a good day!"

Slinging a bulky duffel bag over her shoulder, Nilou left the break room for brighter skies. Lumine followed in her wake, headed for the gallows instead.

There, at the counter, awaited the executioner— one customer in a line of three, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently as they stared at the counter like someone would magically apparate there if they willed it hard enough.

"Sorry for the wait," Lumine heaved, rushing to fill her post. They could roll their eyes all they'd like— one minute's delay wasn't costing them anything.

Thus began her descent into another day's work, a bog of mind-numbing monotony made interesting only by the persistent presence by the window. Today's strange stranger wasn't nearly as menacing as the last— while the one she'd dealt with had dressed like some kind of unidentifiable professional, this one was wearing slightly more normal clothes. They would be completely normal, in fact, were it not for the coat they wore over them and the brooch that glinted from their lapel.

Lumine didn't recognize the symbol, but it caught the light enough times to draw her attention, and with it, her curiosity. It looked like a four-petaled flower or a four-pointed star with small circles cut into each peak. She scribbled it on a sticky note and tucked it into her pocket. Whatever it was, it had to mean something, and an internet search or two would probably tell her everything she needed to know.

As her shift dragged on, her mind insistently returned toward it. With every order served, her eyes drifted toward the strange woman's table. She'd been there for at least eight hours, now. Though she had a computer out, she didn't seem to be doing much with it. Nobody stuck around a place like this for that long. The few who stayed longer than an hour or two generally ordered something else after their first. The woman had to be hungry by now. And thirsty.

Still, she was here. Watching. Waiting. Searching.

Why were they so honed in on Puspa Café? There was no shortage of coffee joints in Sumeru City to stake out.

Well, it was possible that these people weren't connected. It could be a strange series of coincidences; she hadn't noticed the man from before wearing the same insignia. But she hadn't been paying attention, then. She'd been focused solely on surviving the encounter. If she'd thought to look a little harder…

There was no use dwelling on it. Two suspicious characters in such a short span of time suggested some sort of connection. She'd look into it when she got home.

And once she knew who they were? What would she do then?

Lumine frowned, capping a steaming-hot cappuccino and scribbling a name on the outside. Her body and mouth worked in perfect muscle memory as her mind raced with scenarios— suppose they were an organization of note. A detective agency. A secret society. A gang. What would she do?

What could she do? There was no harm in looking for someone, nor in asking around. They were giving the café business. Enteka, the café's owner, had no reason to turn away shady customers, so long as they weren't threatening or harassing staff or other patrons. She'd turn a blind eye to anything incriminating Lumine might find.

Still, it didn't sit right with her. Something was wrong with this situation; even if Nilou had recognized that as well, she wasn't likely to do anything about it. If any investigative work was to be done, it would fall on Lumine's shoulders alone.

She sighed, ringing up the next customer. Her personal life was full enough of drama as it was— she didn't need a shitshow at work on top of it.

Having something on her mind that she could do little about kept her on edge until closing; every spare moment, she caught herself staring at the woman at the window or the crumpled drawing she'd stuffed into her pocket. At last, when Lumine could vaguely see through the green-tinted glass of the windows that the sky was darkening with the first hints of evening, the woman slid from her chair, slipped her computer into a slim bag, cast one last glance around the café, then left.

She trudged toward the door with the energy of someone who hadn't eaten since breakfast and the posture of someone whose purpose had been left unfulfilled. Whatever she'd been looking for, she hadn't found it. They, whoever they were, were still searching for their purple-haired stranger.

Lumine's teeth worried at her lip as she closed the register down, working like clockwork to turn off the machines. By the time she left into the embrace of the warm, humid evening air, a faint metallic taste had spread across her tongue. Shit. That was going to sting tomorrow.

Apparently, in addition to dying hard, old habits had a tendency to crawl up from their graves from time to time. Lumine had no shortage of stressors to blame. What she really needed, more than closure about the café strangers, was a chance to relax.

The plants were ready for transplanting; they'd taken to the climate well. Only a few had stunted in their growth from the sudden change of heat, and all but one zaytun peach plant hadn't managed to recover. If she kept them in their already-disintegrating cardboard cages any longer, they'd run out of space for their roots.

That would be a pleasant way to spend the evening. Wanderer would probably enjoy it as well.

Her walk home was quiet; she watched the sky darken and fill with dusky purplish-pink, felt the wind run its fingers through her hair, and jumped at every sound out of place.

A gust of wind knocked someone's trash can over. She whipped around, heart in her throat, hands balled into fists that would probably be useless in any situation that might call for them. Watching the garbage can settle calmed her nerves, but only slightly. There was no one there, no one following her, no one watching or searching. Whatever oddity was sinking its teeth into her life, she'd left it behind at the café.

Nobody was following her. It didn't make sense for anyone to try. She was just an employee, and she'd already told them she had no clue who they were searching for.

Rolling her eyes and cursing herself for letting something so stupid get under her skin, Lumine pivoted away and continued down her path, steeling herself against the ambiance of suburban life. The streetlights flickered to life halfway through her journey, bringing with them some semblance of security. They didn't stop her from staring at every car that passed, searching for anything familiar in the driver's faces.

Finally, after an eternity of jumping at shadows and bringing her own cortisol levels through the roof, Lumine was home. A sliver of light crept through the curtains covering the kitchen window. Was Wanderer having dinner? Or cooking?

She was a bad host, maybe, for hoping her guest would cook so often, but she never outright asked. Having something already ready when she came home was an unimaginable weight off her shoulders, though. Leftovers were similarly convenient, but nothing could beat a meal fresh off the stove-top.

Since the curry, he'd cooked a few times. There didn't seem to be any pattern or rhythm to the dates he chose. Nor the meals, for that matter. Though he'd judged her diet before, he made do with the ingredients she kept on hand. It was almost impressive, how many vegetarian recipes he could whip up on the fly. Most of them were probably alterations of meat-centered dishes, but his respect for her choices was both unexpected and appreciated.

Where had he lived before to learn how to cook so well? Most people their age— assuming he was around her age— knew only basic recipes or nothing at all. Unless, like she and Aether, he'd had no other choice but to cook for himself.

He had a sister, though, who he'd called the golden child of the family. There was probably at least one parent in the picture, then. She couldn't be sure until he came forth with that information willingly. Trying to prompt anything specific out of him was like pulling teeth.

Whatever was going on in the kitchen, she'd find out soon enough.

Letting herself inside, Lumine slipped out of her shoes and shrugged off her bag, toting it through the living room and tossing it through her doorway. Then she inhaled, breathing in the salty, savory smell of something wonderful. Cooking, then. Some of his recipes had been surprises, but this one she recognized by the aroma alone. It'd once filled her and Aether's house on lazy evenings when microwaveable dinner was all their parents' exhaustion would allow.

This was no instant meal, though. Peeking her head round the kitchen doorway, she met his gaze in front of the stove, where he stood stirring a large pot.

"Ramen?"

"Vegetarian ramen. I'm blaspheming my own culture to suit your tastes."

His culture, huh? It sounded like he was in a sharing mood tonight. "You're Inazuman?"

"Born and raised," He replied with a heavy sigh, turning his attention back to the bubbling concoction before him. "I left as soon as I got the chance. Nothing left there but bad memories and people I don't care to see again."

Striding up to lean on the counter a few feet away, Lumine rose on her toes to admire the broth of noodles and vegetables simmering in the pot. On the other side of the counter sat a bowl of eggs cradled in ice. Oh, they were eating good tonight. "You came here, then?"

Wanderer shook his head. "Snezhnaya, first. Then all over." With an almost rueful glance at the ramen, he added, "And now I'm here."

"Guess I picked the right nickname for you, then." Though she couldn't help but be a little envious; she'd always wanted to travel around Teyvat. He didn't seem particularly impressed by the experience, though. "Were you traveling for work, or just… wandering?"

Expression hardening into suspicion, Wanderer shot her a wary look. "Work."

The answer was clipped, a clear warning not to stray beyond what he offered of his own accord. Curious as she was about his occupation, she held her tongue; that he'd shared anything at all was indicative of a sort of trust building between them. The last thing she needed to do was shatter it at the first olive branch.

So she opted for a safer, though still nosy, alternative. "What's it like there? I've always wondered what it's like living surrounded by the ocean."

Brow furrowing, Wanderer abandoned the pot, navigating her cupboards with familiar ease to pull out two large bowls. "Oppressive. It storms a lot. The ocean cages us in as much as it frees us." Then, flicking the stove off and pushing the pot onto a different burner, he headed for the eggs, grabbing one and beginning to peel it. "It's pretty, though, I guess, and colorful. A lot of tourists find it quaint."

Pushing off the counter, Lumine snatched up another of the eggs and set to peeling it. The shell was cold, giving way to the gentle prying of her nails to reveal the white within. "I'm not sure it means much, but I'm glad you're here." The words came unbridled, spoken before she could think better of them. Wanderer arched a brow. "Instead of there, I mean. Better to be somewhere not quite as miserable."

Lips quirking as they did in preparation every time he said something particularly assholish, Wanderer replied, "What makes you assume I'm less miserable here?"

Well, he hadn't left yet. Enough time had passed that his wound was definitely healed enough for him to move on. But he hadn't. He'd made no mention of it. Nor had Lumine, to be fair, but from what she'd learned of him in their time together, he didn't seem the type to stick around like this if he hated her company.

She didn't want to bring that up, though. The idea of him leaving made her mouth drier than she'd care to admit; if she mentioned it, even in passing, he might take it as a hint that she wanted him to leave. "I dunno. You seem lighter, I guess, than you were when you first came. I figure that's because you're, if not happy, at least not miserable."

"Lighter?"

"Like you're breathing easy for the first time in a while." Sighing, Lumine set her first peeled egg back in the ice bath, pulling out another. The first was scarred with faint imprints from her nails, while Wanderer's was almost perfect. But help was help, imperfections be damned. "I felt the same way when I first moved in. I liked living with Aether, but there's something about having your own place."

She looked up, awaiting a reply, but Wanderer was staring at his egg as though the secrets of the universe were inscribed beneath the shell. Tilting her head, she waited, and nearly dropped her own egg as it slipped through her fingers.

Now he was looking at her, with a sort of pained amusement reserved for the impressively clumsy.

"Anyways, leaving that tangent aside, I hope you're not miserable here." Scowling at the egg, now bearing nail-prints and slight dents from where her fingers had clutched it mid-air, Lumine tried to quell some of the nervous energy swimming through her bloodstream. It was loosening her tongue beyond what was tolerable. She was used to making a fool of herself, but this awkward silence suggested her ramblings were getting under Wanderer's skin.

So, of course, she kept going. "Did you enjoy traveling, then?"

Ripping shell from egg like it owed him money, Wanderer frowned. "It was hardly the kind of travel you're imagining. Strictly business. I spent more time dealing with idiots than I did doing anything interesting."

Another little fact to file away. "Your line of work is filled with idiots?"

"Every line of work is," Wanderer replied, eye twitching, "It's a miracle humanity has held itself together for so long."

It wasn't hard to see how he felt that way; in food service, Lumine went toe-to-toe with the worst society had to offer on the daily. But most people weren't like that. Most people were normal, average people just going about their lives, trying to get by, same as all the rest. "It's the ingenuity, probably. We're as good at getting ourselves out of problems as we are at making them."

"And in our solutions, we often make worse problems."

"Yep. That's how the world is— embrace or despise it." It was easier to accept things as they were, to work within pre-established bounds with eyes to the ground. That's what she'd been doing for years. Now, though, she was trying to forge her own path, away from that of least resistance. "Philosophizing aside, I think it's about time to get our plants in the ground. How'd you feel about doing it after dinner?"

He froze mid-peel. The shell slipped from his fingers, crumbling into smaller pieces on the floor. "Our plants? You want my help?"

Our plants. Fuck. She was on a roll this evening. What was she going to do next, propose marriage? Ask him to stay forever? "Well, you've helped with every other step of the process. And you seem pretty invested in their growth. I'd hate to leave you out now."

Something indiscernible crossed his face. He stared at her for a while, eyes narrowed, searching for something she wasn't sure he would find. Did he not want to help? Was he trying to come up with an excuse to get out of it?

"If you don't want to—"

"I will, since you'd clearly be disappointed if I refused." The words sounded resigned, but if he was only doing this for her benefit, he'd look a little more irritated, wouldn't he? He appeared almost on the verge of smiling, if he was even capable of such an expression. "You don't mind moving them while it's dark outside?"

Lumine rolled her eyes. "I'm not scared of the dark. And it's not like I don't have a porch light out there." They'd be able to see just fine. "I'll go get the gardening stuff outside."

"I'll get this finished, then."

Stopping at the sink to try and wash the smell of egg from her hands, she headed for her closet, heaving her gardening box onto her hip and toting it into the living room. From there, she left it on the porch, shooting her plants a glance from the doorway. In the evening's dying light, she could see their green stems stretching skyward, trying to soak in the last photons the day would offer.

Leaving them to it, she went back inside. In that short span of time, Wanderer had peeled the last of the eggs and was ladling noodles with vegetables and bamboo shoots into a bowl, noodles slipping from the ladle with each turn of his wrist.

Lumine watched, smiling. "Having a little trouble, there?"

"You don't have any pasta spoons."

"I think I've got a few sporks somewhere, if that helps."

He affixed her with a scowl that said more than any words— a spork would not, in fact, help.

She watched him struggle with the spoon until his bowl was full. Then he shoved it in her hands and stalked to the table, setting his dinner down and giving it the stare of a sore loser. Lumine shook her head, fighting back a peal of laughter, and began to spoon out her own pasta.

It went about as well as it had for Wanderer. The noodles were intent on rejoining their soggy comrades in the broth, and the vegetables were content catching a ride along the way. It took a good three minutes and multiple positions for the spoon and her bowl to get enough in to call it a dinner. Gingerly, she carried her food to the table, wary of how close the broth sloshed to the rim.

She didn't spill any; its journey to the table left it safe and unscarred. There was already silverware out, as well as a cup of water, so all that stood between her and a meal well-enjoyed was eating.

"Thanks for making this. It smells divine." And compliments to the chef, of course.

"Don't mention it. It's the least I can do to pull my weight."

"Nobody's asking you to pull any weight." As a host, it would be rude to expect her guest to do chores. But since he was practically living here, and the television and her collection of books could only do so much to drive him from boredom, she appreciated the effort. "But it's considerate of you."

Wrinkling his nose, Wanderer lifted his fork, spinning a bite of pasta around the prongs. "Anything interesting happen today?"

A subject-change? Fine, she'd humor him. "Not much. Well, I guess we did have another weirdo visit the café, but that's not unusual."

He quirked a brow. "Do you get weirdos often?"

"Often enough that it doesn't faze me. Usually." The guy from before had been different; there'd been something genuinely intimidating about him. "Today's and one from a few days ago seem like they might be connected, though. They're looking for someone."

Wanderer's jaw clenched, his fork stilling centimeters from his lips. As he held it there, searching her gaze, the noodles broke formation and slipped free, splashing back into the bowl. The sound shook him from whatever shock her words had instilled. "Oh, yeah? It can't be easy, trying to find someone in a city this big."

"That's what I told the first guy. He was pretty creepy, but the one from today didn't bother me. Stayed at the café from opening to closing, though, which was weird. Didn't even order anything after the first time."

"Who are they trying to find?"

Lumine held Wanderer's eyes. Should she tell him? He was doing a good job of acting casual, but she'd seen the look in his eyes when he froze— that cornered-animal look again, the moment of indecision between lashing out and running for cover. If he was the purple-haired stranger these people were looking for, she wasn't going to turn him in. She trusted him. If he was running from these people, the people who'd left him bleeding out in the snow, she would keep his secret safe.

"Hard to say. There's a lot of people matching the description in the city, I'm sure." Doing her best to sound casual, she slurped up a forkful of noodles. They were warm, bathed in a rich, salty broth that made her taste buds come alive. "We get a lot of people coming in and out of the café. It's a good spot to keep an eye out, I guess, but I imagine anyone who doesn't want to be found will be better hidden."

Spearing a chunk of bamboo shoot on his fork, Wanderer leaned forward, looming over the table in spite of their similar statures. The air in the room seemed to plummet ten degrees. "In a stranger's house, for instance?"

Lumine shrugged. "It's possible. They'd best hope the stranger is someone who doesn't appreciate creeps interrupting their work, then, and who wouldn't sell them out even if the people looking for them weren't weirdos."

"Doesn't sound like most strangers."

"More like a friend, don't you think?"

All fell silent. There were no scrapes of silverware against bowls, no stirs of broth, no words. Just eye contact that Lumine hoped could convey the depth of her sincerity. If, as he seemed to be implying, he was the person the others were looking for, she wouldn't tell a soul. Not only because they were friends or because the people looking for him rubbed her the wrong way— she'd made a choice to shelter him that night, when she dragged him home through the snow. She'd affirmed it with a knife at her throat. To give up now would be cowardly. Despicable.

"Let's hope that friend understands the value of sealed lips. Otherwise, that label will be rather short-lived."

Hoping her expression could convey what words could not, she nodded. As she shifted in her seat, slinging one leg sideways over the other, the sticky note crinkled in her pocket, reminding her of its existence.

Brushing her hands on her napkin, she slid it out of her pocket. Were it not for that sound, it would've probably been forgotten about and sent through the washing machine, where it would have been distorted beyond recognition. She unfolded the paper, smoothing it out, then slid it across the table.

"I was going to look this up later. The woman today was wearing a pin like it; I figured it meant something." Like a logo.

"Don't bother. You won't find anything worth knowing." A bitter amusement crept into his voice as he amended, "On the safe side of the internet, at least."

Lumine frowned. Was that a bluff to throw her off of a trail or a genuine dismissal? Either way, she wasn't desperate enough for answers to seek out the dark web. "Don't you want to be prepared, though? The more you know about the people looking for you, the better you can avoid them."

"I'm not stupid enough to delude myself into thinking they can be avoided." The retort carried a resigned finality— the words of a man living knowingly on borrowed time. For someone so spiteful against the world, burning with an undying fire, it was an unsettling shift. "You should quit while you're ahead. The less you know, the safer you are if they find me here."

If, not when. That still implied a possibility. "Nobody's going to find you here. No one knows you're here, and I plan on keeping it that way."

"But I can't stay forever. This isn't your house, is it?" Her silence was all the answer he needed, all the prompting necessary to continue. "Someone's going to drop by eventually. Even if they don't, I can't stay here forever. But if someone finds out you've been harboring me, now or however many years down the line, the less you know, the better off you're going to be."

"And that matters to you?"

A vaguely pained look crossed his face. "You said it yourself, didn't you? We're friends. Friends care about that kind of shit, yeah?"

Friends. Lumine nearly dropped her fork. Though she'd said it, she'd never expected to hear it reciprocated. Wanderer didn't seem like the type who did friends. But even the surliest of society got lonely from time to time, so they had to have friends to turn to.

She was so stunned that she ate the rest of her meal without saying a word. The only sounds that passed between them were those of silverware scraping dishware and the occasional slurp of noodles that sounded almost irreverent in the evening vigil. Even with the curtains, it was clear that night had fallen over Sumeru. They would be planting their garden under the light of the moon.

And the porchlight. But that sounded less…

Less what? Romantic? It wasn't supposed to sound romantic. Not in the slightest. Not with him. Poetic, perhaps. But he probably wasn't one for poetry.

She hadn't thought him one for friends until recently, though. What else was he hiding behind those high fortress walls?

She finished first, cleaning her dishware and leaving it to dry. It was a constant struggle not to stare as Wanderer caught up, but she kept her eyes busy elsewhere, occupying her hands by tidying what little mess had come about from the dinner preparations. Her mind, thankfully, had enough new information to turn over and chew on to prevent it from its usual wanderings that turned idle moments from respite into war zones.

Wanderer was Inazuman. Wanderer was well-suited to his nickname. Wanderer was being hunted down by people who had already, by proxy, found him. They just didn't know it yet.

And they wouldn't. If any more of their group came sniffing around, she would give them nothing but the drinks they ordered. They'd have to move on eventually. If their search here didn't yield fruit, they would leave.

Which meant she'd probably be better off letting him stay here until that time came.

The thought brought her more relief than it should have. Every day he stayed was another she spent lying to her friends and brother, not to mention violating the terms of her lease. But every day he stayed was another not spent alone, enjoyed in company that was, for the most part, more entertaining than it was irritating.

She didn't want him to leave. She'd have to wrestle with that eventually— choke down whatever traitorous part of her heart had decided to attach itself so tightly to someone who'd held a knife to her throat like it was nothing. For now, though, she could revel in selfish relief.

Washing his plate and setting it next to hers in the dish drainer, Wanderer cleared his throat, pulling her from her thoughts. He stood in front of her, a foot or so away, close enough to make out every detail of his unfairly beautiful face as he stared at her like she'd said something more stupid than usual. "Hey. Anyone awake in there?"

"I— Uhh, yeah, I'm awake. Definitely." At least it was late enough that she could attribute being lost in thought to tiredness. She'd never admit it aloud, least of all to Wanderer, that she was glad he might be staying longer. "Should we go do the plants?"

With an exasperated sigh, Wanderer nodded. "Sure, let's go do the plants, whatever that's supposed to mean."

Shooting him a sour look, Lumine replied, "Shut up."

She reached the door first, holding it open for him and slipping out right behind. Night enshrouded the neighborhood, extending far beyond the distant motes of streetlights waging war against the darkness. In the shadows of the yard, Wanderer was more silhouette than human, striding into the twilight like he belonged there, hidden beyond what the eye could see.

Lumine stared a moment, watching him tilt his face to the sky, watching the dim moonlight above bathe him in an ethereal glow. It made her breath hitch in a wonderment the city sky had always denied her— what scant starlight twinkled above was hardly the catalyst of poetry. She'd never lived anywhere quieter, more distant, where the full splendor of night could snatch the breath from her lungs.

Then sense found her, pulling the moment from beneath her and guiding her hand to the porch light switch. She flicked it on, almost mournfully, and Wanderer was bathed in light.

"So," He began, voice echoing across the yard, filling the night's silence with its pleasant timbre, "How do we do this?"

Pulling on her gardening gloves, Lumine tossed him the extra pair. His pair. "Dig holes deep enough to bury the rolls in, but not too deep. We accounted for depth in the initial planting, so they just need to go in about enough to cover the top of the roll, no more."

"I assume distance matters, too?"

Grinning, Lumine nodded. "It varies for every plant. Check the instructions on the seed packets for specifics."

He came closer, into the light, reaching into the box. Their gloved fingers brushed as Lumine uncovered her spades; though the night wasn't cold by Sumerian standards, a shiver ran down her spine.

She handed him a shovel, along with a ruler. The measurements didn't have to be precise, necessarily, but for the sake of keeping as many plants alive as possible, she'd adhere to the directions as best as possible. "Also, this paper has the layout planned." Since she had it memorized, it would be better off in his hands. "You've also got to keep in mind what you plant next to what, and how much sunlight or shade or water they'll be able to get, but I've already taken care of that."

"It's gardening. It's supposed to be simple."

"You're taking care of a living creature. They're basically non-sentient cats. Keeping something alive is never going to be simple, because life isn't simple."

With a huff, Wanderer grumbled, "You can say that again." But he took the paper without complaints, studying it with intense focus. Lumine left him to it, grabbing the first of the trays to begin transplanting.

The zaytun peaches were beginning to sprawl, stretching from a single stalk into the many-tendriled shrub that yielded one of her favorite fruits. They were sweet, juicy, and extra delicious picked right off the vine. Only fresh valberries could trump them in flavor, and those were rare in Sumeru. They required a milder environment, growing almost exclusively in the forests of Mondstadt.

She'd tried to grow them back home, but most of her crop had been lost to insects before she could enjoy it. They were a rare treat for when her family had an extra few mora to spend at the market.

They were impossible to find in Sumeru's markets, though. Only large-chain grocery stores sold them, and they'd been treated with so many chemicals to help them resist the heat and had traveled such a long way that the taste wasn't worth the cost.

She dug first, measuring out a foot between each hole, grateful for the amount of space available. With wide leaves at their base, zaytun peaches valued their personal space. If she planted them too close, their leaves would tangle as their axillary buds came to life. If she planted them too far apart, though, they'd take up all the space she had to offer. Thus, though she loved them, she cultivated few.

Wanderer came up beside her, casting a shadow over the garden box as she took measurements and shifted soil. Though his stare was heavy, it wasn't oppressive. It was welcome, almost. The kind of attention she didn't mind. The kind of silence that didn't send her mind scurrying for things to say.

"You're surprisingly meticulous with this."

"Surprisingly?"

She looked up to meet his eyes, folding her calves beneath her thighs.

Though his response should have sounded humorous, there was no trace of amusement in his voice. "You're clumsy. And awkward. This is… different."

"I contain multitudes," She shot back, rolling her eyes. No one would ever call her graceful or elegant or elegant, but she was no walking trash-fire, either. "I make coffee to-order pretty much every day. And I'm a nursing student— well, former nursing student— but the point stands. I'm not incapable of attention to detail.

"Former?" His eyebrows rose. "Finally gave in, did you?"

Sighing, Lumine turned her attention back to the soil. It was easier to understand than Wanderer, not to mention easier to get along with. Soil didn't turn every word she said against her. Soil didn't turn every conversation into a verbal sparring match.

Not that she didn't smile or laugh to herself later upon recollecting said sparring matches. But that was no one's business but her own.

Reaching for the first cardboard-encased plant, she tucked it into one of the holes she'd dug, gently shifting the soil to accommodate the shape. That was one point against soil— it was difficult to conform in a way that encased a cylinder. "I did. No thanks to your nagging, of course, so don't give yourself any credit."

Now he was simpering, stepping closer with a look of utter triumph. Oh, how she longed to wipe that expression from his face. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He stood there for a moment, looming over her, then stooped to her level. Kneeling in the dirt, he followed her lead in transplanting the zaytun peach shoots, handling them with reverence usually reserved for glassware or good dishes. They worked in silence for a while, keeping vigil over the night, until Wanderer broke the silence with a question.

"What're you going to do now?"

It was hesitant, moreso than she thought him capable of. Tentative, even, like he knew this was a sore subject and wanted to tread lightly. As though he'd ever be so considerate.

Still, it softened something in her, coaxing a more vulnerable answer than she would have liked to give. "I'm not sure yet. One of these days I'm going to sit down and really think about it, but I haven't had the time." But there could be no harm in telling him what she had decided. After he'd shared so much more than expected over dinner, she almost felt obliged to reciprocate. "I'll stay in my darshan, I think, and I'll finish out the semester with the classes I'm taking."

Brow furrowing, Wanderer mused, "It's odd, how you're supposed to have the entire trajectory of your life planned out the second you walk through their doors. Most people have no idea what they're going to do tomorrow, let alone what they want to spend the brunt of their lives doing."

"In that regard, I've got a leg up on most people. I know exactly what tomorrow holds." Waking up early, rushing through breakfast, and heading to class. Taking notes until her wrist threatened a strike and trying not to get hit by a car navigating to work, where she'd serve coffee and grin and bear society's greatest mixed bag until the sun went down.

"Don't sound so sure about that. For all you know, I could burn the house down while you're gone."

Lumine barked out a laugh, so situationally-inappropriate it soured Wanderer's hauteur into confusion. Concerned confusion. "That would suck for both of us, so please don't. I'd probably take you to court for arson."

With an amused huff, Wanderer retorted, "Big talk for someone I know doesn't have enough mora to hire a lawyer."

"Maybe not, but I'm sure my landlord does." And she would be pissed. A match for Wanderer at his worst.

But, upon considering the prospect, he wasn't wrong. He was a constant force of change in her life, always full of surprises, good and bad. She came home every day to questions— what was he doing? How had he been spending the day? What kind of mood was he in, and how would that impact how they clashed?

He was a wrench thrown into her perfect, monotonous order. Maybe that, more than anything else, was why she didn't want him to leave. With him gone, there would be no one to come home to, no one to keep her on her toes but the café-goers, who kept her on edge for different, much less pleasant reasons. Sour as he could be, lately the bittersweet outweighed outright negativity.

Should she thank him for that?

Probably not. The last thing he needed was more ammunition to gloat over.

Once the last of the zaytun peaches was planted, Lumine looked upon them, the sight of their green stalks bursting forth from the ground pulling her lips into a smile. Even in the dim porch-light, they were beautiful. There was potential in each stem and each root. They had grown these together, and they would work together to ensure the plants continued to thrive.

"Okay, that's them done. Next up in this box are onions, peppers, and chamomile." He probably knew that from the diagram, though. "You can interchange them between holes; they don't need as much space as the peaches, and they like each other, so it's good to let them mingle."

Brow furrowing, Wanderer asked, "They like each other?"

He could glare at them all morning long, but he drew the line at anthropomorphizing the garden. "The onions have a pretty strong smell, so they drive away a lot of pests. Chamomile does something similar, and the flowers attract bees."

"Right. And this is just common knowledge?"

"It's called companion planting, and there's loads of books about it. I have a few, if you're interested." Except to gardeners, it wasn't common knowledge. When she'd explained it to Venti and the others the first time she'd shown them her garden, they'd regarded her with a mix of awe and confusion, like she'd begun speaking an entirely different language.

Lips pursing, Wanderer shook his head. "I doubt I'll ever use the information, so it'd be a waste of time to dig into."

Fair enough. She couldn't claim not to be a little disheartened by his lack of interest, but his time was his own. If he didn't want to read about it, no one was going to force him to. "Let's get them in the ground, then."

They resumed their work, measuring distances and digging holes like a well-oiled gardening machine. Conversation fell to the wayside once more as they fell into focus, creating a crude lattice of plots and carefully lifting delicate toilet paper rolls, given dignity in this second chance at life, from their trays and into the dirt.

The quiet wasn't uncomfortable— the ambiance of the night lent it a rare tranquility— but her mind, as always, sought words. Those words had a tendency to form questions, and those questions often strayed into uncharted waters, approaching doorways she'd brushed in passing but never tried to open.

"It sounded like you have thoughts on the expectations of the Akademiya— that you're supposed to commit to a darshan and specialize right away." Most people, save for those committing themselves to higher education, gave that much thought. Though Wanderer was elusive about his career, he was too close to her age to have already been through that wringer. "Were you ever thinking of attending?"

Jaw clenching, Wanderer met her eyes, gaze forged of steel. In the dark, his eyes were almost black. "What's it to you?"

"Curiosity. Whatever the situation, I'm not going to judge you."

Scowl fading, Wanderer looked away. "I was supposed to. My mother wanted me to, but it didn't work out."

Clearly not. And while she was dying to know the full story— how someone seemingly full of promise had ended up here, in a stranger's house, after nearly being murdered— that was probably too much to ask. She'd exhumed plenty already in the short time she'd been home; any further would be a push too far.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to ask other, safer questions. "What were you going to study?"

"Politics."

A Vahumanan, then. "That's fitting; you're as good at keeping secrets as any politician. Though, with how much you like to argue, you'd make a good lawyer as well."

Had he attended the Akademiya, would they ever have met? If they'd crossed paths under any other circumstances, their relationship may have taken a different turn. Lumine wouldn't have had an early opportunity to prove herself trustworthy, and there would be no forced proximity to coax Wanderer out of his shell— he would've been the same asshole who thanked her for saving his life by threatening her life, and she would've wanted nothing to do with him.

Selfish as it was, considering where this path had nearly led him to, perhaps it was fortunate that things hadn't gone according to plan.

"Is that what you see me as? An argumentative liar?"

The words and the underlying challenge within them caught her off-guard. Her grip slackened, fingers slipping, and she would have sent the nascent onion stalks within sideways had he not caught her at the last second, a hand tightening around hers. He moved without breaking eye contact, keeping his hand in place as his eyes demanded answers.

He was closer than he'd been before. She could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest. Was it getting warmer outside? "I— No, of course not." The answer came hastily, yielding a disbelieving quirk of his brow. Clearing her throat to try to regain composure, she amended, "Well, you're definitely combative, and there's a lot you're hiding from me, but that's not the whole picture. That's not you."

"Who am I, then?"

Wanderer wasn't frowning anymore. His expression was unreadable, but it evoked imagery of storm clouds rolling in over the horizon, darkness casting out light and bringing with it an earth-rattling storm.

Lumine's mouth was dry. Her palms were sweaty. Wanderer was still holding her hand around the plant, though she'd long since recovered her hold on it. "You're you. You're a weird dude who takes everything too seriously and helps with the housework even though he doesn't have to. You make the wildest assumptions about my life and point out shit I should have realized ages ago. You're the most irritating person I know, but you're somehow a good friend, too. I guess that makes you a walking, talking mess of contradictions."

He held her gaze for a while longer, then pulled his hand away, leaving her to bury the onion plant without a trace of acknowledgement for the hold-up.

A minute passed, then two, the air heavy with tension. Lumine sat tense, waiting for a reply, but it never came. Wanderer merely resumed transplanting without any response to justify his silence.

She wanted to know why, but she didn't have it in her to keep chasing him. Not this late, when the light of the moon and the serenade of crickets in the distance was lulling her into exhaustion's embrace. Something she said had bothered him to the point of shutting him up— something she'd never, even in more heated arguments, managed— and she'd have to make that right.

Tomorrow. It could wait until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed in a blur of stress, exhaustion, and constant activity. Kaveh, who worked the drive-through during her shift up front, had fallen ill. Management, fully complicit in the café being understaffed, had decided to place his duties upon Lumine instead of doing anything reasonable, like getting extra help or asking for someone else to cover.

That left her running frantically between the drive-through and the front counter, scrambling to hold down the fort. The competence that came with seniority could only carry her so far when there was a line of cars almost into the street and a line of people almost out the door.

It also meant that she was stuck doing clean-up. Not only did that require picking up all the trash left behind by those who couldn't be bothered to walk three feet to the nearest trash can, but it also necessitated vacuuming, scrubbing every table, and cleaning the windows until they sparkled, good as new. The work was tedious and time-consuming, clawing into her evenings with only the promise of overtime pay as balm.

Since the transplanting, Wanderer had resumed speaking with her, but something was different. He was prickly again, like he'd been in the first week or two since they'd met. She'd come home to him watching television several times, though he always killed the broadcast when she stepped inside.

Lumine had worked through every possible cause for his ornery throughout her evenings cleaning the café, some more absurd than others. Maybe he was pissed with himself for sharing so many secrets. Or she'd done or said something that offended his sensibilities more than usual. Perhaps introspection had led him to conclude that he didn't want to be her friend at all, and he was trying to tell her that without saying it outright.

He wouldn't share the real reason until he was ready— that was all she knew for sure. When would that be?

Guessing would be a fool's errand. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, or in two weeks from now. He might drop it casually in passing as she scurried out of the house for school, or he could march into the kitchen while she was cooking dinner, declare his intentions, and leave without giving her room to reply.

Like sickness, it would solve itself when it solved itself. Thankfully, Kaveh was now well enough to come to work, and she'd come home at her normal time, which now seemed early.

Seven P.M. Late enough for the sky to start to darken, but early enough to brim with potential.

This light at the end of the tunnel had lightened her spirits so much that she'd strode into the living room, recipe in hand, and invited Wanderer to join her in preparation of the evening's meal.

She'd expected a reply consistent with his recent brusque demeanor, but he'd agreed without hesitation. Hence their current predicament— Lumine sniffling and screwing her eyes shut as she chopped an onion, and Wanderer preparing the ingredients that did not wage chemical warfare against their handler. The stew would be marvelous, but making it was a trial of patience and culinary prowess.

Which, according to Wanderer, she sorely lacked. "The knife isn't going through all the way; you're going to have to cut them again."

"I can't see, you realize," She hissed, blinking back tears as her eyes stung, producing enough saltwater to power a small fountain. "It's a miracle the knife is getting in the onion at all."

"It'll be a bigger miracle if the knife doesn't go through your fingers by the time we're through." Looking up from his own cutting board, where two fresh starshrooms were cooperating very well under his knife, Wanderer shook his head. "You'll choke on the pieces you're cutting."

Sighing, Lumine searched the dustiest corners of her mind for one last shred of patience. She found it in the coming of the weekend, so close she could feel the free mornings ahead already. "I can cut them again, you know, once the waterworks stop."

"Says the one who insisted on doing them first so they're done as soon as possible. First step, remember?"

She met his smug satisfaction with a roll of her eyes. Sautéing the onions was part of the recipe's first step, but she'd started the onions first with the hopes of getting them done and over with. For all he was running his mouth, he could show a little more gratitude that she hadn't made him cut the onions. He wouldn't be so self-satisfied if he were the one leaking like a defective pipe.

"Anyways, don't you get tired of eating the same stuff all the time? I swear, ever since I came here, it's been nothing but beans and mushrooms. I'm starting to forget what real food tastes like."

With a deep inhale, Lumine clung to her last iota of restraint. This did not need to escalate into an argument. She was not going to take the bait. "If you're so desperate to eat meat, say something. I can go to the market and pick some up for you on Saturday, if you want."

His breath hitched. Audibly. The look on his face must have been priceless, but Lumine's vision was too blurred with tears to make it out. Plus, it would be wise to keep her eyes on the knife she was using. The sooner the onion was cut, the sooner she'd be able to see again.

"Don't bother. It'd be a waste if only one of us eats it."

Lumine shook her head. She wasn't going to try parsing through the mental gymnastics of that one. If he really wanted real food, he would have to say so outright. It would be a waste to cook a dish that only one of them was going to eat— she'd take his refusal at face value. After the week she'd had, she could muster nothing more.

Then her hand shifted, her wrist twitched, and there was a knife in her finger.

"Fuck!" She shouted, flinging the knife away as she grasped at her finger, prying at the stinging that ran from the tip of her right index finger to its center. Though her vision was blurred, she could feel blood trickling out of the wound. Shit.

She flinched back at the sound of a knife dropping against a cutting board, and then Wanderer's hands were on hers, drawing her prodding touch away from the wound. "What happened?"

"Knife. You jinxed me."

Sucking in a shallow breath through his teeth, Wanderer grasped her wrist and began tugging her. Though the wound's burning had made the tear situation in her eyes worse, her feet recognized the path as that to the bathroom, where Wanderer thrust her hand under the sink and turned on the faucet.

The cold water felt heavenly against the wound. It numbed it only slightly, but it was better than nothing.

Beyond the rush of blood in her ears, she could hear Wanderer mumbling obscenities to himself as he opened cabinets and drawers.

How did he know where she kept the first aid supplies?

Of course— he'd been treating his wounds on his own past the first few days of being here. Hers were the only supplies available; he must have used them.

Out of the onion's reach, her eyes were starting to burn less. She could see Wanderer turn off the faucet, reach for a tissue to dab at the pink mix of water and blood coating the tip of her finger, then brandish her bottle of hydrogen peroxide and shoot it at her finger.

It hissed against the wound, foaming and bubbling in a sensation that wasn't painful, per se, but couldn't be called comfortable either. As the peroxide worked its magic, Wanderer set the bottle down, opened her towel drawer, and turned the sink on again. Moments later a cool washcloth was pressed into her face, damp and pleasant and violently rubbed into her eyes.

She withstood the assault, standing still with her injured hand in the air, still sizzling with peroxide, until Wanderer pulled the towel away. Though her eyes still burned with the lingering presence of the onion gas, her vision was clear. Clear enough to see the worry in Wanderer's eyes and the tension in his jaw while another drop of blood emerged from the laceration, slowly, almost shyly.

"It's just a cut," She said, trying to sound reassuring. Given that her eyes were misting once more with tears from the stinging and her nose was red and plugging up and fuck, she was shaking, it wasn't a convincing argument.

Briefly meeting her eyes, Wanderer pursed his lips but didn't reply. He set the washcloth down, diving back into the cupboard under the sink, coming up for air a few moments later with a gauze pad wrapped in plastic and a roll of medical tape.

"Why don't you just get me a bandage?"

Pausing to shoot her a glower, he replied, "If you want to bleed all over the onions, be my guest. A nursing student, former or not, of all people should know how well bandages stay on fingers."

She couldn't argue with that. Not that gauze and tape were a much better solution, but the tape was waterproof, so it should stand up to a few hand-washes and maybe a shower or two before falling off.

Watching him retrieve a tube of antibiotic ointment, she tried to rationalize his fussiness with how abrasive he'd been over the past few days. She hadn't been around much, but she thought he'd appreciate that, given how he'd been treating her mere presence like it was offensive. Now he was fretting over her as though she were dying. What had changed? All they'd done was skirt around arguing as they prepared to cook dinner.

"You're lucky it's not deep enough to need stitching," Wanderer mused, squeezing a glob of ointment from the tube and pressing it into her finger. His hands were rough around hers, calloused— not like hers were, not from gardening. She watched them work the antibiotic around her wound, tracing faint scars with her gaze, some mild, some long and jagged. What gave someone scars like that?

She didn't ask. If it circled back to his work or his past, which seemed likely, he'd shut the question down in a heartbeat. Instead, she remarked, "You're awful adept with wounds."

His hands stilled. She met his eyes for a moment, frowning, and was met with a practiced emptiness. That wasn't the reaction she'd been expecting; she hadn't expected any at all. It was a passing comment, a pseudo-compliment about a skill that could be picked up anywhere and was more necessary than most gave it credit for. Until they were bleeding out, at least.

A few breaths later, he replied. "I learned from necessity."

At that, something clicked. The scars on his hands, the ease with which he'd maneuvered her while threatening her life despite their similar stature, and his calm skill with her cut. "Got into a lot of fights as a kid, did you?"

She left out the tail end of her speculation, where those fights may not have ended with his childhood. It would explain how he'd ended up bruised and bloody in an alleyway.

Would a normal brawl result in the injuries he'd borne? Perhaps, perhaps not. The broader implications would require more focus than she could muster this far at the end of her rope. Once she got through everything on her to-think-through list, she could address the possibility of her house guest's potentially violent hobbies. Or line of work. Or both.

"Sure. Something like that."

Frowning, Lumine took a moment to study his face. He was too busy bandaging her finger to notice, so she could take her time, drink in every detail. "Your nose looks like it's been busted a few times. Maybe if you were a little more… civil in everyday conversation, you'd get into less trouble.

Huffing, Wanderer grumbled, "Trouble has a way of finding me, whether I'm seeking it out or not."

"Do I count as trouble, then?"

"Hardly. Stubborn generosity isn't the type of shit I'm used to wading through."

"Well, I'm more than happy to have introduced you to a better kind of trouble."

Wrinkling his nose, Wanderer flicked her forehead. "You shouldn't be. When things go south, there's no guarantee you won't get caught in the crossfire."

When, now, not if. His hope was waning; he expected the people looking for him to find him eventually. The only question was when. "I'm more resilient than you think. Whatever happens, I'll manage."

It's what she'd always done. She'd managed countless days spent tending her sick brother, she'd managed when their parents died, and she managed juggling work and school and a social life, no matter how precarious the balance got.

He hummed, the sound vaguely dissatisfied. Tearing the tape he'd been wrapping around the pad of gauze on her finger, he smoothed down the edge, fingers lingering over hers. For one second, then another, and then another. He was looking at the bandage, stare a million miles away.

Clearing her throat, Lumine pulled away. Whatever that had been, it was better left undissected. They had a stew to make, and awkward silence would wreak havoc on the flavor.

"Thanks," She murmured, much softer than intended. Then she pivoted on her heel and left for the kitchen, where a murder scene awaited on the cutting board and her eyes immediately began to water once more. Was the onion gas not bothering Wanderer? What was his secret, and how could she replicate it?

He came in moments after, evidenced by his footsteps and a presence brushing past her side. He picked up her cutting board without a word, brushing the blood-stained onions into the trash before depositing the knife she'd been using into the sink. Then he washed it.

"Regular soap isn't going to hide the evidence. You'll need stronger stuff for that."

"You have no idea."

Dish soap would make the knife hygienic to use, at least.

Lumine lingered in front of the onions; she'd lost a handful of chunks to her own blood, but most of them remained intact and safe to eat. There wasn't much left of the bulb, so once she resumed cutting, it wouldn't take long. She'd just have to be careful of her fingers. One accident per evening was acceptable, but any more would be gratuitous. Wanderer would never let her live it down, and would probably make a big deal of asking how she'd survived this long alone.

Which, to be fair, was a reasonable question. Since he'd stumbled into her life, she'd become something of a walking disaster. But her ankle was well and her cut would heal, hopefully without complication, and she'd at least be able to pretend she wasn't a mess. Until the next mishap that resulted in injury.

Knife blood-free and shining, Wanderer stalked toward the onions, nudged her out of the way, and poised the knife over the onion bulb, an executioner ready to strike.

"I thought—"

I'll finish the onion. You can dice the tomatoes. It's a safer job for the accident-prone."

Lumine clenched her jaw. As tempting as it was to argue back, she was exhausted and her finger hurt and her eyes still burned from residual onion chemicals. If he wanted to replace her in the front lines, he could be her guest.

Still, she couldn't keep from grumbling, "You don't have to coddle me."

"There's a difference between coddling someone and trying to keep them ambulatory."

Rolling her eyes, Lumine took up the knife he'd been using, brushed the chopped starshrooms aside, and began to dice their tomatoes. Though juicier and less structurally sound, they were kinder on the cutter than onions were. So long as none of the juice sprayed in her eye, she'd have no problems.

A sniffle sounded behind her, and a glance over her shoulder revealed Wanderer rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. The sight gave her less schadenfreude than anticipated. "You're going to make it worse if you keep rubbing them. D'you want me to wet you some paper towel?"

With a sharp inhale of snot, Wanderer shook his head. "I'm fine."

Right. Because fine looked like someone who'd just walked out of a funeral. "Suit yourself."

Thankfully, neither sustained any more injuries while preparing the ingredients. Once the onions were done, Wanderer held a wad of paper towel under the sink and pressed it into his eyes, refusing help when Lumine offered it.

She sighed; his pride would be the death of him someday.

With the ingredients done, the cooking began. Though her finger was injured, she insisted on sautéing the mushrooms, onion, and garlic— jerking the pan to stir the ingredients was fun, and she wasn't going to let him spoil it. He relented, though not without hovering over her shoulder the entire time. If he was impressed by her technique, or that she managed to keep everything in the pan, he didn't say. In went vegetable broth, then they let it boil for a while before adding the rest of the ingredients.

Wanderer clamped the lid onto the pan. Steam coated the glass seconds later, obscuring the magic brewing within. "Ten minutes on the stove, then?"

"Eight to ten. Probably best to go with nine."

"It's safest to stick with the longest time."

"Maybe when you're cooking meat, but vegetables and beans aren't going to give you salmonella if they're undercooked. They'll taste awful if you overcook them, though."

"Nine minutes, then."

"Eight, actually, since we've spent one arguing."

The look on his face was priceless. His eyes narrowed, his lips curled into a sneer, and his jaw clenched hard enough to shatter the teeth within. Lumine beamed in response, setting a timer on the stove top, taking immense pleasure in the tension that coiled within Wanderer, growing closer to snapping with each beep.

Twirling away from the stove, Lumine strode toward the doorway between the kitchen and living room. Drumming her fingernails against the drywall, she held Wanderer's stare. "So. Eight minutes until the food's done. D'you wanna come look at the garden?"

"What's there to see? It's only been a few days since we transplanted."

Yet she'd heard the back door open and close after she retreated to her room for the evening a few times over the past few days. A garden was as visually pleasing as it was gustatorily pleasing, but the view, like its fruits, was best enjoyed with company. "The plants. I haven't been out to see them since. If any of them have died, I'll be terribly distraught. Inconsolable, even. I could use some emotional support."

The reason was bullshit— he quirked a brow, seeing right through it. That wasn't the point. "If you're asking me for emotional support, you've hit rock bottom. I can't promise not to laugh if you fall to your knees weeping over a wilting onion plant."

Throwing herself against the wall and slamming a hand against her chest, Lumine exclaimed, "One of the onions is dead?"

Shaking his head, Wanderer crossed the kitchen. As he passed, Lumine could see the twitch of his lips as he fought off a smile. That was the point, and she'd achieved her goal. "You'll just have to come out and see."

He unlocked the door, holding it open as she stepped into the warm evening. The sky was at its most brilliant now, aflame with the vibrant hues of sunset, bidding farewell to the garden as the sun crept below the horizon. There was just enough light left to see the plants without needing the porch light. Lumine all but leapt from the porch, smile growing from theatrical despair into something genuine, as she took in their hard work.

The onions, thankfully, were alive. As was everything else.

Clasping her hands together, Lumine whirled to face Wanderer, stalking toward him with giddy intent. The urge to do something stupid seized her— to clap him on the shoulder, maybe, or pull him into a hug, or to high-five him— but she fought it off. Valiantly. Though they were on better terms than they had been, she had no idea how he'd react to that kind of touch. The last thing she wanted, now that it seemed like his stay would be extended, was to push boundaries and make him uncomfortable.

Not that she was often the touchy-feely type herself. The compulsion had come from nowhere, borne of a childish happiness that fell as quickly as it rose. It left her standing in Wanderer's orbit, too close for comfort, but with no desire to leave.

They locked eyes. Seconds passed like hours; Lumine's hands grew clammy and her heart beat a desperate accelerando in her chest. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he moving? For that matter, why wasn't she?

"Well," She said after a while, breaking their ocular stalemate to look back at the garden. The garden, which wouldn't stare back like it was trying to read her thoughts or guess her next move. The good, old, trustworthy garden. "Looks like the plants are surviving, so far."

Shifting away from her as he, too, turned to look at the garden, Wanderer hummed in assent. "They must be tougher than we are, to withstand the heat all day."

"The rain keeps them cool. Plus, they can't get heatstroke or heart damage from trying to keep their bodies cool." The heat could dry them out, but plants were hardy. Plenty had evolved to live in climates far less hospitable than this one. Without higher-order functions or opposable thumbs, they lacked the breadth of resources available to humans, but they did pretty well for themselves.

Until humans began clearing them en masse for agriculture and to build cities, of course. Though some had defenses against predators like the gas the onions had released, evolution had given them no tools with which to resist slash-and-burn and the laying of concrete. Wild animals, at least, had claws and teeth or fast legs to fight or flee with.

But the plight of plants worldwide wasn't all that applicable to her garden, nor would it probably interest Wanderer.

"You're going to have quite the yield once these all come in."

"Yep. I'll get to show you all the wonders of bean-shucking, and I'll be giving some strawberries to a friend who does a lot of baking. She's promised to share the spoils with me and my friends. You can have some too, if you want."

Wanderer wrinkled his nose. "I'll pass. I don't have much of a sweet tooth."

"Suit yourself." If he wasn't interested in the sweets, he could at least use the company. Lumine liked to consider herself a good conversationalist, but spending so much time with only one person had to get boring. Fast. It'd be stupid and risky to let anyone else in on their arrangement, but having another friend or two around occasionally might help him feel more at home.

Assuming he'd want to be friends with anyone in Lumine's circle.

Faintly, she could hear the oven timer spring to life. "Sounds like dinner's ready."

"We still have to stir in the beans, don't we?"

"Yeah, but that's the easy part. Let's get it off the stove before it burns."

Heading back into the house, Lumine shivered. Though the air conditioning was glorious, it always came as a shock after a while standing in the Sumerian heat. Wanderer followed behind, footsteps faltering only as the door creaked shut. Once in the kitchen, Lumine turned off the blaring timer and pulled the pan off its burner. Steam erupted from their stew as she plucked the lid free, aromatic and hot. The sight alone was enough to make her mouth water.

Wanderer approached with the strainer they'd left the beans in, no longer dripping with rinse-water. Lumine stepped aside, digging for a stirring spoon while he poured the beans into the stew. They took on a slightly orange color as Lumine stirred them through the broth, absorbing moisture and flavor from the herbs and seasonings within.

With that, dinner was ready.

They sat a few minutes later at their usual spots at the table, each with a piping hot bowl of starshroom stew and a glass of water. The only thing restraining Lumine from stuffing her face— and satisfying her growling stomach— was the temperature. It would take a few minutes to cool down, so they'd be sat at the table, staring at their food, waiting until it could be enjoyed without losing a few taste buds.

Which left time for stupid ideas to form, fester, and force themselves out without conscious approval. "Is it lonely here?"

Looking up from idly stirring his stew, Wanderer frowned. "Lonely?"

"I'm not around a lot, and I'm the only person you really see. You've already said it's boring, but it must get lonely, too."

"Rubbing in the fact that you have friends and I don't, huh?"

Resting her head in her hands, Lumine shook her head, mindful not to let her bangs wander into her stew. "That's not what I'm doing."

"What's the point of bringing it up, then?"

"I dunno. Empathy? Problem-solving? I don't want you to feel trapped here."

Bringing a spoonful of stew to his lips, Wanderer narrowed his eyes. "It doesn't matter how I feel about it. I am stuck here until the eyes in the city stop looking for me. If they ever stop." Though it could not have been cool enough, Wanderer drank. A pained look crossed his face as he swallowed. "There's no one else I can trust. It's already more of a gamble than I'd like to take, trusting you, but my options are limited."

If they ever stopped. Who were these people, and why were they being so persistent in their search? "What if I helped you leave Sumeru? If I save a bit, I can get you a plane ticket." Getting him to the airport would be another story, but she could always call a ride share service. Or a taxi.

"There is nowhere I can go that'll be safe. They have just as many people watching in case I flee as they have searching in the city, I'm sure." A moment later, with a bitter chuckle, he added, "Maybe more. Because it's the obvious move, isn't it? To run as far away as I can, to get as far away from him as I can."

Lumine frowned, stomach twisting. They had people watching everywhere? What kind of people had the resources to stage a manhunt all across Teyvat? And, perhaps more importantly, why?

"I— What happened? How did things turn out like this?"

Shaking his head with an almost rueful smile, Wanderer replied, "Long story. You already know the important part— the end. Or what was supposed to be the end."

A chill ran down Lumine's spine, hitching a ride on every nerve along the way. Suddenly, she didn't feel so hungry anymore. The smell of the stew, moments ago enticing, now made bile rise in her throat. Or was that from the realization?

"You were supposed to die. They wanted you dead, but I…"

Wanderer ate another spoonful of soup. "You threw a wrench in their plans. When they went to retrieve my corpse, they found the alley empty. It's a good thing the snow melted so quickly, or you would've left a trail leading straight to me."

Lips parting, Lumine stared at Wanderer, trying to speak. What was she meant to say to that? Leaving a trail had been the last thing on her mind that evening. She hadn't been paying attention to her footprints or the trails left as she half-carried, half-dragged Wanderer alongside her. Had it melted soon enough to cover her tracks? Most of it had fallen during the evening, when Sumeru was at its coldest. Some might have stuck around until daybreak. But if they had tracked her here, why hadn't they made a move? Wanderer had been here for almost three weeks now.

When words finally came, they were useless. She was exhausted and hungry and trying to wrap her mind around a reality Wanderer had clearly come to terms with long ago. "You seem… kind of unbothered, for someone with a bounty on their head. Aren't you scared?"

"Fucking terrified. But cowering isn't going to solve any problems. If they look long enough, maybe they'll give up. Or maybe they'll see I'm not causing them any trouble and they'll let me off the hook." Rolling his eyes, Wanderer scooped a chunk of tomato and a few beans onto his spoon. "I'm used to it, anyway. If it's not the fear of being found, it's the fear of fucking up. Of not being useful."

Lumine frowned, staring into her own bowl of stew. Slowly, she picked up her spoon, eyeing her reflection with a wariness she did not recognize, then lifted it toward her bowl. The concavity filled with broth, and a bean floated along for the ride. The thought of eating it, though, felt absurd. How was she supposed to eat dinner like everything was normal when Wanderer was being hunted down by people trying to kill him?

And what, exactly, did not being useful entail? Why was that something worth fearing as much as the guillotine hanging over his head? Sure, fucking up was bad at any job, but the worst they could do was fire him.

Right?

A very stupid question came to mind, but she couldn't keep from asking it. She had to know. "Can't we ask the Corps of Thirty for help?"

With a sardonic grin, all teeth, Wanderer rubbed his thumb against his fingers. The universal symbol of bribery. "Even if they were interested in listening, they'd probably arrest me. From there, I'd be extradited to Snezhnaya, where I'd be completely and totally screwed."

"Arrest you?" The words were out of her mouth before she could think twice. Or try to stop them. This was not a rabbit hole she wanted to climb down.

"I haven't done anything illegal. Not here, at least."

Okay then. She was not going any further down this road.

Taking a breath, she tried to steel herself. It didn't work.

Taking another, she lifted her spoon to her lips. The stew was wonderful, a balm to her hunger and exhaustion and to the nascent headache building pressure beneath her forehead. It felt like ash on her tongue. "So. I've got an honest to gods fugitive in my house."

"Is that going to be a problem?"

Though threatening, the words were laced with something else. Trepidation? Worry that she'd realize this was much more trouble than it was worth and throw him to the curb.

It was more trouble than it was worth. But Wanderer was her friend, and she didn't abandon friends. And, even though she was no longer interested in nursing, she would never turn anyone out to die. No matter how the odds were stacked against them. Was it stupid? Yes. Would this probably turn into an absolute clusterfuck? Absolutely.

But she'd made a choice when she'd brought him in, bleeding out amidst the falling snow, and she wasn't going to go back on it. Not now, and not ever.

"Hang on a sec. There's something I want to give you."

She stood up, grimacing as the legs of her chair scraped the floor. His eyes weighed heavy on her back as she left the kitchen, unlatching the front door and slipping outside.

Behind the bushes to the left of her front porch, half a brick had come loose about a year ago. Her landlord didn't see a need to fix it, as it wasn't causing any issues, so she'd turned it into a hiding place. For her spare key.

Dori didn't need to know that. Nobody knew, except Aether and her closest friends, so they could let themselves in in case they stopped by before she got home. Now, though, it seemed dangerous to keep it outside. Hidden as it was, someone could find it. All they had to do was notice her or a guest snooping through her bushes. All they had to do was search for themselves.

Grasping the key in her palm, she headed back inside, locking the night air out once more and returning to the kitchen. Wiping off the dirt as best she could with the cuff of her sleeve, she placed the spare key on his napkin.

Raising a brow, he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. "A key?"

"The spare. To the house." Trying not to meet his eyes as she returned to her chair, lifting another spoonful of soup to her lips, Lumine elaborated, "I figure it might make you feel a little safer, having it. In case I forget to lock up." Which wasn't often, but she couldn't guarantee it would never happen. "And it's probably best not to have it outside. Not with…"

He frowned, regarding the key like a puzzle she'd asked him to solve. "Shouldn't this go to someone more trustworthy?"

"I told you before— I trust you. And I want you to know you can trust me, too. I've got your back."

Innumerable emotions crossed his face. Confusion, anguish, relief, and something she couldn't quite name clouded his features into something unreadable. He pulled his wallet from a pocket, slipping it inside.

"I'll keep it safe," He promised.

That, she trusted him to do. The real challenge would be keeping each other safe through the storm to come.

For now, though, they were safe. Safe to eat dinner and bicker and pretend like all of this couldn't be snatched away in an instant.

She'd already been walking a fine line of half-truths and white lies to protect the stranger she'd taken into her home. Now, that line had thinned into a tightrope.

How long would she be able to keep her balance?

Chapter Text

Clicking out of her meeting, Lumine slumped back into her chair, groaning into the hot midday air. Meet with your advisor, they said. It would be helpful, they said.

Whoever they were, they were wrong. She'd wasted thirty minutes listening to her advisor regurgitate conclusions she'd already reached on her own.

She was the only one who could decide what she wanted to do with her life, but it would be easier if she stuck with her darshan. If she switched, she'd be starting from scratch, with only an abundance of elective credits to show for her suffering. They'd suggested that she shop around the darshan a bit, perhaps chat with the professors and get better acquainted with the different fields available and what paths they led down.

Which wasn't a bad idea, but it required more time than she had readily available. If she could barely squeeze a half-hour meeting into the time between her classes and work, how was she meant to explore?

There were some events coming up within the darshan. If she asked early enough, she might be able to get someone to cover her shift.

That would be a problem for another day. For now, she had to worry about today's shift as it loomed over the horizon. Twenty minutes away. Enough time to loaf around a little before she started walking over to the café.

Sliding her laptop into her backpack, she pulled out her phone. Several texts awaited, and she'd missed a call from Aether. He hadn't left a voicemail. They understood each other in that regard, at least— they were both always on their feet. Catching each other at a good time was nothing short of a miracle.

It was strange. They went to the same school, but rarely saw each other face-to-face. The opportunity to forge herself an identity that wasn't tangled in his was something of a blessing and a curse; some days, she missed being one half of a pair. Back then, they'd told each other everything. They'd kept each other's secrets. Been their own best friends.

Even when Aether was bedridden and she had to monitor his temperature and fetch him water and clean out the buckets when he got sick, she'd never held it against him. She'd hated the situation and sometimes her parents, but it was never Aether's fault.

They'd known each other as well as they'd known themselves. Now they were borderline acquaintances, separated by secrets and their diverging paths.

Loss was a part of growing up. Loss of innocence, loss of the vivacity that made every day seem long and bright, loss of friends and family and neighbors and people she'd already forgotten. She was used to it, but it still struck her sometimes. The dead crawled out from their graves and their absence sank into a consciousness that had forgotten their shape, their voice, the way they had filled the world.

She could call Aether. She should call Aether. There were a lot of shoulds nowadays.

Instead, she peeled herself from her chair and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Picking a direction that led vaguely toward Puspa Café, she began to walk.

Students milled about, walking in pairs or groups or alone, chatting on phones or looking at nothing. None of the faces were familiar. The Akademiya was Sumeru's largest school. It was one of the largest universities in all of Teyvat; it shouldn't have been surprising that the place was packed with strangers.

Mondstadt, capital city of the nation of Mondstadt— much to the confusion of many— wasn't small by any means. Days could pass where she couldn't pick a face out of a crowd. But there was something odder here, something isolating, about being alone around so many others. At least back home, she'd been able to put names to some unfamiliar faces, and the people mulled about a little more.

Sumeru City itself was somewhat laid-back, but the Akademiya was alive with bustle. Everyone was going somewhere or doing something. It was electric, and it was lonely.

The sun shone down from on high, hot and humid. The air was so damp she could feel it on her skin, even through the sheen of sweat that had accumulated throughout her meeting, and it made breathing harder. Her lungs were used to the biting cold, where every exhale clouded in the air around her. The humidity, though she'd been breathing it for years, was still foreign.

The wildlife, not so much. A gecko skittered by on the pavement, dodging the shadows of people and their stomping feet. Getting used to the reptiles had taken a while. The first time she'd found one in her house, clinging to the wall of her shower like it belonged there, she'd screamed. And chased it out of the house with a broom.

Which had probably been an overreaction, but she'd never taken kindly to invaders. Aether had been scared of the creepy-crawlies that snuck into their home in Mondstadt, so she'd learned to swallow down her own fear and kill them early on.

Even better than the animals were the plants. Sumeru was home to the most gorgeous, most vibrant megaflora she'd ever seen. Everywhere she looked, there were bushes or ferns or trees or wildflowers or fungi. It was easy to see that this land had once been a rainforest— through tireless efforts of unseen staff, the campus looked constantly on the verge of being swallowed by nature once more.

The sky was blue and speckled with clouds. No rain had been predicted in the forecast, but that meant little in a place where the weather could turn at the drop of a hat. Towering trees loomed in the distance, upholding the border between civilization and the wild, disturbed only by a few roads that ran through and the scientists who went out to study it.

That was an option— she could go into botany. She could join a survey team or work with the Akademiya to study the plant life in the rainforest. Or she could become a zoologist. The Akademiya offered perfect pipelines for either field, fit with research and internship opportunities to equip its graduates as the best of the best.

Botany seemed more enticing than zoology. She didn't dislike animals, but she wasn't particularly fond of them, either. They'd had a cat growing up, a mangy stray they'd found wandering the neighborhood and demanded their parents let them keep, but it hadn't left her with the desire to adopt another. Or to study animals.

Besides, a lot of the fauna in the rainforest was dangerous. The last thing she wanted was to be mauled to death by a rishboland tiger or dragged underwater by a spinocrocodile.

But the idea of studying the plants that grew around them didn't quite excite her. She knew what passion for the field looked like; she saw it every time Collei spoke of her pursuits. Without that spark, Lumine wasn't sure she'd be better off studying plants than nursing.

The café came into view as her speculations drew to a close. She felt a little closer to finding something new for herself, but not enough to have an answer.

Though she was early, she entered the café, tying on her apron and sitting for a bit in the break room. No one came to warn her of any strange customers, so she spent the time trying to pry herself from the worries that weighed her down.

It was better to keep her work and personal lives separate. That meant not letting her worries plague her while she worked, lest they tank her focus, and thus her muscle memory. It was easy enough before, when her only persistent problem was her dissatisfaction with her classes. Any distraction could take her mind off of that. But with the gravity of Wanderer's situation coming into focus, it was harder to let the groove of things sweep her thoughts clean.

He'd been quiet lately. It'd been nice at first, when she'd come home and gotten off scot-free of any jabs or sly quips, but relief had quickly given way to concern. Wanderer still spoke when she made conversation, but he seemed preoccupied.

Considering what he'd shared, he had every right to be. But all of that had been present before he'd told Lumine. Why was it bothering him more now?

Loath as she was to admit it, his silence was bothering her. She missed arguing, if only for the sake of spirited conversation. Whatever was weighing on his mind had been rubbing off on her, too.

She felt jumpier and weighed down by an unfamiliar unease. She'd taken to glancing over her shoulder during her walks home, scanning the scenery with more caution than she'd bothered with before. It was a short walk, and the city was safe. There were no boogeymen in the bushes or spies hiding between buildings, watching her every move to track Wanderer down.

They, whoever they were, had no reason to suspect Lumine of harboring their fugitive. Unless they'd had someone watching the neighborhood on the evening they'd left to get a new picture frame, nobody knew he was staying at her house. Nobody knew there was anyone staying at her house.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that trouble was brewing around the corner. People on the lookout for Wanderer had come to the café twice. Two visits to one location when they had a whole city to comb through. Could that be a coincidence? Could there be something she wasn't seeing, a rift in her caution and silence?

With this still plaguing her mind, she rose and took up her post at the counter. The day dragged on, made sluggish by the heat of the sun, and it didn't get any easier. She had to ask customers to repeat their names at least six times, and an untimely jerk of her arm as the door chimed nearly sent all of their baklava skyward. Then floorward.

Only a few pieces fell, thankfully, and she managed to pick them up and discard them before the baker came in with more and chided her for being wasteful.

Closing couldn't come soon enough. Once the last customer was out, she'd worried herself into a thundering headache. She rubbed her temples in vain, trying to ease the throbbing, the bandage on her finger catching along her brow. The cut beneath was healing well, but she preferred not to handle food and drinks, especially for other people, with an open wound.

Popping a few over-the-counter painkillers from her backpack, she washed them down with a handful of water from the sink in the break room. They wouldn't kick in for a while, but she'd thank herself later. It wasn't easy to fall asleep when it felt like someone was using her head as a bass drum.

The humid air outside did nothing to help the situation. Not that it was ever helpful, except in keeping her skin from drying out and keeping the plants moist. But it'd been three days since their last bout of rain. In Sumeru, that was tantamount to a drought. No matter how much moisture there was in the air, the plants reaped no benefits if none got into the soil.

For the first time since moving here, she might have to water the garden.

It was absurd. A smile crept across her cheeks, quenched moments later by an ache behind her eyes. Fucking headache. She'd gotten them more often as a child, but they'd always been like this, like lightning, striking hard and without warning. The walk home wouldn't do her any favors, but if she ate something and kept hydrated, the painkillers would work their magic soon enough. It'd silence whatever pain signals were flaring in her nerves and reduce any inflammation that might be making them go haywire.

It was treatment for the symptoms, not the cause. No dose of medication could uproot her worries from where they festered in some hostile no-man's land in her psyche. Some could dull the burden, but with so much at stake, it would be best to remain as lucid as possible. If she let her guard down, something could slip her notice.

So she went, worrying all the way home, making her headache worse. At least she wouldn't have to make dinner; they were finishing up the dregs of Friday's stew tonight. They would sit at the table in silence broken only by the occasional scrape of silverware against dishware, and Lumine would try to pretend like everything was fine.

Her house was a welcome sight, dark windows promising a reprieve from the light outside. Though day was waning, it was just bright enough out to worsen the pounding in her skull. Bushes lined the front of the house, snaking around its sides. They didn't sprout flowers or fruits, but she tended them with the same care she gave her crops. They were something to look at. A slice of reality in this cold, dead place.

The street was quiet. Lumine shot one last glance over her shoulder, scanning the scenery for any hidden things. Anything suspicious, anything worthy of note. There was nothing to see; there were no children playing in the slim front yards, nor was there anyone on the sidewalk. Window-lights lit the street, each a person or a family winding down for the night

Nothing but tumult brewed in the darkness beyond her windows. She'd have to face it one of these days, probably confront Wanderer directly about what had him so taciturn. That could wait until her head stopped waging war on the rest of her body.

Slipping her key from a pocket, she glanced at the bush that hid her hiding place, the one she'd stolen the spare from. Sadness struck her for a moment— for years, that little space had had a purpose. She'd turned a slight defect into something useful. Now, it was nothing but a cosmetic blemish her landlord considered unworthy of fixing.

She hadn't invited anyone over, lately, so the key wouldn't be missed. But she'd have to remember its absence when that changed.

When Wanderer was gone.

Wincing and pressing the heel of her right hand to her forehead, she unlocked the door with her left. The key slid easily into place, clicking something in the lock as she turned it. Darkness greeted her in the foyer, a space she could navigate with her eyes shut.

She strode inside, pulled the key from its place, and locked the door behind her. Then, falling into routine, she slipped out of her shoes and shrugged off her bag, cutting through the living room to set it down.

Wanderer was sprawled out on the couch, propped against the armrest, reading one of her books. She smiled when he raised his gaze to acknowledge her, cocking a brow. "Something funny?"

"You finally caved," She answered, nodding to the book in his hands. He pulled it closer to his chest, teeth clenching. "Boredom'll do that to you."

He rolled his eyes in lieu of a retort, returning his attention to the book. She leaned over the back of the couch to see which one— it was one of the classics she'd set out, something she'd read once or twice and finished each time more confused than the last. Hopefully he was enjoying it.

Opening her bedroom door, she set her bookbag down, then looked around the room. It was the same as always. A haven of color amidst the path-of-least-resistance minimalism. A place occupied more by dust than its inhabitant. She really needed to clean. Her wall-shelves were growing cobwebs, and the papers on her desk were multiplying.

She really didn't want to clean. That, like everything else, could be a tomorrow problem. Or a this weekend problem, since she wouldn't have enough time to give the room the attention it needed until then.

Directionless, she meandered outside, lingering in her doorway for a moment. Wanderer flipped a page, offering no acknowledgement of her presence. Her mind itched for conversation, for connection to fill something empty within her, but her mind was also under siege by the worst headache she'd had in months, maybe years. Rational desires could not be expected under such circumstances. Nor were they conducive to the wit she'd need if they were going to spar with their words.

Though hungry, Lumine was in no hurry to sate her growling stomach. Instead, she slipped outside, peeling off her socks and walking barefoot into the grass. It was soft and sharp, the ground solid beneath. Moisture leeched at her skin; the humidity preserved dew and kept the grass damp almost all day.

The constant supply of water kept the grass greener here. In Mondstadt, it was only this vibrant after the last snow-melt of winter, after a season of dormancy and inundation of the soil. That was one of her favorite things about Sumeru.

Right. She'd been planning to water the plants.

Back home, there'd been a hose in their backyard, but such luxuries were not afforded to the humbly-housed here. For the rare occasions she needed to water the plants herself, she kept a watering can leaned against the porch, dull with age and flaky with rust.

She brought it into the house, marveling at how time and humidity had warped it, and filled it in the kitchen sink. Not the most hygienic place to fill it, perhaps, but it was the only sink deep enough to wedge the can under the faucet.

It was heavier when full. Not unbearable, but cumbersome enough that she had to walk slowly and carefully to avoid spillage.

She felt eyes on her back as she heaved it outside, but didn't look over her shoulder. She didn't acknowledge when he came out, either, standing on the porch with his hands in his pockets, head tilted as though he was waiting to see what she'd do. As if it wasn't obvious, considering the tool in her hand.

As she approached the garden, she dashed her foot on a stone. She stumbled forward, catching herself, but not before swinging the watering can so a quarter of its contents shot out through the spout. Her foot stung, finding some relief in the grass, but not much.

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks and she was seized by the childish urge to sob. She'd scraped her knees enough as a child to learn to walk it off without turning up the waterworks, but now, with a pounding head and exhaustion heavy in her bones and the weight of the world on her shoulders, she wanted nothing more than to break down. Right here, right now, barefoot in her backyard, watering can still in hand.

But Wanderer was watching. Wanderer, whose eyes could pierce right through her soul. Wanderer, who would make snide comments for the rest of their time together if she cried over something this small. Wanderer, who her pride demanded she not make a fool of herself in front of.

So she bit back her tears, gritted her teeth, and marched up to the nearest garden box, somber as a soldier. It brought her back and arms relief, to lighten the watering can. It brought something deeper, something primal and human and scared, relief to tend to another living thing.

Dimly, she registered the sound of footsteps in the grass. She didn't look up, transfixed on her duty, mind a million miles away.

"Hey, you're going to drown the plants."

She blinked. Remained still.

A hand found her wrist, grip firm, almost painful. It forced the watering can down, away from the plants. "Hey, I said you're going to drown the fucking plants. What's wrong with you?"

She blinked again. Met his eyes. She thought about screaming. Drowning. Of being a plant, rooted to the earth, slowly suffocating as the soil around her became heavy and dark with water.

Then the grip around her wrist tightened and she was back, standing in her yard, looking at Wanderer.

"Did you want something?" She asked. The painkiller was starting to kick in; it was eating away at the edge of the throbbing, lightening her load by a percent of a fraction.

Here he was, the source of almost all her troubles, holding her wrist and looking at her like she was the only thing in the world. Like he was the only thing anchoring her to the world, or she was the only thing anchoring him to the world. Anchors were funny things. She'd never given them much thought, but their purpose was counterproductive. They were to tether a vessel always meant for movement, when movement wasn't wanted.

They made a ship useless. With its anchor down, it was nothing more than an impressive structure of driftwood floating on the surf.

Wanderer's jaw clenched. Real anger flashed through his eyes. "Did I want something? Is that really why you think I followed you out here?"

It was a loaded question, a trapdoor ready to spring shut as soon as she was ushered inside. As Lumine held his gaze, the sky caught fire behind him, bathing the trees and houses beyond in perfect shadow. The sunsets here were beautiful. He was beautiful, and some part of her hated herself for acknowledging it. That made it impossible to ignore. "I don't know why you followed me out here, but when people seek me out, it's usually because they want something."

Whether that was her company or her advice or entertainment, she was a means to an end. Everyone was. She was here to offer Wanderer shelter, and he was here to open her eyes to what she'd been refusing to see.

"If there's anything I want, it's for you to stop pretending everything is fine."

The words came out low, quiet, nearly indistinguishable from the breeze. They halted her thoughts, rerouted them. Few things were fine, and she knew exactly which he was referring to. "It's better that way, though. Isn't it? If there's nothing you can do but hide until you're sniffed out, we may as well pretend things are normal. You'll exhaust yourself, living on edge all the time."

"This isn't about me. It's about all the forced conversations you keep dragging me into and the way you're dancing around how much danger you're in. You don't get it. The people after me aren't going to care that you know fuck-all about me. They are going to see you as a potential threat, and as an obstacle, and they will kill you too."

Lumine's blood ran cold; there was no theater in Wanderer's voice, nothing to suggest exaggeration. Just the numb frustration of someone resigned to their fate but still plagued by fighting spirit. And a certainty that he'd entangled someone else deep in his web of troubles.

Was this guilt, then? Or self-loathing? It was difficult to say. She'd have to pry a little harder to find out. One headache after the other.

"And that's been bothering you?"

"Bothering me? It's been eating me alive." Ripping his hands through his hair, Wanderer ducked his head, beginning to pace. He seemed every bit as dangerous as he'd been that first day, when he'd been convinced of her guilt in the scheme unfurling around them. Trust had been brittle, then, no stronger than tissue paper, but things were different now. "I mean, it's fucking ridiculous. You go out of your way to save someone, put up with all their bullshit, and what do they do in return? Drag you six feet under a death sentence. And you're still talking with me and eating with me and smiling at me like I deserve it, like you don't even care."

Lumine's heart grew heavy in her chest. Guilt, then, laced with self-hatred. He was blaming himself for something he couldn't change or solve. Her hands curled into fists as she thought, mind racing to come up with a way to calm him down, but no argument came.

He wasn't wrong. No good deed went unpunished. In saving his life, she'd doomed her own.

But she hadn't even saved his life. She'd simply prolonged the inevitable.

No. They weren't going to die. She wasn't going to die, and she wasn't going to let anyone kill him, either. They would figure something out.

But what?

She could practically feel her headache resurfacing, fighting against the restraints of her painkiller to be heard. That was something she could figure out later. Like everything else important. For now, she had to calm Wanderer down.

"I do care, you know."

Wanderer stopped, mid-pivot, and turned to look her in the eye. His lips parted, but no words emerged.

So she continued, "I value my life quite a lot, actually. It's not easy, but I very much enjoy being alive." She loved her friends and good food and growing a garden every year. All of that hinged on being alive. "But I value yours, too. We're friends. And I'm not giving up on either of us just yet. No matter how bad things are, I'm not kicking you to the curb.

"Sure, you've put me in a lot of danger. That sucks. But I don't blame you for it, and I don't want you to blame yourself for it, either. I chose to bring you home, fully recognizing the suspicious circumstances. You didn't choose to be hunted down by whoever's after you, nor did you choose to share that burden with me. It just… happened. It's how the circumstances played out."

Indigo eyes wide and wild, Wanderer stalked closer, stopping when they stood toe-to-toe, inches apart, close enough for Lumine to feel his breath plume over her face. Gods, he was ethereal. Skin speckled with scars and imperfections, eyelashes long over his eyes, lips thin and scowling, he was perfectly human. He made focus impossible.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Was she getting a crush?

"Don't you hate me? I tried to kill you. I might yet get you killed." His voice was weaker, now, desperate. He wanted her to say yes. He wanted her to say no. He wanted vindication, he wanted a chance at redemption. He was a storm, and she was collateral damage, a wreck to be left in his wake.

She didn't even know his name. How was she in this deep, and she didn't even know his name?

All she could do was shake her head. "I don't hate you. Don't ask why— I should, probably, or at least I should hold a grudge. But I've always been pretty bad at that." It was why she'd put up with so many years of being Aether's nurse. Any resentment she'd let fester toward her parents went up in smoke whenever she saw them or spoke to them. "My self-preservation instinct is non-existent."

"When we die, then it's natural selection. Not a tragedy or a bad decision."

"A lot of bad decisions, really, but natural selection sounds better."

She took a step back, smiling in spite of herself. If Wanderer's people didn't get to her first, Aether was going to kill her. She might be falling for a stranger. A dangerous stranger with a mysterious past gaining speed in the rear-view mirror. A walking red flag.

What did that make her, colorblind?

"Now that we've made peace with how fucked we are, how about we head inside?" She asked, swinging the watering can between her hands. "I'll try not to drown the plants, and you can get back to your book. Or we can eat, if you're ready."

Expression evening into inscrutable apathy, Wanderer shook his head. "I'll stay out here with you. It's a nice change, the fresh air."

"A little warmer than the air inside, though."

He hummed in acknowledgement, and quiet fell between them. When the watering can grew empty, he took it from her hands, carried it inside, and returned a minute later with a full can. Water sloshed freely into the grass from the top; some struck her foot. It was lukewarm, slipping between her toes and into the soil beneath.

She nodded her thanks and resumed watering.

After a minute or two without words, he cleared his throat, testing the air. Lumine tilted her head, meeting his gaze over her shoulder.

With an uncharacteristic caution, he asked, "Have you figured out what you're going to study yet?"

Lumine quirked a brow. They'd discussed this before, but she hadn't expected him to bring it up again. Her lack of direction was the kind of thing he'd rub in her face, not care about. The warmth it rose in her chest was as unexpected as the concern itself. "Not quite. I've given it some thought, but it's not something you can rush. The only thing all this thinking has told me is that I don't really know who I am. Or what I'm interested in spending the rest of my life doing."

Frowning, Wanderer echoed, "You don't know who you are?"

"On a deeper level, I guess. Outside of the expectations of my parents and Aether and everyone who assumed things would align with what he wanted. I mean, everyone assumed I'd grow up to be the nurse to his doctor. It seemed inevitable." Tightening her grip around the watering can, she ducked her head, staring into the grass. "I never really thought about whether it was what I wanted. It was what he wanted, and for a long time, those were one in the same."

She hadn't noticed the divergence. It was slow, quiet, slipping silently between them as their identities forged, untwining from the perfect unity of early-childhood twindom. Now they were different people, moving in their own orbits, rarely intersecting. They would never recapture that harmony again— not even if Lumine gritted her teeth and kept fighting for Aether's dream.

Because it wasn't her own. It had never been her own. And, in its presence, she had never fostered ambitions of her own.

She watered the last plant with a light heart. Though the words had been heavy, it felt good to have them off her chest. Some part of her was glad Wanderer had been the one to hear. She couldn't tell Aether, not without a concrete plan, and if she told her friends, they wouldn't understand.

Maybe Wanderer didn't understand either. But something about telling him made the stakes lower. He wouldn't take it too seriously. At the worst, he'd crack a few jokes at her expense and move on. He was too deep in his own shit to get lost in hers.

That was what she thought, at least. His next words shattered that illusion in an instant.

"I know who you are."

Turning to face him, watering can clutched between her hands, a lifeline, she tilted her head. "Enlighten me?"

Raising his chin and squaring his shoulders, Wanderer began, "You're a vegetarian who loves plants way too much. It's weird to put so much care into something, just to eat it. You're someone with shitty taste in books who works way too much to afford space for your garden. You're the kind of person who takes in an injured stranger and still trusts them after they hold a knife to your throat." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Most people would've just called an ambulance. Or walked away."

"I was going to, actually. But it slipped my mind the day I found you, and then the next morning was so hectic…" She'd woken up late and sprained her ankle in a panic. "Then you threatened to kill me."

Threatened felt like a soft word to describe having a knife held to her throat, but she'd forgiven his paranoia long ago. Or maybe she'd never held it against him— she'd seen the cornered animal in his eyes that day, the desperation that called to her like a siren's song, luring her into his tragedy. It wasn't a smart decision, perhaps, but they'd already established her lack of self-preservation. This was par for the course.

Jaw clenching, Wanderer looked away. "That was hasty of me. I shouldn't have assumed you were with them."

Lumine arched a brow. Was that an apology? From Wanderer?

"Yeah, you shouldn't have. But with everything you've told me, I can't really blame you." If she'd been attacked by a group of people hunting her, passed out, and woke up in someone's house, she might have assumed ill intent as well. "You're saying I'm strange, then?"

"Strange and naïve and an idiot and beautif—" He cut himself off abruptly, ducking his head. It was too dark for Lumine to see the fluster creeping up his neck and settling into the tips of his ears. "Anyway. We should head inside."

It wasn't odd for his demeanor to change on a dime, but this particular shift seemed different. Forced. Like he was done sharing everything he needed to share, but it wasn't going to change anything. He was going to go back to pretending she didn't exist.

No. That wasn't going to happen. She wouldn't let him suffocate alone. "Hey, d'you wanna watch a movie or something?"

They couldn't cower. The situation might be terrifying, but they had to make the most of it. If that meant pretending everything was normal until danger knocked at their doorstep, so be it.

Nose wrinkling like she'd said something outlandish, Wanderer replied, "A movie? Why?"

"Take our mind off of things for the evening. Spend a little time together." She didn't mean to say the last part out loud, but Wanderer didn't seem too displeased by the idea. If anything, his frown softened. "I can make popcorn."

"Popcorn?" He spoke as if the mere word offended him. Like eating popcorn was a new low he would not sink to. "That's the shittiest meal I can imagine. We've got leftover stew, and you're trying to have popcorn?"

The stew had at least one or two more days in the fridge; it'd be fine. "C'mon, I'm a college student. We eat garbage for dinner all the time."

Wanderer scoffed. "I've never seen you with so much as a microwaveable dinner or a cup of ramen."

That was fair. Her diet was far from the stereotype. "Well, today I'm shaking things up." A bowl of popcorn sounded heavenly. She didn't slather it with butter like Aether did, and she didn't eat it all that often, but hosting movie nights for her friends had given her an appreciation for it. As much an appreciation as someone could have for a bland snack that got stuck between teeth, anyway. "Though I'll probably feel like shit in the morning if that's all I eat. I'll have a real dinner after the movie's over. How about that?"

Crossing his arms, Wanderer sighed. "Fine."

Stalking ahead of her, he opened the door, propping it open until she was close enough to hold it. He flopped unceremoniously onto the couch as Lumine strode into the kitchen, fishing through the snack cupboard for a bag of microwaveable popcorn.

Venti had acted offended by this particular choice the first time she'd had him over. Half the fun, or so he said, was pouring kernels into a popcorn popper and watching them shoot across the room. She told him he was welcome to do it that way if he bought a popper, and he hadn't complained since.

Wanderer would probably gripe about it regardless.

Shaking her head, Lumine left the microwave to work its magic, scouring for a bowl that would hold an entire bag. She only owned one; they'd have to share. Wanderer would probably have something to say about that too. She'd never met someone to whom complaints came so naturally.

Sure, his situation was shitty, but mindset was half the battle. If he kept walking through life convinced that everything around him existed with the sole, gleeful intent of bringing him harm, he was never going to realize that he was wrong. Which, granted, was probably a hard change to make while there were people in the city looking to end his life.

Hers, too, if it came to it.

A shiver ran down her spine. Whoever these people were, they must've been formidable, to crush a spirit so full of vengeful fire. And they must've been wide-spread, to have people in every nation on the lookout.

He'd assumed she was one of them. That meant he didn't know all of them. Anyone could be among the ranks of those hunting him down.

Damn. This just kept getting bleaker.

For a moment Lumine felt ridiculous, standing in her kitchen as the popcorn came alive, filling the room with the sound of muted artillery. Wanderer's life was in danger, hers was in the crossfire, and they were going to watch a movie. And eat popcorn. Maybe he'd been right to ignore her, to fight against the façade of normalcy she'd been trying to maintain.

No. She couldn't believe that. She wouldn't. They were making the most of things until they blew over. Here, trapped behind the walls of her house, he may as well be dead to the world outside. Nobody would find a trace of him, and they'd stop looking. Then he could leave.

And he'd leave an absence in the house that would take months to heal.

The microwave blared, breaking Lumine from her thoughts. She emptied the bag into the bowl, then added a sensible amount of butter. It was no movie theater fix, fit with a huge fountain drink and recliner seats, but it was better than nothing.

Back in the living room, she found Wanderer sitting on the far end of the couch, leaning against the pillow. He was wearing the clothes she'd lent him; a black fitted t-shirt and sweatpants of the same color. At some point, they'd need to get him clothes of his own. Not that she minded him wearing them— he made them look better than she did. But he couldn't be comfortable wearing someone else's style all the time.

"Here it is!" Lumine announced, presenting the bowl of popcorn. She set it at the center of the coffee table, within reach of them both, and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

This was, technically, his bed. She was intruding on what little space she had to give him. If that bothered him, he didn't say anything.

"Keep it on your side," He replied, pushing it across the table. "I don't eat popcorn."

Tilting her head, Lumine asked, "How can you dislike something that doesn't have any taste?"

"It's empty food. It only exists so people have something to shove in their faces at the movies. And to make the theaters more money."

She couldn't argue with that; most places charged an exorbitant fee for concession snacks. On the rare times she and Aether had gone as children, their parents snuck snacks in from home. Such secrecy was perhaps the sole benefit purses had over pockets. "Still, it's the principle of the thing. This is how people celebrate watching movies."

"Most movies aren't worth the celebration." Looking away, Wanderer grabbed the remote from his end table, bringing the TV to life. It opened on the news, where a tired-looking reporter stood in front of a dreary office building, ducked under the awning to avoid the rain she could hear pattering in the background.

"…investigation is still ongoing. The Tenryou Commission is asking anyone with information about the missing man, Raiden Kuniku—"

Wanderer jammed his thumb into the remote, jerking the channel into static. His free fist was clenched so hard the tendons in his wrist were popping out.

Reaching for a handful of popcorn, Lumine shot him a sideways glance. "You good?"

Eye twitching, Wanderer continued cycling through the channels. "I'm fine."

Spoken like a champion deflector. But it was just the news— plenty of people avoided it. It sounded like they were reporting from Inazuma; maybe he didn't want to be reminded of home.

"You can open the channel menu, you know. That's a lot faster than cycling through them."

Groaning, Wanderer hissed, "I know that." And, apparently, he did. Seconds later, they were looking at the channel menu. The variety was pitiful, and only one was showing a movie. It was a channel her friends jeered about every time they came over; all of the movies were cheesy rom-coms with actors that all looked the same, and every plot was recycled and rehashed with slightly different set dressing.

And that was their only option. This was going to be a long evening.

Steeling herself for an hour and a half of awkward dialogue and forced chemistry, Lumine grabbed a handful of popcorn.

As the movie progressed, she noticed Wanderer's attention wandering. He'd be looking at the screen, but the next time she glanced over, their eyes would meet. He'd look away quickly, then. Sometimes he was looking at the popcorn instead.

Shit. He was probably hungry too. Unless she came home outrageously late, he waited for her to have dinner. Now she'd postponed his meal and was subjecting him to some of the worst cinema around.

At least they could understand it. Most of her channels broadcast in Sumerian, not the common tongue. She'd been picking up bits and pieces from overheard conversation and signage, but since Sumeru City and the Akademiya were populated by people from all over Teyvat, most information was available in common.

She missed Mondstadtian. Speaking it, at least.

Sneaking a glance at Wanderer, Lumine wondered if he felt the same. At least she had a brother and a few friends who also spoke her mother tongue in case the longing grew too great to bear. Did he know anyone else who spoke Inzauman?

Did he speak Snezhnayan as well? He must have, if he'd lived there for business.

His eyes found hers, curious. This time, he held her stare until she broke contact, reaching for another handful of popcorn. There was already a kernel wedged between her molars, too tight to wiggle it out with her tongue.

Lumine looked at him again. He was staring at the popcorn like a long lost lover.

Trying her best to be discreet, Lumine shifted closer to the middle of the couch, sliding the bowl closer between them.

Faintly, beneath the din of the movie, Lumine could hear Wanderer's breath hitch. Then he was closer, leaving a foot between them, and his hand was stretching tentatively toward the bowl.

Sweet, sweet victory. But not the kind she'd rub in. This was quiet, subtle, and to both of their benefits.

A few moments later, she was closer. Then, after another couple of minutes, his leg pressed into hers.

He went tense, then relaxed. Lumine brushed her bangs from her face, knuckles brushing his ear. When they locked eyes again, his face was flushed in the glaring light of the television.

Lumine's heart skipped a beat. Her fingers twitched, begging for occupation, eager to shovel more popcorn into her mouth so she'd have something else to think about. Because she really, really did not want to dwell on what her heart was doing. It's physiology. A natural response to close proximity.

Bullshit. Her friends didn't know the meaning of personal space, and she'd never reacted to their intrusions like that.

Forcing herself to breathe evenly, Lumine turned her attention back to the movie, watching the protagonist and her love interest play in the snow like children, giggling as they rediscovered the magic of winter. Good for them. They were simple people in a simple situation. They could heed whatever whims their heart set them on without fear of endangering each other's lives.

If she didn't nip this— whatever this was— in the bud fast, she'd tumble head-first into something neither of them could afford. Something so tantalizing and terrifying and intoxicating that it overrode all rationale and laughed in the face of wisdom.

While training her focus on the movie, her eyelids began to droop. It wasn't all that late, but the couch was comfortable and warm, coaxing her to give into the fringes of her exhaustion that no amount of sleep could shake off. She tried to stay strong, fighting off sleep by forcing her eyes open and actually listening to the movie, but her efforts were in vain.

Sometime halfway through the movie, she drifted off. Her head, without the conscious effort of her neck keeping it upright, drifted sideways. It landed on Wanderer's shoulder, her hair tumbling down to tickle the skin beyond his sleeve.

Dreamless oblivion awaited. She drifted in the depths of her unconscious for a little under an hour.

Lumine woke to someone gently shaking her shoulder. Blinking open bleary eyes, she groaned and lifted her head from a sharp, rather uncomfortable pillow. A dull ache radiated through her neck; bad posture was catching up to her already.

"That bad, huh?"

She frowned, turning toward the source of the voice beside her. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of Wanderer, bathed in darkness, sitting cross-legged beside her, lips curled into a smirk. The movie.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess it was." Peeling herself from the couch required herculean effort, but she managed, limbs heavy with the urge to fall right back to sleep. "Not good enough to be interesting, not bad enough to be funny."

"Boring enough to fall asleep to," Wanderer added, standing up beside her. Stretching out his arms and cracking his knuckles, he gestured toward the kitchen. "Now that that's over, it's time to eat."

Dinner. Right. All she'd had to eat since lunch was half a bowl of popcorn. No wonder her stomach felt empty. "But it's going to take forever to fall asleep if I eat now."

Rectifying her hunger would create a different issue— discomfort. It was the healthier of the two evils, but right now she wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep through the rest of the week.

One glance at the glint in Wanderer's eye was enough to tell her that wouldn't be happening. With all the moral righteousness of a crossing guard on a power trip, he said, "You made your bed. Now you have to lie in it."

Smug fucking bastard. This could not be her type.

Chapter Text

Swirling an ungodly amount of sugar into a customer's drink, Lumine breathed in the rich smell of coffee. Years at the café had dulled her olfactory sense to the aroma, but this was a particularly strong brew. Hence the sugar. She could almost taste it in the steam rising from the cup, sweet and suffocating. Coffee with a side of diabetes, just as intended.

Expressing none of this aloud or on her face, she capped the drink, forced a smile, and handed it to the woman on the other side of the counter. She had deeper bags under her eyes than Lumine had ever seen on a person, and the golden depths they circled were trying to stay open in a losing battle. If anyone needed such a butchered brew, it was this girl.

Layla. That was the name she'd given, punctuated by a yawn. Lumine vaguely recognized her from her long ringlets of blue hair, but she'd never put a name to the face. And, after today, she'd probably never have to know.

"That'll be a thousand mora."

Eyes slipping shut again, Layla reached into a pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. She pressed them into the counter, reaching for her coffee as Lumine counted the total. A thousand even. No fussing about the price, no complaints about how long it'd taken to prepare her order. That kind of shit might fly at the bazaar, where most prices came with some wiggle room, but it was not tolerated at the Puspa Café.

Neither was employees interacting with their phones on the clock. But when Lumine's phone hummed in her pocket with an incoming call, she slipped it out. There was no one else waiting right now, and the next round of pastries wasn't due for some time.

The number staring back at her was unfamiliar. Were it not for the caller ID, she would have dismissed the call and resumed work, equilibrium still intact.

But seeing the words Home Phone light up her screen sent her heart into her throat.

Most days, she forgot the house had a working landline. No one ever called, except the few scammers who plucked the number from who knew where, so she kept it in the closet, plugged in to charge but never used. That it was in use now, though, and trying to contact her, could only mean one thing.

Wanderer was calling.

Gritting her teeth, Lumine slid her phone back into her pocket and ducked her head into the kitchen. Sweat wicked onto her palms. She wiped them on her apron, trying not to look suspicious.

She met eyes with the baker. For the life of her, she couldn't remember their name. Not now.

"Hey, sorry. Bathroom emergency. Can you cover for a sec?"

Was it embarrassing? Yes. But it was better than the alternative.

Rolling their eyes, they grumbled something under their breath and passed her. "I've got ajilenakh cake in the oven. If you're not back by the time they're done, I'm getting Enteka out."

Lumine grimaced. As manager, Enteka dealt with administrative matters. She rarely came to man the counter. The few times she had, she'd made it clear she didn't enjoy it. Who did? It would put Lumine in hot water to force Enteka to cover for her, but what other option was there? It was her fault for not hiring enough staff in the first place.

Regardless, she headed into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the light. The ventilation kicked on as the fluorescents above came to life. Perfect for masking conversation.

Hands shaking, she opened her phone, cursing as her fingers flubbed their first two tries at inputting her password. She got in on the third attempt, opening the call log and tapping the latest number. Home Phone. Wanderer.

Was he okay? Was he safe?

The phone rang once. Twice.

Then the buzz was replaced by silence.

"Hello?" She hated how desperate she sounded. "Hey, are you there? What's going on?"

Nothing. Then his voice, a shallow hiss into an ancient speaker. "There's people trying to get in."

On a normal day, that would've made Lumine's heart sink. She didn't have much for anyone to steal, but that would make getting robbed no less traumatizing. Now, though, knowing what she knew, the situation was far worse. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom. Only room in the house with a lock."

Other than her bedroom. Which was probably the more comfortable option. It was accessible by the window, though, so the bathroom was probably the safer bet. "What are they doing?"

She could only imagine. She kept the doors and windows locked, but locks wouldn't stop anyone who was really determined. They could pick the lock, or somehow find out what generic key style is used. They could break a window— her cheapskate of a landlord definitely hadn't splurged on storm windows for the property. They could bust the back door off its hinges.

"Mostly banging on the doors and windows. It sounded like they were shouting something a while ago, but I don't hear it anymore." Voice taking on a little more confidence and a shred of snark, Wanderer added, "They're pretty bad at this. They aren't wearing masks or gloves, and the dude with black hair was pressing his whole face into the kitchen window."

Wait. "Did he have blue eyes?"

"How am I supposed to know? I wasn't paying attention."

An immense relief filled her. Sure, there were plenty of people out there with black hair, but only one would show up at her house in broad daylight, shout for her, and bang on her door like he wanted to bust it down. "Does he have braids? Two of them, framing his face. Blue highlights?"

Tongue clicking, Wanderer was quiet for a moment, then replied, "Yeah, I think so."

Lumine groaned. She'd been ready to assume the worst, but the worst had not yet come knocking. "I'm so sorry. It sounds like my friends invited themselves over. They're used to coming in with the spare key." A key that was no longer readily available. So they were trying to get in instead of giving up or calling her like normal people would.

"Your friends?"

"Yeah. They like to surprise me when I get home, sometimes." And give her a heart attack. They usually came bearing food and beverages, though, so their intrusion was welcome. It was a promise that the night would be boisterous and merry, and that no one was getting sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

Before, that was how she'd survived. Their presence made the slog of routine worth it. She hadn't invited them over in a while, though. Despite her excuses, they'd taken things into their own hands.

Wanderer couldn't let them in. And Lumine was twenty minutes away.

"They'll leave eventually, right? They should know you're not around."

Assuming it was the usual trio that'd come knocking, they should give up soon. Venti would fight until the bitter end, but Lyney and Lynette might be able to reason him into finding a better way to spend the afternoon. It had to get boring fast, waiting outside someone's house.

If they'd brought other company, it was impossible to say. Lumine couldn't handle the situation unless she was there.

She could call, but she'd been in the bathroom for long enough. The baker had definitely dragged Enteka to the front.

Sighing, Lumine crunched the numbers. She could afford to shave a few hours off her shift, but it'd put her in the hot seat for a while. It took years of covering others' shifts to build a good reputation, but one inconvenience could shatter that in an instant. But what other choice did she have? She couldn't wait for them to actually break a window, crawl inside, and discover Wanderer. Her landlord would kill her. Or at least file a lawsuit.

Rubbing her temples, Lumine sighed, "I'll come home."

"Aren't you at work?"

"All I need is a good excuse, and I'm out."

And it had to be a good excuse. She'd been made to work through colds and minor fevers; profit had no reverence for minor ailments, no matter how many people she could've gotten sick.

Almost too quickly, Wanderer had a suggestion. "Food poisoning."

Lumine frowned. She'd been fortunate enough never to suffer the wrath of food poisoning, but she knew a bit about the symptoms. "You think that'll work?"

"It comes on quickly, and it'll make you seem incapacitated without being an active hazard." Lumine pursed her lips. Food poisoning wasn't contagious, per se, but the viruses or bacteria that caused it were. She was disciplined about keeping her hands clean, so the chance she'd 'pass it on' to a customer was slim. Not that there was any real risk. "I'm guessing by the loud-ass ventilation in the background that they won't be able to dispute you."

Nope. The fans, loud as they were, would cover up the fact that she'd been on her phone, not fighting for her life on the toilet.

Dragging her hand down her face, Lumine sighed. This was a stupid solution for a stupid problem. "I'll be there as fast as I can."

Which wasn't very fast. Her backpack weighed her down too much for jogging, and every stoplight was a gamble. Not to mention all of the intersections without lights where most drivers conveniently forgot that pedestrians had the right-of-way. The walk home should take, in theory, twenty minutes, but the reality was nearly half an hour. Longer if the weather was bad.

"Good. See you then."

He hung up, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She looked around, drinking in the sterile bathroom, air still tangy with the smell of chemicals, ceiling lights blinding to stare at.

No use wasting any more time.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and washed her hands. Then she smeared some water across her forehead to look like she'd been sweating. This had to be convincing.

Mustering her best walk of shame, she headed for the front, avoiding the baker's pointed stare. There was no time for apologies now; she was on a mission.

Lumine heard Enteka before she saw her— that sharp voice and the pang of fear it struck in her heart was unmistakable. She wasn't an intimidating woman, standing no more than a few inches taller than Lumine, but she carried herself with an importance that inspired awe. And, in her employees, a mix of respect and fear. "…prices have not changed in several years. The price of coffee beans, however, has. Our prices are generous enough as they are. No amount of complaining is going to change that."

A small smile cut through the unease tingling through Lumine's bloodstream. She'd yearned to take that tone, condescending and scolding, with countless patrons before. It was always outweighed by a greater yearning to sustain her livelihood. Hearing Enteka lecture someone like that was music to her ears, an opportunity to live vicariously for one delicious moment before everything went to hell again.

Lumine waited until Enteka rang the customer up, took their mora, and sorted it into the register to clear her throat. Under Enteka's gaze, there was no need to feign sheepishness. It came naturally, as easy as breathing.

"Are you well, Lumine? It's been a quarter of an hour."

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of her friends trying to get into her house. What if they managed to get inside before she returned?

"Not really. I think I ate something bad last night." A beat of silence passed. Enteka raised a brow, wordlessly demanding explanation. How humiliating did this have to be? "Food poisoning."

Brown eyes narrowing, Enteka asked, "You've been washing your hands, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Good. But it would be irresponsible to allow you to continue working. Should multiple customers contract similar symptoms, it could be traced back to us." A pained look crossed Enteka's face. She must've been imagining the consequences: the stain on the café's reputation, the scrutiny on the working conditions of the staff. Neither were things she could afford. "Clock out and head home for the day. Notify me if this persists into tomorrow."

It wouldn't. But she didn't have to know that yet. "Okay. Thanks. Sorry to spring this on you all of a sudden."

With a shake of her head, Enteka replied, "We cannot control when we get sick; we can only take precautions to prevent it. I hope you feel better soon."

It was a kinder dismissal than she'd expected. Perhaps this wouldn't tarnish Lumine's image as a reliable employee. As much as she thought it would, at least. She was still forcing her boss to cover a large portion of her shift; that wasn't something anyone else could claim, and it wouldn't be forgotten quickly.

Muttering a quiet thanks, she slipped into the back, grabbed her backpack, and left. The afternoon sun was just reaching its apex, and a hot wind was blowing against Lumine. The pavement of the road ahead seemed to shimmer as she mounted the sidewalk, moving with purpose.

Because of her work schedule, she didn't see much of Sumeru in the afternoon. The workweek was in full swing, so there wasn't much traffic, and it was too hot for those fortunate enough not to be chipping away at a nine to five to go outside. Most of them, anyway. There were others on the sidewalk, chatting on their phones or in small groups, donning sunhats and sunglasses or fanning themselves.

Though the warmth could be pleasant, at its peak, the people of Sumeru united against it. Air conditioning, portable fans that sprayed cool mist, and breathable fabric was everywhere. There was talk of repaving the roads a lighter color so they wouldn't absorb so much heat. Lumine had learned fast upon moving that constant hydration and sunscreen were musts.

Her skin, pale and pasty from years under a sun shielded more often behind clouds than visible, did not know how to tan. It burned instead, turning reddish-pink and itchy and peeling with the promise of damage to her cells' DNA. Aether had it just as bad. They'd spent their first few months in Sumeru coordinating a search for the best sunscreen mora could buy.

It was a losing battle, but one Lumine fought every day under the scorching sun. Despite the heat and humidity and the dangerous animals and plants that prevented her from exploring the forests beyond as she'd once done in Mondstadt, she loved it here. Studying at the Akademiya was a dream come true, even though she wasn't sure what she wanted to study anymore. She missed winter, but not enough to yearn for home.

Almost a month ago they'd weathered a snowstorm. Though that was a fluke more than the norm, it had eased her nostalgia. And it had brought her something precious.

At the thought of Wanderer, she sped up, slipping her thumbs under the straps of her bag. Was he still hiding in the bathroom? How long had he been hiding before he'd called? When had he noticed the landline all but abandoned in the closet?

For all the time they'd known each other, he'd never asked for anything. Especially not help. For someone so proud and prickly, that must have taken courage. He trusted her to fix this.

Could she? Maybe, maybe not. It depended on who was trying to get in and how reasonable they were feeling.

Something brushed against her side. She jumped, shocked back into focus, in time to catch a glimpse of the person she'd passed. Something flashed in the corner of her vision. A badge? A pin? An insignia?

Lumine looked over her shoulder. From behind, she couldn't see whatever it was. A new wave of adrenaline coursed into her veins.

It could've been a coincidence. Paranoia was drawing her thoughts to the worst possible assumption. But there was a chance it wasn't.

She was still five minutes from home. If someone had been looking for her, they hadn't pinned down her location. Not exactly. But they were close enough. Close enough that neighbors might be able to point them in the right direction if they asked. How many blondes with golden eyes could there be in Sumeru? She stuck out like a sore thumb.

There was nothing she could do. If she'd been seen, she'd been seen. All she could do was be vigilant and watch for anyone else who might be tracking her progress.

She must have looked suspicious, head swiveling back and forth as she crossed into a slew of neighborhoods, suburbia proper, fit with barking dogs and laughing kids and the distant splashing of water and shouting. People shouting her name, voices hoarse like they'd been at it for hours.

If her neighbors didn't give her away, her friends definitely would. In this day and age, finding someone's name was as easy as a few internet searches. She wore a godsdamned name tag at work. At work, where people had been actively asking about Wanderer.

Oh, they were so fucked. Was it too late to stage an impromptu visit home?

No. She wouldn't do that. She'd committed to seeing this through, come hell or high water. Though her stubbornness would probably get her killed, at least she'd go down defending her principles.

Lumine sighed. What a mess. What a glorious, glorious mess.

She broke into a sprint as her house came into view, backpack lurching up and down with each footfall. Her ankle did not object. As soon as she was within earshot of the culprits and could make out their identities— Venti, Lyney, Lynette sitting on the curb, probably pretending not to know them, and Xiao, one of Venti's friends who she'd met once or twice. They hadn't spoken much, but the impression he'd given her was that he wasn't the type to come banging on someone's door for the better part of an hour.

Well, everyone kept secrets. Some were innocuous, like this, while others were ticking time bombs.

"Hey! I'm over here!" She called, straining her voice to shout over Venti. "Stop trying to break the windows!"

Venti pivoted first, running at her like a man possessed. He crushed her in a tight embrace, nearly knocking her off her feet. "You're here! You're here! I think someone stole the spare key."

Lyney and Lynette lagged behind. The former, unlike Venti, had the tact to look ashamed of what they'd been doing. Lynette didn't seem to care. Xiao was still on the porch, posture hunched like he wasn't sure whether to join the crowd or stay where he was.

Lumine shot him an awkward smile over Venti's head, then wiggled out of the hug. Choking out a few coughs, she reassured, "No, it hasn't been stolen. Just repurposed for a while."

"We're sorry to cause so much trouble," Lyney added, scratching the back of his neck. "I said we should go, but Venti said he knew someone who can pick locks. I was against the idea, but…"

Shrugging, Lumine shook her head. She knew firsthand how difficult it could be to steer Venti from something he'd set his mind to. He threw his whole self into everything, which was great in music and theatrics and friendships, but not so beneficial when it came to causing trouble. Or romance; she'd been an unwilling spectator and a willing shoulder to cry on throughout his many dalliances in Mondstadt

"No harm, no foul." Would her landlord have been pleased if they'd actually picked the lock? Absolutely not. But she didn't care how they got into her house. Most of the time. When she wasn't living with trouble. "I assume you came to hang out?"

"Don't you have work?" Lynette asked, brushing the question aside. It was unnecessary anyway. The answer was obvious.

How was she meant to explain this without revealing the entire charade? "I called out. Food poisoning." Their eyes widened, and Venti backed away. "I don't actually have food poisoning."

"Look at you, becoming a rebel. I didn't think you had it in you," Venti said, reclaiming his spot in Lumine's personal space.

Anxious that they were causing a scene, Lumine began toward the house. The others followed suit, their confusion palpable. "I heard there was trouble."

"You knew we were here?" Lyney asked, scrutinizing the front of the house. "Did your landlord finally install security cameras?"

"Nope. No security systems here. This place is a robber's wet dream." And it would stay that way until she moved out, probably. The only thing standing between her house and infiltration was her remembering to lock the door every time she went in and out. It wasn't an airtight barrier, but she liked to think it steadfast. "I got a call."

Xiao spoke up as she ascended the porch steps, looking vaguely guilty. "From the neighbors?"

"From the house." Grimacing, she looked between them. To explain this, she'd have to come clean about some things. As long as she cherry-picked well, none of those things had to upset the precarious balance of Lumine and Wanderer's sinking ship. "I have, uh, a guest over. You spooked the shit out of him."

"A guest? Is he—"

Lyney slapped a hand over Venti's mouth, cutting off what probably would have been a difficult question. An awkward one, at least. With much more tact, he began the interrogation. "You haven't mentioned having anyone over. Is it someone we know? An old friend?"

"Something like that. I doubt any of you know him." It was possible they'd been approached by the people looking for him, though. If they were scouring the area around the Akademiya, odds were they had feelers out on the campus, too. "It was kind of sudden. He's in a bit of a rough spot, so I've been trying to keep things low-key. Even Aether doesn't know."

Lips pursing, Lynette remarked, "You're better at keeping secrets than I thought."

Though there was no malice behind her words, they stung.

"Everyone's entitled to secrets," Lyney added, smile placating. "This was just unexpected. Can we come inside? Lynette won't admit it aloud, but she's been dying to see how the garden's coming along."

Lynette coughed into her elbow, face flushing.

Grimacing, Lumine imagined the face Wanderer would make if she let three more people into the house. Venti would pepper him with questions the second they met eyes. The others wouldn't cause trouble, hopefully, but the more people roped into this, the more likely their sinking ship was to spring another leak. It also might put them in danger.

But they'd been trying the door for nearly an hour; it felt wrong to send them off. She had the entire afternoon free, now.

"We could go somewhere else," Xiao offered.

Sifting her pocket for her keys, she took the warm metal into her hand, feeling the teeth press gently into her skin. Not enough to bite, but enough to ground her in logic. "Let me go in a sec and ask."

She let herself in, taking one last glance at her friends spread on the porch. Then she shut the door behind her and called into the darkness beyond the foyer, "Hey! It's me. I'm back."

The bathroom door swung open. Out strode Wanderer, wearing the irritated boredom of someone who'd spent the past half hour reading toiletry ingredients to pass the time. He still had the landline clutched in one hand, now glistening with sweat. "Took you long enough. You've got weird taste in friends." Glancing over her shoulder, he added, "Are they still here?"

"Out on the porch, yeah. And you should know that by now— you're one of them." He was, perhaps, chief weirdo amongst her acquaintances.

Making a sour face, he asked, "What do they want?"

"Just to hang. That's probably hard to believe after however long listening to them try to get in, but it's true."

"Do they normally let themselves in with the spare key?"

"Yeah."

"It's a miracle you haven't been murdered in your sleep. And that all your stuff hasn't been stolen."

Lumine shrugged. "We'd best hope that luck keeps up; it's probably going to take a miracle to get us through alive." Though he wasn't wrong. Once this blew over, she would stop keeping the key somewhere anyone could access. This situation was introducing her to real, genuine paranoia, for better and for worse. "Anyways, do you mind if I let them in?"

"You're asking me?" Wanderer quirked a brow. "This is your house, isn't it?"

Sighing, Lumine ran a hand through her hair. "But you're stuck here, too. I'm not going to have anyone over if it bothers you."

Something unreadable flashed across his eyes. His jaw clenched, arms crossing beneath his chest. A moment of quiet followed, conflict furrowing in his brows. "You wouldn't?"

"Yeah. They usually come over once a week or every other week. I've been making excuses since you came." She hadn't expected their patience for her excuses to run dry so soon. "Today's a fluke. They aren't always like this."

Except they were. Just not to this extent.

Wanderer's stare intensified. He looked at her as though through a microscope, studying the pieces that formed her. It was a softer look than his usual scowls, but it still sent a shiver down her spine. It made him look cold, statuesque, the picture of critique. But when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "You've been lying to your friends. For me."

"And my brother." She wasn't sure which meant more. With each day that passed, her brother became more of a stranger. There was so much she was keeping under lock and key— even if she still knew him, he barely knew who she was. Not anymore. That didn't hurt as much as it should have.

He blinked, stepping an infinitely small distance closer, bringing a heavy electricity in the air around her. His eyes looked furious, gaze fixed upon her like she was the sole point of interest in the universe, like she'd slip away if he let go for longer than a second. But there was no anger in the rest of his face. Confusion, maybe, and something deeper that he was wrestling to keep from cresting free.

His gaze dropped down. Only for a fraction of a second, but long enough for Lumine to notice. Long enough for her to realize.

Her mouth. Gods above, he'd thought of kissing her.

Her heart lurched. Her stomach followed suit, threatening to empty itself. Because this was the worst possible time for romance to rear its ugly head in her life, she was so busy with school and work and figuring herself out and trying not to die. And of all people, it was Wanderer who'd caught her fancy? Not any of the simple, easy-to-get-along-with types she'd met a dime a dozen throughout earlier schooling?

No— that was just it. No easy temper and dull tongue would strike her fancy. Lumine loved a challenge, and Wanderer's moods and judgments and assumptions brought confrontations in spades. They were whetstones to each other's swords, sharpening each time they clashed. Gaining ground, gaining understanding.

And they were probably going to be dead soon.

He liked her; enough to get distracted by her lips, at least. She was pretty sure she liked him too. And they were probably going to be dead soon.

Fuck. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Something scratched against the door. Lumine jumped and Wanderer whirled around, shocked from the moment, springs uncoiled. She exhaled a breath she'd been holding for much too long, forced an even expression so she wouldn't grin like a madwoman or grimace or scream, and said, "So. You haven't really answered the question."

Wanderer blinked. "The question."

"About my friends."

He jerked to life, looking between her and the door, that façade of fiberglass parading itself as wood. It was a neutral shade of brown, neither light nor dark, with an unnatural shine from some sort of veneer. Lumine had never wanted to assault a piece of furniture more. Alas, it was probably for the best to have been brought back to reality. Her friends were still waiting outside, and her landlord would be pissed if she destroyed the door.

She'd probably lose that fight, but damage was damage. Her deposit would be smoke in the wind.

"Right." Wanderer was eyeing the door like he, too, was imagining its destruction. "They can come in. After all that effort, they might as well. They just can't see me."

Lumine frowned. She'd been hoping for a better outcome, one where he'd meet a few other people and make a friend among them, perhaps. But this was better than nothing. "Sounds like you'll be stuck in my room, then. Since you can't hole up in the bathroom again."

His eye twitched. "You trust me."

Not a question. A statement. An affirmation.

"I do. I'll even log into the computer for you so you don't get bored." She smiled, leading him toward her closed door. It took him a moment to follow; she heard the nightstand drawer slide open and shut, then he was there. "There's a little slide to cover the camera, in case you're worried about that."

He scoffed, but his shoulders loosened as he began to follow. "How generous of you."

"It's the least I can do."

A moment's shyness gripped her as she grasped the doorknob, fingers stopping shy of turning it. She was bringing Wanderer, who she fancied— that was a safe word for it— into her room. To spend a few hours there. Alone.

She was inviting him into a part of herself her friends, even, hadn't glimpsed. He could snoop through her drawers. Or her files. Neither would yield anything scandalous, but if he looked, she wouldn't know what cards had been revealed and which she still kept close to her chest.

But she trusted him. Even when it was an objectively bad idea, she trusted him.

So she turned the knob, opened her room to the world, and led him inside.

Flicking on the light, she did a precursory scan. Thankfully, she hadn't left any bras or underwear sitting out, nor was the place all that messy. It hadn't been cleaned in ages, certainly, but she didn't own enough stuff to warrant more than an occasional reorganization. Wanderer stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the color, clad in black, hair a dark purplish-blue.

A few days ago, he'd cut it. In the bathroom. With a pair of safety scissors.

Lumine sighed. He was truly a man after her own heart. "Any of the books in here are fair game. You could read my school stuff, if you're interested, but it's probably boring." Her mouth was dry and sweat was beading on her palms. He'd been in here before. Logically, there was no reason to be embarrassed or flustered. But physiology did not yield to rationality. "And here's the computer, in all her outdated glory."

Pulling it from her backpack in one swift motion, she set it on the desk, searching the tangle of wires that hovered to her left and plugging in the power cord. Glancing at his hands, she moved the mouse to the other side of the computer. He was probably right-handed. She'd never paid attention. Then she logged in, allowing herself a moment of shame at the wear of the keyboard and the dust and crumbs cluttered between the keys.

Presenting the machine with more flourish than it deserved, she forced a grin. "Try not to have too much fun. Don't get any viruses."

Flashing a mischievous smirk of his own, Wanderer rolled his eyes. "No promises."

Heat flared in Lumine's cheeks. The second she felt it, she turned away and stormed out of the room, all but dashing to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror.

She was blushing. Honest to goodness blushing. How old was she, sixteen? She was not a blush-and-giggle-and-kick-your-legs kind of girl. She did not get flustered. She met wit with wit and laughed off flirtation.

And yet here she was, blushing because Wanderer had rolled his eyes at her.

Resisting the urge to slump onto the ground and have a full-out existential crisis, Lumine splashed her face with water until the fire died down, then headed back toward the front door. Time to address the other elephant in the room.

The hot, oppressive air outside rushed into the house as she opened the door. In her absence, four people had become five. Collei was standing on the porch as well, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve as Venti droned on about music. The little slab of concrete wasn't meant to fit five people, but they managed.

Trying to act casual, Lumine smiled. "Did you just get here, or were you hiding out back?"

"I was passing by a few minutes ago. I thought something had happened, since there were so many people on the porch."

Her guess hadn't been wrong. Something had been happening, but it didn't warrant worry. Not from Collei, at least.

This could be a good opportunity. Collei had entered the Akademiya intending to study plants, so she probably knew all of the paths available in the darshan. She'd have to ask later, when everyone was settled in and she had her composure back. "Nice of you to stop by. You can come in, too, if you want. The snack options are a bit limited, though. I've been slacking."

"That's okay. I just wanted to catch up and see how your plants are doing." Collei stepped inside. The others followed, fanning through the foyer, slipping off shoes and leaving them in a messy row against the wall. Everyone sighed a collective exhale as Lumine shut and locked the door, blocking out the heat and humidity and sheathing them in the air conditioner's loving embrace.

"Where's the mystery guy?" Venti asked, flicking on light switches as he walked deeper into the house. He moved without invitation, with the ease of a guest who'd been over enough times to assume privilege. Aside from the blanket folded across the back of the couch and the pillow against the armrest, there was no sign of Wanderer's presence.

Making an effort not to look toward her door, Lumine answered, "Hiding. He's a little shy with strangers." That wasn't true, but it was easier than explaining why he wanted to stay hidden. And there was a shred of truth to it; it had taken him weeks to come around to Lumine. He was skittish like a cat, but instead of being shy around people he didn't know, he was cold and off-putting and sometimes threatened their lives.

"We're not bothering him, are we?" Lyney asked, sprawling out on the floor, back resting against the couch. They were getting into movie position. Venti had enlisted Xiao's help in moving the end table out of the way so the taller among them, sequestered to the floor, would be able to see.

Lumine had offered to let them use her kitchen chairs when they couldn't all fit on the couch, but they had been deemed too uncomfortable. Which was true. They worked well for however long it took to eat a meal, but after a few hours, they'd get uncomfortable.

"Maybe. Just don't be stupid loud and I doubt he'll care." If he did, he could take it up with her later. She'd make apologies or tease him as needed. "What are we doing? Seems a little early for watching a movie."

"That's what I said," Lynette remarked, "But I was outnumbered. The majority believes it's never too early for movie night."

"This way you won't fall asleep halfway through," Lyney replied.

With a yawn, Lynette shook her head. "If it's boring, it's boring. Doesn't matter how early it is."

"Well, then we just have to watch something that isn't boring." Looking between them, Collei asked, "So, what are we watching? Did anyone bring something?"

Handing Venti a bag Lumine hadn't realized he was holding, Xiao answered, "I've got a decent selection."

"Don't be so humble! Decent is the understatement of the century." Pulling a CD binder from Xiao's bag, Venti grinned. "My good buddy here borrows movies from the library and burns them. It's a surprisingly lucrative side gig."

Clearing his throat, Xiao grumbled, "And it becomes pointless if people realize they can do it themselves."

Venti threw an arm around Xiao's shoulders, pulling him in as he tensed. "That's how we became friends! Everybody needs a movie guy."

Xiao raised a brow, jaw loosening like he was planning to speak, but said nothing. There was something else there, maybe, but it wasn't any of Lumine's concern. All her cognitive function was occupied by trying not to think about Wanderer in her room, just a few yards away, impossibly distant beyond her door. Was he on the computer or was he looking around? He was probably cataloguing flaws and quirks to mock later.

Someone cleared their throat. The sound snapped Lumine back to focus. Everyone was looking at her.

So much for not thinking about Wanderer. "What? Movies? Let's see what our options are."

"Is something on your mind?" Collei asked. "You spaced out for a second there."

Shit. She could salvage this. This was a perfect segue, actually. "Yeah, actually. I've decided to change my major." Allowing a moment for reactions— Venti did not disappoint, slamming a hand against his chest with wide-eyed horror as Lyney and Lynette's eyes widened in twin shock— Lumine added, "And I was hoping to get your advice, actually, on what, um, directions, I guess, you could go in studying plants."

There was a muted sound from her bedroom, something hitting the floor. It sent the room into a frazzled quiet. The moment passed in exchanged glances and knowing stares. Collei broke the silence almost a minute later, voice tentative. "You're interested in botany?"

"I'm not sure that's the path I want to go down. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing that yields tangible results." That kind of work was the most satisfying. When she labored away for hours at something, she liked having something to show for it. Like the garden. Or, on a minuscule scale, a cup of coffee and the ensuing profits. Or sickness turned to health. Studying for the sake of studying, research for the sake of writing papers to fuel more research, seemed like a miserable feedback loop.

Collei frowned, bringing a knuckle to her lips in thought. "Well, there's a lot of specializations in botany. You might find something you like. There's horticulture, too, which focuses more on growing plants than their actual biology."

"I'm sensing a serious nerd conversation on the horizon," Venti interrupted, slumping on the couch with a few discs held precariously in his hands. He held the edges with his thumb and had his index or middle fingers slipped through the center. Each was a slip of glistening silver, title inscribed in marker along the pen. A special kind, probably. "Could we save it for later? We've gotta pick a movie."

Right. They were hanging out; it was uncouth to bring up school and the nebulous future at such gatherings. These were meant to be a respite from the world outside.

But today, the walls of good company were not high enough to keep the wind of tomorrow at bay. There was too much uncertainty painting a grim, blurry picture of the future. It was impossible to relax, to seep into the couch and let the cushions, limp from too many years of use, carry her worries away.

It smelled like him.

Fuck.

Of course it did. This was his bed. He slept here. The pillow she sat squished against was his. The blanket inches from the crown of her head was his. But the smell, a clean, crisp lavender, was hers. It was his because he was using her toiletries. His hair smelled like lavender because it was the cheapest shampoo and conditioner offered. He smelled like coconut because it was the cheapest body wash. And the only moisturizer she'd been able to find that could aid her skin, stubbornly dry on occasion even in Sumeru's unbearable humidity.

Was he using her moisturizer?

She didn't care. She didn't want to know. Nothing good could come of that information.

But there was something else underlying the artificial perfume of products. Something like ozone, the smell in the air before heavy rain, something unique and strange that made Lumine feel alert. Alive on her toes. It worked wicked witchcraft on her heartbeat. It eroded common sense and rationality.

Would it be so bad to let herself fall in love? Time had always been the greatest obstacle between her and a relationship, or so she'd thought, but Wanderer and Lumine found time together almost every day. And she was no stranger to juggling commitments. Only the thin ice underfoot kept her from striding forward and accepting these emotions for what they were. One wrong step would send her plunging into frigid depths from which she would never breach for air.

The odds were stacked against them— an organization of inordinate dedication and manpower versus two people trying to survive. Wanderer was frustrated enough with how deep she'd fallen into his mess. If they grew closer, came to depend upon and love each other, it would only make the drop of the other shoe that much harder.

Not to mention that they barely knew each other. This was infatuation, not love. Curiosity sharpened by hormones. She didn't even know his name. All this time, and he hadn't come forth with that of his own volition.

What could that mean, other than that their trust wasn't mutual? She couldn't love him for half of who he was, ignorant of whatever he deemed necessary to keep at arm's length.

"Let's put it to a vote, then. Who wants to watch a horror movie?"

Lumine's hand twitched into the air before she registered the question. It took a few moments to untangle herself from her thoughts enough to realize they'd gone on to narrowing down the selection. Lynette's sideways glance helped; Lumine wasn't a fan of horror movies, and everyone she had over on a semi-regular basis knew that. Anything that would stick around and haunt her nightmares was not something she'd choose to watch.

But the vote was unanimous. Even Collei, though she looked apprehensive, raised her hand after looking around.

Guilt weighed in Lumine's heart. Had they peer-pressured her into voting for the usual?

Though she didn't like horror movies, most of her friends did. They occasionally took pity on her and ventured into other genres, but this was not one of those times. But a vote was a vote; the majority had made its decision.

They settled on a classic. Lumine had seen it a few times, enough to be immune to the worst of the tension. Exposure didn't quell the chills that ran down her spine as Venti turned off the lamp and Lynette went to flick off the light switch.

"Wait. I need some light to put this thing in," Xiao said, holding the DVD in one hand and feeling the surface of the player with the other. Lynette paused, fingers poised to shroud the room in darkness, and Xiao pressed one of the buttons. The DVD player beeped and the tray emerged. Clicking the DVD into place, he pushed it back in, nodding for Lynette to kill the lights.

She did.

The curtains could not keep all light from pouring in through the windows, but the room was dark enough to set an ambiance. And to allow their pupils enough dilation to make out whatever happened during the darker scenes of the movie.

There wouldn't have been enough popcorn left for all of them. Nobody had brought it up since she'd mentioned the snack deficit, which was for the better. This was Wanderer's space, after all. She'd feel bad if her friends made a mess of it, though she would clean it up.

Her worries quieted as an orchestral score faded in, trumpets and violins and other instruments she couldn't recognize by ear announcing which major studios had a hand in the movie's making. Most films were made and shot in Fontaine, but that was beginning to change. Equipment for making high-budget productions was becoming more readily available everywhere. Her friends spoke with excitement of the tropes that would be defied and the boundaries that would be broken as new ideas and perspectives flooded the industry.

Lumine didn't watch movies on her own time, but her friends would ensure she saw the very best. And the very worst, the ones so bad that they transcended mediocrity and became hilarious. Those were Venti's favorite.

Lyney and Lynette were the biggest horror fans. Collei listened to a lot of nature documentaries, though Lumine didn't know if she watched them for leisure during her free time. Xiao was a mystery, since she hadn't met him enough times to get a read on his preferences. But he'd voted for the horror movie along with the rest of them.

The next two hours passed in the drawn-out blink of an eye. She noticed a few things she hadn't before. Mostly in the movie, but she was distracted enough to notice Lyney occasionally whispering something in hushed excitement to Lynette, who met each outburst with a finger to her lips and a roll of her eyes. She couldn't hear the words, but they came about whenever something particularly juicy was foreshadowed or something subtle clicked into place.

The dreaded movie-splainer. Scourge of theaters Teyvat over. Aether had the same habit, though it was less egregious. A bit of context now and then made a world of difference when they were watching something based on a book she hadn't read or a game she'd never played.

Wanderer had been similar, but his commentary had been composed entirely of complaints.

Once the movie ended, life drove the crowd from her living room. Venti had band practice. Xiao left with him, uninterested in remaining among strangers. Lyney and Lynette had evening classes today, and Collei was meeting with her upperclassmen friends to talk shop. Everyone was out the door by four thirty, leaving a once-bustling house too quiet.

Before, Lumine had dealt with the quiet aftermath by studying or going to bed. But it was too early for that today. And there was still company.

Locking the door behind Collei, Lumine approached her door, drawing to a halt before it. She pressed her ear to the wood, unsure what she was waiting for, but she heard nothing. No rustling, no typing, no footsteps. Nothing. No hint of what awaited beyond.

Rapping her knuckles against the door, she spoke. "Hey, it's me. You can come out now."

The doorknob turned a few moments later. Wanderer appeared as the door swung open, no discernible expression on his face. "Your friends are loud."

"Yeah. Music and theater kids, mostly."

"You were loud, too. You sounded happier."

He could tell? Did he pay that much attention to her voice? "Well, yeah. It was nice to have a little break from all the shit that's been going on." Though she hadn't been able to banish it entirely from her mind. Respite was respite, no matter how permeating. "You've gotta set your mind on other things once in a while. Or it'll consume you."

The words came from nowhere, some dark corner long unvoiced. It came from subconscious epiphany, a connection she made only as the words formed on her lips. The danger had been apparent to her for a week at most. Wanderer had been walking this wire for years. It had numbed him, jaded him, carved a hollow in his chest. Perhaps that, alongside the family issues he'd alluded to, was the underlying cause of his attitude issues.

The world had abraded him until he became calloused and callous. It was no excuse for holding a knife to her throat, but it explained some of the hostility, the cornered-animal stare, the anticipation for the other shoe to drop.

His stare was smouldering then, in the doorway, with him the setting sun framed by its swan song in the curtains behind. It dared her, begged her, to look away. She didn't.

"You aren't consumed by fear of being murdered? Of abandoning your brother and your dreams for a mess you shouldn't be a part of?"

Again with the guilt. It wasn't unfounded. He had brought such light into her life, and he was likely to be the reason it snuffed out. "We've been over this. I don't blame you, and you shouldn't blame yourself. The only people who deserve that are the ones trying to hunt you down."

"I chose to get involved with them, you know." Clenching his fists, Wanderer continued, "And I chose to leave, well aware of what would happen. I'm the reason this whole mess is playing out. How is it not my fault that you're stuck in it too?"

Lumine stepped closer, into the doorway. Wanderer was unmoved. A tidal wave of frustration swept her lifted spirits into the sea. She'd tried to be so patient, so understanding and forgiving and willing to listen, but Wanderer would not offer the same. How many times did she have to say this before it sank in? "Because no normal group or organization or whatever would try to kill people for leaving!"

He laughed. He had the gall to look her in the eyes and laugh, to throw his head back and laugh like she'd made the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "Are you seriously that naïve, or are you just stupid? Lumine, you should know by now that we aren't dealing with normal people. They're dangerous. The kind of dangerous that people like you go their entire lives oblivious to. And I was one of them. For years. I know too much. They can't let someone like me just walk away scot-free."

"Then why did you?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, demanding presence. It was a gross overstep and more than she could hope he would share, but Lumine was determined. If she got a clearer picture of the story, she could see where his guilt stemmed from. She'd be able to banish it for good.

Or she would be forced to affirm it.

She swallowed, inching further into her room as she braced for his answer. If he deigned to answer at all.

Skin flushing with anger, Wanderer tensed, a band of rubber on the precipice of snapping. "I wanted something from them. They refused to give it to me."

Crossing her arms, Lumine leaned against the doorway, propping one foot on the wall behind her. "I doubt it's that simple."

"How would you know? You know nothing about me."

"That isn't true. There's a lot you haven't told me, but there's a lot you have, too. I know about your sister. I know you're a really good cook and you help me out without being asked. You're judgmental and complain about everything, but you patched me up in the same breath you mocked me for cutting my finger instead of the onions. You just sequestered yourself in my room for almost three hours so I could have friends over. I don't know any of the other stuff, about how you ended up in that alleyway, because you've refused to tell me.

"You keep going on about how you can't tell me anything because it'll make me a target, too. But then you're upset about the fact that I'm already a target because I've been sheltering you here. It doesn't matter how fucked I am. They're still probably going to try and kill me anyway. So don't I deserve to know the kind of trouble I'm in? How all this happened?"

Nostrils flaring, Wanderer opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gritted his teeth, regarding her with the same cautious hostility that had characterized his first week in her house. It was hard to tell whether he was angry or scared. Or, if both, which was more prominent.

It was risky, pushing so hard, but some risks had to be taken. Otherwise, she'd be stuck bumbling in the dark, trying to put together a puzzle with only half of the pieces. Wanderer would still be frustrated with himself and her and the inescapable storm surrounding them. They were safe for now, but the eye of the storm would not remain overhead forever.

There had to be a way out of this. Some way to solve things peacefully, or at least without putting their lives on the line.

Oh, who was she kidding? Did she really think she could solve this? Lumine, jumping at shadows, adrift and untethered as the future approached, had no hope of unraveling such a mess. Thinking otherwise was not optimism. It was stupidity. Naïveté. Exactly what Wanderer had accused her of.

Wanderer sighed, the sound pulling Lumine from her hopelessness. "Do you really want to know? You'll regret all the work you put into saving me. And all the effort you've put into keeping me safe here."

There it was— hope. A small spark, but with the right kindling and a gentle hand, even a small spark could become a fire. "I'll be the judge of that. Do you want to sit on the back porch, maybe? It might be easier to talk side-by-side instead of face-to-face."

"And risk people overhearing? Why the hell not."

The words were dry and sarcastic, but there was something almost resembling a smile on his face.

Lumine smiled in turn, relieved to have turned the situation around. "Just keep your voice down. People around here aren't that nosy."

They tried to steal her vegetables over the fence sometimes, but they weren't the type to linger outside while she had guests out. Back home, her parents had been friendly with the neighbors, so she'd been forced to make awkward small talk whenever they happened to be outside when she was gardening. Which was almost all of the time.

Though it was a distant prospect, Lumine was determined not to spend her retirement coaxing family drama out of twelve-year-olds two yards away.

She left first, letting him kill the lights and pull the door shut behind them. It was a short walk, from her bedroom door to the back door, but it seemed an hour passed between each step. The sun hadn't even begun its nightly descent. She could see it through the windows, a few rays peeking through, the sky darkening by a fraction beyond it.

"I saw your notes," Wanderer said.

Turning away from the door, Lumine frowned. "Pretty boring, aren't they?"

"For the garden, I mean. I couldn't care less about your school notes." He met her gaze for a moment, then looked away. "You're very thorough. Were you really trying to grow flowers from Mondstadt here?"

Lumine grimaced, turning back to face the door. Her own reflection stared back at her in the glass, caught between embarrassment and catharsis. "I tried. I'm not huge about flowers, but we used to keep some in a vase at home. I thought it'd make settling in a little easier. But they aren't well-adapted to the heat or humidity. Not to mention the soil matrix…"

She trailed off into a sigh. She was digressing again, venturing into territory that would bore him to tears. Nobody knew about that little project, not even Aether. It should've been obvious that the flowers wouldn't grow, but she'd held out hope. Most hadn't even breached the surface of the soil. It had suffocated something in her to watch the ones that had wither. Their brief lives had been filled with suffering because she was homesick.

She wasn't in Mondstadt anymore. This was home now. She had nothing left to tether her to her homeland.

"Why not keep native flowers? Seems like less hassle."

"It wouldn't be the same." The hassle wasn't important. She'd spent hours devising schemes to keep the flowers alive. In the end, none had succeeded. But it had been worth it. It helped her move on.

She pulled open the back door, letting him cross through before stepping into the late-afternoon air. It was hot and humid, though milder than it had been on her journey home. She could feel the sun bake her skin. Her sweat glands were kicking into gear.

Blind to the climate and its wicked ways, Lumine sat on the edge of the porch. She patted the concrete beside her, waiting for Wanderer to do the same.

"I get it," He said after some time, "I used to miss Inazuma, too. As much as I hated it there…"

"You hated the people, not the place." Slipping off her socks and shoes, Lumine stretched out her toes. She'd need to cut her nails soon. Little things like that were always creeping up on her, announcing themselves at the most inconvenient times. "Home is home, no matter how shitty."

Wanderer closed his eyes, tilting his head back. Burying her feet in the soft and sharp grass, Lumine watched him, watched the sunlight play across his face, glinting off the sheen of sweat already forming across his forehead. He looked, for the first time since they'd met, at ease. Unafraid and ready and willing to lower the fortress he'd built to keep people at bay.

He took a deep breath. Opened his eyes. "I was what some people would call a troubled kid. More would just have stuck with calling me trouble."

Lumine nodded, resting her elbows on her knees, her chin on her fists.

"My mother's sister died a few years after I came into the picture. It really fucked her up, I guess." With a bitter laugh, he splayed a hand across his forehead, raking his fingers through his hair. They caught on tangles. Tugged. "I didn't get it. I was a kid. She was busy with work, and when she wasn't, she was busy grieving. I may as well not have existed.

"I got into a lot of trouble. Fights, breaking stuff, whatever. It was the only time they remembered I was there."

Lumine tilted her head. "They?"

"She's married. Her wife was the one who always shooed me away when I wanted to talk to her. About little shit, mostly. A good grade. A friend I'd made— not that there were many. Then sister dearest came along. The spitting image of my aunt. And my mother, really. They were twins."

Twins. Lumine could only imagine how life-shattering it would be to lose Aether. But to have shunned her child in grief… "Damn."

"She doted on her. They both did, really. While I got myself into deeper and deeper shit, their perfect little angel soared above it all."

That explained his rigid ideas about siblinghood, Lumine's situation especially. She'd never gone out of her way to cause trouble to draw her parents' attention from Aether, but she'd considered it. That was just the way things were; Aether was doted on every time he got sick, and Lumine was privileged to be well, so it would be selfish to ask for anything else.

Was Wanderer's sister really a 'perfect little angel,' or had she just adapted to her situation? If she'd been born after their aunt's death, she would have known no life before. She would have grown up used to their mother's absence and grief. There was no alternative to fight and rebel for.

Perhaps she was projecting. Those were answers only Wanderer's sister could give, and she was nations away. Not to mention a complete stranger. Even if Lumine could locate her, getting her to open up about her private life would be nigh impossible.

And Wanderer's view of things was too biased.

"A lot went down between then and when I joined. It was a total accident that I found them at all, actually. Lucky coincidence. That's what I thought at the time, anyway." He shook his head, pained by his own naïveté. "My mother's a politician, and her wife is a pretty influential businesswoman. At first, all they wanted was information. In exchange, they promised to wield their own influence to bring my mother down.

"I didn't just want them to end her career. I wanted her reputation tarnished. Her life in shambles. I want her to know how I felt all those times she turned her back on me. I should've known it was an empty promise."

Lumine stared into her lap, processing the gravity of his words. He'd joined this organization out of the sadistic, desperate desire of a hurt child. And they'd played him like a fiddle.

These people had the power to topple politicians and businesspeople. Or they gave Wanderer reason to believe they did. He must have put his trust in them for something. He wasn't the kind who trusted easily. What hope did two ordinary people have of defying them?

Tugging at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt, Lumine asked, "What happened?"

She was getting more than she'd bargained for here. A lot more. Whatever had passed between them over the past few days had made Wanderer more forthcoming. That was good and bad. Part of her preferred to wallow in ignorance, to live blissfully with her eyes closed, blind to the approaching danger. Better not to watch the blade rose before it fell. The rest of her, the louder, stronger part, wanted to hear everything he was willing to tell.

Not only to understand the situation, but to understand him. To see what decisions and slip-ups could turn someone into a person like him. Someone who would bargain with dark forces to see his revenge, and when it was denied him, would forsake the darkness knowing full well the extent of its reach.

Childish revenge, at that. One last act of petulant defiance before he'd left his past behind. Did a childhood full of anguish and sorrow justify such an intense hatred?

Lumine wasn't sure. She didn't understand the full scope of the situation. Anyway, it wasn't her judgment to make.

Wanderer shifted closer, until the hand he'd propped himself up on brushed her thigh. The contact made her jump. It sparked warmth and shivers.

Tentatively, she lowered a hand, brushing it against his. When he didn't pull away, she intertwined their fingers.

Balancing the weight of her jaw across her other hand's knuckles, she looked at him. He was looking down at their hands, bangs covering his eyes. A few moments later, he looked up, catching her stare. Holding it.

"I gave them everything they asked for. Information enough to swing elections, to sway shareholders and public opinion, to build an empire of propaganda. Most of it, I stole. I broke into her office more times than I can count. After a while, they started asking for other people's information, too. I gave it to them. Thoughtlessly. Without thinking, without realizing they were playing me for a fucking fool."

His breath came in shallow bursts, close enough for Lumine to hear. She squeezed his hand, closing her eyes, focusing on her own breathing until his evened out. A breeze picked up, brushing some of her longer strands of hair across his arm.

He was confessing to espionage. Attempted sabotage. Breaking and entering. All charges that should have raised her guard. It was stupid to sit so close, to hold the hand of someone who'd held a knife to her throat just a month ago, who'd committed more crimes than most people who'd ever been incarcerated. And he'd gotten away with it.

But those were nebulous things, fragments of a distant past. He'd turned his back on that life, try as it might to catch up with him.

"After years of playing fetch like a good little dog, among other things, I asked when they were finally going to hold up their end of the bargain. It'd mean a lot less for her to go down after retirement, after all. And do you want to know what they told me?"

Nothing good. Of that, she was sure. "That they wouldn't do it?"

"That she was useful where she was. That they wanted to leverage her influence, not rip it to shreds." Each word came out venomous, hissed in a low voice that made Lumine's skin crawl. He was shaking with anger now, probably reliving how the revelation had felt. "And if I tried to interfere in any way, I would be neutralized. Like some kind of threat. Like I hadn't given them six years of loyalty."

Lumine blinked. It was difficult to rationalize what he was telling her. He'd come from an entirely different world, where devotion meant nothing and violence was the norm. "So you left."

"If they were going to treat me like a loaded gun or a flight risk, I figured I might as well be one. Not that I have any intention of ratting them out— I'd only be shooting myself in the foot. But they aren't going to believe that." Leaning closer, eyes taking on an almost wild look, he continued, "And now they're after me, and they won't stop looking until my silence is assured. And you're as good as dead, my stupid, bleeding-hearted accomplice."

Ignoring the traitorous, tone-deaf voice in her head that urged her to lean closer in tandem, she squeezed his hand and turned her head, shifting her attention to the dying sun, trying to draw him back into reality. "Yep. That's us, living on borrowed time. I should probably call my brother."

"To ask him to bail you out?"

"Just to talk. It's been a while." For all she'd lamented the growing rift between them, she'd done little to try to bridge it. "It's weird, hearing someone's voice every day for so long, then barely ever seeing them."

Wanderer tugged at their interlaced hands. Lumine let go, stretching out her fingers. Cracking his knuckles, he asked, "Are you going to miss me when I'm gone?"

The question came out of nowhere. She'd been under the assumption that they would die together, two clean bullets to the head, something tampered with to make the scene look less suspicious. Unless he was planning to leave of his own accord, or he thought they would be separated somehow upon their discovery…

Perhaps he was holding out hope that they'd let her go. That, against all odds, they'd deem her harmless.

Like he'd done, after she'd tripped over her own coffee table.

"I will," She answered, looking him dead in the eyes.

A few seconds passed, each their own eternity.

Then he stood, stretching in the glory of sunset, outlined by the dying light. "Good. At least one person will."

At that, he turned and went inside, leaving her on the porch to digest his words.

Lumine sat still for a while, watching the sky shift. Color grew subtly across it, in movements too slight to notice. Then she cradled her head in her hands and thought about how much life she had left to live.

All this bullshit, all this drama, and she still had to go to school and work and pretend everything was normal. Like Wanderer was not pulling her reality apart by the seams and patching it back together with hurried, uneasy stitches.

Her stomach grumbled. Her skin pulsed with the promise of a sunburn.

She followed after Wanderer, heading inside.

Chapter Text

Lumine sighed, closing her computer as the e-mail sent. After a morning spent browsing the Akademiya's website, seeking out all the information she could find about the class offerings that could build into a career in horticulture, she'd decided to finalize her change in plans. She wouldn't get a response until the weekend was over, and they'd have to have another meeting, but this meant one of her more pressing problems was solved.

She'd figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Just in time for it to be threatened.

Folding her arms behind her head, she glanced idly around her room. Aside from her gardening notes, which she hadn't bothered to reorganize yet, nothing was out of place. There was no sign that Wanderer had gone snooping. She'd expected as much, but it was still oddly gratifying. He'd pick arguments about everything under the sun, but treated her and her space with respect far beyond his attitude suggested possible.

Yesterday's shift at the café and the arrival of the weekend had given her ample time to think over what Wanderer had told her a few nights ago. She'd come away relatively confident in opinion, though she was hesitant to share it. She didn't have the full picture— only the bits and pieces he'd shared.

But he wasn't a bad person. Of that she was sure. He'd done bad things, but she couldn't rationalize someone so contentious as despicable. He was a victim of circumstance who'd made a lot of bad decisions. Now he was trying to make better ones.

A bad person wouldn't have insisted on replacing the photo frame he'd broken. A bad person wouldn't have fussed over a minor cut like she was going to bleed out.

The mid-morning sun cast soft light through the room. She stretched, basking in a morning well-spent. For once she'd gotten her ass in gear and decided to be productive. Having a clear-cut path in mind worked wonders on her motivation. She could picture herself working in a greenhouse or plant nursery, helping the plants within grow and thrive.

It wasn't all that different from nursing, except that she'd be helping plants rather than people. But those plants would provide food and oxygen and soil enrichment— in a way, she'd still be helping others. There would simply be less emotional burden involved.

She wouldn't have to wrestle with the frustration of a patient beyond saving. Or someone who refused to be helped. Nor would she be confronted by people's endless aptitude for hurting each other.

She wouldn't be working with Aether, either. But maybe that was for the better. If they tried to step onto the same path again after walking so long in different directions, their footsteps might not sync. Lumine would not be relegated to living the rest of her life in his shadow, supporting her in adulthood as she'd been forced to in childhood.

He would be heartbroken; she couldn't hide her change in plans forever. But she wanted to have that conversation in person, and they hadn't spoken at all in a few days. They were too busy.

Rising out of her chair, Lumine clambered onto her bed, pulling back her curtain to look outside. The yard glistened with morning dew, the grass a rich, dark green. There was movement among the plants, a blur of black in a sea of verdure.

Lumine smiled, pressing her face into the glass. What was he doing?

He was squatting in front of the box where they'd planted most of the herbs. He had hold of one of the basil plants, slim fingers wrapped around the stalk. Maybe there was something wrong with it.

Swinging off the bed, Lumine traded in pajamas for proper clothes and headed outside, sparing the kitchen a longing glance before stepping into the doorway. She'd have to eat breakfast soon. Her stomach was already beginning a percussive protest. If she didn't give into her metabolism's demands soon, she'd spend the rest of the day nursing a headache. But curiosity took precedence over basic bodily needs; she had the whole day ahead of her to eat, while she could only investigate this while it was going on.

The air outside was still pleasant, clinging to the coattails of the night's bitter chill. Clouds shielded the sun from view, speckled across the sky in faint, foggy hues. The kind that promised a few hours free of rain, if not most of the day. Lumine breathed deep, inhaling a perfume of the things growing around her and the distant reek of rush hour traffic.

She hopped off the porch and started toward Wanderer, trying to announce her presence by rustling the grass. He didn't look up; he was still studying the basil plant like he'd never seen one before, running his fingers across the top of a leaf, then turning it inside-out. Admiring the pattern of veins, maybe?

Then he popped the leaf from its stem and ate it. His face scrunched with such visceral disgust that Lumine couldn't keep from laughing.

Wanderer jumped, on his feet in an instant, glaring with more intensity than usual. "What's so funny?"

"Those aren't ripe yet. And anyways, you're not supposed to eat the entire leaf. Especially not the stem— that's bitter even when the leaves are ripe." There was a world of difference between sampling a seasoning to get an idea of its flavor and pretending to be a caterpillar. Though she couldn't deny that the smell was tempting. Like many ingredients, it didn't taste as good as it smelled, though. She'd learned that the hard way.

"No shit. I was just curious; I didn't expect anything great."

Smiling, Lumine crossed her arms. Curious. Right. Curiosity killed the taste buds. "Didn't expect anything that bad either, did you?"

Clicking his tongue, Wanderer stepped aside, brushing his hands on his pants. A vain attempt at concealing the evidence and moving on. "Did you come out here just to mock me?"

"I was curious what you were doing. Getting to make fun of you was just a happy coincidence." She grinned in reply to his deepening frown, shifting closer to the plants. They were really taking off. The basil was flowering and starting to grow leaves, the onion stalks were almost tall enough to bend from their own weight, and the zaytun peach plants were starting to grow their stalks. "Now that I'm out here, though, I've got a reason to stay."

Tilting his head, Wanderer asked, "What?"

"Weeding. Look at all these little jerks, springing up like they own the place." Scoffing, she tapped a patch of sprouting elymus repens with the toe of her shoe. "This one's bad news. Its rhizomes— which are essentially stems that can grow underground— can really tangle with plant roots. And they're like worms; if you only pull a piece out, the other part keeps on growing like nothing's wrong."

"Sounds like trouble."

Lumine nodded, reaching through the stalks of basil and dill and rosemary and thyme to grip the grass at its base and rip it out. "Yep. The kind that's best dealt with early, before it can get its claws in. Really I should've spotted it sooner, but I've been so stretched for time. These tenacious assholes have been stealing all the nutrients that the plants should be getting."

Leaning into her periphery, Wanderer reached for another clump of the weed. "Here we go again, another plant lecture. At least now you have a reason to be this nerdy."

Without thinking, Lumine reached for Wanderer's hand, guiding his fingers further down the stalks, to grip them where the aboveground shoots met the subterranean roots. "Pull from here; you're more likely to kill it that way. Anyway, if I'm boring you, just say so. I'll shut up."

Wanderer tensed, hand remaining idle for several seconds as she pulled away. "No. You're not boring me."

That was a first. "You're actually interested in something I say? Damn, I'm really moving up in the world."

She meant it as a teasing jab, already grinning in preparation for his response, but his face contorted in a vaguely pained expression instead. His reply came too late and too hoarse. "Don't flatter yourself. If I'm going to help you, it's best if I understand what I'm doing."

Right. Definitely. Because understanding the mechanics of why weeds were bad was imperative to pulling them. Most people had little more than a surface-level understanding and got by just fine. Casual gardening didn't require a working knowledge of biology and pedology and the intricate symbioses that played out both above and belowground. "If you insist, I'll give you the basics. The main problem with weeds is that they've got deeper roots than most other plants, so they're better at getting nutrients. That helps them thrive. They're also less picky about their growing conditions. Tenacious little fuckers, as I said."

"Sounds like people've got a lot in common with weeds."

Lumine quirked a brow, stretching to her full height. Which was about the same as Wanderer's. Combined with her wide eyes and round face, it made intimidation almost impossible. But she tried her damnedest, crossing her arms and lifting her chin and blinking as a bead of sweat trickled down her temple, almost trailing into her eye. "Call yourself a weed again and I'm throwing you over the fence. But sure, as a species, we've taken over almost everything. And we hog a lot of resources. I can see where you're coming from."

"Am I not hogging your resources by being here? I'm not exactly contributing—"

"No self-deprecation in the garden. If you're going to talk shit about yourself, do it somewhere I can't hear, because I won't stand for it." Brushing the dirt from her hands, she met Wanderer's eyes, smiling softly as the breeze picked up. The sun had stolen what little cold there'd been in the wind, leaving it warm and heavy, carrying more humidity than air. "And you're contributing plenty. Don't think I haven't noticed the chores you're doing behind my back."

At that moment, Lumine's stomach rumbled, cutting through her words so loud the neighbors probably heard. It killed her stream of bravado and elicited a laugh from Wanderer.

Not the cold, bitter sound she'd heard innumerable times when he thought something beneath him. This was a real, genuine laugh, the kind that demanded several seconds to recover from. Wanderer took longer to regain his composure, perhaps reveling in her embarrassment or amused by her threats. Because really, how could she throw him over the fence? She wasn't weak, but she was not strong enough for that.

Quirking a brow, Wanderer mused, "Sounds like someone skipped breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day, y'know."

"That is not true; Nobody has actually proven that. And don't try to change the subject!"

"Are you one of those people who gets grumpy when they're hungry?"

"We're talking about you."

Humor melting from his face, Wanderer stood, meeting her stare at eye level. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his lips pursed into a shallow frown. "No amount of housework is going to level out the financial burden of having another person here. You've been cooking with fewer ingredients, and pickings are slim in the fridge. I can tell it's an inconvenience. You don't even have to admit it. Not to mention that I'm not supposed to be here in the first place. You could get into legal trouble for letting me stay so long. What does that make me, if not a parasite leeching off your goodwill?"

Another day, another sudden swamp of guilt to wade through. She'd never met someone so obsessed with keeping score. Most people were content to take as much goodwill as others were willing to give them. Sometimes more. "You made me realize I'd grown complacent in my own misery. Pulling me out of that spiral means more than any money ever could."

"You're not an idiot, Lumine. You would've realized you hated the profession sooner or later. Or you would've failed your classes and been forced to reconsider anyway."

Hearing her name on his lips stilled her tongue, already searching for a rebuttal. He rarely referred to her by name— they were the only ones around, so there was no point specifying who he was talking to. The sound made her stomach twist. She wasn't a teenager anymore, choked by anxiety at the sight of a crush. She was an adult, dealing with someone so much more complicated than any label could capture.

Still, there was a subtle flutter in her heart. He said her name like it was something worth saying, but only on occasion, fine dishware set out only for the holidays so to preserve its esteem. It was just a name, just a set of plates and cups, but it demanded a certain reverie. In his voice, low and unseeming as a cat creeping toward a mouse, that reverence was given.

Despite the traitorous ministrations of the organs that had decided Wanderer was worth flooding her blood with oxytocin and dopamine for, Lumine clenched her fists. "I've been working customer service for years. I'm used to misery. I would've realized I hated nursing on my own, probably, but who knows how long it would have taken? Maybe I'd already be in the nursing program. Maybe I'd be a nurse." Resignation was second nature. She would have adapted to the tedium of it all, just as she'd forced herself to be fine with how much she'd grown to despise her classes.

"Quite the martyr, aren't you?" Wanderer remarked, jutting his chin and mirroring her defensive posture.

"And you're too much of a cynic. I don't mind paying for both of us to eat. More than anything academic, having someone to come home to and to talk to and bicker with has done me wonders. I feel happy. I'm eager to come home from work not just to eat dinner and get some sleep, but to see you. To see whatever tricks you've got up your sleeve for the evening. Your companionship means the world to me, so stop beating yourself up about depending on me a little."

Why was he so insistent on blaming himself? If he'd actually listen to a word she said, he'd realize it was pointless. She didn't blame him for anything. Not for imposing upon her solitude, not for bringing his disaster into her life, and not for the conflicting emotions at war in her heart. At this point, it seemed more like he was trying to convince himself of his guilt. Or, if he already believed it, to reassert it in the presence of her arguments.

But why? Basic survival instinct would not kindle such guilt for doing what was necessary to stay alive. There was something deeper, something he was trying to hide or steel himself against.

Something like…

Her heart lurched. No. She was not going to delude herself into thinking her feelings were reciprocated. Speculation was bleeding into fantasy. Even if he did, for some strange reason, find himself attracted to her, they had too much other shit going on. They were too busy fearing for their lives to fall in love.

Wanderer went quiet, face draining of any emotion whatsoever. The pause stretched on too long for comfort. "If you must be a weed, you're one I've welcomed into my garden with no intention of picking. I'll tend to you as long as you'll let me."

His eyes widened. Then they narrowed and he stepped closer, tensing, coiling with anticipation to pounce. His voice came out low, husky, threatening, a kinder mockery of how he'd threatened her before, when he'd thought her an incompetent enemy. "You shouldn't make promises like that so easily. I may just grow roots so deep that you'll never be able to get rid of me."

Provided he didn't drain all the nutrients from the soil and kill all of the other plants, herself included. But that contingency was better left out; she was getting lost too deep in the metaphor.

"Go right ahead. Nobody's trying to get rid of you." He was welcome in her life as much as Aether and all of her friends.

And really, he already had grown deep roots. She'd grown used to his presence weeks ago. Without him, the air of the house would stagnate in her absence. The days would blur in a haze of work, school, and keeping herself alive, broken only by the occasional meet-up with friends. She would get by, but the colors of life would fade. She would live without feeling alive.

Nothing— and certainly no one else— had ever affected her so strongly before. Living in Wanderer's orbit felt like living with her eyes wide open after two decades drifting asleep. Few people had ever challenged her convictions, weak as they'd been; she'd never given them shape or substance. They had simply been. And her ambitions had always been built from someone else's expectations.

But there was something different out there, and she'd let it in. If Wanderer left, she might spend the rest of her life chasing what he took with him. Perhaps she would find it in someone else. Perhaps she would find it in a career or a hobby or in one sudden moment that swept her off her feet. One moment that gave her eyes that saw instead of looked. Eyes that sought action.

Fulfillment had always seemed like a pipe dream. People spoke of it as something reached through meticulous efforts, by ticking boxes off a list until the perfect life was attained. Few of those milestones had brought her any satisfaction. She'd been ready to settle for a life of contentment, resigned to no more than what little sparks of happiness came her way.

Now, with her life on the line and her heart in the hands of another, she couldn't imagine living like that.

He was staring at her again. He was close, too close, close enough to kiss.

Lumine turned away and buried her hands in the soil, seeking weeds. She knelt for a better view, hiding her fluster among the plants.

A few moments later, Wanderer joined her, a steady presence just beyond reach. Their shoulders brushed when Lumine stretched to brush her fingers across the delicate yellow flowers growing on a dill plant.

"You really don't want me to leave?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

If only he knew. "I don't want you putting yourself in any more danger. You can be pretty insufferable sometimes, but you've grown on me. I'd miss you if you left."

Was she being too candid? Maybe. But her mind was addled by hunger and emboldened by the shine of the weekend and its whispered promises of sleeping in and shorter workdays. She wasn't far gone enough to say more, though. It was stupid and childish and unproductive to hide her feelings, but they could only serve to make the situation between them more complicated.

Besides, Wanderer had given no indication of returning them. With his life in danger and his pride bruised by his constant dependence on someone else, they would only be a burden. He didn't seem the type to give in to such guilt, but he might feel obliged to humor her for the sake of his place under her roof.

"Hold on. If we're weeding for real, let me go get the gloves," She said. Really, she needed an excuse to steel her resolve and maybe grab something from the fridge. Wanderer was right in noticing that another mouth to feed was straining her food budget. There weren't many options, but there was still a box of slightly freezer-burned waffles in the freezer. If she wanted to be fancy about it she could make rice or oatmeal, but those required more time than she was willing to put in.

If she was inside too long, Wanderer would come after her, and she'd lose all her motivation to weed.

Stepping back inside, she popped two waffles in the toaster and went to her room, where the gardening box awaited pilfering. It filled her closet with the smell of damp earth and fresh growth; it would probably last long after she left the house.

The thought made her smile— she'd left a mark here, no matter how small. She might strip the house of everything that made it hers and leave forever, but its walls would remember her.

Swiping the gloves out, Lumine left her room. The kitchen smelled faintly of smoke. The toaster was old and on its last leg, but that leg worked pretty well. It wasn't old enough to spontaneously combust, but it did show its age as its contents neared readiness.

Lumine tucked the gloves under her arm and grabbed a plate. Almost on cue, the waffles shot free of the toaster, twin bullets soaring like falcons in clean arches before landing on her plate. She shoved one into her mouth, wincing as its heat singed her tongue. It wasn't much of a breakfast, but it was better than nothing, and it should keep her mouth from running unfettered.

She ate quickly, ignoring the ache her rushed chewing birthed in her jaw. Leaving the plate in the sink, she hurried outside, meeting Wanderer's unamused stare with an apologetic grin. "Sorry. Stopped to get something to eat. Here you are."

She tossed him his gloves, adding, "This way, you don't get your dainty hands all calloused like mine."

Sitting down beside him again, she began to pull on her gloves, but Wanderer caught her wrist. Turning her palm to face the light, he ran his thumb across her palm, tracing over the calluses at the base of each finger where metacarpals met phalanges. The touch sent goosebumps coursing down her arms.

"There's nothing wrong with rough hands. They're proof you work harder than most."

Those words inspired Lumine into doing a very stupid thing.

She met his gaze.

He was earnest. His grip tightened, lingering beyond a simple appreciation of how her body recorded its labors. It slid back to her wrist, tracing the bones there, bones whose names she'd known a lifetime ago for her last exam and had forgotten. Even if she'd learned them yesterday, though, there was no chance she'd recall them when he looked at her like that, gaze stern but not angry, brow furrowed in focus rather than agitation.

Lumine's mouth went dry. She could feel her skin catching fire, flushing a blasphemous red that rose something warm in her heart and something anxious in her stomach. Where had that come from? Since when did he give compliments? She could probably count on one hand the number of nice things he'd said about her throughout their acquaintance.

It wasn't like she'd never been complimented or flirted with before. But most of the time they were about superficial things. A classmate gushing over how she'd styled her hair before she cut most of it off or a friend commending how kind she was for looking after Aether. They reduced her to routine and appearance, neglecting the person behind the pretty hair and the crushing expectations.

Wanderer saw her calluses and saw the efforts behind them. He didn't care that she couldn't be bothered to tend them, to keep her hands soft and smooth as most people considered beautiful.

She didn't know what to do with that. Again, she was overcome with the urge to close the distance between them. But she didn't— she couldn't. She wouldn't. Not when it could ruin everything they'd built together.

To preserve her self-control, she gently pulled her wrist from Wanderer's grasp, brushing her bangs over her eyes. They were a curtain protecting her from what lay beyond, that radiance that would inspire her into doing something desperate and impulsive. Summoning every iota of willpower she had, she turned her attention back to the garden, scanning for weeds.

"You're right, I guess." She didn't trust her voice, but she didn't want to let the conversation die, either. "Between the torn-up hands and the premature back pain I'll get from bending over so often, I do wear my hobby."

It was supposed to sound nonchalant. Instead, it sounded like she was suffering from laryngitis. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears and each breath came out shaky and loud. There was no way Wanderer couldn't tell the effect he was having on her. He had to know. Then why wasn't he leaving?

"But you still garden."

Lumine nodded. "It's the only thing in the world that's really mine. It's hard work and it's time-consuming, but I love it. When the harvest starts coming in, I think you'll get it."

They continued for a while, moving through the garden boxes, Lumine occasionally stopping him from pulling out smaller shoots of crops they'd planted. Once they reached the beans, though, something disturbed the tentative calm that had formed as the tension abated from the heavy air.

Wanderer unearthed something as he brushed soil away to reach the stems of another weed. He jerked back, nose wrinkling in disgust. Lumine looked over, regarding the slimy, squirming thing digging itself into the dirt like it could sense Wanderer's disdain. Then she laughed, plastering a hand to her forehead to swipe her hair from her face, probably smearing dirt on her face in the process.

"It's a worm. It's not going to hurt you." Worms were a gardener's best friend. Only their tireless efforts returned the nutrients locked within detritus and compost to the soil, where it could be used by other plants. Not to mention their tenacity; they could give the weeds a run for their mora.

Lips curling, Wanderer leaned further away. "It's repulsive. Why do they move like that?"

Picking it up by its midsection and placing it in the palm of her right hand, she brought it closer to Wanderer, grin widening. "Aww, but he's just a little guy! Look at him."

Lurching to his feet, Wanderer inched back. "Get that thing away from me."

Stretching to stand as well, Lumine stepped closer. "What, don't tell me you're afraid of worms? You, of all people, currently being hunted by the most powerful underground organization in the world, apparently. You can't be serious!"

"I'm not afraid of them. They're just disgu—"

His heel caught on an uneven piece of ground. Wanderer stumbled forward, falling into Lumine, knocking her back. She scrambled to catch herself as his weight tumbled into her, launching the worm somewhere across the yard as her body met soft earth below.

The worm was the only one unscathed.

A dull throb shot up Lumine's forearms as her elbows buckled under her and Wanderer's combined weight. His jaw slammed into her clavicle, the force palpable. One of his knees jammed into her hip.

He groaned, moving sluggishly, one arm beside her head, the other between her torso and arm. His legs shifted to straddle her own as he lifted his head, blinking as he met her eyes.

Her heart lurched. It propelled itself against her ribcage like it was trying to break free. To go home. Worse was the heat that coiled in her gut as they locked eyes and she realized how compromising of a position they were in. She could feel him everywhere, skin tingling with anticipation as he hovered maybe a centimeter away. She was breathing him in. His nose brushed hers and their lips were so close it would take a mere second to connect them.

But she didn't. Lumine stared, eyes wide, willing her heartbeat to slow and her sweat glands to stop and the warmth sinking between her legs to stop. All she could do was breathe, lips parting, drinking in the stifling air, thick with humidity.

After a few more seconds, she managed to rasp, "Are you okay?" Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch his face, to trace his cheekbone or his jawline or cup his—

Stop.

Wanderer's breath hitched. Maybe it was the proximity, but his face seemed to flush scarlet.

Then he was gone, jumping back like he'd been shocked. He tripped backwards over their intertwined legs and fell back, landing on his ass with his hands out to break the landing.

"Fuck. Sorry, I didn't… That was…"

He trailed off, ducking his head. Lumine scrambled for words, trying to come up with something to say, but her mind had gone blank. There was too much adrenaline rushing through her veins. She couldn't think straight. She could barely breathe. Forming words into a sentence, let alone something coherent, was beyond her capabilities.

Refusing to look at her, Wanderer stood, brushing dirt from his shorts. He extended his arm, fingers splaying into an offered hand, but retracted it before Lumine could accept. She was still stunned and a little winded. For a moment, she felt his eyes bore into her, then he turned away, plucking off his gloves and drawing something shiny from a pocket. His key.

"I'm going to go take a walk. Around the neighborhood."

"Is that…" The question died on her lips; he was already inside, footsteps so heavy she could almost hear him rushing through the house. Was that a good idea? If they were being searched for, Wanderer may as well be sending off a signal flare. But if he wanted some time alone and some fresh air, she wasn't going to stop him. It was probably for the better.

Whatever that had been, it had made him uncomfortable. It had affected Lumine, too, in a way that left her neck-deep in guilt. It'd been an accident. He hadn't meant to fall on her like that.

But her heart was still beating fast, still hung up on those brief seconds when they might have kissed. Wretched organ. Her body was up in arms against her. It wanted something it couldn't have.

Shaking her head, Lumine stood, shaking out her legs to check for damage. No pain accompanied the movements; she'd been lucky. Her back still ached a little from where it hit the ground, but that would pass. More urgent was the racing in her mind. She needed a shower. She needed a proper meal and a full day off and a break from the compounding disasters life was hurling her way.

Of those things, a shower was the easiest to acquire. She grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom, stripping down and stepping into a steaming-hot stream of water. Hot as it was outside, she couldn't bring herself to shower cold. If she felt overheated, she could deal with lukewarm water for a few minutes, but warmth was the best part of a shower. Under its controlled embrace, Lumine could let her mind wander as she rubbed shampoo into her scalp and water coursed down her body.

She'd need more conditioner soon. It went much quicker with two people using it. The vanilla probably wouldn't be on sale again; she'd have to get a different scent. Would Wanderer care if the shampoo and conditioner didn't match? Would he notice?

Steam blurred the mirror as she stepped free a few minutes later, freshened up in mind and body. Breathing it in made her feel calm and a little more grounded.

Swinging by the kitchen for something to snack on, Lumine swiped an apple from the fridge. Juice stained her lips as she bit into its flesh, subtly sweet and crunchy. Wiping her wrist on her shirt as juice trailed down her arm, she went into her room and liberated her phone from its charger.

A few texts awaited, along with some voicemails she hadn't found the time or willpower to listen to. Spam, mostly. Every other day it seemed someone called asking about her car's extended warranty or a pre-approved loan for an obscene amount of mora. Aether said it was because she was popular. Probably the person who'd had her number before was susceptible to being scammed.

Glancing at the time, Lumine sighed. The weekend was a lovely thing; having a full day's time to get things done was the only reason her house hadn't fallen into complete disrepair. But having so much idle time made her feel badly for not being productive. All this time, and she was sitting around eating an apple.

She could be doing anything else. She could call Aether.

She should call Aether.

Lumine opened her contacts. Aether was first— one of the many perks of having a name so high up in the alphabet. Beside his name was a picture they'd taken years ago, when they graduated from secondary school. They looked so alike in the shrunk-down image that it was impossible to tell which twin was which.

Swallowing down a wave of guilt, Lumine tapped his contact and pressed call. They were long overdue for a conversation. For several, really, but after what happened in the garden, Lumine wasn't prepared to bring up anything they should discuss. She'd already made things awkward with Wanderer; the last thing she needed was Aether avoiding her too.

He picked up after the fourth ring, voice groggy. "What's up?"

Arching a brow as she bit into her apple, Lumine replied, "It's almost noon, dude. Did you just get up?"

"Yeah. My study group and I went out last night. Bowling. I sucked at it and I dropped the ball on my foot a couple of times, but we had fun."

Lumine winced. "Did your foot survive?"

"Yeah. They lend you these special shoes, probably to keep people like me safe from harm."

"I guess they could get sued if someone broke a toe or two. But look at you, staying up late. Next thing you know you'll be skipping class like the rest of us normal students."

Laughing, Aether replied, "Us? Is Venti turning you into a truant?"

"No, I don't really skip classes. Not unless I'm sick or something." She was paying too much for her education to squander it. "Despite his best efforts, Venti hasn't turned me to the dark side. I had them over for movie night— well, movie afternoon, really— a few days ago, though. It was fun."

"Don't you work during the afternoons?"

Shit. This far along her tightrope of deception, it was too easy to slip up. "Depends on what you consider afternoon. When does afternoon stop, and when does the evening start? Isn't the whole day technically afternoon, since it's after yesterday's noon?"

Aether sighed. Lumine could only imagine the look on her face. "Sis, it's a miracle you've made it this far. Nobody overthinks like you do."

"Yep, that's me. Lumine Overthinker Viatrix. Your favorite twin."

"My only twin."

"C'mon, if there was a third one, I'd still be your favorite."

"I have my doubts."

As she laughed, a faint irritation gripped her. It stole the mirth from her smile. Her teeth missed their mark, canines digging into lip instead of fruit.

She'd seen him at his worst. She'd played nurse for him more times than she could count. Of course she would be his favorite sibling. Her parents had demanded half of her childhood to make his more bearable.

The anger faded as quick as it came, leaving her bewildered and sad. It wasn't his fault. He'd probably never thought about how much she'd been made to give up for him before. What was the use in exhuming that now? Their parents were dead; there was no one to blame. She couldn't ask him to apologize for getting sick all the time, or for their parents working so hard to provide them a stable childhood.

"Anyways," Aether said, "Did you need something? I'm usually the one who calls you."

"Just someone to talk to. Need to get out of my head for a little bit. Sorry to wake you up, though. If you want to go back to bed, I can call someone else."

"No, no. I'm awake now. Who knows the next time we'll catch each other."

"We should meet up sometime soon. Like, in person." The idea sprang from Lumine's lips before she had time to think it over. With everything else going on in her life, it was a horrible idea. At best she'd give something away. At worse she'd be followed and Aether would be dragged into this mess as well.

But, amidst this vast desert of stress, Aether could be an oasis. Guilt and lies aside, he was still her brother. Her twin. Seeing him thriving and well would relieve some of the stress eating her alive. They could get something to eat, maybe. Or go see a movie.

She could hear the smile in Aether's voice as he asked, "Miss me?"

"Yeah, actually, I do." She didn't miss living with him, but seeing him from time to time was nice. More than his company, she missed the feeling of normalcy that followed him wherever he went. When they were together, things were as they should be. She could pretend that the rest of her life wasn't crumbling into dust as she watched the wind carry it away. "It's been a while. We should also get together with our friends from home sometime soon, but we should hang out, just the two of us, too."

"You don't have work today, right? I could swing by later. See how your pride and joy is coming along."

Lumine almost dropped her phone. She caught it with her right hand, still clutching the apple, and her fingers slackened around the fruit. It fell to the floor with an unceremonious, almost inaudible thump, rolling into the doorway between the kitchen and living room. "Today? I'm not sure that's a good idea. The house is looking a little worse for wear."

It wasn't completely a lie. She'd been planning to clean a bit this weekend; there were crumbs and bits of plastic packaging scattered throughout the kitchen, and the floor was in desperate need of vacuuming. Not to mention all the dust piling up in her bedroom. But it wasn't in so sorry a state where she'd feel ashamed to have guests. She was too young for that, and most of her guests were too young to care.

But it was the best, most plausible excuse she could come up with. It wasn't a very strong one, though.

"And you think my apartment's any better? Unless it looks like a tornado went through, I don't have a problem with a little mess. I'm not gonna judge you."

And he wouldn't. He'd tease her a bit, but he wouldn't care. He wasn't the type to lie about things like that.

Lumine, on the other hand, couldn't seem to stop lying.

"You can come look at the garden, I guess, but then we should probably go somewhere else. We can get lunch. Dinner, if you're later. Linner. Dunch?" The less time he spent inside, the less risk there was of him discovering her housemate. He wouldn't snitch to her landlord, but he'd be pissed. He'd get all high and mighty and protective— big brother mode, she called it, though their age gap spanned only a matter of minutes. Four minutes made all the difference in being able to handle a situation for herself though, apparently.

Tempting as it was to spill everything and ask for help, she couldn't bring Aether into this. The more he knew, the more danger he could be in. If there were people from Wanderer's organization in the area, Lumine was going to do everything she could to keep Aether out of their sights.

Good intentions could not pull her out of the hole she'd dug herself into. She just had to hope she could climb her way out before that hole became a grave.

"Since when do you eat out?"

Rolling her eyes, Lumine slumped out of her chair to chase her snack. She picked up the apple, brushed a few crumbs off the side, and brought it to the sink to rinse it off. Good as new. "Since my fridge got so barren I can see all the stains that need cleaning. I've gotta hit up the bazaar this weekend. Possibly the grocery store too, if I can't find what I need at the market. Uh, point being that we should eat out because I don't have anything really to eat. Especially nothing that would appeal to your omnivorous sensibilities."

"I don't know how you do it. I can't imagine a life devoid of sticky honey roast or northern apple stew. Oh, speaking of food, there's a really good Natlanese place that opened up a few blocks from the Akademiya a few weeks ago. I went with a couple of friends— I had the blazed meat stew, but I hear everything else is to die for. I think you can get stuff vegetarian-style with beans, too."

Lumine forced a strained smile, biting into her apple. The flesh was beginning to brown, oxidizing as some enzyme and compound reacted in the ruptured cells. She'd known their names at some point, but they'd slipped her memory since. "That sounds good. D'you want to go there, then?"

"Only if you're interested."

Really, she didn't want to be out in public at all. The longer they stayed together, the more opportunities Aether would have to notice how jumpy she'd become. Plus, once they were face-to-face, she was planning to come clean about switching her major. That was a conversation better not had at a crowded restaurant. But the alternative was staying at home and risking Wanderer returning while Aether was here.

She could only imagine the look on Aether's face if he saw the door swing open to reveal some guy. Some of his concerns would be valid; to him, Wanderer was a complete stranger. But he was her brother, not her father. He'd ask more questions than he had the right to and probably do something to make Wanderer's discomfort exponentially worse.

She could handle herself. She could make her own choices. If she wanted to harbor a dangerous stranger whom she'd accidentally sort of maybe fallen for as she learned more about him, she would. And when her just deserts came, she'd only have herself to blame.

"That sounds nice, I guess. It'll be a change of pace." She'd have to order the cheapest thing on the menu, though. Like most things around the Akademiya, restaurant prices were inflated to capitalize on the often impulsive spending of college students gaining freedom for the first time in their lives. Most places had a few things she could afford, though. Dishes without meat tended to be on the less pricier side.

Lumine stood, tucking the phone between her head and shoulder as she took one last bite of her apple, grimacing as her teeth sank into a seed. Great. A microdose of cyanide. Just what she needed.

The other line filled with the scratch of pencil against paper. "Great. I'll come by in about an hour or so, then. It'll be a bit of a hike from your place, but it'll give us some time to catch up. I could probably use the exercise."

Rolling her eyes, Lumine slipped into the backyard. The heat was stifling, falling over her like a wave. It wasn't exactly walking weather, but Sumeru's climate was never mild. Be it morning, afternoon, or evening, she'd come home sweaty from any on-foot commute. "I'm sure you walk plenty as it is. Gotta get to all those hangouts somehow."

"That's true. Anyway, I've got a bit of homework to catch up on. These reactions aren't going to learn themselves."

"Sounds good. I'll try to make the place presentable in the meantime." Jerking her head back to flick a few strands of hair from her face, she flung the apple core into her compost pile. It settled among a browning mush of eggshells and decomposing plant matter. Brushing her hand on her shorts in a futile attempt to make her hands less sticky, she slid her phone into her hand and brought her face to the speaker. "See you soon, then. Good luck with your chemistry."

"Thanks. I'll need it."

Lumine forced a humorless laugh and hung up the call.

"Well shit," She mumbled, heading back inside. Her first stop was the kitchen, where she washed her hands until they no longer smelled of apple residue. Then she went to the living room.

There was nothing incriminating out. If Aether came in, he'd see no hint of another person living here.

If Wanderer came back while she was out, he'd wonder where she was. Maybe. Probably. Would he care? He'd probably appreciate the alone time. After a stroll out in that heat, he'd need a while to cool off— literally.

Still, she ventured into her room for a pencil and small sheet of paper. She scrawled what she'd be doing on one side and took it out to the living room. She set it text-side down on one of the nightstands framing either side of the couch, tucked just slightly under the lamp. Innocuous, but out of place enough that Wanderer would notice it in his space.

Frowning, Lumine pulled the first drawer of the nightstand open. Inside lay his shattered phone and slim wallet, the totality of his former life. He didn't have any sort of ID. He didn't have anything on him. Not a way to contact her or anyone if he needed help, not a way to find his way home if he got lost.

Her stomach dropped. He wasn't going to try and turn himself in to the people looking for him, was he?

It was plausible; he was guilty about dragging her into this. What better way to keep her safe than to go down alone?

The idea made her mouth go dry. No. He wouldn't do that. Though he didn't seem all that interested in living, he didn't have a death wish. He'd put up with her so long to survive.

Unless something had changed, he was telling the truth. He'd just gone out for a walk. That was a normal thing people did. It wasn't anything worth panicking over. She couldn't let her mind linger on it. If she kept thinking about it, she'd never get it out of her head, and Aether wouldn't get off her case until she told him what was on her mind.

Sighing, Lumine cradled her forehead. What a mess. What a brilliant, disastrous mess.

Well, there was no point in sitting around. Taking a deep breath in, Lumine shut herself in her room and began to clean.

Chapter Text

A single light bulb illuminated the kitchen. Lumine sat at the table, head in her hands, thumbs massaging her temples in a useless attempt to ease the stress brewing behind them. The light was bright, offensively so, but darkness fed cacophonous thoughts. Drawing the window open didn't feel right, either. She didn't want to invite the world beyond to witness her self-made misery. No one was invited to this pity party except her.

Closing her eyes, Lumine tried to focus on the patterns pulsing through the darkness of her eyelids. Her mind continued to supply images— pictures of Wanderer lying dead somewhere, or kidnapped and taken somewhere beyond her reach, or the look on Aether's face when Lumine told him she was abandoning their dream. She sat at the center of a storm of her own making, and her brain would not let her forget it.

Her fingers were still damp from the wipes she'd used to clean every surface of her bedroom. It was clean now, vacuumed and polished until not a speck of dust could be found. She might find more solace there than in the kitchen, but it smelled too clean. Like lemon and lavender and the sterile walls of a doctor's office when she was six or seven, too young to be left alone, so their parents dragged her along to another of Aether's doctor's appointments.

It was a good smell, but stifling. She didn't want to spend too long breathing it in. It would smother her alive.

So she sat in the kitchen waiting for something to happen.

The light fixture was too bright. A single bulb shouldn't have been able to fill a whole room, but it did. It shone a spotlight on every crumb dotting the counters, every leaf fallen from a vegetable and every stain she hadn't been able to fully get out of the floor. It was a grim reminder that every part of her life was in shambles. Her home was no exception.

Home. Right now, it didn't feel like home. It was a husk filled to crudely imitate what home was supposed to be. She'd made it in the image of her family's home back in Mondstadt, moving furniture and decorations until it felt right. But it was hollow. Quiet. There were no whispers moving through the hallways as she and Aether plotted some scheme of childish mischief. There was no sound of dishes clinking in the sink or dinner cooking in the kitchen.

Lumine was alone.

Wanderer's absence weighed heavy throughout the house. He would come back— he had to, he'd left his stuff here— but Lumine had no way of knowing when. Until then, all she could do was run through the morning and try to figure out what had gone wrong. When had she made him uncomfortable?

She may have been staring at his lips after he fell on her. Had he noticed, though? He'd face-planted into her collarbone. Until he launched himself away, he'd been staring at her, almost dazed, with no clear signs of discomfort or irritation or anything painted across the tapestry of his visage.

He'd been gorgeous from that angle, haloed by the sun like a gift come down from the sky to free her from her misery.

Then he'd lurched away like someone touching a hot stove. Or something repulsive.

Dwelling on it like this had provided no insight. Once he returned, all she could do was ask. And apologize. And hope that things could go back to normal, however normal sitting around and waiting to die could be.

Maybe Wanderer would come back with some ideas on that front. Walking was a good way to stimulate the mind, get those brain juices flowing a bit. Lumine really wasn't keen on being murdered, and she knew a lot less about the people who were after him. He was the only one who could know how to outsmart them.

He'd been pretty high up the pecking order, he said. That meant he had to know some of the people on top. How to evade them, maybe, or how to throw them off his trail.

Could they not negotiate for their lives? These people were hunting Wanderer down for his betrayal and for all of the information he had that could ruin them. What if there was a way to convince them he wouldn't share? It had to be possible. There had to be a way out of this that didn't end in him or both of them winding up dead somewhere.

Some part of her still selfishly hoped the people stalking Wanderer would leave her alone. That her involvement in his recovery and disappearance could somehow go unnoticed. That they'd acknowledge her as a harmless civilian oblivious to the bigger picture, someone party to nothing worth hurting her over.

The rest of her knew that wouldn't be true. She was an accomplice. And trying to pretend otherwise would be tantamount to betrayal. She'd promised to help Wanderer. She'd vowed to keep him alive, and she wasn't going to break that vow without a fight.

Not that she stood a fighting chance. Aside from some backyard scrapes with Aether, she'd never been one for scraps. She could barely throw a punch. If she tried to actually fight someone, she'd probably end up embarrassing and injuring herself. She couldn't rely on her stature, either. She was small, short and narrow-shouldered with almost no muscle of which to speak. Her legs were strong from all the walking she did, but if push came to shove, she'd probably topple over trying to actually kick someone.

Pressing her forehead into the table, Lumine groaned, trying to rein in her thoughts. This was what she was trying to avoid thinking about. It was the weekend; she was supposed to be enjoying herself, not worrying about threats to her continued existence. That could wait until the week.

As she turned her head to glance at the time, a sharp knock rattled the door. Lumine shot up from her chair, head spinning at the sudden movement, heart leaping into her throat. Then the doorknob rattled, trying to twist but catching on the lock.

Aether.

Running a hand through her hair and splashing some water on her face from the sink, Lumine dashed over to meet him, unlatching both locks and pulling open the door. Sunlight rushed in to fill the dark space of her foyer. Aether stood on the porch in a t-shirt and shorts, a smile breaking out across his face as they met eyes.

He opened his arms and Lumine fell into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around him in return, squeezing.

"You've gotten uglier since the last time I saw you," She whispered, all conflicting feelings cast aside in favor of the giddiness swelling in her heart. Gods, it was good to see him.

Pushing her away with a huff, Aether replied, "You look just like me. What does that say about you?"

"I can't imagine anyone ages well in this heat, though the humidity might be a pretty good substitute for moisturizing." He really wasn't wrong; the likeness was uncanny. His eyes were a little sharper and his hair was longer. Her face was rounder and her hair was a shade or two lighter. Every difference was almost inscrutable. "Don't just stand there marinating, come in!"

Shuffling out of his way, Lumine grinned. Aether reached for the light switch, bringing light into the small liminal space between the kitchen and living room. "Do you always keep the place this dark? What are you, some kind of vampire?"

Flashing her teeth, Lumine hissed, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

They broke out in laughter— another difference between them. Aether laughed quietly, with dignity, while Lumine's laughing fits could wake the dead. She could barely hear his voice over her own.

"I mean, all that time you spend outdoors and you're still as pasty as ever. That's suspicious, yeah?"

"You know I practically bathe in sunscreen. Stop being an ass." She swatted him lightly on the arm, leading him into the kitchen. "If I really was a vampire, I wouldn't be able to spend all that time outdoors. I'm afraid you're stuck with me as I am: same as always."

Before she could realize what he was doing, Aether opened the fridge, brows furrowing as he took in its contents. Or lack thereof. "Damn. You really weren't kidding about the food situation."

"It's enough. I'll swing by the market tomorrow, probably. I've got enough to make dinner."

Frowning, Aether removed himself from the fridge. Self-consciousness prickled at Lumine as she watched his gaze sweep over the room. Was he looking for something?

"There's more dishes in the drainer than usual. You've been procrastinating again?"

Lumine grimaced. On its own, at least it wasn't suspicious. Aether had even done the hard part for her. "Yep. It's a bad habit, I know, but it's not easy to break. Especially when you're juggling school and work." And a crumbling relationship with a housemate and the constantly-looming threat of death. "But I got some cleaning done after we talked. You should be proud of me."

"Congratulations," Aether said, patting her on the back, "You're a functional adult. Do you want a participation trophy or something?"

Shrugging, Lumine raised her chin, assuming a false bravado. "If you'd grant me one, I would be honored to accept it. It's probably the only trophy I'll ever earn." Unless there were trophies given out for being a shitty sibling or a huge liar. Those tended to be worn emotionally, not displayed on shelves.

"Very well." Dipping into a bow, Aether declared, "I hereby present you this esteemed award in honor of surviving what kids these days call 'the grind.'"

He offered a handful of air. She accepted it, pressing it to her cheek like a winning lottery ticket. "Thank you, thank you. It certainly isn't easy. Most days I don't know how I manage."

Aether laughed, and after a few moments, Lumine did, too. This was nice. They'd slipped so easily into their old groove that Lumine could almost forget everything she was keeping from him. She could pretend at normalcy with much more ease than she could with Wanderer.

But it wasn't a sustainable farce. He would find out about her academic decision sooner or later. The longer she kept it secret, the worse the truth would sting. Now, at least, the decision was recent. She could feasibly say she simply hadn't found time to tell him, and he would believe her.

She followed him into the living room, smile fading as he scanned it. That was normal. He was a guest; guests loved nothing more than to gawk at the sights they'd been invited into. He wasn't looking for anything. Certainly not signs of cohabitation.

"You've got a blanket on the couch now. How cold do you keep this place?"

"The landlord would kill me if I abused the AC. It's more for comfort than dealing with the cold."

"Oh, you've still got this picture! Look at you, you were so cute back then. Is the frame new, though? I didn't realize you were a fan of orange."

Trying to ease the tension in her jaw, Lumine nodded. This wasn't an interrogation. This was normal. He was acclimating to the space. Asking questions because he was curious. "Not really, though this shade's growing on me. I knocked the other one down while I was cleaning. It broke."

"That's a shame. We got that from mom and dad's house, right?"

So many questions. "I think so. The picture's what's important, though. Anyways, enough of this. Let's move on to the main event. You wanted to see the garden, right?"

Perking up, Aether followed her to the back door. She pulled it open for him, waving him along. "Ladies first."

He flipped her the middle finger. As she stepped into the sunlight, she brushed the hair from her neck, eyes slipping shut as the heat overwhelmed her. It was like a living thing, like fire, pressing down on her ribs until she could barely breathe and bringing the blood in her veins to a simmering boil. And gods, the humidity. She could choke on the concentration of water in the air. "How do you keep your hair so long? That's gotta suck in this heat."

"It does. But my vanity demands it." With all the catty grace of a teenage diva, he flicked his braid over his shoulder. "Plus, if I cut it off, nobody would be able to tell us apart."

Lumine sighed. "True, true." In Mondstadt, they'd been together in all of their classes. They'd looked so identical then, not yet distinguished and shaped by puberty's accursed hand, that they'd tried to have Lumine grow her hair out.

That was before Lumine had the fine motor skills to brush her own hair; she'd thrash and shout so much when her father tried to brush it that they gave up. Since then, Aether had sported long, majestic locks, while Lumine had never let hers grow past a comfortable bob.

"Hey, your plants are doing really well! Look at all that green." Aether meandered through the yard, tilting his head and ducking down to admire the plants. Lumine remained on the porch, crossing her arms, trying to fight off a strange self-consciousness. It was weird, letting someone else so intimately into her hard work. He'd seen her gardens before, as had her friends, but no matter how many times she showed them off, it still felt like she was giving a piece of herself away. "Guess we know who inherited our parents' green thumb. I'm hopeless with plants. I probably couldn't keep grass alive."

Rolling her eyes, Lumine rebutted, "Grass will literally grow on its own. The only way it dies is if you're intentionally killing it. Besides, you can't be as bad as Venti. He's killed probably half a dozen succulents by now." No matter how many times she told him not to water them often, they'd still end up drowned. Old habits were hard to break; if he'd had plants before, back in Mondstadt, he was probably used to watering them a lot.

"That's one hell of a body count."

"Yeah."

"You don't have to stay on the porch, y'know. What, do I smell bad?"

Lumine wrinkled her nose. "No worse than usual."

Aether scoffed. "Nobody's going to smell good after walking twenty minutes in this heat."

"Ugh, tell me about it. I feel disgusting every day I come home from work." And that was in the evening, when the worst of the day's temperature had already passed. "It's a miracle I haven't melted yet."

"You've still got time. Speaking of which, should we head out soon? The restaurant's a bit of a hike from here, so the sooner we leave, the better."

"Yeah, sure. Just let me go to the bathroom."

"Good idea."

Lumine led them back inside, locking the door behind Aether. When she was done in the bathroom, she found him standing in the kitchen, once again staring at her dishes. She raised a brow as he turned to face her, but he didn't say anything. He offered a smile and headed in the direction she'd come from.

That wasn't his usual smile. It looked strained. Did he have something on his mind too? Maybe they were both keeping secrets. That'd do wonders for her guilt.

The toilet flushed, the sink turned on and off, and the bathroom door creaked open once more. In just socks, it was almost impossible to pick up Aether's individual footsteps, but something sounded off about his gait. He was moving slowly. Too slowly.

He was grimacing as he rounded the corner back into the kitchen. "Do you have someone staying over?"

Lumine froze. "I—"

"There's another toothbrush in the cup. And unless you've really been slacking, one person shouldn't make as many dishes as there are in the drainer." Frowning, Aether walked closer, leaning against the counter as Lumine stood against the table, avoiding his stare. "Sis, is someone else living here? Why didn't you tell me? Who are they? Do I know them?"

"Aether, I'm an adult. I can have people over if I want to. He's fine."

"He? It's a guy?"

Sighing, Lumine crossed her arms. He didn't care when she had her friends over, and he probably wouldn't make such a fuss if her impromptu roommate were a woman. Sure, there was some implicit danger in letting a man stay at her house, but a woman could just as easily have tried to kill her. "Yeah. He's been crashing here for a bit while some stuff blows over. Like I said, it's fine."

"What's his name?"

Meeting Aether's scowl with one of her own, Lumine forced her shoulders square. "I call him Wanderer."

"You call him? I asked for his name."

Lumine grit her teeth. Answering that question would provide him too great an opening. But refusing to respond would be answer enough. "He hasn't told me. He wants to keep it in the dark, and I respect that. He has a right to privacy. Don't give me that look— I trust him."

As he stepped closer, Aether's expression softened. But she could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't about to concede. Not so easily. "Hey, I'm not mad. Just worried about you. As your older brother, that's my job."

Older by a handful of minutes. Apparently, that was all it took to give him the moral high ground in any situation. "You say that like I haven't spent half my life fussing over you. If I can help you recover from countless colds and fevers, shouldn't I be able to keep myself safe?"

"Not if you're being manipulated. This guy could be using you, y'know. You're a softie. Maybe he's lying about whatever he's hiding from so he can mooch off your space and food. Your hard work."

Gods above. She loved Aether, but she was beginning to remember why she'd been so glad to move into her own place. It wasn't just the novelty of having a space just to herself— it was peace of mind to make decisions on her own. Aether wasn't usually bossy, but he had more than his fair share to say about some of the things she did or the people she hung around. "The situation's legit. I know it is. And he's not using me. My 'bleeding heart' seems to piss him off more than anything."

No matter what happened, she couldn't tell Aether what Wanderer was actually running from. Or the danger it had put her in. If he realized she was harboring some runaway mafioso, he'd have the Corps of Thirty here in the blink of an eye. Then her landlord would somehow find out and evict her. There was probably something in the lease that forbade her from letting criminals, former or not, into the house.

"I know you can handle yourself, but this is really sketchy. Where's he at? I'd like to judge for myself whether he deserves your trust." Breaking away from their staring match, Aether approached the doorway and peered into the living room, head swiveling from side to side. Then his gaze landed on the door to her room.

Before he could entertain that train of thought, Lumine cut him off. "He's not here right now. Seriously, don't worry about it. I've got everything under control." As under control as it could be, at least. Which wasn't very much. "Let's head out. We're burning daylight arguing like this."

Aether sighed. "You're too stubborn for your own good. You know I'm going to be worried sick about you having some stranger here, right?"

He'd be no more worried than she was. At least her concerns were justified. Lumine knew Wanderer. Well enough to trust him. Aether couldn't say the same, but he could choose to believe in Lumine's ability to offer her trust wisely. "He's not a stranger. We're friends. And you're always worried about me anyway. What's one more reason?"

Shaking his head, Aether relented, shifting course toward the front door. Lumine followed suit, slipping her shoes on in the foyer. They were looking worse for wear; the sides were smudged with dirt no amount of hosing down could erase, and the tongue was worn and fraying. The treads had been eroded almost flat; if it snowed again, her footprints would leave no patterns behind.

Walking as much as she did, shoes went fast. Even walking shoes crumbled under the strain of several miles daily. She'd need another pair eventually, but there wasn't room in her budget now. Keeping herself and Wanderer fed took precedence; though ugly, her shoes were still functional. And she'd never cared about what her shoes looked like. Some people considered them a status symbol, but to Lumine, they were a means to an end. As long as that end was achievable, the means could be as dilapidated as they wanted to be.

"Speaking of reasons to worry about you, how's school treating you?" Aether asked, pulling Lumine's attention away from her shoes. "It's been pretty miserable on my end."

"Break any more glassware in lab?"

Jabbing his elbow into her side, Aether huffed. "That was one time. I'm not making a habit of it." Smiling, he pulled the door open, gesturing her out. Once they were both on the porch, Lumine locked the door, checking the knob to make sure it held firm. Good. Nobody except her or Wanderer could get in or out. If he came back before she did, he'd lock the door behind him. They'd be safe.

As safe as they could be, anyway.

"Just gotta make sure. My classes are going alright. Anatomy is still kicking my ass and microbiology hasn't gotten any easier, but that's life. A struggle through and through." Psychology wasn't easy either, but it didn't go out of its way to be egregiously challenging. "Work's been more or less the same. The menu changes sometimes, but there's only so many combinations of stuff you can get in your coffee. It's mind-numbing."

Above them, the sky was a cloudless blue, bright enough to blind. The air was stagnant, hibernating from the heat, leaving leaves and ferns that should have been rustling to sag from their stems. Cars drifted by a yard or so from the sidewalk, windows rolled up and air conditioning blasting. Lumine could only envy the people sitting behind those tinted windows, breathing easy air that did not stifle and sear.

Was Wanderer okay? He didn't have anything to drink. If he stayed out in this sunlight for too long, he might get heatstroke. Maybe he'd brought along some mora. But he'd left in quite a hurry; he probably hadn't had time to grab any. Or the foresight. How long was he planning on walking for? When was he going to come home?

With a half-smile and a side-eye trying too hard to look empathetic, Aether replied, "You'd have more time to study if you didn't work so much, y'know. Anatomy especially is all memory— the only way to learn is by drilling it constantly. And you need a good amount of time for that."

"You have no idea how much I'd love to quit. I think that place has permanently ruined the smell of coffee for me." It was still pleasant, but it brought too many memories. Coffee had introduced her to the worst in a lot of people. She'd also butchered it to meet so many customers' specific demands that she eyed every cup with suspicion. There was no way to tell whether it had been pumped full of too much caffeine or sugar for human consumption. Not unless she braved a taste. "But I kind of need to afford to live. Even if I cut my hours, I probably wouldn't be able to make rent."

"Would an apartment be such a bad idea?"

Lumine shot Aether a side-eye of her own, not bothering to disguise her displeasure. What had gotten into him today? He wasn't usually this nosy. "Most of those don't come with yards. And anyway, it's not like I can transplant my entire garden somewhere else. An apartment with a yard wouldn't change that."

Not to mention that the yard would probably be communal, so the fruits of her labor would be available to everyone with access to the space. Which meant she'd probably enjoy few, if any, herself. It'd been the same with her neighbors— everyone wanted a piece of the pie, but no one wanted to help make it.

"You can keep some plants in pots, can't you? You wouldn't have as many, then, so you wouldn't have to spend so much time on them. That'd free up a little time for studying, yeah? I mean, it's not medical school, but nursing school is no walk in the park."

Brushing the sweat from her forehead, Lumine closed her eyes, trying to keep her temper from flaring. Everything had to circle back to their dream, didn't it? His dream. His perfect little reality where everything worked out the way he wanted it to, Lumine's hobbies and passions be damned.

But it wasn't fair to be mad at him. He didn't know how she really felt. For all he knew, she'd agreed to go along with his goals because she was genuinely passionate about nursing. She'd tried to act the part. She'd tried to make herself fall in love with the field, but between classwork and reading up on what the career would have in store, she'd found nothing but misery.

She'd be stuck at someone's bedside for the rest of her life, as she'd spent her childhood stuck at Aether's.

"Actually, about that…" She trailed off, trying to find the best words to explain her change of heart. Aether turned to look at her, pace slowing. Nothing came to mind as she met his eyes; there was no nice way to phrase this, no way to let him down gently. "I've been thinking about the future a lot. I've been wondering whether I really want to become a nurse. I mean, I know you're not supposed to enjoy your job, but I'm not sure I'd find that kind of work… satisfying. I'm not sure I could be content spending the rest of my life doing that."

For so long, she'd forced herself to believe otherwise. She'd resigned herself to a lifetime of the misery that had hung over her childhood— it was familiar, safe, something she knew she could fight through. Until Wanderer had snapped her from that daze and opened her eyes, she'd never bothered to consider that choosing another path, though it would be rife with unknowns, would make her happier.

Aether's face fell. His brows furrowed, his lips parted and closed a few times, countenance cycling from confusion to understanding to something crestfallen. Not anger at her for abandoning their dream. Real shock and sadness. The kind she was weak to. If he'd been angry, she could meet fire with fire. But dejection was another matter.

"You don't want to work together?"

"It has nothing to do with you." Although, really, if she thought about it, it did. She loved Aether and cherished their bond, but she couldn't imagine spending an entire workweek by his side. If they conjoined like that, she might never become her own person. She would fall back into her habit of going along with whatever Aether suggested. "It's just, I don't know, I looked after you so much as a kid, so I figured I'd be able to do it for other people as an actual job. But the more that I think about it, the less sure I am. I'm not sure I have the heart for it."

Nursing demanded more compassion than she could give. More importantly, it wasn't something she wanted to do.

With a forced smile, Aether replied, "Don't have the heart for it? You're letting someone whose name you don't even know live with you. That's more kindness than most people are capable of. And maybe a little gullibility." A shred of humor twitched at the corners of his eyes at the last words.

Lumine rolled her eyes. "Call it whatever you want. Maybe the problem is that I care too much about people. Or certain people, at least." What else could she call her stalwart resolve to stand by Wanderer, if not caring too much? Any normal person would have kicked him to the curb the minute they learned his presence put them in danger. "And I think that would complicate things. Plus, I just don't enjoy it."

She'd tended Wanderer's wounds because she had to. But she'd offered him the reins the second he brushed off her help. Someone really caring, someone who could take on the mantle of a nurse's tireless responsibility for others, would have pressed more. Would have insisted on taking care of him.

Flicking his braid over his shoulder to fuss with it, Aether sighed. "Well, it's your choice. No one decides your career but you." Still, the way he held his arms tucked into his chest as his fingers curled around his hair spoke volumes of his hurt. It brought Lumine a wave of guilt powerful enough to suffocate on. "But I'll miss the idea of working with you. It's been a pretty big motivator for me, y'know. When I'm slogging through some miserable homework or studying for way too long, I remind myself that I'm doing it for both of us. That I can't let you down."

"Aether, you'd never let me down. No matter how you do in your classes or if you decide you're not interested in medicine, I won't judge. You're my brother." Lumine grinned, jabbing her elbow into his side. He winced, jerking back in a dramatic play of pain. "I'm stuck with you, like it or not. That means more than any grade or degree."

Sighing, Aether tilted his head back. A faint breeze kicked up as he let go of his hair, sending it tumbling over his shoulder. "That means a lot. I probably put too much pressure on myself, but whatever. At least I can count on you to be proud of me if I fall behind my friends."

"Don't forget the rest of your friends from Mondstadt, too. They like you for who you are, not for how well you do in school."

A smile crept across Aether's face as they crossed a street, scurrying across a crosswalk as cars rushed alongside them on the parallel road. They were venturing into the city proper, leaving behind the sprawling residential space that had sprung up over the years to accommodate the city's growing population. The sidewalks were filled with people, groups chatting and couples holding hands and people walking alone, hands on their pockets or fiddling with their phones.

It was hot out, but the city was alive, breathing with excitement and heartbreak and every emotion in between. Heavenly smells wafted on the air from some distant restaurant, and every now and then the air would fill with music as a car rolled by with its windows down.

The sudden surfeit of people lit something beneath the calm Aether's presence had brought Lumine. She became aware of the crowds, of all the eyes, of the cameras staring upon the masses with eyes over doors and the roads. If she was looking for someone, especially someone who would stand out, this was the place she'd stake out. What if someone looking for Wanderer was here? What if they knew about her somehow and recognized her?

Looking over her shoulder, she took in the people around them. There were several crowded tables outside a nearby restaurant; the people sitting at them talked over pastries and coffee and shawarma wraps and kebabs. Someone was playing music across the street. Every now and then she would feel the weight of someone's stare, heavy and piercing between her shoulder blades.

Attention elsewhere, Lumine didn't notice the jagged sidewalk ahead, jutting up and shattered by the force of a tree's root. The toe of her shoe caught on the edge and her knees buckled, sending her sprawling forward. Heart lurching, she jerked her weight back, recovering balance just before her hands could kiss the concrete below.

As she straightened, she shook out her hands, cheeks burning. Great. She was trying to people-watch, to notice but not be noticed, and now she'd made a fool of herself.

At her side, Aether arched a brow. "You alright, sis?"

"Yeah. Just a little distracted." Talk about an understatement.

"That would've been a nasty fall. You should pay more attention to where you're going."

Lumine rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Eyes on the road. I'm lucky I caught myself; scraped hands are the worst." She'd experimented with biking in her younger years in Mondstadt, but she hadn't had the balance for it. Shoulderpads, kneepads, and a helmet hadn't saved her palms from getting scratched up more times than she could count. Worse than that pain, spurred by the panic of sensitive nerves, had been that of the rubbing alcohol her parents had used to clean the wounds. After a few attempts, she'd given up on vehicular transportation. "Did I tell you I sprained my ankle last month? Tripped over my own godsdamned blanket."

Frowning, Aether shook his head. "No. When?"

"The day after I dra— brought Wanderer in." She was not going to relay the specifics. If he found out that she'd taken a half-dead stranger into her home who then held a knife to her throat the next day, he would probably flip his lid. "I got a brace for it and it got better on its own. No pain anymore."

Lifting her leg, she circled her ankle to demonstrate; she could access its full range of motions without pain.

Something shifted in Aether's expression. His eyes grew serious again, stern gold meeting gold. "Speaking of Wanderer, if you can't tell me his name, can you at least tell me what he looks like? That way if we run into each other somehow, I'll know who he is."

"So you can threaten him?"

Flashing a toothless grin, Aether replied, "Maybe."

Lumine sighed, raising her hands in defeat. If it gave Aether some comfort, she'd give a general description. On paper, he wasn't remotely intimidating. Experience had sharpened him into a weapon, but Aether didn't need to know that.

Glancing around to ensure no one was listening, Lumine lowered her voice. Better safe than sorry. "He's about my height. Short hair, kind of indigo. Hard to tell if it's more blue or purple. Same with his eyes. They're gorgeous. He's—"

"Inazuman?"

Lumine blinked. That neither of them recognized her verbal slip-up was a small mercy, but this was worse. "How'd you know?"

"Hold on." Gesturing with his chin for her to follow, Aether moved into the shade of the side of a building. He pulled out his phone, fingers flying across the screen. "Sis, I think you're in over your fucking head. You've got a fucking missing person in your house."

Something twisted in her stomach. Bile rose in her throat. No. "What?"

How did he know people were looking for Wanderer? Was he going to rat him out?

"Yeah. Is this him?" Aether asked, pushing his phone into her hands.

Increasing the brightness and tilting the screen so she could see, Lumine looked at what he was showing her. Her blood ran cold.

Beneath a headline reading 'Son of Inazuman Politician Missing for Four Months,' a picture of Wanderer stared back at her.

Her Wanderer. With that same abysmal haircut, those same gorgeous, hateful eyes, and that sneer she'd been so often on the receiving end of. His jaw was lined with fading bruises and his cheek was flecked with small cuts. It was, or so the article said, the last picture taken of him before he'd vanished from his family's estate.

Raiden Kunikuzushi. That was the name listed below the picture. It had been taken in secret by his younger sister, who'd intended to use it as evidence to prove to parents too busy to notice or care that he was getting into trouble.

To what end? The article didn't say, though it implied that she may have been looking to steal his half of the family fortune by proving him unworthy of it. Or getting him disowned. Or, it also speculated, she may have been trying to reach out for help on his behalf.

Gossip, all of it. Only his sister, unnamed, could say. Wanderer— or should she call him Kunikuzushi now? How would he react if she spoke that name, his real name, aloud?— could guess, but his assumption might be clouded by bias.

Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, Lumine read on. He'd last been seen at the estate four months ago, though his presence had been less than consistent in prior years. His mother, Raiden Ei, when asked to comment, said he simply might be traveling. Or he may have left for good. She did not know where he had gone, or why, and it did not seem as though she cared to learn either answer.

Lumine's heart ached. If she disappeared, Aether would stop at nothing to find her. How could a mother, busy or not, turn her back on her child?

Four months. He hadn't been seen anywhere in four months.

He'd been with her for one, which left about three months and a handful of change when he'd been completely missing in action. That was presumably when he'd deserted; he couldn't have gone back to his house after. It would've been too obvious.

Three months and a few weeks of being hunted down. Three months and a few weeks of evading whoever was out to get him.

Then his luck had run out. Someone had caught him, and they'd wanted him to suffer. They'd left him to die slowly and alone in the cold.

How lonely had he been, on the run for so long? Lumine couldn't imagine spending a fourth of a year entrenched in paranoia, always alert and ready to flee. It would be exhausting.

Perhaps that was why he'd accepted her hospitality. Not only because he needed shelter, but because he'd been lacking somewhere to rest. And at Lumine's side, the side of someone so pathetically harmless, he could rest as long as he wished.

"I— I know he's in a bind, but he's an adult. He can go wherever he wants to." Considering his circumstances, it was obvious that he'd left his home. He'd only ever spoken of it like a prison. The real shock was what the article gave Lumine about his identity. His name. Who his parents were. They were high-profile people. She could research them if she wanted to, find out more.

But that felt like a violation of the brittle trust between them. He'd withheld this information for a reason, good or bad. She'd been content not to know, but now she did.

She'd have to tell him. How could she break it to him without freaking him out? This didn't mean anything, she would shelter and stand by him no matter what his name was or who his parents were, but Wanderer might not believe that. He might close himself off again, sinking into frustrations he wouldn't speak aloud until they boiled over.

"He looks like trouble, though, doesn't he?" Aether reached for his phone. Lumine gave it back without resistance, replaying the picture of him over and over in her mind, tracing the shape of his name with her tongue. Kunikuzushi. Definitely Inazuman. It was pretty, just like the rest of him.

But what Lumine valued most was the person behind that name and beauty. For all his sharp edges, she'd grown to cherish his companionship, risky as it had proven. "Yeah. I'm not gonna lie and say he isn't trouble, but he's no danger to me. Beyond a few headaches from dealing with his bullshit, at least."

Wanderer's past was a danger to her, but Wanderer wasn't. Aether might not see the difference, but Lumine did. And, despite it, she cared for him.

"His bullshit?"

"An attitude problem, mostly. I've never met anyone who enjoys complaining as much as he does." Smiling as she recollected their many spats, Lumine walked with Aether back into the light, resuming their journey for a mid-afternoon meal. "I'll tell you about it over lunch. You won't believe the shit I put up with."

And with that, the tension was gone. Aether didn't look fully convinced that Wanderer was trustworthy, but she'd assuaged the worst of his concerns. For now, that would suffice. It was time to enjoy being siblings again and to reclaim a little bit of the normality that had been for so long slipping from Lumine's grasp.

Chapter Text

Fire painted the sky as Lumine walked home, heels rubbing raw against the collar of her shoes. It cast Sumeru in brilliant hues of pink and orange, dyeing the trees in the distance stark black. The world was apologizing for the collective misery thick in the air every Monday by offering especially beautiful sights. It was almost worth the slog of classes and work, to walk home with the wind in her hair and her eyes glued to the horizon, watching the colors grow and shift as the sun fell and the moon woke from its slumber.

Wanderer awaited at home, somber as he'd been since returning from his several-hour walk on Saturday. He'd come home long after Lumine and Aether parted ways; she'd stayed up waiting, and she'd felt such relief when she heard his key turning in the lock that she thought she might drown in the feeling.

He was alive. Downcast, perhaps, but he'd never been upbeat. Lumine had hoped a walk might soothe some of the restlessness that lived beneath his skin, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. She'd walked in on him tidying the place several times, wiping down the kitchen counters and the coffee table until they shone like new. He stopped every time they met eyes, a deer in headlights, and he would leave the room with a few or no words at all.

Was he embarrassed about their almost-kiss? Or about running away after?

It was difficult to tell. She didn't want to prod, and it wasn't like she wasn't walking on eggshells around him, either.

Because she knew his name, now. She had something of his that he hadn't given her. It felt wrong to look him in the eyes, knowing what she knew. But it lingered in her mind, a tattoo on her psyche, syllables injected into every beat of silence, every moment her thoughts wandered too far. Some selfish part of her longed to speak it aloud. To catch him off guard with it, perhaps. To wield it in some crafted maneuver to confess all of the feelings brewing in her chest, creeping closer to a boil every time he drew near.

Lumine was holding her tongue, though. Good as she'd gotten at it, she didn't enjoy telling lies— including those of omission. This felt like a lie, or something worse. A violation of some sacred privacy that would shatter their bond if brought to light.

Confessing would be a bad idea anyway. No matter how many times she reminded herself, though, the temptation never faded. It was yet another thing hidden just under her tongue, another card clutched to her chest. It would throw a wrench of complications into an already cataclysmic mess. Fearing for their lives meant little time to indulge the petty dalliances of the heart.

Except for their meals together, of course, or the few times Lumine would join him in the living room. She'd sit at the foot of the sofa, back against the side, and read or study or scroll on her phone while Wanderer read, scoffing occasionally or letting out a faint exhale of amusement. Those were easier times, when she could bask in his presence without complication.

He hated how normal she tried to make things seem. But normal was all she knew, and it was all she craved. Normal with him by her side and nobody out for their lives.

Wishful thinking. She was asking too much, probably. Her consolation prize was a beautiful sunset and an almost-cool breeze caressing her skin.

As she rounded a corner, the air turned sour with an acrid stench. Gasoline? Smoke? A mix of the two. It wasn't an abnormal smell this close to the road, but it made her stomach twist. A memory resurfaced in her mind, hazy with the dust of age, of sitting in the backseat of her parents' car, watching the highway zip by. They'd passed a car, or maybe a truck, burning on the side of the road. The smell had lingered in the air for minutes; the sight had plagued Lumine's mind for miles.

But bonfires weren't uncommon back home. She'd grown used to the smells that came with them. Someone was probably cooking outside. Grilling. Taking advantage of the last hour or so of dying daylight.

She couldn't imagine cooking over a fire in this heat, though. Even with evening in the air, she was sweating from head to toe.

The smell grew stronger as she drew closer to home. It kindled something anxious in her heart, something primal that defied rationality. She was used to it, but when it was this strong in front of her home, it was impossible not to feel on edge. Wanderer was a competent cook; he wouldn't set the house on fire. Maybe one of her neighbors was having car problems?

Nothing stuck out as her street came into view, each house bathed in its own porchlight. Everything else was dark. That was good. If there was a fire, she'd be able to see it in this darkness.

The smell grew stronger as she reached her porch, dashing up the stairs in a surge of happiness. Home. Her walls would block out the worst of the stench and keep her cool for the rest of the night. Perhaps Wanderer knew what was causing the smell— he must have noticed it by now and investigated it as well as he could while staying inside. If nothing else, it would give them something to complain about.

Unlocking the door, Lumine stepped inside. An immense darkness swallowed her as she entered; not a single light was on, nor was a single curtain drawn. It shouldn't have been unusual, since she'd come home to it like this for years, but it was. There was no sign of life. No sounds, no movements, no lights.

Stomach sinking, Lumine slid her bag off her shoulder and crept into the living room. Wanderer was lying on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes shut in slumber.

Which, again, should not have been strange. But his head was resting on the side opposite the pillow, and one of his arms was draped over the side of the couch. She didn't make a habit of watching him sleep, but she'd passed through the living room enough times to know that wasn't his usual posture.

There was a teacup on the coffee table, from an old set she hadn't seen in ages. She'd inherited it with no intention of using it, but couldn't bring herself to throw it away. Though she wasn't much of a tea person herself, her parents had used it often. It held good memories.

But why was it out? Wanderer made himself tea from time to time, but he'd never used her tea set. He probably didn't even know she had one. It'd been buried in the deepest recesses of her kitchen for years.

Lumine leaned down, poking the porcelain with her finger. Something shifted inside, clear, reflecting the darkness of the room back at her. Tea.

Tea. In a teacup. Perfectly normal, but not.

Something clicked in her memory, one face in the sea she'd seen passing through the coffee shop today. She hadn't thought anything of the shiver that ran down her spine when she met the red eyes of a blue-haired man, but the teacup jogged her memory. It wiped the dust off of things that had settled far beyond her consciousness, gone but not forgotten.

She'd seen him once before at the café. He'd been strange before. Today he'd been different. Pleasant, grinning all the while as she'd prepared his order, so normal she'd barely given him a cursory glance.

"Wanderer."

No movement, no sound. Lumine turned away from the teacup, a sudden desperation surging through her as realization dawned. Fear clawed at her heart. "Wanderer. Wanderer, hey! Wake up."

Nothing. She turned him over, onto his back, one hand seeking the pulse at his jugular. Slow, but steady. Alive.

"Wanderer. Wanderer, come on. This isn't funny." Her hand slid to his shoulder. His head lolled back onto the couch cushion. "Wanderer. Kunikuzushi. Wake up."

She shook his shoulder. Lightly, then with more force. Poor bedside manners, but panic had a way of dimming logic. "Kunikuzushi, please. Wake up. Wake up. Don't leave me. Oh gods please be okay. You can't do this to me I love—"

His head tilted. Lumine sprang back, teeth clamping down on her tongue before those last accursed words could slip free. She watched, heart pounding and adrenaline rushing through her veins, as Wanderer stirred to life, moving in subtle twitches, opening his eyes with an almost pained languish. Lumine nearly sobbed into her hands as his gaze met hers, indigo eyes as vast and deep as the night sky in the dark.

"That… Where did you…"

Resisting the urge to throw her arms around him and weep, Lumine backed into the coffee table and buried her face in her hands. She'd been so scared. So scared. For a heartbeat, she'd thought he might be dead. Or dying. Or hurt.

And she loved him. She loved him. And both of their lives were in danger and she hadn't felt such fear since her parents died, since she'd watched them slip away and been left to pick up the pieces of the life she'd left behind for Sumeru.

"How do you know that name?"

Wanderer's words were groggy and hoarse, heavy with the weight of sleep. He was shifting himself upright, but each movement was slow, subtle, exhausting. Like he was moving underwater. Something was wrong.

Mouth dry and hands shaking, Lumine answered, "I saw it on the news. Aether showed me."

He froze, tensing, coiling to run. A cornered animal.

"It doesn't change anything. I don't care who your mom is or what your name is or what you're running from. You know that." Was she speaking to placate herself or him? It was difficult to tell. "I won't call you that if you don't want me to. But I think you have a right to know that I know."

Wanderer was quiet for a moment. "Say it again."

"Again?"

"Again."

For a moment, silence reigned over the living room. Then Lumine spoke, giving shape to the word she'd whispered a thousand times in her head. "Kunikuzushi."

"You say it like it's a name worth saying. Like it means something."

"It does. It's your name. It's part of you."

Wanderer closed his eyes and ducked his head, though his expression was impossible to discern in the darkness regardless. "Whatever the hell you put in that tea was potent. I feel like I've been asleep for years."

Fuck. Shit. "I've been gone for hours. Like, the whole day. I didn't make any tea."

Head snapping up, Wanderer met her eyes, expression deathly serious. "It was on the kitchen table. There was another empty cup at your seat, so I thought…"

He trailed off, narrowed eyes widening. "Someone else made it."

Lumine's heart sank. "I locked the door when I left this morning. How…"

"They have people for that. I should know— they were the ones who taught me to pick locks. The more complicated ones, at least." Seeming to regain some lucidity, Wanderer stood up from the couch, meandering toward the light switch. Lumine's eyes stung as light flooded the room, bringing the scene into full view. Aside from the teacup, nothing was out of place. "They know where I am. They broke in. The tea was drugged. But why? Why not kill me outright?"

He paused for a moment, tilting his head back. "What's that smell?"

Lumine shrugged. "Something burning, or something that was burning. It was super strong outside."

Panic filled Wanderer's eyes. His attention shot to the back door. "No."

Heart leaping into her throat, Lumine followed Wanderer's gaze. The back door. The garden. Gasoline. The stench of smoke.

Fire. All-consuming tongues of fire.

She began toward the door, stumbling on the leg of one of the nightstands. A hand wrapped around her waist before her head could collide with one of its sharp corners. Fingernails dug into her uniform shirt, blunt and stable, tethering. Her body felt light— too light. Like at any moment she might lift from the ground and float away. An astronaut. Someone in another world. Not her own world, where her garden was flourishing and she was a young woman in love and everything was alright.

"I am going to rip them to shreds," Wanderer hissed, grip tightening. The pressure made Lumine wince, but she didn't want him to let go. He was the only thing anchoring her to the world as she walked, slowly, toward the door. A two-person funeral procession, already knee-deep in mourning.

Her tongue was leaden but words came, a tsunami rising up her throat that she could do nothing to stop. "No. No, this is our house. This is our home we're safe here they don't know where we are this isn't happening we can't fight them my garden I don't want to die!"

After a short eternity, they reached the door. Lumine pressed her forehead into the wall as Wanderer unlatched the door. The stench grew stronger, reaching its grand crescendo, swelling before the grand finale. It waited with bated breath, a masterpiece waiting to be unveiled. The blood had drained from Lumine's face and a thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead. She was hot and woozy and the world was spinning, spinning, spinning.

A voice in her ear: "Breathe. Breathe, godsdamnit. Breathe. You're strong enough to do this. I should've seen this coming. I should've warned you."

Leaning into him, pressing her flushed cheek into his shoulder, Lumine breathed, "It wouldn't have mattered. I would have let you stay. This isn't your fault."

He was stiff, and his shoulder was sharp and bony beneath the thin fabric of her t-shirt. But she needed him. She needed someone, a shoulder to lean on, someone to collapse into.

Wanderer cracked the door open. The smell rushed inside, filling the air of the house. Bile rose in Lumine's throat, thrust up from a churning stomach and twisting intestines. Esophagus. Stomach. Small intestine. Large intestine. Ascending colon, transverse colon, descending colon. An entire digestive system up in arms, raging alongside her racing heart and her weakening muscles.

Lumine closed her eyes as Wanderer led her onto the porch. She didn't open them until her shoes met grass.

The backyard looked like a war zone.

The grass was charred. The plants were charred, black stems coiled toward the earth for safety or reduced to ash on the wind. Fire had eaten away her garden boxes. What little wood remained was shiny and fetid with gasoline. The fence had been spared. The house had been spared. But her garden had been razed and the soil saturated with oil so it would never foster life again.

Lumine's legs gave out. Wanderer's grip loosened as she fell to her knees, silent, staring at the devastation. The air was heavy, too heavy to breathe, her lungs screamed for air but her nose could not provide.

Wanderer dropped down to her level, tugging her hair back as she began to dry heave, throwing up bile and brownish-gray mush that had once been her lunch. His other hand snaked forward, coming to rest over where her heart was trying to pound free of her chest. It lingered there, fingers splaying. He applied pressure in a strange sort of embrace.

Her ribcage was too tight. Darkness danced at the edges of her vision. Lumine closed her eyes and leaned into Wanderer's touch, focusing on the feeling of his fingers over her ribs, over her shirt, over the hem of her bra. She tried to copy his breathing.

It became easier after a while.

She was crying.

When she had breath enough to speak, she heaved, "Why?"

Wiping bile from her lips and sucking snot up her nose, Lumine slipped from Wanderer's grasp and met his eyes, hands planting themselves in the soil, the remains of the grass still slick with residual gasoline. "Why would they— Why would…"

"To punish me. To punish both of us for thinking we could outmaneuver them." Fists clenching uselessly into the soil, Wanderer seethed. "Fuck. I should've smelled it. I should've heard them. What the fuck did they put in that tea? I was right there, they could've ended this and left you alone. Can I not have one unruined thing in my life?"

Lumine wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, grimacing as oil brushed her cheek. Something caught her eye, shining in the grass a few yards away, near the center of the yard. She crawled toward it, stretching to grasp that sharp, unnatural shape as it caught the light.

It sat no bigger than a coin of mora in her hand, an insignia of gold and bright red, embedded with the same symbol she'd doodled on a post-it note a while ago. A calling card. A taunt. They weren't trying to hide their dirty deeds; they were proud. They wanted Lumine and Wanderer to know exactly what they were up against.

Wanderer was hyperventilating beside her, face so red it was almost purple. A new surge of panic dampened her fear and quieted her tears. It urged her forward, to his side, to clutch his shoulders in her hands and press her forehead into hers. Sweat-slick skin met sweat-slick bangs as she breathed in the fetid air, fighting for composure she could not quite grasp.

She recognized the look in Wanderer's eyes; it had preceded all of his previous spiralings into self-hatred and guilt.

Their faux safety had been shattered, a rug swept from beneath their feet. They were both falling; there was no one waiting to catch them. They could only catch each other. They had to be strong.

"This isn't your fault. This isn't your fault. This isn't your fault." Each time she repeated the words, a prayer, a mantra, they felt a little more hollow. It was his fault that this was happening to her. If she hadn't taken him in or extended her generosity beyond patching him up for a day, she wouldn't be in danger.

Unless the people after him had been watching all along. They may have come after her anyway, all for an unsuspecting act of kindness offered to the wrong person.

But she'd chosen to shelter him, and she'd dug her heels further with each warning. This was her mess. Their mess. A beautiful catastrophe woven of chance and coincidence.

Wanderer's hands found her shoulders as his breathing slowed. "You should have listened. I should have pressed harder. If I weren't so selfish, you wouldn't have been involved."

"Should I have left you there, in that alley, to die?"

Wanderer heaved, the death knell of his convictions. "You would have been safer that way."

"And you would be dead." And Lumine would still be walking half-dead through life, convincing herself with every step that it was any way to live. Now that her eyes were open and she felt excitement at the thought of the future and her heart harbored so much love it felt fit to burst, she couldn't imagine going back. She couldn't imagine any reality in which she didn't drag Wanderer home.

Because no version of her, then or now or at any time in between, could have walked past a stranger bleeding out. His scrapes and scars had spoken of trouble. She'd resigned herself to that trouble; now it was knocking at her door. Regretting her actions was unthinkable. She did not want to die, nor did she want Wanderer to die. They could still salvage this. There had to be something they could do to both get out alive, if not unscathed.

With a humorless laugh, Wanderer muttered, "You say that like you care."

"I do."

"You'd be the first."

Lumine sighed, hands creeping up his shoulders to lace around his neck. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, giving him space to breathe. It was easier to think this way, to focus, when they weren't breathing each other's air. The proximity was still wreaking havoc on her mind, stirring a pleasant, buzzed light under her skin, but she could rebut with ease. "I'm honored. But, I have to ask. Do you really think your family wouldn't care if you died?"

Wanderer went stiff, the tension driving the sharp juts of his shoulder into her jaw. She shifted her head, hair pressing into his cheek. "The version of me they wanted died a long time ago. They watched me become a stranger. What does a stranger matter to one of Inzauma's most influential families, dead or missing or alive?"

Pain welled in Lumine's chest, a mix of grief for her own family, for the void they'd left in her life she'd never learned to patch, and for Wanderer, who had never had anything in that void. It had been empty to begin with. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry. You don't deserve this."

"I've ruined lives, Lumine." He leaned back, slipping free of her embrace as her grip slackened. Her hands fell to the charred grass below, fingers curling into the dirt. Wanderer met her eyes with a grave expression. "I'm just getting what I paid for. And I'm taking you down with me. It figures. Good things don't linger around people like me— they leave or wither. You don't deserve this."

"They used you. They manipulated you when you were vulnerable. You were a child!" Children made mistakes. It was part of growing up. Some mistakes stuck around longer than others, but no one could deserve something like this. "You couldn't have known what you were getting into."

A bitter smile crossed Wanderer's lips. A shallow breeze crept through the air, carrying the reek of gasoline and the weight of despair. Night had fallen properly, casting all in shadow. The cloak of night concealed the carnage of the backyard. "Not at first. But I learned quick the kind of crowd I'd fallen in with. And I chose to stick with them, because they were the only people with the kind of power— who could give me the kind of power— I craved."

The words were heavy, tinged with the kind of regret only hindsight could offer. He'd been so hurt, and he'd channeled his hate and frustration and inability to understand into hurting others. He ducked his head, the confession a heavy weight upon his neck, a brand he'd wear for the rest of his life. One mistake, one desperate conviction fueled by years of neglect and grief and apathy, would follow him until the day he died.

It was a lot to process in a day full of difficult things to process. Lumine could feel her mind growing fatigued, sluggish from wrapping itself around the day's happenings. This was a warning. The insignia left in the yard was proof of that. They could deal with the impending escalation at a later date.

They were surrounded by a mess. This wasn't the kind of thing she could hide. If she didn't do something soon, the neighbors would notice the smell. They'd call the Corps of Thirty, and Dori wouldn't be far behind.

"Fuck. My landlord."

Wanderer lifted his head, brows furrowing. "You're worried about your landlord. We're sitting in the charred remains of your backyard garden, and you're worried about your landlord?"

"Yeah! She's going to be pissed beyond belief. There's gotta be some sort of clause in the lease that'll let her sue the shit out of me for this."

The tension slowly seeping from his body, Wanderer narrowed his eyes. "Does this place have security cameras?"

Frowning, Lumine shook her head. "I would've told you. Your people would've hacked into them months ago, probably."

Wanderer's nose wrinkled. "Don't call them that. They aren't my people. Not anymore."

"What am I supposed to call them, then?"

"The Fatui."

Lumine blinked. For an organization of such a massive scale, its name was underwhelming. "What does not having cameras have to do with anything?"

"This was arson. It's a landlord's legal responsibility to secure their property so this kind of shit doesn't happen. Call the Corps of Thirty. If you get to them first, they should back you up. Might take care of the clean-up, too."

What? Where was any of this coming from? "I'm sorry, do you have a law degree hiding in all those secrets of yours?"

With a bitter laugh, Wanderer stood, pale and majestic in the fragile moonlight. "No. One of my associates back then, our financier, had a finger in every pie imaginable that could turn a profit. And there's nothing he loved more than the sound of his own voice. I probably learned more about being a landlord and the woes of actually having to solve your tenant's issues from him than a law degree would have taught me."

He offered a hand. Though her palms were clammy and slick with gasoline, she took it. Their fingers remained laced after she'd righted herself; she didn't pull away, and he didn't, either. "What about you? If I call the Corps of Thirty, won't they find you?"

"Reeking like this, it'd be a miracle if they didn't find me. If I shower, I can hide in your room, though. If you'll let me."

Gaze dropping to their intertwined hands, Lumine found a fragment of peace. "Of course."

Wanderer began to pull away. On reflex, Lumine tightened her grip. Frowning, Wanderer asked, "Something wrong?"

So many things were wrong. Almost all of them, in fact. And she knew the sooner they dealt with this situation, the better, but she didn't want to be alone. Not in the wasteland she'd loved so dearly, not in the stench of smoke and warnings. "I just— Could you stay a little longer?"

When her parents died, she'd had Aether. When Paimon vanished during their move to Sumeru, probably slipping unnoticed out the door, she'd had Aether. She'd never grieved alone.

Wanderer was silent, his stare heavy. Even in near-perfect darkness, she could see his gaze drift, sinking from her eyes to her lips, then up and down, as though he was taking her in for the first time. Drinking her in for the last time. Imprinting her contours and curves into his memory. "That's a bad idea."

"Why?"

Meeting eyes with force enough to snatch the breath from her lungs, Wanderer murmured, "If I keep looking at you, I'm going to kiss you, and now isn't the time for that."

This time, when he pulled away, Lumine didn't fight it. She clutched her hands to her chest, reeling in confusion and grief and something warm and stomach-churning as she watched Wanderer ascend the porch steps. He turned back to her once a few yards stretched between them, beautiful as always. "Fuck living afraid. You were right— I want to be normal with you. I'm going to fix this, and we're going to plant as many herbs and strawberries as you want and we'll bake as many awful pastries as you want. I'll even eat one, just for you."

Lumine blinked, stunned, lips falling open as Wanderer retreated into the house, leaving her alone outside. For a while, all she could do was stare, hearing Wanderer's words over and over, a ceaseless loop that swept her off her feet.

He'd thought of kissing her. He said he was going to fix this.

Did he have a plan?

One loss did not warrant a concession. It warranted planning. Strategy. Acknowledgement that they were faced against something beyond their capabilities, then trying anyway. Their only hope of achieving a real normal, not the farce Wanderer had scorned, was to force Wanderer's pursuers to back off.

The Fatui. That's what he'd called them. A Snezhnayan organization, though they'd sent him all across Teyvat. With a heavy heart, Lumine drifted back into the house, returning to its cool embrace. The walls weren't as comforting as they'd been the day before.

Would she ever feel safe again? Would she die before another opportunity arose?

She moved ghost-like into her room, slick fingers smearing rancid residue across the screen. Her fingers fumbled until she input the correct passcode, then darted instinctively to the call button.

Staring into the dial pad, Lumine took a deep breath. In, out. In, out.

She couldn't call the Corps of Thirty until Wanderer was hidden. She had an alibi, but Wanderer had been in the house all day. If they found him, they could easily accuse him of being the arsonist. No one would believe the truth. Maybe that was the Fatui's goal— to implicate him for the crime. He was the perfect scapegoat.

Lumine wouldn't let that happen. She would harbor him as she'd promised, and they would find some way to escape this unscathed.

Opening a search engine, Lumine input the name Wanderer had given her. The Fatui.

As he'd warned, few results emerged. A few links led to deleted blog pages or obscure chatrooms from a handful of years ago that gave no information of substance. It was speculation, hearsay, and gossip about some great organization of lizard-people or AI-powered robots pulling the strings of the world stage from behind the scenes. Someone claimed it was a cult, someone else called them an idiot and said it was obviously a hoax meant to distract people from something much more nefarious.

Were she not covered in grime and gasoline, Lumine would have collapsed onto her bed. Instead, she sank to the floor, letting the phone slip free of her hands as exhaustion washed over her. Nothing. Gods, how could there be nothing? In this day and age, where anyone could buy anyone else's personal information, where nothing deleted was ever truly gone, how could there be no information about a group of this scale?

Unless they had a hand in the tech world as well, bribing and threatening from the shadows to keep their name off the internet's lips.

"Now I'm starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist," Lumine sighed. She found no comfort in the sound of her own voice. Whatever she was trying to do, it was a feat too immense for one person to accomplish. Even with Wanderer's help, anything she could dig up would likely be of little use. And what would she do if she found anything incriminating? Try to blackmail them?

They knew where she lived. They knew where she worked and probably where she went to school. They could easily find out, if they didn't already know, that she had a brother.

Aether.

They wouldn't. He had no part in this.

No. They'd burnt her garden to the ground. Probably in broad daylight. These people, the Fatui, were not bound by woulds or shoulds or common morality. They took what they wanted and treated people like pawns to be played with and discarded at their leisure. Lumine was a college student in her early twenties just trying to get by. What hope could she have of surviving them, let alone defying them?

Distantly, she heard the sound of the shower stop. Wanderer would be coming out soon, coming to hide in her room. She'd have to call the Corps of Thirty. She'd have to look him in the eye after he'd broken that last barrier of propriety she'd been trying to keep between them, convinced it was the better thing to do. The safer thing to do. But if they were going to die anyway, why try to hide from their feelings?

More than a kiss, she yearned for his embrace. But she would not ask for that tonight, not while her hands shook over the dial of her phone and her room stank of fire and Wanderer sequestered himself in her room to hide from law enforcement.

It was one thing to keep her roommate a secret from Aether or her friends. Hiding him from the Corps of Thirty was lying by omission. This could get her into serious trouble.

Lumine smirked. She was already in serious trouble, far deeper than the Corps of Thirty could match.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door. It wasn't locked, it wasn't even closed, but Wanderer remained where he was, awaiting an answer.

"Come in. I'm decent."

The door opened slowly; Wanderer stood in the doorway, clad once again in her clothes, hair black and clinging to his face as water dripped from the ends. Something pained crossed his eyes as he looked at her, sitting slumped on the floor, prostrate, a woman waiting to die. "Are you going to call?"

"Yeah. Just give me a sec." The air was heavy, stingy with its oxygen. She must have looked pathetic, panting and fighting off tears on her own bedroom floor, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The room was dark, anyway. Wanderer couldn't see the worst of it. "I'm tired. Really, bone-deep tired."

Wanderer knelt down to her level, putting a hand on her shoulder. It wasn't an embrace and it wasn't a kiss, but it was enough. "You're not alone. They say misery loves company, right? This is our burden. Don't feel like you have to shoulder it alone."

The exhaustion was older than this. It'd been with her for a long time, feeding on childhood resentment, teenage grief, and young-adult struggling. But knowing that someone else was tired too meant more than words could convey. Someone understood her suffering. Someone she loved.

"Thanks. You're a better person than you think, y'know."

"Better doesn't always mean good."

Lumine forced a smile, scooping her phone into her hands. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I guess I'd better call before the smell wakes someone else and they get the jump on me. Try not to have too much fun in here."

Wanderer returned her smile; his was just as fake. "No promises. Turn the light out on your way out, would you?"

"Hope you're not scared of the dark." It would give the room the illusion of emptiness. If someone from the Corps asked why the door was shut, she'd come up with some excuse. She had her lingerie out to dry. She was performing a séance to ask the ghost of her house— which was definitely haunted— who'd done it. She hadn't made her bed in weeks and there was laundry all over the floor and she couldn't possibly let anyone see the mess, she'd die of shame.

"Only what hides in it."

Lumine sighed, a weight settling on her chest as she drew the door shut. "Touché."

Finding herself alone in the dark living room, Lumine strode into the kitchen, flicking on the light. Then she tapped her phone to life, pressing a part of the lock screen she'd always been afraid of butt-dialing on accident.

The phone rang once, then twice.

"You've reached the Corps of Thirty. What's your emergency?"

Deep breath in, deep breath out. She wasn't a good actor, but anyone whose house had been vandalized was bound to be a little discombobulated. This was the easy part. "Hi. My name is Lumine, and…"

Chapter Text

Somehow, the world carried on.

It always had, after things like this. Time was a relentless march forward that bent to no one. Before she'd learned to weather grief, everything had seemed slow. The days dragged on, stretching her thin as she grew number to a pain that never left. She got used to it. She'd gotten used to the absence of her parents and to the growing distance between her and Aether.

She would get used to this, too. Her appetite would return and sleep would come easy and she wouldn't drift off staring at shadows while oblivious classmates scribbled frantic notes all around her.

Lumine had considered calling off of work, but decided against it. If she couldn't stop her mind from racing, she could at least do something with her hands. Interact with people a little bit and pretend that things were fine.

Enteka had commented on the bags beneath Lumine's eyes when she came in. She said she'd stayed up late working on homework. How could she tell the truth? How could she look anyone in the eye and tell them that she'd spent the night trying not to weep as the Corps of Thirty swept through her backyard looking for evidence they would not find?

Since there was no sign of attempted entry into the house, they hadn't bothered to search it. There were more important things going on. A backyard garden burning down was unfortunate, but no one had died. No one was at risk of dying.

As far as they knew, at least.

Then they'd contacted her landlord, who'd agreed to pay for a clean-up crew and a rudimentary security system for the house as long as she wouldn't sue.

It was more than she'd hoped for. Dori had to know that Lumine couldn't afford to sue her, even if she wanted to.

Wanderer was in hiding once more, somewhere in her bedroom with the curtains drawn, probably struggling to focus on whatever he was doing as people worked outside, hauling away soil and what remained of her plants.

And here she was, working away the hours, losing herself in the rhythm of the coffee machines and taking orders. No suspicious customers came to gloat or inquire about vaguely-described people. It would have been petty, but it was for the best. Lumine may not have been able to stop herself from tripping and spilling their order all over their smug faces.

The thought of such revenge lifted her spirits a little, a band-aid over a gunshot wound. It was much more realistic than whatever grandiose ideas had sprung to mind while she'd been digging for information on the internet. Some part of her was still holding out hope that Wanderer would come up with a plan, given his knowledge of the Fatui's inner workings, but he'd mentioned nothing of the sort.

He'd been cagey that morning. That had been fine— Lumine wasn't in much of a talking mood, either. They could address whatever had passed between them outside later, when the aftershock had faded and it was possible for them to play at the normalcy Wanderer had proposed. They could kiss, hug, fuck, and dance while the world crumbled to dust.

At least their last memories could be good ones.

A subtle buzz pulled Lumine's attention back to Teyvat. A notification, not a phone call. She paused halfway through scrawling someone's name on a coffee cup, forgetting what she'd been writing halfway through.

"I'm sorry, could you spell that for me?"

"Candace. C-a-n-d-a-c-e."

Lumine nodded, glad it was a name that could actually be confusing to spell. A group of students studying abroad from Natlan had come in earlier today; she'd definitely butchered some of the spellings, but at least she hadn't had to ask how to spell Ifa. That would have been embarrassing. "Great, thanks. That'll be eleven-hundred mora."

Candace frowned but handed over the money. Lumine almost felt inclined to apologize for the prices, but if someone else heard, she'd never hear the end of it. Their prices were higher than most of Sumeru's cafés because of their prime location and their high quality products. Not every coffee shop in the area ground its own beans or sourced its ingredients locally.

The place was out of her budget, but the few times she'd felt sneaky enough to abscond with a pastry or a cup of coffee for herself during closing, she hadn't been disappointed. It was good stuff. Almost worth the price.

"Thank you. Have a great day, and we hope to see you again soon!"

Most customers turned to leave as soon as that spiel began, but Candace lingered, something conflicted in her gaze as she held eye contact with Lumine. Concern, maybe? Lumine wasn't putting much effort into hiding her exhaustion. Between the dark circles under her eyes and her robotic tone of voice, she may as well have been a zombie.

"You too. Make sure to get some rest." She looked like she might say more, but she didn't. She simply picked up her cup and left, shoulders dropping in a slight sigh. Probably from the rich aroma of the coffee, or from the reminder that no matter how she was doing, someone else out there was always doing worse.

Today, that someone happened to be a barista with a bounty on her head.

There was a line, and she wasn't supposed to check her phone while she was working, so the notification went unseen. It lingered in Lumine's mind, though, joining the mélange of thoughts clogging her consciousness. A text, probably. From who? Venti, maybe, or Collei. Or Aether.

Aether.

She'd wanted so desperately to call him last night. His voice would have been a great comfort. But if she called him, he'd ask why, and she didn't have the heart to tell him what was going on. If he knew someone had set fire to her yard, he might draw some correlation between the arson and Wanderer's presence. He might realize how deep in trouble Lumine was and do something stupid.

Even if he didn't, he would freak out and insist on coming to visit. Then he might get caught in the crossfire if things escalated.

Keeping him in the dark was selfish and selfless, but Lumine couldn't bear to put Aether in harm's way. Irritating as he could be, he was her brother, her twin, and the only family she had left. She could never put him in harm's way to try and ease the burden on her shoulders.

She hissed as a searing pain stabbed at her fingers; she'd fumbled the cup she was dispensing coffee into, sticking her fingers directly under the stream of steaming-hot liquid. Her hand burned, quite literally, as she jerked away from the machine, cursing under her breath as she retreated toward the sink. The handles were stubborn, rusted iron or steel that'd been here since the place opened, and it took a few adrenaline-powered jerks for the cold water to twist free, a slim waterfall of bliss against the agony radiating down the palm of her hand, following the path of the coffee as it'd trailed down her arm.

With a grimace, Lumine shot an apologetic look to the person whose order was now on hold. Dehya. A regular she knew by name, well enough to know she wouldn't be too irritated with the hold-up.

"You alright there?" Dehya shouted over the counter, breaking through the brittle din of café chatter. Lumine's face warmed as she felt all eyes in the café shift onto her, but she forced herself to smile and nod. She liked Dehya. Not only for being a decent customer, but for the interesting conversation she sometimes made while Lumine prepared her orders. A former member of the Corps of Thirty, she was always sniffing out some kind of trouble, and she wasn't shy about sharing it.

If she knew about last night's happenings, she didn't mention it. Or she was just being polite— it was one thing to draw attention to a minor injury, and another thing entirely to announce that someone had vandalized her home.

"Just a little burn. No biggie." It hurt, but she'd burned herself enough times to power through it. With the coffee machines and other hot surfaces. If it got bad she'd pop an over-the-counter painkiller and move on with her life. When she got home, Wanderer would probably notice and fuss over it.

The thought made her smile. A former criminal fussing over her like she was something precious. Was that ironic?

She probably should have cared more about Wanderer's shady history. But whatever he'd done, espionage and breaking-and-entering and sabotage, was so beyond the scope of her world that it meant almost nothing. He'd been brushing elbows with people who made her look like an ant.

Had he ever killed someone? Had he ever been involved in the psychological breakdown of a deserter?

The thought soured her mood. Though her wound still ached, she turned off the tap, drying her hands on a towel and trying not to hiss as the rough fabric scraped tender dermis.

"There's no need to rush on my account. I've got nowhere to be."

Lumine shook her head, offering Dehya an apologetic look as she grabbed another cup. Take two. "The rest of us aren't so lucky. I've got a whole stream of caffeine addicts waiting for their fix."

Dehya laughed. "Calling us out, dealer? Bold move."

"We've got the best goods in town. Not that I often get high off my own supply, but there wouldn't be a line of people halfway to the door if our coffee wasn't all that." This was nice. Here, within Puspa Café's admittedly oppressive green interior, she could joke with regulars and make metaphors that might jeopardize her career and pretend the worst thing waiting for her beyond was choosing what to make for dinner,

"Don't I know it. That's why I'm here."

Popping a lid onto her cup, Lumine slid it across the counter into Dehya's waiting hand. "We appreciate your loyalty."

"Enough to get me a discount?"

"Not quite."

With another laugh, Dehya reached into her pocket and pulled out her mora. She ordered the same blend every time; she'd learned its price by heart as Lumine had learned its brew. Regulars like this made the workday bearable. They weren't all as personable as Dehya, but seeing familiar faces now and then made her feel more human, more seen, especially when they recognized her.

Taking the mora and depositing it into the register, Lumine said, "Thanks for coming in. Tell Dunyarzad hi for me. I hope she's been well."

"She'll be thrilled to know you remember her." Taking a cautious sip from her cup, Dehya raised it, a toast to something only she knew. "Take care. See you next time I'm craving the good stuff."

With that, she was gone, and the day plunged back into grayscale. The last hours dragged on, bringing with them every irritable coffee and pastry seeker under the Sumerian sun. She couldn't blame them for their short tempers, having felt the heat grate her own nerves countless times, but they still made an unpleasant day worse. By the time evening rolled around, she felt dead on her feet, awake only because her job kept her standing.

She and Wanderer were due for a chat when they got home. It needed to happen, but Lumine wanted nothing more than to collapse into her mattress the second she got inside. A serious discussion would be nigh impossible if she spent its duration fighting to stay awake.

Once the last customer was gone, Lumine grabbed a cup and prepared some coffee for herself, made bearable by a bit of cream and sugar. Without it, she might pass out on the way home. Wanderer would worry and possibly come looking for her. That would put them both in undue danger.

Serving herself without paying also put her in danger, but it was better to jeopardize her job than her life. As long as she was sneaky about it and kept it to a minimum, nobody would notice, let alone care.

Tucking her beverage into the sleeve of her backpack, Lumine flipped the closed sign and made her way for the exit. Kaveh had already started cleaning the day's mess, bidding her farewell with a wave and a strained smile.

She returned the gesture. The drive-through wasn't as hectic as manning the front— though her only experience with the drive-through had come when she was managing both— but she'd take the face-to-face interaction any day over after-hours cleanup. Her standards for clean were much different than the ones demanded by such an establishment.

What did it matter if the tables shone like new? As long as they were disinfected and swept of crumbs, they were perfectly functional.

The smell of coffee followed Lumine out of the café, emanating with the steam from her cup like portable incense. It made her mouth water and her fingers itch to grab the cup, but she knew it'd be too hot. In the café, it only needed a minute or two to cool down, but out in the evening heat, it would take a bit longer. One burn was plenty for the day.

She glanced at her hand, grimacing at the trail of inflamed red creeping from the side of her fingers down the back of her hand. The burn was minor, but in a bad spot. The skin over the back of her hands was thin, yielding to the stretch of tendons and lined by the courses of veins. It still hurt, but it was a manageable amount of pain, the kind she could ignore unless something brushed against the injury or she moved her hand wrong.

It'd be a pain tomorrow when she had to write with that hand, but she'd do the best she could. It'd need bandaging when she got home, and probably some aloe vera. At least it wasn't another sprained ankle.

Traffic died down as she grew farther from the heart of the city, following one of the many arteries branching into residential areas. The distance between street lights stretched, leaving patches of darkness that left the whole world drenched in shadow.

Lumine knew the dangers such streets posed at night, especially to women, especially to those short of stature, but she'd rarely felt the need to be vigilant. Conscious of her surroundings, yes, but she'd never kept her neck on a constant swivel, eyes sweeping back and forth across the world around, waiting for someone to sneak up behind her or jump out of the bushes or something to that effect. The night was a time for peace and the occasional existential meltdown, not to skirt the great lights from above in fear of being seen.

This was her punishment for unknowingly saving someone from the Fatui's wrath. They were stealing her peace and crushing her passions. What next? A brick through her window with a message stuck to the bottom? Threats left in her mailbox, typed and clean of fingerprints? Maybe they'd get tired of toying with her and move on to the main event.

What would that involve? Would someone break into her house again to kill them both? Would they be kidnapped? Tortured and left to die?

Reaching for her coffee, Lumine took a long sip. It was still hot, but it helped her fight off the bad thoughts. If the Fatui wanted her terrified, they'd have to do it themselves. She wasn't going to worry herself into paranoia and make things easier for them.

Except she probably was. Brave as she liked to pretend to be, insolent as she could be, the sight of her ruined yard would follow her for the rest of her life. However long that turned out to be. It had rattled her, that quiet comfort that came with a life mostly spent in safety, of hearing horror stories and knowing that that kind of thing happened to other people, but never to her.

Their parents' deaths had shaken her to her core, but they had come of natural causes. Heart problems. Lung cancer. Common deaths, almost mundane, tragedies built on strenuous overtime and pre-existing conditions and the stress of one child always sick and the other never satisfied. Nobody had stolen her parents from her as the Fatui were trying to steal her sense of safety.

So she sipped her coffee and kept both eyes alert, never breathing easy, not even as the silhouette of her house approached.

The security cameras were new, installed hastily in the morning, little boxes of plastic and wire that'd probably fall down within a year of Sumeru's harsh rains. Their video storage capacity was pathetic and the video quality was probably worse. Lumine didn't care; she'd accepted them to soothe things over with the landlord, so she wouldn't have legal trouble to deal with on top of the rest of the bullshit. Anyone determined enough could hack into them or disable them.

She cared more about the bags of soil that'd been dumped in her yard. The Corps of Thirty had picked up the pieces, but she was in charge of putting the yard back together again. It was going to be back-breaking work. Then she'd have to get nutrients for it and compost, since they'd bought the cheapest dirt on the market.

It was just that— dirt. Uninhabited by the microorganisms and macroorganisms that made the ground underfoot one of the world's most diverse ecosystems. It was a showroom, a house unfurnished, inhospitable to life. Getting it garden-ready would take time and effort.

Would she have enough time?

That didn't matter. She wouldn't let the Fatui dissuade her from doing the things she loved. They wouldn't take that away from her.

Ascending the porch, Lumine took one last look around the neighborhood and fished around for her keys, wincing as the warm metal in her pocket brushed against her burn. It just had to be on her dominant hand. Every injury she acquired seemed to gravitate to the least convenient spot possible.

At least in the onion debacle, her left hand had been the one wielding the knife.

The front door opened without a creak. She sighed as she stepped inside, basking in the cool air as she locked the door behind her. Sliding her backpack from her shoulder, she kicked off her shoes and trudged into the living room. Wanderer was splayed out on the couch, hands crossed over his chest as he stared into the ceiling.

Stumbling a little from the weight of her bag, made worse by the scratch of nylon across the back of her hand, she righted herself and glanced up at the ceiling. There was nothing there; it was the same boring pane of off-white as always. It wasn't even textured.

"Something interesting up there?" She asked, transferring her backpack to her non-injured hand.

Meeting her eyes, Wanderer exhaled deeply, then sat up. "Nope. Nothing at all."

"Damn. Lost in thought?"

Shrugging, Wanderer replied, "Where else is there to go? At least there's only one person after me in my thoughts."

"Who, you?"

"Who else?"

"That makes two of us, I guess." Crossing the room to chuck her bag into her bedroom, she shook out her hand, willing the pain away. Seeing Wanderer made it a little better; all those inconvenient love hormones were good for something, it seemed. "Burned myself on the coffee machine today. Apparently, no matter how lost you get in your thoughts, you never stray far in the physical world."

Brow furrowing, Wanderer stood, grabbing her by the wrist with one hand and flicking on a lamp with the other. "Are you incapable of going one day without getting injured?"

"Yeah, actually, I'm not usually this accident-prone. Guess you bring out the worst in me." Pressing her other hand against her forehead with a theatrical gasp, Lumine lamented, "You've turned me into the main character of a teenage romance novel, cute and clumsy and charming in just the right way to catch the attention of the hot, edgy, misunderstood love interest."

Grip slackening on her wrist, Wanderer quirked a brow. "You think I'm hot?"

"You're the sun at high noon. You're the coffee I burned myself on a few hours ago." Giddy with metaphor and the acknowledgement of feelings sealed for too long, Lumine grinned. That grin turned into laughter as Wanderer's face scrunched in judgment and faux disgust.

"So I'm unbearable and I hurt you. Good to know."

Well, he wasn't wrong. "Stop reading into things. Let's go take care of the burn before I do something to make it worse."

"What are you, five? You need me to tend your wounds?"

Rolling her eyes, Lumine tried to twist her wrist from his grasp. He didn't let go. "I dunno, but with the way you apprehended it like it owes you money, I figured you were going to do something with it. If you don't want to treat it, kiss it better, maybe?" Leaning perhaps a tad too much into the joke, Lumine batted her eyelashes and offered Wanderer her best pout.

He scoffed, nose wrinkling in disgust, but brought his wrist to her lips.

"Oh fuck shit oww!" She exclaimed as his lips, tender and chapped, brushed the burn. "Bad idea, bad idea. Thanks for playing along, but we should really go to the burn ward now."

Guilt flashing through his eyes, Wanderer stepped back, letting go of her wrist. "Shit. That was stupid. I shouldn't have…"

"No, no, no. I appreciate it. Your enthusiasm more than makes up for the pain." Her heart was doing some sort of interpretive dance in her thoracic cavity, making her head buzz with pleasant static. It was almost strong enough to dull the ache. "But seriously, bathroom time. I've got some aloe under the sink. There should be gauze rolls in one of the cabinets, too."

She led him into the bathroom and turned on the light. It was bright, too overpowering for such a small space, and it caught the red splotched across Lumine's face perfectly. She'd heard of ugly criers— she'd been called one on several occasions— but she was also convinced of the existence of ugly blushers. One of the best case studies was staring back at her through the mirror, turning on the tap to run more cold water over her burn.

Wanderer's face was red as well, but to a much more muted degree. He didn't speak as he began delving through her cabinets, exhuming tombs of ancient toiletries and medical supplies that hadn't seen light in years. After a minute or so, he pulled out a bottle of aloe vera, half empty, with green crust solidified into the divot on the cap. Her eyes watered at the sight; she'd gone through several bottles since moving to Sumeru, all for treating sunburns before she'd found a brand of sunscreen that worked for skin as sensitive as hers. It'd ended up in her eyes more times than she'd ever admit.

She turned off the tap, gently drying her hands, and reached for the bottle, but Wanderer beat her to it. He flipped the cap open, flicked the gunk into the sink, and squeezed some onto his hand. The gel curled around itself like a viscous soft-serve ice cream.

"Give me your hand."

Lumine relented, presenting him the back of her hand as though he were a gentleman whose acquaintance she was most pleased to make. He slathered the gel onto her hand, working it into the red, blistering skin with a tenderness she hadn't known him capable of. The medicinal effect was immediate— the gel was cool and soothing. The hands that spread it moreso.

It was intimate, almost embarrassingly so, watching him rub aloe vera into her hand with a devotion far beyond what the situation required. He looked irritated, brows furrowed and lips drawn in a thin line as he worked. "It's a miracle you've kept yourself alive this long," He grumbled as he pulled away, brushing the residual goop from his hands before grabbing the gauze roll and winding it up her hand and around her burned fingers. "Being an airhead is only going to get you in trouble."

With an indignant huff, Lumine replied, "Hey, my head's not always in the clouds. This was a one-time thing."

"And when you cut yourself?"

"The onions were waging war against me. My finger was the only casualty."

"And your ankle?"

"I kicked a blanket off the bed in my sleep and tripped over it when I got up." Granted, if she hadn't vaulted out of bed in a hurry because she'd been late, her ankle would have emerged scot-free. But Wanderer didn't need any more ammunition. "All accidents. I've kept myself alive on my own for years."

Scoffing, Wanderer tore her makeshift cast free from the roll of gauze, tucking the loose end under a few layers of bandaging. "Alive, maybe, but not unharmed. It can’t be great for you to keep getting injured.”

“That’s what the immune system’s for. And the lymphatic system. And the circulatory system.” And most of the others, too. The body was a machine with a precious task— keeping its host alive. It could handle as many cuts and bruises and sprains as Lumine threw its way, so long as she took care of them. The risk of infection was another story. “Anyway, are you just scolding me for the hell of it, or is this your weird way of saying you’re worried about me?”

Wanderer scowled, fingers tracing down her arm, settling in the crook of her elbow. Like he didn’t want to let go, not yet. “That shouldn’t exactly come as a surprise. You’ve been jumpy for weeks and your garden was fucking burned down yesterday. You look exhausted.”

She felt exhausted, too. “I appreciate the thought. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll try to be more careful. Pay a little more attention to my surroundings, let you handle all of the onion-cutting, the works. But I’m worried about you too, y’know.”

Releasing her slowly, hands drifting back to his sides with reluctance, Wanderer frowned. “Why?”

“Well, you’ve been cooped up in my house for two months. You’ve known all along that people’ve been hunting you, and now they know where you are. Not to mention that you’ve been on the run forever. That’s gotta be exhausting too.”

Lips thinning and brows furrowing, Wanderer turned away from Lumine, busying himself by putting the gauze and aloe away. “Sure. It’s hard to say whether the inevitability of the Fatui acting or the suspense from waiting is worse, but I’ve got a little more experience dealing with this kind of crap. Besides, I meant what I said about making the most of our time together. I’m not letting the Fatui ruin this for me, too.”

Sadness welled in Lumine’s chest as Wanderer met her eyes again. How much of life had the Fatui drained from Wanderer? Working for people like that must have had a hand in turning him into the person he was today, that stonewall cynic who spread his trust thin. He’d had a bad start, of course, but Lumine was proof enough that shitty family situations didn’t change a person so fundamentally.

“Well, in the spirit of enjoying ourselves, how about we get to know each other a little better?” Wanderer’s gaze narrowed; it took Lumine a few seconds to realize the implications of her words. Shit. Rewind, rewind. “I mean, like, as people. Asking questions. Yeah. That.”

“You want to ask me questions?”

His tone was guarded, his posture tense. Lumine would have to tread carefully. “Well, I really don’t feel like I know much about you. And I don’t think you know much about me, either, beyond the surface-level stuff. You’re pretty tight-lipped about stuff, and you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, but I think we could, I dunno, bond a little more. If it makes you feel any better, you can ask the first question.”

Wanderer was quiet for a while, conflict playing out in the twitches and shadows across his face. Then he nodded, reaching for her unbandaged hand. “Fine. But your bathroom really doesn’t have the ambiance for a heartfelt discussion. C’mon.”

With a huff, Lumine linked his hand with hers. “The aesthetics of my bathroom are perfect for every sort of discussion, thank you, but I’ll oblige.”

“Yeah, because bright lights and white walls are the best atmosphere for vulnerability. What is this place, a psych ward?”

Lumine sighed. “You’ve got a point there. If I ever own a house of my own, none of the walls are going to be white. Or beige. Or ivory or ecru. Gray might be tolerable for an accent wall, but nothing more. If I’m already miserable, why live somewhere that invites more misery?”

“Don’t get too crazy with your color combinations. There’s a thin line between fashionable and tacky.”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn if someone thinks my house is tacky. I decorate for my pleasure, not theirs.” A grin crept across her cheeks as Wanderer led her into the living room, dragging her to sit on the couch beside him. They settled at the couch’s center, the cushions squishing to slant them toward each other, legs and arms brushing as Lumine stifled a giggle. “If you’re still in the picture then, I’ll consider decorating for your pleasure, too.”

Wanderer quirked a brow. “You think I’m going to tolerate you until you can afford a house?”

“Wow! And here I thought you were being nice for a change.” Crossing her arms and turning away, Lumine pretended to seethe. “Every wall is going to be pastel, then. Except your room. That’s going to be neon green and bright orange.”

Scoffing, Wanderer shot back, “Then I’ll paint your room burgundy and black while you’re away. You’ll come home one evening to a goth’s wet dream.”

“You’re impossible. How about this— we share a room. Normal colors. Half the walls get your favorite, half the walls get mine.”

“What makes you think I’d want to share a room with you?”

With a devious grin, Lumine leaned into his ear and whispered, “Because you like me.”

Wanderer tensed, looking at her with eyes wide and lips parted, so aghast that she couldn’t stop herself from laughing. Short bursts, first, then heaves for air as her lungs struggled to keep up. She wrapped her arms around her middle, aching with each gasp, resting her head on her legs as it flushed and went woozy. “The… You should’ve seen… the look on your face!”

A hand found her hair, startling her from her laughter. Wanderer ran his fingers through it as Lumine regained her breath and composure. Once she could breathe again and sit up without feeling lightheaded, Wanderer retracted his hand. Much to Lumine’s displeasure.

“We didn’t come over here just so I could tease you. Stop avoiding the subject.” Curling into herself, wrapping her arms around her folded legs, Lumine continued, “Whatever’s on your mind, whatever you’re curious about, ask away. I promise I won’t judge. Too harshly.”

The humor drained from Wanderer’s countenance. He held her gaze for a while, just a moment long enough for her to stiffen, then he began with a sharp inhale, “I’m not sure this is what you had in mind, but…”

His eyes slipped shut for a moment. He clenched his jaw, raised his chin, and opened them again. “What was it like when your parents died?”

Lumine blinked, smile dying in an instant. She’d expected a probe into her past, but she hadn’t expected Wanderer to aim straight for the jugular. After two months in his company, she should’ve known better. “It… sucked. I know you had problems with your family, but they were my whole world.”

She paused, anticipating a snarky comment, but none came. So she continued: “It was horrifying. Watching mom waste away during chemo, watching dad give up… I’ll never forget how it felt.”

“Cancer?”

“Lung cancer. She— my dad was a smoker. Picked up the habit in Fontaine, where he grew up. Didn’t stop until we came into the picture.”

By then, the damage had been done. Years of the habit had weakened his heart, and years of secondhand smoke had withered their mother’s lungs. Their father’s heart attack, two years later, just a month after they’d turned seventeen, hadn’t been as surprising. It had hurt just the same, but they’d been addled with anticipation after the death of their mother. They knew it was coming.

Wanderer put a hand on her knee. Lumine rested her head on his shoulder. Bony as it was, the contact made unburying these memories a little less painful.

“He blamed himself?”

“Yeah. I’ve never really known how to feel about that. I mean, lung cancer. Any number of things can bring it on, but…”

Lumine sighed, closing her eyes. “There’s no guarantee it wouldn’t have happened, had he quit sooner. She could’ve gotten cancer anyway. Or died some other way. But it’s hard not to blame him sometimes, even a little bit. They could both still be alive. They didn’t have to die. They just… did.”

And they’d left their children to flounder, wards of the nation for eleven months and set out at eighteen. Thrown to the wolves, expected to pull their lives together in the wake of grief beyond bearing. They’d managed, working odd jobs out of their parents’ house until opportunity struck. A pamphlet had arrived in their mailbox, sender anonymous, heralding the promise of intellectual fulfillment and the prestige of an education at one of Teyvat’s most prestigious universities.

Probably it hadn’t been sent to them. Aether was the kind of student who might attract the Akademiya’s attention, but from what Lumine had learned, they didn’t do much scouting. Someone must have left it for them. An old family friend, maybe, or a pitying bystander. Someone who felt bad for the shitty lot they’d been dealt and wanted to offer them a chance at something better.

And here they were, several years into something better. Saddled with classwork and homework and the promise that their diplomas would guarantee them high-paying jobs or preferential admission into specialized graduate programs. The grief had grown duller, claws blunted from years of scraping stone. It wasn’t gone, but it was easier to manage.

Still, Lumine found herself near tears. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, shifting to tuck her legs beneath her so she could lean further into Wanderer. Fuck, she hated thinking about the circumstances.

She’d learned to live with the fact that her parents were dead. That when she received her diploma, there’d be no one in the crowd waiting for her, proud and beaming. That she had no one to call but Aether on hard days, and he was busy with his own life. That she had no one to hug her when she felt sad or to kiss her goodnight.

Childish desires, perhaps, but that didn’t make them any lighter.

“The world’s an awful place, sometimes,” Wanderer mused, leaning his head against hers. “Everyone always says life isn’t fair, but that doesn’t make it any easier once you realize that’s true. I guess you learned that the hard way, too. More than anyone I know, you deserve a loving family.”

Lumine frowned. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Sighing, Wanderer took one of her hands in his, tracing up and down her fingers in a way that made her hand tingle. Pleasant shivers ran down her spine. “After all the things I’ve done, I’m not sure I deserve anything. Certainly not you.” She could hear the smile in his voice, bitter and spiteful. “But I’m selfish. I want you anyway.”

Lumine tried to muster a smile. She couldn’t. Instead, she squeezed his hand. “And you have me.”

“For that, I’m the luckiest fugitive alive.”

That managed to lighten her mood a bit. He was running his fingers further up her arm, now, fingers trailing the faint blue veins of her wrist. What was he thinking about? All the decisions he’d made? All of the regrets that had formed over the years?

“I guess that’s that question answered,” She said, wary of breaking the moment but unable to stand the silence. It was warm here, tucked into Wanderer’s side. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall asleep. “My turn, now.”

“Do your worst.”

“Careful what you wish for, Kunikuzushi.”

He stiffened, then, hands stilling in their ministrations. His breath hitched and for a moment the room seemed to go still. Then his hands were moving again, locking around hers, settling in the space between their legs. “You’re pronouncing it wrong. Try again.”

“Kunikuzushi.”

Lumine could feel him shudder against her, breath going shaky for a moment.

“That’s better.”

She smiled. “If you want me to call you that, just say the word. I’m more than willing.”

“You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“I’m about to, though, I hope. I’ve got my question.”

“Hit me.”

Here it was, the million-mora question. “How exactly did you join the Fatui? You said finding them was an accident. What’s the story there?”

Wanderer sighed. “I guess I deserve that, after what I asked you.”

“Yes, you absolutely do.”

“Fine. Since you insist…”

It started small. He’d been bored out of his mind standing in the check-out aisle at the supermarket. Usually they had food delivered, but his mother preferred to pick out fruits and vegetables herself. He’d resented the bitter irony, since she was never the one to cook them, every time he was dragged along.

Things were normal. Relatively so. Until a kid a few years older than him, almost a teenager, started shuffling toward the doors. There was something off about the kid’s posture. Something tense, something that drew suspicion.

Kunikuzushi watched the kid glance around, then speed up. An alarm blared as the kid neared the doors, startling him from his entrancement, and the kid ran. The doors slid open to aid the escape.

Two employees ran after the kid. Kunikuzushi never learned what happened— if the kid got away or got caught. It didn’t matter. Watching that petty crime had shaken something in him, stirred something dormant from slumber. He could do it better. He could walk with his chin held high toward those automatic doors, arousing no suspicion. He could figure out how to cheat the alarm.

So he did.

Shoplifting was thrilling. Nothing made his heart pound quite like those approaching doors and the suspense of wondering when the alarm would sound. How far he’d have to run to shake pursuers, if anyone bothered to follow. He learned quickly. He knew which stores had real security systems and which were for show. He found even more exhilaration in making a legitimate transaction, concealing stolen goods in pockets or bags, and getting waved through the doors with an apologetic smile.

Faulty alarms, they said. It happened to everyone.

Because they’d place mistrust in a machine before another person. Because he had perfected the charade of a polite citizen, clenching his teeth through small-talk with cashiers and giving embarrassed glances when the blaring started.

It grew dull, after a while. There was no challenge anymore. So he sought further thrills in something more dangerous. Something more personal.

Pickpocketing.

Small things, mostly. Hair ties, bottles of hand sanitizer, a few mora now and then, dented from a few cycles in the wash. He kept them with his shoplifted trophies, sprawled across bookshelves, crimes building to swallow the spines of the books behind them whole. Some held stories, but most were unremarkable, things he’d snatched with too much ease.

Yae Miko, that contemptuous woman he’d never call mother— who felt, he was sure, the same way about considering him a son— noticed. Because Ei never did. She hadn’t seen his room in years. Maybe she’d forgotten where it was amidst the sprawling halls and countless doorways of their mansion.

 Miko had clicked her tongue, regarding him with disdain better suited for mold growing on fruit or shit smeared on the underside of a shoe. She’d promised that if he ever got caught, they wouldn’t bail him out. He’d be left to rot.

It wouldn’t have been much different from living at home, really. Either way he was a problem before a person.

And he never got caught.

Until he did.

As the son of a wealthy politician, he was dragged along to a never-ending stream of social events, where the influential and upper class of Inazuma brushed elbows and congratulated themselves for their status. Oftentimes they hosted foreign dignitaries as well, or particularly rich travelers on vacation.

It was one of those events, where mixed among elaborate kimonos and yukatas were gowns and suits, silks and velvets. The air stank of perfume, too many scents mingling in the air, casting a nauseating miasma throughout the room. All around people whispered and feigned laughter and clinked glasses.

Kunikuzushi had been bored, sipping a glass of sake while his gaze wandered the room. Targets were plenty; these weren’t people who’d ever had to fear light fingers. They kept timepieces in their back pockets and wore so much jewelry they’d never notice a missing piece.

If he made a scene, he would tarnish his family’s reputation. They would disown him and spin stories, but they’d never be able to fix all of the damage. Respectability was as valuable as wealth. Anyone who raised a wayward son had failed as a parent. That was not something an excuse could erase.

It was tempting. Oh so tempting. But he wasn’t stupid enough to throw out the roof under his head. Not yet.

He picked an unassuming target. A tall man with blue hair, dressed in understated Snezhnayan finery with hints of Sumerian influence, the kind of subtle thing years of events had taught him to pick up on. He was engrossed in conversation with a few other people, talking animatedly with his hands. Something clear was sticking out of his side pocket. A vial of something the color of dendrobiums.

Moving with the crowd, Kunikuzushi approached. They were dendrobiums, petals crushed and stems bent to accommodate the walls of their prison. Something about the sight stirred anger in his chest. Empathy for the flowers? Hate for everyone here, for the pointless parade of passive-aggression and finery, channeled into one person.

Kunikuzushi didn’t care. He passed by, skirting the man’s periphery. Without stopping, he wrapped two fingers around the vial and pulled. It came easily, barely jostling the fabric, a plastic vial no larger than the palm of his hand.

With a few flowers inside. Something about them made him stop and stare. Usually he would tuck his spoils away quickly and abandon the scene with casual haste, but he couldn’t.

He’d seen countless dendrobiums. He’d seen them growing wild, native, on the beaches of Kannazuka and Yashiori Islands. They’d been part of the scenery there, nothing worth noting, but these flowers were trapped. Far from home. Likely to travel farther still, to wither in an unfamiliar land.

To what end? Not for anyone’s viewing pleasure, crumpled as they were. What else did people do with flowers?

As he stared, seeking answers in the gentle slope of the petals, a hand clamped on his shoulder.

His heart lurched. He turned around to see that man, his target, grinning down at him. His teeth were sharp, too sharp, like he’d replaced incisors and molars with canines. They seemed to glisten in the light as he leaned down, bringing his masked face closer to Kunikuzushi’s.

“You have something of mine,” The man remarked, voice betraying no reaction. No anger. No indignance. Just that smile, the only feature not hidden by his mask.

His perfect calm was unnerving. A few times, people had noticed his thieving a few seconds too late. He’d seen people panic and rage over missing belongings. He’d seen strangers weep and whip their heads around, searching for someone to blame.

But he’d never been caught. Not until now.

Kunikuzushi held the man’s gaze. Neither said a word.

“Are you going to give it back?”

Clutching the vial tighter, Kunikuzushi clenched his teeth. He’d never cared about something he’d stolen. Nothing had ever captured his interest. Not like this. “Why should I?”

The man laughed. It was the coldest, most vile laugh Kunikuzushi had ever heard. “Your youth is no excuse for ignorance, boy. I’m sure you know by now not to take things from strangers.”

Grin stretching impossibly wider, the man added, “I am one of the strangers parents warn their children about. You have made a grave miscalculation, selecting me for a target.”

Then his expression grew thoughtful. The man raised a hand to his chin in an exaggerated mockery of pondering. “Though I must admit, you caught me quite off guard. Had I been paying any less attention, you may have gotten away. What’s your name, boy?”

Scowling, Kunikuzushi tried to jerk away. The man’s grip remained firm on his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to feel. “Kunikuzushi.”

The man’s head tilted slightly. “Raiden Kunikuzushi?”

Of course. Everyone knew him by that name. Always Raiden Kunikuzushi— never just Kunikuzushi. He was defined by his family. Everyone in the room was. Didn’t it sicken them? They were all puppets pulled by the strings of legacy, of honor and family names that mattered no more than any other assembly of letters and characters not afforded the same weight as a name.

His silence must have been answer enough. The man hummed, drawing Kunikuzushi closer. “You know, there was a time when thieves were punished properly. The only way to stop fingers from thieving, with complete certainty, is to cut them off. Alas, progress has insisted that we treat criminals with grace. What do you think is a fitting punishment for thievery?”

The man’s words hung heavy in the air, thick as smoke. Kunikuzushi clenched his fists. This man was waiting for something. Expecting something. He was testing him.

“Depending on what’s stolen, most people get fined or go to jail,” Kunikuzushi answered, mouth dry. He hated this stranger for striking such fear into his heart. He was intrigued by the confidence with which the man carried himself, a sort of absolute surety far beyond common ego. He wanted that confidence for himself.

“That is what the law deems fitting. I asked what you think should happen to thieves.”

Try as he might not to show fear, Kunikuzushi wasn’t used to such malicious intensity. He broke eye contact— though he could not see the man’s eyes, he was certain the man was holding his gaze— and scanned his periphery. Looking for who? His mother? His sister? Neither would step in to save him. He’d made this mess; it was his to clean up.

He was losing face. He needed to say something bold. Something in him wanted to impress this man, craved the validation of a stranger after being so long denied the support of his family. “If they’re caught, whatever punishment the victim sees fit.”

Another grin. Each time they seemed sharper, more satisfied. The man’s teeth glinted like knives in the light of a dozen chandeliers. “If they’re caught… what an interesting caveat. You believe, then, that if one can get away with something, they ought to do it?”

Leading questions. They were going somewhere. Somewhere that lit that fire in Kunikuzushi’s heart again, that ecstasy that had driven him to shoplifting and pickpocketing. Something that brought feeling beyond the hollow knowledge of being alone and the anger and sadness that gripped him in moments of weakness, when he wished for comfort or love or normalcy that he’d never been offered.

“If it benefits them, why not? That’s how people get ahead.”

“And would you be interested in getting ahead?”

Kunikuzushi narrowed his eyes. No good deal came without a price. “That depends on how.”

Without warning, the man began to walk, leading Kunikuzushi toward the people he’d been speaking with earlier. “Certain people have come together to form an organization of sorts. Clever people. The kind who trade in secrets. Or blood. Or shadows. We could benefit from someone like you. Light of step, light of fingers, and well-connected.”

“What’s in it for me?”

The man’s grip tightened on his shoulder. Wanderer winced. If the man held him any harder, he’d snap bone. “Penance, boy, and perhaps the benefits that come with such associations. We can ruin lives with the wave of a hand. Surely there’s someone, perhaps even in this room, whose empire you wish nothing more than to topple?”

There it was. Revenge. This man was offering him a chance at revenge. Real revenge. Something better than a single stain on his family’s reputation at the cost of social suicide. If these people were as powerful as the man said, they could burn down everything Ei had spent her life building. Then, maybe, she’d feel half the hurt he’d felt every time she turned her back on him, too lost in her own grief and hurt to pay any mind to a grieving son.

“I want in. What do I have to do?”

“Simple things. Espionage. Thieving or copying important documents. Planting evidence. Among other things. Come, I’ll take you to meet my associates. They will determine if you’re fit to stand among us.”

Kunikuzushi lifted his chin, standing a little straighter at the man’s words. Whatever it took, he would prove himself. This might be his only chance to get back at his mother. On his own, he had no hope of standing against her; he lacked influence. An entire organization presented a different story.

He was already a criminal. Why not plunge deeper in? Why not reap benefits beyond a moment’s adrenaline?

On that day, that evening, he became a Fatuus. And he slipped back amongst his family as the event wore down, simmering in quiet excitement. They had no idea who walked among them now. How dangerous he was now.

They had no idea what was coming.

Lumine blinked, breaking from her rapturous attention as Wanderer’s story drew to a close. He told it with the kind of anger only hindsight allowed, gaze distant, trawling through half-forgotten memories. And then it was over, as abruptly as it began, and they were left to sit in silence in the dimly-lit living room.

She brought her other hand, her burned hand, to clasp Wanderer’s, still encircling her right hand. Wary of pressure, she traced her fingers over his knuckles, littered and lined with scars, a tapestry of hurt felt and dealt.

“Wow,” She breathed. Wanderer arched a brow, expression humorless.

Maybe that hadn’t been the best reaction. But what could she say? He’d driven her speechless. “That’s actually kind of insane. Like, he was just so impressed with your pickpocketing skills that he invited you to join his weird gang?”

“I highly doubt the pickpocketing had much to do with it. My position alone was invaluable. Leverage was just a happy accident.”

Lumine frowned. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, alone in a sea of decadence while the hand at his shoulder pulled him down, down, into the depths until he drowned under false promises and a double life. “Wow. That really, really sucks. I guess it’s true what they say, that hurt people hurt people.”

He’d been led astray by a desperate attempt at revenge. He hadn’t come out any better for it.

“Can’t always be true, though. The world hasn’t exactly been kind to you, either, and you never hurt anyone.”

Sighing, Lumine shook her head. “That’s not true. I was lying to my friends. And my brother. And I kicked a kid on the playground once, back at school, for trying to tell everyone I was in love with Venti.”

Wanderer’s lips quirked into a smile. A small one, but small victories were better than none. “Were you?”

“No! Never. I can’t even imagine… Eww.” Lumine found herself smiling back, lifting her head from his shoulder to look him in the eye. “We’ve known each other for way too long. You shouldn’t date people you’ve known since you were in diapers. It’s undignified. They have way too much dirt on you. They knew you at your worst.”

“You wouldn’t consider this your worst?”

With a huff, Lumine replied, “I may be a mess now, but I’m not the wreck I was at thirteen. At least I’m not dealing with acne and puberty and hormones while the world falls apart.”

That was before her mom’s diagnosis, at least. That shock had made an already difficult time almost unbearable. But she’d gotten through it. There was nothing, save for death, life could throw at her that she couldn’t weather.

“Still. Kicking someone once is child’s play compared to what I’ve done.”

“Fine, fine. You win. I can’t possibly compare.” Not that she wanted to. She’d tried her best to lead a good life, and it wasn’t fair that a single act of kindness had gotten her in this much trouble, but life wasn’t fair. No good deed went unpunished. “Your turn for another question, then?”

Wanderer’s smile faded. He was quiet for a few moments, thinking. When he spoke, it was with an uncharacteristic hesitation. “Do you regret saving me? Epiphany or not, I’ve turned your life into quite the disaster.”

“No. I could never.” Her answer came quickly. Lumine arrested his gaze, hoping her eyes could convey what words could not. “You’ve brought me a lot of trouble, but I don’t regret a moment of it. If we could’ve met in better circumstances, maybe things would turn out better. But I can’t imagine a life where I hadn’t helped you. Even if you’d left sooner, I couldn’t have just left you there to die. It would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life.”

Wanderer scoffed, leaning closer, pressing his forehead to hers. Warm breath fanned across her face, and her skin tingled at the proximity. “I was right about you from the very beginning. You’re a bleeding-hearted busybody. Most people would’ve walked away. Some might not have even bothered trying to call the Corps of Thirty.”

“You’re lucky, then, that I’m not most people.” Lumine smiled, a little shy. She hadn’t been this close to someone in a while; her heart was racing and her skin was flaring with a pleasant warmth. She’d kissed a few times, made out once or twice, but never with the kind of underlying feelings she felt for Wanderer. “My turn, then.”

There was only one question she could think to ask. It took a deep breath to work up the courage, though.

“Did you mean what you said, yesterday? About kissing me?”

Wanderer tensed, pulling away to read her expression. “I wasn’t sure you heard. Fuck. Just pretend I didn’t say—”

Frowning, Lumine pulled her hands away, folding them in her lap. “Kunikuzushi, for once in your goddamn life, please just say what you mean. I’m not going to resent you if you say no. Just… don’t brush this off.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, in a way that made her feel bare, like he was seeing something beyond her body. Her heart, maybe, or a soul if she had one. His gaze wavered, fighting every time it met hers. His pupils were wide. “You have no idea how much I want to. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Any moment now, her heart would beat right out of her chest. It hammered her ribcage with a frantic desperation, seeking home. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Both.”

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.

Lumine shifted her weight, leaning into him, tilting her head for a better angle. His mouth was soft, moving against hers slowly, exploring new ground, savoring the moment. She shifted again, straddling him, reaching to cup his cheeks as he pulled away, heaving for air, skin red and eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted.

Skimming his thumb along her bottom lip, Wanderer murmured, “You should invest in chapstick.”

Shit. “Shut up.”

Rolling his eyes, Wanderer kissed her again, moving faster, gaining confidence. Adrenaline swelled in Lumine’s chest as she raised her hands to his hair and sank her teeth gently into his bottom lip.

He let out a faint, pleased sound, pulling her closer, one hand propped on her shoulder and the other skirting down, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. Her lungs began to burn for air and she tried to pull away, but he held firm, keeping her there as his fingers slipped under her shirt, teasing the curve of her waist.

They were both gasping when he finally let her go, lips dark and swollen. The world was tilted on its axis, spinning rapidly, reduced to a single room, to a single couch, to two bodies entwined in the light of a single lamp, two hearts beating in time. Love. Was this love? How could she tell what was hormonal and what was real?

Wanderer’s hand slid upward, brushing her ribcage, stopping at the hem of her bra.

Lumine’s breath hitched. She waited, watching, to see what he would do.

Something crossed his face, then. A mix of guilt and shame and fear and emotions buried so deep she couldn’t identify them. He pulled away slowly, languidly, as though each centimeter of distance between them brought him pain. “We shouldn’t do this. I’m so fucking selfish. I can’t just let you die. If I could just…”

“Do you think we can stop them?” Her psyche stung with tonal whiplash, but this was a conversation they needed to have. More than they needed to make out on the couch, at least. Lumine didn’t know enough about the Fatui to help much; her few internet searches had yielded nothing concrete. But Wanderer had been on the inside. If anyone could know how to take them down, or even to get them off of their backs, it would be him.

Frowning, Wanderer’s gaze clouded in thought. Lumine shuffled back, allowing him space to think, willing away the way her heart was still racing. They could pick up where they’d left off later, when their lives weren’t in danger.

So she sat in silence, legs crossed, fingernails drumming in her lap, counting the seconds as they passed by. By the time Wanderer replied, her body had regained its composure, shaking off the anticipation of more.

“I’ve been approaching this wrong. I never could have evaded them— not forever. They would have found me eventually, no matter where I was.”

“What are we going to do, then?”

“I’ve been waiting for them to make the first move. Coward’s mistake. They won’t expect me to go to them. I’ll have the upper hand, at least for a while.” Turning around, Wanderer opened his nightstand drawer. “Whoever they sent after me were amateurs. The phone’s busted, but the SD card’s still in there. Intact, too.”

Lumine watched, stomach twisting, as Wanderer picked up his shattered phone, two halves connected by a few stray wires. Carefully, he plucked a slim chip from a compartment on the side, no larger than his index fingernail. “I thought they might betray me, you know. Not at first. I was stupid then. I thought they sought me out for a reason beyond my social position.

“I watched it happen too many times to count. Once people stopped being useful, they dropped them like flies. By then, I wasn’t delusional. I didn’t matter to them.”

Hope swelled in Lumine’s chest. She tried to temper it, to keep her expectations low, but she couldn’t help it. This could be their chance. “What’s on it?”

“Dirt. The kind they taught me how to gather.” Wanderer grinned, eyes glittering with malice. The look replaced some of Lumine’s excitement with unease. “Not enough to take the Fatui down, but enough to land some important people in hot water. Enough to sit at the negotiating table.”

He held the SD card out, placing it in one of her fidgeting hands. “Everything’s there. I backed up the files on your computer, too. There’s a text file in there. It’s got the e-mail addresses of some associates in the news world. The kind who could get this info on every headline within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

Placing a hand over hers, cupping the chip into her palm, Wanderer leaned closer. He glanced around, left and right, and lowered his voice like someone might be watching, listening. “I’m going to confront them. Tomorrow. And if I’m not back within a few hours, I need you to leak everything that’s on here.”

“What? You’re going to meet them alone?” That was suicide. He’d be walking into the lion’s den with his head held high, boasting about the reputations he could ruin. Would the Fatui not just kill him anyway? “You can’t—”

“I have to. I’ve already put you in more than enough danger as it is. This has to end.”

Lifting his hand, Wanderer swept the bangs from Lumine’s face, brushing them behind her ear. The touch was tender, reverent, and the look in his eyes was almost sincere enough for Lumine to believe he was sorry. “If I bring you, they’ll have leverage against me. They could kidnap you. Kill you.”

“But what if you—”

Wanderer pressed a kiss to her forehead and cupped her cheek. “You’ve worried enough about me. It’s time to even the scales.”

He pulled away, then, with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Please. You don’t know what they’re like. You’re too good. Too kind.”

Swallowing, Lumine met his gaze. “Fine. I’ll stay home and guard your blackmail.” She crossed her arms and forced a pout. “You’re lucky it’s the weekend. You’d be shit out of luck if they killed you while I was stuck making coffee.”

The tension ebbed from Wanderer’s shoulders.

Guilt crept up Lumine’s throat. She forced it down, forced herself to look him in the eye, to pretend she’d given in. Lying should be easy, now. She’d lied to everyone in her life on Wanderer’s behalf.

It was fitting, then, that this would end in lying to him.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet. After a fitful night of little rest, Lumine was sitting at her desk, staring into her computer screen. Her room was dark, lit only by the computer. Beyond these walls the sun was rising, greeting a new day with the same radiance as always, passive to the struggles and schemes of those living in its glow.

There, in her file explorer, was the promised blackmail. All tucked neatly into one folder divided further into sub-folders. Within were pictures, e-mail logs, transcriptions of phone calls, and blurry security footage Lumine could barely make out, let alone comprehend. Also as promised, the main folder contained a list of e-mail addresses.

They weren’t labeled. But Lumine had looked a few up— the first was associated with the Steambird, Fontaine’s most influential news company, specializing in both newspapers and broadcasts. Another led to a small Inazuman detective agency, and another to a politician in Natlan. She couldn’t find any specifics. But whoever these people were, Wanderer trusted them to carry out his revenge in the event that something went south.

Lumine’s jaw clenched. He was still determined to go alone, and she was still determined to follow. No matter how out of her depth she’d be, she couldn’t let him go alone. Not into the clutches of people who wanted him dead.

Wanderer seemed convinced that this would work. But Lumine couldn’t be sure. If he left and never returned, it would be her fault for not trying hard enough. It would haunt her. She’d resolved to keep Wanderer alive, and she was going to see it through.

Something stirred behind her door. Blankets rustled and joints popped.

He was awake.

Inhaling deeply, Lumine took one last look at the e-mail she’d been drafting and closed her laptop. She ran a hand through her unbrushed hair, soothing fly-aways and stray tangles. Then she shucked off her pajamas, changing into clothes that would be comfortable to walk in but wouldn’t attract too much attention. If she was going to trail Wanderer, she needed to be discreet.

Heart heavy, Lumine opened her door, stepping from her bedroom into the living room. Wanderer was gone, probably in the bathroom, so she went to the kitchen, slipping her phone from her pocket. It was early, barely seven in the morning, but she’d managed to find a place that offered delivery.

In the spirit of pretending that she wasn’t going to follow, and also in preparation for what was to come, she’d wanted to do something special. Her fridge was laughably barren, so she’d resorted to takeout. Tamagoyaki, a taste of home for Wanderer and something new for her. Though he didn’t seem to have much love for his homeland, he probably got nostalgic for the food now and then.

Lumine did, too, as much as she loved Sumerian cuisine. Food from Mondstadt reminded her of her parents, of growing up under a beaming sun and cold, snowy winters, of running through the cobble-paved streets of the inner city with Aether, delighted to be alive. The world had been brighter, then. Unblemished by loss. Death was a faraway notion, the kind of thing relegated to books and the sick or elderly.

Pulling a bruised apple from the fridge, Lumine set her phone down and tossed the fruit between her hands. Apples grew all over in Mondstadt. She’d scraped her knees, once, clambering up a tree after Venti. They’d been too young to reach the apples, then. Too short. And they’d both stayed that way.

But they were different, too. Venti was becoming a musical prodigy, talent burgeoning under the tutelage of celebrated teachers, and Lumine didn’t cry over scraped skin anymore. And she kept secrets now. And told lies.

With a shaky inhale, she put the apple down and turned on the sink, splashing cold water on her face. Stop thinking about it. The more she thought about it, the more the guilt would consume her, and the harder it would be to keep up this charade.

Sighing, Lumine brushed her hair from her face and shuffled back. She met a solid force, then hands snuck around her waist.

“What’s got you having an existential crisis so early in the morning?”

Lumine rolled her eyes, grimacing as Wanderer pulled her closer, pressing his forehead into the nape of her neck, bangs damp and cold. “Don’t play dumb. You promised we’d make the most of our time together, now here you are, running off to play the hero while I sit here like some damsel in distress.”

“You’re my contingency plan. You’re not sitting around waiting to be rescued.” Pulling away, Wanderer spun her around, giving her a long once-over. “Though you’re pretty enough to play the part.”

Willing herself not to blush, Lumine crossed her arms. “Sucking up to me isn’t going to make me any happier. I really think this is a bad idea.”

“What, have you got any better ones?”

Sighing, Lumine shook her head. “No, but you shouldn’t go alone. It’s dangerous.”

“Danger’s been on my tail for years. It hasn’t caught up to me yet, and I don’t plan on letting it.” Expression softening, Wanderer slid his hands down her arms, linking their fingers together as he reached her hands. Dark circles underlined his eyes, which were heavy with exhaustion. “It’s nice of you to worry, though. It’s new. I’m not used to having something to fight for. Aside from revenge, at least.”

He was trying to placate her. As much as she despised being brushed off, she had to pretend. Any semblance of suspicion could foil her ruse before it began. “I’ll be waiting for you all day, y’know. Worried sick. I probably won’t be able to get anything done.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He didn’t sound sure. It was insulting, how hard he was trying to convince her that he’d be fine when he couldn’t even convince himself. But Lumine would begrudge him his flimsy attempt at courage. She wasn't looking forward to this either.

Was it worse, knowing what he was walking into? Lumine knew bits and pieces about what the Fatui were like, but Wanderer had worked with them for years. A brave face was probably the only bravery he could manage.

Still, he was trying. He wanted to fix things for both of them. Anyone else would have been over the moon. But Lumine wasn't going to let him walk into danger alone. Not after everything they'd been through.

One detail in his scheme was bothering her, though. She hadn't considered it at the time, but seeing the files on her computer, buried among so many other documents and projects that she hadn't noticed it, raised the question. "Why are you doing this now? I mean, you've had the SD card all this time. Why wait so long if you knew they were going to find us?"

Tensing, Wanderer drew back, putting space between them until he stood leaning against the table. "Until you let me use your computer, I didn't know if the data was corrupted or not."

"That was weeks ago, though."

"I had to make sure I could trust you. You're so good," He said, nose wrinkling at the word, "I didn't think you'd agree to blackmail anyone on my behalf. I didn't think you'd let me stay after I told you about the Fatui."

Lumine fought back a bitter smile. He seemed obsessed with her goodness, her kindness, her moral blank slate, unblemished and pure. Hopefully he would forgive her for tagging along. "No, I guess I wouldn't normally blackmail someone. You've corrupted me."

He'd introduced her to a side of the world beyond the darkest depths of her imagination. No matter how this ended, she'd never be able to forget. All she could hope was that the city's back alleys and darker corners would be willing to come to a truce.

"You say that like it's a bad thing. No one should be as selfish as you are; it's unhealthy."

Sighing, Lumine grabbed the apple she'd abandoned earlier. It wasn't as cold, now. She could eat it without fear of dental discomfort. "Maybe. But if I wasn't this selfless, you'd never have fallen in love with me. That's gotta make it worth it, right?"

"Sounds like you're getting an ego."

"Another one of your influences." Before she could say anything more, a few knocks sounded at the door. "Breakfast is here!"

Abandoning Wanderer to the kitchen, Lumine headed for the door, offering the delivery driver an apologetic smile and the mora owed for their meal. The sun was out now, bright and warm upon the world, but it was still earlier than anyone should work.

Alas, food service did not content itself with shoulds. That would require morals and sacrificing profit at the cost of treating their employees like human beings. Absurd.

Shutting the humid morning air out, Lumine took a bite out of her apple and carried the take-out bag back to the kitchen. The apple was soft, flirting with being over-ripe without quite committing. She'd have to go grocery shopping soon.

Lumine smiled. Today, they were facing down an international mafia. Tomorrow, she'd go grocery shopping. The mundane dug its way into even the strangest facets of life, tenacious as the roots of a dandelion growing between sidewalk slabs.

"Got something special today," She announced, setting the bag on the table. It was unassuming, the kind of brown paper bag they used at the grocery store. Perfect for a surprise. "I figured that on the off chance you die, you ought to have a proper meal beforehand."

The words were ash on her tongue, bitter and heavy, but she forced them out. Right now, they both needed something familiar. They had to pretend like things were normal for as long as they could afford to.

"After years of evading the law, here I am, death row," Wanderer replied with a sardonic half-smile. Wit made for a perfect mask; it let them both hide their fears from each other, the only people who might believe their false bravado. "Usually we get to pick our last meals, I think, but I trust you to have chosen something not loaded with sugar."

"Damn. Guess trusting me was a mistake after all. I ordered us a bunch of chocolate-filled croissants from that Fontainian bakery near the home goods store."

"Bullshit. You couldn't afford a napkin from there."

Lumine didn't have to fake a wince. "Right for the jugular. As always."

Setting her apple down, Lumine gestured to the bag with flourish. "Drumroll, please!"

Wanderer crossed his arms.

"Fine. Let's be joyless and miserable before you head to the slaughterhouse." Opening the bag, Lumine unearthed a handful of napkins, two bowls of rice, two small boxes that contained the tamagoyaki, and two pairs of plastic chopsticks. Lumine grimaced. One of those was destined for the silverware drawer, where it would live in the darkest recesses until the next time she cleaned the kitchen, when she'd probably throw it away. As much as she enjoyed Inazuman and Liyuean cuisine, she'd never had the dexterity to eat it as designed.

Which Wanderer was probably going to mock her for. Good for him.

"You ordered Inazuman food?"

Lumine nodded. From Wanderer's expression, it was impossible to determine his reaction. He was watching her hands as she distributed the food, neither smiling nor scowling. "I thought a taste of home might give you some courage. You may have bad memories of the people there, but good food is good food, right?"

Wanderer remained inscrutable for a moment, then slid into his chair, breathing in the faint, fresh smell of their breakfast. "You don't have to coddle me. This isn't a matter of courage."

"I'm not trying to coddle you. I'm trying to do something nice. That's what people in love do for each other, right?"

"We risk our lives for each other and you ruin your budget ordering special takeout for me. The epitome of romance."

Rolling her eyes, Lumine grabbed a set of silverware and took her seat. Wanderer didn't have a single romantic bone in his body. "I didn't ruin my budget. I'm not that destitute."

"It's not something you would've done if I weren't here, though."

"Y'know, most people respond to this kind of thing with a thank you. Not by complaining."

Sighing, Wanderer brandished his chopsticks and met her eyes. "Thank you. You probably shouldn't have done this, but I appreciate the thought."

That was as good as she'd get. If living with Wanderer had taught her anything, it was patience beyond what she'd had before. And that having an extra pair of hands around the house was really helpful.

They ate mostly in silence. Wanderer didn't comment on her choice of silverware; he probably didn't even notice. His sharpness was dulled somewhat, his mind evidently elsewhere.

Once they were done, dishes discarded and silverware in the sink, Wanderer planted himself in the doorway between the kitchen and the foyer, watching Lumine wash the residual apple from the side of her hand. She saw him smirk a little when she ran a hand under her nose, ridding it of the fruit's stickiness as well.

Yes, she was a bit of a mess. But he seemed to find enjoyment in it, even if that enjoyment came from making fun of her. She had thick enough skin to manage.

Shaking her hands in lieu of a proper drying, Lumine strode towards him. "Leaving so soon?"

"The sooner I get this over with, the better." Wanderer ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "And it'll be easier to find my way back if it's still daylight out."

Oh. He was actually leaving now. She'd asked her question in jest. "Tired of me already, are you?"

Eyes narrowing, Wanderer stepped closer, shrinking the distance between them. "I'm tired of the obstacles in our way. With the Fatui off our backs, we can just be ordinary people."

Right. The ordinary ex-mafioso and the woman who'd saved his life.

Could they really go back to normalcy after this? Even if Wanderer left the Fatui's clutches alive, there was no guarantee they'd keep to their word.

"We can be a couple," He added. Her expression must have betrayed her concerns. "We can go on dates, do sappy couple shit. You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

She would. She wanted that for them more than anything. But they both knew well that life rarely gave people what they wanted. "Yeah. I'm already looking forward to it."

Wanderer nodded, taking a deep breath in. He stepped closer, leaning in, then shuffled back, denying them seconds before their lips could touch. It hurt, but Lumine understood. There was no point in making this harder than it already was.

"There's not much point giving this back to you, since if they want to, they'll get in, but you should hold onto this. At least until I get back." Instead of a kiss, he offered her a key. Her key, the one she'd bestowed upon him just weeks before. A gift, trust manifest. "If I— If things go awry, I don't want them having a key to our place."

Our place. Not just hers anymore.

She took the key, clutching the warm metal in her hand. "Thanks. I'll make sure you get it right back."

Lumine forced herself to smile. She didn't have to fake the sadness beneath, though. Even knowing she'd be behind him all the way, she felt like a woman watching her husband sail off to war.

"See you soon, then, Lumine."

Sooner than he thought. "You too, Kunikuzushi."

He shuddered, holding her gaze for a few heartbeats longer, then turned away. Lumine watched him unlatch the lock, fingers lingering, moving slowly to turn the knob and open the door. Hesitation. Lumine recognized it all too well. She didn't want to leave either. Her house was supposed to be safe, the only refuge they had in the face of a herculean threat.

Now the house wasn't safe anymore. And no matter what Wanderer thought was best, she was going to play a part in restoring its sense of security.

Lumine lingered in the doorway, watching Wanderer walk. There was plenty of foliage, bushes and trees growing in yards and the little patches of green between the sidewalks and the roads, so she'd have some places to hide if he looked over his shoulder. But all of that planning, all of that psyching herself up would be for nothing if he caught her this early.

So she went back inside, bringing the door shut, neglecting to lock it. She sprinted into her room and opened her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard to input her password and send the e-mail waiting patiently in her drafts, tucked securely in the corner of her inbox.

She pressed send.

Her chest lightened, if only a little. Wanderer's blackmail wouldn't go to waste. If she didn't contact Aether within the next twelve hours, he would perform the task she'd been given. He would make sure whatever happened to Wanderer and Lumine did not happen in vain.

Really, it was naïve of Wanderer to assume this was best handled alone, and that if he died, the only damage Lumine would suffer would be emotional. There was nothing stopping the Fatui from paying her another visit once he was out of the picture. They had no idea how much he'd told her. And for as stubborn as he could be, Wanderer wasn't great at hiding his emotions.

It wouldn't take much digging for them to realize he trusted her. Enough to share secrets better left in the dark. Enough to entrust her with the closest thing to vengeance he could enact on those who had promised him revenge and ripped that dream away as it suited them.

With the e-mail sent, Lumine set out. The heat was unbearable; the humidity even moreso. The air was heavy with the musk of approaching rain, and the dark clouds sang of a storm to come. Good. The rain would mask her footsteps. Though she might get soaked.

She'd survive. As long as she wasn't struck by lightning, she would make it to wherever Wanderer met the Fatui in one piece.

Though it felt pointless now, Lumine locked the door behind her. Compared to everything else unfolding, thieves seemed like such a petty fear. But she'd ruffled her landlord's feathers enough for the year; if she got in legal trouble again, Dori might start paying her more attention. She might realize that Lumine wasn't the only one living in the house anymore.

When it was time to renew her lease, she'd bring him up. Mention that she'd met someone a while back, someone with his own place but who she wanted to live with. For now, though, she had to pretend.

The sun was brutal in spite of the gathering storm clouds. Sweat began to trickle down Lumine's face not ten minutes into her pursuit of Wanderer. She stalked a good ways behind, lingering before turning corners and ducking into alleys or behind ferns or trees whenever he glanced around. Which wasn't often. Was that good or bad? He wasn't expecting an ambush, at least, but he ought to be a little more vigilant.

Lumine frowned. He'd been swimming in the deep end for a long time; she was just dipping her toes in. Maybe he'd picked up a sixth sense for this kind of thing, and he didn't need to watch his back.

He was strong. She admired that, but he'd become strong out of necessity, because the world had demanded it of him. It had demanded strength of her, too, in the wake of her parents' death. She and Aether had been left alone in the world, and while Mondstadt had social security nets to keep them from sinking outright, it'd been a struggle to get back on their feet. But Wanderer had become strong under the threat of death. That was different. Tragic. One too many steps down the wrong path.

But he was trying to turn back now. That was strength, too, of his own volition.

Lumine's heart lurched as thunder rumbled in the distance. Her attention snapped to Wanderer, who seemed unfazed. The distance between them hid any distinct emotion, though. It started to rain a minute or two later, first faint droplets, shyly testing the waters, then a downpour.

It carried the sweat away, and it wasn't as cold as the rains in Mondstadt, but it soon became unpleasant. Her hair darkened as it grew damp, clinging to her skin, as did her clothes. Rain seeped into her shoes and socks.

Great. At this rate, she'd be too saddled down with trench foot to do anything that could help Wanderer. How far was he going?

Quite far, it turned out.

Darkness cloaked the sky as storm clouds rolled in, banishing the clouds of paler gray, rain nearly spent. The rain fell harder, in sheets, sideways and blinding and making her hair stand on end. Lightning struck somewhere ahead, bringing no clarity. Lumine sped up, drawing closer to Wanderer. If she lost sight of him in the pouring rain, all of this would be for nothing.

She would be sopping wet and hopelessly lost, too.

The thunder grew louder, furious crashes followed by brilliant strikes of light. It lit the whole sky, visible through the blur of the rain. Lumine raised a hand to shield her eyes, trying not to flinch as more thunder roared. Another strike of lightning followed, seconds later. It was closer. She was walking into the storm in every possible way.

Leaves quaked in the wind, beads of water rolling down their waxy surfaces. Lumine quivered too, shivering in spite of the heat, trying to keep her attention straight ahead, on the distant blur of black and indigo ahead.

Grimacing, she wrapped her arms around herself, doing very little to alleviate the problem. The wind was warm and alive with the smell of ozone, and it whipped her wet hair constantly into her face. The strands, too, seemed alive and intent on battering her eyes as much as possible.

She sneezed as they approached a crosswalk. There weren't any crosswalk signals, as far as she could tell. Only the dip of the concrete underfoot told her she was venturing onto the road, and she looked wildly left and right, hoping beyond hope that no car would flash by, someone desperate to get home and out of the rain.

They hadn't had rain like this in a while. Lumine had missed it, a little, but she preferred to observe storms like these, not to participate in them.

She made it across the road safely. Headlights glinted in her periphery, brilliant blurs of yellow and red as a car drove by, moving with slow urgency. On a road this wet, there was little hope of traction. With every step, Lumine sloshed in the water that had built up on the sidewalk. They were deeper into the city, now, and there were fewer patches of green, but any dirt in the vicinity had probably become a muddy mess. A tripping hazard.

A worn-down building loomed in the distance, tall and gray with the muted greens and golds that were a staple of Sumerian architecture. It looked empty. Devoid of light. There was no logo printed in bold letters across the exterior for all to see. The parking lot, sitting just across the street, was encaged in a rusty, worn-down chain link fence. The top was lined with loops of razor wire that looked newer than the rest of the fence.

Wanderer crossed the street. There was no crosswalk and no stoplight, but the road was empty of cars. Lumine waited a few moments, watching, then followed suit.

The rain seemed to lighten as they drew closer to the building, though it may have been a trick of imagination. Waterlogged as she was, the rain couldn't make her that much wetter. Even her clothes had reached their threshold, dark and damp. Her shoes squelched against the pavement, each step a silent alarm that went thankfully unheard.

There were cars in the parking lot now, trucks and vans and a few sports models. From afar it was difficult to tell, but their windows looked incredibly tinted, almost black.

Kidnapper vehicles. These people were the real deal.

Lumine ducked behind a trash can as Wanderer approached the door, calves burning as she watched Wanderer stand there. Though she hadn't brought her phone, she knew the walk had taken almost an hour. And now they were here, tucked in a dark pocket of Sumeru City's outskirts, somewhere near the industrial district, if she wasn't mistaken. Were it not raining so hard, she might have been able to taste the acrid stench of oil refineries that hung over this part of the city.

After a while, Wanderer raised his fist to the door.

Someone opened it moments later, expression inscrutable. They exchanged words that she couldn't here, then Wanderer went inside.

The door swung shut, leaving Lumine alone outside the building's maw, bathed in its shadow.

Rising from her place behind the garbage can and wrinkling her nose at the smell, Lumine drew closer. Windows lined the walls, heavily tinted. There were probably security cameras watching over every inch of the premises, searching for anything amiss. Lumine could only hope that the rain was obscuring their view. Or that the lightning had caused a power outage.

What now? She'd come all this way determined to do something, but now that she was here, she had no clue where to start. The building was immense. There was no way she'd be able to search every corner for Wanderer. Not without getting caught. Dripping as she was, she'd draw the attention of everyone whose line of sight she crossed.

Maybe she should've brought her phone. She'd been worried about it going off and catching Wanderer's attention— there wasn't a chance in hell that Aether wouldn't call her, considering the cryptic e-mail she'd sent, but she couldn't take that risk. If she had brought it, it probably would've been damaged by all the rain. But at least she could have had the hope of contacting someone.

Who? The Corps of Thirty? Wanderer said they wouldn't be of any help. Even if they could conduct a raid on such an organization, there was no way to keep Wanderer out of the crossfire.

There was no one else she could contact at a time like this. Involving Aether would be too risky, and her friends knew too little about the situation to be of use. And though they might be willing to help, Lumine wasn't going to put anyone else in danger.

No one else would help Wanderer. No one else knew he was here. Lumine was the only one he could count on, and she'd be damned if she sat around on her ass while he risked his life.

Steeling herself, she approached the double doors, two large slabs of iron without windows or knobs. Not meant to be opened from the outside. Not meant to invite. Without the slim slit between them and the hinges where they connected with the wall, they wouldn't be identifiable as doors at all.

Mouth going dry, Lumine lifted her hand to the door, knuckles shaking against the cool metal. Her fingers were pruney and her clothes seemed tighter, suddenly, their desperate cling to her skin stifling. She was walking into something unknowably dangerous. Willingly. She'd come all this way without a plan and without any real idea of what she was doing. Saving Wanderer was a nebulous goal when she had no idea what kind of danger he might be in.

Charging in headfirst wasn't going to work. She needed some sliver of advantage, no matter how slim.

So she shifted course, stalking toward the nearest window. Tinted as it was, she had to be able to make out something beyond, right?

Brushing her damp bangs aside, Lumine pressed her face into the glass, breath fanning out in condensation.

Nothing. She couldn't see a damn thing.

Aside from her own reflection, at least. And wasn't it a sorry sight? With her hair almost brown and plastered to her face, her eyes tired and her clothes skin-tight, she looked small. Weak. Foolish. Well-trained wit would not get her out of this mess. Nor would her measly physical capabilities. She couldn't fight. Couldn't run very fast. She was small enough to hide pretty well, but hiding couldn't work forever.

She and Wanderer had proven that. Refuge was transient, a haven in one moment and hell in the next.

Then, movement.

She looked up from her own reflection to see something approaching. She whipped around, shoes slipping on the slick pavement, nearly sending her face-first into a masked figure cloaked in black. Heart leaping into her throat, Lumine lurched back, instinct overwhelming intention as she bent into a sprint that never came to fruition.

A hand caught the neckline of her shirt and pulled her back. Her knees buckled, legs wobbling, and then a fist collided with the side of her face.

Ringing drowned out the sound of the rain as she grimaced, shrinking away as pain pulsed through her temple. She didn't get very far.

The hand at her neck tugged again, forcing her face-to-face with her assailant. They were wearing a mask— not the one the man at the café had been wearing, this only covered their eyes— and that same insignia. The pouring rain was beginning to dampen their coat, adhering it to a figure Lumine couldn't discern anything from. Not that she could discern much with the ache in her head.

"Pathetic. One punch and you're as good as down. I'd expect a little better from Scaramouche's company."

Scaramouche? What the hell was this person talking about? "Let go of me!"

"Or what? You'll slip and fall trying to run away again?" The stranger laughed, a cruel sound that reminded Lumine a little of Wanderer's laugh. His was more bitter, though, weighed down by the years. "Followed him, did you? Il Dottore said you might. This'll be the perfect surprise for our runaway's homecoming."

Thrashing fruitlessly, Lumine hissed, "Who are you? What do you want with us?"

"Who I am doesn't matter. And we want the same thing from you two that we want from everyone else— our secrets hidden. Our operations unimpeded."

Well, if they didn't cooperate soon, there was no chance they'd get what they wanted. Lumine trusted Aether to follow her instructions, strange as the situation must seem. He would release that information.

"I'm— We're not a threat. We're just trying to have a normal life."

Another laugh. "Tell it to the judge."

They began to drag her, then, exerting more force than she could resist. She tried, though, twisting in a vain attempt to slip free from the stranger's grasp. How strong could one person's grip be? Maybe she could use her size to her advantage, duck down out of the blue…

Something pressed into her aching temple, cold and metallic, dripping with rainwater. Lumine's heart shot into her throat as she was pulled back against the stranger's chest, straining her eyes to make out what could only be one thing.

First a knife, now a gun. She was really moving up in the world.

"Cooperate," The agent grunted in her ear, pressing the gun into her temple until she cried out, the pressure intensifying the pain of the punch, "Or I'll put a bullet through your skull. We have plenty of other leverage.

The ringing in Lumine's ears soared to a crescendo and spots danced in her vision. She felt like a puppet, suspended only by the strings at her neck, legs useless limbs as she was marched around the side of the building, paraded through the pouring rain before an audience of dreary gray. Closing her eyes, Lumine tried to focus on breathing. Stay conscious. That was all she could do for now.

In and out. In and out.

A door swung open and the rain stopped, all at once. The air was frigid, and Lumine's shivering worsened as she gained an awareness of every drop of water slipping free from her hair and coursing down to catch in her shirt. She opened her eyes to a darkness unlike that of the stormy sky.

This was sterile, calculated, the kind of darkness one might expect from a dungeon. There were people on either side of the doors she'd been forced through. She could feel their stares.

"Caught yourself a wet dog, have you, Viktor?"

"She's certainly a bitch."

"Dry her off a little before she joins the deserter in interrogation. The Regrator'll be pissed if another chair gets ruined."

 "I'll never understand why we spend so much on those chairs. Why buy them if they can't handle a little blood?"

Lumine grit her teeth, hands clenching into fists at her side. Small-talk. Wonderful. At this rate, they might spill confidential secrets within earshot just to justify whatever it was they were planning. Which would not be pleasant if it took place in a room where chairs were often ruined by bloodstains.

"Come on already," She muttered, squinting into the darkness ahead. The atrium sprawled into numerous hallways, none labeled with room numbers or direction signs for the uninitiated. And though the architecture was undeniably Sumerian, there was something more muted and morose about the interior design. It suited Lumine's vague ideas about what Snezhnaya was like, a ruthless, utilitarian place where frostbite was commonplace and the people survived under the harsh rule of a woman no one had ever seen.

"In a rush, are you?" Her captor, Viktor, asked, pushing the gun against her temple until she hissed. If she got out of this alive, she was going to have one hell of a bruise. "We've got all the time in the world. Your friend isn't going anywhere, and neither are you."

Something pinged, and Viktor pulled a phone from somewhere in the great void of his cloak. Whatever it said drained the sardonic humor from his lips and made him stand a little straighter, tightening his grip on Lumine's shirt. "Lucky you. You're getting your wish anyway. Sounds like someone needs a little motivation."

So she was tugged down one of the halls, lit only by dim fluorescent lights that ran across the ceiling. Brighter light shone beneath some of the doors. As she passed, she could hear tying, arguing in languages she didn't understand, crying, and laughing. The building was full of people.

All these people so close by. More eyes and resources than she could have imagined. They'd been lucky to pass undetected for as long as they did.

Wanderer had known about this place. He knew the Fatui had a base here, somewhere close. Why hadn't he said anything? And why had he chosen to stay with her, so near to this danger, instead of seeking shelter further away?

They came upon a door set into the building's far wall. Viktor pulled the gun away, sliding it into a holster somewhere, and pulled out a key card. "Don't try anything," He warned, slicing the card through a reader that blended almost entirely with the wall. Then he input a code, knuckles rapping buttons too small to see.

The door beeped and opened before them. Viktor led her through, into a stairwell. The air was oppressive within, humid and hot, and it became harder to breathe with each step down.

A nondescript building, an underground lair— these people had it all. Perhaps their leader had a handlebar mustache or was going to offer her a deal she couldn't refuse.

Shoes still squelching slightly with each step, Lumine yielded to the tug at her collar pulling her to the left. The basement seemed somehow more and less like a dungeon. It was darker here, though the light fixtures were the same, and the floor was uneven stone. But other than that, it was sanitary. Almost obsessively so. There were no cobwebs and there wasn't any dust. The air smelled sterile, like a doctor's office.

Interrogation. It was probably a bad thing for an interrogation room to smell like that.

Eventually, they reached another door, another flat slab of metal with neither windows nor ornamentation. Hopefully they had carbon monoxide detectors. The ventilation must have been atrocious.

They stood in front of the door for a bit. Then Viktor took a deep breath as though steeling himself for what was to come and raised a hand to the door.

He knocked meekly. Apologetically. With none of the confidence he'd shown before.

He opened the door a few seconds later and forced Lumine inside. It was a small room, claustrophobic instead of cozy, with the same drab design as the rest of the building. The only thing that stuck out was the desk at the center and the two chairs at either side. One behind the desk, more throne than chair, and one in front, more humble but probably still worth more than she made in a year.

Wanderer sat in the latter chair, scowl deep and dangerous, posture tense in the way it'd been all those evenings ago when he'd held her own knife to her throat. A cornered animal. Dangerous, preparing to attack.

In the other chair sat a stranger she'd seen once before. She recognized him immediately, tugging out of Viktor's slackened grip in surprise.

"It's you," She breathed, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Wanderer's eyes widened and his whole body stiffened. Viktor stepped closer, reaching for her but not grabbing.

And the strange man from the coffee shop, still wearing that beaked mask, grinned from ear to ear.

"We meet again, barista. What a pleasant surprise." She'd almost forgotten those teeth, sharp like the teeth of a shark. And the malice in his voice was unmistakable.

Turning to Viktor, the man waved a dismissive hand. "Shoo. You are no longer needed."

Lumine found some satisfaction in watching Viktor's face drain of color. He bowed, an exaggerated dip made vaguely ridiculous by the heavy flop of his cloak, still waterlogged. "Of course, sir."

He scurried off without another word, leaving Wanderer, Lumine, and the stranger alone. Wanderer was staring at her, almost unblinking, but she couldn't bear to meet his eyes. Not like this, shaking and cold and aching and wallowing in shame. This was a mistake. She'd been so, so stupid. Risking her safety for someone else had been wrong. Now they were both going to die here.

No. She would not regret her choices. Not here, not now. They couldn't do anything to make her wish to take it all back. Knowing everything she knew now, given the chance to do it all over, she'd make the same choices. She would save Wanderer and offer the empathy he needed— a hand outstretched from a world that had offered him not a single olive branch, a chance to see that there were people worthy of trust out there.

Lumine set her jaw, raised her chin, and met the eyes of the stranger

"Well, isn't this a touching reunion? Oh, to be young and in love. Even an hour apart can seem unbearable." Crossing his legs, the man propped his chin on a fist, looking both bored and amused by the unsaid words passing between her and Wanderer. "Though you were never really apart, were you? It was a mistake, Scaramouche, to believe she would keep her word. I taught you better than that, didn't I?"

Jaw clenching, Wanderer shot the man a look of pure, unfiltered hate. Between that and the smug tone of the man's voice, it was clear there was history between them.

A tall man with blue hair. A mix of Snezhnaya and Sumeru.

Was this the person who'd recruited Wanderer into the Fatui? He seemed important, if only because of how anxious Viktor had been to leave, and how he'd stumbled over the honorific, trying too hard to seem respectful. They outnumbered him two to one. If they tried, they could…

Make a fool of themselves, probably.

"Why are you here?" Wanderer asked, voice heavy with something that forced Lumine to finally meet his eyes. He was glaring at her with anger she hadn't seen since their earliest days together, but there was something deeper there. Panic? Fear?

Wringing her cold, pruney hands, Lumine answered, "I couldn't let you come alone. I can't let you die here."

It sounded pathetic, but it was the truth. She'd followed him for an hour in the pouring rain because she couldn't stand the thought of him facing these people alone. Maybe she trusted him less than she'd thought.

Knuckles turning white on the arms of his chair, Wanderer hissed, "Leave her out of this, Dottore. I swear, if you fucking touch her—"

Dottore. The name from earlier, the name she'd been denied at the coffee shop. Had that been an attempt at keeping his cover, or had he deemed a barista too unimportant to grace with his name?

"She came of her own volition, did she not? I do not believe you are in any position to order us around, Scaramouche." Tutting like a displeased teacher, Dottore stood from his chair, folding his arms behind his back and stalking closer to Lumine.

She tensed, drawing away. His smile did not waver as he neared, pacing a circle around her, staring with the intense focus reserved for microscopes or intricate makeup. Not like he was undressing her with his eyes. More like he was studying her, filing her every flaw away in some mental folder for later use.

It couldn't have been an impressive sight. Her hair, not yet dry, was beginning to frizz. The cold was still making her shiver and her clothes had been chosen for a long walk in the heat, not the pouring rain. There wasn't much to them.

"A curious specimen indeed, to develop affections for someone like you. I didn't think you capable of such feelings yourself, let alone warranting them in others." He clicked his tongue, tilting his head, getting a good look from every angle. "Perhaps she has a fondness for damaged things. Fancies herself a tinkerer. With enough duct tape and superglue, you can put anything back together, no? Even the most meticulously corroded psyche.

"But that begs the question— what drew you in? What urged someone so ordinary to save a dying stranger? There is, after all, a point where a broken thing cannot be salvaged. Even the most finely-tuned martyr complexes would have judged the hassle, not to mention the risk, to outweigh the potential benefits."

Lumine's skin crawled. Dottore sounded genuinely curious. He'd had his fun with Wanderer before she'd been brought in. Now it was her turn on the vivisection, to be peeled apart layer by layer. Like an onion, only less effective as a lachrymator.

Once again, she answered with honesty. She felt too seen to try and contrive a lie. It would be caught and called out in an instant. "Same reason I'm here now. I couldn't let him die. It didn't matter who he was or how far gone he was. If I'd left him there…"

Clicking his tongue, Dottore frowned. "You would have felt responsible for his death? What an imbecilic leap in logic. You played no part in the injuries he should have succumbed to. Thus, in no one's eyes could you have been considered at fault."

Turning to Wanderer, Dottore mused, "We assumed you knew about the ambush. We thought you'd arranged a savior to swoop in once the agents left. How curious, to have been so wrong. Your persistent survival was not the fault of cunning, but of fortune. And now you are here, both of you fools. But I cannot deny I am curious as to why. What new low of idiocy have you reached, Scaramouche, to assume you can simply march to our door without an ounce of shame, demanding that we leave you alone?"

His back was turned. If she got a little closer, she could kick his legs in. Or at least one of them. That would buy them some time.

She stepped forward, swelling with courage, when Dottore whipped around, circling behind her with impossible speed, resting yet another gun on her temple.

Resting was far too generous a word. He was shoving it into her skin, as though he was trying to push it right through her head. It worsened the pain in her temple once again, which was metastasizing deeper into her skull and behind her eyes. It was going to take more than a few over-the-counter painkillers to fix this if they got out of here.

"Not another step," Dottore reprimanded, voice too close to her ear. It made her shiver, decidedly not in the way Wanderer's voice had just yesterday. Gods, to go back to yesterday, when they'd been pawing at each other on the couch like teenagers. Before everything went further to shit. "It seems I underestimated your stupidity. You are at my mercy here, and though I am a patient man, few things draw my ire so readily as those who do not understand their place."

Wanderer had learned a thing or two here, alright. At least he'd come at her with a knife, not a gun.

Blazing out of his chair, Wanderer approached. "Don't touch her—"

"One step closer," Dottore warned, "And her blood is on your hands."

Wanderer froze. Lumine's blood ran cold as she met his eyes. Now the fear was front and center in his expression, no longer hidden behind anger. "I already told you why I'm here. I want you— all of you— to leave the two of us alone. Permanently."

Head tilting, grinning, gun still firm against Lumine's face, Dottore asked, "They say opposites attract, but it is clear that stupidity must, in some way or another, gravitate toward stupidity. Why, exactly, do you believe we would let you go? You could cause quite a bit of trouble for us. More than you already have."

Glancing at Lumine, Wanderer replied, "I have information. A lot of it. Enough to get your favorite cronies locked up for life and knock a few links from the others' chains, too."

Dottore's smile wavered, but only for a moment. "Do you? Perhaps you learned a thing or two after all. But all of the information in the world won't do you any good without a means of spreading it. You've both come empty-handed, after all."

Wanderer's eye twitched. He stole another glance at Lumine. She met his eyes, trying to convey some sort of assurance. Though she was here, the information would get out. She wouldn't sabotage his leverage without a backup plan.

Their eye contact lasted mere moments, but it was enough. Dottore barked out a laugh, a despicable sound that made Lumine's hair stand on end. It sounded straight out of a movie, edited with dramatic effect so people only half-paying attention would know that this one was the villain.

This was textbook villainy, but neither Lumine nor Wanderer was a hero. Their cards were morally questionable, but if they played them right, they'd walk out of here alive.

"That was your plan, wasn't it? To have her release your blackmail." Dottore put a hand on Lumine's shoulder, nails digging into her skin. "In the end, trust failed you. It always will, Scaramouche. The only person you can ever count on is yourself."

Lumine scowled, trying not to wince at the force of Dottore's grip. What was with the Fatui and their militant misanthropy? Did they all have tragic backstories, or was decaying empathy merely a symptom of their work? "You're wrong," She spat through gritted teeth.

Turning his attention to her, Dottore tilted his head. "Am I?"

"We're stuck here, but I've got friends. People I can count on to send that blackmail without even knowing what it is." She had to speak carefully, lest she implicate anyone specific. That was the whole point of how many secrets she'd been keeping for the past few months. All her efforts to keep her friends and family safe would not be in vain. "They trust me, and I trust them.

The press of the gun against her temple softened. "Do you expect me to take you at your word? Your bluffing may fool the simpletons with whom you associate, but I am not so easily tricked."

"Maybe I'm lying. Maybe I'm telling the truth. Do you really want to find out?" Lumine grinned. All that worrying and she'd seized the upper hand in one fell swoop.

Even Wanderer was watching her with surprise, something like admiration flashing in his gaze. They might yet turn the tides in their favor.

Removing his hand from her shoulder and pulling the gun away, Dottore folded his hands behind his back once more, expression inscrutable through his mask. All went silent for a while, the air brimming with anticipation as Lumine and Wanderer awaited Dottore's verdict.

He stalked back to his chair, seating himself with an air of displeasure. "Very well," He sighed, resignation clear in his voice, "I suppose the circumstances warrant a negotiation. Between the two of us alone, of course." Addressing Lumine, he added, "Your input is not required. This is Fatui business, though your continued survival will be considered within the terms."

Lumine inhaled sharply, a rebuttal already ready on her tongue, but something in Wanderer's gaze steeled her lips. He looked confident now, or at least on equal footing with Dottore. This had been his plan. As much as she wanted a say, she could trust Wanderer to see this through to a suitable end.

Thus, the negotiation commenced.

"If I am to be frank, your usefulness has met its end. We have identified other, less emotionally volatile candidates to fill your role. Our concern, then, is not with letting you go, but with ensuring you remain silent about all you have learned and seen here, blackmail included."

Crossing his arms, Wanderer replied, "I don't cause problems for you guys, you don't cause trouble for us. Is that not a fair exchange?"

"Quite the contrary. Weighing two insignificant lives against all that we have achieved and all of our future plans creates quite the imbalance. I am, however, a generous man. Shall I present my terms?"

Lumine clenched her fists. If it weren't likely to end with a bullet in her and Wanderer's head, she'd love to punch Dottore square in the face. Break his nose. Knock that mask off, force his real identity into light. Few people inspired violence in her heart, but few people deserved a beating quite like him. She was used to being brushed off— food service had stamped out whatever residual self-importance clung to her psyche after her teenage years— but that was crossing a line.

Raising his chin, defiance personified, Wanderer sneered. "Brave talk for someone whose life I could ruin with a single picture. But fine, keep pretending you have the upper hand."

"Egoistical as ever, I see. It's fortunate you've found yourself someone spineless enough to bear it." Bait. He was baiting them, and considering the way Wanderer's jaw clenched, it was working. "And it's fortunate for us that you finally have something to lose."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you ever get it in your head to release your blackmail, or if the Fatui ever has reason to suspect you've leaked it to even one person, we have a better punishment than killing you outright. We will strip from you the only person you hold dear, and we will kill her, and we will make it painful. Her last words will be lamentations that she ever bothered saving you."

Lumine's blood ran cold. She watched Wanderer's face redden with fury and she took a step closer, watching Dottore from the corner of her eye.

"And if you ever tire of this one," Dottore continued, "We will kill her and any other obsessions you may develop, flighty fool that you are."

Revenge or their lives. If Wanderer agreed, he'd have to hold onto that blackmail for the rest of his life. Or delete it. He must have gathered it with the intention of taking the organization down, or at least unraveling some vital threads. The man she'd brought home that night, the one who'd held a throat to her neck the next day, seemed the type to choose revenge without a second thought.

Had things changed? Did his desire for normalcy eclipse his thirst for vengeance?

Raising a brow, Wanderer asked, "And why, exactly, am I supposed to believe you'll stay true to your word? There's no guarantee you won't send an assassin after us tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year."

"Perhaps you've retained some of what we taught you after all. You'll simply have to take me at my word. As a gesture of goodwill, I'll even throw something else in to sweeten the bargain."

Lumine frowned, looking between them as she shuffled, slow and quiet, toward Wanderer's chair. His gaze was narrowed and fixed on Dottore; he had no focus to spare. "What would that be?"

"Your disappearance, as it were, has caused quite the stir. It's gotten so much attention that I believe, were a ransom notice to be posed to your dear mother, she would have no choice but to pay up. Anything less would be social suicide for a family as reputable as hers."

"Your idea of goodwill is holding me hostage?"

"My idea of goodwill is draining a sizable sum from your mother's coffers. That benefits us both, don't you agree?"

Wanderer pursed his lips, shifting in his chair. Consciously or not, he was imitating Dottore's confident, almost preening poise. "You think she'd actually pay it?"

The question was genuine. Lumine's heart sank; though he was putting on a brave face, the question had to be a great burden. Though her family had never been wealthy, they would have done whatever it took to get her back had someone kidnapped her. Wanderer thought so little of his family— had been shown so little care by his family— that he could not assume the same.

"Not for your sake," Dottore answered, tapping his chin in vague disinterest as Wanderer flinched, "But to preserve her social standing, she would. It would reflect poorly on her, as a political figure and as a mother, to rebuke her son so publicly. Especially after all she has done to paint yours as the perfect nuclear family."

"Fine. Maybe this'll be enough to open her eyes."

Grinning again in that manner that shot chills down Lumine's spine, Dottore planted his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands. "Splendid. I'll send a notice for the letter to be drafted sometime today. In the meantime, a few agents will meet you shortly at the door to take you to your accommodations."

Accommodations. "Wait, you're staying here?"

She spoke before thinking, voice hoarse and weak and somewhat whiny. This was not how today was supposed to go. They were supposed to come here, kick ass, and walk home hand-in-hand. Maybe bask in their newfound freedom a little. Pick up where they'd left off on the couch yesterday.

Instead, the Fatui was going to hold Wanderer hostage. He'd agreed to let them hold him hostage.

Standing and approaching, Wanderer stopped just beside her, close enough for their hands to brush. Close enough to whisper in her ear, "I'll be home soon. Don't worry about me."

That was the same thing he'd said before leaving.

Now, though, Lumine had no choice but to trust he was telling the truth. Wherever he was going, it wasn't somewhere she could follow. "I'm going to miss you. And I will worry."

Wanderer smiled. "Good."

Lumine wanted to pull him into an embrace. She wanted to kiss him or press their foreheads together and let herself believe things would turn out alright, but the weight of Dottore's stare killed any possibility of intimacy.

She would go, back out into the rain, and he would stay.

Turning away, Lumine fixed Dottore with one last, hateful look. "If you ever come to Puspa Café again, I will spit in your drink."

Was that childish? Yes, but it brought some satisfaction into the hollow that had opened in her heart over the past hour or so. Her temple still pulsed with discomfort; she wasn't sure she'd ever forget the feeling of a gun pressed against her skin, one pull of the trigger away from death.

"That swill you call coffee is hardly worth the trip. Or the price, for that matter."

Lumine gritted her teeth. On that point, at least, she couldn't disagree.

So she stalked out of the room, meeting another person donning a mask, cloak, and insignia. Their stature was different, though, and when they spoke, their voice was feminine. "I'm here to escort you home."

Angry as she wanted to be, Lumine had no idea how to get home from here. "Ok."

Her escort guided her out of the building, out into the rain that had lightened to a gentle drizzle. Light peeked through gaps between the paler clouds, promising that the storm would pass soon.

Once they were off the premises, Lumine's escort began to talk. "You must be pretty clever. It takes a special kind of person to make demands of the Doctor and emerge unscathed. And you managed to domesticate Scaramouche's temper? I almost can't believe it."

Once he was back, Lumine would have to ask Wanderer why the people here called him Scaramouche. It was probably a code name— there was no way Dottore was anyone's real name, either— but it was strange in a deliberate sort of way.

"You and me both," Lumine grumbled, brushing her hair from her face. It was wet again, strands clumping together and darkening. They had an hour walk ahead of them, but Lumine really wasn't in the mood for talking. She'd just been punched in the face and had multiple guns pressed to her head. It would take every bit of concentration she had to hold off breaking down until she was safely home. She didn't want anyone to see her fear, let alone another person from the Fatui.

"He's lucky, y'know. Most people don't get a chance to leave."

"Most people shouldn't join in the first place."

Lumine's escort sighed. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

Lumine quirked a brow, finding sincerity in her escort's frown. They were leading her on; if they really resented their position, they probably lacked anyone to talk about it with. But inquiring would tangle her further in the Fatui's web of influence. One showdown with the mob was enough for a lifetime.

So she didn't respond, and her escort stopped talking. They walked in silence through the rain, then the humid aftermath. Lumine watched the sky reappear, shedding its cloudy layers to reveal the blue expanse beyond, a welcome sight after such a day.

By the time her house came into view, Lumine's calves were burning. The humidity kept her clothes and hair damp, creating the kind of discomfort only a shower could fix. A long, hot shower.

They stopped in front of her house. Lumine wasn't keen on letting her escort know where she lived, but it was a moot point. The Fatui already had that information.

Before heading up to her porch, Lumine cleared her throat. "You guys better hold up your end of the bargain. If he's not back within a week, the blackmail goes out."

"We're true to our word. We may not be the most trustworthy organization, but we always keep our promises."

Lumine narrowed her eyes. There was no way to tell whether her escort was lying or telling the truth. She'd just have to wait and find out.

Fishing her key from her pocket, Lumine let herself into her house, closing and locking the door right behind her. It was dark and quiet, as it'd been this morning, but it was different. Something in the air spoke of absence. It was palpable that she was alone.

Kicking off her shoes, Lumine headed for her room, breath hitching as she passed the couch. The empty couch, with one pillow at the end and the blanket folded along the back. There was no evidence that someone had, only hours before, called it home.

Lumine's breathing began to grow shallow as she picked out new clothes, and her heart began to race. The adrenaline of her dance with danger was wearing off, sapping her of her strength. It left her to wrangle the wild-running emotions she'd been suppressing on the walk home, a tsunami of hurt and anger and fear that made her eyes prickle with oncoming tears and her breaths come as desperate gasps.

She kept the bathroom light off. Despite their best efforts to cling to her skin, Lumine divested herself of her clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the spout.

She grimaced as frigid water rained down upon her, quickly turning warm, then hot.

Too hot, maybe. Hot enough to sting. Hot enough to ensure she'd be lobster-red when she managed to brave the mirror and face life in Wanderer's absence.

She'd been alone for years. She would be fine. She should have been fine.

She'd have to call Aether. If he sent the blackmail, all of this fear and hatred would have been for nothing.

But reality could wait. It would have to. She wasn't going to get out of the shower until she was good and ready. And as she curled up on the floor of the shower and let the hot water rush over her, wiping clean the day's strain, it was clear that wouldn't be anytime soon.

Chapter Text

Sunday came and went, bleeding into the week with no reverence for what was lost. Sleep remained constantly out of reach. Lumine spent all of Sunday glued to the couch, curled up in Wanderer's blanket and watching TV, switching between news channels for any sign of him. She stopped only to reload the news on her phone, to use the bathroom, and to eat a bowl of oatmeal when her stomach protested her unintentional hunger strike.

On Monday, she did something she almost never did.

Lumine skipped class and called off of work. She stayed home, eyes on the television, fighting sleep every time it threatened to cut off her access to the world outside, where somewhere Wanderer was waiting to come home.

She talked to Aether when he called. She didn't tell him what happened. How could she? He'd never believe it. And if he did, he'd be royally pissed and probably try to intervene in a way that would jeopardize their tentative stability. So she pretended to be sick, and when Aether brought up her housemate, she skirted the topic.

Her heart was heavy, a dead weight in her chest as she sat curled against the side of the couch, brushing a hand through her hair occasionally, fingers coming away greasy. The news anchor on the other side of the glass spoke rapid-fire Inazuman. In captions, stories unfolded that Lumine could not have cared less about. Someone's house caught fire from a lightning strike. Parliament was in shambles. The cherry blossoms were starting to bloom.

Nothing about a politician's son, estranged and missing.

Her thoughts were a haze, silenced by the endless droning of the television. Her body attempted revolt, eyelids growing heavy and pineal gland working overtime, but she fought back with constant blue light. It seared her eyes and made it easier to ignore how quiet the house was. Lumine had spent years in silence, with only her thoughts for company, and had been completely fine. All it took was two months and change to throw a wrench into that equilibrium.

The kitchen was unbearable now with its empty chair. The yard, grass beginning to sprout again despite how many birds snacked on the seeds, was too empty. Even if she replanted, it wouldn't be the same. There wouldn't be someone to share her useless knowledge with or to tease when a worm inched by.

When a knock sounded at her door, she almost didn't hear it over the sound of the TV. Then it came again, a single, tentative rap of knuckles, and Lumine's heart leapt.

Logically, there was no chance it was Wanderer. It had been two days, and the news had reported nothing of a ransom or kidnapping.

Still, she stood from the couch, legs stiff from disuse, and hobbled to the door. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the lock, then the doorknob, not bothering to check the keyhole as she yanked the door open.

Collei, Amber, Lyney, and Lynette stood on her porch, wearing nearly identical expressions of concern. And, in the latter two, something almost like guilt.

"Hi," Lumine croaked, forcing a smile. "Uh, I think I told you guys about the garden incident, right? There's nothing to see back there anymore."

Never one to beat around the bush, Lynette stepped up. "You look awful, Lumine."

"Hey, I thought we were going to be tactful about this!" Lyney protested, earning a side-eye from his sister.

"I'm not sure tact is going to help," Amber replied. "Can we come in?"

Collei frowned. "Do you need to ask your friend first?"

Amber shot her a confused look, and Collei moved to explain. Really, letting them in was a bad idea. The house was a mess. She was a mess. There weren't any snacks in the cupboard. There was barely any food at all; she'd been putting off going to the store. Being out in public seemed unthinkable. Anyone could be with the Fatui, watching her from afar. Anyone could push her beyond the precipice of breaking down.

"He's not here. Right now. He'll be back, but you can come in. I guess."

Lumine moved aside to let them inside, grimacing as their eyes trailed across the dish-laden sink and the empty cups of coffee sitting in the living room, all evidence that she'd spent the last two days in a state of restless survival on the couch.

Worrying the hem of her sleeves, Collei approached Lumine, already sinking into that half-dead state as she stared at the TV, watching and waiting. Lumine didn't realize Collei had entered the living room until she spoke, nearly making her jump.

"Have you eaten anything? Or drank anything other than coffee?"

"I haven't had much of an appetite." For food or beverage. But some water would do wonders for her hoarse throat. Food, on the other hand, was a little more dubious. She'd been fighting faint nausea since the morning, and her bowl of oatmeal had only made it worse. Logically, she knew she had to eat. The body needed nutrients to function. But her body was in such a state of disarray that it neither appreciated nor made appeasing the idea of fulfilling that particular need.

Lynette strode into the living room then, arms crossing. "Lyney, make her something to eat!" With the audacity of someone who lived there, Lynette scooped up the remote and began pressing buttons at random. The channels flipped, the volume grew and sank to a near-whisper, and menus popped up that Lumine hadn't ever seen. "This is only going to make whatever's going on. There's never anything good on the news."

Tilting her head, Collei reached tentatively for the remote control. "What, exactly, are you trying to do?"

"Turn it off," Lynette answered just as she pressed a sequence of buttons that killed the display, leaving a hissing static in its place. Collei jumped, covering her ears, but Lynette didn't so much as flinch. "Huh. I didn't know they did that anymore."

Finally, after pressing every button on the remote except the big, red one embedded with the universal power symbol, Lynette turned the television off. Possibly in a state of permanent disrepair. That didn't matter now, though. Lumine had to reassure everyone she was alright enough for them to leave her alone, then she could go back to waiting.

"Not to sound patronizing," Collei said, "But watching TV all day really isn't good for your health."

Nor was having a gun held to her head. But sometimes the only choice was to roll with the punches.

A crashing sound came from the kitchen, the distinct clatter of pots and pans escaping their precarious arrangements in a cupboard. Lynette sighed, rolling her eyes as she peeked her head around the wall. Moments later she met Lumine's stare, shaking her head and sighing in a way that made Lumine miss Aether.

Lyney and Lynette were so close. Lumine missed feeling the same way with Aether, but she'd always wanted to forge separate identities, too. Did Lyney and Lynette struggle with the same feelings?

"You should take a shower," Lynette chimed, drawing Lumine from her musings. "It might make you feel more human, if not better."

Human. Gods, what a wonder that would be, to feel human. Not a pawn in some scheme or collateral damage in someone else's series of bad decisions. A human, a person, Lumine. Herself. Someone with friends and a life outside of Wanderer who should have been perfectly capable of coping with his absence.

Alas, should meant very little. If she wanted to change how she felt, she had to try to keep living. It'd been the same way when her parents died; she'd spent an eternity living in a haze, learning that life did not stop for tragedy. The only way to live, to really be alive, was to keep walking.

And right now, before she could start walking, she had to get herself together. Take a shower, eat a meal, catch some shut-eye. Thank her friends for being wonderful people, too, and apologize for not being able to tell them much about the situation.

So she showered, changing into a new pair of clothes that weren't wrinkled from two days of shifting positions on the couch. With the grime of two days' lounging washed away, she indeed felt a little more human. Not quite whole, but closer than she'd been before. More stable, regaining ground on her axis. It felt strange, making herself presentable while chatter filled the air outside, words a blur beyond the steam and the dying drip of the faucet.

She'd showered with someone else in the house for months. But this was different. Her friends were company in a way Wanderer hadn't been. She was supposed to be their host, but they'd come, a full squadron, to force her back onto her feet. With the perfect people, too. Amber was good at cheering people up, Collei was easy to talk to, and Lyney and Lynette knew how to get things done.

Venti had been blowing up her phone since she called Aether. He would've fit in, but his presence may have been a bit overbearing. Someone had probably told him that. He'd probably feigned offense but understood, keeping his concerns limited to text, where they were manageable.

Aether. She'd thought about asking him to come over on Sunday. He would have, if she'd asked. But she didn't trust herself not to spill everything the second she saw the concern in his eyes. For both of their sakes, she'd abstained.

Keeping secrets was lonely.

She entered the kitchen to find a charcuterie board of the last remnants of her kitchen. Apple slices topped with peanut butter sat beside chunks of cheese and stale crackers. It was hardly a meal worthy of kings, but it was the best they'd come up with. And probably the only thing she could stomach at the moment.

It sat waiting on the table, waiting like the others, leaning against the countertop or wall and looking everywhere except for Lumine.

Emotion welled in her throat as she sat, grimacing at the sound of the chair scraping the floorboards. She made a conscious effort to find and nurture friendships of all sorts, but she'd never been on this side of the exchange. She was usually the shoulder to lean on, the ear open to everyone's problems. It made sense that they would do the same, but it was still touching.

When she spoke, she sounded near tears. "Thanks, you guys. This means a lot."

"Of course!" Amber chirped, clasping her hands in a show of sincerity. "This is what friends are for. You helped me through things with Eula; it's only fair I have your back."

That brought back memories. Amber and Eula had been teenage sweethearts, heads-over-heels in love. But Eula's family hadn't approved of Amber, and in the end, Eula took their side.

Which Lumine understood. She couldn't imagine never speaking to Aether again. But it had been rough on Amber, one of the things that pushed her to studying abroad. If they hadn't broken up, Lumine couldn't imagine Amber ever leaving Mondstadt. She loved it there, but she'd needed a change of pace. They both had.

"Um, speaking of which," Collei interjected, voice small as she looked between Lumine and Amber, "Do you want to tell us what's wrong? I'm not sure there's much I can do to help, but I'll try."

Lyney and Lynette exchanged glances, but neither said a word.

"Things are just a little rough right now." There couldn't be harm in sharing a few little details. Not enough to show the bigger picture, but enough to quiet the worst of their worries. Enough to make her struggle seem like something manageable. "Some assholes hopped the fence the other day and ruined the garden. You can probably still smell the gasoline. It's just been stressful, getting the yard back in shape and dealing with the landlord."

"Has your housemate been helping?" Lyney asked. Lynette shot him another look, this time a glare. Cautious. Warning? Those two were still splitting hairs on how to deal with her, it seemed.

Lumine bit into a cracker, trying not to let her expression waver. "Yeah. He helped with all the soil and getting the grass planted. And it's nice to have someone else around."

"It's a shame. I was looking forward to those strawberries." Frowning, Lynette inspected her nails. "But things should be better now. I saw the security cameras. You shouldn't get vandals again."

Lumine sighed, popping another cracker in her mouth. They were stale and almost tasteless, save for a sprinkling of salt along the top. They'd been sitting at the back of a cupboard for months because she hated eating them— they were sick food, for when her stomach refused to tolerate even buttered bread— but they were probably the best thing to have, now. If she tried to introduce too many flavors or textures back to her stomach right away, it'd send them back. Along with a nice side of stomach acid. "I hope so. All I want is for things to get back to normal."

"Would watching a movie help?" Collei asked.

Amber shook her head. "I'm not sure more TV is a good idea. Do you have any games?"

"Board games?" Lumine asked. "No."

"I've got cards." Pulling a pack from his sleeve, Lyney presented them with a charlatan's smile, mischievous and a little too wide. "Nothing like your friend's Genius Invokation TCG, Collei, but these'll do in a pinch. What do you say? Go fish? Old maid? Poker?"

"I'm not sure I have enough chairs," Lumine replied.

"We can sit on the floor, then." Glancing down at said floor, which hadn't been vacuumed or washed in longer than Lumine cared to admit, Lynette amended, "In the living room, maybe. We could move the coffee table."

Grinning, Amber nodded. "That's a great idea! C'mon, Collei, come help me move the table."

"You need my help?"

"I could move it myself, but it's better to have two people. I'm less likely to dent anything that way."

Lumine managed a small smile as Collei trailed after Amber. The table was cheap. It probably didn't even weigh ten pounds. Her landlord didn't trust her tenants enough to splurge on anything fancy or fragile. But whatever was going on between Collei and Amber, Lumine didn't want to ruin it, so she didn't interject.

They left her alone with Lyney and Lynette, snacking on the apple they'd cut and fighting down nascent nausea. There was something heavy in the air now, something in the way Lyney and Lynette kept looking at each other, like they were talking without words. Twinspeak. Once, Lumine had been able to do the same with her brother.

They were too different, now. They'd spent too long apart. She couldn't read his body language anymore, though she knew enough to tell if he was lying or hiding something. The nuances beyond that were lost.

Whatever they were communicating, it couldn't be pleasant. The two were good actors, but Lumine had spent enough time around them to recognize their poker faces— unlike their resting faces, their hiding-something faces were exactly alike.

"Everything alright?" Lumine asked between apple slices, wiping a smear of peanut butter off her finger. "You two're kind of quiet today."

Lyney grimaced. "We're fine. Things are just… hectic."

"With classes," Lynette added.

Lumine frowned. When classes went sour, they tended to complain in a little more detail. But she had no reason not to trust them. To do anything else would be hypocritical after all she'd been hiding from them. "Is it anything I can help with?"

They shook their heads in unison.

Unease stirred in Lumine's chest, waking from the slumber her friends had cast it into. Whatever was bothering them, it went deeper than hard course material or bad grades. If they didn't want to share, though, she wouldn't force them. Everyone was entitled to their pride, and Lumine hadn't exactly been forthcoming with details about her own situation. She had no right to demand that of anyone else.

She finished the rest of her snack in silence, gaze meandering awkwardly through the room, darting away every time she met Lyney or Lynette's eyes. When she was done, she took the cutting board to the sink, adding it to the pile of dishes she'd force herself to do later, once everyone was gone. Amber and Collei came back into the kitchen as she turned from the sink, Amber grinning and Collei smiling shyly.

Envy clawed at Lumine's heart. She forced it down. Good for them. Wanderer would be back soon, and she could get her fix of romance.

"Everything's ready!" Amber announced, waving them into the living room. With both lamps turned on, it was brighter than Lumine had seen it in months, illuminating dust on the baseboards and the television screen.

Great. As if she needed another broadcast of how pathetic she'd become.

If the others noticed, they didn't decline to comment, settling in a vague circle around the living room floor. Hardwood wouldn't make for a comfortable seat, but they'd forget about it soon enough. As long as they had fun, at least.

Thus, the games commenced. The day waned away as they traded cards and switched games, teaching each other the rules to some customary in their home nations. The weight on Lumine's chest lessened as she laughed and feigned offense when she lost and trash-talked when she won. Any previous awkwardness vanished as they settled into the rhythm of friendships old and new.

They weren't treating her like an unstable grenade anymore. She was one of them, happy and alright. For those few hours passed in her living room, she was fine.

But it couldn't last forever. Lyney's stomach caved first, growling mid-bluff with force enough to make Lumine jump. She dropped her cards, hand fluttering to the ground, falling face-up, revealing the three-of-a-kind she'd made with the community cards.

Lyney blushed, scratching his neck. "Sorry about that. It's been a while since lunch."

Right. Because Lumine, poor host that she was, didn't have any food to offer them.

"No, it's okay," Collei reassured, pulling out her phone. "It's getting kind of late, actually. We should probably get going so we don't have to walk in the dark."

"I'll walk you back to your place, if you don't mind," Amber offered, earning a wide-eyed nod. "Thanks for having us over, Lumine!"

With a sheepish smile, Lumine shook her head. "No, I should be thanking you. I really needed this. And I promise I'll stop to pick up groceries after work tomorrow." Pushing up off the ground, Lumine stood, stretching out her back. Something popped as she straightened. Damn. She was getting old. "See you guys soon!"

She followed them to the foyer, smiling as they slipped on their shoes. Amber and Collei left first, with cheerful goodbyes and interlocked hands. Lynette lingered as Lyney headed for the door, waiting.

"Be careful." She spoke with a kind of gravity Lumine had never heard in her voice. Brows furrowing, Lynette glanced back at Lyney. Her lips parted again, and she breathed in as though preparing to say more, but the words never came. Lynette shook her head, offering a small smile before moving to join her brother.

Her words lingered in Lumine's mind. Be careful.

Two simple words, imbued with such meaning. They probably thought she felt like crap because she'd gotten into some kind of trouble. Or they were warning her to be vigilant, since in their eyes someone had chosen her house to vandalize, and there was a possibility it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing.

Lumine had a tendency to attract trouble. Her friends knew that, and they were looking out for her.

She was lucky, to be surrounded by such good people.

The days went on. A heaviness still plagued her, playing in shadows that resembled movement or the house settling in a way that sounded like a footstep. But it was easier to manage. She washed the dishes and bought groceries. She cooked and cleaned the house. She kept the television on as she worked, idly listening to a weather forecast predicting the conditions that the coming summer would bring.

Heat, humidity, and a whole lot of rain. An army of mosquitoes and some migratory butterflies visiting for a while. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, as she was finishing off a lazy dinner of pita pockets—

"This just in: Inazuman parliamentarian Raiden Ei reunited with her son after months of searching. We've received a copy of the anonymous ransom notice she reports finding in her mailbox a few days ago, and we have a reporter on the scene who will be speaking with her, and her son, momentarily."

Lumine jolted upright, slamming her knee into the underside of the table. Her plate shook, and flakes of lettuce spilled from their carbohydrate confines. She paid it no mind, striding into the living room and standing at the foot of the couch, heart beginning to race as blurry footage played on the broadcast. Colors blended and meshed together, then cleared as the camera steadied on a scene that snatched the breath from Lumine's lungs.

Vibrant pink petals, cast like rain from towering trees, coated the steps leading up to an ancient-looking mansion, distinctly Inazuman in design. A reporter, stark against the scene in a bright red shirt, stood between a tall woman who radiated dignity and the bruised figure of Wanderer. Kunikuzushi. Her Kunikuzushi.

"Tell us, Ma'am, how did you feel when you received the ransom notice? I imagine it must have been a shock."

The reporter turned to the woman. Raiden Ei. Wanderer's mother. The resemblance was uncanny. Her hair was a richer shade of purple and her eyes were almost pink, while his were indigo, but they had the same features, the same jawline, the same stony stares they offered the camera as petals danced in the air behind them.

"Any parent, I'm sure, would have found it distressing," She answered. Her voice was deep and calm, as devoid of emotion as her body language. Though they stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, Lumine could sense no ease between them. Most families reunited after a tragedy would stick close and catch each other's eye, perhaps hold hands to make sure they were really there. Wanderer's mother, though, had eyes only for the camera. "But it did not come as a surprise. My Kunikuzushi has a tendency to stray from home for long periods of time. I've always known something like this was possible."

Nodding soberly, the reporter replied, "Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, as they say. It's touching, truly, how swiftly you reacted to save your son. Thousands have sent their condolences and support throughout the search. I'm sure Inazuma will sleep a little easier tonight knowing that a mother has been reunited with her son."

Wanderer's eye twitched, and Raiden Ei's expression remained solemn. She didn't so much as look in Wanderer's direction or offer a smile. "I am eternally thankful for the support of the people. I shall continue to serve Inazuma as best I can."

"Professional even in the face of crisis. You set a wonderful example for us all." Then the reporter turned to Wanderer, striding closer, undeterred as he shuffled away. "But let's hear from both sides of the story, shall we? Your mother says you're quite afflicted by wanderlust. Where did your travels take you, and how did you end up where you did?"

The look on Wanderer's face pulled a laugh from Lumine's throat— the first she'd let out in days. His fists clenched like he was considering punching the reporter in place of a reply, but diplomacy won out, and he settled for a pissed glare to go along with his reply. "I wandered for a while. Then I was taken in by the world's kindest idiot."

"The world's kindest idiot?"

"I've never met someone simultaneously so strong and so naïve. It was pure luck that she found me, and a fucking miracle that she let me stay as long as I did."

The reporter grimaced as Wanderer swore, drawing a few more laughs from Lumine's chest. Gods, how she loved him. It seemed foolish, now, to think she'd ever doubted her feelings. Wanderer brought something into her life she'd never had before. It wasn't something necessary, but it would make each day a little brighter and a little easier to bear. It would be nice, having something to look forward to again when she came home.

"I see," The reporter said, flattening their collar as Wanderer continued to glare. "And is she the one who held you hostage?"

Arms crossing, Wanderer raised his chin. "Think about it. Why would I waste my breath complimenting the person who kidnapped me? I know news anchors don't have to be smart, but I assumed a reputable news station like yours wouldn't hire complete dumbasses. You learn something new every day, I guess."

He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance, as the reporter gaped. His mother's eye twitched— another piece of inheritance— and she took a step closer, shooting him an imperceptibly stern glance he didn't bother to reciprocate.

"I— Well, alright then." Running their hand down their shirt to soothe non-existent wrinkles, the reporter took a deep breath. They hadn't been anticipating hostility. Neither Ei nor Wanderer was going to give them the happy mother-son reunion story they'd probably wanted to broadcast, but they were live. The show had to go on. "If not this mystery woman, who kidnapped you?"

Wanderer pursed his lips. "Hell if I know. They were professionals. Didn't give me anything identifiable."

The lie came easily. Nothing in his face suggested it was anything but the truth. They were already playing the Fatui's game, crossing their i's and dotting their t's, for the prelude to a lifelong masquerade. Once he was back, they would have to be vigilant. It would be stressful, but at least they would be alive and together.

Once again, the reporter looked taken aback. Ei watched on without saying a word, but there was something familiar in the way she held herself, something she recognized from Wanderer. It was the onset of dark clouds across the horizon, the first breath of a coming storm. She would have words for him later, ones he'd probably complain about when he came home. He probably should show a little more decorum on public television, but his blunt, sharp tongue was refreshing. It made her feel a little more at home.

"Well, now that you're back, what do you plan on doing now?"

Wrinkling his nose as the reporter brought the microphone to his lips, Wanderer answered, "I'm going home."

Ei's composure cracked; her stillness crumbled as her jaw clenched and her arms clasped behind her back. Her posture was a perfect replica of Dottore's. "You've mentioned nothing of that to me."

Finally meeting Ei's eyes, Wanderer replied, "I'm not talking about your house. I'm going home."

Legs weakening, Lumine fell back onto the couch, casting an arm over her forehead like a fainting maiden. Home. He was coming home. He wanted to come back. To her. Her heart swelled until she was sure it would burst free from her ribcage. No organ could hold such a vast rush of emotion— yet it remained in her chest, an endless percussion, carrying hope for the future and a kind of love Lumine had never felt before.

He was coming home. He'd be living here, now. When she renegotiated her lease come summer, she'd have him written in. She'd buy a bigger bed somehow or he'd keep the couch or they'd cram themselves both on her bed, falling asleep in each other's arms. They would live normal lives, free from the hidden world of back alleys and shadows and old, unlabeled buildings.

They would be together again. Time would continue to flow, apathetic to all that sheltered beneath its wings, and Lumine would walk with it.

Chapter Text

There was too much food.

The pot of radish veggie soup she'd made, thick and warm and pluming aromatic steam into the air, was halfway full. She'd never finish it all before it went bad. She'd have to freeze some, maybe half of the batch. If Wanderer had seen it, he would've asked if she was planning on feeding the whole Corps of Thirty.

But he wasn't there yet. The week had passed, and now it was Monday evening. The sun cast its last glorious hues over the horizon visible through her kitchen window. She was alone in its splendor, alone in a house too big for one person. But she'd seen Wanderer on TV. She knew he was alive.

Unless the Fatui had gone back on their word.

No. She wasn't going to think about that. Sumeru wasn't exactly a stone's throw away from Inazuma. Wanderer was coming back. He was on his way, and she wouldn't let herself dwell on it further.

Lumine sighed, scooping up the ladle she'd been using to stir the soup and spooning herself a portion. It was less than she'd typically eat, but her appetite had yet to return in full force. The equilibrium of the world was still broken, but it was patched enough for Lumine to resume the motions of normalcy. She took notes in class and worked the front at the coffee shop, focused enough to avoid workplace injuries but detached enough to jump every time the door opened, snapping to see who'd come in.

It was never Wanderer. Hoping that he'd find her there was futile. She'd never told him the place's name, let alone its address. But the heart yearned for what it yearned for. She couldn't fight it, but she kept it from hampering her work.

Now she was alone at her table, facing an empty chair, staring into a bowl of bubbling soup. Vegetables and beans floated in the broth, jostled every now and then by the heat of the dish. It looked divine and smelled even better, but it could not make her mouth water or her stomach growl.

Her body was recovering from absence. It knew the process well by now, and she was older, in better control over her emotions. And, unlike with her parents, she had hope that Wanderer would return.

As long as she kept moving, the time would come. And if Wanderer had taught her anything, it was patience.

Lumine lifted a spoon to her lips, blowing on the soup. Gentle ripples stirred in the broth, carrying the sole bean trapped within toward the edge of the concavity. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, letting the bean slip free to rejoin its comrades in the bowl as her arm twitched. Who was texting her?

She sipped the spoonful, regretting it immediately as the scalding broth waged war on her taste buds. Her free hand dove for her glass of water, and she chased the broth with a long, cold gulp that soothed some of the burning, if only for a moment.

Once her mouth was free of hellfire, she fished her phone out of her pocket and tapped the screen to life. Several notifications awaited, but she went straight to her texts. Whichever neglected apps were begging for attention would have to wait longer still.

Uglier Half was at the top of her messages. Aether's face beamed in the profile picture she'd given him, a picture she'd taken on a day that was now nothing more than faded memory. It'd been before they left Mondstadt, probably after their acceptance to the Akademiya, when they'd been intent on making every last minute of childhood count, even with the absence of their parents looming in every breath.

It was the last time she'd seen him so happy. That kind of cheer was hard to come by in adulthood, where they juggled school and work and the endless list of tasks necessary to stay alive and afloat. They didn't have time to run through the forests on the outskirts of the city, pretending to be heroes or monsters or adventurers blazing uncharted trails. Living was a race against time, and every year sapped a little more of their stamina.

She opened their chat, reading the most recent text.

Stopping by later tonight. A friend gave me a bunch of baklava and I can't eat it all on my own.

Nor did he have a fridge to store it in. The place was in better shape than it had been; calling it clean would be too generous, but it was adequate. Liveable. Enough to warrant some teasing, but not much. Aether knew she'd been having a rough go of it, and while siblings would be siblings, he'd never kick her while she was down.

Not too hard, at least.

Rolling her eyes as a smile crept across her lips, Lumine began to type.

Define a bunch.

His answer came moments later in PNG form. A flat casserole container sat on his desk, full of neat little squares of pastry. Homemade. Now that was something Lumine could salivate over.

Damn. Whose crime did you cover up to get all that?

I was just tutoring a friend. When they said they'd pay me back, I didn't think this was what they meant.

Maybe your friends aren't all boring nerds after all.

:(

Lumine laughed at his reply, shaking her head as she reached for her spoon. Her soup was no longer a thermal hazard, so she ate heartily. And drank heartily when her bites lacked vegetables or legumes. Soup sat somewhere between a solid and liquid, uncommitted to either side. Really, was she eating the soup or drinking it? The soup part was just the broth, but broth was only soup when something was added to it. But the vegetables she'd put in weren't soup, either.

What was soup?

A sound snapped her from her riveting metaphysical pondering, so sharp and sudden she wasn't sure it had been real. Perhaps the great soup debate was what pushed her over the edge from occasional existential confusion to complete lunacy. Her brain was making up noises to keep her from reaching the truth, trying to distract her from the reality that soup was—

There it was again! Two knocks this time, impatient raps of knuckle. Lumine's heart leapt into her throat and she leapt out of her seat, slamming her knee into the bottom of the table. Soup spilled from the confines of its bowl onto her shirt, seasoning her with mint and basil and garlic, all unnoticed as her feet carried her on wobbly legs toward the door.

Only one person would knock like that, like the door's existence was a personal offense. Like it was keeping them from home.

Smelling of soup and coffee, Lumine swung the door open. A wave of hot, humid air overwhelmed her, but no twist of the climate could have torn her gaze from the sight before her.

Wanderer stood on the porch before her, dressed in a sleeveless turtleneck and shorts— the kind of clothes a normal person would wear in Sumeru— and clutching a bouquet of flowers in the trembling grip of someone attempting to strangle a dozen flowers. But they weren't just any flowers. They were ones she recognized intimately, from carefree days walking the city and the rare occasions when their parents would take her and Aether out into the countryside for a day in the plains or forests or by the river.

There were cecilias and windwheel asters and stalks of small lamp grass and dandelion, all tied together with a clumsy bow. Not the work of a florist. The work of someone too stubborn to ask for help.

"You're back," Lumine breathed, stepping through the doorway, letting the evening air envelop her. Stars were beginning to glow on the horizon, shining upon them with warm smiles, celebrating the reunion of lovers. "You're home."

Wanderer arched a brow. "I went all the way to Mondstadt to get you flowers, and you're not even going to mention them?"

Lumine paused. Blinked.

Then she threw her arms around Wanderer and tugged him close, crushing the flowers between them. "You are such an asshole. I don't even get a hello before you start complaining?"

Wanderer tensed, returning the embrace with uncharacteristic care. Perhaps in fear of damaging the flowers, perhaps because he was taken aback, too. Lumine had put so much thought into his coming home, but she hadn't prepared what to do when it happened. She hadn't made or bought anything special. His blanket was still crumpled on the couch from the last time she'd watched TV, curling up in its warmth to pretend everything was okay.

"Hi," He said, voice dry and unamused. But she could feel his lips curling into a smile against her cheek, brushing her jawbone in a way that left tingles in their wake. "Is that good enough for you?"

Sighing, Lumine squeezed her arms tighter around him. "I guess. It's the best I'll get from you, probably, so it'll do. And I would have said something about the flowers, for the record, but you being here matters so much more. You have no idea how much I missed you."

"I've been gone for, like, a week."

"But I was worried sick. I kept watching and waiting and— Wait!" She pulled away, bringing him closer into the porchlight to inspect his face. The worst of the bruising had abated, but faint marks remained. "On the news report you look like you'd been in a fight. What happened?"

"You were watching?"

Lumine nodded, backing away to let him inside. He followed, bringing the door shut behind them, kicking off his shoes and taking a deep breath. Breathing in the air of home. "Every day."

Smirking, Wanderer mused, "Who knew you were so clingy?"

"I'm not clingy. I was afraid for your life."

"Different words, same meaning. And don't worry too much about the bruises. They wanted things to look convincing."

Though it stung her eyes, Lumine flicked on the foyer light. Under its fluorescent glory, Wanderer was as stunning as ever, all striking eyes and smug aura. "They wanted it to look like you'd actually been kidnapped, you mean?"

"I'm sure some of them just wanted a chance to beat me up. But I take it as well as I dish it— if they wanted groveling, they should've pulled that shit with someone else."

Good. He hadn't given them the satisfaction of knocking him down a peg. That was Lumine's privilege, and hers alone. "Hold on a second, I think I've got a vase in my closet somewhere. Or maybe we can put those in a tall cup? The weight would probably tip it over, though. Fuck, some gardener I am, no flowerpots anywhere around here."

Wanderer trailed after her into her room, lingering in the doorway for a moment before coming inside. A petal fell from one of the cecilias, fluttering like a leaf in autumn until it settled upon her socked foot. It slipped off as she leaned further into the closet, rising onto her toes and brushing aside pants and shirts until something blue caught her eye. There. Just a little farther and she'd have it.

Wrapping her fingers around its ceramic neck, she pulled the vase free from its casket of dust and clothes and the assortment of other things left for dead in the depths of the closet.

It was coated in a soft layer of dust, dulling the vibrant hue, but it was unmistakable. It was the vase from home, that had once held flowers at the center of their kitchen table. It was a simple vase, slim and turquoise, chipped in places where Paimon or Lumine or Aether had knocked it over. Their parents had swapped it out for a plastic one once their walking disasters were tall enough to risk completely breaking it, but this was the one featured most in Lumine's memories, superimposed by a stifling nostalgia.

It was the one she'd taken from home, one keepsake among many left to fade to memory. She'd never planned to use it, but she couldn't bring herself to throw it away.

Sneezing, Lumine pulled the closet shut. "Let me go wash this off first. It hasn't seen the sun in years."

"I can tell."

Lumine pursed her lips, trying to feign exasperation. "Don't sound so judgmental. I don't grow flowers, so I've never had a reason to use it."

Still only a few footsteps behind, Wanderer replied, "You could buy some. A couple of fake flowers would really fit with the kitsch atmosphere you've got going."

"Is it too late to send you back outside? I'm starting to regret letting you in."

"You knew exactly what you were getting into."

With a dramatic sigh, Lumine shrugged, wetting a few pieces of paper towel to wipe the vase down. "Doesn't mean I can't complain about it."

Wanderer put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around. He looked happy. Really, genuinely happy. "Complaining's supposed to be my job.

She could have kissed him then, but she probably would have dropped the vase. That would have negated all of her work cleaning it and necessitated buying a new one. Besides, they couldn't get distracted yet. Lumine's soup was waiting for her, gone cold in her absence, and Wanderer had to be hungry, too. "Well, you're definitely good at it. Shame it doesn't pay much— you're outstanding in your field. If someone ever held an international asshole competition, I'm sure you'd win first place."

Crossing his arms, Wanderer replied, "And yet you're interested in me. Romantically. What does that say about you?"

"Nothing I didn't already know. I have terrible taste, and I'm not afraid to admit it." Leaving the vase on the counter, she fetched another bowl and set it beside the stovetop. Her hands were less steady now, shaking from a dying rush of exhilaration, but she could probably spoon another bowl without spilling any. She was already wearing some, anyway. "You should be thankful for how bad it is, actually. Had I even an ounce of self-preservation, I would've kicked you out the second you stopped trying to kill me."

Tucking the flowers into the vase, Wanderer said, "Having regrets? It's a little late for that now. You let me spread roots here, and you reap what you sow."

"Ah, darn. The metaphor's coming back to bite me." Shaking as much soup as she could off the ladle, she lifted it out of the pot and used it to tap Wanderer's nose. He scowled, nose wrinkling as Lumine grinned. "I guess I'm stuck with you, then. How's radish veggie soup sound for lunch-dinner?"

Snatching the ladle from her hands, Wanderer sighed. "Better than hostage fare, but not by much." He brushed past her, arm grazing hers, and spooned some soup into the empty bowl. "We're going to be eating this for weeks, aren't we?"

He didn't sound enthused.

Lumine laughed, patting his shoulder. "At least we're in it together. Misery loves company, y'know."

"I'm perfectly capable of making myself miserable, thank you very much. I don't need any help on your part."

Backing away to scoop up her own bowl of soup, she spooned a bit into her mouth and gagged. It had slid straight past room temperature and was now cold. The broth was beginning to congeal, turning a symphony of texture and flavor into a travesty unfit for the taste buds. "Ugh, crap, this is cold. You'll probably have to heat yours up too."

She shoved it in the microwave and stepped away, letting the machine work its magic. Wanderer was carrying the vase to the table, setting it at the center, as it had been at her home all those years ago, back when things were simple and life seemed a vast ocean of potential and possibility. He slumped into the chair across from her, and she settled into her own.

His face was obscured by a bundle of flowers, red and yellow and blue and white, a vibrant bundle of nostalgia brought somewhere it couldn't flourish. Carefully, she pushed it aside, bringing Wanderer's face back into view. Her fingers lingered, brushing the feather-soft petals, breathing in the faint smell of home, of the wind and its warm embrace in the meadows and plains. "Did you really go all the way to Mondstadt for these?"

Wanderer's jaw clenched, and a subtle flush bloomed under his skin. It was a good look on him. "Yeah. I remembered that you tried growing them, and I knew you weren't going to be happy, so I thought…"

"They were a peace offering?"

He nodded.

Oh, gods help her. She'd never met someone so simultaneously smart and stupid. He was going to be the death of her, and she would go gladly into that good night. "I was worried you were dead. Or that you couldn't come back. Or wouldn't come back. Seeing you there, alive on my porch, already would have meant the world to me. But you…" She trailed off, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't take you for the type of person who does sentimental stuff like this."

"I'm not. That detour was an impulse. I had a lot of time to think, when I was being held there. It was one of the things I decided to do."

The microwave blared, but before Lumine could rise to get her food, Wanderer was up, halfway toward the microwave, his bowl in one hand, taking hers in the other. Their hands brushed as she took it from him. He lingered.

"What else did you decide?" Lumine asked, taking the bowl in her other hand to link her fingers with his. His palms were clammy and blistered, and his knuckles were split and stained by fading bruises. "You had a lot of time to think, I imagine. They didn't give you anything to do?"

"No. Another petty bit of revenge, I'm sure. They couldn't kill me outright, so boring me to death was the next best thing." Wanderer squeezed her hand, then pulled away to sit back down. "But it was a blessing as much as a curse. It made me really think about how I'm going to spend the rest of my life, now that I'm as free as I'll ever be."

As free as he'd ever be. Still stuck in his mom's shadow, still under the Fatui's watchful eye, but free. Free enough to live here with her and pretend at being normal people who'd never brushed death or danced with the dark forces lurking in the city's alleys and nondescript buildings. His future was his to dictate, but the past would linger, a burden he would never shake off.

Lumine understood; though years had passed, her parents' death still weighed her down. But they had each other, now, to share those burdens with. They didn't have to shoulder anything alone. "I guess you would need a couple of idle days to think about all that. The rest of your life is a long time."

"I can hope so," Wanderer replied with a half-smirk, rising once more just as the microwave announced a job well done. "But, yeah, it's a lot easier to think about all that without distractions."

Because the future was supposed to be a nebulous thing, always prepared for but never experienced. Now, though, it stalked closer every day, looking Lumine in the eyes and demanding she make something of the person all that preparation had made her into. The rest of her life was a daunting prospect. She wasn't weighed down by the promise of a career unsatisfied in her brother's shadow, at least, but that didn't make things much easier.

Sitting down once more, Wanderer took a bite-drink of the soup. "This is good."

Lumine nodded, waiting.

"I might take a stab at the Akademiya after all. It seems like the obvious thing to do if I'm staying in the area. Assuming you'll let me stay, that is."

"Legally or not, you'll always have a place here. My lease expires in a few months, so I'll add another person to the renewal terms." There was space enough in the house for two people, except in the bedroom, but they could make it work. It might drive the rent up a bit, but with Wanderer free to leave the house without fear of assassination, he could find work, too. "You'll probably have to meet her, though. She's a bit of a character. Obsessed with mora, which is nice when she's trying not to get sued but not so great when we're negotiating rent."

Wanderer quirked a brow. "Obsessed with mora? I know the type. Eccentric freaks, for the most part. Unpleasant to deal with."

"You don't find anyone pleasant to deal with, though."

"You don't think I enjoy being around you?"

Grinning, Lumine tapped her foot against his under the table. "You tolerate me, I think, and it's an honor being the only person whose presence you can stand."

Wanderer crossed his arms, returning her mischievous smile with one of his own. Gods, he was beautiful. It was the perfect counterbalance to his temper. Were he at all pleasant to deal with, he'd be perfect. And Lumine would have no chance with him whatsoever. "It is an honor. But greedy people are predictable, I suppose, so they're not the worst to work with."

"Who's the worst?"

"Altruists. And nosy people. You never know what they're going to do next."

Rolling her eyes as she lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips, Lumine replied, "And yet you tolerate me."

"How can I not? You forced your way into my life and showed me— a stranger— more kindness than anyone ever has. How am I supposed to hold your best qualities against you?"

Lumine shook her head, smile growing wider until it began to ache. "You can't, I guess. You're stuck with me as much as I'm stuck with you." He grimaced in mock disgust, and Lumine tilted her head, feigning offense. There was no one she'd rather be stuck with. "On an unrelated note, what are you thinking about studying?"

"History, maybe. It's all about learning from past mistakes and trying to make the future better. If anyone could benefit from studying that, it'd be me."

"That suits you, I think. You'd be in Vahumana, the same darshan a lot of my friends are in. Maybe you'll get along?" Theirs would be an interdarshan romance, a drama of forbidden love every time competitions between the darshans came and went. Venti would find it poetic and probably compose a ballad in their honor. They'd certainly gone through enough over the past few months to warrant one. "We could walk to the Akademiya together every morning. That'd be nice."

With a scoff, Wanderer uncrossed his arms, returning to his dinner. "Don't expect me to play buddy-buddy with your friends. Anyone who tries to break into your house by being as obnoxious as possible is way too much to deal with."

Propping her chin on her fist, Lumine asked, "Afraid one of them's going to usurp you as drama queen?"

Smug expression giving way to something heavier, Wanderer rose from his chair. He stared as he stepped closer, gaze intense, jaw clenched and hands seeking out the armrests of her chair, caging her in. "A drama queen? That's what you think I am?"

If he was trying to intimidate her, he'd have to try a bit harder. After having a gun held to her head a few times, looming wasn't going to faze her. "Yeah. You're the prime minister of melodrama. A theatrical deity. My friends can be a lot sometimes, but no one does overreaction like you."

Wanderer licked his lips, leaning closer. "All that trash talk. For someone so kind, you've got one hell of a mouth on you. Maybe that's why I tolerate you so well— you've got a good heart, but you've got a spine to fall back on when kindness doesn't get you what you want."

"So, what I'm hearing is that you get off on being degraded. Is that right?"

"It's not the shit-talking that's so appealing. It's putting you in your place after."

Their faces were centimeters apart, now. Though his soup-breath was not particularly alluring, she could overlook it on account of the heat in his eyes and the way his knuckles whitened on the arms of her chair as their noses brushed. "My place, huh? I'm content where I am, thanks. If you wanna move me, you're going to have to try harder than that."

He moved, lips pressing into her ear. "Couch."

"Very persuasive. Very persuasive." Sarcastic as she was trying to be, there was truth to her words. Wanderer's demeanor and the soft brush of his lips against her skin were igniting something warm and tingly in her bloodstream, a heat she didn't quite know what to do with, but that she wanted to stoke, just to see how bright it could burn. "But can we wait until we're done eating? The soup's going to get cold again."

Sighing, Wanderer pulled away. "Of course. Heaven forbid the soup gets cold."

"It tasted worse every time you microwave it. It's going to get mushy."

"It's soup, Lumine. Everything in it is going to be mushy."

Lumine sighed. He must've done a lot of thinking about the evening before he'd left, too, if he was this eager to get her on the couch again. "It gets worse, though. Trust me." He'd backed off, though. That was good. She could trust him to stop if things went beyond what she was comfortable with.

He kept looking at her, gaze smouldering as she tried to eat. No one should have had the right to look so seductive while eating soup. It made focusing harder than it needed to be. She kept her hands steady, but they trembled with anticipation and their default unsteadiness, nearly spilling more soup onto her shirt than was already there. She was wearing her dinner and he was giving her bedroom eyes. Fuck, he was perfect.

The soup had reached room temperature by the time she was done, but the microwave was a million miles from her mind. Trying not to look too hasty, she washed her dishes and set them in the drainer, resuming her chair to watch Wanderer finish his food.

This was nice. A quiet moment in that strange time between afternoon and evening, when the day was still young but had slipped by in the blink of an eye. Domestic, even. Lumine had never seen herself as the type to linger at the table to watch someone else eat, kicking her legs and smiling at a vase full of flowers, but stranger things had happened. This was as close as she'd get to a happy ending after everything she'd trudged through to get here.

So much had happened in an almost three-month span of time. The semester would be over soon, and the Sumerian sun would beat down on the nation with its full force. She'd spend her days at the café, basking in the air conditioning, and her evenings in the company of someone she loved. The world would grow sluggish and the soil would crack, but summer would not last forever. Time would move forward, and Lumine would move with it.

"You're staring at the flowers," Wanderer remarked, pulling Lumine from her thoughts.

She nodded, a lazy smile stretching across her lips as she reached for a spring of small lamp grass, deep blue and vaguely luminescent. It would lose its glow in the vase, starved without roots, but she would enjoy its beauty while she could. "I am. They're gorgeous. It's been a while since something's reminded me so much of home."

Her closet was full of things from Mondstadt, keepsakes and knick-knacks she couldn't bear to part with but couldn't bear to look at too closely. Maybe it was time to take some of them out. She could keep more evidence of her existence around the house, decorate it with the past and present. The first eighteen years of her life could be more than a single photograph on her TV stand.

"You miss it?"

"Every day. The atmosphere, the taste of the air… There's nothing like it." But there was nothing left for her there. The city held nothing but pity for two children orphaned on the cusp of adulthood. People knew her as Lumine, one half of a set. Sumeru was an escape from that. "But I like it here, too. It's a beautiful city, I've got a lot of friends, and I met you here, too. All I can really complain about is the heat."

Stirring the dregs of his soup around the bowl, Wanderer said, "I've been there a couple of times, but I never thought much of it. We should go, one day. You can show me what's worth missing about it."

Lumine grinned. She'd never been on a proper vacation before. Taking one to her home seemed odd, but Mondstadt wasn't really her home anymore. She would be a tourist passing through, a face weathered down by years away from the city. "That sounds nice. Will you take me to Inazuma, too? Maybe not to meet your parents if you don't want that, but I'd like to see where you grew up, too. I hear it's beautiful."

Meeting her eyes, Wanderer rose from his chair. "It is. It's hard to appreciate after a while, though. You stop noticing it."

That would explain why he wasn't attached. Without good memories, it was one beautiful place among many.

Lumine stood, leaning against the countertop as Wanderer washed his dishes. "Maybe it'll be more special if we're there together." They could make new memories, good memories, that would bring out its beauty. Lumine could only imagine it, walking beneath falling sakura petals as the sea frothed nearby, filling the air with the tang of salt. Romance had never interested her before, but she was starting to see the appeal.

"It'll be more bearable than the time there I spent with my family, at least." Setting his dishes in the drainer, Wanderer dried his hands and turned to Lumine, shifting closer. The spark between them she'd let die for the sake of dinner was coming back to life, flickering embers with the potential to erupt into wildfire. "But the future can wait. We have a moment to seize, now that I'm not bringing any more danger into your life."

"Carpe diem, huh? How, exactly, are you planning to seize the moment?"

Leaning in to whisper, Wanderer replied, "You know exactly how."

"Do I, Kunikuzushi?"

His breath hitched. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you."

It didn't. But if he liked her mouth so much, she'd run it until her voice shriveled into a rasp. She had half a mind to put him in his place for all the shit he'd put her through, but there would be plenty of time for that later. His smart mouth wasn't going away any time soon, but for now he seemed keen on taking the lead. He was probably more experienced with this kind of thing, so she'd play along.

"What does, then?"

His hand found her bicep, fingers curling around her arm. The heat in his eyes could've melted a glacier. "I'll show you."

Lumine followed him into the living room, one step behind, admiring his hair, the ends growing wild and split, the tight fit of his clothes, sculpting a slim physique, all bony shoulders and sharp clavicles. His grip on her arm was tight. Not enough to hurt, but enough to guide. Enough to set her on the couch like something precious, hand hesitant and reverent in its letting go.

Wanderer leaned down. Lumine met him halfway, slipping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him in. Into her, into the couch, into the molding of her lips against his own. They were as soft as before, warm against her own, and she shifted back as Wanderer moved forward, resting one knee on the couch beside her hip.

A thin trail of saliva stretched between them as Lumine pulled away for air, heaving, only to be pulled back in seconds later. The air seemed heavier around them, humid with emotions finally taking shape, thick with love and lust and heat. When Wanderer's tongue brushed her lips, Lumine opened her mouth, granting him entry.

The taste of soup wasn't all that enticing, but the exploratory pressure, the slow movement of his tongue through her mouth, was. She pulled him closer, onto the couch until he was kneeling over her, bracketing her hips with his knees, hands cupping her cheeks then slipping down, coursing over her throat, her collarbones, around the curve of her breasts and down to where the hem of her shirt had risen, untucked from her work pants.

Between gasps for breath and faint hums of pleasure, Lumine threaded her fingers in his hair, grip gentle as he pulled away, moving to press his lips against her jaw, then her throat, teeth grazing skin as his fingers wandered, higher and higher, tracing the cups of her bra back to the clasps, fumbling for a moment before she felt it fall free.

"Getting… ah, ahead of ourselves, are we?" Lumine asked, receiving a suck of teeth against her collarbone in place of a reply. "You've gotta unbutton the shirt if you want it off."

Tugging on the straps of her bra, guiding them down her shoulders, Wanderer hissed, "Fucking unbutton it, then. My hands are occupied."

"So bossy," Lumine mused, but she relented, freeing her hands from his hair to work at the buttons of her uniform shirt. Wanderer pulled away, watching her fingers move with clear anticipation, fingers trailing up and down her sides, tracing patterns into the skin between her ribcage and hips. Her grip was unsteady, fingertips fumbling with buttons they'd so effortlessly maneuvered only hours ago. Something in the race of her heart, in the weight of Wanderer's body against hers, in the heat under her skin that was culminating between her thighs, was making monotonous functions impossible.

After a breathless eternity, she freed the buttons, raising her arms as Wanderer eased her shirt over her head. He tossed it onto the coffee table, reaching for her bra straps as Lumine sighed, lying back as the cool air caressed her burning skin.

Then five knocks sounded at the door. Lumine jumped and Wanderer froze, both looking toward the door with wide eyes. Shit. She'd gotten so lost in Wanderer's company that she'd forgotten.

Resuming his work, Wanderer muttered, "Just ignore it. They'll go away."

Shifting her arms over her chest, Lumine shook her head. Even if they would go away, the moment was broken. "It's Aether. My brother. That's how he knocks."

Wanderer frowned. "Who memorizes how people knock?"

"Someone who only ever has like, three consistent visitors." Slipping out from under his hands, Lumine pressed a kiss to his cheek. "He called me earlier and said he'd be coming over. I didn't know when. We can, uh, pick this back up later."

Slipping her bra back over her shoulders and reaching for the clasps, Lumine stood from the couch, Wanderer's gaze heavy on her back as she tugged her shirt back on. It was wrinkled and her hair was a mess, but she was presentable enough. "Do you want to meet him?"

For a moment, she wasn't sure he'd agree. But when he sighed and rose from the couch, Lumine knew she'd won him over. "As long as he doesn't stay long."

Smoothing her hands over her shirt in a frantic attempt at looking presentable, Lumine stumbled toward the door, legs still weak from the pounding of her heart. Wanderer followed behind, just in her periphery, wrapping a hand around her waist as she unlocked and opened the door.

There Aether stood, face red with sunburn and shiny with sweat, carrying a container the size of his head. "Hey, sis. I brought the goods…" His smile fell as his gaze moved behind her, falling upon Wanderer.

Lumine glanced over her shoulder. Wanderer met Aether's stare warily— not quite glaring, but the look in his eyes wasn't quite friendly, either. Lumine forced a smile. Someone was going to have to break the ice between them, and that someone would probably be her. Aether knew Wanderer only as the sketchy man she'd been tight-lipped about, and Wanderer knew Aether only as the sickly older brother she'd spent her childhood tending.

"That's a lot of baklava. You're sure this was just as thanks for studying help?"

"Pretty sure. Though it's definitely over the top."

Resting his chin on Lumine's shoulder, Wanderer said, "Maybe it's spiked."

Lumine raised a brow. "Spiked?"

"Poison, maybe, or laxatives. If there's that much, it's suspicious, isn't it?"

Rolling her eyes, Lumine offered Aether an apologetic smile. "Most people don't think like that. In the normal world, people do shit like this for each other to be nice. Anyway, come on in! The place is as presentable as it's ever been, and I'd offer you some soup, but it looks like your stomach's already got its work cut out for itself."

Aether walked in, keeping his eyes on Wanderer. "So, you're Kunikuzushi? The one who's been causing Lumine so much grief?"

"No more grief than you caused her all those year—"

Lumine nudged her elbow into Wanderer's ribs, cutting him off. "Be nice, both of you. If you try to turn this into a pissing contest, I'm kicking you both out. And keeping all the baklava for myself." She wouldn't actually, but a little motivation went a long way. They were both precious to her, so she wanted them to get along. Or at least not to hate each other. "So! Aether, this is Wanderer. Also known as Kunikuzushi. My, uhh…"

"Lover?" Wanderer supplied, flashing Aether a sharp grin.

"Sure. Let's go with that." Lumine was not blushing. She was not going to think about that later, squealing silently into her pillow as she tried to fall asleep. "And Kunikuzushi, this is Aether. My twin brother."

"Older twin brother," Aether corrected, jaw still tense as he regarded the hand at Lumine's waist, fingers that had moments before been on the fast track to somewhere much more intimate. "I don't know how you got kidnapped, but if you bring any trouble of that sort into my sister's life, I'll make you regret it."

Too late.

Wanderer didn't so much as blink. "She's an adult, y'know. And perfectly capable of dealing with her own problems."

"I know that. I just don't want any more problems coming her way."

This was going well. Aether was trying too hard to be protective, and Wanderer was meeting it as a threat. She needed something to bridge the gap between them. Something that would force them to find common ground. "Oh! Aether, you should see the flowers he got me. C'mon, c'mon! They're in the kitchen." Slipping out of Wanderer's grasp, Lumine led them out of the foyer. The air was heavy with tension, but this knife might just be able to cut it.

"Those are— Those are from home. And is that mom and dad's vase?"

Lumine nodded, smiling. "I've had it in my closet forever. This was the perfect opportunity to pull it out."

Striding closer, Aether reached for the flowers, brushing a thumb over the petals of a windwheel aster. "They're real. They even smell real." Turning back to Wanderer, Aether asked, now in a kinder voice, "Where did you get these? Sis tried everything, but she hasn't been able to get any to grow."

"I know. I saw her notes." The intensity in Wanderer's gaze abated. He stepped closer, next to Aether. "So I stopped in Mondstadt on my way back. Most of them I picked myself, but I had to get help with the arrangement."

Aether tilted his head. "From Flora?"

"You know her?"

"She's one of the most talented florists in the city. And a child. It's hard not to know someone like that, if only from what you hear on the grapevine."

Something soft— not quite a smile, but almost— crossed Wanderer's features. "She told me dandelions were Lumine's favorite, so I tried to pick extras. It's fitting, I think; who else would be fond of weeds?"

Lumine and Wanderer shared a look, one that filled Lumine's heart with warmth.

"Yeah, they're pretty popular back home. Once they go to seed, people make wishes on them."

"What kind of things did you wish for?" Wanderer asked.

She barely remembered anymore. She'd done it countless times; everyone in Mondstadt had. It was a common pastime for children and a popular ritual among young women hoping to wish for the attention of a crush. "That's not really why I liked them. They grow everywhere. In between cobblestones on the old streets, in gutters, in everyone's yard… they're universal. And no matter how hard people try to make them go away, they just keep popping up. Plus, they're a really bright shade of yellow. They make grass seem happier, somehow."

Aether snickered. "I remember all the concoctions dad tried to make to kill them. I think he did a better job killing the grass than the dandelions, though."

"Oh, that was hilarious! I'd never heard him swear like that before." Long shifts at their jobs had trapped their parents in a perpetual state of exhaustion. Save for rare occasions, such as the attempted dandelion massacre, they were muted, neither quick to smile nor anger. "It took forever for the grass to grow back because they didn't want to buy seeds."

"Speaking of which, how's your yard doing?"

Lumine sighed, glancing out the window. "Well, some grass is starting to come in, but I think most of the seeds got eaten. We've got new soil in the boxes, so once I get some compost going, we'll probably start replanting."

Aether looked at Wanderer. "You help?"

Wanderer crossed his arms. "She insisted. I'm not a guru, though; I just do as I'm told."

"You were pretty protective of the garden when we were kids," Aether remarked, looking back at Lumine. A strange sort of sadness filled his eyes, something like nostalgia, something like loss. The years had stolen something from their bond that could never be replaced. Other people were filling the gaps where they'd drifted apart. "You hated it when I tried to touch the plants."

The implication was clear in his voice; she trusted Wanderer, a man she'd known for three months, with something she'd never let her twin into.

The garden was meant to be her thing, though. And he'd never shown interest in planting anything, just looking from time to time. "You were scared of bees. I had to deal with the time you got stung, in case you've forgotten. I didn't want it to happen again."

"That wasn't a bee. That was a wasp. And it was vicious!"

"Wasps sting multiple times. You had a stinger in your finger."

"Compromise: it was a yellowjacket."

"Yellowjackets are a kind of wasp, dumbass." Sighing, Lumine shook her head, looking to Wanderer for support. He didn't seem interested in intervening; he was watching with that smug smirk of his, like this was a soap opera they were putting on just for him. Like her suffering was funny. Little did he know that years of putting up with Aether's bullshit had probably been the main reason she could tolerate his nonsense. "Anyway, there are more important things at hand. Let's see what you scored."

The unboxing of the baklava was short-lived but breathtaking. Within the casserole dish sat perfectly-cut pastries glistening with honey syrup. The corner pieces had already been eaten, revealing even layers of pastry and ground-up nuts and pure Sumerian goodness. Though the soup had been filling, Lumine was sure she could stomach a piece or two. "Damn! Whoever you tutored has gotta be in love with you, Aether. This looks better than the stuff we sell at the café."

He laughed, though color flushed in his cheeks. "It's not like that. Stop overthinking it and dig in."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Lumine said, reaching in to grab a piece. Crumbs erupted as she bit into it, flaky layers snapping apart under her teeth, overwhelming her taste buds with a subtly sweet, nutty flavor. Heading for the counter to grab a napkin, she cupped her hand under her mouth, catching the next bite's worth of crumbs in her palm. "You said you're leaving it here? Take a little bit with you, at least. If you leave it here, it'll be gone within a few days."

Wanderer raised a brow. "How much do you plan on eating?"

"As much as possible. Good shit like this is hard to come by! I've gotta savor it while I can." Laughing at the way his nose wrinkled, Lumine flicked his forehead. Affection swelled in her chest and she considered leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, but that would be a little much with Aether here. Not to mention a mouthful of pastry. "Aren't you going to have some?"

Eye twitching, Wanderer looked down at the baklava like it'd said something nice about his parents. "One piece."

His expression shriveled as he brought it to his lips, taking a cautious bite from one end. "Ugh, that's really sweet."

Really sweet? Talk about an overstatement. "You don't have to eat it, y'know. I'd be more than happy to help."

"Your brother brought it. It'd be rude not to," Wanderer grumbled, glancing at Aether.

Aether met his gaze. There was none of the earlier hostility between them, though a bit of tension still lingered. Probably from the unanswered questions Aether had, but that thirst for knowledge would never be sated. They were free now, from the Fatui's wrath, on the condition of complete silence. For the sake of her own safety, of Wanderer's, and Aether's, what had transpired over the last week would never be spoken of again.

After they ate, Aether sealed some of the baklava in a bag to take home and shoved the rest into Lumine's fridge. "Let me know when you're done with it. I'll come over to get the dish."

"It might take a while, but once it's gone, you'll be the first to know."

"Great! Maybe by then you'll have an actual lawn."

"I wouldn't count on it," Lumine sighed. Like father, like daughter, she had no interest in purchasing additional grass seed. Her fencing was obstructive enough that no one would see if she let her grass grow tall enough to go to seed; she'd wait for the rest to regrow naturally. It, like people, needed time to heal from those kinds of wounds. "But it'll be nice to see you again. It always is."

With a sheepish, guilty sort of smile, Aether nodded. "We're both pretty busy, but I'd like to make some more time to hang out with you. It feels like a lot of stuff has changed since we left home."

"It has," Lumine replied, walking over to Wanderer and resting her head on his shoulder. "But in a good way, I think."

"Yeah. You seem happier than before. A little more alive, if that makes any sense."

Lumine nodded. She'd felt that change as well. Things were going well for her now. The future wasn't something to dread any longer, but a fountain of possibility. And she had a partner and amazing friends and a great twin to thank for that. She was free now, unshackled to a dream that had never been shared. Maybe, without that between them, Aether would stop seeming like such a stranger. "It does. Are you heading out, then?"

Glancing at the oven clock, Aether sighed. "I've got an evening lab to get to. And I'm sure you two don't want me stealing too much of your alone time."

Before Lumine could step in and reassure him, Wanderer replied, "I'm glad you understand that."

Lumine shot him a look that withered at the heat in his eyes. Oh. Right. They'd need privacy to pick up where they'd left off. "Well, don't feel like you need an excuse to stop by. As long as you give me a heads-up, you're always welcome here."

"Good to know." Looking between them, Aether scooped up his bag. "It's been nice seeing you, sis. And it's nice to meet you, Wanderer. I know she's capable, but look out for her, would you?"

Wanderer leaned his head against Lumine's. "Already on it."

Then he was gone, leaving the house a little quieter than it had been. Lumine pulled herself from Wanderer's grip to lock the door behind Aether, though he followed close behind, one hand sliding up her arm and onto her shoulder.

"Should we pick up where we left off?" He asked, breath warm and voice husky against her ear.

A shiver ran down Lumine's spine. "We should. But let's go somewhere more comfortable."

She led him into her room, lit only by the sunlight that pierced through her sheer curtains. As she pulled the door shut behind them, lips already finding Wanderer's, Lumine knew that every hardship she'd met on this journey had been worth the destination at hand.