Chapter Text
Albedo woke to the smell of smoke.
Not the distant, chemical tang of the city. No… this was closer.
He shot upright on the pull-out bed, heart kicking hard against his ribs as the room swam into focus. Soft morning light leaked through the thin curtains, striping the living room in pale yellow. For one disoriented second, everything felt suspended, quiet, still—
Then he saw it.
Smoke curled lazily over the bar island, drifting from the kitchen like a bad omen.
Albedo swung his legs over the side of the pull-out bed, bare feeting hitting the cold tile with a shiver. His head twisted toward the stove. Durin stood there, wooden spatula clenched in one hand, shoulders tense, staring down at a pan that was very clearly past saving. Whatever had once been eggs was now charcoal black, hissing faintly in protest.
Klee bounced beside him on her heels, clapping her hands in satisfaction.
“It’s supposed to look like that!” she said cheerfully. “I think…”
Albedo dragged a hand through his hair. “—What time is it?”
Durin flinched like he’d been waiting for that question. “Uh. Late.”
Albedo’s gaze flicked to the empty spot beside the couch where his alarm clock should have been. The outlet was bare, the cord… gone.
He exhaled slowly, already feeling the weight of the morning settle onto his shoulders. “Define late.”
Durin winced. “You slept through what would’ve been three alarms. So…” he drawled, “I figured I’d make breakfast. You know. To help. Ta da!”
Durin gestured towards the stove with a meek smile. Albedo stared at it, watching as the smoke continued to rise in thin, accusing strands.
“It’s burning,” he said mildly.
Durin’s mouth pulled into a pout. “I know that.”
Before Albedo could respond, a small voice chimed in far too brightly.
“I unplugged your alarm last night!”
He looked down. Klee beamed up at him, red eyes shining with pride like she’d just confessed to something admirable.
Albedo closed his eyes with a deep breath. When he opened them again, he kept his voice level. “Why would you do that, Klee?”
She tilted her head, curls bouncing. “You looked really tired when you went to bed,” she said, as if it explained everything. “So I thought you should sleep more.”
Something in his chest gave way.
The irritation he’d been holding onto dissolved almost instantly, replaced by a dull, familiar aching warmth. He hadn’t realized how close to the edge he must have looked for Klee to notice. For her to worry.
“That was… very thoughtful of you,” he said, kneeling beside her. He reached out and ruffled her hair, gentle and loving. “But I need to wake up on time so Durin doesn’t burn the house down.”
“Hey!” Durin protested from the stove.
Albedo ignored him.
“Why don’t you two get dressed for school,” he continued, already reaching for an oven mitt. “I’ll take care of breakfast.”
Klee nodded immediately, spinning on her heel and skipping toward her bedroom without a second thought. “Okay! Don’t forget my lunch box!”
“I won’t,” Albedo promised.
Durin hesitated. “I can fix it,” he said, stubborn creeping into his tone. “It’s just breakfast. I can handle it.”
Albedo stepped forward and gently, but firmly, bumped him aside with his shoulder. “Please,” he said quietly.
Durin presseed his lips together, then sighed, backing away from the stove. “Fine,” he muttered. “But next time, I’ve got it.”
“Thank you,” Albedo smiled with a nod. He turned his attention to the pan, opened the window to let the smoke bleed out into the morning air, and set about salvaging what he could.
His hands moved on autopilot. Cracking fresh eggs, wiping down the counter, adjusting the heat. The motions were precise and practiced. He’d been doing this for months now since they moved.
Behind him, the apartment hummed: the distant traffic outside, the muted clatter of Durin pulling open drawers, Klee singing something under her breath as she got dressed. The space was small—too small, really—but warm. Lived-in. Klee’s drawings were taped crookedly along the walls, overlapping each other in bright, chaotic layers. A stack of textbooks sat beside the couch, half-open.
Albedo yawned, jaw cracking. He hadn’t meant to sleep in… but it did feel nice for a change.
By the time breakfast was ready, they gathered around the kitchen island. It was nothing fancy, eggs, bacon, some toast, but at least it wasn’t charred.
Klee and Durin climbed onto the mismatched barstools on the far side, feet swinging idly. There wasn’t enough space for a third chair, so Albedo stood at the edge, leaning one hip against the counter as he ate. He didn’t mind. He rarely sat at the table anymore.
Klee talked with her mouth full, as always.
“My science project is due next week,” she announced proudly. “Since I’m in grade five now, it has to be reeeallly impressive. I think it should explode. With glitter. And Dodocos!”
Durin choked on his toast. “I don’t think your teacher said it had to explode.”
“She didn’t say it couldn’t explode!” Klee shot back, entirely unphased.
Albedo hid his smile behind his mug. “Perhaps,” he said carefully, “we can aim for something… visually engaging, without involving the fire department this time.”
Klee gasped. “But explosions are part of the fun!”
“They’re also paperwork,” Albedo replied, mildly amused. “And I’d like to avoid another meeting with the principal this semester.”
Durin snorted.
Albedo’s gaze drifted between them as they ate. Klee was animated and bright, and Durin was clearly enjoying his bacon. Moments like this settled something deep in his chest. Exhaustion lingered at the edges of his vision, but it felt… manageable. Worth it.
“What about you?” Albedo asked, turning to Durin. “You mentioned a test.”
Durin froze. “—Oh. Right. Yeah. Algebra II, you know how it goes.”
Albedo raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t forget about it, did you?”
“...Only briefly,” Durin said, defensive but defeated.
Albedo hummed. “If you’d like, I can help quiz you tonight.”
Durin’s shoulders loosened immediately. “Really? That’d be great! Thanks, Albedo!”
Albedo nodded, already mentally rearraging his evening—work, homework, dinner, helping Klee with her project, now tutoring Durin. The list lengthened without protest. It wasn’t a big deal, he could handle it.
Klee finished first, hopping down from her stool. “I’m going to get my bag!”
“Don’t forget—I have your lunch,” Albedo called after her.
“I won’t!” She sang back.
She grabbed her bag and barreled back into the kitchen, stopping short in front of Albedo. Before he could say anything, she threw her arms around his waist.
Albedo startled, then softened immediately, one hand coming to rest between her shoulders. “Have a good day,” he murmured.
“I will!” Klee declared, squeezing once more before darting for the door.
Durin lingered a second longer, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh—thanks. For breakfast,” he said, eyes flicking away.
Albedo smiled. “Of course.”
Durin nodded, clearly unsure what else to add, then followed Klee out into the cold.
The door shut behind them with a quiet click.
For a moment, the apartment was still.
No voices. No movement. Just the low hum of the city outside and the faint rattle of a passing train somewhere in the distance. Albedo exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping as he let himself breathe.
Then he glanced at the clock.
“...Right.”
He moved quickly, but never frantically. The pull-out couch was folded away with practiced ease, sheets smoothed and tucked into their drawer. Breakfast dishes were rinsed and stacked, the counter wiped clean. He changed in the bathroom, movement efficient, unhurried. There wasn’t time to linger, but there was no panic either.
The apartment returned to its quiet, half-lived in state. Albedo ran a hand through his hair, checked his reflection once, and grabbed his bag.
Albedo locked the door behind him and took the stairs two at a time.
The hallway smelled faintly of detergent and old concrete, the kind of scent that clung to cheaper buildings no matter how often they were cleaned. Outside, the air bit lightly at his cheeks. Cold enough to justify his coat, warm enough that the city felt restless rather than dormant.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and headed for the bus stop.
Thirty minutes, on a good day.
The bus arrived already half-full. Albedo slipped inside, tapping his card and moving toward the back where he could stand without drawing attention. He held onto the rail as the city slid past in muted greys and neon reflections—a variety of shops glowing against wet pavement, pedestrians bundled in scarves, the quiet choreography of a weekday morning.
He pulled out his phone.
No new notifications.
For a moment, he stared at the screen anyway, thumb hovering as if willing something to appear. A message from Alice would have been unlikely, but not impossible. A call from his mother was pure fantasy. He hadn’t heard from her since Durin was born, not really. Not in any way that mattered.
Albedo exhaled softly through his nose and unlocked the phone fully.
A meme from Kaeya sat near the top of his unread messages. Something absurd and poorly cropped, paired with a text that read: saw this and thought of you. don’t ask why.
Despite himself, Albedo smiled.
Kaeya tried. He always sent messages despite the timezone difference, checking in just often enough that Albedo never felt forgotten. It helped. Just… not in the way proximity did.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned his head briefly against the cool class of the window.
He had chosen this. He had to remind himself of that often.
Klee. Durin. Graduating.
Those were the priorities. Anything else—friendships, distractions, the luxury of being young and unburdened—had been quietly set aside.
The bus rumbled one, tires hissing against damp pavement. Albedo watched the city slide by through the fogged window, his reflection faint over passing storefronts.
He chose this path, but he hadn’t planned for it to be like this.
Originally, the move to Inazuma had been simple. The university here offered the strongest bioengineering program in Teyvat. The facilities were unmatched. The funding opportunities alone had been enough to convince him. He would come, complete his master’s, and return home better equipped to do what he cared about most.
He had intended to come alone.
Alice had disagreed.
“It’ll be good for them”, she said, as if it were obvious. “A new place. New experiences. Don’t you think they deserve that?”
It had sounded less like encouragement and more like absolution. A way to step aside without calling it abandonment.
Albedo hadn’t argued. He never did.
Of course he would take them. Of course he would make it work. He loved Klee and Durin, they were his responsibility. At the time, he’d told himself it would be manageable. Difficult, yes, but temporary. Another challenge he’d have to overcome.
He hadn’t accounted for the weight of it.
Full-time coursework. Experiments to complete within self set deadlines. A TA job to keep them afloat. Parenting two children with vastly different needs. Nights that bled into mornings. Weeks that passed without pause.
It had been months since they’d arrived, and though they faced a few… incidents, he was finally getting the hang of it. But still, it pressed into his ribs with a dull ache he didn’t want to name.
The bus lurched to a stop. Albedo straightened, composure settling back into place as the campus came into view ahead—steel and glass rising from the concrete like something carefully engineered, impressive and impersonal all at once.
Narukami Institute of Science and Technology.
He stepped off with the others, disappearing into the flow of students as if he’d always belonged there.
Albedo checked the time again on his phone and adjusted his pace.
He crossed the main quad with long, efficient strides, coat pulled close as he navigated the steady flow of students heading every direction. The campus was fully awake now, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing again concrete, the low thrum of lectures beginning behind closed doors. Exactly why he liked showing up on time, if not early.
His first class was Regenerative Systems Design Two.
He was late.
He felt the looks before he fully registered them. Curious rather than invasive—glances that lingered a second too long before skittering away. He noticed them, always did. There weren’t many Mondstadt Exchange Students at Narukami Institute. He simply didn’t have the capacity to engage with whatever they might lead to.
As he passed a group near the steps, pieces of conversation drifted toward him.
“—isn’t that the international student from Mondstadt?”
“Yeah. Bioengineering, I think.”
“I heard he’s—”
“—kind of cute.”
A pause, then a soft laugh.
“But he always looks like he doesn’t want to talk.”
Albedo exhaled quietly through his nose and kept walking. He didn’t turn, nor slow. Whatever they said about him wasn’t relevant to his immediate objective.
He cut across the walkway toward the science building just as someone ahead reached for the door. They held it open, hesitating when they realized how far back he was.
Albedo broke into a brief jog, slipping through with a quiet nod of thanks. He didn’t stop moving, already making his way down the hall.
He understood the unspoken offer behind small kindnesses: held doors, lingering smiles, casual questions meant to become conversations. It wasn’t unkind to decline them. It was practical.
It was easier that way. Safer. If he didn’t pause, didn’t linger, didn’t give anything room to grow, then there would be nothing more to manage, nothing else to carry on his shoulders.
Right now; friendships were indulgent distractions he couldn’t afford.
He turned the corner toward his lecture hall, already shifting his focus to the material ahead.
The lecture hall was already half-full when Albedo slipped inside.
He took a seat near the aisle, set his bad down, and opened his notebook as the projected flickered on. The room settled into a familiar rhythm, keys tapping, pages turning, the low murmur of voices fading as the lecture began.
Regenerative Systems Design demanded precision. Albedo welcomed it.
He took notes quickly and neatly, filling page after page with diagrams, annotations, and references cross-linked to other courses. The material flowed easily, familiar enough to be comfortable without ever becoming dull. When the professor asked questions, Albedo answered without hesitation.
At one point, the student beside him leaned over the gestured apologetically at the screen, having missed a slide.
Albedo shifted his notebook without comment, angling it so they could copy the information. The student mouthed a grateful thank you. Albedo nodded once and returned his attention to the lecture.
It was like this most days, brief courteous exchanges that never extended beyond the classroom. Useful and contained.
When the lecture ended, Albedo packed up efficiently and merged back into the flow of students filing out into the hallway. He checked the time, recalculated his route, and adjusted his pace.
Art History was next.
He exhaled quietly as he made his way across campus, already preparing himself for a very different kind of class.
Still, Albedo arrived early, as he always did.
The art history lecture hall was quiet when he stepped inside. Rows of seats were still mostly empty, sunlight slanting in through the tall windows and catching dust motes in the air. He paused just long enough to scan the room out of habit. No professor yet. No crowd. And notably—
Not him.
Albedo exhaled and continued down the aisle, settling into his usual seat near the end of the row. Close enough to the front to engage, far enough to leave easily. He placed his bag beneath the chair, stacked his notebooks with careful precision, and flipped to the section he’d marked the night before.
He reviewed his notes methodically: dates, movements, cross-cultural influences neatly annotated in the margins. Art history wasn’t a mandatory subject, but he treated it with the same discipline he gave everything else. Patterns emerged if you paid attention long enough.
As he adjusted his pen, movement caught his eye.
Albedo glanced up just as someone entered the lecture hall.
He was hard to miss.
Shorter than most, with dark indigo hair cut in sharp, deliberate layers that framed his face like it was sculpted rather than grown. He wore black boots echoing softly against the floor as he walked. There was something rigid about his posture, coiled and defensive, like the room itself had already offended him.
Albedo’s mouth tightened, just barely.
As the man passed his row, their eyes met.
The glare was immediate. Sharp. Unapologetic.
Albedo blinked once, then lifted a brow, mild surprise flickering across his expression before it smoothed away. He returned his attention to his notes, thought he felt the weight of that stare linger longer than necessary.
So… he was early today.
Since the start of the semester, this particular classmate had made himself impossible to ignore.
It had begun subtly. An exaggerated eye roll whenever Albedo answered a question correctly. A scoff under his breath when the professor praised Albedo’s analysis. At first, Albedo had chalked it up to personality. Art students, in his experience, were often opinionated to the point of hostility.
But is escalated quickly.
Whenever Albedo interjected—politely, carefully—to clarify a date or correct a misattributed influence, the response was immediate and sharp. Snapped words. Defensive posture. A tone that implied Albedo’s entire existence was an insult.
Once, when Albedo had gently pointed out a mistranslation during a discussion on Renaissance manuscripts, the man had turned on him outright, eyes blazing as if he’d been personally attacked.
“I didn’t ask you.”
The professor had intervened before it could go further. Albedo had apologized anyway. He still wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, but it was the polite way to go about it.
He’d replayed the first few classes in his head more than once, searching for some misstep—some slight he’d committed unknowingly. But nothing stood out. He took notes. He raised his hand. Only spoke when spoken to.
He simply… existed. And apparently, that was enough.
With each passing lecture, Albedo found his patience thinning. Not outwardly. No, on the outside he remained calm, courteous, and measured. But internally, irritation coiled tighter every time caught another look of disdain from across the room.
Dislike, he could handle. Indifference, even better.
But this felt… personal.
Chairs scraped softly as more students filtered in, the room slowly filling with low conversation and rustling bags. The dark-haired student had taken a seat several rows away now, arms crossed, gaze fixed stubbornly on the front of the room as if daring anyone to challenge him.
The lecture began like any other.
The professor eased into the topic with practiced rhythm, introductory slides clicking by as the room settled. Names, dates, images of prescoes and fragmented sculptures washed over the screen. Albedo fell into the familiar cadence of note-taking, pen moving steadily as he transcribed only what mattered. His morning had been a blur. Missed alarms, rushed breakgasts, the linger weight of responsibility. But here, at least, things were predictable.
As long as he did not look across the room.
He didn’t need to anyway. He could feel the glare.
Albedo kept his attention fixed forward, jaw relaxed, posture attentive. If the other student wanted to stew in his own irritation, that was his prerogative. Albedo had neither the time nor the inclination to engage.
The professor paused mid-slide.
“Alright,” he said, turning back to face the class. “Let’s start simple. Based on what we’ve discussed so far, what defines the transitional characteristics between late High Renaissance and early Mannerism?”
Albedo raised his hand.
The answer came easily. He spoke clearly, calmly, eyes still on the professor as he outlined the stylistic shifts—elongated forms, tension in composition, the subtle rejection of classical balance. He hesitated only once, choosing his wording carefully.
“—but it isn’t a total rejection,” he concluded. “More of a conscious distortion. The principles are still there, just pushed.”
The professor nodded. “Good. That’s largely correct—”
“That’s not true.”
The interruption was sharp enough to cut through the room.
Albedo didn’t turn his head.
The student across the room leaned forward in his seat, dark hair shifting with his movement, expression openly hostile now. “It is a rejection,” he said, voice tight. “That’s the entire point. They were pushing back against High Renaissance ideals, not refining them.”
A ripple of discomfort passed through the class.
Albedo inhaled once, then answered, still addressing the professor, still refusing to acknowledge the interruption directly.
“If that were the case,” he said calmly, “we wouldn’t see such strong continuity in subject matter or iconography. What changed wasn’t the ideology, it was the execution.”
He paused, then added, almost thoughtfully, “The tension comes from exaggeration, not rebellion.”
Silence.
Then, a sharp laugh, bitter and humorless.
“You’re wrong,” the other student snapped, no longer brothering to disguise his irritation. He turned fully now, eyes burning across the rows of desks. “You’re over simplifying it to sound smart. You always do that.”
That finally earned Albedo’s attention.
Albedo turned in his seat, brow lifting slightly, not offended, not defensive. Curious, if anything.
“If I wanted to oversimplify,” Albedo said evenly, “I would’ve ignored the historical context altogether.”
A few heads turned. Someone near the back coughed to hide a laugh.
The dark-haired student’s jaw tightened. “Don’t talk down to me.”
“I’m not,” Albedo replied, still composed despite the irritation that flared under his skin. “I’m disagreeing with you.”
Students shifted in their seats. Someone near the back muttered a quiet oh.
The professor cleared his throat, sensing the shift before it tipped completely. “Alright, let’s take a step back—”
“Then explain why you’re always correcting me,” the student shot back, words sharp enough to cut through the room. “You don’t even look at me when you do it.”
Albedo blinked, genuinely surprised.
“I don’t look at anyone when I answer,” he said, tone curt. “It’s a lecture, not a debate club.”
That earned a scoff. “Unbelievable. You think because you’re some big shot international student that you can just talk down to me!? You’re so smug—”
“Both of you. Stop.” The professor stepped in sharply, hand raised.
The room went very still.
“You’re approaching the same concept from different interpretive frameworks,” the professor continued, voice firm. “And frankly—you’re both right. Mannerism exists in the tension between continuation and rejection. That’s the point.”
The words landed poorly.
Albedo felt irritation flicker, quick and unwelcome. He closed his notebook a little more forcefully than necessary and turned his gaze back to t he front, jaw setting as he reined himself in. Of course. Of course that was the conclusion. Being told he was “both right” felt less like resolution and more like dismissal.
Across the room, the dark-haired student dropped back into his chair with a frustrated huff, arms crossing tight over his chest, expression stormy.
Neither spoke again.
The lecture resumed as normal. The air between them remained taut, something sharp and unresolved, like a snapped wire still humming.
And for the first time since the semester began, he thought—not for the first time, but with certainty:
I don’t like him.
As the lecture continued, neither of them raised a hand again.
Albedo focused on his notes, but for once, concentration came less easily. The professor’s voice blended into the ambient hum of the classroom, words registering only after a delay. Across the room, the presence of that other student felt louder than it should have. Every shift of his chair, every impatient exhale irked Albedo in a way he couldn’t explain.
Only once did Albedo glance sideways.
Their eyes met.
It wasn’t an accident.
The look Albedo gave him was brief and restrained, more reflex than intent. Cool, assessing, edged with something dangerously close to irritation.
The other student scoffed quietly and looked away, lips curling as if the very act of being acknowledged offended him.
A low whisper rippled through the room as the professor spoke.
“What just happened—?”
“Did you hear how angry they got?”
“They both sound way too smart for this class.”
Albedo pretended not to hear, as always. He kept writing until class was dismissed, pen lifting only when the professor cleared his throat one final time.
“Oh! Before you go,” he added, “The results from last week’s test are posted by the exit. Student numbers only, as usual.”
The hurried scrape of chairs followed immediately.
It was customary at the Narukami Institute to post every test grade. It was ruthless, but effective. Scores displayed plainly for everyone to see, excellence was rewarded with quiet reverence, failure exposed without apology.
Albedo gathered his things and joined the slow-moving line toward the door. He felt the press of bodies, the impatience of students craning their necks to see.
He noticed, without turning, that the dark-haired student stood two places behind him.
Albedo scanned the page quickly when it was his turn. His student number stood out immediately at the top.
99.5%
Highest in the class.
He exhaled, slow and quiet.
It should have felt like relief. Instead, it came with the familiar pinch of dissatisfaction. He could already see where he’d lost the fraction of a point—an answer rushed between a late-night study session and an early morning alarm that never went off.
It’s fine, he told himself. This is just an elective.
He stepped aside, lingering just long enough to let the next student pass. That’s when he heard it.
“Dammit.”
The word was muttered, sharp and clipped, bitten off before it could fully escape. Albedo glanced back just in time to see the dark haired student staring at the page, jaw tight, eyes narrowed like he might tear the paper down through sheer force of will.
Then the glare shifted.
Straight to Albedo.
Albedo hadn’t meant to smile. It was small. Barely there. A reflex of pride more than a decision, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
But it was enough.
The dark haired student’s expression darkened instantly. He shoved past Albedo without a word, shoulder brushing close enough to be deliberate, and stormed out of the classroom in a huff.
Albedo watched him go, a flare of pride brimming in his chest.
The rest of the day passed in measured fragments.
Albedo used the hour between classes to revise notes and skin through a research paper he’d bookmarked weeks ago and never quite had time to finish. He sat at a corner table in the science building, sunlight slanting across the surface in pale stripes. Around him, students talked too loudly, laughed too easily, their lives clearly unburdened by schedules that didn’t end when class did.
He didn’t hold it against them.
His final class was a chemistry lecture that bled into advanced applications, blurred by a haze of reaction pathways and scribbled annotations. When it ended, Albedo was already packing up before the professor finished speaking, polite nod exchanged, stride lengthening the moment he stepped outside.
He checked the time once. Then again. Then a third time for safe measure.
Still on schedule—a bit early if anything—but not early enough to slow down.
By the time he reached the bus stop, his breathing had evened out. Composed, as always. No one would guess he’d spent the last hour calculating routes and contingencies in his head like an equation.
The ride passed uneventfully. Albedo stood near the door, one hand holding the rail, eyes half-lidded as the city slid past. Neon signs flickered awake despite the lingering daylight, narrow streets packed tight with lives stacked on top of each other.
When he arrived at Klee’s school, the courtyard was already filled.
Parents clustered in small groups, chatting easily. Some scrolled on their phones. Others knelt to tie loose shoelaces, smoothing hair, murmuring reminders about homework and dinner plans. Albedo lingered near the edge, hands folded loosely in front of him.
He felt… younger than the rest here.
The bell rang and the doors burst open.
Klee came barreling out like a projectile, backpack bouncing against her shoulders, red hat nearly slipping over her eyes. She ran so fast she skidded on the pavement, caught herself at the last second, and laughed like gravity had no control over her.
Albedo stepped forward instinctively.
“Careful,” he said, already smiling.
She collided into him anyway, arms wrapping around his waist with pure enthusiasm. He steadied her easily, one hand settling at her back.
“How was school?” he asked.
“It was GREAT!” Klee announced, far too loudly. “We learned about volcanoes and my teacher said no explosions but I think she just doesn’t know how to make them safely.”
Neither do you, He thought. “That’s… reassuring.”
Klee giggled, then waved enthusiastically at a girl still lingering near the gate. “Bye!! See you tomorrow!!”
She grabbed Albedo’s hand without thinking, tugging him toward the street. It was nice to see Klee fitting in so well.
As they walked, her voice filled the space between them. Stories tumbled over one another, hands gesturing wildly, energy boundless. Albedo listened, nodding at the right moments, asking questions when her words tripped over themselves.
The exhaustion he felt didn’t vanish. But it softened just a bit.
The bus ride home was loud.
Klee bounced in her seat the entire twenty minutes, feet swinging just above the floor, narrating her day at full volume to anyone who might listen. Albedo stood beside her, one hand holding the pole, the other steadying her backpack whenever the bus lurched to a stop. He didn’t shush her, but he did murmur reminders to sit down before she tipped over entirely.
Outside the window, the city blurred past in muted colours. Neon signs were now in full view. Wet pavement from an earlier drizzle reflected headlights. Albedo watched it all distantly, half-present.
When they finally stepped off the bus and climbed the narrow stairs to their apartment, the familiar hum of the building greeted them. Pipes knocking somewhere above, a neighbor's television bleeding through the walls, the scent of someone else’s dinner drifting down the hall.
Inside, Klee kicked off her shoes and bolted straight for the living room.
“Science project time!” she announced.
Albedo slipped off his coat, hung it carefully, and loosened his scarf. “Bring the worksheet,” he said gently. “Let’s see what your teacher actually asked for.”
She scampered back with a crumpled paper clutched in both hands, before darting off to the living room table. Albedo sat beside her, smoothing the page out, scanning the instructions while Klee leaned over his shoulder.
“Okay,” he said after a moment. “This is… a demonstration of chemical reactions. Not—” he paused, choosing his words carefully. “—a live test on destructive force.”
Klee pouted. “But explosions are chemistry.”
“Indeed, they are,” Albedo agreed easily. “Just not the kind your classroom insurance can handle.”
They settled into a rhythm after that.
Klee gathered supplies—markers, cardboard, bits of string—while Albedo sketched out a framework, hands moving with practiced precision. Every so often, he had to redirect her ideas that involved sparks, fire, or ‘just a tiny blast’. Eventually, after one particularly dramatic sigh from her, he relented.
“One Dodoco,” he said. “For visual appeal.”
Her face lit up like he’d just given her the moon. “REALLY?”
“One,” he repeated, smiling despite himself.
They worked until the light outside shifted from pale afternoon to early evening, shadows stretching longer across the apartment floor. Albedo glanced at the time once, briefly, and then deliberately didn’t again.
He would get to his own work later.
The door clicked open.
Durin stepped inside, shrugging off his jacket, school bag slung over one shoulder. “Hey, I’m home.”
Albedo looked up from where he was adjusting the project’s base. “Welcome home. How was your day?”
Durin shrugged, but there was a hint of satisfaction. “Practice went longer than usual, but I think I’m improving.”
“That’s good,” Albedo said sincerely. He rose to his feet, already moving toward the kitchen. “Can you help Klee with her project while I start dinner?”
Durin’s shoulders straightened instantly. “Yeah. Of course. No problem.”
As Albedo passed him, he lowered his voice. “She’s very enthusiastic about explosions.”
Durin snorted, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “I’ll keep her under control.”
“Please do.”
The sounds of quiet chaos resumed behind him. Klee explained her vision at a mile a minute, Durin asking pointed questions in return. The cardboard scraped softly against the floor. Albedo busied himself at the stove, washing rice, chopping vegetables, making note of needing to go grocery shopping.
The apartment felt warm.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders easing despite the ache that never quite left them. For all the exhaustion, the contrast calculation, the weight he carried alone—moments like this made it feel worth it.
He glanced over his shoulder. “How do you both feel about curry and rice?”
“Yay!” Klee cheered.
“Sounds good,” Durin added.
Albedo smiled to himself, turning back to the stove.
The apartment settled into a softer rhythm as dinner cooked.
Steam curled up from the pot on the stove, the scent of curry slowly replacing the sharp tang of markers and glue. Albedo moved through the kitchen with quiet efficiency, stirring, tasting, adjusting spices by instinct. Behind him, Klee and During were hunched over the project, markers screeching, voices low but animated. Klee narrated every decision she made. Durin humored her, occasionally steering her back on track.
It was noisy in the best way.
When the rice finished steaming, Albedo portioned everything carefully, carrying two plates over to the low table where they were working before fixing one for himself. There wasn’t quite enough space for three, so he perched at the edge, close but out of the way, legs tucked nearly beneath him.
They ate together, conversation drifting easily.
“After dinner,” Albedo said casually, “we’ll start studying for your test, okay, Durin?”
Durin groaned immediately, slumping over his plate. “Do we have to?”
Albedo tilted his head, considering. “No,” he said mildly. “We don’t have to.”
Durin perked up—only for Albedo to continue, evenly, “But do you really want to be the new kid and the dumb kid?”
Durin froze.
“...Okay. We’ll study.”
Klee giggled into her rice.
Dinner ended with satisfied sighs and clinking plates. Albedo stood, collecting dishes. “Klee. Shower. Then pajamas.”
“I don’t wanna,” she whined instantly, sinking bonelessly into the floor.
Albedo looked at her. Didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t frown. Just looked with a stare that said: ‘Don’t make me ask twice.’
Klee snapped upright. “—I mean! I’m going!” She bolted for the bathroom.
Albedo carefully moved the science project into the bedroom Klee and Durin shared, pausing briefly at the doorway. The room was a mess—half-finished homework, clothes draped over chairs, stuffed toys piled haphazardly. He took it in without judgement.
Chaos meant life… It also meant having to do laundry soon.
When he returned to the kitchen, Durin was already washing dishes, sleeves rolled up.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Albedo said quietly.
Durin shrugged, glancing back with a small smile. “I wanted to.”
Albedo nodded, accepting it without argument.
Later, after Klee was clean, warm, and tucked into bed, the apartment grew quieter. Albedo and Durin sat at the kitchen island, flashcards spread between them. Algebra II, Albedo’s old notes, meticulously preserved.
Durin did well. Better than Albedo thought.
“I don’t know why you’re so worried,” Albedo said, with genuine warmth in his voice. “You’re a natural at this.”
Durin ducked his head, waving it off. “I just… I want to do perfect on this test. Like you do.”
The words indeed heavier than intended. 99.5%
Albedo stilled, leaning back against the counter. “I’m not perfect,” he said softly.
Durin frowned. “Is something wrong?”
Albedo hesitated, then sighed, long and quiet. “There’s… someone in my class,” he admitted. “He always corrects me. Glares at me. He hates me, and I don’t know what I did.” He rubbed his temple. “And because of that, I got a ninety-nine point five today. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’ll affect my GPA, and—”
He stopped.
During was staring at him, concern written plainly across his face.
Albedo straightened immediately. “I’m sorry. We’re supposed to be studying. I shouldn’t—”
“No,” Durin said quickly. “I was just… shocked. You don’t usually tell me about your day.”
He paused, then grinned. “You know what’ll make you feel better?”
Albedo blinked and tilted his head.
“Your favourite snacks.”
Durin hopped off the stool, already pulling on his slippers. “We’re long overdue for a snack break anyways.”
“You don’t have to—” Albedo started.
“Too late!” Durin called, already at the door. “I’m getting you the big bag of gummy spiders today! You’ve earned it.”
The door shut behind him.
Albedo stood there for a moment, alone in the quiet kitchen, the hum of the city filtering in through the walls.
His chest felt… lighter.