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Chapter Text

Lord Kamisato was known for his expansive collection of things.

On his tenth birthday, his father brought home with him a variety of board games from Liyue. On his eleventh, his mother started Ayato’s collection of pressed teas from around Teyvat. After they passed, Ayato extended the hobby to books of all sorts and fine wines imported from Mondstadt that he had no particular interest in drinking alone.

Lord Kamisato was also known for his stunning and calculated wit. For those lucky enough not to meet him on the dimly light cliffs on Inazuma at night they knew him to be quite the diplomat; a man with fanciful tastes and whimsical ways, who could negotiate the hardest of deals and fiercely protect his loved ones.

Tonight wasn’t one of those nights.

“My lord, on your right!”

Ayato is quick to adjust his footing so that his weight is favoring his left side. A sidelong glance over his shoulder confirms that Thoma is no longer down on the beach and has quickly rejoined the battle up on the embankment. Their eyes meet and Thoma’s smile flickers like an ember, defiant in the wind.

“Shall we?” Ayato asks, his hands adjusting on the hilt of his sword as he gestures to the man clad in black charging at them.

“On three?”

“Make it two.”

And they swing, perfectly in sync. From Ayato’s blade comes a long jet of water, a shadow of a sword’s slash, angled directly at the knees of the assailant. Thoma’s spear aims higher. A burst of fire erupts around them, serving as both a guard and as a deterrent. Expectedly, the thief falls to his knees, knocked off balance from the torrent of water. The moonlight casts shadows on his face, keeping his identity hidden even as Ayato puts his sword away.

Thoma stands at his side, his hand still tightly wrapped around his spear. Another quick look is shared between them before Ayato takes a few, measured steps closer to the unknown enemy.

“Now, that wasn’t very kind of you,” Ayato muses to the night air, dropping down to crouch in front of the man who is nursing the side of his face where a scar inevitably will form from where Thoma’s flames had burnt him.

“Fuck you,” the man seethes, narrowing his eyes behind the clothed mask that shields his face.

“So crass,” sighs Ayato, feigning insult as he taps his lips. “You’re at our mercy, aren’t you? Isn’t this usually where the loser grovels for their life?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the man snaps, spitting at him. “You’re just as much of a coward as your father was—”

The crack is deafening in the night air. Ayato can hear the sharp intake of breath behind him, can hear the shift of Thoma’s feet forward and then back to where it was, hesitating. Calmly, Ayato retrieves his hand, sparing it an idle look as the man winces and moves his own to cradle the cheek that had been slapped; the sting seems to hurt worse than the burn.

“It’s unlucky to speak ill of the dead,” Ayato says, voice devoid of that lilt from before.

Ayato refuses to meet Thoma’s gaze as he gets to his feet. There’s a raw sting in his chest that wasn’t there before and he walks a few paces beyond Thoma, hand lightly glancing his retainer’s arm. In a low whisper, he orders, “Leave him here.”

“Are you sure?” Thoma asks, barely above a whisper.

“Let’s go home.”

Ayato walks off, brushing his hands together as he heads toward the dirt path that will lead them back to the Estate. When his footfalls are the only ones he hears, bookended by the waves on each side, he spares a glance back over his shoulder.

He’s surprised to see Thoma still there, glaring at the man as if he had been the one to receive the brunt of his insult. Ayato is used to the ridicule, the judgment, the jabs at his upbringing. He’s also used to the loyal way that Thoma defends the Kamisato name as his own.

What Ayato isn’t used to is Thoma disobeying.

So Ayato stops, body angled back toward the beach. He watches as Thoma crouches down and meets the watery eyes of the man still nursing a nasty collection of burns. He can’t hear them, but the man recoils once more, falling flat on his ass before he forces himself to his feet and takes off into the night, in the opposite direction of the Estate.

When Thoma rejoins his side, he’s greeted with a quirk of Ayato’s brow.

“What was that about?” Ayato murmurs, tired but endlessly intrigued.

“Eh.” Thoma rolls his shoulder, his eyes locked on where the man had disappeared. When he turns to Ayato, there’s an almost sheepish look that blends with the sunny determination Ayato so often admires. It’s a complicated mix of emotions and Ayato is no stranger to trying to pick apart each and every of Thoma’s words and actions, thinking he can learn him just as well as he knows himself. “Just told him the truth.”

Ayato’s smile leaks through, even in the dark of the night. “And what would that be?” he asks.

Thoma stands up a bit straighter, hand coming up to rest over his chest as it has so many times before, in the toughest of moments, the hardest of decisions. Their eyes meet and Thoma says with a doggedness that belongs to only a few in Inazuma:


“That if he dares to come anywhere near the Estate, your husband will personally see him off the island.”

Ayato smiles even brighter.

“You’re going to Liyue?”

Ayaka looks up from her tea with a rather confused look on her face. Ayato doesn’t flinch, but he knows without looking that Thoma is wilting under her gaze. Sighing, Ayato drags his fingers back through his bangs before he restlessly reaches for his tea, needing to keep his hands occupied. He had feared this, this reaction.

“Now that the decree has ended and the waters are suitable for travel, I’d like to continue our family’s efforts in Liyue,” Ayato explains, choosing his words carefully. If he can appeal to the sentimental side of his younger sister, perhaps she won’t be as angry for his seemingly rash decision to leave Inazuma.

“Isn’t it a little soon?” Ayaka asks and her gaze lands sternly on Thoma who hasn’t taken a single bite of his breakfast. “Are you going too, Thoma?”

“I… well, that’s…” Thoma restlessly clasps the back of his neck with his palm.

“You are,” Ayaka says, deflating, and then irritably shoots a tiny little breeze of snowflakes at her brother. “You’re both leaving on short notice. Wouldn’t it be best if I joined you?”

Thoma tries to batt away the ice before it can hit Ayato. As harmless as it may be, Ayato finds it strangely endearing that Thoma is so defensive of him, even in the face of friendly fire.

Ayato, to his credit, keeps his calm as he playfully points his index finger at Ayaka and shoots a small spray of water at the book she was reading earlier. She lets out an undignified sort of noise and hurriedly shuts it before it can be water-damaged further.

“Your home is here, Ayaka, and your skills are best suited for it, too. You’ve done a wonderful job leading things and attending to our rich culture,” Ayato says and tries to ignore the way Thoma shuffles uncomfortably beside him. “Thoma is expected to be at my side. It would be strange for a married man to show his face without his spouse, especially in Liyue. It would breed distrust.”



Ayaka screws her face into something scrunched-up. “But you aren’t actually married,” she reminds, for the hundredth time, watching in utter exasperation as Thoma starts to nervously fuss with refilling their cups of tea.

Ayato’s pout comes instantly. “Now, now, just because I’m springing this on you and taking your best friend with me thousands of miles away…”

“Brother, please,” Ayaka complains, shoving her face into her hands as she lets out a particularly loud groan. “All right, but you must promise you’ll be safe. Both of you.” And to herself, quieter, “and I was just starting to get used to things returning to normal…”


Ayato’s gaze softens. He reaches across the table and clasps her hand. “I assure you, we’ll come back in one piece. Or, I suppose, two pieces, unless the romance of this time of the year in Liyue during the Lantern Rite is to be believed.”

Thoma’s face scorches a beet red and he nearly spills the tea he’s in the middle of pouring. Ayaka peeks out through her fingers, deeply unimpressed, and wrinkles her nose. “That’s not funny.”

Ayato supposes it’s as close to a ‘yes’ as he’ll get from her.

Ayato watches the storm come in over the horizon. Unlike before, when the whole of the island was under lockdown, he finds the lighting to be comforting now. In a way, the storm reminds him that all things return to the earth - that life is a cycle and one day, like his parents, he too will fall.

The rain also reminds him of the night Thoma decided to stay. It had been a difficult decision, to even suggest that Thoma stay when his clan was in such turmoil and their future was uncertain. Even worse, he had selfishly asked Thoma for a favor that went beyond the typical duties of a retainer.

”Your… what?”

Ayato doesn’t meet his gaze at first. There’s a rare pink in his face as he tries not to look directly at his best friend and tries harder to ignore the pounding of his heart and sweating of his palms. In a way, he hates to ask this of him, but deep down, the selfish part of him delights in it.

“The head of the Kamisato Clan is expected to be wed,” Ayato explains, voice hoarse as he turns to look out the window to avoid the conflict in his friend’s eyes. “It’s tradition. As you know, I have no interest in… rushing into such things. The elders would be quick to decide things, and it would be near-impossible for me to unwind things once they were set in stone.”


Thoma nods, slow. “But surely you can hire someone?” he asks, voice small.

Ayato winces. He had been expecting to be rebuked — why wouldn’t he? It was unfair to ask your best friend to be your fake husband, to rip away their future, to ask that they serve at your side and convince the public that they were your dearly beloved. It was unfair but Ayato couldn’t think of anyone better suited for it.

(Because he cared for Thoma, and he knew that connection he had was something deeper than what they admitted it was. For Ayato, his heart already belonged to Thoma, even if he was blind to it. For Ayato, marrying Thoma would be as easy as breathing. For Ayato, this would have been the easiest decision he had made so far, had it not been for the difficult position he was putting Thoma into.

Because Thoma would be expected to be a loyal husband. Even if the marriage were fake, he’d be unable to date openly, unable to pursue a family, unable to truly live in Inazuma. And it would all be for the sake of duty.)

“There’s no one else,” Ayato says, feels it in his bones, clenches his fists at his side. “I understand this is a lot to ask of you. We’re…” So young, best friends, the list goes on but Ayato holds his tongue. He’s used to self-sabotaging, but tonight, he won’t. He can’t.

“My lord,” Thoma whispers, and Ayato can hear the tremble in his voice.

“It will only be on paper, of course,” Ayato insists, finally looking to him, smiling sadly. “You have my word that I will do whatever I can to ensure you have as normal of a life as you can, if you decide to stay, if you decide to join my side.”


Thoma is quiet. That sunshine seems to flicker and Thoma’s gaze is steady on the floor. Ayato prepares for his young heart to be broken for the very first time, ignores the churning of his stomach and the way he wants to cup Thoma’s cheeks and kiss him — and god, why is it now, in this exact moment, that he’s realizing that the strange heat he feels when Thoma is close is because he —

“I’ll do it.”

Thoma lifts his gaze, hand sliding over his chest. “I told you that I am loyal man. I refuse to walk away from this. Allow me to serve the Kamisato Clan once more.” And with that, his voice drops lower, as do his eyes, and Ayato dares to think they land on his lips, “And allow me to serve you.”

Ayato’s face scorches red but he does a wonderful job of hiding it with a sharp turn of his head. His chuckle is airy but he swears he can hear the quake in it. Thoma has no idea what he does to him, and if Ayato is lucky, he never will have to know that his best friend has a big, ugly, impossibly large crush on him.

Ten years. Ten years of feigning a marriage shouldn’t have been as easy as it was. Even with Ayato’s feelings, they had remained best friends, never skirting into any dangerous territory of taking themselves too seriously. Thoma had remained his best friend, blissfully unaware of Ayato’s feelings, and Ayaka had grown closer to them both.

Together, they were a family. Even if Ayato’s heart ached for the caricature to become reality, he knew that it already was: Thoma already had given them as much of himself as he could. 

(Ayato was just selfish enough to want all of him.)


One day, he’s certain, Thoma will want to get married and start a family and end this charade. And one day, Ayato will be in a position to not need the guise of being married. Ayato knows that day will come, but it still chills him to the bone to ponder about; it feels like his lungs are flooding with icy water and the longer he thinks about it, the less he can breathe.

So he tries not to.

Another glance out over the water confirms that come tomorrow, they’ll be setting sail for a honeymoon that’s ten years late. In a way, Ayato thinks, that it’ll be good for them, to start afresh with a brighter future in Inazuma.


(But the rational part of Ayato knows that this is emotional suicide. Water and fire were never meant to be together.)

“My lord? It’s late. You ought to be heading to bed.”

Ayato looks to him with a sad smile, his chest full of ice. Thoma looks beautiful with the lightning illuminating his frame, standing in the doorframe, lips worrying with concern. Ayato wants to capture this in his memory forever, because if his gut is any indicator, this trip will be the end of it all.

“Just give me a moment longer, Thoma. I’m admiring the view.”

And he doesn’t mean, has never meant, the sea.

Chapter Text

They leave at sunrise.

Ayato packs lightly. Apart from a few changes of clothes, there’s not much that the Yashiro Commissioner needs when leaving the country. Spare Mora and a few notebooks that are halfway filled with points of interest are the only other items that make the journey. Thoma, on the other hand, packs for a war. Bandages, disinfectants, sewing kits, snacks, the list goes on to Ayato’s dismay. At one point, he suggests that even Ayaka would pack lighter, but Thoma simply smiles as he lugs his bag down the pier before going back for Ayato’s.

Thankfully, the sea is peaceful this morning. Storm clouds lurk in the distance but the constant threat of lightning has abated over the last couple of weeks. Inter-nation travel is now at an all-time high, and it’s easy to grab space on one of the Yashiro Commission’s boats that is destined for Liyue to pick up much needed supplies.

“Didn’t think I’d be stepping foot on Liyue before heading back to Mondstadt,” Thoma laughs as he stows away their luggage below deck in an area where the mist from the waves won’t get to it; he’s lived through enough of Ayato’s low-key tantrums to know he doesn’t like when his things get damaged, even if his own affinity is Hydro.

“Shall we detour there afterward?” Ayato asks.

Thoma joins him as the captain begins to set sail. The breeze is pleasant and Ayato easily folds his arms and leans his full body against the rail lining the ship. It’s a small vessel, not suitable for more than a couple dozen passengers. Today, the crew is small in number and the hour is earlier than Ayato would have preferred. It’s made better by the lazy smile on Thoma’s face as he looks out to the endless sea ahead of them.

“Do we have time?” Thoma wonders noncommittally.

Ayato holds his tongue, choosing his words carefully. He would serve up the world on a platter for Thoma, if he ever asked him to. But that’s the thing with Thoma: he never asks, he simply enjoys what’s given to him and protects it so damn fiercely. Ayato wonders how he got to be so lucky.

“Let’s see how these negotiations go first, hm? If we’re running ahead of schedule, I don’t see why not,” Ayato muses. He keeps his gaze on the sun peaking over the sea. “I’ve been told the wine there is divine.”

Thoma’s snort is followed by a light shove to Ayato’s shoulder. “What do you mean you’ve been told? The basement of the Estate is filled with it!” he laughs.

Ayato doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s never tried a sip of it — he had been saving it for a rainy day, where he’d finally taste it on Thoma’s lips.

“Lord Kamisato,” says the Captain, interrupting the peace that’s settled over the pair of them. “The voyage will take most of the day. If you grow tired, there is a cot on the upper deck.”

Thoma looks to the elderly man with a pleasant expression. Even if he isn’t the one being spoken to, it’s expected that Thoma intently listen; after all, it’s part of the job of being a dutiful husband.

“Thank you,” says Ayato with a nod, too.

And like that, it’s just them again.

“This is probably silly to admit,” Thoma begins, ducking his head down as he spreads his arms on the railing so that he can look down at his boots, “but when I was taken by the Shogun, I thought that one of my biggest regrets was that we wouldn’t be able to travel the world together.” Ayato’s heart lurches into his throat but he remains silent. So, Thoma continues, “Not that I had failed you or my lady, or what this meant for Inazuma. I was just thinking about how sad it was that I wasn’t able to show you where I grew up.”

Ayato has often thought of going to Mondstadt. In his idle fantasies, he’d be at his best friend’s side, learning another culture that was once so dear to Thoma. Now, with the tempting reality of it all, it’s hard not to rush head-first into all of the what if’s.

“That’s very sentimental of you, Thoma,” Ayato says, dodging the lead in his chest as he peers at his friend’s face. “Have you been reading my sister’s books?”

That does it. As usual, Thoma’s face turns from a warm glow to a fierce red in seconds. The tips of his ears match his jacket and he looks at Ayato as if he’s grown two heads. “M-my lord,” he chokes out, hand flying up to rub at the nape of his neck, “what books do you even think that she reads?”

“Ah, deflecting, are we?” teases Ayato, leaning that much closer. “I would hope not the kind that would turn you that red. Whatever did you think I was implying?”

Thoma quickly looks away. Ayato can hear the shaky laugh and it’s reward enough, getting Thoma to squirm and then to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Ever since they were kids, Thoma’s laugh has been a precious gift to the Kamisato Clan, and Ayato wonders if he ever would have gotten this far without it.

“Come on,” Thoma says instead, pushing off the rail and lightly bumping shoulders with Ayato. “Let’s go check out the rest of the boat.”

“Hmmmm, as you wish.”

Years without stepping foot on a boat has its downfalls.

Ayato would have thought that the time spent on his family’s boat before the country locked down would have given him better sea-legs. Evidently, that was not the case. Twenty minutes or so into the journey and Ayato feels a distinct clammy feeling starting at the base of his neck. It spreads, like a second skin of beaded sweat, before his mouth feels uncomfortably hot and with far too much saliva. He knows this feeling. Oh, he knows this feeling all too well.

“Just a moment, please,” Ayato tells Thoma, a bit curtly cutting off their discussion of the melon industry before he pivots away and tries to head below deck.

“My lord?”


And of course, Thoma follows.

Thoma finds Ayato leaning against the wall by the staircase, palm gripping to the threshold for dear life. His face is as pale as a ghost and he’s breathing faster through his mouth. Embarrassing, is what Ayato thinks it is. Even when he’s plagued with a cold he soldiers through his work and meetings. This, however, is a different ailment that stubbornness can’t overcome.

“Are you… seasick, my lord?” Thoma carefully asks, extending a hand to press against Ayato’s forehead.

It feels too hot and too good all at the same time.

Ayato’s eyes slip shut and he tries to focus on the pulse he can faintly feel at Thoma’s wrist near his temple and not the rockiness of the boat. The journey had started smoothly but the farther out to sea they got, the choppier the waves became.

“Just a passing spell,” murmurs Ayato, and he suspects Thoma knows he’s lying because of the pretty words and the way he grits his teeth to keep himself from coughing from the nausea. “You’re welcome to — head back upstairs.”

“Hey,” Thoma says, lower, hand sliding from Ayato’s forehead; he misses it immediately. Before he can lament the loss of it, Thoma is reaching around Ayato. A strong arm wraps around his middle and he urges Ayato off the wall and against his side. “Let’s go sit down.”

Thoma leads them over to the corner of the storage area where there’s room to sit. Gently, he urges Ayato to sit down on the floor, back against the wall. Thoma joins him seconds later, shoulder-to-shoulder, tugging his knees up to his chest.


“Sometimes it helps to sit down when you’re feeling like that at sea, even if it puts you closer to the waves,” Thoma says, expression softer than Ayato can remember it being in years, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity to dwell on it right now.

“Closer to my demise?” Ayato jokes, trying to keep his eyes open to focus on anything that isn’t the urge to expel the contents of his stomach. “It seems contradictory to drink water right now when that’s the thing bothering me.”

Thoma’s laugh is short as he shakes his head. Ayato’s eyes catch on the way a few strands of hair catch in Thoma’s headband, tucked under the black horns and sticking out oddly. He barely checks the urge to fix it for him - he isn’t the fixer, after all.

“Tell me what you’re most excited about in Liyue. Maybe that’ll help.”

Ayato is glad that Thoma isn’t recounting tales of their childhood when Ayato was seasick, or when he cut up his knee so badly he had stitches, or any other time that Ayato’s bravado suffered at his own mortality. No, Thoma pivots to something happier, the future, and Ayato feels a restlessness in his bones that’s uniquely Thoma.

“Well,” Ayato begins, slow, mindful not to go too fast, “I’ve heard that this time of the year is especially nice. The entire harbor is decorated in celebration of the Lantern Rite festival.”

“Mm, yeah, you mentioned that to your sister before we left,” Thoma hums, listening, waiting for more.

“Indeed. I’ve never been myself, but I’ve heard a few stories from the workers at the Estate who have family there. It’s in part to celebrate the beginning of the new year, but also a time to remember those who have fallen.”

Thoma’s hand reaches up into his hair, fingers slipping beneath the hairband in order to tug it off and idly toss it to the side. To anyone else, the gesture would seem haphazard, but Ayato knows him well enough that it’s a tell for his nerves. It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

“There are paper lanterns,” Ayato continues, quieter, eyes trained on Thoma’s hands and the way they fist absently at the fabric at his knees. “You may make a wish. I suppose that include a prayer to fallen ancestors. Or, at least, I’d like to think that it were possible.”

“Think we have enough Mora for two?” Thoma finally asks, not meeting his lord’s gaze.

Ayato is feeling better for all the wrong reasons. “What do you take your husband for? Some cheapskate?”

Thoma’s laugh erupts from his chest this time. It’s beautiful and Thoma is shaking his head, freed strands of hair flying in every which way. Like this, Ayato can see that the ribbon is coming loose, threatening to set the rest of it free, too. Wild, untamed, so unlike the brave and loyal person beside him. Though, it’d be foolish to only consider him as such: after all, Thoma burns brighter than most in everything he does.

“Me? Never?” Thoma is still laughing and his hand has landed on Ayato’s knee. He doesn’t move it at first. “Two lanterns. I won’t push for a third, because I know that even the rich have to be good stewards with their finances.”

“Heavens, you’ll make me blush with your good business acumen,” laughs Ayato and he tosses Thoma a look that may go too far, may say too much.

Thoma’s hand slips away, but not before squeezing his lord’s knee. There’s a gentle hum as he says, head pressed against the hull of the ship they’re resting against, “Don’t let the rest of Inazuma know that. You’d be in danger.”

They’re quiet for the rest of the journey.

Ayato ignores the hint of red on his captain’s face when they return to the deck a few hours later as the waves calm down and they near Liyue. Ayato suspects that anyone that works for him would simply assume that if the Lord and his husband disappeared for an extended period of time that it wasn’t completely for chaste reasons. The mere thought of such things has Ayato’s adrenaline going and his hands feeling far too empty.

“Look! You can see it!”

Thoma is bounding over to the rail like a puppy. With his back turned, Ayato can smile as much as he feels like, letting the endless fondness he have for Thoma blossom on his face without fear of being seen.

Ayato joins him, after, leaning back against the rails closer than he had the first time. “It’s quite the sight,” Ayato agrees, intrigued by the architect they can faintly make out on the horizon, especially that of the boats that have docked in the harbor. “The people of Liyue weren’t always at the harbor. It was only after war destroyed their original homes in the plains did they find a place here.”

“You actually paid attention to your history lessons growing up?”

Thoma’s grin is unabashed, teasing, and Ayato feels the near irresistible urge to kiss it squarely off him. Instead, he pushes his own bangs off his face and turns slightly to the right. “What a treasonous thing to say to your lord.”

Thoma’s smile lingers, warm and hotter than the setting sun, as he more gently bumps their shoulders back together. “Guess it’s part of those special husband privileges, huh?”


Ayato captures the moments in that special place in his brain reserved only for Thoma. “We’ll be docking soon. Let’s gather our things and take a few pictures.”

And as usual, Ayato is met with no resistance.

“Think your sister will like any of the ones we took?”


Thoma has set their bags down on the harbor while they wait for their host. He’s leaning over his lord’s shoulders, close enough that his warm breath distracts Ayato from flicking through the kamera. There are plenty images of the sea, of the boats, of the cranes that linger by the shores that he’s certain Ayaka will ask to have painted, but there’s also a lot of… Thoma. It’s embarrassing, really, and he’s quick to scroll through those before Thoma can catch on that he’s always the most interesting thing in any frame.

“She’ll be grateful for them, at least,” says Ayato as he pockets the small device and gives Thoma a quick tap on his shoulder. “I’ll trust you to find a good souvenir for her to accompany these. We’ll never hear the end of it if we return empty-handed.”


Thoma’s arms fly down to his stomach, holding it as he belly-laughs. “My Lady can be known to hold quite the grudge…”

Ayato’s smile is sweeter, reserved, as he swipes Thoma’s hair off his shoulder and turns back to admiring the docks of Liyue Harbor.

They’re only alone for a little while longer. A stern looking woman approaches them, dressed in expensive silks and with eyeliner that is sharper than her stare. The rays of sun from the setting sun accent her delicate features in a way that demands respect and attention. Ayato knows better than to not give such things to a lady.

“Lord Kamisato,” she greets, bowing her head as her eyes drift to Thoma who is standing proudly at his side. “We are delighted that the two of you made the journey here. It’s been a number of years,” she says, eyes landing back on Ayato in the way one would appraise a gem. “You look much like your Mother.”

Ayato’s lips twitch up, fond and reminiscent. “So I’ve been told, once or twice,” he muses before he respectfully bows his head back. “It’s an honor to be hosted here, and on such short notice. I’m afraid we were overjoyed at the prospect of picking things back up that we seemed to act a bit hastily.”

“Not at all. It was good to hear from the Kamisato Clan,” she says and then turns her back to them. “Please. Follow me, and I will show you where the two of you will be staying.”

Thoma carries both of their bags with ease. It’s a quiet trek from the docks up the slope of the harbor and into the more bustling streets. As expected, the buildings are lined with festive decorations and pops of color, lights aglow and children running happily. From what Ayato knows, there are still a few days before the festival truly begins, but it seems that the spirit of things are already in full force.

(It reminds him of what Inazuma used to be, in his youth.)

When they reach a bit further into the shopping district, their host turns to an impressively large staircase. She gestures to it, long sleeves casting shadows on the ground prettily and unworldly. “My business acquaintances will be waiting for you on the third floor. They’re expecting you.” And then with eyes directed at Ayato, “We will begin our discussion once the festival commences. For now, please enjoy all that Liyue has to offer, including a banquet tomorrow evening.”

Thoma perks up at the mention of food, and Ayato tries not to laugh at his friend’s relief that he won’t be cooking so far from home.

“Thank you, your hospitality is humbling,” Ayato tells her, respectfully bowing his head again. “We shall look forward to tomorrow evening, then.”


“I will send for someone to collect you here at sunset.” And then she says to Thoma, a small but harmless smirk gracing her lips, “You will make a number of our wives jealous.”

Thoma sputters, and Ayato can’t even think how to respond to that. It’s clear that Thoma is a loyal husband, devoted and charming and all the good things Ayato could ever think to say about him, but to make the wives of business partners jealous? Ayato has always known that he’s been lucky, far too lucky, even when it’s all a farce, but it’s still almost gratifying to hear that he isn’t the only one that thinks the world begins and ends with Thoma.

“T-thank you,” Thoma manages, quickly bowing his head. “I don’t aim to make anyone jealous, only to serve my — ” And he’s had so many years of practice with it, but it comes up so seldom nowadays, that the word fumbles out of him a bit awkwardly, “husband.”

Seemingly satisfied with the banter, the woman wishes them a good night and heads back down the street.

Thoma sucks in an audible breath. Ayato glances over at him, noticing that his cheeks are back to a cute red that usually is reserved for Ayato’s ruthless teasing.

“Shall I leave you in the room?” Ayato teases, beginning to ascend the red staircase as he tosses his friend a smoldering look. “If you’ll make the wives jealous, I can’t imagine what you’ll make their husbands feel.”

Thoma is pouting as he lugs their belongings up the stairs, dragging his feet. Ayato spares glances back at him after every couple of steps, as if to check that he still, after all these years, hasn’t scared away his best friend.

When they make it to the third floor, Thoma leads them into the cozy hotel. As they were told, a room awaits them on the top floor. The maids take their bags from Thoma and Thoma silently rejoices with the cutest of grins aimed at his lord. Ayato feels his heart rate spike all over again.

Finally, after what feels like hours, now with the moon beautifully illuminating the harbor, they make it to their room. The whole building smells of a faint floral incense that puts Ayato at ease and oddly reminds him of his mother.

“My lord,” Thoma says, pulling him away from his reveries as he nervously looks back over his shoulder.

Ayato is in the midst of shrugging off his outermost layer and bending down to undo the laces of his boots. He regards Thoma with a quirk of a brow and a tiredness that comes with journeying so many miles. “Yes, Thoma?”

“…Ah… hah, well,” Thoma stutters, stops and then starts again, and then gestures lamely behind him. “I guess it isn’t really surprising, given everything.”

“Given—” Ayato begins, confused, as he rises to his feet. When his eyes land on the singular bed, it all clicks into place.

There was only one bed.

Chapter Text

The last time Ayato shared a bed was when he had a terrible fever. Back then, Thoma had insisted that he get some rest and that his work would be there in the morning. Ayato, never one to give up on a challenge, had worked for another hour before the infection got the best of him and he fell asleep at his desk. Thoma, presumably, had carried him to his room to put him down for the evening. The details after that are blurry - the way memories get in a feverish haze - but Ayato thinks he may have asked Thoma to stay. Strictly to monitor his fever throughout the night.

(And maybe it was a dream, brought on from the high temperature, but Ayato vaguely recalls strong arms around his middle, fingers sweeping through his hair and the sweetest Mond lullaby.)

This is a little different.

Without the excuse of alcohol or illness, it’s difficult to approach. They undress in silence, down to just the undershirts and long underwear they sometimes wore when the weather was brisk, and then get ready for bed. Ayato would bet that Thoma knew his nightly routine by heart - strip, wash his face, read with a cup of tea, and then fall victim to the sweet lull of sleep. Thoma’s routine, Ayato was realizing with a startle, he knew nothing about.

Ayato watches as Thoma sets aside each layer and accessory with care. No fabric is left unattended to and even his Vision gets neatly placed on the top of the folded bundle of clothes. After that, Thoma starts to use a chair to stretch his legs, one by one. From where Ayato is standing, across the room and near the small restroom, he can see the way Thoma’s undershirt clings to back, how the muscles of his arms flex when he reaches for his toes. Mercifully, Thoma never bends over, but Ayato steals a quick glance at his ass all the same.

Ayato ducks into the restroom to wash his face. It’s been a very long day and while he had hoped to rest peacefully in a cozy room in Liyue, the prospect of being kept awake by his own traitorous heart seemed inevitable.

There’s nothing inherently sexual about sharing a bed. If done correctly, they can comfortably fit without so much as a shoulder touching. What troubles Ayato is the raw intimacy of it all, the whisper of something more. It aches.

Ayato splashes cold water on his face and regulates his breathing. He’s faced countless ruffians, the slickest of scum, and yet the thing that troubles him the most is losing control of his emotions long enough to jeopardize everything.

Ayato nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees Thoma in the mirror, peeking into the room with ruffled hair and a lazy smile.

“Hey,” Thoma says with all the warmth in the world. “Do you want me to see if there’s any tea downstairs?”

Ayato’s heart turns to a puddle of goo. “Aren’t you an enterprising young fellow?” he teases, his hand dropping from his wet bangs. He meets Thoma’s gaze in the mirror. “But that’s all right. I can live for one night without the sweet embrace of chamomile.”

Thoma snorts. He leans his weight against the doorframe and folds his arms to his chest and tilts his head when he says, “Well, just let me know if you change your mind.”

Ayato bites back the witty retort regarding alternative embraces, knowing that it’ll be bad for his health. Instead, he smiles a bit thinner. “Thank you, Thoma. I’ll be done in a second, if you need the room.”

Thoma rolls his shoulders into a shrug as he pushes off. He joins Ayato at the sink and reaches for his toothbrush and the small bottle of toothpaste propped up on the counter. Something about it settles in Ayato’s chest like a seed, sprouting and taking root. In a way, he’s being afforded a glimpse into something he may never have: a look into what a domestic life would be like with Thoma if their marriage wasn’t a matter of necessity.

Thoma is about to start brushing when his gaze catches Ayato’s in the mirror. “…You okay?”

Ayato flicks his eyes away immediately, down to the drain where the water is beginning to circle. “Honestly, do you really brush while the water is running? That’s dreadfully wasteful,” he admonishes as he turns off the faucet, cheeks pink. “You must be why the water bill is so high.”

Thoma’s grin is brilliantly lop-sided. “Must be that and not your hour-long baths.”

Ayato wrinkles his nose at him as Thoma looks away in order to begin brushing in earnest. There’s a thundering in Ayato’s chest, the urge to let this moment linger forever, to appreciate being at Thoma’s side without any prying eyes or expectations. Even better, he can see the way the bathroom lights make Thoma’s freckles almost glow; Ayato always knew he had them, but the dusting of them along the bridge of Thoma’s nose does something to him.

There’s a rush of energy that replaces the exhaustion in his bones. Ayato places a hand delicately down on the counter, using it as leverage so that he can lean on his tip-toes into Thoma’s personal space. He watches the man’s eyebrows dart up his face, hand briefly pausing its vigorous scrubbing. And he can certainly feel Thoma’s gaze on his reflection, but he doesn’t spare it one of his own: he has the real thing to look at.


“Do you remember when we were children and you were picked on for these?” Ayato murmurs, committing to the follow-through as he lifts a hand to idly poke one of the freckles.


Thoma immediately goes cross-eyed. He adjusts the brush in his mouth and mumbles around it, “Freckles were the least of my worries.”

Being an outsider, an outlander, he means. But Ayato won’t allow the conversation to turn so grim. Instead, he feels heat at the tip of his ears from the lovely images that float about in his head when he hears Thoma speaking with a mouthful. Dreadfully sinful, is what it is.

“I threatened to break their bones,” Ayato whispers, finger sliding from one freckle to the next, mesmerized by the fact Thoma’s skin is still so warm and soft after all these years.

Thoma starts choking. Ayato pulls back, caught off guard by the hacking, his hands slipping away and neatly returning to his sides where they belong. Thoma, on the other hand, is spitting into the sink and trying to catch his breath between coughs.

“I’ll leave the light on,” Ayato tells him, satisfied for now, as he turns away to head back to the bed, leaving Thoma to wheeze in privacy.

Ayato isn’t sure if it’s been an hour or three. He had forgone his nightly novel in favor of trying to get some rest, even if the act was a fool’s errand. The dip in the bed beside him is foreign and steals every bit of common sense from him. If he were a more reckless man, he’d cave in to temptation: he’d shift closer until there was no distance between them, shift a knee between his friend’s thighs, tangle his arms around his neck, and then breathe.

Unfortunately, Kamisato Ayato is a man of principle and overthinking. Every action has a consequence, and losing Thoma is something he can’t afford. So, he remains grounded in reality and not the whimsical fantasies that have plagued him since he was old enough to understand what love was.

Even in the darkness Ayato can see the reassuring rise and fall of Thoma’s chest. The man had started the night on his side, facing the wall, but recently had turned to lay on his back. Ayato, uncaring to completely deny himself, laid facing Thoma from the start.

Like this, Ayato can make out the curl of blonde lashes and the pout of large lips. Like this, Ayato no longer needs to wonder what Thoma’s breathing sounds like when he’s dreaming. It’s nonsensical, these little romantic thoughts he keeps having, something straight from a cheap novel that Yae Miko herself would publish, but —

But he can’t stop himself from taking at least this much.

Ayato’s eyes drift lower, to where Thoma’s arm is comfortably splayed on the sheets between them. How easy it would be to shuffle a fraction closer and skim his fingers down that arm. Truth be told, while a man of vast experience, Ayato’s expertise in this particular arena is … limited. Perpetually nonexistent, had he not had his first kiss under a sakura blossom when he was eleven, long before Thoma tipped his world upside down when he landed on Inazuma’s shores.

He ought to make Thoma eat beetles for this assault on his sensibility. A whole hot pot filled with them, as well as syrupy substances that have no right being in a savory stew.

It’s with those tortured thoughts that sleep finally claims Ayato, unable to keep his heavy eyelids open any longer.

It’s not surprising to Ayato that he wakes every hour or so during the night. Any time Thoma shifts, Ayato’s eyes spring open, alert and almost expectant. In stories, the hero would awaken to the comforting arms of a loved one, or a sweet kiss pressed to the crown of their head. In reality, Ayato wakes to Thoma hogging the blankets and laying almost diagonally across the whole bed. One of Ayato’s legs is pinned down by Thoma’s foot draped over it and if it wasn’t so absurd, maybe Ayato would delight in the faintest of skin-to-skin contact.

“Thoma,” he grunts, trying to gently urge his friend’s body back to his side of the bed before all his limbs fall asleep.

Nothing happens.

Ayato’s brows knit together and he tries to unceremoniously shove Thoma. It also doesn’t work, considering the man must have a good fifty pounds of raw muscle on Ayato. (Or, Ayato would vastly prefer those muscles on top of him in a way that didn’t make his feet tingle because of poor circulation.)

“Thoma,” Ayato says again, exasperated and voice raw from sleep.

Realizing that this, too, is a fool’s errand, Ayato ducks his head down into the pillows, wiggles his leg free, and curls himself into a tighter ball. He often sleeps in the far corner of his futon, anyway, but to be forced into such a small space?

Unthinkable.

Ayato wakens to Thoma shuffling about. He’s already risen from his slumber (and oh, Ayato is jealous, because Thoma’s sleep was without fitful bursts and had plentiful sheets) and has his legs thrown over the edge of the bed. His back is to Ayato which makes the young lord curse mildly under his breath; he can’t even have the sweet consolation of a sleepy smile complete with bedhead.

(Fuck, Ayato thinks, mildly irritated, he really is acting like a schoolgirl.)

Thoma must hear the sheets rustling because he finally glances over his shoulder. Ayato pitifully glares up at him, hands clawing at the sheets to tug them as tightly as possible around his very cold shoulders now that Thoma isn’t possessively wrapped up in all of them.

“In a bad mood already?” Thoma asks, sheepish, and then rubs the nape of his neck. He turns his upper body so that he can face Ayato properly, even with his legs still dangling off the bed. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to sleeping next to anyone,” he laughs, face tinting red. “Did I kick? Or snore?”

“Worse.”


“Worse?”

There’s a blip of panic on Thoma’s face. Ayato takes absurd delight in it before he cheekily batts his eyes up at his friend. “Much worse,” he confirms, dragging it out until he says without an ounce of shame, “I nearly froze to death.”

Thoma looks strangely relieved. He laughs and drops his hand from his neck and offers a meek smile back at his lord. “Blanket-hog, got it,” he says with an embarrassed grin. “I’ll add that to my resume.”

Ayato pushes himself up enough so that he can prop his body inelegantly on an elbow. Their eyes meet and Thoma seems to almost shrink back when faced with the intensity of Ayato’s gaze.

“Your resume?” Ayato dryly questions. “Why, pray tell, do you need one of those?”


Thoma’s hands fly up and begin to wave about. “H-haha, just a joke, my lord!”


Ayato sits up the rest of the way. He ignores Thoma in favor of running a hand through his hair, wincing at each and every tangle he finds. It was foolish not to sleep with it tied up. He supposes he had other things to worry about last night.

“What would you like to do today?” Ayato asks instead, lamenting the loss of Thoma’s body-heat on the bed when his retainer stands. “Our only appointment is the banquet, as far as I’m aware. It gives us plenty of time to dip our feet into the culture here, so to speak.”

Thoma is humming some tune as he dresses. Ayato can’t help but admire the fastidious way that he dons each layer, trying knots here and fastening clips there.

“Well,” Thoma says, lazy, “if the festival isn’t starting until tomorrow, maybe we can take a look around outside the city?”


Ayato had hoped for something a bit tamer that involved fine food and entertainment, but he can’t begrudge Thoma for wanting to experience all of Liyue’s natural beauty.


“If you insist,” Ayato agrees easily enough, rising from the bed and heading into the restroom to change.

“Haunting, isn’t it?”

Ayato’s gaze sweeps along the lonely fields that once housed Liyue’s finest. Now, the plains are riddled with scraps of a war long-past and overgrown grasses and flora. In a way, it’s beautiful, a world lost to time and the hustle and bustle of modernness, where Ayato feels, if only for a second, completely separated from the life he led up until this moment.

“Yeah.”


Thoma nods and then turns to Ayato. The sun catches in his eyes, dances along his hair, and for a moment, Ayato forgets to breathe. Today, Ayato is more in love than he’s ever been.

“The pools over there look kind of cool. Want to go investigate?” Thoma asks, gesturing to the slope of small pools at the edge of the larger body of water.

Ayato glances to them, appraising, considering. It’s unlike anything their island back home has, and Ayato thinks it reminds him of the resistance, but — but those thoughts are derailed when Thoma shuffles off the bag from his shoulder and kneels down. Curiously, Ayato watches as Thoma rifles through its content until he emerges with an object in each hand.

“You didn’t,” Ayato says, his lips twitching into a rare smile that spans his entire face. “Where did you get those?”

“At the docks when you were talking to the captain,” laughs Thoma as he zips up his bag and hands one of the gliders to Ayato. “It’s been awhile, but as they say, gliding is always faster.”

“So they do,” Ayato says, utterly charmed.

It takes a bit of effort, but when they both are equipped with a pair of matching gliders, they set their eyes on the pools across the way. From this angle, it’ll be an easy glide over the water, with plenty of room for error. The wind seems agreeable to their fancies, blowing in the right direction and with just enough force.

“Shall we race?” asks Ayato, that competitive streak rearing its head; his fingers twitch in anticipation of it all.

Thoma smiles at him, and oh, does it make Ayato’s chest burst with affection. However, what he receives is a shake of a head instead of the nod he’s anticipating. Confused, Ayato parts his lips to question him, but he’s cut short when a warm hand wraps around his. Paralyzed, Ayato stares down at the perfect way Thoma’s hand holds his. It’s a perfect grip, warming his usually cold skin, even through leather, and he forgets words, forgets to breathe.

And it’s a good thing, too, because it’s enough of a distraction to keep Ayato from overthinking what Thoma does next. In the middle of admiring how long Thoma’s nails are, Ayato is bodily dragged forward toward the edge of the hill. He’s halfway through processing what comes next when Thoma squeezes his hand, yells over the roar of the winds, “hold on tight!” and takes the leap for the both of them.

Suspended in air, with only the wind to guide them, Ayato feels utterly powerless. It’s a terrifying feeling that he actively avoids in his everyday affairs, but with Thoma’s fingers threading into the spaces between his own, he thinks he can forgo the control just this once.

“You’re a madman,” Ayato laughs over the howl of the wind, looking to Thoma, forgetting for just a second that this isn’t real, that Thoma isn’t his.


The wind kicks up, propelling them faster across the large body of water, toward the shimmering pools. Thoma looks to him, hair a mess, flying in every which way, and he unabashedly shouts over the roar:

“Yeah, but I’m yours.”

Ayato doesn’t stick the landing, but he has Thoma there to catch him before he falls.

They spend a good amount of time learning about the bounties of Liyue throughout the day. Ayato is thoughtful enough to get a good number of photos for Ayaka of the pools before they head south, back toward the city. While Ayato is tending to his duties as any good big brother would, Thoma takes it upon himself to strip off his boots and socks and frolic in the pools, eager to try and interact with the many fish and birds that make their home here.

(And no one can blame Ayato if he temporarily is distracted from taking scenic pictures to instead chuckle at his best friend and turn the lens back on him, where it belongs.)

As the sun begins to lower in the sky, they stop at a creek just outside the harbor. Thoma unwraps the small snacks he brought with them and they sit in a comfortable sort of silence. Ten minutes pass before one of them dares to break it:

“Did you really threaten them?” Thoma asks out of the blue.

Ayato lowers the apple from his lips. “Who?” he asks, but as the word leaves his lips, he’s reminded of their conversation the night before. “Ah, when we were younger?” he says before Thoma can interject. His chest feels tight again. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it a threat…”

“My lord, you were the best swordsman in all of Inazuma. A glare from you could be considered a threat,” laughs Thoma, gaze gentle as he looks to him.


Ayato breezes a hand back through his hair, needing a distraction in the worst kind of way. “Was? I still am,” he says, confidently, and then a bit quieter, a bit more serious, “and I did, threaten them. You may not have realized it at the time, but I overheard you speaking with Mother when you came home that one day, covered in dirt and crying.”

Thoma’s face pales and he’s quick to reach for Ayato’s wrist. “Y-you don’t need to talk about that. It’s all ancient history now,” he laughs, voice cracking.

It’s been awhile since Ayato heard him so nervous. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about, Thoma,” he reassures him, eyes dropping to stare at how easily Thoma’s fingers close around Ayato’s tiny wrist. “Had I been in your shoes, I would have reacted the same.”

Thoma’s grip tightens. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he insists, and it’s the trust between them that allows him to speak so freely, so candidly, “but you have no idea what it was like.”

He doesn’t sound upset, just distant, and Ayato hates that he’s lingered on something that’s put out that light in Thoma’s eyes for even a second. Ayato tries to think of an adequate response, perhaps an apology, but Thoma is speaking again, voice uneven:

“I didn’t mind that they called me a mutt, or that they made fun of me for working at the Estate as the equivalent of a maid,” Thoma says, audibly swallowing between his sentences. “What got to me was what they said about you.”

Ayato blinks. “Me?”

Thoma winces, lowering his gaze to Ayato’s wrist, too. “You don’t need to hear this, my lord,” he says, and Ayato hates that it’s not Thoma’s own ego that is causing him pain, but instead his devotion to his lord.

“Oh, but I insist,” Ayato says, carefully, delicately, voice dropping to a warm whisper.

“They said you were spoiled,” Thoma starts slow, fingers once again tightening their grip on Ayato’s wrist. “They said you were cocky and a brat and a — disgrace to your family name. That you were too weak to ever lead the clan if your parents were to ever pass away.” Thoma’s face is screwed up, pained, and Ayato fights the instinct to draw him close. “So I punched them. I never told your mom that, but I…” He trails off, then.

“Thoma—” Ayato begins, somewhat speechless.

(But he shouldn’t be, has known how deeply Thoma’s loyalty ran, knew that Thoma would protect him and Ayaka with every single fibre of his soul.)

“I’m not done,” Thoma says, firmer. Ayato lets him go on. “I punched them and told them that they didn’t know you the way I did. That you were capable of leading this entire nation, if you ever wanted to.” And quieter, still, “You can imagine what they had to say about that.”

“That I would be a terrible leader?” Ayato guesses, the words sour on his tongue.

Thoma shrugs but he doesn’t let go. “No. They called me your brainwashed concubine.”

Ayato feels his mouth go uncharacteristically dry. “Remarkable vocabulary for young children,” he says, teetering on the edge of seething even though it was countless years ago and many of the same children had left Inazuma before it was locked down. “I suspect they heard that from their parents, those nasty rumors. Father dealt with them often. I’m sorry it had to trickle down to you, too.”

Thoma lets go of his wrist. For a second, Ayato wonders if he did something wrong, said something wrong. He’s about to reach for Thoma’s hand, but Thoma is already up and on his feet, collecting his bag and offering a tired smile to Ayato.


“The sun’s almost set. We gotta get back before we upset our future business partner.”

He’s right. Thoma always is right, but there’s something heavy hanging in the air between them. It feels suffocating and Ayato wants to grab at it, to crush it and return them to the high they had felt earlier today, free-falling hand in hand.

Instead, he relents.

(He’s never been a coward when it’s mattered most, so what is it about Thoma that leaves him feeling fifteen and unarmed?)

When they return to the Inn, they’re surprised to find a pair of hanfu set out for them, as well as two crystal hair-clips in the shape of lilies. It takes an embarrassing amount of time to dress for the banquet, and they’re almost late, but they somehow manage to make it back downstairs just as their host is strolling up to the staircase. Her gaze flits between them, on the lilies in their hair, left down and teasing at their shoulders. She smiles.

“You fit right in,” she commends, beginning to lead them down the street to the restaurant.

At this hour, the warm glow of the lanterns feels romantic. Ayato had thought it the night before, but now, walking alongside Thoma with matching hair-pieces, he can’t help but feel put under its spell. Still, their conversation from earlier gnaws at him. It must be on Thoma’s mind, too, as he’s barely said a word since they got back from their adventure.

The walk is quiet, too.

When they enter the restaurant, decked out in streamers and colorful decorations along the awnings of the ceiling and arches of the entryway, instinct finally gets the better of Ayato. He reaches for Thoma’s hand, relishing in the way it feels to touch him without leather or layers in the way. His palm is warm and Ayato thinks Thoma may shy away. He wouldn’t blame him, as they never truly had to play the part of a doting married couple for the public to this degree before. It must be sudden, uncomfortable. The fears are quashed when Thoma tangles their fingers together, comfortable and right, just like when they took to the sky.

“Should we have a codeword?” asks Ayato under his breath, stealing a glance over at his husband.

Thoma’s lips twitch, betraying his amusement. “In case we need to leave because they’re fawning all over you?” he chuckles.

The tease brings a smile to Ayato’s face, too. “Naturally,” he jests and nearly stutters out Thoma’s name when the man squeezes their hands, thumb brushing an arc along the back of Ayato’s.

“Melon?”

“No, no, that’s too common.” Ayato is trying not to laugh, to earn the confused attention of their host who is checking in with the hostess, but…

“Dango?”



“Honestly, Thoma… I know you’re hungry, but please focus.”


Thoma looks at him, finally. Really looks over at him. Ayato’s words catch in his throat and he tips his head to the side.

“Dewdrop.”

Dumbly, Ayato nods, speechless even after their host rejoins their side and leads them to the private room where they’ll be dining with the rest of her family and business partners. Even after Ayato sits, even after Thoma’s gaze is elsewhere and he’s mingling, Ayato is frozen.

Because Thoma hasn’t called him that in years.

Chapter Text

Gold shimmers in all corners of the room, decorating even the lanterns glowing above, but it’s still second to the way Thoma lights up the room.

Ayato is not unaccustomed to the initial meeting of business partners being comprised of talks of family and copious drinking; business is left until the parties have decided they are compatible on an interpersonal level. Or, at least enough to not butt heads down the road. Ayato would be surprised if the conversation steered anywhere near trade alliances or talks of the Tri Commission tonight. Those are slated for later days.

Ayato easily navigates through the thick of it. An elderly woman with long grey hair and longer nails is tittering about her niece who recently learned to swim. Beside her is an equally greying gentleman who happily chimes in when his wife forgets a detail or two about their beloved family. Ayato compliments them both for helping to raise such a firecracker of a young woman, and they are instantly smitten with him.

While Ayato pleasantly listens to a younger couple discuss their recent debacle with a grain merchant, his attention slips to Thoma seated on his right side. Thoma is actively discussing the merits of using a combination of raw and cooked ingredients in dishes. The man he’s seated next to is enraptured by Thoma’s prowess in the kitchen and battlefield. Thoma, as he always does, takes the compliment with a beautiful grace about him, smiling humbly and diverting the conversation back to less embarrassing topics.

Ayato would have never dreamed of bringing anyone else with him on such an important inter-nation affair. While Ayaka would have been a suitable replacement for Ayato — and really, he’ll need to let her take the wheel next time, considering the wonders she’s done for the Kamisato Clan in Inazuma — there’s no one that better complements Ayato’s often dry humor than Thoma’s sunshine smile.

(And besides, if love and devotion are such coveted staples of business affairs in Liyue, no one else could play the part, even if Thoma wasn’t officially his on paper.)

“You must show me how to properly wield a polearm,” chitters the gentleman next to Thoma, clasping his shoulder. 

(Ayato suspects Thoma has earned the hearts of half the of the roundtable, which suits him just fine.)

“I’m really not that great,” laughs Thoma, either lying through his teeth or simply that modest. “But I’d be happy to give you some pointers, if the weather stays this nice.”

“Splendid,” chuckles the man as he looks over to his wife, updating her on the good news that the ‘handsomely charming husband of Commissioner Kamisato will be giving him lessons.’ Ayato catches the reddening of Thoma’s cheeks and he lets slip the fondest of laughs.

(A real one.)

The head of the guild they’re meeting with, their fine and stern host, glances to him, then, from across the table. Their eyes meet with enough time for hers to drift to Thoma, both appraisingly and then approvingly.

Ayato reaches for his water, fighting off his matching blush that would match Thoma’s quite well. Thoma remains oblivious, ambling through new topics with the besotted couple beside him. For a moment, Ayato feels the world go pleasantly quiet: the din of conversation is a pleasant buzz to a calmer blanket of quietness. The pressures of the Clan, of being a good business partner and even better brother, fade into the background as he simply exists in the moment. Halfway through his trance, Thoma glances back over to him.

The warm glow of the lanterns and candles that litter the large table cast beautiful shadows on Thoma’s face. In a way, the fire reflects perfectly in Thoma’s eyes and Ayato knows that look: he’s checking on him, making sure Ayato isn’t uncomfortable or in need of anything. Ayato wants to chide and say that Thoma should be enjoying himself, that Ayato certainly can handle his own discomforts, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Look at that,” says the man from before, leaning forward beside Thoma to get a better look at Ayato. “He looks at you just the way I looked at my wife on our wedding day.” He turns away with a fond laugh that starts in his belly and begins flirting playfully with his smiling wife.

Ayato’s heart is in a vice grip. While a master of controlling his emotions, fixing his face into the most unreadable of expressions, it seems that his control has slipped. (And isn’t it funny that it’s always, always Thoma that leads to these little blips of humanity?)

And Ayato almost misses the tips of Thoma’s ears reddening. It’s difficult to see, considering Thoma’s hair is out of its usual ribbon and is combed forward.

“This is nice,” Thoma says, voice barely above a whisper as he meets his lord’s gaze.

Ayato feels butterflies in his stomach and it takes him back. Back to the day eleven years ago when they went searching for crabs on the beach during a rainstorm, laughing over the roar of the thunder, Thoma’s arm catching him around the waist before he slipped on a rock. He had known it then, and he knows it now, an irrevocable, inexplicable truth: eternity did exist, and it was Thoma.

Ayato reaches across the table, then. His fingertips skim the ends of Thoma’s hair as his eyes slowly drift up to Thoma’s. “It is,” he agrees, almost having forgotten what it was that Thoma said in the first place. Needing to fill the air with something else, something more, Ayato adds in a discreet lilt, “As is your hair like this. I don’t remember the last time I saw it down like this.”


Thoma stumbles on his next words, “Really? Sometimes it’s just easier.”

Ayato’s smile comes so naturally. “You haven’t touched your wine. It’d be rude if you don’t,” he says much more seriously, under his breath, hoping that his earlier comment had dissuaded anyone from listening in on the romantic mutterings of lovers.

Thoma hesitates as his gaze wanders to the very full glass of wine set in front of him. “You know how I get, my lord,” he mumbles, ears turning a darker red. “I really shouldn’t.”


“Nonsense,” Ayato insists, hand falling from Thoma’s shoulder to glide delicately down Thoma’s forearm. He hesitates at his wrist, wanting nothing more than to gather his hand back in his and play pretend. “Should you start to strip and stand on the table, I’ll be sure to intervene.”


Thoma pouts. “My lord,” he groans and then regards him with a look Ayato can’t place. “Just a glass, if you really think I should. I wouldn’t want to compromise this.”

“Good boy,” Ayato says without thinking, and the way the words feel on his lips have him seeing absolute stars. He looks away quickly, collecting his hand and tending to the bok choy on his plate before his heart can stampede its way out of his chest and tap-dance for everyone at the goddamn table.

(He just happens to miss the way Thoma shivers next to him, hands gripping at the edges of his hanfu as he gulps down an impressive amount of wine in one go.)

By the time the meal is finished, Ayato is familiar with the names of each of the guild members, their spouses, and even some of their extended family. It’s a warm feeling, one he doesn’t often get when dealing with petty politicians and greedy merchants back home. They aren’t all bad, of course, but the refreshing breeze that is this guild, on faraway shores, reinvigorates Ayato in a way he wasn’t expecting.

Ayato is told that given how nice the weather is, the party will continue out on the deck that overlooks the harbor. A few of the couples have already made their way there, clutching their wine glasses and adorning smiles that charm even him. Ayato lingers, noting the way Thoma is seeking out a fresh glass of water.

“How are you doing?” Ayato asks once they’re out of earshot of the others.

Thoma looks to him, face a pleasant pink likely from the wine. “Just fine,” he says, smiles, and then finally is given a glass of water from the waiter. He takes a sip, eyes still on Ayato over the rim of it. “What about you?”

“Better than I expected to be,” Ayato admits, a hand thoughtfully at his chin as he observes the migration to the outdoors. “It’s charming, really. All of this. I hope to bring some of these customs back with us when we next have a Tri-Commission meeting.”

Thoma’s snort is anything but elegant. Ayato almost laughs when he hears it, too. “Good luck, my lord,” he says and then sets the emptied glass of water down, nearly missing the table. Ayato stows away that observation for later, if needed. He instead focuses on the playful bump of Thoma’s shoulder to his.

“We should go join them,” Thoma suggests.

“Yes, before they start to think we’ve run off together,” Ayato teases, delighting that the words bring an even deeper crimson to Thoma’s face. “I wonder if such a thing would be rude, for star-crossed lovers?”

Thoma’s shove is a little harder this time. Ayato is caught up in a full-body laugh that rattles through his ribs, before his hand is unceremoniously caught and linked with Thoma’s. The laugh dies off as Thoma guides them through the crowd to the glass doors where the moon is strung high in the sky amongst a family of stars.

Ayato sees the panic strewn across Thoma’s face. Ayato feels it rooted in his gut, too, because he hasn’t danced in years when he and Ayaka were forced to a more formal gathering of a noble.

Thoma reaches for a glass of wine off the tray of the waiter at breakneck speed. Ayato doesn’t think to tell him it’s a bad idea given his own sudden desire to replace every ounce of water in his body with osmanthus wine.

“Do you think they’ll notice?” asks Thoma, helplessly. 

Ayato gladly takes a wineglass for himself.

“I’m afraid so. We’re the guest of honors, after all.”

“Oh.” And then less elegantly, “Crap.”

Ayato wants to laugh but he feels a lance of disappointment. Is Thoma truly that bothered by the idea of dancing with him? He tries to compartmentalize that nasty feeling somewhere deep inside where it won’t see the light of day again, but —


“I can’t dance,” Thoma explains, quickly, staring down into the sea of red in his glass. “I tried a few times, your sister made me, I mean, and it … didn’t go well.” He shakes his head, then dutifully adds, “I think she had bruised toes for over a week.”

Ayato’s gaze softens, his fears quickly blown out like a candle in the breezy winds of Mondstadt. “My, what a clumsy one you are,” he jests as he finishes his wine with a few poignant sips. He’s no strange to nursing drinks, but he’s also accustomed to drowning himself in them to numb the rudest of emotions.

Thoma takes the hint. He finishes his wine as quickly as he can, opting to leave some of it still in the glass as he sets it down on one of the stone tables out on the porch. The stars continue to gleam overhead and Ayato thinks they might be laughing at the pair of them. (It’d serve them right, he suspects.)

“Promise you won’t hold it against me?” Thoma murmurs, risking a glance back at his lord’s face as he rejoins his side.


“Well,” Ayato says, blithely, “won’t you be holding me against you?”

Thoma’s eyes blow wide open and Ayato can’t stop himself from laughing. Thoma calms down quickly enough, face red even in the dim light of the lanterns and the moon, as he reaches for Ayato’s right hand.


“Will you ever stop teasing me?” Thoma asks, and it doesn’t really sound like much of a question.

Thoma guides them out to the throng of other couples dancing under the moon. There’s a man playing an instrument Ayato is unfamiliar with, seated up on a stone wall, and the pace is slow in an elegant way only music can be. Thoma needs little instruction, even tipsy; he confidently wraps an arm around the small of Ayato’s waist while the other tangles their fingers, easier than ever before.

“You’re leading?” Ayato wonders, a twitch of a smile.

“I didn’t learn the other way,” Thoma admits, lowering his gaze, embarrassed.

It makes sense, if Ayaka had been trying to teach him. Still, Ayato can’t help but poke fun. “Then, lead me, darling husband. I will greatly enjoy being safely guided, without a single bruised toe as a souvenir.”

Thoma’s whine is adorable and Ayato wants to kiss him for the effort.

So, they begin to dance. Thoma is strangely good at it, for having complained about bruising Ayaka’s feet. Ayato doesn’t call him on it, instead too entranced by Thoma’s everything. It’s a strange feeling, to feel so physically protected. Thoma always provided the Kamisato siblings with a sense of safety, but this he felt deep in his bones, seeping through his skin at every point of connection of their bodies. If a reckless God were to appear, to try and strike Ayato down, he feels as if Thoma would keep him safe without regard for his own safety.

Ayato can see the way the starlight catches in the lily pin in Thoma’s hair; it’s tucked just over his left ear, keeping the hair there pulled back in a beautiful sweep. Ayato’s hands feel restless, even if one is squeezing Thoma’s as they dance across the stones that were laid here so many years ago. Ayato feels both at peace and in the midst of an all-consuming wildfire.

“They’re all very impressed by you,” Ayato tells him as they navigate the makeshift dance floor, closer to the water’s edge. “I’m not an ounce surprised. You always handle yourself with the utmost professionalism at these sort of things.”

Thoma’s laugh tastes like honey so close to Ayato like this. “Yeah? I’m glad. I never really know where I stand with the factions back home. Glad to know you think I’m not mucking up the Kamisato name.”

Ayato knows it’s a joke, one at Thoma’s own expense, but Ayato won’t let it stand. His hand that’s at Thoma’s shoulder tightens and then slides further back, nails greeting the nape of his husband’s neck. “You could never,” he says, plainly, sternly. “And I don’t wish to hear you say it, even in jest, ever again.”

Thoma stares at him for a second, almost missing the next beat. He recovers quickly enough, eyes shooting to the right toward the ocean. “Of course. I’m sorry, my lord.”

Whatever electricity had been building seems to fizzle. Currents turn to sparks turn to stagnant air as the song ends and Thoma pulls away, murmuring something about needing to get them some waters so they won’t suffer a hangover the next morning. Ayato watches him go, heart jammed uncomfortably in his throat, clawing its way up even higher, desperate to spill out his mouth and beg Thoma to think more highly of himself.

Before Thoma returns, their host catches Ayato. She starts to list out the itinerary for tomorrow: business talks in the morning, followed by the official opening of the Lantern Rite, complete with lighting the first of many xiao lanterns. She goes on to say that the paddleboat down at the pier are a favorite pick of young couples this time of the year and that her husband brought her there on their first date, long ago.

As Thoma begins to return to Ayato’s side, never gone for too long, she lowers her voice.

“Not often are we given something as precious as love in this world. Marriage, to some, is a matter of prestige, a means to an end. To find true happiness in it… it should never be squandered.”

She walks away, as cryptically as she came, leaving Ayato blinking and off-center.

“Did I miss anything important?” Thoma asks, the dreariness from moments ago having lifted as he offers Ayato a glass of water.

Ayato doesn’t take the glass at first. Quietly, he says, less to Thoma and more to himself, “No, no you haven’t. But I may have.”

Thoma doesn’t hear it.

The walk back to the Inn is pleasant. It’s late and the wind off the ocean is sobering. Thoma is handling his liquor surprisingly well, and Ayato is both grateful he doesn’t need to peel him away from the party or pick him off the floor. (Still, there’s a part of Ayato that wishes that Thoma had been drunker, had been looser with his words, had let the moment wash over him in a way it never had before.)

Ayato updates Thoma on the plans for the next day, but once that’s done, the conversation meanders. They talk of the dishes they’ve shared together, the new legends they’ve learned of the Yaksha, of the late Rex Lapis and humanity’s march towards ruling itself. They discuss the merits of each, and then they devolve into gossiping about the guild members in the kindest of ways, wondering whose children will end up with whose.

By the time they make it to the Inn, Ayato has lost track of the time and his heart. His smile is unguarded, warm, and the haunting words of their host remain buried in the dips of his ears, waiting to replay when he least expects it. But, for now, he feels lost in the tranquility Thoma always brings.

The Inn is just as quiet. The trek toward their room is spent in comfortable silence, the day seemingly catching up to both of them. By now, Ayato has noticed a slight slur to Thoma’s words, a little stumble to his step, and it’s cute. Ayato knows Thoma hates when he’s tipsy, claims that he talks too much and acts a bit too animated, but Ayato sees it so rarely that it’s a definite treat, a rare glimpse that Thoma shows only a few.

By the time they make it to their room, Ayato is thinking of all the things he should have said under the moonlight. He thinks of missed opportunities that span decades and he wonders if things had gone differently, if he had the courage to tell Thoma how he felt the night he asked him to stay, if love could have grown between them. And Ayato, for the first time, thinks that he may have shut the door on them long ago, single-handedly and on accident.

So by the time they make it to their room, Ayato is lost in thoughts and ignorant to the fact that Thoma has unlocked the door and been standing in the threshold for over thirty seconds, staring at him. When Ayato comes back to reality, regret bitter in his gut and heavy on his tongue, it’s not to Thoma’s smile but to a hand gently reaching up to brush through his hair.

Ayato is paralyzed.

Thoma’s fingers drift through the strands until they find the lily pin clipped high above Ayato’s right ear. Gently, he undoes it, fingers moving to brush free Ayato’s hair down long from where it stubbornly stays bunched up.

“Thoma?”

Thoma’s eyes are warm, they always are, and it makes Ayato feel heady. “Yeah?”

“Do you regret it?”


Thoma’s smile vanishes. He blinks, uncertain and vision a little blurrier, and then he laughs. It’s a raw noise as his hand falls away and his body stiffens. Ayato wants to take it back, shove the words back down his own curt throat and just rewind. But he can’t, he’s human and he’s flawed and so desperately in love and uncertain what to do with all of it.

“No,” Thoma says, decisively, frowning. “I wouldn’t have changed a thing, my lord. I’m sorry that you even have to ask.”

And Ayato knows he’s being so, so selfish, implying anything other than ardent emotion, but he never outgrew that selfish streak of his, did he? Even when he put his family before his own needs, he still could never, can’t ever, still won’t —

“I’m going to shower before bed. If you’re asleep before me, I hope you have sweet dreams, Dewdrop.”

— stop sabotaging himself.

Ayato watches Thoma disappear into their room and the restroom. He’s left standing in the doorway, a million thoughts and regrets buzzing in his head, a heart aching and the haunting words of his host now drilling into the sides of his skull.

He hadn’t meant to ask Thoma if he regretted staying. Hadn’t even meant to ask him if he regretted signing up for a parody of a marriage.

He had simply meant to ask: do you regret the fact that you and I never gave it a chance?

Chapter Text

Against all odds, Ayato falls asleep before Thoma’s shower is finished. That doesn’t mean he stays asleep.

When the bed dips beside him, Ayato’s eyes blearily open. The room is cast in a low glow from the light on the bedside table and Thoma’s back is to him. The strong line of muscles flex as he tugs on an undershirt, casting the towel around his waist to the far corner of the bed. At this angle, Ayato can see the divot in Thoma’s lower back and the beginnings of the curve of his ass. Heat gathers at the base of Ayato’s neck and not for the first time does he have to steady a viciously quick heartbeat.

Ayato’s eyes are usually on Thoma. Whenever they share the same space, the same air, Ayato’s eyes inevitably land on his chief retainer. Even if there are countless other objectively more interesting things to be staring at, Ayato’s eyes always roam back to Thoma.

(Maybe he should have known then that this herculean effort to repress his feelings was doomed from the start.)

So even if Ayato’s eyes are always on Thoma, Thoma still notices each and every time. Ayato’s eyes are unfocused and almost miss the twist in Thoma’s torso before he lays down on top of the sheets. He faces Ayato this time. He makes everything look so easy.

Ayato isn’t sure if it’s to his dismay or relief that Thoma is wearing boxers. It’s hard to focus on that when Thoma’s wet hair clings to the sides of his face and he looks fifteen again, with rosy cheeks and dreams, staring sweetly at the boy he’ll be shackled to for years to come. If Thoma had known it back then, how this all would play out, would he have changed his mind?

Foolish, Ayato admonishes in his head. They’ve been down this road before: there is no person more loyal than Thoma. Thoma himself has shown visible discomfort at the mere suggestion that Ayato wonders if he’s truly happy.

“Did I wake you?” Thoma asks, sounding more sober than Ayato feels.

(And it’s hard to discern if he’s drunk off the feeling or the wine.)

“Honestly?” Thoma nods. “Yes, but that’s all right. I was only asleep for a few moments,” Ayato assures him.

Thoma nods again, the gesture getting somewhat lost in the down of the pillows his head is resting against. Thoma smells faintly of whatever herb-scented soap he’s used, and Ayato gives himself just five seconds to foolishly think: but above all else, he smells like Thoma.

All right, he thinks. Enough of that.

“Thank you,” says Ayato, surprising himself.

“For what?” Thoma’s grin is lazy as he gets more comfortable, nuzzling his body into the comforter he’s laying on. “Though, whatever it is, I’m happy to have done it.”

Ayato feels the truth of those words in his gut, but they settle in his heart, permanently affixed. “Such a smooth talker. No wonder all of Liyue is charmed by you,” he whispers, lips twitching up into that teasing grin that comes so naturally with Thoma.

“I wouldn’t say all of Liyue,” Thoma jokes and he’s met with a dramatic eye-roll from Ayato. Laughing, he adds, “I think it’s going well. They seem to like you, too. That’s what’s important. I’m happy to do whatever it takes to make this a success.”


“Angling for a raise?” Ayato questions him but his tone is so light that there’s no bite to the words.


Ayato’s eyes watch the flames flickering on the wall behind Thoma. Thoma’s shadow is a beautiful blanket of darkness that feels similar to the inexplicable comfort that being swaddled by Thoma’s shields brings. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice the hand reaching out to him until it lands on his forearm that’s peeking out from the sheets. Thoma’s hands are always warm, but now, they feel like they sear his skin in a way that Ayato can’t possibly begin to describe.

“It’s really been ten years, huh,” Thoma says to the quiet of the night. His fingers float along Ayato’s skin, featherlight touches that drive Ayato to the brink of insanity. “Time flies.”


“Indeed,” Ayato agrees, not even needing to stop to think; he’s been rendered incapable of doing that for approximately five seconds. “Why, I remember when you were too young to grow a beard.”

Thoma’s face flushes red and the hand that’s been torturing Ayato pivots to playfully shove at his shoulder. Ayato laughs and closes his eyes, hugging the blankets tighter around himself. This should be enough, he thinks. It’s been enough for ten years, so why is the urge to defy fate suddenly so strong?

“I grew stubble before you did,” grumbles Thoma.

Ayato clicks his tongue. “Yes, but yours was horribly patchy. If I recall correctly, you gave yourself a nasty gash on the jaw when you tried shaving for the first time.”

Thoma, still flustered, begins to fuss with his slowly drying bangs. “All kids do that. It’s a rite of passage.”


“Not all children,” taunts Ayato, waiting.



Thoma’s smile is reckless, and he says so care-freely, “Well, yeah. You’re special,” as if it doesn’t just wreck Ayato to his core.

Ayato’s words get stuck in his throat. He stares at Thoma for a long moment, analyzing each word, the placement of them together, the way Thoma’s chest rises and falls a little heavier than usual, the way muscles on his neck keep flexing. Ayato tries to logically put the pieces together but he falls short. He isn’t left suffering for long, because Thoma sits up on the bed enough to rip back the blankets on his side and then squirm under them.

Ayato is acutely aware of the fact that Thoma is still facing him, that their knees are barely touching, that he can almost feel Thoma’s breath.

“Do you shave everyday?” is the brilliant question Ayato decides to go with.

Thoma isn’t expecting it. Or, if he is, he looks surprised enough to be convincing. Thoma’s chuckle is a low rumble and Ayato feels distinctly too hot for sheets. It’d be rude to kick them off now, so he stays put, a single brow quirking at his retainer.

“I do, yeah,” laughs Thoma. “Why?”

Ayato feels so deeply, trusts so completely, yet can’t make sense of why he is so incapacitated when he’s around Thoma when the air thickens. He parts his lips to speak, but Thoma surprises him.


(Doesn’t he always?)

Thoma’s hand is gentle as it closes the small distance between them. His knuckles glide along the jut of Ayato’s jaw, ending at his chin before sweeping back upward to retrace the line.

“Lucky. Not even a hint of stubble,” says Thoma like it makes all the sense in the world, all of it, all of this.

Ayato has never been touched in such a way. It feels intimate in a nonsensical way, but it still doesn’t fail to make his mouth dry and his body vibrate with renewed energy. The sleep is stomped out of him and he blinks at Thoma once, twice, thrice for good measure.

“It’s a patented Kamisato art,” Ayato whispers, words slow and dripping out like a barely leaking faucet. “You, on the other hand,” he says again, hand lifting, crossing over Thoma’s that is still there, still on him. Ayato’s hand lands on Thoma’s cheek, a little higher than where Thoma’s is on his, and the wide breadth of the sweep of his thumb is enough to find the stirrings of little hairs at Thoma’s jaw. “Hah,” laughs Ayato, breathless, “just as I thought.”

“Ayato.”

Ayato can easily count on both his hands the number of times Thoma has used his given name. This makes the tenth. Ayato’s mind is spinning in all sorts of ways, back and forth, and he is hyperaware of the fact that Thoma’s still touching his face and staring at him like he’s some planet he’s orbiting.

“What’s going on?” Thoma asks.

Ayato checks the urge to shrink away; his ancestors would laugh at him for the fear that grips his heart, being exposed in such a vulnerable way. Be brave, they’d say. Be a man, they’d insist. Do your family proud, they’d all but demand, forgetting the simple fact that Ayato was only a child when he made his decision to put his family before himself.

Forgetting that the only decision Ayato has ever wanted to make is one he’s paralyzed from making.

In some universe, Ayato asks, ‘what do you mean?’ and he’s met with a tired look and Thoma telling him goodnight. In another one, he tells him ‘nothing’ and Thoma pulls away without a single word and turns his back on him. In a third, Thoma gives him the pleasure of asking another question to divert from the inflection point they’re both staring down.

Here, Ayato breathes out a soft sigh. It stutters, catching in his throat, and he’s certain his face is a lovely shade of red despite the fact his skin feels cold to the touch. Anxiety grips him in a way he hasn’t felt since he accepted destiny long ago, and there’s a stiffness to his limbs immobilizing him. There’s suddenly not enough air in the room, and his heart is sinking into his stomach.

“If you ever want to talk about it,” Thoma says, words softer than Ayato deserves, “I’m here.”

There’s a brush of Thoma’s thumb just below Ayato’s eye as he pulls his hand away and rolls onto his stomach. Ayato’s hand falls off Thoma, allowing him that space, the moment fleetingly slipping away like a faraway vision, an island disappearing into the mist or the eye of a storm.

By the time Ayato has reasoned it out, Thoma snoring very faintly beside him, Ayato’s pulse finally returning to something human, it’s so glaringly obvious.

Thoma is waiting, and Ayato aches to think how long he’s kept him in this cruel purgatory.

The day goes on like any other.

Ayato tends to the pleasant banter with future business partners as they guide he and his husband around the harbor. They learn of the intricacies of the guild and the potential synergies that would make them a good fit for the Yashiro Commission. Tea is shared and laughs are enjoyed, and the world seems to forget the smoke that means fire that started late last night.

Ayato is capable of compartmentalizing. He’s said it a hundred times to himself. Today truly tests that.

Thoma acts as if nothing is wrong, a smile strewn across his face and his eyes crinkled with joy as children grab at his hands to lead him over to the sparklers as the sun begins to set in the sky. Their host tells Ayato that they’ll be able to set off their own xiao lanterns into the night much later, that they should enjoy the food and music before they draw up any contracts in the morning.

Ayato watches as Thoma is dragged around the little square, one child having charmed him enough to earn a ride on his shoulders. There’s a benevolence in each breath Thoma takes and Ayato wishes he could bottle it and use it on half of his men because there’s no one as compassionate as Thoma. It’s something that can’t be taught.

When Thoma rejoins him, out of breath and grinning, Ayato smiles. And like always, it’s unguarded, even if it shows its age.

One of the elderly couples from the night before is nearby and audibly commenting about how delightful Thoma, that he should be invited to visit more and that his husband is as beautiful as he is smart. Thoma knows Ayato can hear it, has that look in his eye that he gets when they’re conspiring together, and Ayato feels lovesick all over again.

“Hey,” Thoma greets him, arms coming around his waist as he tugs him closer.

Their foreheads almost touch and Ayato nearly steps on Thoma’s foot as he tries to regain a semblance of balance.

“Having fun?” Ayato teases. He feels at home in Thoma’s arms like this, seeing the starlight catch in the corners of Thoma’s eyes from this close up.

“Couldn’t say no to them,” Thoma says, sheepish, chuckling, and then he’s pulling back just enough to reach for one of Ayato’s hands. “But you look bored. Let’s go do something together.”

The words brand him again, right over his heart, and Ayato thinks, wouldn’t that just be something?

They walk, hands comfortably adjoined, back toward the bustling market area. The streets are lined with shops and pop-up vendors and the smell of delicacies drifts in the air. The sun has fully set by this point and the array of colors from the lanterns and sparklers is magical.

They stop at a fireworks vendor who is overburdened with customers. They’ll be quick, Thoma insists, wanting to see his wares and not be in the man’s hair for too long. Thoma guides them to the corner of the cart and begins to inspect the variety of fireworks. They notice a few customers tapping the top of the cylinders, which produces a brief sparkle of color. A sample, a woman says, giggling, as she taps hers and delights in the pink glitter that shoots up into the air.

Thoma gives his lord a sidelong glance and Ayato is already reaching for one. They inspect them with care, noting that if you press them too quickly in a row, the firework will shoot off into the sky, like a rocket, and explode. Ayato has heard the vendor muttering about it to a few customers, saying that if they do that, they’ll still need to pay him.

Ayato is distracted when Thoma tests one that ends up as a gorgeous chartreuse. Unthinkingly, Ayato reaches out, stilling Thoma’s wrist before he can put the firework away. Their eyes meet, Ayato’s fingers lingering on Thoma’s skin, and he says in a voice that was meant for last night and not the crowded streets of Liyue, “It’s captivating. It reminds me of your eyes.”

Ayato would have liked to analyze Thoma’s reaction, used it to add credence to his theory that Thoma may feel the same way, but the moment is lost when Thoma fumbles with the firework and ends up bopping it on the top with surprising force.

Thoma yelps as the firework shoots up out of his hands and into the sky. As promised, it whizzes in the air until it finally explodes in a gorgeous array of green, raining down like a waterfall in various streams.

They’re only allowed a moment of awe, because the vendor is stomping over, face a beet red, fist raised and looking as if he’s about to charge.

Thoma’s laugh is not what Ayato expects to come next. Bewildered, he looks to Thoma who is grinning like the madman Ayato excused him of being when they glided off the cliff. Their eyes meet and Thoma winds their fingers together and abruptly drags Ayato away, taking off into a sprint.

Off they go, into the lantern-lit streets. The vendor is hot on their trail, screaming curses in Liyue’s language that neither of them can understand. Thoma’s laughs haven’t stopped and it’s ludicrous enough that Ayato starts to laugh, too.

Quickly, they ascend the stairwell outside their Inn. The vendor is a block away and with their darting in and out of the throngs of families and couples, they hope they’ve managed to lose him.

Ayato stops at the second landing, breathless and feeling fourteen again when nothing mattered. Needing to regain his breath, Ayato leans back against the railing and shakily pushes his hair out of his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he laughed that hard, acted that foolish, lived that much.


Thoma stands across from him, similarly disheveled. Ayato admires the look, really he does, and the words come so easily that it scares him: “Heavens, you really riled him up, Firefly.”

He hasn’t called him that in years, either.

Thoma’s arms reclaim their rightful place around Ayato’s waist and draw him close. The hug is bone-crushing and Ayato misses the way Thoma used to hug him and Ayaka when they returned from overnight trips in the city when they were kids. He misses the way Thoma used to have sleepovers in one of their rooms, with sleeping bags and snacks and ghost stories. He misses the days when Thoma helped him sneak out at night and walked along the moonlit beach, never worrying about what the future may hold.

Ayato has spent so long being Lord Kamisato that he forgot to be Ayato.


Thoma holds him tightly and Ayato is unsurprisingly fine with it. He can feel Thoma’s heart rapidly beating against his chest, trying to jump out and get all the closer to Ayato’s, and Ayato hides a smile down into the curve of Thoma’s neck.

“And to think, we’re wanted criminals because your eyes are too pretty,” mumbles Ayato, his hand pressed flat to Thoma’s chest.

Thoma’s laugh is shorter this time, tinged with breathlessness and something else. Ayato feels him shift in his arms, and he wonders if he’s overstepped a line, if he’s misread things, but his fears are quickly silenced.

Thoma nudges Ayato away from his neck, but then compensates for the distance by pushing their foreheads together. It’s a reflex, Ayato will claim, that makes him cling to Thoma tighter.

“I know I said I’d wait for you to come to me,” Thoma whispers, a hand soothingly rubbing down Ayato’s back, “to talk about it. When you were ready—

(Ayato can feel the tip of Thoma’s nose brush against his and it has every nerve-ending in Ayato’s body acting up. There’s a lance of heat that stabs his chest and he focuses on trying to keep his eyes open, not wanting to surrender to the delightful urge to close them and indulge. No, the freckles on Thoma’s face warrant his utmost attention and admiration)

— but I don’t want to wait any longer. I think it’ll kill me, really I do. So I’ll just say it for us, I guess—”

(And Thoma is so close that Ayato has gone cross-eyed. He’s so close that Ayato feels every syllable breathed against his mouth, close but not close enough. The hand at the small of his back grips him harder, as if afraid that if he doesn’t, Ayato will run.)

— whatever you’re worried about, afraid of, I understand. I’m afraid, too. More than I’ve ever been in my entire life—”

(And Thoma sounds pained, so hurt that Ayato wants to cut him off with something as dramatic as a kiss, but he stays eerily quiet, paralyzed all over again by that same anxiety that haunts him.)

—but Ayato, what scares me more than that, what scares me most, is the thought that if I don’t ever get a chance in this lifetime to love you the way you deserve, someone else will.”

Ayato is done running.

Ayato is done feigning ignorance and being willfully blind.


Ayato is done putting his own cowardice before Thoma’s happiness, his own happiness. He’s tired of playing pretend for no one’s actual benefit.

He’s tired.

But, god damnit, he’s in love.

“I think I’m ready,” is what Ayato says, softly, tilting his head a fraction, before he ends Thoma’s suffering and kisses him.

Chapter Text

“My lord, where are you taking me?”

Ayato leads them from the stairwell, up and around the Inn, then back down another. They head to the northern part of the city and then hang a sharp left, where the crowds are thinning and the reflection of the starlight on the pools of water guide him. Ayato leads them up a stone staircase and then pulls Thoma back into him, crashing together like cosmic bodies.

They’re wedged into a nook off to the side, against the smooth stone of the cliffside. The sound of children and cheering can faintly be heard on the wind, but here, crickets are the predominant company.

“You’re going to be soaked,” Thoma breathes against Ayato’s mouth when the temptation grows to be too much.

Ayato is indeed drenched up to his ankles. The lap of the water against his sandals and bare skin pales in contrast to the heat that radiates from Thoma’s palm against his lower back as it slips under his dadai. Thoma’s mouth blazes across his in rhythmic waves; Ayato learns quickly that kissing is similar to dancing, timing your steps with your partner, relenting control and trusting that the result will unfold beautifully.

Thoma breaks for air, his forehead resting to Ayato’s. Thoma’s free hand shakily drifts up and tucks his lord’s hair over his ear. Instantly, Thoma breaks out into a grin.

“Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up,” Thoma promises and Ayato has never, ever heard his voice like this before.

Dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the pure magic of the night, Ayato lets down his walls. One arm tightly winds around Thoma’s shoulders while the other chases for Thoma’s hand up near his face. Once he finds it, he weaves their fingers together and then presses them back against the uneven rock behind himself.

“Tell me something,” Ayato whispers, finally speaking since he first kissed Thoma mere minutes ago.


“Anything.”


Ayato’s eyes wrinkle when he smiles. “Were you going to kiss me last night?”

Thoma’s lips wobble even as he brushes them faintly to Ayato’s, a sort of half-kiss to tide them over. “I was,” he admits, and then firmer, squeezing at Ayato’s hip, “just like I always try to do every night that you’re near me.”

It’s heartbreakingly romantic and Ayato uncharacteristically inhales loud enough for it to be considered a gasp.

“Archons,” Ayato says in a hushed tone, “you truly mean that, don’t you?”

Thoma’s rueful laugh reverberates through Ayato’s chest. “I would never lie to you.”

Ayato has accepted that long ago as one of the few immutable facts of the universe. And yet, each and every time he hears it, it makes his ears flood with a heat that spreads across his face and knocks the composed commissioner off his game.

“Why didn’t you?” asks Ayato and he isn’t sure if he means last night or the past ten years.

“Well,” Thoma murmurs, pressing their hands a little harder to the stone behind Ayato, his hips pressing all the closer to Ayato’s, leaving no room between their bodies, “can you really blame me for not knowing how you felt? Every time I thought I had my answer, you pulled away. I don’t just mean physically.”

There’s sadness in that voice that Ayato detects. The worst part is that he already knows he’s the cause of it.

Gently, Ayato cants his head to the left so that he can seek out another brush of their mouths, catching Thoma’s lower lip between his own for a fleeting second. With each glance, word and look, he feels emboldened.

“I love when you do that,” Thoma admits, the words getting lost in the slow roll of Ayato’s lips.

They kiss for another few seconds. By all accounts, it’s chaste, never getting any deeper than a nip here or there. It’s needed and also a necessary placeholder for Ayato to formulate the best possible way to explain ten years of missteps. It’s rare that the head of the Kamisato Clan is mistaken, and even rarer when he feels remorse so deeply.

The honesty is raw as it tumbles out of Ayato, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” Thoma says, fast, kissing away the quiver to Ayato’s voice, “I know.”

Ayato continues, though. “I suppose we’re really having this conversation out here,” he muses, highly aware of the fact they’re dripping and in the dark and that anyone could overhear or question them for making out against a rock in a mostly public place, but when did they ever truly fit convention? “I hope you understand that I was conflicted in not telling you. Had I said it, I would have felt as if I were pressuring you into an answer you truly didn’t mean.”

Thoma’s quizzical blinking has Ayato’s stomach knotting but he’s thankful that Thoma hasn’t pulled away.

“Even after all these years?”

He doesn’t sound upset, and maybe that’s worse. Ayato knows he’ll need to be transparent about this; he usually is with Thoma, but this is exposing a shard of his heart he’s rarely even let himself embrace.

Ayato can hear the roar of the waves down on the coast, can hear the thrashing of his heart against his ribcage, and he knows that this is something that must be said. “No, Thoma.” And he takes tilts their bound hands off the wall and brings them to the scant space between their faces. There, he lays a kiss to the crest of each of Thoma’s knuckles. “What I mean by that, is that when I asked if you would marry me, I already knew I didn’t want anyone else in such a way. Not just then, but ever.”

Thoma stares at him. The waves lap louder against the pier and Ayato keeps his gaze squarely on Thoma, even if every ounce of him is telling him to pull away.

“Oh.”

And then Thoma is cupping his face, rougher than before, more desperately than before, and dragging him back in for a kiss. Ayato supposes they’ve talked enough for their young lifetimes. Ayato’s eyes fall shut and he surrenders to the torrent of raw emotions that hit him. Years of regret crawl over him and burn away at the loving way Thoma holds him close, kisses him like if he doesn’t, he’ll turn to dust.

Ayato feels the stubble pleasantly burning his skin when Thoma switches angles. His hand flies up to tangle into Thoma’s hair, carding through the strands and letting it loose from its ribbon. Impatiently, he parts his lips, no longer waiting for Thoma to prompt him to do so.

Thoma takes it. The wet slide of tongue is different than the warm mesh of lips and Ayato trembles in Thoma’s hold. The desperate noise he hears in the back of Thoma’s throat suggests that he’s just as wrecked by the new sensation as Ayato is. Good, Ayato thinks, good.

He isn’t sure how long they kiss for, but when Thoma breaks for air, Ayato is drunk off the feeling. He leans off the rock wall and peppers a series of open-mouthed kisses to Thoma’s jaw, delighting in the drag of stubble against his cheek. When Ayato’s mouth reaches Thoma’s throat, Thoma’s hands have started to explore up and down Ayato’s sides, reverently and in a way he hasn’t before.

When a hand reaches his waist, at the sash on his hanfu, it’s questioning. Ayato nearly tells him yes, in a breathless moan, but the good sense that’s kept him alive all these years nags at the back of his mind.

“Out here?” Ayato laughs, shoulders shaking and unaware of the intricacies of what the want that pounds through both of their veins entails. “That’s awfully bold of you, Thoma. What if someone were to see?”

Thoma’s groan is low, frustrated and almost pouty as he rests his head down on Ayato’s shoulder. The slight shift of Thoma’s body affords Ayato the gratifying privilege of feeling a hard pressure against his thigh.

“You’re right,” Thoma admits, and that low quake to his voice has Ayato seeing stars. Oh, how he wants to drown in it. “Let’s head back?” he suggests, hopeful.

“Carry me?”

Thoma snorts as he slowly pulls away, extracting their limbs one by one, becoming Thoma again and not them. Restlessly, Thoma fusses with the band of fabric at his waist, adjusting his hanfu so the bulge isn’t so obvious.


Ayato clicks his tongue. “Is that a no?”

“I should probably keep my hands to myself until we’re in the room,” Thoma admits, and Ayato can make out the fact that the tip of Thoma’s ears are a hot red. “I don’t think I could hold back,” he says, a laugh, and adds, “and I don’t want anyone else to see you like that.”

Oh, how possessive, Ayato thinks, and he considers forsaking every ounce of sensibility and asking Thoma to prove it.

Right.

Ayato pushes off the wall and smooths his hair back into some semblance of neatness. He regards Thoma with a softer look.

“Lead the way, then.”

Ayato wakes to Thoma’s fingers streaking rays of sunshine through his hair. The press of fingertips feels lovely this early in the morning and he closes his eyes to indulge in it a bit longer.

Thoma must have noticed him stirring, because he shifts in the blankets, adjusting his arm around Ayato to tug him closer to his bare chest. Ayato goes easily, forehead pressing between Thoma’s collarbones.


“You that tired?” Thoma whispers and Ayato doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s grinning.

“I wonder why,” yawns Ayato, shivering as Thoma’s fingers begin a lazy dance up and down his spine. “When in heavens did we end up falling asleep?”

“It was pretty late,” admits Thoma, laughing, before he presses a soft kiss to the crown of Ayato’s head. “We can sleep in, if you want. We don’t have plans until lunch.”

Ayato thinks back to last night. The clumsy desperation in which he peeled away Thoma’s clothes, the devoted touch of Thoma’s hands holding him steady as he stole his breath and so-called innocence in equally impressive feats. Perhaps had they been home, in the quiet of the Estate, Thoma would have claimed all of him. Ayato thinks waiting for that may be in their best interests, because Ayato is already addicted to Thoma’s touch as it is, and he thinks that if he were to feel Thoma so fully, he would insist they stay in bed the rest of their trip.

“We don’t have plans yet,” Ayato corrects, tilting his head up a fraction higher to graze his sleepy lips to the crook of Thoma’s neck.

Thoma’s gasp is rough with sleep and still unbelievably soft. “Again?"


Ayato presses a sweet kiss to the same spot. “Perhaps not. I can’t spoil you right off the bat, can I?”

Thoma makes a noise that sounds like a complaint. Satisfied by it, Ayato chuckles and rolls away far enough so that he can see Thoma’s face. He never strays far, though, Thoma’s arm still wrapped around his middle.

“Why do I feel like we’re acting like teenagers?” Thoma laughs, hand coming back up to loosely cup the back of his lord’s head. “Guess we never really got a chance to, huh?”



Ayato’s noise is agreeable. He closes his eyes and enjoys the comfort Thoma’s embrace brings.

“We also never had a chance to ruin our marital bed. A shame.”

“We never had one of those.”

“Ah, something else we ought to fix when we return home.”

Thoma playfully smacks at Ayato’s ass. Ayato rolls back closer, again, pulled by their chemistry, and leans up for a proper good morning kiss. Ayato can feel Thoma melt against it, and he isn’t alone; Ayato’s limbs turn to jelly and he wonders if wanting to stay in bed and kiss his partner until he can feel his soul is enough of an excuse to cancel plans.

“When we get back,” Thoma whispers, not leaving Ayato’s lips, “what will that look like?”

Ayato thinks it’s the most poetic and Thoma way to ask the obvious: will this change things? And if so, how? Ayato has thought about it in the fleeting moments between kisses or heated touches. He shifts to hook an ankle with Thoma’s, dragging his foot along his calf.

“Whatever you would like,” Ayato begins, can feel the tense of Thoma’s muscles. “But I would propose, if you’re comfortable with it, that we change our sleeping arrangements, at the bare minimum. It’s remarkable how cold it gets in the mornings.”

Thoma’s smile is crooked in all the best and most beautiful ways. “Yeah? I think I can do that. I’ll miss my plants.”

“In your room? Bring them. The more the merrier.”

Thoma smacks his ass again, a little harder. This time, Ayato laughs and rocks back into it, pressing to that palm and making Thoma’s face turn scarlet. Thoma gawks at him and Ayato presses a teasing kiss to the tip of Thoma’s nose.

“Don’t tease if you don’t want to be teased back, Thoma.”

They spend the next hour in bed, anyway.

They didn’t have a chance to light lanterns the night before, but after a slew of meetings that left Ayato with a mild headache, they’re given a second chance yet again.

The sun is dipping below the water’s edge, far out from Liyue, and Thoma hasn’t stopped holding his hand since dinner ended. Ayato wonders if the guild has noticed the shift between them, and if they have, if they wonder if it’s the romance in the air or something more profound. Either way, Ayato thinks, it’s their little secret.

Thoma presses a chaste kiss to Ayato’s temple as Ayato tries to find a decent place for them to set up their lantern and scribble down their respective wishes.

“Have you given yours anymore thought?” Ayato asks as he taps the feather-tip of the pen to his lips.

To his credit, he still doesn’t know what he’ll write. Everything he could have possibly wished for has come true in the past few months, and he supposes he ought to instead focus the good fortune on his sister and hope that she, too, find someone to cherish her. He smiles and writes it down quickly before he passes it to Thoma.


Thoma cradles the little slip of paper in his hands. A crane drifts by them and Thoma never looks away from Ayato.

“I knew what I was going to write for days now,” he confidently says.

“So decisive,” Ayato hums as he sets up his own wish in the lantern.

He holds out his hand, waiting for Thoma to hand him his, expecting him to fold it so that Ayato can’t see its contents. What Thoma hands him instead is a beautifully inked piece of paper, words facing the heavens. Ayato almost puts it in the lantern without looking, but he catches the nervous flexing of Thoma’s fingers and the way pink spreads across his freckles.

So, Ayato looks.

Scrawled in the most beautiful font Ayato has ever seen are the words, Will you marry me? Again?

Chapter Text

“You’re back!”

The Shirasagi Himegimi, poised and perfect, well-mannered and pleasantly gentle, loved by all of Inazuma, bounds like a newborn fawn into her brother’s arms. There, she buries her face against his arm and nearly knocks Ayato to the ground. Thankfully, there’s a steadying hand appears at his lower back at just the right moment, fingers curling into his jacket longer than they would have mere weeks ago.

“Did we keep you waiting?” Ayato teases as his arms comfortably loop his sister’s small frame.

“You did,” Ayaka breathes out, unabashed, as she hugs him even tighter.

Ayato spares a glance over the top of her head to Thoma beside him. Thoma smiles back, soothingly kind, and sets their bags down at his feet, anticipating Ayaka’s next move. As predicted, she finally lets go of her brother and then flies into Thoma’s waiting arms.

“I hope he treated you fairly,” Ayaka is mumbling into chest.


“Of course, my lady,” says Thoma without missing a beat. “If he hadn’t, you’d be the first to know.”

“Good,” she mumbles, petulant but with endless fondness. She stays in Thoma’s arms for a few more moments before she peeks over at her brother who is standing with his hands neatly laced together. “You’ll have to tell me all about it over lunch. I’ll have the cooks start it,” she says quietly.

“We’re not shoving Thoma back into the kitchen immediately?” Ayato ponders aloud.

Ayaka’s glare is worth it.

Finally, Ayaka extracts herself from the pair of them. As if remembering her age, she adjusts the wrinkles in her clothes and affixes them both with a sweeter smile that’s still just as excited as the unabashed joy from before. Even if decades pass, she is still the younger sister that Ayato remembers sneaking into his room during storms.

Ayaka playfully swats at her brother with her fan before she disappears back beyond the gates, likely to instruct the cooks to prepare Thoma and Ayato’s favorites. Ayato wouldn’t expect any less from her.


It feels nice to be home, Ayato thinks, as the breeze rushes past them. It carries on it sakura petals and Ayato is instantly struck with the silliest urge to decorate Thoma’s hair with them. So, he does, reaching over to place an errant petal just above Thoma’s ear.


Thoma, in the midst of retrieving their bags from the ground, blinks in overt confusion. He must have missed what Ayato did, because his gaze is trained on Ayato’s too innocent smile, as if trying to riddle out its origins.

“My, my, what do we have here?” Ayato asks as he reaches back out and plucks the petal from his hair, pinching it behind his index finger and thumb. “Why, it’s a sakura petal. That’s ten years good luck. How fortunate for you, Thoma.”

Thoma’s chuckle erupts from his stomach. The burning sound settles in the pit of Ayato’s stomach so damn hotly. “If we’re going to be married for ten more years, I’ll need it,” says Thoma, cheekily tossing his lord a look before he trails after Ayaka into the Estate.

Ayato has never been more in love with him.

Ayaka finds them outside of Ayato’s quarters. Thoma is in the middle of shuffling both of their bags into his room when Ayaka turns the corner and quickens her pace.

“Lunch will be ready soon,” she says, her hands behind her back as she approaches. “I’ve asked them to have it ready out in the gardens. It’s too beautiful of a day not to enjoy the weather.”

She pauses, gaze drifting from her brother to the bags, plural, that are disappearing into the bedroom. Accordingly, she quirks a brow, but voices nothing on the matter. Thoma must not notice it because he returns with a cheerful grin and dusts his hands off on his thighs. Ayato, on the other hand, is coyly tapping his finger to his lips as he considers his sister’s words.

“While we wait, why don’t I show you some of the pictures we took?”

Ayato reaches into the pocket of his jacket and retrieves his kamera. He flicks it on and then gestures for Ayaka to join his side so that he can start flipping through the pictures. The first few are from the ship they took to Liyue and then of the harbor. From there, it quickly devolves into every other picture being a candid of Thoma, the blonde somewhere in the frame. By the time they reach the Lantern Rite, Ayaka’s brows have disappeared behind her bangs.

“These are very thoughtful pictures,” Ayaka says, her hand covering the budding smirk. “Did you take all of these, brother?”



"Thoma took a few,” Ayato hums, sparing him a glance over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right?”

Thoma’s face is a beet red, as if he’s realizing for the first time just how many pictures Ayato took of him without him noticing.

Thoma stutters out a quick, “just a few, but most of the credit goes to my lord,” before he dutifully tries not to combust into flames.

“Those are beautiful robes,” Ayaka compliments.

They stop on a picture one of the guild members had taken for them: they’re facing the camera, their backs to the sea, the sun low in the sky. Thoma’s arm is tightly wrapped at Ayato’s waist and Ayato is wearing one of the small smiles he reserves just for Thoma. Ayaka blushes, snapping her gaze away from the illuminated screen. It lands on her brother’s left hand, where a new gold band lives.

“You’re wearing a ring?” she asks, grabbing for it without warning. “I didn’t even know you had these.”

Ayato is undaunted. “I’ve been told it’s a Mondstadt tradition to exchange wedding rings. A merchant from Mondstadt happened to be selling them while we were touring the festival.”

Ayaka looks to Thoma. Thoma, to his credit, is pretending to be rather occupied with flipping through the kamera he’s taken from Ayato before it could fall when Ayaka reached for him. His cheeks, though, remain enflamed as the sunlight streaming in through the window catches on his matching ring. As if on a track, Ayaka’s gaze roves back to her brother and she accusingly looks from her brother’s eyes to Thoma’s hand, back and forth, until he seems to catch on.

“Is it so surprising that I’d want to embrace my husband’s culture, too?” Ayato ponders as he wraps an arm around Thoma’s waist and yanks him closer.

Thoma yelps in surprise and nearly drops the kamera. He isn’t given much time to recover before Ayato has settled his chin happily down on Thoma’s shoulder, smiling at him in a way Ayaka has only ever seen when Thoma isn’t paying attention.

This is new.

“But you aren’t really married,” Ayaka repeats for the hundredth and first time and waits.

“Hm. About that,” Ayato says, pleasantly, while Thoma is nervously laughing and giving her a pathetically helpless look, “how do you feel about helping us plan a spring wedding?”

Ayaka throws her hands down at her sides. “I knew it!”

Ayato glances up from his novel as Thoma enters the room wearing a look of utmost focus. In his hands are three potted plants and thrown over his shoulder is a heavy blanket that Ayato remembers Thoma telling him was a gift from his mother years ago.

“Bringing in our new roommates?” Ayato asks as he dog-ears the page and sets the book aside.

Thoma nods, half paying attention, and carries his children over to the windowsill. There, he rearranges a few of the books Ayato has set up there in order to bracket the plants. In the end, the plants serve as bookends and Ayato thinks it may be the cutest thing he’s ever seen Thoma do to date.

“There,” Thoma proudly says, his hands coming down to his hips as he admires his work.


Ayato remains on the futon, sprawled out on top of the sheets, his robe hanging halfway open. The sash at his waist is loose and Ayato has zero intention of fixing it before for many hours.

“It looks charming,” Ayato says and stretches his arms lazily above his head, catlike.


Thoma turns to him, ready to say something, but he finally notices the state of dress his lord is in and the downright filthy look burning across his face. Thoma audibly gulps.

“Hm? Is something wrong, Thoma?” Ayato asks, patting the spot beside him on the futon.

“Nothing,” Thoma says, laughs once, and then makes his way over. He kneels beside the futon and carefully drapes the blanket down at the foot of the futon, mindful not to cover a single bare inch of Ayato with it. “It’s fine to bring this in here, right?”

“Of course.” Ayato uses the angle they’re in to lift his foot into the air and teasingly nudge it under Thoma’s chin. Like this, he can urge his husband’s eyes back toward him. “This is half yours, now, after all.”


“My lord…”

“Ah?”

“…Ayato.”

Ayato smiles at the correction and lowers his foot. The robe slips with it, exposing more of Ayato’s leg and upper thigh as he rests back on his elbows. The look is still smoldering and Thoma seems to linger where he is, eyes washing over every speck of Ayato’s body.


“She caught on much faster than I thought she would,” Ayato says, idly, spreading his legs a fraction, the robe hiking up higher. “I suppose she is just as cunning as I am, at the end of the day.”


Thoma shakes his head and quickly joins Ayato on the futon. A warm hand splays across the peak of one of his thighs. It’s a direct contrast to the coolness of Ayato’s skin.

“I wouldn’t say cunning,” Thoma says as he rubs small circles into the skin. “Smart and observant, is what I would say.”

“Yes, yes,” Ayato says, though his voice is thinning into something a little breathier. “What would you describe me as, then?”

“That’s a dangerous question to ask of me, Ayato,” Thoma mumbles, his fingertips drifting higher, disappearing under the hem of the robe. Green eyes flick back up to Ayato’s face. “If I misspeak, will you kick me out and send me back to my room?”

“Only if you dare to stop touching me,” Ayato whispers, his chest heaving a heavier sigh when Thoma’s fingertips go even higher.

“Never,” Thoma promises and leans in for a kiss, pulling him close.

Their eyes meet and Ayato feels himself melting, vaporizing into the air as Thoma leans in impossibly closer, steadily making his heart pump faster, and Ayato knows, deep down in his heart, in his soul, that this is exactly where they needed to be, this exact moment, where they were destined to be —

“I don’t think I’ve told you yet that I love you, have I?” Ayato whispers into the still of the night, their version of forever.

Thoma’s lips quirk up into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, and breathes against his lips, “I think I finally got the hint.” And then quieter, just for him, for them, “I love you, too. Ayato.”