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"Do you believe that Mondstadt winds can reach even the furthest of lands?" his father wonders, deep in thought, his back illuminated by the afternoon glow of the sun coming through the window.
It's a typical summer day, crickets and cicadas can be heard singing in disjointed harmony while the already present humidity is even more overbearing in the small, cramped kitchen. Sweat rests on Thoma's brow, finds its place between his shoulder blades and drips down his back, turning his skin clammy as it dries. He's elbows deep in a pile of pie dough, flour all over his arms and forest green apron, resembling the powdery snow of Dragonspine that sometimes manages to find its way to the city. Various berries and fruits are in little wooden bowls stationed across the table, a pie pan in the middle of the workplace next to a rolling pin, awaiting Thoma's eager hands.
As he straightens from being bent over the dough, he nearly falls off the three-legged stool he uses to reach the table, letting out a little yelp as he stabilizes himself, small hands struggling to hold onto the wooden surface.
He breathes a sigh of relief when the stool stops wobbling, and looks curiously towards his father, who stands as still as a statue, unmoving. He seems to be stuck in a different world, gazing serenely at the overgrown courtyard outside of their kitchen window, lost in thought. But it seems almost as if he’s looking further beyond, to a distant, faraway place. Thoma wonders what he’s searching for, or perhaps, who.
He recalls the question, and even though it seemed rhetorical, Thoma still bites his lip as he mulls it over. His unexpected silence seems to wake up his father from his strange trance, and he huffs in amusement while turning around to face Thoma. His father’s dark eyes feel a touch colder when they fall on him, but Thoma chalks it up to the too hot kitchen air. Anything would seem cold in comparison.
“Never mind that, Frieda is bound to come home soon. Let’s get that pie cooking, hm?”
Thoma nods enthusiastically, grabbing the rolling pin as his father rolls up the white sleeves of his worker’s uniform and comes over to place the pie dough onto the table. Thoma chatters aimlessly about whatever comes to mind while rolling out the dough; the upcoming bard competition, local gossip, a brown-haired girl he plays tag with, how a kind man gave him a red pinwheel as a gift, and before long, he’s too busy and distracted to notice his father steal one last, longing glance towards the open window.
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His father doesn’t speak much of Inazuma, but he doesn’t need to. His words still carry a foreign accent, his r’s are more similar to an el sound, and most obviously, his looks and the way he carries himself immediately give him away as a child born in the Land of Eternity, and not Freedom.
The people of Mondstadt point out these differences in increasingly unkind ways, words that even Thoma can’t escape, no matter if his mama is born and raised Mond, it seems all people see when they look at him is his father’s face. His father never let it bother him, at least from what Thoma could tell. He’d offer a polite nod or bow to anyone who spat on him or his heritage, a technique that often left the perpetrator floundering and the onlookers laughing at them. But as much as they would laugh at the aggressor, it felt as if they were laughing at his father, too.
He doesn’t speak of it, which is all the why it’s most surprising when one cloudless night, he invites Thoma over to sit and meditate with him in the bedroom with the promise of talking about core Inazuman principles.
His parents’ bedroom is a mish mash of cultures, Mondstadt pale greens and feathery pillows, long cedar drawers and closets paired with tatami mats and Inazuman style lamps, lit up incense and carefully painted sakura blossoms on purple ceramic jars. It’s probably Thoma’s favorite place aside from the kitchen.
“Close your eyes, Thoma,” his father intones, having already settled into the seiza position, the ceiling lanterns illuminating his face as it contorts and then relaxes. Thoma hurries to obey, trying to copy his father’s stance, but instead ends up nearly keeled over in his haste.
“If you can’t hold this position, switch to the more basic one.” Thoma nods, even though his father can’t see it, and settles properly, his legs crossed and his feet flat on the floor as he links his hands together and finally closes his eyes.
“Straighten your spine─” Thoma inhales and imagines himself pushing upwards towards the ceiling, like a plant beginning to sprout, “─and relax─” he exhales, his spine straightening as he successfully keeps his body upright.
“Good,” his father says, and then silence blankets the room. It’s evening, his mama is still out selling loaves of bread and pastries, and Thoma hopes she remembered to bring a warm sweater or perhaps gloves so her fingers don’t tremble from the cold. The smell of the incense hits his nose, and he wonders for a moment if it brings his father any childhood memories. Apparently, his grandmother would light it up when meditating with his father, just like he’s doing with Thoma now. He knows this because it’s a rare story his father graced him with, only after Thoma had begged him to in his desire to know more about the distant land of Inazuma and the rest of his family living there.
He’s brought back to the present by his father’s voice.
“Do you know, Thoma, what the most important quality of a person is?”
Thoma frowns, struggling not to open his eyes as the incense makes them itch. The most important quality of a person…
“Um…their willingness to help others?” he questions, brow furrowed. His father hums in answer, before saying: “That, too, is a good one.” Thoma beams.
“However, the one that triumphs all others is…” Thoma waits for his father to finish, and impulsively takes a peek at him, only to find out his father has been watching him the entire time. He smiles sheepishly, fully opening his eyes as his father exhales.
“Loyalty.” Thoma blinks, and his father continues.
“The biggest honor of all, is to find someone you will be loyal to, for the rest of your life. It is a privilege only the worthiest can afford, to both be the receiver and the giver of that devotion. However, loyalty is not bound merely to people, nor objects. You can be loyal to your country, to your job, to your ideals.” His father stares at him, deep in thought.
“Thoma,” he begins. “I want you to stay true to yourself, no matter what.” He shifts, absently massaging his knees that most likely ache from the overuse of the seiza position. Thoma stays silent, listening.
“In life, you may stray from the right path, find yourself strolling on bridges you promised to never cross, running from your responsibilities…In those times, I want you to remember that you must never forget to be first loyal to yourself.
Your ideals, your wants and your aspirations are what you should always strive for above all else. If you find yourself struggling to go onwards, never run away from yourself and your mistakes. It is a race you will never win.”
Thoma waits for more, but his father falls silent, his murky eyes staring into Thoma’s own, waiting.
“Yes, father,” Thoma replies, the only answer he feels appropriate to give.
Imperceptibly, his father’s shoulders fall, almost in relief. Thoma wonders, for a brief confusing moment, if perhaps that speech was meant more for his father, than for Thoma himself. But what could his father possibly be running away from?
At that moment, the front door bell rings out, and his mama’s voice alongside it: “I’m home, dears!”
His father nods at Thoma in permission, and he excitedly goes to greet her, running around her in circles and asking her about her day and unloading her basket full of goodies onto the table as she laughs and tells him to slow down. The light from the bedroom dims to a soft twilight, and his father comes out, having dressed down in a traditional Inazuman robe.
He smiles at mama, but somehow, to Thoma in the dark room, it almost looks like a grimace.
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The day after his seventh birthday, Thoma finds his mama crying alone on the kitchen floor.
At first, he doesn’t understand what is happening, having walked through the door in hurry holding a big bag of birthday gifts, his boots dirty from playing in the snow outside. He was expecting his father to already be reprimanding him while his mama smiles, but what greets him instead is a suffocating silence broken only by quiet little hiccups that he struggles to comprehend. It smells like something is burning.
“Mama?” he calls out, and the sobs stop for a brief moment, before he hears a shaky exhale from the kitchen, loud enough to be noticed in the silence. He hurries, slipping carelessly from his boots and near running barefoot while clutching the bags of sweets in his hands like a lifeline.
He enters the kitchen, and immediately sees his mama’s crumpled frame right across from him, hidden slightly by the table to his right and the lit fireplace to his left. Thoma pales, and he throws the bags frenziedly onto the table before rushing to her side with a yell.
“Mama!”
He throws himself near her, pawning and grabbing at her as any child would. He tries to look her in the face to know what’s wrong, but her long hair makes a curtain that obstructs his view.
Thoma notices it just now, but in his mama’s hands is a crumpled piece of paper, nearly ruined with how singed it is. Thoma frowns, trying to read the contents of the letter, but all he manages to make out in the end is a scrawled goodbye at the very bottom; “Forever yours─”, with no signature.
His mama takes a steadying breath, her hands shaking. Thoma puts his own smaller ones over hers’, and she stills, before another sob is wrought out of her.
“Ma, mama, what’s wrong?” he asks in worry, feeling his heart beat erratically, his mind clouded with confusion. Finally, slowly, oh so very slowly, like a leaf that finally starts to stir under the wind, his mama lifts her head to look him in the eye.
Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face is taut and she has an awful twist to her mouth.
“Thoma…” she whispers his name, before raising one hand to put on his small shoulder. She swallows, and opens her mouth.
“Your papa left, he’s─he’s gone, Thoma. Gone back to Inazuma.”
There’s a buzzing in Thoma’s head that drowns out the rest of what his mama is saying.
Strangely, he never called his father papa, or otou-san or any other Inazuman variation, because his father heard him say it once, when his mama told him to surprise him in secret, and his face contorted in an emotion Thoma couldn’t forget. It was some mixture of disgust, apprehension and something else that he couldn’t pinpoint. He told him, then, that he would prefer it if Thoma called him father, in the Mond language, and not anything other. Confused, Thoma had agreed, and never attempted to call him outou-san again. But sometimes, when they would go out for walks around the city, he would hear other children call out to their fathers in joyful voices, words like dad, and daddy and pops would float throughout the marketplace, free in their expression of love. He gained the courage one day to ask his father why he couldn’t call him anything other than the formal title, and he got his answer.
“Respect,” he remembers his father telling him solemnly. “It is because of respect, Thoma. In order to respect me, you will call me by my proper title, and not some diminutive form of it. It is why I call you by your name and why I call you my son, and not my child. Do you understand?”
Back then Thoma had nodded, even though he did not understand it. How could he be his father’s son but not his child? He doesn’t know. Sometimes, it feels more like he doesn’t know his father than he knows him.
Even now, he doesn’t know. Why his father stayed for his birthday, but not for him. Why he left mama, why he wrote her a letter, why, why, why.
Feeling helpless, he crawls into his mama’s lap, and cries himself to sleep in her arms.
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“You need to eat more,” he says gently to his mama, placing a piece of fresh bread next to the plate of calla lily seafood soup he made. The expected smile is brittle, and Thoma breathes through his nose and says nothing more, instead cleaning up after himself and bringing her a cup of water.
“You’ve grown up well, Thoma,” she tells him softly, patting him on the hand holding the cup. Now hers’ can barely cover up his, the teenage growth spurt has made him taller, broadened his shoulders while also sharpening out some of the baby fat, although his face is still young looking. Thoma stares at the blue veins and jutting bones of his mama’s hand, and feels twice his age.
“I’ll go get the doctor to check you over today,” he tells her, and she shakes her head in protest, but Thoma stands firm.
“Ma, you’ve been coughing nonstop, and you can barely take a proper walk around the house without your head spinning. Please, just, let me do this,” he pleads, and her eyes close in resignation.
“All right, my boy, all right.”
Thoma gets dressed, the sound of his mama’s wheezing and coughing in the background urging him to move quicker. But even as his heart may deny it, and as much as he hates to admit it, he suspects that…No, don’t think about it. Keep moving. She’s still here, isn’t she?
Kissing her on the cheek in goodbye, he leaves her sitting there, not clearing away the table in some naïve hope that she will take at least a spoonful of soup and eat it, but he knows that when he returns that the plate will be just as full as he left it.
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“Based on your mother’s symptoms, and from what I’ve observed it could just be a virus that’s passing by. Many in the city have already shown similar signs of fatigue and nausea, however your mother is frailer than most, so it’s affecting her a bit more severely.”
The doctor circles something in her notebook, shifting in her chair in their dimly lit kitchen. It’s springtime, the Windblume festival is coming up, but his mama has been cold lately so the fireplace has been up and burning throughout the night and the day. Thoma sees perspiration on the lady’s face, and feels a bit bad about inviting her in here and not meeting her in the clinic she has in her house. But she needed to check over his mama, and since the older woman couldn’t walk properly this was the only option.
“Proper rest and a healthy diet are sure to turn the situation around, and feel free to give her some mint to chew on to help with the cough.” She notes something down, before looking up and handing Thoma a piece of paper with the bill. “If her symptoms get worse, call me immediately.” Thoma takes the paper and conceals his wince when he sees the amount, before handing the young lady a bag of Mora that was sitting on the table. He’ll have to take up more shifts at the tavern.
She lights up and thanks him, leaving in a hurry, probably off to give the same diagnosis to the rest of her patients complaining about the cough rampaging throughout the city. The outside door shuts with an empty thud.
Thoma, for a blissful, quiet moment, puts his head in his hands, elbows on the table, and just breathes. The door to the once two-person bedroom opens, and he hears his mama pad softly over. He lifts his head, and in silence, they stare at each other.
They both know that his mother is not dying from any sort of disease, but from heartbreak.
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Thoma’s head hits the wooden beam with a thump and he lets out a groan, half in pain and half in arousal. Cecile is on him in a second, her mouth hot on his, resuming their makeout session with vigor. Thoma’s hands come around to hold onto her by the shoulders as she pushes a leg in between his thighs. He moans, head thrown back as she kisses down his jaw to lick the hollow in his throat.
Cecile is taller than most, tan, freckled skin with strong shoulders and cropped brown hair with a tendency to wear heeled boots so she appears even more massive. Her looks invite boys his age to make fun of her, calling her a man and trying to humiliate her, although that never ends up working out for them in the end. Most of the times it’s because Cecile isn’t afraid to throw the first punch, and other times…well, Thoma doesn’t like to think of it as blackmail, but it teeters the edge with some of the things he has done.
He doesn’t mind Cecile being taller than him, it makes sense─girls reach their final height faster than boys, and Cecile isn’t even the tallest girl in the city, she’s just the only one who takes pride in it. And if his heart skips a beat every time she looms over him, well, it’s simply out of surprise, and nothing more.
“You uh, you going to the festival tomorrow?” she asks, breathing heavily while holding him by the shoulders.
“Mm, not sure,” he replies, licking his lips and watching Cecile trace the motion with her eyes.
This…thing they’ve got going on started maybe a year and some ago, when Thoma made the mistake of thinking he could hold his liquor at his tender age. He drunkenly kissed her while they were on their way to her house, she kissed back and ever since then they’ve been unable to hold back. They had already been friends since young, and Cecile confessed to him that she always found him cute, although she was a bit hesitant to try and start an actual relationship. Thoma understood, and so they kept it secret, being affectionate only when the sun came down and usually at her place, where nobody would disturb them. Her parents are travelling merchants, and Cecile will probably follow in their footsteps.
“Your mom okay?” she murmurs, taking a hold of his chin and swiping her thumb on his bottom lip. Ice washes over him, and he wishes, for a cruel moment, that he never told her about his mama’s condition. He’s bad at lying, and misdirection isn’t his strongest suit, so when he doesn’t answer for a beat too long, Cecile’s eyes soften.
“Oh, Thoma,” she says, and Thoma feels seven years old, lost, slipping, staring into her eyes. “Hey, hey, c’mere.” She brings her arms around him and he’s crushed to her chest in an instant, punched out lungs leaving him gasping for air. Unwilling tears fall down his face, and he lets out a hiccup, then another, and then another.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers. No. It won’t.
“Yeah,” he whispers back, throat dry and mind set. “It will.”
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His mama’s ashes feel heavy in his hands. The urn is simple, three sakura blossoms are painted onto the dark brown surface in a triangular formation, with a faded cedar wood in the background.
The mourning gifts he already took care of. Cecile had helped him with cleaning up, she was the first person he told, and they spent time just sitting while trading stories about his mama, her sorrow mirroring his. The various dishes old grannies that knew his mama gave him were stashed safely either in a Cryo insulated box for the ones prone to mold or near the fireplace, so that they may stay warm. Flowers from his neighbors have been gathered and all rolled up into a singular bouquet that he carries with him now, sitting at the edge of Starsnatch cliff as a gentle wind blows and carries wayward flowers into the sea.
“I met your father, shipwrecked, on the coast beneath Starsnatch cliff. It was a humid summer evening, and I was…your age, or maybe a bit older. My sister and I had been catching crabs in an attempt to amuse ourselves, when we saw a body wash up on the beach. It was terrifying,” his mama tells him, a ghost of a smile gracing her dying face. Thoma swallows, trying not to look at the way sweat and weakness seem to overcome her from just speaking. He’s bent over while he listens, sitting stiffly in a chair as she lies motionless on the pale green bed. The only light in the bedroom comes from a single candle on a nightstand, right next to an unlit piece of incense and the omamori his father gifted to her, an eternity ago. The flame illuminates his mama’s face, shadows twisting and turning as she breathes shallowly.
“Annabelle thought it was a ghost, at first, and refused to let me come over to help him, saying that he would just grab me and pull me back into the water. But I broke free from her grip, and went over to him. His boat was a shabby one, nothing like I’d seen before…just a….a─” she coughs violently, tremors wrecking her body. Thoma blindly grabs for her hand, feeling her rabbit quick pulse as it jumps up and down, almost like lightning. She manages to compose herself, and sighs.
“He was the most beautiful man I ever met,” she confesses to him, and the world tilts on its axis.
“Thoma, dear Thoma,” his mama whispers, bony hand coming up to sandwich Thoma’s own. Her pulse is─
“I want you to scatter my ashes into the ocean. Maybe…maybe they will travel all the way to Inazuma, guided by Barbatos… and reach him… “
She exhales, and breathes no more. Thoma keels over her, and weeps.
That was three days ago, and Thoma waited until all of the customary condolences and visits were given. Aunt Annabelle, as far as Thoma knows, hasn’t spoken to his mama ever since she married his father. She hadn’t shown up at her funeral, either.
The late springtime evening is colder than usual, closer to an autumn night, as Thoma stiffly stands up from his seiza position. The wind picks up in strength, and nearly topples him over the edge, but he manages to straighten himself at the last moment.
The bouquet in one hand, and the urn in another, Thoma stares at the lonely horizon. Clenching the flowers in his hand, he steels himself, eyes set forward.
With a yell that gets swallowed up by the wind, he throws the bouquet with all his might from the cliff, and it lands somewhere in the ocean, a small splash the only indication it was there at all.
He shivers from the cold, teeth chattering incessantly. He should have brought a sweater, or at least gloves. His hands are starting to tremble.
He looks at the urn, at the sakura blossoms. His breath leaves fog in its wake, and Thoma shakily brings the urn to his forehead as he closes his eyes.
“Goodbye, mama. I hope you reach him. May Lord Barbatos guide you on your journey,” he whispers, and places a kiss right in the middle of the sakura blossoms.
He tilts the urn and lets the ashes flow. The wind helps carry them further, going up, up, into the cloudy sky. Some scatter downwards, towards the sea, and he hopes that the waves carry his mama to where she wanted.
Do you believe that Mondstadt winds can reach even the furthest of lands?
Thoma hopes that they can, at the very least, reach the sandy shores of Inazuma and find their way towards his father. Even shivering and tired, he stands there and watches it all scatter, until he can’t follow the trail with his eyes, until the urn is at last empty. He waits, one heartbeat, two. But time doesn’t reverse itself, and Thoma is left alone.
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Life moves forward. Two years pass by, and Thoma sells their house for an apartment closer to the walls of the city. It’s too big for just him, and it would better suit a full family, anyway.
The money from that will keep him afloat for some time, but he wants to find an actual job, better than working as a casual worker on his off time. Cecile tells him that he could become a Knight of Favonius, one time when they’re lazing around on her bed, having done nothing but kiss and lazily grind against one another.
“I guess,” Thoma says, hooking a leg over her hip. “Doesn’t really call to me, though.”
She hums, absently drawing circles on his thigh. “Then what does? Woodworking? Baking? Both your dad and mom did those things, surely you inherited some genetic talent. You can’t just stare at the sea forever, y’know.” She punctuates her sentence by slapping his thigh playfully, and he lets out a yelp in response.
Huffing at her giggles, he frowns. “I don’t stare at the sea that often,” he protests, purposefully avoiding the previous sentences.
“You so do,” she answers, getting up to lean on her elbow. “It like, reminds me of a sad puppy waiting for his owner to come home. You should quit that.” Her words are blunt, but the kindness in her eyes is sincere.
Sighing, he turns his head over to stare at the fully loaded travelling bags, scattered on the floor and on some of the furniture. They’re full of all sorts of things, from sleeping bags to dried fruit to charcoal drawings of Cecile’s family.
“You’re really going, then?” he asks, turning his head to see Cecile nod.
“Yeah. My parents got a deal with some of the archaeologists down from Liyue, and they managed to get their hands on a couple of rare gems. They told me to meet them at the Harbor to officially join them, since I’ll be of age soon, but I think we’re going further beyond than Liyue.”
“Like where?”
Cecile furrows her brow, thinking. “Hmm, I dunno. Sumeru, or Fontaine most likely. Those guys love their shiny rocks. Maybe even Inazuma, hell, they have contacts everywhere I can think of.”
Thoma presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to disguise whatever face he might have made at the mention of his father’s homeland.
Loyalty to your country.
Cecile smiles, aimlessly tapping her finger against his leg. “I think it’s going to be amazing. I’ve always wanted to leave this place and go somewhere different, where people wouldn’t recognize me. My mom apparently has a journal with all their previous adventures, she’s gonna give it to me as an early birthday gift. Awesome, right?” She grins at him, and Thoma helplessly smiles back. Her joy has always been infectious, even at the worst of times.
Impulsively, he grabs the hand tracing shapes on his thigh. She startles and looks at him in confusion. He licks his lips, before saying: “Cecile, I want you to know that…ah, no, I want to thank you. For staying by me, even after…everything.” She was with him when he was a young boy abandoned by his father, and she was with him when he was a brittle teenager grieving his mother. In some ways, he still is. Unlike Cecile, he still has two years until he’s of age, and while life moves on, Thoma feels as though he’s struggling to catch up.
He stares into her eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you, and I want you to know that I─” he swallows “─am so, so happy for you,” he finishes in a whisper.
Thoma remembers, of course, all the ways life hasn’t treated Cecile well. The nonstop bullying, the cruel remarks by his peers and sometimes even by petty adults, the lonely, big house with no parents to welcome you back home. Thoma is glad that she finally gets what she deserves, the warmth of a family and the ability to traverse the world with the winds of freedom guiding her. It’s a shame he won’t get to see her blossom into the strong young woman he knows she will become.
Cecile’s blue eyes are wide, and she shuts her mouth with a click before snatching his hands to hold between hers. Thoma stares at their hands and then at her in confusion.
“You too!” she tells him sternly, voice thick. Thoma blinks. “You deserve to be happy too, Thoma. Stop─stop wasting your time trying to console yourself with what you’ve been handed, be selfish! You think those thugs that told you you’re just a filthy outlander are true? They’re not! Don’t back down from your goals just because you think they’re not worthy to pursue, they are!” Cecile yells the last word, flushing when she realizes it. But she continues on, staring Thoma dead in the eyes.
“I know why you stare at the sea so often,” she says quietly, and Thoma stiffens, feeling like he’s been caught, but Cecile continues, “and I want you to know that it’s okay. It’s okay. Your father is─excuse my language, a major asshole who shouldn’t have just left your mom and you like that, without even saying goodbye.” Thoma’s jaw is wide open, but Cecile bludgeons on.
“And you deserve to know why! So go out there, and find him! If you want something, you need to allow yourself to pursue it. Learn the truth from his own mouth, don’t die wondering without finding out at least the reason why. You deserve to know.” By the end of her little speech, Cecile is breathing heavily, and Thoma─
“I love you,” he says breathlessly, and she stiffens, eyes trembling. “And I know that you don’t feel the same, Cecile. I just wanted you to know,” he says, mouth a wobbly line.
“Thoma─” she begins, then shakes her head, and launches herself across the bed to kiss him, hands tangled in his ponytail and legs slotting in between his as he flails and laughs into her mouth, before she shuts him up.
They fall asleep sweat soaked and pleasantly worn out, tangled with the sheets and unsure which body part belongs to who. But for the first time since his father left, Thoma sleeps peacefully.
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He escorts Cecile just outside the city gates, and they hug for a long time before separating. He goes on his tiptoes to ruffle her hair, and she squawks at him in affront.
“For good luck,” he tells her, smiling. She huffs, but flicks his forehead in playful retaliation, an old habit.
“Don’t forget what we talked about,” she tells him and he nods, determined.
“I won’t.”
With one last glance towards him, she leaves, her back illuminated by the afternoon sun.
Thoma watches her go, before sighing and turning back around to face the looming stone gates. It’s time he got some work done.
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“You know kid, you’re getting better at this,” says a rough voice directly above Thoma.
“Mffphanks,” he replies, face planted into the ground. He shifts, struggling to get the oaf off of him, while the man just chuckles at his pathetic attempt at resistance. Both his hands are crossed over on his back, while the man holds them together in a vice grip with just one meaty paw, preventing him from a counter attack.
“Alois, get off that poor guy’s back,” yells out a young and feminine voice, and he can hear sharp footsteps approaching his place of misery.
The pressure on his spine lessens, and the hand holding his head is finally lifted. He inhales in a large gulp of air, grateful that he can finally breathe properly.
“Hey Holly, the kid asked for it, okay? Said something about training, and who am I to deny a friend a favor?” Alois answers, and the smirk can be heard from his voice alone.
“You are a Knight of Favonius! We do not beat our civilians as a form of training and definitely not in some random alleyway like a bunch of thugs!” she answers, clearly disgusted. “Move, asscrack, you’re still on him.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he answers, half-heartedly shifting away from Thoma’s thighs. “Though I didn’t peg you as the type of lady to spit curses like a sailor with the whole ‘mightier than thou’ attitude you’ve got going on,” he taunts, and although Thoma can’t see her from all the way down here, he definitely hears her sharp intake of breath.
“My da was a sailor, a poor one at that, and if you don’t want to end up on the bottom of the sea being gnawed on by fishes like his ugly mug, I suggest you get the hell away from here.”
Alois whistles in appreciation, before laughing as he rises fully, pressure finally leaving Thoma’s body. “Sorry miss sailor, promise I won’t be in your way again, at least for today.” Thoma turns around on his side, wincing, just to see Alois do a theatrical bow before sauntering off.
Holly, it turns out, is a fair-skinned short lady with curly honey blonde hair that’s been arranged into a tight bun. She looks to be just barely older than him, youthfulness gracing her features, although her small eyes and sharp jawline aid her in appearing older. She taps her boots on the ground until Alois is fully out of sight, before sighing and uncrossing her arms.
She turns to him, and her eyes flicker over his body, searching for injuries. Walking over, she crouches down, her mouth a worried line.
“I’m so sorry sir, that guy is a major─” she bites the inside of her mouth, and Thoma nearly laughs at the expression on her face “─idiot,” she finishes, even though they both know she was thinking of something much worse.
“Ah, it’s alright, actually. He wasn’t lying, I did ask for this,” Thoma answers, smiling when she looks at him quizzically.
“You mean…you wanted to be beat to a pulp?” she asks, and even though she tries to hide it, a hint of incredulity slips up in her tone. Thoma huffs in amusement, waving his hand.
“Well, not in that way. Alois was a friend of my mama’s, I asked him to teach me some self-defense and he obliged.”
It’s a half truth. Alois was…a bit more than a friend to his mother, but that was before his father came into the picture. It was true that Thoma wanted to learn how to better fight and he was the only one he could think of asking. These meetings of theirs were always spontaneous and Alois would either tell Thoma while in passing to meet him up or just corner him and have a makeshift lesson there and then. It was probably unorthodox, but as long as things were going Thoma’s way, it was fine.
He curls a hand over his waist, feeling the dull pain throb. “You must be one of the newer recruits, usually when Knights see me in a fight they chalk it up to me being up to no good and just leave me to my own devices.” He smiles good naturedly, and Holly frowns.
“Oh, you’re an outlander?” she guesses, something strange in her voice. Thoma nods, and then grimaces as his shoulders stretch uncomfortably. He’s glad that Alois doesn’t hold back, but he wishes he would at least focus his punches on areas that aren’t just his back and stomach.
“You’re hurt. We should get you to see a doctor,” she says determinedly, beginning to stand up before Thoma grabs her hand.
“Ah, no need, I have my own med kit at home,” he says in a hurry. “I need to go back soon anyway; I don’t want the pie to burn.” Holly gives him a critical once over, before sighing.
“Fine, but I’m helping you to your house, mister…?” Holly says, touch embarrassed since she didn’t catch his name, lending him a hand up.
“Thoma,” he answers, grabbing her outstretched hand, barely standing up. “It’s nice to meet you, Knight Holly.”
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“This is delicious,” Holly says in between bites of his mincemeat pie, her voice tinged with awe and just a touch of disbelief. Thoma laughs, cutting up the leftover Valberry tart in neat slices before serving them on little ceramic plates. He comes over to where Holly is sitting, a simple circular table with two chairs, and sets the plate with a fork in front of her, sitting down across from her. She glances at it, at the pie and then at him.
“Are you trying to fatten me up?” she asks humorously, and Thoma snorts.
“You definitely are, I mean, when you said your pie was going to burn I thought it was just an excuse to get me out of your hair but this…” she frowns, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “You’ve really got a knack for this,” she tells him, and Thoma smiles.
“Well, I live to serve,” he says, taking a bite out of the tart. Hm. Could use less sugar.
“If you ran a bakery, I’d be your number one customer, promise,” she tells him, sighing in content when she finishes the pie, before giddily moving on to the tart.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he answers, absentmindedly moving his fork back and forth.
It took quite a bit of work to get Holly to join him for lunch. After she practically carried him all the way over to his apartment and helped him with the bandages across his chest, he felt indebted and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Please, Miss Knight, it’s the least I can do,” he pleaded, doing his best puppy dog eyes at her in a final act of desperation. “Food is best when it’s shared.”
She sighed, resolve crumbling. “All right, but just for a bit! I still have patrol later.”
And now they’re here, enjoying themselves and carrying casual conversation while eating.
Holly puts her fork down, tart halfway eaten, and Thoma notices the way her mouth is set in a firm line.
“Listen, thank you for this, but I just want you to know that, while you’re a great guy…I’m not interested.” A beat of silence. Thoma gapes, before fluttering his hands in panic.
“Ah, no, you’ve got the wrong idea! I didn’t─I mean, I’m sorry it seemed that way, but I promise I really did just want some friendly conversation!” She blinks at him, and he hurries to apologize. “Again, I’m truly sorry. I don’t like you like that, Miss Knight. I just hadn’t shared a meal with another person for a long time so I thought…”
She colors, coughing into a fist. “No, no, I should be apologizing, it was presumptuous of me to assume that you invited me for some nefarious reason.” She clears her throat, looking anywhere but at him. “Oh, Barbatos, I’m sorry, I’ve made things awkward,” she says, slapping a hand to her forehead.
“It’s all right, again, sorry if I came off that way, it wasn’t my intention,” Thoma says, shoulders sagging. They sit in quiet for a brief moment, before Holly speaks up.
“You said that you hadn’t had a meal with someone for a long time…?” she prompts, before a blush rises to her face again. “Oh, that might be too personal to discuss, I apologize,” she rambles, and Thoma huffs, feeling his lips twitch upwards.
“It’s true, my family isn’t around, and my…” partner…? First love? What was Cecile to him anyway? “…friend has left to travel with her parents. Eating in a tavern just isn’t the same as a meal shared between two people.” He lowers his gaze to stare at the pale green ceramic plates. His heart aches, thinking of his mama, and the untouched bowls of soup and bread. Sometimes even with two people, it’s hard to enjoy food when there are things left unsaid, hanging over them like a guillotine.
Holly stares at him, before nodding, as if coming to a decision.
“Then that settles it,” she declares, and he looks up at her, blinking.
“Settles what?” he asks.
“Our future lunch dates!” she exclaims and then hurries to explain. “Not dates as in dates dates, again, you’re nice but─ugh, what I mean is that I wouldn’t mind having lunch with you sometimes. As friends. Does that sound…okay?”
Thoma frowns. “Miss Knight, you don’t need to pity me. I’m not much younger than you,” he says, feeling a bit off kilter.
“It’s not pity. I’ve only been a Knight for a couple of days, and it feels like you’re the first person to actually talk to me like one,” she says, frustration in her tone. She gestures with her hands, “It’s like, every guy I’ve met in the Headquarters tries to hit on me, or tries to make me do their paperwork for them. Well, I guess Alois never did either of those things, but his face is enough to piss me off,” she mutters, and Thoma snorts.
“What I’m trying to say is, I’d like to─be friends. With you.” Holly extends a hand and steels herself, looking more like a criminal facing execution than a girl asking for friendship. Thoma chuckles at the thought, before completing the handshake.
“I’d like that. And just for reference Holly?” She looks at him, and he grins. “Friends don’t really do boring handshakes like these, you need to add a little bit of spice, like this,” he says, and then makes a fist, gently hitting her hand up and down before snapping his fingers and doing finger guns at her. Her mouth twists into a pout.
“That was lame,” she tells him and he lets out a full belly laugh.
“I guess so, but just so you know, I’m gonna greet you like that every time I see you now.”
“No way,” she squawks in horror.
“Every time,” he states smugly.
“We’re gonna look like the biggest tools in the city,” she whines, and Thoma raises his eyebrows.
“Better two than one, eh?” She frowns, and then sighs, letting a smile creep up on her face.
“Yeah, all right, you win.”
Thoma whoops, before pointing at her with his fork.
“Now finish that tart, Miss Knight, and prepare for your duties!”
“Screw you,” she says, already hunched over her plate, struggling to cover her smile. “I’m gonna report you to the Grand Master for assaulting a Knight of Favonius.”
“What kind of assault did I commit?” he asks incredulously. Holly chews before answering cheekily: “On my taste buds─this needs more sugar.”
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His timeline is around a year, give or take. He’s already spent the better half of it learning to fight with Alois and keeping Holly company while she patrols the city, picking up a few tricks, even how to spot troublemakers before they can enact the trouble. Not to mention, he’s already talked to old man Edward who begrudgingly promised to help him with the boat.
Now comes the hard part, Thoma thinks, staring at the large box of papers, old letters and worn books. He’s sitting on the floor of the living room of his apartment, back straight as he chews on his bottom lip, a bad habit he can’t seem to kick. He takes out the omamori his mama gave him as a last dying gift out of his pant pocket, staring at the painted red flame.
He closes his eyes, bringing the omamori up to his forehead with both hands, like a prayer. He exhales and inhales deeply, fighting for bravery. Finally, he opens his eyes, stashing the amulet carefully back in its place. He then picks a book at random, taking it out and immediately coughing as piles of dust come off of it in thick layers.
The title is written in a foreign script, letters that are somewhat thinner and more elegant than the bold and blocky Mond ones that Thoma is familiar with. He opens it up, and he guesses that it’s probably some sort of poetry book, with chapters containing not too many lines of text, written vertically.
He sets the books aside, categorizing them by what he thinks is easiest to hardest to translate, but he’s solely doing it by intuition. It will take more than a year to actually learn the Inazuman language, but for now he can start with the basics. There’s a small pamphlet that translates the Inazuman script to the Mondstadt one, written in his mama’s handwriting. It’s a good place to start as any.
He rummages through the box until his hand comes upon a familiar letter. Shakily, he takes it into his hands and stares at the blackened edges, the paper barely holding itself together.
Thoma had never asked his mama why she attempted to burn the letter, and she never told him. Maybe the better question to ask was why she didn’t burn it. Now she can never tell him.
He traces his father’s handwriting with trembling fingers, staring at the words on the page until they’re burned into his mind: Forever yours─
He carefully folds it, making sure that it doesn’t crumble apart in his hands. This will be the first thing, he thinks, that I will show him.
There is a long road ahead of him, and an even larger ocean to Inazuma. Thoma thinks he’s ready to begin his journey.
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Humming along to the old tune sung by the bard currently performing in the tavern, Thoma cleans the champagne glass with a squeak, bringing it up to the light to see if any fingerprint marks remain. Once he’s certain there’s none, he puts it away and continues on with his work, determined to ignore the migraine that’s been steadily building up since this morning. Turns out, trying to translate an entire book in one sitting may have been just a bit too ambitious of him, and now his eyes are paying the price of staying up late.
“Long night?” Charles asks him conversationally, wiping the counter while giving him a look. Thoma huffs, feeling chastised.
“Not that long,” he replies, “just took on a bit more than I could handle while studying, nothing more.” Charles raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t push, something Thoma is grateful for.
He’s grateful for many other things Charles has done, the first on the list being that he allowed Thoma to bartend alongside him when he was just twelve years old. He understood then, with a single glance at Thoma’s thin but determined young face, that their family was slowly crumbling apart, and accepted Thoma into his workspace. Thoma only worked for a few hours every other day, and only did the most menial of tasks: washing the dishes, mopping the floors and on the rare occasion, helping Charles prepare a juice or two. He was paid properly, even sometimes given more than what they agreed on, and at those moments shame and gratitude wrestled for control over his heart.
It’s why he always jumps at the first opportunity to help the older man, whether it be another pair of hands when it’s a busy night or when they need to unload large crates of wine into the storage. Charles always gives him a knowing look when he refuses the payment for those tasks, but somehow, despite Thoma’s caution, a bag of Mora always finds itself neatly hidden somewhere in his pockets. He has to give it to him, Charles is nothing if not a sly man.
Shaking his head, Thoma refocuses on his duties. Tonight, he’s helping out with the general state of affairs, but he’s also replacing the local waitress who got sick after eating one too many Sweet Madames at the all-you-can-eat competition hosted by Sara over at Good Hunter. Apparently, she got second place, and Thoma admires her tenacity if nothing else.
“Sparkling Berry juice for the lad next to the staircase, the one who’s been staring at you all night,” Charles tells him pointedly, sliding over the aforementioned glass of liquid. Thoma swallows, feeling pinpricks on his neck. He grabs the glass and puts it on a tray without answering Charles before swiftly moving towards the customer in question.
Upon seeing him move towards him, the young man from Liyue bows his head slightly, black shaggy hair obstructing his features as Thoma nears him. He places the juice on the table with a cheerful: “Here you go, enjoy!”, beginning to turn around before he feels fingers close around his forearm.
When he turns around to face him, Thoma sees the young man has raised his head, grey eyes staring uncertainly into his own. There’s a brief moment of confusion and silence before Thoma speaks.
“Uhm, would you like anything else?” he asks, trying to ignore the way the other boy’s hand is still on him, long and deft fingers completely enclosing his arm, all the way around down to his bone.
“You…work here?” the stranger asks, thick Liyue accent making it harder for Thoma to understand the question.
“Yes! Well, only part time, mostly I come when they need some extra help,” Thoma answers, and the young man frowns before nodding and shyly taking back his hand, the residual warmth of his hand ghosting Thoma’s forearm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“You stop…what time?” Thoma frowns, trying to decipher what he’s being asked. The young man colors, trying again.
“End…time…work?” Thoma blinks, letting out a small: “Oh!”
“You mean when we close?” The young man nods his head, relief flooding his features, and Thoma just now notices the small mole stationed on his cheek, illuminated by the lantern glow of the tavern. He quickly averts his eyes from the young man’s face, coughing into a fist before answering.
“We close at midnight, though sometimes later because of cleaning up.” The stranger nods, hand coming over to close around the glass. Thoma takes it as a dismissal and begins slowly turning around, before hearing the young man say something under his breath. Curious despite himself, he turns around and meets his gaze, tilting his head in confusion.
“Ren Wenyan…my name.” Thoma’s heart is rabbit quick in his ears, and he licks his lips before answering.
“I’m Thoma, it’s nice to meet you.” He offers him a smile, and Wenyan returns it.
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“You can go, Thoma, I’ll finish cleaning up tonight,” Charles tells him, startling Thoma into opening his eyes. He frowns, side eyeing the man.
“I’m not that tired, Charles,” he protests, but the other man just continues to serenely polish an empty wine bottle without further comment, and Thoma sighs in defeat. He takes off his apron, quickly folding it and it’s a testament to just how truly exhausted he is that he’s not taking his time and chatting with the man. Instead his moves are brisk and efficient, and he feels bad for not being at his maximum when he’s needed.
“Your payment is on the counter, if you don’t take it with you I’ll just leave it on your window when I’m done over here,” Charles says, and Thoma huffs in amusement.
“All right, thank you.” He throws on his jacket, and says one last goodbye to Charles, grabbing the bag of Mora and softly closing the door of the tavern behind him.
Outside of Angel’s Share the midnight air is cool on his skin, and Thoma breathes in deeply, closing his eyes. But when he opens them, he sees, just to the right of him, a pair of familiar grey eyes staring at him.
Wenyan slides off of the stone wall, coming over to stand next to the message board, and Thoma turns towards him, his pulse picking up, feeling wide awake.
“…Hey,” he greets, and Wenyan shifts on his feet.
“…Hello.”
You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. There’s barely a breath of space between them, Wenyan keeps staring down at Thoma’s lips, and he….
“Do you…want to come over?” Thoma asks, and the moment the question leaves his lips, Wenyan closes the distance between them. Thoma doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing.
The kiss is chaste at first, with Wenyan being just a bit shorter than Thoma he has to tilt his head down to complete it fully. It quickly evolves into something much deeper, with clumsy hands trying to find purchase on each other’s clothes and at some point or another, they both resurface for breath.
“Your house?” Wenyan questions and Thoma nods, his eyes flickering for any passing onlookers, but the streets are empty at this hour, and so they hurry to Thoma’s place, stopping a couple of times to kiss hungrily against alleyway walls and even once under a tree.
Thoma struggles with opening the door to his apartment, Wenyan distracting him by sucking hickeys directly on his nape, making his hands tremble with the effort of trying to insert the key into the lock. Finally, he unlocks it and they both tumble inside, jackets and shirts and undershirts being thrown haphazardly onto the floor as they undress one another. The bag of Mora stashed in his pant pockets slips out and hits the floor with a thud, a couple of coins bouncing out of it and Thoma barely has time to close the outside door before Wenyan drags him by the shoulders through his kitchen, his hands roaming all over Thoma’s naked chest and abdomen.
Wenyan says something in his native tongue, his voice tinged with arousal and something else that Thoma has a hard time discerning. Instead of trying to speak, Thoma leads them towards his bedroom, and before he can think his head hits the soft futon with a yelp.
Wenyan quickly follows him, standing over him, breathing heavily. Moonlight filters through the east window, the young man’s dark hair shines like a halo and Thoma swallows, unsure of how to continue. Wenyan though, has no reservations, and he lowers himself to lick and prod at Thoma’s chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking.
“Ngh─Just so you k-know haa─” he struggles to formulate a complete sentence, his brain trying to fly out of his head as Wenyan gently bites down onto the sensitive bud, making Thoma arch his back in a moan. “Th-this is a one-time only thing ha-ahh─”
Wenyan raises his head, nodding clearly, his fingers left splayed over his chest, waiting. Thoma swallows, nodding in turn for him to continue. Wenyan does so, biting and marking Thoma, his chest, his abdomen, even his shoulders and biceps. Thoma feels useless, gripping Wenyan’s shoulders like a lifeline. He gathers enough strength to return the favor by pushing his thigh in-between Wenyan’s legs and he gets rewarded with a moan for his efforts, the Liyueren throwing his head back.
Wenyan straightens, grey eyes meeting his own, and then stills for a second, his hands stopping in their exploration of Thoma’s body. Moonlight lights up his face as he stares at Thoma, speaking softly: “Beautiful boy…”
Thoma flushes, from his head all the way down to his shoulders, feeling exposed, caught like a bird on a vivisection table.
Quickly, he interlocks his hands behind Wenyan’s head and brings him down for a deep, long kiss, so that he doesn’t speak further.
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Thoma wakes up with sunlight streaming directly in his eyes and the nagging thought that he definitely overslept, since he’s usually up and early before the sun can make its appearance. Groaning, he stretches lazily in his bed, enjoying the softness of his pillow and then he freezes, remembering exactly, why, he felt so comfortable to oversleep.
He rises up into a sitting position, and when he sees no sign of Wenyan he sighs, but doesn’t know whether it’s out of relief or regret.
He doesn’t know how to feel, exactly. Thoma has always known that he’s been different from the other boys his age, not just because he’s not a full blooded Mondstadter, but because of his particular taste in people. And by people, he doesn’t just mean girls.
He has never shown it outwardly, at least he thinks so. It was always in the back of his mind, that little something that made him stare at a boy’s shoulders for a bit too long when they were practicing swimming. He would always avert his eyes whenever passing by some of the more known places for hosting…people like that. Or he should say, people like him, though he hesitates to place himself in with that group. Out of an illicit sense of shame, perhaps, though he tries to avoid thinking of it as much as possible. If he doesn’t put a name to it, it doesn’t exist.
It’s already bad to be an outlander in a city like this, but it’s even worse to be an outlander who’s also a-a─ Thoma bites his lip to stop thinking about all the names he’s heard being thrown around. Pansy, fairy, freak.
The nuns and preachers at the church say that if something you did made you feel like you were dirty, that meant that what you did was wrong, sinful. Thoma looks at his hands, and doesn’t feel dirty, but scared. If someone were to find out─ He shakes his head. They can’t. He checked the streets when they were going up to his apartment, and not a single soul was out and about. But that doesn’t mean that people didn’t see how Wenyan was staring at him all night at the tavern, or outside of it, waiting for Thoma. Charles noticed, did anyone else? If Charles noticed did he tell someone? Has he known all along or has he just found out that Thoma is─
I should stop, he thinks fervently. At this point, I’ll run myself into a proper meltdown if I keep going around in circles. He takes in a deep breath, and then another, trying to stabilize himself. He exhales, and then gets to work. First things first, cleaning himself up.
They didn’t shower yesterday, too busy as they were, but Thoma has a vague memory of wiping them both down with a stray towel before promptly falling asleep, pleasantly worn out. Still, he should actually clean himself properly, he doesn’t want to smell of…certain nightly activities.
Getting up, he goes to the small bathroom attached to his bedroom and when he sees his face in the mirror, he has to do a double take. Hickeys and bite marks can be seen everywhere, dark red and purple splotches standing in stark contrast to his tan skin, from his throat all the way down to even his chest. He probably left some on Wenyan too, and he flushes just thinking about it.
He clears his throat; his voice having gone raspy from all the…noises he had made the prior night. For once, he’s extremely thankful that most of his neighbors are elderly people with hearing issues or couples that have gone on vacation. If he had to meet any of them today, he doesn’t think he could look them in the eye.
It doesn’t matter. This was a one-time only thing. As long as I don’t repeat it, no one will find out.
He gets right to business, showering quickly and picking a higher collar shirt than he usually wears. He drinks a quick cup of tea he hastily boils and then tries to arrange his hair into a more presentable shape before giving up and just tying it back with a simple ribbon.
He’s seven minutes late to his lunch date with Holly, and she lets him know it when she sees him, refusing to go along with his silly handshake with an angry scowl painted on her face. Alongside his countless apologies, he insists on treating her to whatever she wants from the Good Hunter menu, and she forgives him quite quickly after that offer.
They depart soon after that, because she’s got patrol and Thoma has an appointment with Alois, down another dingy alleyway.
Because Alois is Alois and much like Holly, doesn’t like to be left waiting, without any sort of warmup he decides to show Thoma how to properly fight, by beating him up, of course.
Now that he thinks more about it, Alois isn’t really teaching him how to fight. He’s teaching him how to roughhouse like a drunkard and play dirty. Thoma mostly wanted to learn some basic self-defense, in case Inazuma was much less welcoming than he thinks it’ll be, and Alois has delivered on his promise. Just, with a lot more bruises on Thoma’s part that he thinks is necessary. Perhaps Alois thinks otherwise.
“Stop blocking with your face, you’ll get your nose socked in or worse, a couple of teeth knocked outta your mouth,” Alois tells him in an almost casual, monotone voice while holding him in a chokehold. “Really, you should utilize your body better. You’re kinda athletic, and you’ve got enough height to stand up to even me, if you actually put in the same effort into fighting as you do into fucking.”
Thoma freezes, mind gone blank, his hands on Alois’ forearms stilling, as the Knight harrumphs. The air feels cold despite the fact that it’s past noon, and Thoma is suddenly deeply aware of the fact that they’re in an isolated alleyway, far from where other Knights usually patrol or even check. Usually, that would be a good thing, preventing others from interfering with Thoma’s “training”, but now…
He doesn’t get to answer him as Alois shifts his arms around his neck, lowers himself and then in one simple move─bodily throws Thoma onto the ground, hard enough that he bounces off of it.
“Guh─” he coughs, properly winded, feeling the dirt and rocks dig into his already sore back. His head is pounding at him in warning, and he grits his teeth against the pain circulating throughout his entire body, feeling like he just got ran over by a cart.
A shadow looms over him, and he turns his head to see that Alois has crouched down to stare at him, one hand holding his cheek while the other hangs loosely over a knee.
“Y’know, you’re very lucky,” Alois says over the sound of Thoma’s wheezing, his eyes barely hiding the anger bubbling inside them, “that I was the one assigned to your particular block of the city yesterday.” Thoma gulps, mouth opening and closing mutely like a fish as he tries to get air into his lungs.
“I didn’t think much of it when a boy waited outside for the Angel’s Share to close, because I thought he was waiting for that Merida lass to finish her night shift, happened before enough times, right? Imagine my surprise,” he says, dropping the hand from his chin and leaning into Thoma’s personal space even further, “when instead of her, I see a familiar face leaving the tavern, getting up real close with the guy and then─” Thoma flinches, “─kissing him. Hands and all.”
Alois leans back on his heels, serious for the first time that Thoma can remember. “You need to work on your spatial awareness more, especially because I followed you all the way home to see if I was actually seeing what I was seeing. Don’t worry though, I didn’t stay for the rest of the show,” he sneers.
Thoma bites his lip, but doesn’t break eye contact with Alois, as he slowly rises up, breathing heavily. His ribs feel sore, and he sure as hell can’t stand up properly, but damned is he if he’s just going to lay down and let Alois hurt him without retaliation, especially for something as stupid as─as a careless mistake. He’s not going to run away.
Alois stares at him for another long moment, before sighing. He raises his hand and Thoma braces for impact, baring his teeth and grabbing a fistful of dirt ready to throw in his face but instead of a hit, Alois puts a hand on his back, somewhat gently.
“Thoma,” he begins, uncharacteristically softening his voice, making Thoma still. Alois raises his eyebrows, chin tilted at Thoma’s hand holding the soil. He waits for a beat, and when Alois doesn’t do anything, uncurls his fingers (too trusting), letting the pebbles drop onto the ground. He thinks there might be pride in Alois’ eyes, but he might as well be imagining it. His eyes are having a hard time focusing on anything right now.
“You gotta be more careful in the future if this is going to become a regular thing,” Alois tells him gruffly. “If I was any other Knight, your ass would be either “talking” with the preachers or in a ditch somewhere. Don’t disrespect your ma by dying before me, you got that?”
Thoma stares at him, then licks his lips. “W-Why?” he asks, and then coughs immediately after, Alois’ hand tightening on his back. He doesn’t know why Alois is telling him this, why he hurt him, why he isn’t arresting him, or hitting him, why he brought up his mama or why he’s looking at him like that, like a worried─.
“Because I made a promise to her that I would keep you company when she was gone,” he says to him, and Thoma closes his eyes, grief washing over him like waves on a shore. When he opens his eyes, Alois is staring off into the distance, jaw set.
“It’s not,” Thoma manages to cough out, making Alois look at him. “It’s not going to be a regular thing. I didn’t mean it. That was─It was just a stupid mistake, okay?” The older man raises an eyebrow at him, mouth set in a firm line.
“Seemed like you meant it a whole lot when you could barely go up to your apartment without stopping to grind against one another like desperate dogs, kid.” Thoma flushes in shame. Alois sighs, rising to his full height and giving Thoma a brief once over.
“Whatever, can you stand up or do I have to call miss sailor over here to help carry you home?” Thoma shifts on his side, wincing when a particularly sharp stone finds its way in-between his back.
“Can’t you at least help me halfway there?” Alois snorts, turning around and beginning to walk away.
“Nah, consider this another lesson. I’ll go get her then, if she doesn’t come in… let’s say twenty-ish minutes…just scream and someone will come by to look,” he says while waving a lazy goodbye, back to his usual self.
“Asshole,” Thoma mutters, watching as Alois disappears behind a wall, after which he finally sighs, sagging to properly lie down. His heart has finally calmed down enough that he can hear the bustling of the street vendors down the alley, customers bartering and little kids running around while playing tag.
He closes his eyes, simply breathing for a while, waiting for the resident anxiety sitting like a stone in his stomach to disappear. He thinks back on what Alois told him, and in a strange way, he thinks that the whole affair that just happened was his way of giving Thoma a pep talk. A really bad and violent one, sure, but between the vague half-threats and warnings he thinks there might have been a kernel of worry in Alois’ voice. That, or the headache he can feel building up in his temples is making him give too much credit to a man who by all means, doesn’t even like him that much.
Whatever, I just have to endure for a bit more until I can…he thinks mulishly, eyes slowly fluttering shut.
At some point or another, he thinks he falls asleep because he wakes up to the sound of pounding footsteps. Opening his eyes is a challenge in and out of itself, but he manages it with a stifled groan. The footsteps sound like they’re approaching closer and closer until finally─
“There you are, oh Barbatos, shit, hold on─”
Gloved hands lift him up into a sitting position, and he winces as his wounds stretch. Holly is holding him, brown eyes shining wide with muted fear and something else he can’t quite put a finger on.
“I wish we’d stop meeting like this,” he says, an attempt at humor but she just scowls, maneuvering his arm around her shoulders.
“I’m reporting that guy to the higher ups as soon as I get you in a bed,” she says, steel in her voice, and Thoma makes a noise in protest that Holly ignores. “He’s obviously mental, going up to me while I’m on patrol just to say that you would need a─a ride home and then simply leaving! Just like that! He didn’t even fucking tell me where you were! I was running around like a headless chicken, checking every corner of this goddamned, stupid, shitty city all the while you─” she bites the inside of her cheek, and Thoma moves his gaze from her angry face to the street in front.
“Sorry Holly, it’s my fault─”
“How is it your fault? No, scratch that, you’re right. It is your fault for letting him abuse you under the guise of some stupid training,” she spits, carrying him forward slowly.
“You don’t train, you get yourself bruised and beaten up and for what? So you can feel better about drowning in self-pity? Don’t give me that bullshit.”
Thoma frowns, the insults sliding off him like water from a duck’s back. “He’s not abusing me. I have actually learned some useful tricks because of him, you do know that right?”
“Like what?” she questions, whipping her head around to glare at him. He startles, then licks his lips, brows furrowing.
“How to throw a punch, dodging, blocking…things that could help me if I get in actual trouble, y’know?” he answers, meeting her eyes stubbornly. Her glare deepens, her grip on his shoulders tightening. She looks away, furious.
“No, I don’t know.”
She carries him to his apartment in silence.
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Holly hates her father.
This fact Thoma knows because one night, when she didn’t have patrol and when he wasn’t needed at the tavern, they decided to get drunk at his place for her birthday.
Pieces of birthday cake were left to sit on the table, paper decorations were thrown haphazardly all around the small apartment. Holly was on her third bottle of dandelion wine while Thoma was struggling with just one, when she told him the whole story.
“He was….was a fucken asshole, lemme tell ya,” she slurs, her country bumpkin accent that she usually tries to hide coming out full force. Her curly blonde hair that she keeps in a bun has been let down to fall in waves across her back, a cone shaped paper on her head with the words “Birthday Gal” in white letters written on it, and Thoma can’t help but think that she looks much more relaxed like this than she does in her knightly uniform.
“Idiot kept getting into debt with our neighbors. He was always lazy, he he didn’t do nothing ‘round the house, my mam had to pract-practicuh─” she bites her tongue and Thoma laughs, upside down on the only couch in the living room while Holly sits on the floor with her back to it. She huffs, shaking her head.
“Whatever, my mam had to do everything, from cooking, to raising me, to cleaning up after his messes in the village. A week before he died he told us that he─he had some stupid dream of traveling the world, can ya imagine? It’s like he turned crazy, just like that! Him, with no Mora and no experience wanted to see what the─” she hiccups “─the outside world looked like. As if he didn’t already have what every man could ever dream of waiting for him at home. A wife. A kid. But noooo─” she slams the bottle of wine onto the table, face twisted into an awful smile. “He just had to go testing out his luck, by getting on a boat and attempting to sail over to some mysterious eastern island off the Falcon Coast. The bastard got attacked by some-something or the other. Whatever, no one really knows what it was, big as it was, turned over his boat just like that. Then he drowned, ‘cause he didn’t even know how to swim, the fool. He called himself a sailor, but he just went on one single voyage. What kind of sailor is that?”
“Mm…sounds like you don’t…or didn’t…really like him,” Thoma says slowly, staring at the ceiling, most of his thinking capabilities fried by the alcohol. His walls really are an ugly shade, he muses.
Holly snorts. “Don’t like him? I hate him. Everything he stands─stood for. Just by being him, he ruined our lives. They only started to go up when he left.”
Thoma doesn’t say it, thankfully, but something in his heart tells him that Holly’s father knew. Holly told him herself, that the man wasn’t the best, but that he loved her mother, and her, although she refuses to admit it. Thoma thinks that he saw what he was doing to their family with his gambling addiction, and decided to put matters into his own hands, as awful as that may sound.
Of course, he has no proof, just a nagging feeling. He thinks that Holly may even know it too, but denial is a slippery slope, and she would rather choke than to admit that her father might have done anything to better their lives. Even dying.
Suddenly, he feels awful for even imagining something like that, he’s starting to feel like he might be the crazy one in this story. What Holly is saying is probably true, the man decided to run away from his problems. Nothing more, nothing less. Thoma is clearly not drunk enough if he can make up stories in his head like this and so he takes a longer gulp of wine to drown out his thoughts. Half of it spills on the floor with the other half barely getting into his mouth.
“What about…the debts?” he manages to ask, trying to continue the conversation despite feeling overwhelmingly dizzy.
Holly frowns, twirling the wine bottle in her hand. “Dunno. Mam never mentioned them, almost like they were paid off. I think the neighbors just felt bad and decided to let us off. See, I’m telling you, he left like poof and everything became better like, wow! Or, maybe, huzzah! Shit, this wine is definitely working if I’m making stupid sounds… Who cares about his ugly mug anyway,” she mutters, lowering her head to rest on her knees. She puts the bottle on the floor and then tells him, voice slightly muffled: “Can you get me some more of that cake?”
Thoma hums, slowly lowering himself onto the floor, his head hitting the wooden surface. “Sure, birthday girl. Whatever you want.”
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“Here’s your boat, boy,” old man Edward tells him gruffly, arms crossed and back straight as he watches Thoma examine the wooden contraption.
It’s masterfully crafted, obvious even to his uneducated eye. It’s wide and not too long, but that was fine since there would only ever be one person sailing it, anyway. Deep brown in color, it reminds him of the thick Mondstadt forests scattered throughout the country. It’s got a couple of hidden compartments where he can store the many things he plans to bring over to Inazuma, along with a pair of oars that he realizes that he’s going to have to learn how to use.
“Thank you!” he replies, handing over the last bag of Mora he owed. Edward grabs it and looks inside for a brief second before he swiftly turns around to go back home. Thoma shrugs at the old man’s back, knowing he means nothing personal by it, and then gets up close to look at the boat, finally allowing himself to touch it.
The wood feels sturdy, solid underneath his hand and the reality of his situation finally hits him. He’s really going to do it. Only one month until he…
Feeling off kilter, he decides to pick up the oars, sit in the boat and try to steer. It takes him a moment to realize that he has to push the actual boat into the sea to get it moving, but after that little hiccup, he’s good to go.
Safe to say, he practices swimming more than he does rowing, but it’s a start.
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Convincing Holly to not report Alois to the authorities proves to be just as difficult as he imagined. Currently, they’re three hours into a conversation and Thoma is starting to lose his voice.
“Are you insane? You keep going on about self-defense and being prepared to face the worst, what is the worst? What situation could possibly make you want to succumb to being beaten on a near daily basis by a man nearly triple your age? At one point, you’re going to go down and stay down!” Holly screams at him, hands flying all over the place.
“Holly, I’ll tell you once the time comes near, I promise. Just, there’s no reason to report Alois anymore, I’ll stop going to him, all right?” He puts up his hands in a placating manner, but that seems to light up Holly even further.
“When? When are you actually going to start telling me things, Thoma? You keep saying that when the time is right you’ll let me know why you’ve been putting up with him and that time seems to never come. I’m starting to think you go to him because you actually enjoy getting hurt. Am I wrong?” she challenges, crossing her arms, chin tilted.
“Wh─I don’t! Where did you get that idea, anyway?” He pinches his nose, covering his face. “Listen. Alois isn’t just some regular guy that I decided to ask to teach me how to fight, okay?” Holly cuts him off.
“I know, Barbatos, he was your mom’s childhood best friend, or whatever, which makes it all the more awful when you think about how he treats you. It’s like he’s taking out all his frustrations on you, don’t you think that’s strange? Or even crazy? A man his age should have better emotional control than to beat up some random teenager.”
But Thoma isn’t just a random teenager to Alois. He’s the son of the woman Alois loved and the man Alois despised with all his being. When he told Holly that Alois was his mama’s best friend, he wasn’t lying. He was also her first boyfriend, and then after his father washed up on the Mondstadt shores, he was her former boyfriend, left and abandoned for some outlander that could barely speak the language. Thoma can’t even imagine that situation, let alone how Alois felt during the whole thing. He wasn’t there when his parents got married, only giving a gift later when the celebration died down, his mama spoke of him only in passing and he knows the rest from his father who commented on many of their neighbors when he thought that Thoma couldn’t hear.
He wishes he could make Holly understand, but that’s not his story to tell. So he stays silent. Holly, upon seeing that he won’t speak, throws up her hands in exasperation, and Thoma bites his lip as to not flinch at the movement.
“You know what? Fine. I’m not going to report him.” Thoma lights up, ready to thank her, but then he notices her eyes, still angry, boring into his.
“But this has to stop. I don’t trust you to believe that you’ll stop letting Alois manhandle you, so I’m stepping away, from this. From us. I can’t─” she clenches her hands as they threaten to tremble “─I can’t just stand by and watch as my friend refuses to take care of himself.”
“That’s─I wouldn’t─” But he did, didn’t he? Let himself be used as an outlet for another man’s anger, under the guise of learning how to fight. He may not have admitted it to himself, but that’s what he was doing the entire time. His role in their constant back and forth wasn’t that of an equal, but of a victim.
Holly’s entire stance tells him that she won’t believe whatever comes out of his mouth next. Clearly, she means what she says. He lowers his head, shame coursing through his veins.
“I understand. I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you. It was never my intention.”
He sees her shift on her feet, and her entire body sags as she sighs.
“Of course it wasn’t,” she mutters, low enough for him to barely hear. “Goodbye, Thoma,” she tells him softly, and he raises his head, watching her as she walks to the outside door of his apartment. She opens it, hesitates for a split second, and then leaves, closing the door behind her with a near silent thump.
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Thoma learns how to row the boat, practicing from morning until evening, almost every day. At night, he buries himself in books and letters. He manages to string together half-baked sentences in Inazuman, and he can read their script at a comfortable pace. He stops meeting with Alois, only seeing him sometimes when he comes in to order a beer at Angel’s Share. He knows the older man is watching him, but he never approaches him, and Thoma doesn’t make the first move, keeping his promise to Holly.
Speaking of her, Thoma sees Holly when he goes out to buy groceries and talk with the locals. She’s always in a hurry, running after troublemakers or bandits that managed to sneak their way into the city. They barely share a nod when passing by, but Thoma thinks it might be for the better.
The people of Mondstadt are as wary as ever when talking to him, although their distrust and dislike has had time to settle and lessen, his mother’s death probably softening his image in their mind’s eye. He’s never felt that offended by it, unlike Cecile, who would always jump the first person to call him an out of place outlander or treat him any differently. As long as the people he’s close to know the real him and not what the rumours say, he’s content.
Thoma behaves the same as ever; he congratulates people on their accomplishments when he hears wind of them, he helps old grannies with their bags, he plays games with his neighbors’ kids and gives them candy when their parents aren’t looking.
He’s trying to make sure he remembers Mondstadt and its people at their best, because soon enough, he won’t be seeing it or them for a long, long time.
──────────────────
On a spring morning, Thoma writes a letter. He writes many of them, in fact, trying to find the right words to convey everything that he’s feeling and wants to say. Happiness, regret, gratitude, guilt. He goes through many drafts, and he can’t help but wonder if his father had felt the same as Thoma does now, all those years ago when he wrote his mother that fated letter.
Finally, feeling satisfied with what he wrote, he folds the paper carefully, putting it inside of an envelope and then sealing it with red wax.
He slips it to Holly when she’s busy reprimanding two of the Knights that fell asleep while guarding the gates, a neat trick that he learnt from watching Alois mess with his subordinates.
He decides to give Holly until evening, and it is precisely then that he hears knocking on his apartment door. He barely has time to stand up from the couch before she’s rushing inside, hair frazzled and face thunderous.
“What do you mean, you’re leaving? To Inazuma?!” she asks, voice loud enough that Thoma thinks even his elderly neighbors hear.
“It’s just like I wrote in the letter. I’m going after my father,” he tells her calmly, and she snorts, shaking her head.
“This is why you had that thug beating you up nearly every day? So you can go to Inazuma and get your head cut off by a samurai? Thoma,” she chides, huffing and crossing her arms, Thoma’s letter hanging loosely from one hand.
“You’re deluding yourself, is what you’re doing, Thoma.” He frowns, but she doesn’t even look at him before continuing. “I mean, did you even think about any of this? You’re going to sail halfway across Teyvat in search of a man that might as well be dead! Have you even thought of that possibility?”
“I have, more than enough times, considered that,” he replies, watching as Holly works herself up into a proper tantrum.
“So you just don’t care? That your entire journey would be spent chasing after nothing but ghosts?” When he doesn’t answer, she glares at him. “Fine, let’s say he’s not dead. Let’s say that he’s back somewhere in Inazuma, wherever that might be, and he’s got himself a new family. Or maybe he’s returned to his actual one, after seeing all that Mondstadt had to offer. Honestly, that might just be it! You never know with outlanders,” she says, sneer clear in her voice, and Thoma starts to get angry.
“Why are you speculating so maliciously about him like that? You don’t know him, Holly, and you definitely don’t know if he had a family before coming over here. And have you forgotten? I’m an outlander too.”
Holly waves her hand carelessly, coming closer as Thoma leans back. “Well, you’re different than them, you’re just the unfortunate son of one, that doesn’t count.” Thoma’s frown deepens, but Holly doesn’t notice. “And besides, you don’t know your father either, I think I’m right on the nose,” she tells him conspiratorially, hands on hips. “He probably felt so ashamed for leaving behind his girlfriend back in Inazuma that he couldn’t take it anymore, so he stole a boat─”
“My father,” he cuts in coldly, and Holly finally looks at him, surprised at his tone, “was a woodworker and an incredibly smart man. He knew his way around anything sea related, because he grew up living next to a port, and he got to watch as all kinds of ships were made. There was no report of a boat being stolen, or of anyone selling a boat at the time that he left. He made his own.”
Thick, heavy silence permeates the air. Thoma stares at Holly, and then, in as much as a calm tone he can manage, says: “I think you should leave.”
She goes red in the face, spluttering. “You─What about us? What about all your friends, your people, your home? What about you? Imagine the life you could be living without your father’s ghost chaining you down! You feel so confident in leaving it all behind? You just don’t care?”
At his determined face, she glares. “You know what? Fine. You’ll see that I was right if you meet him, if, because higher chance is that he’s lying on the bottom of the ocean somewhere.”
Thoma narrows his eyes, feeling a vicious kind of anger bubble on his tongue.
“Don’t compare my father to yours. Just because you think yours didn’t love you enough to stay you think you can say mine felt the same? Get out, Holly.”
Her eyes are blown wide with anger, and they tremble as she spits at him. “Fuck you. I can’t believe I used to like you, Barbatos. Shit.” She turns around to leave, spitting curses before whipping her head around when she’s near the outside door.
“I hope when you meet your dad you realize that he doesn’t deserve any of what you’re doing for him. And when you see him smiling with that big Inazuman family he kept hidden from you?” She whispers, smirking, “I hope you hear me saying I told you so.”
She throws the opened letter down onto the floor, and then leaves, not bothering to close the door behind her. Thoma stares at the empty space she used to inhabit, and doesn’t know if he feels anything at all.
──────────────────
“A little birdie told me that you might be in want of these,” Charles tells him, sliding over two bottles of dandelion wine, aged perfectly. Thoma smiles at him, taking the bottles in his hands before fishing around in his pockets to grab a bag of Mora.
“No need,” the older man tells him, polishing a glass with a towel, “it has already been paid for.”
Thoma stills, slowly looking up at Charles who doesn’t spare him another glance, putting away the glass. He licks his lips before speaking.
“Next time you see him, thank him for me, will you?” Charles looks at him from the corner of his eye, before sighing.
“All right lad.”
Thoma moves the bottles from his hands to the small woven bag he has slung over his shoulder. He carefully puts them inside, making sure they don’t clink against one another when he walks.
“This is it, then?” Charles asks him, something heavy in his voice that Thoma can’t pick up on. He looks at the older man, unsure of what to say, or where to begin. Charles throws the towel over his shoulder, crossing his arms, and they both stand in silence for a bit.
It’s early enough that most people are enjoying the warmth and comfort of their beds, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The air is fresh, even in the tavern, smelling of recently bloomed flowers and wine. Birdsong can be heard from somewhere far away, a melody lost to time. Angel’s Share is empty, save for the two of them.
Charles uncrosses his arms, and reaches over to put a large, comforting hand on Thoma’s shoulder. He looks him in his eyes when he speaks: “Good luck. And I hope you find him.”
Thoma swallows, managing to give a wobbly smile. “Thank you.”
Charles retreats his hand, both of his hands now placed on the counter. Then, he raises a fist and gently hits his chest with it, speaking softly. “May Barbatos guide you.”
Thoma mirrors the gesture, and then bows slightly, taking one last, longing glance at Angel’s Share before leaving, closing the door with a soft chime.
He makes his way over to the coast under Starsnatch cliff, double and even triple checking on his way there his bag, mentally cataloguing if he’s missed anything.
Food, check, wine and water, check, compass, check, omamori, in my pocket, change of clothes and fishing rod, already in the boat, the letter─
He pats the space next to his left breast, sighing in relief when he feels the paper beneath the shirt. He worried that he would forget it, so he sewed it into the shirt itself.
The sunrise is beautiful when he sees it, a myriad of colors reflecting off of the big sea as he unloads his bag into the boat. The sand clings to his feet even more than usual, the wind blows the opposite direction of where he’s going. Somehow, it’s like Teyvat itself is telling him not to proceed further. But he has to. He needs to know the truth.
Never forget to be first loyal to yourself.
He breathes in deeply, and with a yell that has the nearby seagulls flying away, he pushes the boat into the sea.
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The weather proves to be quite nice for the first few days of his voyage. Thoma rows most of the time, only taking a break when he needs to eat or when the winds decide to blow in his favor, pushing the boat. His shoulders get a workout and then some, but luckily the hard work he put in the past month has paid off, and he’s able to steer without many issues.
He amuses himself by fishing, not because he’s hungry, he packed enough food to last him weeks if need be, but because he enjoys the repetitive work of hook, wait, reel in, pull. It calms him when self-doubt worms its way into his mind, and besides, watching the fishes flop around is kind of funny, though he feels mean for thinking so.
When he’s not fishing, he’s constantly learning Inazuman, talking to himself and attempting to decipher some lines of poetry. Other times, he stares at the map of Teyvat’s waters until his eyes hurt, making sure that he’s on the right path.
He wonders if his father did this too, back hunched while trying to calculate how long it would take until he hit land. Or did he simply let fate decide his course?
Thoma doesn’t know, but he will. In due time.
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He knows he’s getting closer to Inazuma when he sees the dark clouds converging over the horizon.
There are currently no signs of thunder or lightning, but he still hesitates for a brief moment. Is what he’s doing truly worth it?
Staring at the murky waters, his reflection shifts and twists, the green of his eyes blending in with the blue waves.
Your ideals, your wants and your aspirations are what you should always strive for above all else.
He nods, straightening himself. He looks upwards, at the cloudy sky, and braces himself. With renewed vigor, he starts rowing towards the oncoming storm, mind set.
It doesn’t matter if this journey ends up being “worth it” or not. What matters is what Thoma wants. And he wants to see his father one last time, even if it’s on a memorial notice.
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Thoma doesn’t know how long he’s been passing through the storm, but it feels never-ending. The thunder has become a constant background noise, huge waves have started forming and the winds have picked up in speed, making it hard to see without constantly squinting his eyes.
He continues forward, or what he thinks is forward anyway, his compass having been blown into the water long ago. Something rumbles in the distance and then─
The world goes white.
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He comes to, heaving and gurgling as water penetrates his mouth, his nose, even his eyes. He tries to find purchase on anything nearby, finally closing his hand around a piece of wood he thinks once used to be his boat.
He manages to heave himself up onto it, nearly slipping because of his trembling and weakened body. Thoma coughs, deep, guttural, as the seawater finally starts to leave his lungs.
What hit me? A lightning bolt? Or did it only hit the boat?
With his eyes nearly shut against the severe weather, he tries to observe his surroundings as the angry waves attempts to pull him under. There are pieces of driftwood flying everywhere, the winds brutally carrying off broken remnants of the dandelion wine, his spare clothing and food, even his fishing rod.
Thoma tries to swim, but getting his legs to move is like trying to move the world itself. Desperately, he grabs the omamori that’s somehow managed to stay inside his pocket, white-knuckling it and bringing it up to his lips as another crack of lighting hits the nearby water, shocking him for a brief moment and rendering his limbs immobile.
Please, please. He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for.
Crack! Thunder. Snap! Lightning again. Phfoo! Winds howling.
He feels something hit him on the back of the head, pain blinding him as he succumbs to the darkness.
──────────────────
The lightning stops, at some point or another.
The thunder isn’t as loud now.
The winds have calmed down into a soft breeze.
Just a bit more. Just a bit more.
He can’t feel his legs. He needs to swim. He needs to finish what he started.
White clouds.
A flock of birds flying above.
The omamori he’s holding shakes together with his hand.
A different taste in the air.
Unfamiliar fishes peer at him under the surface.
Just a bit more. Just a bit more.
The driftwood creaks like it’s about to fall apart beneath him.
There’s buzzing in his ears.
His lips are cold.
His teeth chatter.
His jaw hurts from constant clenching.
He doesn’t know if he’s moving forward anymore.
Just a bit more. Just a bit more.
──────────────────
Shore on the horizon.
──────────────────
The embers of hope blaze into an inferno. Is this it?
He licks his lips, putting in as much effort as he can so that his legs move faster. He doesn’t know if he’s successful, but the beach becomes clearer and clearer with every minute passing by. There are people standing on it, dressed in long, flowing clothes that Thoma thinks are Inazuman. He can even make out some black pieces strapped to their shoulders and chest. Armor, perhaps?
His throat has been rendered raw by the amount of saltwater he inhaled, but he still attempts to make noises to alert them.
Slowly, at a snail’s pace, he washes up near enough that they finally notice that there’s something in the water. He can barely see them getting agitated, people starting to yell before a pale haired man raises his hand, saying something, or perhaps ordering, as two men break off and start...coming towards him?
Thoma feels hands on his shoulders, around his waist, lifting him up, up. He coughs, trembling all over, shivering at the unexpected touch. He’s laid onto the sand none too gently, as he struggles to land on his hands, his head hitting the surface with a dull thump.
Someone is talking. He should probably respond. Lifting his head up proves to be harder than he expected, but he manages it just barely. He's face to face with wooden sandals, but closely behind them, surrounded by soldiers, he can make out a pair of bright violet eyes, watching him.
He’s grabbed by the hair, and he chokes as he’s forced to look up into an elderly man’s face. He looks serious, but Thoma has a hard time focusing on what he’s saying, much less what he looks like.
The man attempts to ask him something, and despite the past year of constant learning and studying, Thoma understands only the most basic of words that are being pointed at him.
“─are you? Where…come from? Are you…? Say…why… you here?”
The old man exchanges a glance with someone above him, probably the soldier holding him up by the hair. Thoma tries to clear his throat, but only ends up spitting up more seawater, directly onto the man’s clothes.
Immediately, there’s uproar, people shouting and he can hear the sound of blades being unsheathed.
He can barely think, his eyes are growing more and more tired, nearly fluttering shut. Weakness grips him by the throat, constricting his lungs and immobilizing his limbs, making it impossible to do anything. Moments before he passes out, with the old man’s bewildered eyes on him, he licks his lips, gathering the last remnants of his strength to whisper.
Why is he here? Only one reason exists.
“Father…”
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Thoma wakes up to the sound of a door slamming.
The first thing he notices is that he’s lying on his side on a hard, unfamiliar surface. The second thing he notes is the bright light coming from somewhere above, shining directly onto his face, making him clench his eyes against the strain. Third, and probably most important thing he notes, somebody is with him.
A silent thump is all he hears for a brief moment, and then the shuffling of papers, before a raspy voice calls out: “Are you…─…awake?”
Gradually, the world comes into focus. Thoma shifts, trying to decipher what’s being asked of him, slowly and carefully sitting up. He rubs his wrists, noticing that he’s still in the same clothes he swam in, but at least they’re fully dry now as far as he can tell.
Fear courses through him, lightning quick.
He grabs at his shirt desperately, and then sighs in relief when he feels the crumpled paper still attached to the fabric. Thank the Archons. The omamori is still in his hands, and he winces in pain, trying to relax his fingers so they let go of the amulet, having been holding onto it like a lifeline. He puts it in his pocket, and then remembers his position, anticipation burning under his skin.
Hesitantly, he looks around, noticing the small, cramped room he’s in. Decorated sparsely, with wooden walls and no windows, even if Thoma’s never been in one, it gives off the appearance of an interrogation office with its oppressive atmosphere.
He turns around to face the person who just cleared their throat. Thoma takes in their appearance, they have long dark hair that’s been arranged into a topknot of some kind, if he assumes correctly. Dark purple armor accented with gold covers nearly their entire body, and even a part of their face, making it hard to discern their gender.
The person─officer, perhaps?─opens their mouth, and says something that Thoma struggles to translate in his head. Finally realizing that Thoma, is in fact, not fully Inazuman and therefore can’t follow their rapid-fire speech, the person frowns in irritation.
Speaking stiltedly, almost like to a child, they try again.
“Your,” they point at Thoma, “name,” they mimic writing, “what?”
He licks his lips, ignoring the humiliation at his treatment with practiced ease, straightening into a proper seiza position, remembering what his father told him about paying proper respect, clenched hands on his knees with his chin tilted down.
“Thoma,” he replies, and the person lets out a quiet hum, though Thoma doesn’t know if it’s in appreciation at his deference or understanding. He knows his father and mama gave him a name that could both pass as a Mond one and an Inazuman one. Maybe it’s pronounced differently here?
What comes next is somewhat of what he expected when he decided to embark on his journey. They ask him for his father’s name, then his mama’s, where he’s from, how he managed to come to Inazuma just by himself, why he came to Inazuma, if he plans to leave soon, if he has any weapons on his person, if he plans to stay, and so on and so forth. Of course, this entire time the officer is speaking extremely slowly, and Thoma is replying even slower. It’s one thing to talk to himself in Inazuman and a whole another to have a native speaker asking him questions and expecting eloquent answers. Mostly, he gets by with one-word sentences or with body movements, like nodding or shaking his head.
He doesn’t get to ask about his father, because the officer stands up, and without a goodbye or even a backward glance, leaves the room through a sliding door. Thoma isn’t left alone for long, the officer being replaced by what looks to be yet another soldier, though this one is much bulkier, almost as tall as Alois.
The same questions resurface. Who he is. Why he is here. If he’s planning to leave soon. On and on in circles until the officer is apparently satisfied. Thoma’s throat is dry.
Before the large officer can leave, Thoma hurries to ask: “Uhm, do you know where I can find my father?” The man’s cold gaze lands on him, searching. He grunts, and then leaves. Great.
The scene repeats, this time a smaller, more petit soldier walks in. Same questions. Same answers. My name is Thoma. My father is Inazuman, my mother is Mond. I came here to find him. No, I don’t plan on staying long. No, I don’t have any weapons on me. No, I don’t plan on leaving soon, until I find him.
He repeats the same question to the smaller officer. She asks him for his father’s name, he gives it, and then for his surname. At his silence, she looks up.
“If you don’t know his last name, I’m afraid we can’t help you. A name such as your father’s isn’t that rare, there could be many people who could fit the profile.”
She then leaves, carrying the stacks of papers and writing utensils that were on the small wooden table.
Thoma is left alone. He breathes in deeply, patience slowly leaving him. He needs to refocus. In through the nose, out through the mouth. His father never told them his last name, and Thoma hopes that it was out of simple forgetfulness, and not out of malicious forethought, so that they may never find him if they go searching.
He doesn’t wait long, the first officer that greeted him when he woke up officially releases him, leading him out of the small room and into a long hallway, and down a couple of doors, he’s finally let outside.
Thoma has to squint his eyes as the hot afternoon sun beams down at him. Finally, when his eyes adjust to the overwhelming light, he allows himself to glance around.
Inazuma looks…wow.
Pink sakura petals float and gently sway on the wind, leaving a trail on the cobbled streets. There are small wooden shops everywhere the eye can see, merchants proudly displaying their stalls of various knickknacks. White painted signs are perched on wooden roofs or placed next to shops. People are walking all around, children laughing and chasing each other, officers keeping patrol, stray cats and dogs fighting in the streets. It feels overcrowded to Thoma, though that might just be his overwhelmed mind trying to frantically absorb everything it sees.
He’s brought out of his thoughts when he realizes that the officer that let him out is nowhere to be seen. Is he free to roam around, then?
When he sees that nobody is running towards him with handcuffs, he decides to do just that.
Thoma takes his time, simply observing while walking around. He has no Mora on him, so buying snacks or even eating is out of the option. He should definitely do something about that sooner or later, but for now he decides to let himself get immersed in his father’s homeland.
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He’s been in Inazuma for a whole day, if he doesn’t count the unknown amount of time he spent unconscious, and Thoma is starving. He can’t leave Ritou, Tenryou Commission officers blocking any and all entry to the other islands without a travel permit that costs his entire Mond apartment in Mora. He doesn’t even know if he landed in Ritou originally, the soldiers that he saw at the shore seem different than the Tenryou Commission ones, but that might be his minds just playing tricks on him.
He slept under the cover of the Inazuma Archon’s Statue, the otherworldly light emanating from the figure keeping him at least somewhat warm.
But he didn’t sleep soundly. He woke up countless times, phantom water in his lungs. He’d cough until his throat hurt, wheezing and gagging until he’d nearly thrown up. He kept hearing the crack of lightning somewhere nearby, as if following him even in his dreams.
Not to mention, the various burns across his body from the electro shock of the thunderstorm made it hard to find a position to sleep in that didn’t hurt. The pain is something he has never experienced before, and while it isn’t as awful as he first assumed, the quantity of the burns is what scares him more, angry red splotches resembling tree branches are scattered all the way from his shoulders down to his stomach and even a couple on his ankles. His muscles ache, and he’s tired all the way down to his bones.
As if it couldn’t get worse, he’s got a terrible cold as well. That at least is somewhat expected, considering the amount of time he spent drenched. The Inazuman officers didn’t even give him a change of clothes, at least he’s lucky that they weren’t torn apart, otherwise he’d really be in trouble.
All this to say, there’s nowhere for him to go but up. With a wayward prayer to Barbatos for good luck, Thoma gets to work.
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Walking down the wooden dock determinedly, Thoma observes the people, or he should say, lack of.
It’s quite early in the morning, the sun barely showing its face over the horizon. A couple of ships are making their way towards the port, crates piled on top of one another so high on the they can be seen even from the shore.
Thoma startles upon hearing a shout, and he turns in time to see a man with a straw hat sitting near the kitsune statue struggling, fishing rod trembling in his hands as the fly line wildly moves across the surface of the water. As the man leans dangerously in front, nearly keeling over into the sea, Thoma doesn’t leave room to think. He’s behind him in a second, hands coming to clamp over the old man’s, holding onto the handle with a death grip as the line continues to trash.
Wide dark eyes look up at him, and Thoma gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but he thinks it might come off more as a grimace. Shit. That storm really did a number on me, he thinks, clenching his teeth against the pain steadily building up in his shoulders. He needs to end this before his arms give out.
“On my count,” he grunts, “one, two, three─”
By some miracle, they both manage to reel in the absolutely behemoth of a pufferfish onto the wooden surface. It flails around wildly, and before Thoma can think, the old man clubs it over with a nearby wooden stick. Then, while it’s numbed, swiftly grabbing a knife from his pocket, the old man neatly stabs the fish right through the top of its gills, killing it instantly.
Thoma lets out a breath, whistling in appreciation at the size of the catch. The fisherman roughly grabs the pufferfish, dunking it in a sizeable bucket of ice water sitting next to him. He wipes his hands against dirtied Inazuman clothing and then gives Thoma a curious look.
“Thank ye kind lad,” he says, tipping him his straw hat, a barely there smile underneath his long white beard. The old man’s voice has a hint of an accent, and paired with his dark brown skin and the hint of green in his clothes, Thoma assumes that he’s somewhere from Sumeru.
Thoma waves a hand, catching his breath, heart beating dangerously fast for such a small endeavor. “Nothing to thank me for!” he chirps when he gathers enough air into his lungs, leaning back a bit further from the fisherman as he crosses his legs in an x, the old man’s eyes following him. The fisherman hums, resuming his attention back onto his task, gathering up his fishing rod and hooking on some bait from a nearby bag sitting next to the bucket of ice.
“Haven’t seen ya ‘round these parts, are ya…─?” Thoma doesn’t know the exact word the man uses, but he assumes it means some flavour of outlander.
“Yes, I came here from Mondstadt, the name’s Thoma,” he says, holding out his hand. But the man doesn’t shake it like Thoma expected, instead, he puts his right hand on his heart, nodding slightly. Thoma retracts his hand in embarrassment, before mirroring the gesture, making the old man smile.
“I am Ammar, well met, Thoma,” he says, gravelly voice reminding Thoma of the rich and aromatic spices travelling merchants would sell when coming to Mondstadt.
“Well met,” he parrots, leaning forward, his hands on his ankles. His eyes glance at Ammar’s hands, and he frowns when he realizes that they’re still trembling around the rod’s handle. Ammar seems to realize where he’s looking, letting out a rambunctious laugh.
“Ah, are ya worried ‘bout me?” Thoma blushes, sputtering out an apology, making the man laugh harder.
“No worries, no worries, lad. These boys right ‘ere─” he tilts his chin at his hands “are way past their prime. It’s a wonder they even work right,” he says humorously, and then stills, as the fly line suddenly begins to tense. With a practiced motion, Ammar waits out the fish, patiently, patiently…splash!
Right before Thoma’s eyes, Ammar pulls with all his strength, reeling in an elongated and sharp looking blue fish. Like before, the fisherman strikes it with the wooden stick and then cleanly kills it, throwing it next to the pufferfish.
“But, I make wonders work,” Ammar continues, grinning at Thoma who laughs right back.
Thoma spends his morning chatting with Ammar, keeping him company and sometimes helping him with reeling in the more difficult fish. He’s been in Ritou for a long time, originally coming with his wife and daughter, but when the former died and the latter went out to explore the world, he decided to make the island his home. Ammar doesn’t seem too grief-struck, talking about his family with fondness and just a touch longing. Apparently his daughter tries to visit every once in a while, and Thoma hopes that Ammar can see her sooner rather than later.
“Why are there so many soldiers here?” Thoma asks curiously after another pair of officers passes them by, loudly gossiping. Ammar pursues his lips, moustache twitching.
“They’re ‘ere to make sure we don’t leave,” he says grimly. “─… to the Shogun’s wishes, there’s this …─…on all…─…and…─ of goods and people.” He must make a face, because Ammar explains again, this time slower and with more basic words for which Thoma is immensely grateful for. He can carry a casual conversation, but some of the Inazuman vocabulary really flies over his head.
“Basically, us outside folk can only stay here in good ol’ Ritou. We can’t leave without a Travel Permit, ‘s like a ticket,” Ammar explains, “and it costs a hell of a lot Mora. Imagine a number, and then triple it, and then again. That’s how much that…─…costs. Those guys─” he nods subtly at the stationed Tenryou Commission officers, “─make sure it stays that way. Bastards,” he mutters underneath his stash.
Thoma murmurs in agreement. He already knew about the permit and it’s currently his biggest roadblock, considering that Thoma’s whole plan was to search under every nook and cranny in Inazuma until he found his father.
“You said something about goods?” Thoma prompts, and Ammar nods, straw hat tipping.
“Aye, due to the storms ‘round Inazuma, nobody sane wants to cross the sea─” Thoma winces “─so the…─… is terrible. Not to mention, all the prices here in Ritou are awful, just awful.” Ammar shakes his head.
“But what about them?” Thoma asks, tilting his head at the now docked ship full of boxes and people.
“Ah, that.” Ammar puffs, adjusting himself so the rod rests more comfortably in his hands. “Those guys are Snezhnayan, the Shogun has a deal with ‘em, apparently. Or maybe it’s just the Tenryou Commission, who knows.” The old man shrugs. “They got more freedom than other outlanders, they can come and leave as they wish and don’t ‘ave to worry too much ‘bout the Tenryou Commission searching ‘em, or taking a cut out of their sales.”
“I see,” Thoma replies, eyes falling back on the horizon. It’s quite nice, the salty taste of the air reminds him a bit of the shore under Starsnatch cliff, though here in Inazuma the atmosphere has more of a tingly feel to it.
More and more people are starting to appear, merchants putting up their stores and neighbors greeting each other in the streets. A crowd is soon to follow, Thoma thinks, remembering how full the streets were yesterday.
He frowns, hearing something in the distance. Ammar perks up, and they both turn around to watch as a dark clad lady orders around a bunch of lost looking Tenryou Commission officers. Straining his ears, Thoma tries to overhear what has caused such a commotion.
“─faster! By the will of the Tsaritsa, you─!” The woman yells, frustration clear in her voice. She pinches her nose, while a Tenryou officer yells back at her, pointing at something over in the ship, back at his men and then at her.
“Oh ho,” Ammar breathes, “trouble?” Thoma snorts at the man’s joyful tone. Really, now, he thinks, shaking his head. He goes back to staring as the argument rises even more in volume, with more and more officers starting to gang up on the young woman, Thoma frowns.
“I’ll be right back,” he tells Ammar while getting up, who gives him a startled look.
“Oy! Don’t do nothing stupid!” Ammar yells at him in warning, and Thoma waves a hand as he starts into a light jog. He nears the place of the docked ship, slowing his pace into a casual walk.
“Listen here, miss,” says an intimidating looking officer, arms crossed and mouth twisted into an awful scowl. “It’s not our fault that your delivery guy isn’t here, alright?”
The auburn-haired woman has an even more awful scowl on her face, if possible. “How is it not your fault? My employer specifically said that a group of men in armor would be waiting for me at Ritou, with a cargo cart ready to be loaded up and shipped to Inazuma City,” she hisses, thick Snezhnayan accent turning most of her s’s into z’s.
“Well, clearly your employer was wrong,” the man taunts haughtily. “None of my men here are hired to do your bidding, so I’m sorry to say, miss,” he says while smirking, “but you’re at a loss. Good luck with getting those goods all the way to the city by yourself.”
That’s my cue, Thoma thinks ruefully, glancing at his left before taking in a deep breath, and then walking into the lion’s den.
“Ah, hello there!” he greets cheerfully, making the others whip their head around to look at the new intruder. “Lovely morning we’re having, right?”
“Outlander,” says the tall officer, contempt dripping from every vowel. “What do you want? Can’t you see that we’re busy?”
Thoma nods respectfully to the officer, or what he thinks counts as respectfully, before turning his attention back onto the Snezhnayan woman.
“Ah, I’m very sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help but to overhear,” he says, hands behind his back, smiling politely while the woman scrutinizes him, “that a misunderstanding was brewing over here, and I just had to check it out.”
“So what? Does that make it your business? Screw off,” a smaller officer replies, puffing up his chest like an angry bird.
Thoma chuckles good naturedly, making the officer turn red in the face. He growls, grabbing his spear and aiming it right at Thoma’s chest, making him flinch.
“Woah, woah! No need for that kind of violence, friend,” Thoma says, lifting his hands up in surrender while the young man glares at him from underneath his hat. “I wasn’t laughing at you, but myself,” he says, and the officer frowns.
“You’re right,” he tells him conspiratorially, “none of this is really my business, but the commotion you were making was simply too loud not to notice, you see…” he trails off, tilting his head slightly to the left. The officer follows his gaze, and then pales, seeing the large crowd gathered at the port, observing them with Ammar in the front, his eyes twinkling.
“Hachiro, put your spear down,” the large officers growls, “now.”
“Y-Yes, Daiki-sama,” the younger man mutters.
Hachiro lowers his spear, making his way back to the bigger group with one last thunderous glare thrown at Thoma.
Just a bit more…
“Glad we got that sorted out,” he says truthfully, and Daiki’s nostrils flare.
“Outlander, what do you want?” asks the Snezhnayan woman, and Thoma’s attention goes back up to her.
“Ah, nothing much, just to offer my humble services, if needed be,” he answers, and her eyebrows raise. He glances at the people, seeing that more have arrived, but…Just a bit more, he thinks.
“After all, such a terrible argument broke out over some simple boxes,” he says, sagging his shoulders in regret, his hand casually in his pocket, clutching the omamori. “But I understand,” he nods firmly, “the Tenryou Commission is extremely busy and they certainly don’t have the time to help carry out a simple task such as that, why, they have to patrol!” Read: slack off.
The crowd is gathering closer and closer, and they all murmur excitedly as his words reach them. People always love a good show.
“Why you─” Daiki thunders, but the woman cuts him off.
“And you’re saying that you will, what? Carry all the boxes one by one on foot to Inazuma City? Don’t make me laugh,” she scoffs, and Thoma hums, shifting on the balls of his feet.
“We─ell,” he stretches the word, seeing movement in the crowd from the corner of his eye, “I’d certainly be happy to help, but I do think that my services won’t be needed, this time around.”
The woman looks at him in confusion, and Daiki gears up to tear him a new one but in his peripheral vision, Thoma sees a large man make his way out of the crowd, coming towards them.
“Daiki, report. What is the meaning of this?” The man is huge, easily towering over the rest of them, and Thoma has to crane his neck just to be able to see his chin.
“E-Ebina Gonshirou-sama!” Daiki splutters, and the rest of the Tenryou Commission soldiers start to nervously murmur in-between themselves.
“Silence!” Gonshirou orders, and they all shut up in the span of a second. “Daiki, did you not hear me?”
Daiki gulps, stammering. “O-Of course I heard you, Squad Leader. Uhm, let’s see…T-This woman came into our dock and started yelling at us out of nowhere! She says that we’re supposed to carry her cargo to Inazuma City, but since we didn’t receive any orders that sound like those, she must be making─”
“I am here,” Gonshirou states, “to give those orders to you, right now. Although, Miss Kageyama told me that she left a paper with the mission’s details, right on your desk.”
Daiki’s eyes widen.
“Did you not read it?” Gonshirou asks, the underlying anger in his voice palatable.
“G-Gonshirou-sama, we were─last night, you see─” Daiki trembles under the larger man’s glare. “Patrol was late into the night, and we─perhaps Miss Kageyama didn’t leave it right on the desk, surely? There are─There’s a lot of paperwork, you see…” Daiki trails off and then shuts up at the look on Gonshirou’s face.
“Are you insinuating that Miss Kageyama didn’t do her job properly?” Gonshirou bellows, and Daiki pales, waving his hands around wildly.
“No! No, Gonshirou-sama, n-not at all! It─It was my fault, I apologize! I’m sorry,” he stammers out, going into a perfect bow, and the rest of the officers hastily follow.
“Hmph,” the Squad Leader growls, turning his attention to the Snezhnayan lady whose smile freezes on her face.
“You,” he enunciates, “were supposed to be here in half a koku. It’s still the hour of the Dragon,” he says disapprovingly and the young woman colors.
Koku? Hour of the Dragon? Thoma thinks that those must be referring to the way Inazumans measure time. He didn’t know why he expected it to be the same as in Mondstadt.
“S-Still! It is the Tenryou Commission’s job to be ready at all times no matter when…when…” the young woman feebly protests, but Gonshirou just glares at her, and her indignation dissipates. Then, his eyes land on Thoma.
What a look, he thinks smiling politely while his shirt sticks to his back, having been sweating the moment he announced himself to the group.
“Outlander,” he simply says, low voice cutting through the crowd’s gossip like a sword through the air.
“Yes?” Thoma replies, standing up straight. The Squad Leader looks at him for a bit longer, before turning around.
“Get out of here, it was not your place to interfere,” he says, and Thoma bows, even though the man can’t see it.
“Of course, I am very sorry, sir,” he says, the Mond title slipping out at the end. He hurries back towards the crowd, and Ammar greets him with a friendly slap to his elbow.
“Ya got …─…of…─…!” Ammar tells him gleefully, and Thoma flushes, not knowing what phrase Ammar just used but definitely knowing the meaning behind it.
“Let’s just go back to fishing, I think everything’s resolved now,” he tells the old man, and he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement before following Thoma. On their way back to their original spot, many people give him curious looks, and some even bow shallowly to him, making him flusteredly look away.
“I think you’re gonna get a reputation ‘round these parts very soon,” Ammar tells him, smirking at Thoma’s huff, “Thoma-san,” he teases, and Thoma’s lips unconsciously twitch upwards.
“Well, as long as I can help people, that’s fine by me,” he answers truthfully, making himself comfortable next to Ammar.
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Big, guileless eyes stare up at him in intense scrutiny. The little girl opens her mouth, and stubbornly repeats the same sentence she has been saying ever since she walked up to him:
“Neko-chan.”
Thoma stares back helplessly, unsure how he got himself in this situation.
After helping Ammar with fishing for the entire day, the old man introduced him to Kurisu, the president of the International Trade Association, who was delighted to have another pair of hands to help around the organization. Apparently, the man watched the entire fiasco with the Kanjou officers, and found it equal parts hilarious and inspiring, offering Thoma free stay at their inn despite his unconvincing attempts at refusal.
Upon finding out that he knows his way around the kitchen, Thoma spent the entire evening helping cook for the rest of the outlanders with the only other chef, Tachibana Hana, who took one look at him and immediately strong armed him into filleting the pufferfish, equally delighted to have someone to boss around. Safe to say, it was an…eventful evening.
But thanks to his labour, he was offered a nice enough room to sleep in, and the moment his head touched the rough pillow, Thoma was out like the dead.
He woke up bright and early, but with no time to dillydally as Hana gave him a list of groceries to go out and buy along with a bag of Mora that she thrust into his hands with a shrewd look at him.
Thoma had done as asked, chatting with the locals and buying all the necessary ingredients for a big hearty breakfast, that is, until he was stopped in the middle of the street by a young girl.
She was maybe seven or eight, brown hair put up in two small buns with bangs covering her forehead, wearing traditional Inazuman wear and sandals. In her hands was a simple wooden doll with no arms or legs that Thoma had seen some merchants selling as a souvenir.
Thoma had thought that maybe she was lost, and so he crouched down to greet her, but the girl had simply blinked at him, and uttered one word with determination:
“Neko-chan.”
And now they’re here, almost ten minutes into a one-sided conversation, and Thoma thinks that the favor he’s gained with the Trade Association is going to dissipate very quickly if he doesn’t bring the groceries soon.
“Listen, ojou,” he says, and she perks up at the title with bright eyes, making Thoma smile. “I would like to help with this Neko-chan business you’re asking about, but I really, really need to go back and help Hana-san cook a delicious breakfast for all my friends back at the Association, so how about you ask someone else, hm?”
Turns out, that was the wrong thing to say, because she immediately pouts, clutching the doll to her chest.
“Neko-chan!” she insists, and Thoma sighs, getting up from his crouched position. He’s not a mind reader, and the girl doesn’t seem all that lost, so leaving her here shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?
He begins walking back down to the Association, and then, upon hearing small footsteps following him, he turns around. The girl doesn’t even bother to hide herself, staring up at him with scrunched eyebrows, and Thoma shakes his head in amusement. Hopefully someone in the organization will be able to decipher what she’s asking of him.
It’s a short walk down to the inn, and Thoma says hello or good morning to any local he passes by. Most of them ignore him, but a couple of them greet him back, apparently not acknowledging the fact that he’s being followed by a child.
They near the house, and Thoma walks up the stairs and into the main lobby, one hand on the door for no reason in particular…Here she comes, he predicts just as the little girl casually strolls in next to him, not even thanking him for keeping the door open. He snorts at the arrogant tilt of her chin, closing the door and making his way to the kitchen.
Most of the tenants don’t immediately notice his new companion, being invested in a round of TCG that’s starting to teeter the edge of just a little too loud, and Thoma walks to the cooking station normally, greeting Hana and laying out the bought groceries onto the table. She thanks him, insisting that he keep the leftover Mora (after he managed to haggle down some of the merchants), saying that it’s a welcoming gift from the Association.
“Ah well, if you say so,” he says, pocketing the small pouch. Hana waves a wooden spatula, rolling her eyes at him good naturedly as she tends over the rice cooking on the stove.
Hana is a young woman in her twenties, with light hair pulled into a braid that falls over one shoulder, tan skin and a sharp tongue that cuts through all arguments, she’s been the Associations’ very own chef for as long as she could remember.
“I still can’t believe you had the guts to haggle with the shop owners, on your first day no less! It took me years to build up the confidence,” she confesses and Thoma scratches his cheek while laughing.
“The guys here are downright sinful with their prices and their attitudes, let me tell you, not to mention─hold on, you have a kid?” she demands, craning her head to take a better look at the girl currently clutching his pant leg, head shyly peeking out. Thoma ignores the usual spike in his heartrate at the unfamiliar touch, not knowing when the girl had caught up to him.
Not so tough now? Thoma thinks amusedly, looking down at her. Probably got overwhelmed at how loud everyone is, he assumes, feeling a pang of guilt eat away at his heart. As a silent apology, he puts a gentle hand on her hair, and she relaxes just a bit.
“Ah, no,” he answers Hana, who gives him a scrutinizing look. “This little lady came up to me while I was shopping, talking about some Neko-chan and wouldn’t elaborate further. She’s decided to follow me back here, and I was kinda hoping you could help me understand what she wants.”
Hana taps the spatula a couple of times on the rim of the pot, letting it balance on the edges before coming over to cross her hands in front of Thoma and the kid.
“Is she Inazuman?” she asks him, and Thoma shrugs helplessly.
“I don’t know, I assume so? She didn’t really have an accent when speaking.” Although she only said one word, so how is he really to know?
“Hmm, we should call Kurisu.” The girl perks up at the sound of the president’s name, something that neither Hana nor Thoma miss.
“Oh, do you know Kurisu?” Thoma asks her, and she nods. “Do you want me to find him for you?” Another nod.
“Ah, I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” Hana says apologetically, “he’s went out to negotiate with the Kanjou Squad Leader about lowering the recent taxes that have made it nearly impossible to hold this place together.” She shakes her head. “They really want to bleed us dry, and no offense, your little stunt with them at the docks has kinda made them even more unwilling to bend. But it was great, don’t get me wrong…” she trails off and Thoma sighs, shifting on his feet, absently petting the girl’s hair.
“I know, I’m really sorry about that, I just─” he makes a vague hand gesture “─wanted to help,” he finishes lamely, and she hums.
“Don’t sweat it. If only we could talk to Kageyama-san, we could get things sorted out much easier.”
“Why’s that?” Thoma asks, and Hana gives him a look before her face clears.
“Oh, right, I forget you haven’t been here for long enough to know but…Well it’s practically an open secret that Gonshirou likes Miss Kageyama. Like, enough to do anything for her. Many of us in the past kinda used her presence while negotiating with him to get a better outcome while dealing with him, and it’s always worked out, but she’s quite busy so it isn’t always easy to get them together…” Hana sighs, and at that moment, something growls.
Thoma looks down at the red-faced young girl who’s clutching her stomach with one hand in embarrassment. Hana lets out a laugh, and Thoma chuckles.
“Well, enough about that, why don’t you help me with the breakfast, Thoma? Clearly, we’ve got a very hungry customer waiting,” Hana jokes, going back to her rice. Thoma makes a noise in agreement, slowly peeling off the younger girl off of his pant leg.
“Alright, ojou, Thoma needs to help Hana-san with cooking now, you be good and stay here, okay? You can also watch, if you want to,” he adds, and she nods eagerly, settling into a seiza position on the tatami mat and observing with big blue eyes.
Tying a white apron around his waist, Thoma joins Hana at the aptly dubbed “work station”, assisting her when needed and prepping side dishes to go alongside the rice.
A couple of people pop in to check in on their progress, some noticing and pointing out the young girl, others too hungry to focus on anything other than when they will be done.
Thoma makes a big pot of tea as the final step, and Hana rings the large bell attached to the kitchen, signalling the start of the breakfast. She and Thoma carry out plates and pots of food into a long horizontal room with a low table, serving the dishes and accepting the compliments from eager tenants. While carrying the last of the food, Thoma motions for the little girl to follow him, and she does so, creating a buzz in the dining room that fades quickly enough when they see Hana bring in the large grilled pufferfish that him and Ammar caught. The young girl immediately sticks to his side, sitting down next to him as he grabs them both little bowls and chopsticks (which he’s still learning how to use, his dexterity is far from what he hoped it would be).
Thoma serves her a nice handful of rice, alongside some pickled plums, pieces of grilled pufferfish and a fried egg, unsure of what things she might like. He does the same to his own tray, and then he pours them both green tea in the small ceramic teacups.
Everyone in the dining table takes a few seconds to put their hands together to thank the Shogun, and Thoma does the same, sending out a wayward prayer to Barbatos while he’s at it. Then, they all dig in.
Despite his concerns, the little girl devours everything in a polite but hurried matter, making him smile.
“Good?” he asks her and she nods vigorously. At that moment, a couple of tenants question him about her, and he explains the whole situation while trying to finish breakfast in a timely manner.
“Oh, if you’re looking for Kurisu, I think he was talking with Gonshirou-san down at the docks. Apparently, they’ve been at it since early in the morning,” offers a boy down the table, and Thoma nods at him in thanks.
After breakfast, everyone cleans up after themselves, and Hana and he go to leave the dishes for whoever is in charge of doing them. Apparently, there’s some sort of system, and it’s complicated enough that when he asks Hana about it, she just shrugs and tells him with a wink:
“Since I cook, I’m exempt from that particular chore, so I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either, my dear second in command.”
And so, Thoma is once again left alone with the girl, who hasn’t forgotten why she came here. Tugging on his sleeve, with renewed determination, she says again:
“Neko-chan.”
Thoma sighs, running a hair through messy strawberry blond hair. I’m going to need to take a bath later, or at least wash my hair. It’s getting tangled.
“Alright, I’m assuming you want to find this Neko-chan of yours?” he asks and she nods, something that nearly brings a tear to his eye considering she’d ignored any and all attempts at communication beforehand. The miracles food can bring, he thinks wryly.
“Let’s go then, do you know where Neko-chan might be?” She shakes her head, but begins leading him out of the Association. She leads him right outside, and then stops, craning her head back and forth. Thoma scans the area, and doesn’t see any sign of a cat, and before he can ask her for more details, the girl runs off around the corner.
“Hey!” he yells, going after her. Luckily, she’s easily noticeable with her hairstyle, and she’s going…toward the docks?
Thoma follows her at a steady pace, making sure she’s in sight but trying not to make it too obvious that he’s following a young girl around, otherwise that would lend a very different image of him to the others, one which he’d really like to avoid.
Where is she…oh?
The girl stops at the very bottom, near the gangplank of Ritou and then yells in excitement:
“Neko-chan!”
She goes running off, and Thoma jogs right behind her only to find that she’s gone right to…
“Kurisu?” he mutters to himself, and that is indeed the president with a black and white lump around his neck, talking with a familiar looking woman and an irritated Ebina Gonshirou. The woman freezes when she hears the young girl’s voice, and she looks towards them, mouth open.
“Miyu?” the woman says, frowning when the little girl runs up to Kurisu, stopping to look back at Thoma. She points at his neck, and says proudly: “Neko-chan!”
The three people standing underneath the tent all blink in confusion, and Thoma can’t help it, he giggles, coming over to crouch next to the girl named Miyu.
“You found ‘em, kid, high-five?” he offers, lifting up his palm. When she frowns at him in confusion, he explains.
“We do this in Mondstadt when we celebrate something, you slap my hand like this,” he mimics it with his other hand, and her eyes light up. With determination, she slaps his hand and he fake winces, cradling his hand.
“Ouch! You’re a strong young girl, aren’t you?” She puffs up, holding the doll above her head like a trophy and Thoma chuckles, before remembering his place. He glances up quickly, and is met with three confused yet agitated stares. He coughs, swiftly standing up and wiping off imaginary dust off of his pants.
“Ah, hello there! I hope I’m not interrupting…”
The woman gives him a once over, frowning.
“I haven’t seen you before, outlander,” she says neutrally. “Can I see your Entry and Resident Permit, please?” She holds out her hand and Thoma tilts his head at her.
“My what?” he questions and she narrows her eyes, retracting her hand. She looks over to Gonshirou, who seems to light up at her attention.
“Is this person here illegally?” she demands and Gonshirou coughs into a fist before answering. “Ah, no, Miss Kageyama, he is here because of, if you recall…” he trails off meaningfully and the anger in her eyes clears.
“Ah, he’s him, then.” Thoma blinks at that, but Kageyama continues on.
“Never mind that, but I must ask you…” she waits a beat, and he helpfully supplies: “Thoma.”
“Thoma-san,” she carries on, “what were you doing with my daughter?”
His mouth hangs open for a brief second before he gets his expression under control. Right, the resemblance makes sense now. He attempts to explain himself but at that moment Kurisu yells out in surprise.
They all turn to look as Miyu attempts to climb him, grubby hands trying to reach the now awake cat.
“Miyu-chan, Miyu-chan ah, ouch not the hair, please! Here, I’ll let Kais─I mean, I’ll let Neko-chan down, okay?” Apparently satisfied by that, she lowers herself onto the ground, excitedly waiting.
Without any resistance, Kurisu lowers the cat down into the young girl’s arms, the wooden toy having been left behind on the floor. Kaiser meows once, as if in perfunctory protest, before settling down in her embrace to continue to nap.
“Miyu,” her mother laments, pinching the bridge of her nose in a well-practiced manner. “What have I told you about terrorizing Kurisu-san and his cat?” The question falls on deaf ears as Miyu pets the feline in smug satisfaction.
“Ah, Kageyama-san,” Thoma says, and the woman looks at him. “To make a long story short, Miyu-chan came up to me in the square with a simple demand of this…Neko-chan, you see, and when she wouldn’t answer any of my questions, I decided to leave her be, except well, she followed me─” the woman’s eyes widen “─all the way to the Trade Association’s inn. We had a nice hefty breakfast, right Miyu-chan?” The girl nods enthusiastically, petting the cat. “After which she ran off and led me all the way over here,” he finishes and Kageyama sighs.
“Miyu,” she says sharply, and the young girl perks up, walking over to her mother’s side. Kageyama puts her hands on her hips, looking down at her daughter.
“Why did you follow this young man around all morning? Don’t you remember what we talked about concerning strangers?” Miyu buries her chin in Kaiser’s fur, mumbling something.
“What was that? Speak up,” Kageyama says, crossing her arms. Miyu lifts her head, pouting.
“I wanted to see Neko-chan…Kaa-san says that not all outlanders understand Inazuman, but this one understood…He was walking around talking with others and he was nice…He even gave me food…” she trails off, distracted by the cat purring in her arms.
Kageyama closes her eyes. “Almighty Shogun give me patience,” she mutters to herself, before shaking her head and opening her eyes.
“Thank you, Thoma-san, for keeping care of my daughter. I hope she wasn’t too much of a burden.” With that, she shallowly bows to him, making him sputter in embarrassment. Gonshirou looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel and Kurisu really isn’t doing a good job of hiding his laugh.
Kageyama rises, going back to business mode. “Is there anything I can help you with, to return the favor of course?”
Thoma blinks, and then smiles. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the rise in taxes recently, here in Ritou...” From the corner of his eye, Thoma can see Kurisu grow dangerously pale.
Kageyama frowns. “Taxes? We’ve received no orders as of late from Her Excellency to do any such thing. Are you certain?” Thoma looks straight at Gonshirou, who has a remarkable poker face on.
“Well, I’ve only just heard of it in passing, the merchants in the streets are quite stressed about it, some of them might have to raise their prices soon due to the high costs,” he explains. Gonshirou winces at that, and Kageyama finally takes notice of his shifty behaviour. She narrows her eyes at him, turning around.
“Gonshirou,” she begins and he straightens. “Is this true?”
“Miss Kageyama, it seems like my men have been rather disobedient as of late. This tax raise that Thoma…san,” he adds the suffix grudgingly, “has been talking about is one of their recent…pranks, on the population of Ritou,” Gonshirou says, stone faced.
Kageyama raises an eyebrow.
“A prank?”
“A practical joke,” he explains.
Silence.
“Gonshirou.”
“Yes, Miss Kageyama?”
“Make sure that whoever started this…prank receives swift and just punishment. Immediately. We do not play with laws as if they are ours to make.”
“Yes, Miss Kageyama.”
“And in the future?” she says, face thunderous. “Make sure to speak to me first before deciding on any course of action that could impact the people of Ritou. I wouldn’t want to visit your office for a chat, now would I?”
“No, Miss Kageyama,” he says, even though it’s painfully obvious he would very much like for her to do just that.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, Kurisu-san what did you say you needed me for?” Kurisu blinks, as if awakening from a dream.
“N-Nothing much, Miss Kageyama, just some business that can be taken care of at a later date. Sorry to disturb you,” Kurisu blabbers on, and Kageyama gives him a weird look but ultimately brushes him off.
“Well, if that’s all there is, I’ll have to bid you goodbye, gentlemen, I have some work to do. Miyu, let’s go back home, and this time, please stay with Kana-san okay?”
“Okay…” Miyu mumbles, letting go of Kaiser, picking up her wooden doll and taking her mother’s hand. While walking, she takes one last glance back at them. Thoma waves a cheerful hand and she shyly returns it before leaving with her mother.
Gonshirou has a faraway look on his face that quickly snaps to one of indifference when the mother-daughter duo disappear from their sight. He barely offers a nod to Thoma and Kurisu, marching off Archon knows where.
In the silence, Thoma bends over and picks up Neko-chan, or he should say, Kaiser. The cat meows pitifully, and he shushes it, scratching under its chin and making it relax into his arms.
“That was…” Kurisu trails off, eyes wide. “Incredible! I mean, I was talking with Gonshirou-san for a damn whole koku, and he kept redirecting my questions or just not bothering to answer them or take them seriously, saying that I should talk with Daiki and how the taxes don’t concern him and yet you…”
Thoma laughs uncomfortably at the other man’s gaze, looking sideways.
“Ah, I didn’t do that much. Gonshirou-san obviously likes Miss Kageyama, and she seems to be a reasonable enough woman, so combining those two facts and the lucky coincidence that they were both here together, I just─” Thoma shrugs “─didn’t let a fortunate opportunity pass by, that’s all.”
“Incredible,” Kurisu repeats. “You must let me treat you sometime!” he announces, jostling Thoma by the arm and making Kaiser meow in agreement.
“Haha, maybe some other day, but for now, you missed breakfast, didn’t you Kurisu-san?” At that moment, the other man’s stomach emits a painful growl.
“Oh dear,” he says, “it seems that I have. Well, let’s hope there’s some leftover rice.”
“Don’t worry about it, even if there isn’t, I’ll make you some. Let’s go back.”
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It’s his third day in Inazuma, and Thoma experiences his first assassination attempt.
Well, okay, fine, he’s stretching the truth a bit. An assassination attempt requires the victim to be a prominent figure, and Thoma can safely say that he is very much not one of those.
But he has been attacked! Led into a trap, deceived and all that other dangerous stuff.
To recount, here’s how it happened:
After coming back from his nightly shopping trip (he does one in the morning, afternoon and evening, there are a lot of hungry people in the Association) he was stopped by Hana, holding an unsuspecting letter addressed to him. Thoma, for a brief, hopeful moment, thought it was from his father.
No such luck, as it seemed the letter was only a friendly invitation to fish together on the southernmost dock of Ritou, the name scrawled at the bottom reading Fumei.
Hm. How interesting. Now who could want to hang out with him in a private, closed off place, where not many people will be passing by?
Oh boy.
There’s a chance that the owner of the letter really is a regular person who was too shy to let Thoma know that they’d like to be friends in person. On the other hand…
Putting together the fact that he had a very public spat with the Tenryou Commission that ended up in their humiliation, managed to convince Ebina Gonshirou to lower the taxes and in doing so indivertibly exposed Daiki, the main ringleader of that particular stunt, of tax fraud, causing him to lose his job in the Commission, this doesn’t seem suspicious at all.
“So, what’s it say?” Hana asks, trying to take a peek over his shoulder. Thoma folds the paper, humming.
“Ah, nothing much…” he trails off, making a show of looking around in embarrassment. Hana, smelling blood in the water, smirks.
“Ooh, so it’s one of those letters,” she cackles, hitting him in the back, while he sputters and tries to correct her, but she doesn’t let him get a word in.
“Good for you, good for you! Make sure to use protection!” She saunters off, still laughing to herself. Thoma sighs as a couple of curious tenants glance at him, and he turns around quickly, as if in shame, running out of the inn.
Hana will definitely spread around that (false) rumour, which suits him perfectly.
Under the cover of the night, Thoma makes his way around the small square, making a left and passing by Ryouko’s closed food stall. The streets are empty at this time of the night, so it’s quite easy to sneak out.
He walks down the stone steps, nearing Harrison’s abode and then making another left, anticipation thrumming through his veins.
Just as he’s about to pass between the two mounds of dirt, his ears pick up on movement further ahead. He barely has time to block the incoming strike at his gut, his assailant’s knife coming very close to ripping apart his shirt.
Thoma winces, the fatigue and pain in his body caused by the storm still hasn’t dissipated, and with great effort, he knees his attacker right in the stomach, the other man choking on nothing. While he’s down, Thoma quickly steals his knife, settling into a basic stance, taught to him by Alois.
The man stumbles back, and Thoma gets a good look at him. Same build, same angry eyes, but this time instead of being covered by an officer’s helmet, his face is partially hidden with a mask, one typical of Treasure Hoarders. And speaking of them…
It seems that his friend has gotten quite a sizeable group together, there are all around four more men waiting down at the dock, their fists ready and eyes hungry.
Thoma bares his teeth, heart beating erratically as his opponent finally straightens, glaring at him.
“I don’t suppose we can resolve this peacefully, Daiki-san?”
Upon hearing his name, the man furiously yells, lunging at him with full force. Thoma neatly sidesteps, taking special care to try not to hurt the man too much, clubbing him over with the blunt side of the knife. Once again, Daiki falls down, clutching his head.
He looks over, and then screams at the Treasure Hoarders: “What the hell are you doing standing around?! Get him!”
All hell breaks loose. Thoma spends a sizeable chunk of time just dodging, getting a hit every once in a while, as the gang of men all pile down on him like hungry wolves. He manages to knock out three of them out, but the last one is strong enough that he manages to throw Thoma onto the ground, his head hitting the sand with a painful thump. The knife he’d been using is now in the other man’s hand, which means he’s down one weapon.
Daiki had been watching from the side up until this moment, and with the large Treasure Hoarder looming above him, he comes around to stand next to him, gloating.
“Not so tough now, are you, filthy outlander?” Daiki sneers down at him, and Thoma gulps, taking in as much air as his poor lungs can. When he sees that Thoma won’t respond to his jabs, he scowls and then makes a hand motion towards him. The Treasure Hoarder advances on him, and Thoma subtly grabs a handful of sand, tense.
Just a bit more…
The man raises one meaty palm, meaning to grab him by the throat, but at that second, Thoma makes his move.
He throws the sand directly in the man’s face, making him clutch his eyes and yell out in pain. Taking advantage of his opponent’s injury, Thoma quickly leaps up, forming his hand into a firm fist, getting right under the man’s nose and then─bam!
He uppercuts the Treasure Hoarder with all his might, and the man stumbles, one step, two, and then falls like a house of cards.
In the silence, Thoma breathes hard and rough, his eyes flickering over the fallen Treasure Hoarders and then they land on a pale-faced Daiki.
Thoma lets out a weary sigh, watching as the other man─quite noticeablely─attempts to gear up for another attack.
“Listen, are you really, really sure─” Thoma yelps as the man lets out a thunderous roar, leaping at him. Thoma catches his fist, blocking the attempted leg sweep and then, as Daiki struggles in his grip, with another sigh, Thoma grabs him by the neck, manoeuvres himself just so and slams Daiki onto the ground.
The man gives a twitch, mouth opening and closing like a fish, and then sags as he passes out.
I guess third time wasn’t the charm for you.
Standing, surrounded by five bodies, Thoma can’t help but feel like one of those dark hero protagonists in Inazuman novels that Ammar likes to read out loud when he’s bored.
He grabs the fallen knife near the tallest Treasure Hoarder, pocketing it. Carefully, he checks each and every person’s pulse, making sure that he only knocked them out.
They all have their Mora pouches on them, Thoma thinks. Did he pay them literal minutes before I came here?
An idea blossoms in his head. Well. They were trying to kill him, or at least bodily harm him in some way, so Thoma is kind of due for some sort of compensation, right?
He decides to be fair, taking an equal amount of Mora from each Treasure Hoarder, patting them on the back in thanks as he does so. When he gets to Daiki, in a childish impulse, he sticks his tongue out at the unconscious man, and then rummages through the man’s pockets. When he finds nothing, he frowns.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” he complains to no one.
Whatever, whichever way you spin it, Daiki won’t get out of this scot free, Thoma muses, feeling pity for the first time towards the former officer.
If those guys wake up first, they’ll see that their pay has been cut and probably attack him. If he wakes up first and realizes that I stole the Mora, he’ll run away which will make it even more obvious to the Treasure Hoarders that they have been tricked, or maybe he’ll try to convince them, which, good luck with that, Thoma thinks, standing up and stretching out his limbs.
Ouch ouch ouch─ow!
He really hopes that Daiki won’t come back for revenge, mostly because then he’ll have to get into shape.
Thoma makes his way back to the Association and then up to his room, ignoring raised eyebrows and wolf whistles. Let them think what they want about his rowdy appearance, he wants a bath, now.
Luckily, the only one in the whole inn is unoccupied, and Thoma immediately gets to work, locking himself in the small room and then stripping himself and turning on the water to as close as boiling as he can get. He puts away the sizeable stash of Mora on his folded clothes, patting it fondly. When he finally steps into the wooden bathtub, he groans in satisfaction, sore muscles relaxing.
Steam wafts all around the room, fogging up the small mirror above a barely working faucet next to a cabinet full of towels and spare clothing. Thoma hums, lowering himself further down into the warmth as his knees break above the surface.
He observes the small, barely there lightning scars that cover his body. They’ve been fading steadily ever since he landed, and it seems that they won’t leave a permanent mark. Thoma doesn’t know how he should feel about that, so he just leaves it be.
He knows he’s been enjoying himself for too long when he abruptly opens his eyes at the sound of someone knocking on the door. He doesn’t even remember closing them.
“Oy! Get outta there, you’re not the only one who needs to clean themslef!” yells out Ammar, and Thoma hurries, taking one of the bathrobes that the inn offers, squeezing out as much water out of his hair as he can manage while putting on the clothes.
“I’m out, I’m out!” he yells, grabbing the pale green ribbon he uses to tie his hair as well as his usual clothes, hiding the knife and the folded letter in-between them. He nearly forgets the bag of Mora, and he fumblingly smuggles that in his pant pocket.
When he opens the bathroom door, steam rushes out in a whirlwind, making Ammar cough.
“Next time ya take more than quarter of a koku to wash yourself, I’m gonna break down the door,” Ammar grumbles at him, and Thoma begins to apologize when an awful smell hits his nose.
“What the hell─?” he begins, but then the steam clears and he sees that Ammar is covered in some sort of green…goop.
“Don’t ask,” the old man interrupts before Thoma can even begin to comprehend what he’s seeing. “This is why I hate Bitter Pufferfish, damn bastards can aim,” he says cryptically, then moves past Thoma into the bathroom, closing the door with a bang.
Well, at least someone is having a worse day than me, Thoma thinks, shaking his head and making his way down to his room. He barely puts away his things on a low table before his head is hitting the bed, sleep overtaking him.
And when in the morning news get out that Daiki has been apparently seen being chased by Treasure Hoarders all the way to Inazuma City, Thoma does nothing but smile into his tea.
──────────────────
Thoma spends his time in Ritou enjoyably, but also resourcefully.
He cooks for the Association in the morning and in the evening. In the afternoon, he helps Ammar with fishing, chats with the locals, and inevitably gets roped into helping someone or the other with their problem.
This person said that they would pay me for my work, but they still haven’t!
The tiles on my roof are leaky, Thoma-san do you know how to fix it?
Thoma-kun, can you carry this old lady’s groceries up to her home?
What do you think Thoma, should this banner be more of a burgundy or an indigo?
Neko-chan.
Can you help trim these bushes around my house?
Thoma-san, Thoma-san this lady is trying to cheat me out of my sake!
Do you know how to sew together a hole? My kimono got torn up…
I don’t know what to get my wife for her birthday, Thoma what would you recommend?
Thoma-san…
Thoma-kun…
Thoma…
Hana once asked him how the hell he manages to appease everyone and not go crazy. Thoma simply laughed at her and told her that it was his pleasure to serve. And he wasn’t lying, getting to know people has always been one of Thoma’s favorite pastime activities, and if he’s gathering favors and intel alongside some small talk…well, that’s between him and his newfound friends.
He looks for his father in Ritou, but most of the population is either too young or too old to have known him. There are a couple of middle-aged women that ignore his attempts at buttering them up, and he’ll need way more than just pretty words to get a proper response out of them. That’s alright, Thoma will keep searching.
──────────────────
Thoma stares at Hana, slowly lowering his chopsticks and half-eaten bowl of rice down onto the table with a soft click.
“I’m sorry, could─could you repeat that? I think I misunderstood,” he asks, but her expression doesn’t change, frowning and worried.
“There’s a Yashiro Commission representative waiting for you outside. He says he wants to talk to you.”
They’re not alone in the dining room, a couple of tenants talking quietly among themselves, but at Hana’s words all chatter dies down and Thoma can feel curious eyes on him. He swallows, stomach churning.
“…All right, then,” he says, pushing himself off of the low table and standing next to Hana. She nods at him to follow, and Thoma does so, all the while his mind runs itself ragged.
What could the Yashiro Commission want from me? If it was the Tenryou Commission, then that meant that they’d found out about Daiki, or at least, finally decided to do something about it, they must have known for a while, I mean, I wasn’t that subtle, maybe somebody saw me while walking that night, Alois always said that my spatial awareness could use some help─Is it about that Resident Permit Kageyama-san was talking about? I didn’t have it, and I didn’t apply for it, but Gonshirou implied that I did, or at least, that it’s been taken care of, somehow, is that what this is about? But how could I have applied for a Resident Permit when I didn’t─Well, I didn’t come to Inazuma the normal way, that’s for sure, maybe they’re here to make me apply for one? But that seems redundant, I’ve already been living here for a month, so what could possibly─Oh, he’s…much more normal looking than what I expected…
An average, black-haired man waited for him outside of the Association’s inn, his back turned to them while he played with Kaiser. Hana gave him one last worried glance before she was returning inside. Left alone, Thoma observed the man for a couple of moments, trying to gleam anything from his appearance.
Plain-faced, glasses-wearing and with no visible weapon on him, he could have been any other Inazuman. That is, if it weren’t for the painted camelia on the back of his haori, signalling to everyone which Commission he belonged to.
Thoma clears his throat politely, and the man looks back, his face clearing when he sees Thoma. The man straightens, putting his hands inside of his sleeves and then bowing shallowly, saying all the while:
“Hello, Thoma-san. It’s a pleasure to meet you, I am Madarame Hyakubei, here for the Yashiro Commission.” Thoma hurriedly bows back, counting to three seconds before rising to face the other man.
“Ah, hello. It’s good to meet you too,” he replies, unsure of how to continue this bizarre conversation. Fortunately for him, Hyakubei gets right to the heart of things.
“I was sent here by Lord Kamisato to officially invite you to meet him, on par with his wishes.”
It takes Thoma a moment to absorb what Hyakubei just said, after which he considers just swimming his way back to Mondstadt. This can’t be happening, he thinks just a touch hysterically.
“Ah, are you, uhm, sure, that Lord Kamisato has specifically asked for me? I don’t think I’m the only Thoma in Inazuma, haha…” he trails off awkwardly, but Hyakubei’s expression stays serene.
“Oh, no, Thoma-san, I’m certain that it was you he asked for in particular! His lordship said that there was a young man, an outlander, no known last name, with blond hair and green eyes, staying in the International Trade Association’s headquarters that goes by the name Thoma, I’m assuming you’re the only one here that matches that description?”
He considers bluffing, for a crazy moment, but then lets the thought go.
“Y-Yes, that is─yeah. I’m Thoma,” he says redundantly and the representative lights up at the confirmation of his identity, like it wasn’t already incredibly obvious.
“Wonderful! Well, there will be a carriage set to pick you up exactly half a koku after the hour of the Sheep. It will be waiting for you at the Ritou gates, just kita from here. Good day, and farewell, Thoma-san,” Hyakubei says, bowing again as Thoma mimics the gesture, murmuring a goodbye in return.
He watches the man go in a daze. What just happened?
Thoma snaps back to life when the door behind him creeks open, Ammar’s white beard peeking out. When the old man sees only Thoma, he opens the door more fully, motioning for him to come inside.
Back in the main lobby, Ammar, Kurisu and Hana stand waiting for him while a couple curious onlookers lurk by. The former two were probably invited by Hana, because at this point Ammar would already be fishing while Kurisu would disappear who knows where.
Kurisu is wringing his hands together, and he seems eager to finally know what’s happened outside. Ammar, likewise, seems curious but Hana has a weary tilt to her mouth, crossed arms and brow furrowed.
“So, what did a Yashiro Commission representative want with you?” Kurisu asks hurriedly, and Thoma shifts on his feet.
“He─The Yashiro Commissioner asked to meet me,” he says and the silence that greets him is deafening.
Immediately, people start talking over themselves. Kurisu seems like a sheet of silk with how pale he is, Ammar seems pleasantly surprised and Hana is one second away from joining Thoma in just running away.
Kurisu grabs his arm, eyes crazed as Thoma hides his flinch at the unexpected contact.
“Okay, oh Almighty Shogun, what did you do─never mind, they don’t need an excuse, because why would they─okay. Okay.” It seems more like he’s trying to calm himself down rather than Thoma.
“Deep breaths,” Thoma says unconvincingly, considering his heartrate hasn’t gone down even for a moment ever since that talk.
“Well, I hope ya have fun,” Ammar tells him, clearly not getting, or perhaps just not caring enough, for the severity of the situation. He pats Thoma on the arm, and it manages to calm him somewhat, until the old man says: “If you need a gift for the Lord Commissioner, just ask and I’ll give you a nice Stickleback to give ‘em hehe!”
After trampling practically every social norm when it comes to talking about a prominent public figure in Inazuma, Ammar saunters off, whistling.
Oh, to be that old and carefree, Thoma thinks wistfully, staring after the fisherman.
Hana seems to wake up from her stupor, coming over next to Kurisu to grab at Thoma as well.
“Gifts! You need to bring an appropriate gift! Shit, what can you even get a Commissioner that wouldn’t put you in bankruptcy?!” she shudders, Kurisu shaking his head to her left.
“No, no! Don’t even think about gifts, Thoma, you have to lean into the clueless outlander stereotype im-me-di-ate-ly!” He punctuates the last word by clapping in between the syllables for emphasis, but Hana staunchly disagrees.
“Kurisu, that’s way too dangerous! If they’ve had their eye on Thoma for a while they’ll know he’s a hafu like me, and probably assume that he knows enough to not be stupid and arrive without a present for the Commissioner,” Hana hisses but Kurisu seems determined to fight his stance on the matter.
“What could he possibly get the Lord Commissioner that conveys enough respect and deference without buying him an entire mansion’s worth of jewellery?! Listen Thoma, I need you to crank up your accent to an eleven─”
“Absolutely not, Thoma─”
“All right, all right!” Thoma yells just to be heard over them, and they both pause for breath. He continues, trying to diffuse the situation as well as the tension migraine he can feel coming. “While I understand both of your perspectives, I think the best solution would be to mix the two approaches together and hope for the best,” he suggests, and they both gear up to say more but he throws up his hands.
“If you can’t come to an agreement, I’m just going to swim back home,” he says, and they both freeze at that.
“You’d get killed!” Kurisu whisper-yells.
“Don’t be a coward!” Hana hisses.
He raises an eyebrow, and they grudgingly move towards the dining room, settling down to discuss the details. The rest of the onlookers disperse quickly after, and so they’re left alone.
Thoma has a hard time keeping up with the conversation, a whole bunch of polite jargon and etiquette completely eluding him, which is not a good thing considering that he’ll need all of that in his arsenal when meeting the Lord Commissioner.
Hana and Kurisu come to a compromise, and they whisk him away to the square just outside the Association’s headquarters. They make him buy a very overpriced box of daifuku, and also a very delicate camelia flower crafted from candy that Hana says is made specifically from mizuame. Thoma thinks that if he so much looks at it wrong it’ll shatter the same way it shattered his finances. So instead he lets the giddy shop owner wrap it carefully in a light sheen of some translucent fabric, tying it up with a neat little bow.
I hope that doesn’t cost extra, Thoma thinks miserably, but thankfully he’s proven wrong.
After the shopping trip, Hana manhandles him back to the Association while Kurisu goes off with his bag of Mora to buy him a kimono. She promptly orders him to strip and bathe while she goes to borrow a haori and hakama from a friend.
Thoma washes himself with a bucket quickly, not even enjoying the too-hot water as it splashes against his back. He’s barely dried off when Hana is knocking on the door, Kurisu’s sweaty face beside her and a new kimono in his arms.
It’s honestly a miracle that they manage to scrounge up anything in such a short time, and Thoma can’t even imagine the bargaining they had to do in order to get the clothing for him. He feels warm, but not because of the bath.
Hana, thankfully, waits for him to put on his undergarments before barrelling inside with Kurisu to dress him up. He’s embarrassed for all of three seconds before he remembers his situation, and then he thinks that showing off his naked body doesn’t even come close to his biggest worry for today.
Thoma tries to pay attention to how they dress him up, but Hana flicks his chin up every time he tries to look down with a rough We’re working here! The only thing in the small bathroom mirror he can see is his doubtful expression.
Soon enough, they finish dressing him up, and Thoma finally examines his outfit. A simple pale blue kimono with black hakama, and a terracotta haori rests on his shoulders. Kurisu even found him a pair of tabi and zouri that he puts on, and they fit comfortably enough.
“I don’t want to get into the nitty gritty of the outfit right now but just to give you a brief overlook on things,” Hana rambles, fixing his hair, or Thoma thinks that’s what she’s doing, her hands doing something complicated behind his back. “We want to make sure you give off an air of peace and passivity so they don’t think you’re a threat, that kimono is perfect, I’ll have to thank Kyouko-chan─” she tugs on his hair and he winces “─but you also need to add respect and formality onto that, which the black hakama does well enough I suppose.
“The haori is…whatever, the color doesn’t really match with the rest of your outfit, but you need to come off as a simple young man too, that’s why it’s there. Finally─” Thoma feels her tug his scalp one last time, and then she’s in front of him, spinning him around sideways so he can take a look at his hair.
It’s been braided into a small bun with his typical pale green ribbon, except this time instead of it being tied all the way around, the ribbon is freely flowing down to his neck, tickling him slightly.
“We need to make sure you don’t come off too much as a simple young man,” she finishes with a wink, hands on hips. “Do you like it?”
Thoma plays with the ribbon for a distracted moment, before smiling reassuringly at her.
“I do, it’s quite nice,” he says, and Kurisu claps enthusiastically behind them, making Hana huff a laugh. She becomes serious once again, and Thoma mirrors her expression, remembering his situation.
“Some tips to remember,” she folds her hands, and Kurisu comes to stand by her, pale faced but determined. “Don’t forget to take off your shoes when you come inside, they’ll probably offer you a pair of slippers but also don’t walk with those same slippers onto a tatami mat, take them off and go barefoot.”
Kurisu pipes in, wringing his hands together. “The place the Lord Commissioner will receive you will most likely have tatami floors, so be careful of that. When you come inside that room, make sure to bow, low, prostrate yourself while holding up the two gifts with both of your hands, palms up. A retainer will take the gifts, and make sure you’re speaking the entire time,” he tells him and Thoma nods, focusing and trying to remember everything.
“Introduce yourself,” Hana says, “even if you were summoned, it is polite to do so, and you want to be extremely polite. Use every bit of that Mond blood you got inside of you for poetic flattery, hell, sing him a ballad, you practically can’t overstep with the compliments.”
Kurisu coughs into his hand. “Uh, no, you definitely can. Thoma, be grateful that he called you there so that you show you value his time, and sit in a seiza position and try not to look him directly in the eye, the floor or his chest area are good enough.”
Hana rolls her eyes at the president, but continues. “You don’t have any weapons on you, so they probably won’t feel the need to ask you to hand one over. Never imply that you’re somehow above anyone in that clan, even the housekeepers. Use honorifics, bow to everyone and play it smart, okay?”
Thoma nods at her, and Hana and Kurisu share a look before Kurisu sighs, opening the bathroom door.
“I think the hour of the Sheep is upon us, friends. Good luck Thoma, and if the Yashiro Commission asks about Daiki or any of that mess, just say that it was my fault, I’ll sort it out.”
“Absolutely not,” Thoma protests vehemently, to which Hana nods slowly. “I’m not going to run away from my responsibilities or my mistakes. If they want to punish me for making a public spectacle, so be it, but I’m not dragging anyone innocent down with me,” he says with a tone of finality to his voice. Kurisu sighs, shaking his head but accepting Thoma’s rebuttal.
“Well, they probably won’t punish you for that, that’s more the Tenryou Commission’s job,” Hana says, putting a hand on her chin. “Though I still have no idea why the Commissioner himself would want a meeting with you…Were you acquainted with him before you came to Ritou?” she asks, and Thoma shrugs.
“I don’t think so, I would have probably remembered him if I did…” he trails off, frowning as the phantom taste of salt lingers on his tongue, memory of violet eyes staring into him, and then unbidden, a blurry image of a pale haired man rises to the surface of his thoughts. Surely, that wasn’t…?
Thoma shakes his head to clear it, slapping his cheeks once and then exhaling. No unnecessary thinking right now. He needs to focus.
“Okay, it’s time.”
──────────────────
Thoma waits besides the stationed officer who introduced himself with a pleasant enough I’m Kobayashi with declining patience, feeling like his guts will explode from his stomach. Just a few more minutes until two in the afternoon, or as Inazumans would say, half a koku into the hour of the Sheep.
Thoma still has a hard time grasping the difference in time measurements from home, but at least now he has a general sense for when things might be happening. He doesn’t even know how long the trip from Ritou to the Yashiro Commission would take, and he really hopes that he doesn’t get held up there for more than a couple hours. He still has dinner to make with Hana in the evening, and Ammar to help with fishing, and he has to talk with Kurisu about─
Okay, let’s just…breathe. I’m not going to be executed, he thinks firmly to himself, but the anxiety curling in his stomach barely lessens. He makes sure he isn’t holding the gifts in his arms too tight, but then he worries that they might fall if he holds them too lightly. He really wants to grab his omamori and just hold it, but seeing as his hands are currently busy, he can’t very well do that, now can he? Great.
While Thoma is busy panicking, he nearly fails to notice when his ride comes to get him. His eyes fall out of his skull when he notices the four bulky men carrying a…box?
Thoma’s first thought when he sees the ornate carriage is: I should not be riding in that.
His second is: Oh, Barbatos, am I really going to have to ride in that?!
They come near them, Kobayashi and Thoma bow in near synchrony, and the men put the carrier down before returning the gesture.
“Thoma-san, I presume?” says what must be the leader of the group and Thoma nods shakily, trying not to show how nervous he truly is. The man bows again shallowly before gesturing for him to enter the box.
Well, it’s not necessarily a box, more of a mini-house if he had to describe it, with an opening for him to presumably enter into and a small window with shutters. It’s held together with four bamboo-like poles, the entire thing being made of some type of dark wood and decorated with various patterns made with lacquer. Thoma considers just telling them that he can walk on his own, but that would be rude, and that is the very least thing he wants to be.
“Ahem, yes, good to meet you,” he murmurs, and then slips inside the carrier, holding the gifts to his chest as the officer closes the small door when he sees that Thoma has settled. He hears some shuffling outside, silence and then─
Thoma yelps as the carrier is lifted up in one smooth move. An officer peeks through the small opening Thoma dubbed a window.
“Is everything okay, Thoma-san?” Thoma gulps, clutching the omamori in his hakama pocket, trying to keep his voice, and his heart, steady.
“Y-Yes! I simply got surprised, it’s my first time being in a…carriage like this,” he offers and the man nods.
“Understandable, we will try to make the journey as pleasurable as can be. If you feel sick or uncomfortable, please feel free to tell us, you are our Commissioner’s guest after all.”
Thoma laughs nervously, “I’ll be sure to say if anything is amiss,” he says, and the officer nods and goes back to his post. Then, with that out of the way, they’re off.
All in all, it’s not the worst thing Thoma has experienced. He even wants to say it felt kind of enjoyable, with him watching the Inazuman scenery through the little window while trying to keep himself from thinking too hard about the way his life seems to be unfurling.
About an hour into the journey, they stop in a village. When Thoma asks why, they say that it’s time for a change of men, which makes sense. Then they tell him that the rest of the journey will take an entire koku, with another switch of shifts in half a koku.
Two hours. Just to get to the Commission. If he takes in account the time needed to go back, and however much he will spend talking with the Commissioner…Thoma thinks it might have been better if he just tried his luck with swimming back to Mondstadt.
──────────────────
When they finally come to the Kamisato estate, Thoma has nearly bitten through his lip out of worry.
Gingerly stepping out of the carriage, he takes a brief second to calm himself, and not a moment later there are servants greeting him, leading him into the estate. Thoma can’t even count the amount of times he bows to people, and he tries to pay special attention to what Hana and Kurisu told him: he takes off his shoes, gets handed slippers by an attendant inside the estate, and then walks a couple of hallways down before coming to stand in front of a sliding shoji door.
This is it then, he thinks, heart beating rabbit quick. He takes off his shoes and waits.
The doors slide open in a silent arc and an important looking man walks out, his servant hurriedly following behind him. He gives Thoma’s bowed form a cold look before brushing past him and leaving. Thoma rises from his bow and just breathes.
He doesn’t even have time to collect himself before the doors are opening again as if by an invisible force, and Thoma freezes before quickly walking inside, his arms subtly trembling beneath the gifts.
He has only a brief moment to examine the inside of the room, the dark curtains with painted camelias on them, a raised dais in the middle of the room with a pale-haired man seated on top of a cushion, watching him.
Thoma slowly prostrates himself, palms up with the meager gifts in hand while speaking, willing his voice not to shake:
“Thoma, at your service, Lord Commissioner. I have come here at your request, and come bearing humble gifts that I hope your lordship will enjoy.”
Somebody takes his gifts, probably a servant, though Thoma didn’t see one when he came in, either due to sheer nerves or because they were hidden.
“Ah, yes, Thoma-kun, thank you” says the Commissioner, his voice low and soothing. “Rise, please, I have awaited your visit with an eagerness that surprised even myself,” he chuckles, and Thoma slowly straightens himself in a seiza position, keeping his eyes on the man’s kimono.
“You’re probably wondering why I summoned you,” continues the Commissioner, “and to answer that I implore you to look at me.”
That wasn’t what we prepared for, Thoma thinks anxiously, letting his eyes gradually travel to the man’s face.
A pair of silver-blue eyes peer curiously into his own, wrinkles carved into the face in an almost artisanal way, and Thoma can confidently say─
“Oh, it is you then! Good, good, for a moment I thought we had invited the wrong young man over, but you’re definitely the same person that washed up on the beach.
“Tell me, just how did you manage to do that?” he asks, his eyes glittering, and Thoma colors, remembering how he threw up saltwater on the man’s clothes. Hope he doesn’t remember that part.
“Uh, well, I bought a boat from Mondstadt and um, sailed my way here,” Thoma answers a bit hesitantly, not knowing how many details he should give out.
The Commissioner waves an absentminded hand, frowning.
“Yes, well, that is obvious enough, but what happened between that and your landing? Surely that poor plank of wood wasn’t this boat of yours.”
“Ah, well, when I was nearing Inazuma, I got caught up in a big storm and lost my way, which is probably how I ended up, uhm, on that beach, where you found me,” Thoma replies and the Commissioner makes a small o with his mouth, nodding his head.
“I see, I see, where did you plan to land?”
“In Ritou,” Thoma says, remembering the carefully outlined plan he made months in preparation for his voyage.
“Did you come here to visit family?” asks the Commissioner, and Thoma nods, though visit is probably the wrong word.
“Yes, my father.” The Commissioner hmm’s noncommittally.
“Well, I would say it all worked out in the end. I hope the people of Ritou were kind to you, I know getting hold of a Resident Permit is tough,” the Commissioner offers, and Thoma nearly bites through the inside of his cheek.
If they’ve been watching me for long enough, they’d known that I don’t have one, for whatever reason. So this is…
“Yes, I’ve heard the same,” Thoma replies vaguely. The Commissioner’s mouth twitches before smoothing out. With pleasantries out of the way, the man leans in slightly, hands on crisscrossed knees while he stares at Thoma.
“Ah, I think it’s time I got to the main reason why I called you in here, Thoma-kun.”
Thoma subconsciously straightens, waiting for the other man to continue.
“I have to come clean, you see, your chance appearance at the Kamisato shore intrigued me and, in my curiosity, I kept my eye on you. You caused quite a commotion while staying in Ritou, and in such a short time as well,” says the Commissioner neutrally.
They definitely know about Daiki. I’m screwed.
“And I waited until you got comfortable so that─”
So that they don’t feel that bad about killing me later down the line? Thoma thinks hysterically.
“─you could enjoy your time here in Inazuma. As to why I called you here…”
Thoma squirms, his hands clamming up and his throat growing dry. But he keeps his eyes on the Commissioner’s, something deep within compelling him not to give up.
The Commissioner smiles.
“Would you like to become my daughter’s retainer?”
Silence.
Well, it seems quite early, but going insane at seventeen is quite an achievement.
Thoma subtly pinches himself, but perhaps, not subtly enough.
“It seems that you do not believe me,” the Commissioner says humorously, his eyes twinkling, “but I’m being sincere, Thoma-kun. I think you’d make a wonderful protector for Ayaka-chan.”
Thoma opens his mouth, then closes it with a click. The Commissioner gives him an encouraging look as if to say Go on. Thoma swallows.
“N-Not to question your judgement, Lord Commissioner, but I am not formally trained in…in any kind of combat or self-defense, I think I would just be a burden,” he tries to make the other man see reason, but the Commissioner just shrugs.
“You can be trained,” he answers simply, “and besides, I don’t want you to just be another bodyguard, we have the Shuumatsuban for that. No, I want you to help her in other matters, not just when it comes to her safety.
“I also understand that this is a major decision for you to make, so I will allow you to think it over for some time. How about you give me an answer by the end of today?”
Thoma blinks, thinking. It’s already past five in the afternoon, and if he wants to be reasonable, that gives him…around four hours, give or take, to come to a decision.
What do I do? I can’t just outright refuse him, that’d practically be suicide. A personal retainer…sure sounds nice, if I knew what the hell that meant. A retainer is like a servant, right? A paid servant, if I remember correctly. That makes it out to sound bad, but we’re talking about one of the top three clans in all of Inazuma. I’ve heard the folks in Ritou dreaming about just being able to see one of the Kamisatos, much less become their personal servant. Why would they possibly want me for a position like that? I’m just an outlander that got lucky…
When he says nothing for a long moment, the Commissioner raises an eyebrow and Thoma hurriedly opens his mouth.
“Yes, Lord Commissioner, I will let you know in a koku or two. And if I may ask, could─could I send a letter to a couple of friends in Ritou? I don’t want them to worry about me.”
The man nods his head, smiling. “But of course, a servant will bring you the necessary equipment soon enough. Furuta-san, would you escort Thoma-kun here into the courtyard?”
An old voice pipes up somewhere behind Thoma: “Yes, my lord.”
The Commissioner nods at Thoma. “You’re dismissed.”
Thoma bows low, and then rises, an elderly lady clad in similar shades of whites and blues as the Commissioner waiting for him. She also bows to the Commissioner, and then slides the door open, motioning for Thoma to go.
Outside of the room, Thoma finally feels like he can breathe normally again. When he lets out a sigh, Furuta gives him a criticizing once over, before speaking.
“Follow me, young man,” she says briskly, short steps not stopping her from nearly outpacing Thoma in every way. He tails her, trying not to let it show how obviously off kilter he is.
Back outside, the sun is barely starting to set, a golden glow lighting up the courtyard. Furuta leads him to a low table, lit up by the nearby hung lamps, and Thoma doesn’t know what hits him, but he suddenly really just wants to sit like a common Mond nobody.
“Ah, would it be terribly disrespectful if I sat over there, by chance?” He points to a tiny set of stairs that lead off of the wooden balcony, facing the east. Furuta gives him such a blank look it nearly makes him laugh.
“…If that is what the guest wishes, I will not stop you,” she tells him, even though her voice painfully tells him how much she would like to stop him. Nodding once before breaking off to walk back, she reminds Thoma of the Mond grandmas back home. Strict, no-nonsense and with just a touch of cynic humor. Despite himself, Thoma huffs a laugh, bowing to her even though she’s way out of view, before then settling himself on the stairs.
There is nobody else in the courtyard except a couple of guards at the front gates, their backs to him. So technically nobody can stop him from just, jumping over the fence and running away. Sure, he would probably get caught in under an hour with the tight security they’ve got here, but a man can dream.
He shivers once, folding the haori over his waist more firmly. While it’s not that chilly, Thoma has always been on the more sensitive side, despite what his personality may lead others to believe. People were always surprised at the number of layers he would don in winter, saying that they thought he’d be more resistant to the cold.
Well, not like I can control how my body works, he thinks, tightly hugging himself.
“Bit of an odd choice of seating, I must admit, then again, it seems rather suitable for such an interesting character as yourself, Thoma-kun, I presume?” says an elegant, smooth voice right behind him, making him flinch in surprise.
Thoma hesitantly turns his head, coming face to face with a handsome young man. Blue hair framing aristocratic cheekbones, pale skin and a mole right under his smirk, he seemed to belong more on the cover on one of Yae Publishing’s light novels than in real life. But what stands out the most among his features to Thoma is a pair of lavender eyes, staring deep into his own.
The stranger raises a dignified eyebrow, mouth dancing in a smile.
“Speechless already?” he─teases? Thoma swallows, deeply aware of the breath of space between them.
“Ah, hello…” Thoma greets uncertainly, unsure if it would be rude to not refer to the other with a title. Was he a servant or just another noble come to visit the Commissioner?
The young man straightens before sitting down next to Thoma, albeit with much more grace. Their shoulders nearly touch, and Thoma tries not to lean away from the contact too obviously.
“It is good to finally meet you, you caused quite a commotion on the beach just kita-nishi from here,” he says, and then it finally clicks in Thoma’s mind.
Oh, he’s the same guy from back then, he thinks, the memory resurfacing like bubbles in water.
“…You were also there?” Thoma questions, just to be sure, but instead of a straight answer the young man simply smiles. Thoma licks his lips, unsure why he’s here.
“I heard the Lord Commissioner offered you a job here in the estate,” he says, putting his hands in his sleeves. “Will you be taking him up on the proposal?”
Thoma just now notices the other boy’s clothing; simple, with around the same number of layers as Furuta’s, although they’re patterned much more lavishly. The same color scheme too, with pale blues and whites, and Thoma bets that there’s a painted camelia on the back of his haori as well.
So, a servant? Or maybe an acquaintance or a relative…Something about him is deceptively familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it.
“Ah, well, I’m waiting for somebody to give me letter writing equipment. I want to get a second opinion on…all of this,” Thoma offers, shivering as a stray breeze passes them by.
“Mm, understandable, and quite smart too. Most people in your place would have accepted the job without a second thought, trusting that the Lord Commissioner only has their best interests in mind,” the boy says offhandedly, and Thoma frowns.
Is he implying that I don’t trust the Commissioner? Because I’m an outlander? Or because he thinks I have ulterior motives?
“As a child of Freedom, I always like to take a moment to determine where the wind will blow next before continuing on my journey,” Thoma says breezily, dialing up his easygoing, charmful but harmless outlander impression to a hundred. If this boy wants to question his motives for being hesitant, Thoma won’t stop him, but he sure as hell won’t fall into his laid-out trap. If it’s so obvious that even Thoma noticed it, that means he was meant to.
“Hmm,” pale purple eyes twinkle at him under the cover of the night. “You say that, and yet you ended up drenched, washed up on an unfamiliar shore, coughing as if your lungs would fall out. Perhaps the winds were deceptive?”
Thoma’s lips quirk up, their back and forth reminding him of the give and take of a chess game, or of a sword fight.
“Well, it was a bit hard to follow the right ones, seeing as they all got a bit mixed up in the storm. But in the end, I got to my destination just fine, thanks to Barbatos guiding me.”
He doesn’t mention the Inazuman Archon and her blessings on purpose, simply because while he does love Ritou and its people, his life definitely wasn’t easy just because he was willing to help anyone at a moment’s notice. Even some of the outlanders saw him more as a nuisance and a disturbance to the natural order of Ritou than one of them, and that’s without mentioning the treatment he receives from actual Inazumans. He’s no stranger to cold looks or denial of services. Thoma just doesn’t dwell on it too much, not seeing a point in focusing on the negatives of life.
“I see, your god must be an active and benevolent force in your country with the way you talk about him,” the boy says longingly, leaning his chin onto one hand and closing his eyes, “enough to instill such utter devotion…”
“Are you saying that your Archon isn’t?” Thoma asks quizzically, and the young man opens his eye to look at him sideways, a smirk gracing his lips.
Ah. I fell right into it.
“What an interesting thing to say,” the boy murmurs, turning to face Thoma, his eyes catching the lamp’s light, the orange hues dancing in his irises, like flames on ice.
“I─I didn’t mean─” Thoma hurries to apologize but the lightning quick finger pressed to his lips stops him in his tracks entirely, derailing his train of thought until he’s sitting there, mind blank, frozen.
In comparison to the cool spring evening, the young man’s featherlight touch burns.
The blue-haired boy leans in, their noses nearly touching. Thoma opens his mouth, but the young man quiets him with a simple Shh. He closes it with a click, teeth biting his tongue so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t split into half.
“No apology is necessary, however,” he says, his breath intermingling with Thoma’s, “I would love it if you didn’t think too hard about the Commissioner’s offer. Sometimes, a stray wind will blow alongside familiar gales, and that outlier may just be the one to carry you to wonderful places you’ve never been before.”
The boy tilts his head, eyes heavy. With how wildly his heart is beating against his ribcage, Thoma thinks that for a moment, the other can hear it.
“I hope you’re as much of an adventurer as your previous journeys imply, Thoma-kun,” he says, words carried by the wind. Strange, Thoma doesn’t feel cold.
The young man gently retracts his finger, rising to his feet in one smooth arc.
“Well, I hope we will meet again. Goodnight, outlander,” he says with a backwards glance, but the word outlander doesn’t sound as vicious or as poisonous as when other Inazumans yell it at him. Instead, the syllables curl into one another, the barely there smile on the pale face inviting him to share in on a secret joke. Thoma stares after him, mumbling to himself: “Goodnight…”
When a servant boy brings him a piece of paper, an inkstone and a brush, Thoma barely has the mind to thank him, staring into nothing. He snaps out of his stupor, finally moving to the low table to write.
While wondering how to word what the Commissioner offered him properly, Thoma absentmindedly licks his lips in concentration. When he realizes what he did, he freezes, the brush slipping from his fingers and falling onto the inkstone.
He’s glad the courtyard is empty, because he’s sure that his face matches the color of the burning lamps perfectly.
He puts his head into his hands, trying to keep his brain from exploding like a firework.
I was never that good at chess to begin with.
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The Kamisato courier had asked him for his name before writing it with vermillion ink on the message box. He then took Thoma’s letter and reassured him that he would come back in around two koku with a reply from the Association. Thoma’s face must have shown the doubt he was feeling, because the man said: “When you were brought here with the carrier, your safety and comfort were prioritized over speed. But me? I only care about speed.” He then grinned at him and ran off, message box on a pole slung over his shoulder, the bell attached to the box jingling in tune with his steps.
With nothing to do, Thoma pretended to meditate in the courtyard. Someone must have remembered he existed, because servants brought him inside the estate, for which he was immensely grateful for, considering that he stopped feeling his fingers long ago. They fed him, long rows of delicious dishes, and then asked if there was anything he wanted, to which he said No, thank you.
While he waited, he saw no signs of the blue-haired boy. He didn’t know if the feeling fluttering in his gut was regret or relief.
True to his words, the courier walked into the estate after four hours, giving Thoma his return letter. The man sauntered off after Thoma thanked him, probably to rest.
Thoma opened the letter swiftly, eager to just get everything over with. What he saw on the page nearly made him burst out laughing, but he held it in just barely.
Three distinct handwritings were all over the paper, and Thoma can practically hear the words in each person’s voice, almost as if they were right in front of him.
To summarize, this is what they all wrote:
I’m glad that you’re okay, good job on staying calm! Referring to the other issue, I think you should follow your heart. If you feel pressured at all, then swim back to Ritou remember that they can’t legally kill you without a trial! You got this – Hana
Oh Thoma, you’re alive! Thank the Archons. If I was in your place, I would take up the Commissioner’s offer without a second thought! It’s good that you waited, but I would honestly just accept it. You’re practically set for life after that. Don’t forget to visit I think you should say yes! – Kurisu
With the way those two were worrying all over the house, I thought that you were already declared dead and gone haha! Good to know you’re still kicking lad. Whether or not you should become a servant, I don’t know, depends on if you really want to live the rest of your life cleaning up after some prissy noble. If that sounds like your forte, go for it, and if not, you know I’ll always be ready to catch some pufferfish with you - Ammar
Thoma huffs a laugh at the last lines of Ammar’s part, wondering if they would still want him as a retainer when they found out he hung out with the likes of him.
He folds the letter carefully, deep in thought.
On one hand, rejecting a Tri-Commissioner is like painting a target on your back. Does it make me a coward if I just want to accept it simply because I don’t want to stand out?
On the other, Thoma has always been a free spirit. Pledging himself to some noble lady just to cater to her every whim and to clean up after her feels more like a chore than a job.
He frowns, playing with the edges of the paper.
“…to instill such utter devotion…” he murmurs, remembering that soft voice, and then colors, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation at himself.
Get out of my head, he thinks desperately at the burning violet gaze, and when it doesn’t he sighs, putting his head into his hands, determined to ignore it.
If I’m going to chain myself down to an unfamiliar clan, I should at least get to know who I’m going to serve. The Kamisatos have a son and a daughter, right? I’m going to meet the young lady if I take up the job, I wonder what the elder one is like. I wish I could have had more time to just get to know them before taking a leap of faith.
He stares at the wooden table, tracing the grooves in the surface with his finger.
Well, I don’t have to think of it as chaining myself down, that’s putting it a bit too harshly. I’ll get paid and probably have off days, like most other jobs, and at the end of the day I’ll still be a free man. But then how should I think of it…
Like the crack of lightning in the middle of a dark night, his father’s voice rings out:
The biggest honor of all, is to find someone you will be loyal to, for the rest of your life.
Could this be it then? Could he find this chance person here, in this clan, somebody who he could devote himself to?
Thoma licks his lips, staring at his hands, at the letter sitting on his palms.
Well, there’s only one way to find out.
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The Commissioner was delighted to find out that Thoma accepted his proposal, and immediately offered him a room to stay in to pass the night. It was like he knew he’d accept, and Thoma has to concede that most people in his position would, so it’s a fair assumption to make. A servant escorted him to his sleeping chamber, and he passed out not long after, properly drained after the amount of worrying he’d done throughout the day.
He woke up bright and early, was served some fancy breakfast that he could barely stomach, and then told that he’d be getting escorted back to Ritou to grab his belongings to properly move in, because apparently all the Kamisato servants lived in a separate wing of the estate. Neat.
Standing near the front gates of the courtyard, Thoma waits for his carriage to arrive. Which is a weird thing to think about, when just yesterday he couldn’t even fathom riding in one.
He brushes the ribbon sitting on his neck absentmindedly, the braid miraculously still intact thanks to Hana’s craftsmanship. He wonders if she got so good by just practicing on her own hair or if that was just a talent most long-haired people had. His mama liked to keep it in a simple low ponytail when she was in the house, but when going out she would put it up in a complicated style, hair braided tightly on the back of her head like a halo. He would always try to help with her braids, but his small and clumsy hands were never precise enough. She’d always laugh at his attempts and then scoop him up to kiss his grumpy frown away, knowing that he never liked when he couldn’t be of help.
You don’t need to help me with this, Thoma. Just being with me is enough, she’d tell him, viridian eyes shining with contentment.
Thoma lets out a soft breath, hand automatically going in his pocket to thumb the omamori.
Was it worth it, ma? Throwing away everything for one man that ended up betraying you?
Thoma imagines a world where his mother never met his father, never went out that night to catch crabs with her sister. One where she didn’t have to sob on the floor of their living room, clutching a burning letter in her hands like it would bring back the sender. Where would she be now? Would she be happier?
At that moment, Thoma hears a familiar sound that brings him out of his thoughts, the clop clop clop of…hooves?
A small, purely white horse comes into view, and on the ornately decorated saddle holding its leash sits the blue-haired boy from the night prior, smiling unassumingly at Thoma.
Immediately, the guards bow down, their greeting in tandem: “Good morning, Young Master Ayato!”
Thoma pales.
Young Master? Then that makes him…
Thoma quickly bows down, nearly doubling over.
This might be selfish of me, Shogun-sama, but please, strike me down.
The Inazuman Archon, typically, ignores his wishes, and he doesn’t die from a stray lightning bolt.
Great. Great, amazing, wonderful. I wonder if anyone has died from mortification or if I’m gonna be the first.
Aware that he’s definitely held the bow for too long, Thoma gingerly straightens himself, determinedly avoiding the other boy’s gaze.
“Young Master, do you want us to grab the carriage for the guest? It seems that Hirano and his men are late,” says the officer on the left, and Thoma doesn’t see it but he thinks that Ayato makes some sort of gesture with his hand.
“No need, I’ll escort our newest addition to the household myself,” Ayato says sunnily making the guards sputter. Thoma hopes that damn horse throws him off.
“Young Master, we couldn’t possibly make you ride with a─commoner!”
Good cover up, Thoma thinks crazedly, and also good point. Please don’t make me ride with him.
“That’s right! We’ll escort him by ourselves, there’s no need to dirty yourself─”
“Are you insinuating that I am not up to a task as simple as riding a horse, Kazumasa-san?” Ayato asks innocently, and Thoma hears the officer flail around.
“N-No, Young Master, it is simply…beneath your station to─to─” Thoma sees the other officer step on his shoe, to which Kazumasa lets out a grunt.
“We apologize for doubting your abilities, Ayato-sama, do not let us disturb you anymore, the guest is all yours.”
No, no, you were so close!
Thoma bites his lip as the guards disperse, brushing past him and leaving him alone with the Kamisato heir.
I wish the earth would swallow me up and spit me out back home.
Ayato dismounts from the horse, patting it on the snout fondly. Thoma can’t see his face, having been staring at the horse in a laughable attempt not to confront the other boy.
Now that he thinks about it, the white horse more resembles a pony with how small it is. It looks sturdy enough, and very well taken care of, judging by its pristine white and fluffy coat. It looks so soft that Thoma wants to pet it. It looks like the type of horse only a prince would ride, which cranks Thoma’s dread up to a hundred. The horse’s beady eyes stare back at him, and Thoma thinks that life as a horse would be much simpler than whatever the hell he’s going through right now.
Lucky bastard.
“Hello again, Thoma. Can I call you Thoma? It seems unnecessary for silly things such as honorifics to stand between us, now that we will be seeing each other more often, don’t you think?” Ayato asks, coming to stand right in front of him and making Thoma’s staring contest with the horse pointless.
Warily, he raises his eyes to the other boy’s mouth, thinking it appropriate enough. They’re the same height, and from an outsider’s perspective it looks silly but a better alternative than to make full on eye contact.
“Ah, yes, good morning to you too, Young Master,” Thoma answers, deliberately not using the other’s name and therefore not using an honorific. He sees Ayato’s mouth twitch into a smile a hair less polite than it was a second ago.
“Hmm, tell me, do you ride?”
A horse? Thoma nearly asks in confusion before biting his tongue. What else could Ayato be insinuating other than a horse? Stupid.
“No, I can’t say I’ve had much experience,” Thoma says, and it’s true. While the Knights back home would sometimes enter the city riding on horseback and even offer to teach children how to mount them, Thoma himself never found it interesting enough. He would have probably been turned away either way, but he still never tried.
The small quirk of Ayato’s mouth stretches into a proper smile, and he claps his hands, startling Thoma into accidentally looking up at his eyes.
“Wonderful! This will be your first mission as Kamisato clan’s retainer,” he says, finally moving away from Thoma’s personal space and standing next to the horse.
“Riding…a horse?” Thoma questions despite the fact that speaking out of turn is a major social faux pass here, but Ayato seems to light up in approval at his voice.
“Of course, why not? We’re already here, it would be a waste not to learn a new skill,” Ayato says reasonably, putting a hand on the horse’s back.
“Meet Yuki, one of our mares. Quite pretty, isn’t she?” Ayato says, “You can come and touch her, she’s quite well-mannered.”
Thoma finally gives into the urge he’s been harboring ever since he saw the animal, stepping closer to it. When Yuki gives him nothing but a bland look, he decides to treat her like he would any other stray.
Holding out his hand for her to sniff it, he starts speaking softly: “Hello there, Yuki. It’s nice to meet you.” When she finishes smelling his hand, Thoma starts to slowly put it on her neck, keeping his movements smooth and steady. She turns her head to look at his hand before huffing, going back to ignoring him.
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” Thoma says earnestly, petting her, “and you have such a soft mane, your owners must be taking very good care of you,” he coos, and she turns her head around to peer at him. Then, curiously, she attempts to headbutt him, or perhaps nuzzle him.
Thoma can’t help but let out a giggle as she tries to chew on his fringe, gently putting a hand between his face and her snout.
“Hey, hey, my hair’s not going to turn into wheat, no matter how much you try to bite it,” he says through his chuckles, rummaging through his pocket. When she notices what he’s doing, Yuki moves her head away, staring intently at his hand.
“You like sugar, don’t you? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint,” he says, showing the mare his omamori, “but I don’t have anything for you right now, see? This isn’t for eating,” he tells her, watching as the horse curiously sniffs the amulet, attempting to lick it.
“Haha, come on, I already told you,” he fake complains, retreating his hand and watching as Yuki follows it, before freezing in his tracks at the sound of a chuckle to his right.
Ah. I forgot he was here.
Coming closer to him, Ayato puts a hand on Yuki’s neck and she obediently stops nipping at Thoma’s fingers, turning away as Thoma’s cheeks burn in embarrassment.
“Ah, sorry, I got a bit carried away,” he says, even forgetting to use more formal language. Shit. What’s wrong with me?
“No need, you’re quite good with animals,” Ayato says noncommittally, his eyes trailing from Thoma’s face down to the hand clutching the omamori. Thoma blinks as Ayato lifts up his arm with a finger, gentle pressure on his elbow, like a musician pulling on a harp string. Thoma follows the motion with his eyes mutely, until his hand is raised, the omamori peeking out beneath his fist.
“Curious,” Ayato simply says, quirking an eyebrow.
“It was my mother’s,” Thoma replies, and nothing more. Ayato hmm’s, hand holding up Thoma’s arm for a second longer before he lets it go. Thoma quickly puts the omamori away in his pocket, ignoring the lingering sensation of the other boy’s fingers.
“Well, now that you’ve acquainted yourself with Yuki, how about we start our journey?”
With that, in one move that manages to be both elegant and swift, Ayato gets up on the horse, shifting to get comfortable in the saddle before settling. He gives Thoma a look, and he flushes.
“I, uhm, don’t know. How to…do that,” Thoma admits, struggling not to shift on his feet. Ayato’s mouth twitches, his face smoothing out.
“Apologies, I forgot,” he says, but something about the twinkle in his eye tells Thoma that he definitely knew, the bastard. He dismounts, standing next to Thoma.
“First, gather up the reins,” he tells him, and Thoma does so, listening carefully. “Next, put one hand on the maewa and the other on the shizuwa.” When he stands in confusion for a second too long, Ayato grabs and maneuvers his hands, putting one on the arched front plate of the saddle and the other on the rear plate. He hopes he didn’t have any outward reaction to the contact, but he’s not sure he was successful due to the way he can hear the smile in Ayato’s voice.
“Good, now you’ll raise a leg so I can help push you up,” Ayato says casually, letting go of his hands and meaning to step behind him. But Thoma’s brain goes into panic mode at the thought of someone seeing a noble, no, a Tri Commission heir helping a servant onto a horse. And so, with adrenaline coursing through his veins like lightning, Thoma gulps in a deep breath and then─
“Oh, my.” Barely registering Ayato’s murmur, Thoma wills his arms not to give out. Yuki lets out a disgruntled huff, to which Thoma mutters a wayward apology as he turns his body just so, spreading his legs on either side of Yuki, finally landing on the horse.
Shakily, Thoma settles himself in the saddle, holding Yuki’s reins tightly, feeling his heart thunder against his ribcage. Ayato is silent.
“Uhm, I did it, so there’s no need for Young Master to help,” he says nervously, looking over to see Ayato smooth his face out in a neutral mask, hiding whatever emotion he might have had at Thoma’s little display.
“I see that,” the other boy says. “Well then, move a bit forward,” he orders, and Thoma does, not fully comprehending why until he feels Yuki─dip down?
With the horse to the ground, Ayato calmly sits down behind Thoma on the small saddle, patting Yuki on the side so that she rises, ready to go.
So he made me go through all of that for nothing, Thoma thinks sourly. As if sensing his grumpy thoughts, Ayato explains:
“Regularly ordering a horse to lay down is quite bad for their joints,” he says smoothly, right next to his ear, making the hair on Thoma’s neck stand up. “It should be done only on special occasions, or as part of their training. Though I must admit I did not expect you to be quite so agile,” he murmurs, hands wrapping around the reins and incidentally, around Thoma’s.
“Um,” he says eloquently, staring at the other boy’s long fingers as they wrap around his own, “thank you?”
Ayato huffs a quiet laugh, finally leaning back slightly from Thoma’s shoulder.
“Well, let’s get started. We wouldn’t want to be late.”
With that, holding onto Thoma’s hands, he snaps the reins for him, Yuki starting into a light jog down the mountain.
“How are you finding Inazuma, Thoma?” Ayato asks him, and Thoma debates on whether or not he should give an honest answer. A smart person would suck up to the Kamisato heir and tell him how wonderful and welcoming his home country is, but Thoma doesn’t really see much point in that. If he pretends to be something he isn’t, at some point or another the mask would slip, and people would notice. It’s always better to be yourself from the start.
Besides, the other boy seems…well, it’s more of a guess based on Thoma’s intuition, but he seems genuine in his curiosity towards Thoma. He doesn’t know exactly why, and he hopes it isn’t out of malice. If he were to speculate Thoma thinks that the other boy is just…
“It seems that the saltwater has done much more damage to your ears than I previously thought,” Ayato says blandly, and even though it’s not clear from his voice, Thoma can tell that he’s a bit peeved at being ignored at so easily. Hm. Perhaps this young master is just a touch spoiled?
“Ah, Young Master, permission to speak freely?” Thoma requests, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable.
“Oh? Were you not speaking freely before?”
“I think Young Master knows just how freely I can speak,” he quips, hoping that the other takes it as a well-meaning joke and not a jab.
Ayato lets out a single breathy chuckle before getting his impenetrable mask under, probably remembering Thoma’s insensitive question the night prior.
“Very true. All right then, permission granted.”
Thoma, of course, has to test the limits of Ayato’s permission immediately.
“I don’t mean to offend, but…could Young Master move his hands elsewhere?” he asks, having tried to ignore the other’s hands covering his own ever since the other put them there.
Thoma’s hands were wider than usual, enough so that most of people would have a hard time completely encasing them, but Ayato’s fingers did just that. They were long, pale, with perfectly taken care of fingernails, but not bony like Kurisu’s. No, Ayato’s hand a certain strength to them that could only be achieved from calligraphy practices or even sword training, Thoma doesn’t really know. Also, they were completely comfortable with getting in between the gaps of Thoma’s fingers, holding the reins─and Thoma’s hands─in a gentle but firm grip.
“Hmm, how quaint. How about this, then?” Ayato says, letting go of the reins and of Thoma’s hands, leaving Thoma alone to steer the horse. Thoma opens his mouth to thank him, but then he yelps when he feels pressure on either side of his hips. He looks down and, yep, that’s Ayato’s hands, snuggled inside the pockets of Thoma’s haori and also, around his torso.
“…thank you, Young Master,” he manages to say, and he can practically feel the satisfaction coming off of Ayato.
“Of course, since you seem to be uncomfortable with direct contact, this seemed like an agreeable solution, no?”
“Ah, yes, I suppose you’re right,” Thoma admits, not knowing that the other had picked up on his discomfort. He was probably being incredibly obvious, but Thoma has never been a fan of strangers up in his personal space. It just felt…suffocating.
“You never answered my original question,” Ayato prompts and Thoma nods.
“Well, it’s a bit of a mixed bag. The scenery and culture are very beautiful, I never knew much about it before coming to see it with my own two eyes,” because his father never talked about it, as if not brining up the fact that he was an outlander would make the others forget.
“There are so many rules as well, especially concerning etiquette and propriety” Thoma continues, watching as Yuki expertly moves down throughout Chinju forest, “so many that I think in this conversation I’ve already broken at least a couple just by speaking like this to you, Young Master,” Thoma adds cheekily, listening as Ayato does another one of his breathy laughs, his chest shaking behind Thoma.
“You’re right in that regard, in fact, a proper noble would punish you for speaking so out of turn…” Ayato trails off, but Thoma thinks that he’s just bluffing.
“I think that Young Master is a proper noble in all the ways that matter,” he says primly, to which Ayato huffs.
“Mm, keep talking and then we’ll see if I’m as proper as you believe,” he murmurs, moving his hands inside of the haori pockets, brushing the fabric across Thoma’s stomach. Thoma swallows, feeling something settle uncomfortably inside his gut.
They continue their ask and answer dance throughout the entire trip, with Thoma recounting his entire journey to Ayato with a couple of details from his life before, while Ayato offers a few brief nuggets of his own life. He also subtly confirms that the Kamisatos had a hand in ensuring he could stay in Ritou without a proper permit, meaning that they’ve truly had their eye on him for a while. Ayato tells him of his childhood, growing up as the Kamisato heir, living with a younger sister, learning calligraphy and sword training (Thoma was right!), dealing with political disputes at the ripe age of eleven, and a couple of more personal things, like admitting to liking more sugary food and hating small talk.
When Thoma points out that their entire conversation up to this point could be considered small talk, Ayato pinches him lightly through his kimono, making Thoma yelp and incidentally, startling Yuki into doing a full-on sprint throughout Konda village. Thankfully, they don’t run anyone over, or else Thoma’s stay with the Yashiro Commission would turn into a stay with the Tenryou Commission, permanently.
Then, finally, they near Ritou.
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Thoma manages to somehow get off the horse without completely falling over on his head, bowing in greeting to Kobayashi who turned an unhealthy shade of purple when he saw the Kamisato heir on Yuki. Thoma leaves Ayato to bother him, sure in his belief that the other boy will enjoy having someone to prod at for the time being.
The Association didn’t expect him to come, since Thoma didn’t really have the time or the means to send another letter, so he’s greeted with a swarm of people, litany of questions that he tries his best to answer while keeping an eye out for any of his friends.
Hana is the first to find him, firmly hugging him and ruffling his hair before leaving to fetch Ammar while Thoma takes over the kitchen for her. Kurisu finds him there and bursts into tears at the sight of him, holding him by the shoulders while struggling to get out full sentences through his sobs. Thoma just pats him on the back in comfort, knowing how stressful it must have been for them. Ammar comes back in tow with Hana, and he gives Thoma a few hearty pats on the back while giving him a big toothy smile.
After they finish breakfast, Thoma gathers the three of them to tell them his decision. They take it well, save for Ammar who grumbles that Those nobles won’t treat ya right to which Thoma just huffs a laugh, reassuring him that if any mistreatment occurs he will write Ammar at the earliest opportunity, which calms him somewhat.
Alongside his usual things that he quickly wraps up in a sheet of silk to carry, he doesn’t have much on him after all, Thoma comes down to the main lobby to see the three of them carrying…gifts, for him. His objections are silenced by their shared look of determination.
Hana gives him a horned helmet that she says belonged to her brother when he was still young. She immediately helps him put it on, and undoes his braided hair as well, tying it up in the style he usually wears it, flowing freely down his back. The metal is cool on his forehead, and he has to move his bangs to accommodate for the horns, but something about the weight feels comforting.
Kurisu gives him a handy pouch, saying that it will come useful when he needs to carry Mora or other smaller things he wants to keep close to him. Thoma straps it on, having been changed into his regular outfit, and it’s lightweight and easy to use.
Ammar hands him a pair of dog tags that belonged to him, putting it over Thoma’s head like one might put on a shawl. He says that they’ve been collecting dust in his drawer for the past however long and that they will be much more useful as a good luck charm to Thoma than they ever to him, anyway.
Feeling overwhelmed, his mouth a wobbly line, Thoma tightly crushes the three of them to his chest, holding them while murmuring his thanks. A couple of tears might have been shed, but that stays between them.
When he leaves the Association, it’s with a full heart and a promise to write at least monthly to them. Kaiser meows at him, and Thoma can’t bend down to properly scratch under his chin, but he does allow the cat to lazily curl around his leg for a brief moment before departing.
A couple of people on the street bow in goodbye to him, even coming up to add onto the pile of things in his already full hands with trinkets or food, ignoring his protests and wishing him goodbye. Of course, some people glare or even mutter amongst themselves angrily, spreading rumors about his character or devious methods, but people will always talk, so Thoma does nothing but smile politely while hurrying back to Ayato.
Just as he guessed, Kobayashi seems on the verge of a mental breakdown while the blue-haired boy questions him with a bland smile on his face. Thoma wouldn’t be surprised if Ayato tricked him into somehow insulting the Raiden Shogun as he did with Thoma, so he makes sure to announce his return with a loud: “I’m here, Young Master! I think it’s time to leave, I wouldn’t want you to be late for lunch.”
Kobayashi gives him such a pure look of relief that Thoma feels bad for him. He gives him a dango from the top of his pile, patting him on the shoulder while thanking him for keeping Young Master safe to which the man offers him a shaky smile.
“Hmm, you took more time than I expected,” Ayato says, hands hidden inside his long sleeves. “Enough to change into a new outfit,” he adds, coming over to stand in front of Thoma, studying him with sharp eyes.
“Ah, apologies, Young Master, but a couple of peop─ack!” Thoma’s sentence gets cut off, literally, by Ayato’s hand tugging on his dog tags, the taut chain putting his face right in front of Ayato’s. The other boy brings them up to his eye level, examining them with a quirked eyebrow.
“Sumeran script?” he asks casually, as if it’s perfectly normal to just grab someone’s belongings like that and pull. Thoma was right, this young master is not just spoiled, but also so far removed from regular people that he’s comfortable getting into Thoma’s space like he belongs there. That, or he finds it funny when Thoma goes speechless and wide-eyed, like right now.
“Well?” Ayato prompts, now looking at Thoma, as he struggles to balance the pile in his arms while leaning forward. Thoma licks his lips, unsure if the other is play fighting or genuinely angry.
Someone squeaks.
In tandem, Thoma and Ayato break off their staring contest to look at a bright red Kobayashi, his dango held loosely in one hand with his eyes bulging out of his head at the two of them. He closes his mouth, stammering:
“I-I apologize! This Kobayashi will leave Ayato-sama and Thoma-sama to talk in private! Goodbye!” He bows so low Thoma’s surprised his hat doesn’t touch the ground, nearly running out of there.
Thoma stares after him, heart rate rising from an elevated pace to an all-out sprint. He swallows around nothing, feeling his throat close up and dry as sweat gathers beneath his headband.
…Kobayashi wouldn’t speak of this to anyone, would he?
“Thoma-sama?” Ayato repeats humorously, tilting his head at the empty space the officer inhabited not long ago. “How strange, it seems you’re moving up the ranks quite quickly, Thoma.”
This is bad. Thoma is rooted to the ground, unable to move, like a statue. This is very, very bad, says a small voice in the back of his head, feeling a weird kind of phantom pain bubble up, the dirt and rocks dig into his already sore back, his head is pounding at him in warning, and he grits his teeth against the pain circulating throughout his entire body─
“Thoma.”
If Kobayashi were to say what he saw, or perhaps if he were to see their close proximity to each other in a different light, or even yet twist the story just right to make it seem like they could be─like they were─
“Thoma,” Ayato’s sharp voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade through water. Thoma opens his mouth to answer him, to reassure him that there’s nothing wrong, but at that moment sweet air rushes into his lungs, and when had he stopped breathing? He stumbles, feeling light headed, seeing from the corner of his eye Ayato drop the hand that was holding his dog tags, his face swimming into view.
Oh, he isn’t angry. That’s good, Thoma thinks sluggishly while trying to regain his sense of being. Little tremors run across his chest, his abdomen, even his arms and legs, leaving them tingling and shaking. It’s weird, it’s almost like his body is only a puppet held together by string, controlled by some other entity and not Thoma himself.
Ayato doesn’t say a word, the only sound that can be heard in the clearing being Thoma’s labored breaths and the occasional huff from Yuki.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Thoma can think again.
Shakily, he turns to face Ayato, forcing his face into a smile, although he thinks it comes out more as a grimace.
“I…apologize, I don’t know what happened back there, Young Master,” he says, shifting on his feet to better mange the aftershocks of his…outburst.
“Hm,” is all that Ayato offers, scrutinizing him. Thoma tries to keep his hands and smile steady, all the while trying not to puke, a certain kind of nausea gripping him by the throat and making it hard to speak.
Ayato turns on his heel, his back to Thoma when he says: “Let’s depart, it is like you said, we wouldn’t want to be late for lunch.”
At the prospect of sitting together like they were before, chest to back, a wave of fear crashes into him, washing away all his thoughts like saltwater does sand. And when Thoma is afraid, he acts.
“Young Master, please excuse me and keep still for a moment,” Thoma says, dropping the pile of belongings onto the ground as Ayato attempts to turn around with an inquisitive noise.
“Ah!” Ayato grunts, as Thoma holds him steady by the waist, nearly above his head. “Thoma, what are you─?” He walks behind around Yuki, Ayato still in tow, and then gently lowers the Kamisato heir into the saddle, finally letting out a shaky breath as Yuki’s tail swishes.
“It is uncomfortable for two people to ride in a saddle together, and Yuki probably doesn’t appreciate the addition of my weight, so this humble servant will walk alongside Young Master while he rides,” Thoma gets out all in one go, words tumbling over themselves as he goes to pick up his cluster of things, crouching down. Silence hangs in the air, heavy like a guillotine.
Thoma knows he’s overstepped his place, and by a long shot as well. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ayato just decides to leave him behind after everything, to find a better retainer, but he can't. He just can’t. The thought of someone seeing them together like before, of people twisting the narrative to make Ayato or Thoma out to be─to be…It was already bad enough that they rode together before. Thoma has never felt paranoia like this, fear holding him in a chokehold and refusing to let go. But he can’t allow them to be seen like that again.
Thoma doesn’t usually care about rumors, but this particular one he can’t allow to circulate.
“…You will carry your baggage the entire way back as punishment. If you fall behind at any point, I will not wait for you.” Ayato’s voice sounds detached, emotionless, and Thoma breathes through his nose.
“Of course, Young Master,” Thoma answers, gathering up his things and standing up. He comes to stand next to Yuki, staring straight ahead and avoiding Ayato’s gaze. Seeing that Thoma won’t look at him, the young master gives a quick tug at Yuki’ reigns, and then they’re off.
They travel back to the Kamisato estate in silence, and aren’t late for lunch.
──────────────────
After their little trip to Ritou, Thoma stops seeing Ayato so often due to him being extremely busy, which is just as well because he needs to get acquainted not only with the daughter of the Kamisato clan, but also with the estate’s layout and its people.
There are a lot of servants, they range from being simple cooks to all-rounders, and at the head of the entire organization of housekeepers is the clan’s butler, Furuta. She warmed up quickly to Thoma after he offered his services (even though the Commissioner told him that wasn’t part of his job), putting him to work with wiping down counters and gifting him a duster of his own. Thoma found the overall work boring, the back and forth motions lulling him to sleep whenever he would sweep or mop, but he still did it, unwilling to be useless.
Thoma had his first meeting with Ayaka when he needed to escort her to the city for some shopping. The girl was shy, kind, and definitely awkward, probably due to not having many peers her age regularly interacting with her. His first thought was that she was nothing like Ayato, but he felt bad comparing her to her brother immediately when meeting her, so he kept his big mouth shut, listening as she introduced herself hesitantly.
Thoma always had a bit of a soft spot towards kids, so he promised her he would try and hang out with her as much as she wanted, something she grinned at before blushing at the outward display of emotion. That’s something the siblings had in common, but while Ayato had near perfect control over his facial expressions, Ayaka would often substitute a metaphorical mask for a more literal one: her fan that she would cover the lower half of her face with.
Now he knows what the Commissioner meant by not being just another bodyguard. He’s practically a babysitter, someone Ayaka can go to and talk with when she doesn’t have flower arranging classes or studies. Thoma arranges her bed in the morning and in the evening, he personally serves her food while the whole family is dining and he escorts her whenever she wants to go outside of the estate, which is quite often, the young lady harboring a deep love for her people. He helps her with choosing an outfit but not with dressing as she has a personal, ahem, female servant for that. He also carries her things for her whenever she buys something, and plays chess and go with her in the downtime.
He feels bad being paid for essentially being friends with her, something he lets slip accidentally one day when talking to Ayaka. Surprising him, she tells him that he’s being way too critical of himself and that his work shouldn’t be taken that lightly.
“You wouldn’t say that Furuta-san or Koharu-san don’t deserve reimbursement just because they only clean around the estate, would you?”
“Of course not,” Thoma replied indignantly, plucking stray weeds in the courtyard while Ayaka sipped her morning tea at the low table.
“Then you shouldn’t think of your work as underserving of payment either,” she told him cheekily but firmly, a hidden strength to her that spoke of being more than just a pretty face.
Thoma smiled, fond, feeling like he was witnessing his own sister grow up.
“Yes, Ayaka-sama,” he replied to which she sputtered.
“Thomaaa! We said no honorifics when we’re alone,” she whisper yelled, pouting at him. Thoma had chuckled, remembering Ayato saying the same thing way back when.
“Yes, ojou,” he corrected himself, to which she huffed.
“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” she told him, hmphing.
“Yes, ojou.”
“Stop doing…whatever you’re doing and come join me for tea.”
“Yes, Ayaka.”
Finally, at that, she smiled.
Thoma was enjoying his new job, his routine being comfortable enough in its loose repetitiveness. He would wake up bright and early, help prepare Ayaka for the day, serve her food and then clean up after her, go eat his own breakfast with the other servants, help with cleaning something or the other while Ayaka studied, chat with Furuta, serve and clean up after Ayaka for lunch, eat himself, hang out with Ayaka until dinner while playing games or just talking, prepare her for sleep, wish her goodnight and then go to his own bedroom.
That careful routine is broken when a week into being a retainer, after breakfast, he’s called to Ayato’s room to help dress him for an afternoon meeting with a local noble.
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Thoma keeps his eyes respectfully averted as he fixes Ayato’s outfit, smoothing over invisible edges and tying the obi around the young master’s waist in as little as strokes as he can manage. He flutters off towards the bed and grabs the himo and the laid out dark haori, two Kamisato emblems stitched into the front, carefully lifting it up and coming to stand behind Ayato who wordlessly raises his hands, easing into the sleeves.
Thoma walks back around in front of Ayato, nimble fingers taking hold of the haori as the other boy settles into the fabric. Thoma begins attaching the tassel to the haori, putting the himo loop through the haori’s, and then back again through its own loop. With the himo successfully attached to the haori, Thoma begins tying it, eyes firmly glued to his current task.
Even though Thoma had tried to keep as much distance between them as possible, he can still see and even feel the rise and fall of Ayato’s chest. The young master hadn’t said a single word throughout the entire exchange, and when Thoma finishes tying the himo with a precise tug to ensure it stays in place, he isn’t sure what to do next.
“Thank you, Thoma,” says Ayato calmly, startling Thoma out of his thoughts and incidentally making him raise his head, finally locking eyes with the other. They stare at each other for a moment, lavender eyes peering into green, until Thoma remembers his manners, quickly ducking his head and taking a step back.
He bows, picture perfect, though he stays bent for a second too long, nerves messing up his usually impeccably timing. He rises, turning around, but Ayato’s voice freezes him in his tracks.
“Wait, I have something for you.”
Thoma stays still as the sound of Ayato rummaging through his desk’s drawer fills the room. He seems to find what he’s looking for, closing the drawer with a click and Thoma listens to the near silent footsteps as the young master comes to stand right behind him.
Should I…turn around? Or would that be too presumptuous?
Before he can make a choice, his breath hitches as Ayato’s knuckles delicately brush the back of his neck, the young man taking apart the pale green ribbon Thoma usually uses to tie his hair back. It falls, gently swaying to the floor, and Toma stops breathing.
Slowly, with a hum, Ayato spreads his fingers through Thoma’s hair, laying it out over his back in a neat line. While holding the hair in one hand, the young master begins tying the strands with something, warm fingers not stopping the hair on Thoma’s neck from standing up.
After a short eternity, Ayato makes one last final loop, tightening his ponytail with a firm but gentle grip, and Thoma feels something like two ends of rope brushing his neck. Then, his hands travel downwards, bit by bit, until they finally rest on Thoma’s shoulder blades, fingers spread apart like tree roots, burrowing their way into Thoma’s bones.
In the silence, Ayato’s even and deep breaths contrast starkly with Thoma’s ragged and stuttering ones, the young master’s touch making it hard to concentrate on anything other but their close proximity to one another. He keeps utterly still, not allowing himself to lean either way, feeling pinned like a butterfly.
Slowly, so slowly that Thoma thinks he’s imagining it, Ayato’s hands peel off of his shoulders, making Thoma stumble at the lack of contact. His voice rings out, clear, with an undercurrent of something else leaking through the syllables:
“You are dismissed.”
It takes him a moment to register, his mind hazy, but when he does…Thoma─and there is no better word to describe it─flees.
Only later does he realize that he left his old ribbon in Ayato’s room, picking up dust somewhere on the tatami floors.
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After that, it becomes harder to avoid Ayato. He’s everywhere.
Whether Thoma’s busy or not, the other boy is just around the corner, sneaking up on him to greet him, eyes curved into crescents when Thoma yelps at the unexpected voice. He joins in on Thoma and Ayaka’s evening hangouts, destroying Thoma in chess and subtly making fun of him while Ayaka suppresses her giggles. He’s there when Thoma is cleaning tatami mats, telling him that he missed a spot even when he just saw Thoma brush it. Not to mention, mysterious ingredients keep popping up in his food, like melons in soup and even onikabuto in his rice balls, and Thoma seems to fall for it every single time.
On one particular occasion, when his ponytail had gotten a bit too tussled, Thoma had undone the corded bow and put it in his mouth while he untangled his hair. At that moment, Ayato had walked into the hallway that Thoma was cleaning. When he got a good look at Thoma and what he was doing, he smirked, mischief and satisfaction sparkling in his eyes. Thoma had reddened, grabbed the cord and swiftly tied his hair up, uncaring how it looked, his heart thundering inside his chest.
When he complained to Ayaka about the other boy’s antics on a rare occasion that Ayato didn’t join them for evening chess, the young lady had winced while smiling.
“Thoma, I think you’re taking Ayato-nii a bit too seriously,” she told him while struggling to hold back a laugh at his dramatic recount of the day, “it’s not fair that only I get to enjoy your company, after all.”
It hit him then.
Oh. Ayato’s lonely.
That made more sense, considering that Ayaka was too, and it took much less time for Thoma to notice it, but Ayato covered it up better, with fake smiles and a cheerful persona. Ayaka at least had her big brother, the maids and now Thoma to talk with, but who did Ayato have except for her?
That whole line of thinking makes him feel incredibly sad, and so the next day on an impulse he goes out to the city by himself, chatting up the locals and getting what he came there for. It takes him a bit to gather his courage, but when he does, the next time Ayato calls him to help with his clothes, Thoma comes into the room with a box, Ayato’s back to him as he stands in front of his window.
It’s a simple rectangle, black in color with some minor azure detailing around the borders. Thoma hopes he got the size correct, and he hopes he didn’t throw away all that Mora for something that Ayato won’t like.
When Ayato turns around the smile on his face freezes, and Thoma really hopes he didn’t misjudge his character or how gift giving works in Inazuma.
“Here you go, Young Master. Something to keep your hands protected,” Thoma says, too nervous to just stay quiet. Ayato stays silent for a couple of more seconds, making Thoma’s anxiety rise to a new high. Finally, he crosses the room in a couple of strides, coming to stand in front of Thoma and the box.
Usually, it’s Inazuman custom for the receiver of a present to wait and open it later and not in front of the giver, but Ayato gives him a look, a raised eyebrow asking for permission. Thoma nods, trying to keep his hands still.
Ayato takes ahold of the upper part of the box, fingers grasping the smooth material and then going up, up, until the top has been removed. On the plush red velvet, a pair of black gloves sit, waiting to be used.
Thoma watches Ayato’s face carefully, and when the other doesn’t so much as give a twitch, his heart sinks.
“Thank you,” the other boy says, but with an air of detachment and nobility that Thoma has never seen from him before. Why is he reacting like this? It’s not like he didn’t give Thoma a gift─
Oh!
“Young Master, no, Ayato-sama,” Thoma corrects himself, and the other blinks at him, surprised at Thoma’s use of his name.
“Please don’t think of this gift as an exchange done between master and servant, but rather,” he swallows, but persists despite his treacherous heart, “as a gift from…a friend.”
Ayato looks at him properly for the first time since he walked in, his perfect mask finally starting to show cracks. His eyes shine and his mouth gives an involuntary twitch that he struggles to get under control. Thoma watches it all, waiting.
“Ah…” Ayato says, licking his lips, sounding unsure for the first time that Thoma has met him. Thoma can’t help but be greedy, so he decides to push his luck by teasing the other.
“Do you not like the color? Or are they too big or too small?” he asks, and Ayato gives him a look that says How would I know? Thoma raises his eyebrows, eyes going back and forth between the gloves and the other’s hands with intent, and he has the pleasure to see Ayato blush, his cheeks reddening into a soft pink, making him look like the seventeen boy he truly is. Thoma ruthlessly crushes the voice inside his head that describes the expression as pretty.
Ayato takes the gloves gingerly, like he’s never received a gift before, a fact Thoma knows is untrue. Then, the young man puts them on, sliding first the left one and then the right one onto his hands. They seem to fit snugly, the design not meant to cover the entire palm, a bit of a fashion statement that guaranteed a look of elegance, at least according to the saleswoman Thoma bartered with.
“They’re very well crafted,” Ayato offers, playing with the edges of the accessory. Thoma beams, glad that he got the size and the quality correct.
He’s not prepared for a real, genuine smile to cross Ayato’s face, something unlike his usual playful smirks or bland quirks of the mouth. Thoma takes a second to soak it in, like a flower warmed by the sun.
Ayato recovers quickly though, smoothing his face into a more general smile, but Thoma won’t forget what he saw for a long time, or the thought that the young master had looked so…beautiful, he allows himself to think, in that moment.
“Thank you, Thoma,” he says, and this time it sounds much more real. Shifting on his feet, Thoma licks his lips.
“Permission to speak freely, Ayato-sama?” At the sound of his voice, Ayato looks up from the gloves, quirking an eyebrow at the familiar question.
“Granted,” he allows, staring at Thoma with barely hidden curiosity shining in his eyes. Thoma hesitates for a second longer before blurting out:
“If the Young Master wants to, I think it would be nice for us, to, ah, act like friends, when we are not out in public.” Biting his lip to stop himself from saying anything more foolish, Thoma waits for the other to respond.
Ayato stands so still that Thoma thinks for a second he turned into a statue, the only thing in motion are his violet eyes, watching him and pinning him in place with the weight of his gaze.
The moment seems to last an eternity, but finally, Ayato’s shoulders relax just a hair.
“Yes. I would…like that,” he admits, looking sideways, words rough as if they’ve been dragged out of him. “But there need to be rules,” he adds, glancing as Thoma nods from the corner of his eyes. His lips twitch.
“For example, no honorifics when referring to each other.”
Thoma sighs good naturedly, knowing that that would be one of them.
“All right…Ayato,” he bites his tongue to stop the automatic sama that threatens to spill out. Ayato graces him with another genuine smile, his eyes scrunching up like they’re not used to the expression. Like before, he gets the expression under control, much to Thoma’s dismay.
“Are there any other rules or just this one?” Thoma asks jokingly, but Ayato just hmms.
“I’d like for us to be honest with one another, but that applies both inside and outside the public’s eye,” the blue-haired boy says, going back to fiddling with his gloves. Thoma makes a noise in agreement, closing the gift box before cheekily offering his own rule:
“How about being forthcoming with our words?” Ayato smirks, knowing that Thoma only said that because of the other’s roundabout way of speaking in circles. Despite his dislike for small talk, Ayato enjoys toying verbally with his speaking companions and he does it so well that Thoma would classify it as an artform.
“As long as the general meaning is passed on, I don’t see why that one would be necessary,” the young master says, eyes dancing with delight at Thoma’s grumbled Oh, come on.
“Fine, fine,” Thoma acquiesces, secretly enjoying their subtle back and forths, even though he loses the mind games every time. He gathers up the box and then puts it on a nightstand with a mirror attached to the wall.
He doesn’t expect Ayato to follow him however, and when he turns around he makes a noise of surprise at their closeness, something that Ayato savors, smirking at him.
“…can we add a rule about personal space?” Thoma says grudgingly, his heart calming down when he sees that the other isn’t a threat. Well, only to his dignity.
“Oh? Whatever for?” Saying that he leans in even further, nearly nose to nose with Thoma now, “I thought friends were fond of close contact. Did you want us to just act like friends…or truly be friends?”
Struggling not to look down at the other’s moving lips, Thoma tries to think of a way to get out of this without looking like a fool, or worse.
Ah, he gets it. He’ll just insult him.
“Say, Ayato,” Thoma says, tracking the way Ayato’s pupils monitor him, like a cat playing with a mouse, “I already thought of this before in our journey but…”
Thoma leans in the tiniest amount, and Ayato licks his lips.
“Aren’t you a bit spoiled?”
Silence. Thoma moves away and gets the wonderful experience of seeing Ayato flounder.
“Huh?” he says, speechless for the first time that Thoma can remember. He’s going to frame this memory in gold in his mind immediately.
“I mean, not liking when I don’t answer quick enough because I’m busy thinking, or leaning in too close to try to make me squirm…don’t you think that’s a bit childish?”
Thoma is trying really hard not to burst out laughing, but Ayato’s face makes it truly difficult. It’s a mixture of confusion, indignation and just a touch of awe at being called out so bluntly. It’s like nobody has ever said anything negative about him to his face, and they probably haven’t, considering who exactly Ayato is.
Ayato closes his mouth, brow furrowed.
“I am not spoiled,” he protests, sounding exactly like a whiny child. Something he seems to realize in mute horror. Thoma can’t hold onto it anymore, he giggles, and then hiccups at Ayato’s frustrated face.
“Stop laughing at me,” he orders, but it comes out more as a grumble, making Thoma laugh even harder, clutching his stomach as he doubles over.
“This is ridiculous,” Ayato says, crossing his arms in embarrassment, finally moving away from Thoma’s face. “You can’t just…”
Regaining some of his breath, Thoma straightens, wiping away a stray tear from his eye. Clearing his throat, he asks impishly: “I can’t what? I thought friends did this kind of teasing back and forth all the time. Or are only you allowed to do it, Ayato-sa-ma,” he drags on the honorific while grinning to let the other know he’s simply joking.
Ayato frowns, and then morphs his face into a neutral mask, his eyes glittering.
“Hmm…Thoma, what is considered the public?” he asks, and Thoma abruptly stops smiling.
“Uhm. People…outside of the clan?” he tries, not getting a good feeling from the way that Ayato’s eyes curve up, Cheshire fox grin firmly on his face. Crap. He should have just said anyone that’s not him and Ayaka.
“Wonderful, that is all that I needed to know,” he says simply, turning around to get dressed and shooing Thoma out of his room.
Uh oh. I’m definitely going to pay for this.
He’s proven right just a day later when Ayato corners him with slime covered dango, forcing him to eat it and delighting in every expression of misery that crosses Thoma’s face. He’s very lucky that Furuta didn’t stay long for their chat, otherwise she’d have to see Thoma get bullied within an inch of his life, and feel so bad for him she’d probably refuse to let him clean when Ayato is around.
All in all, his life at the Kamisato estate becomes much more interesting with Ayato freely messing with him every chance he gets. Thoma, unfortunately, is kind of into it.
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Amidst the bustling streets of Inazuma City, Thoma keeps track of Ayaka from the corner of his eye while chatting up some of the locals.
It’s towards the end of the June, or the beginning of Geshi as Inazumans would say, and the young Kamisato lady and him are out for a shopping trip. Ayaka said she needed to get a new kimono for the upcoming summer solstice and Thoma was mostly there to help with carrying her things, not planning to buy much for himself.
Ayaka comes back and hands him a medium sized box to carry, greeting the two shopkeepers Thoma was speaking with and definitely making their day by the delighted looks on their faces. They bid them goodbye and start heading back to the Kamisato estate, but Ayaka stops in the middle of the street, making Thoma turn around to look back at her.
She has her fan covering the lower side of her face, so it’s a bit hard to tell, but from her expression she seems embarrassed.
“Oh, Archons. Sorry Thoma, could we go to one more place right now? I nearly forgot to buy otou-san a gift!” she exclaims, and Thoma blinks.
“Of course, ojou,” he says, following her back down to Shimura’s as she shyly introduces herself and places an order. Ayaka doesn’t usually mention the fact that she’s a Kamisato, mostly because it’s painfully obvious, but she does it this time, meaning that she wants to get the food as soon as possible, something that intrigues Thoma.
He comes up to her while she’s sitting in a chair and fanning herself as the old man behind the counter whips up her order, a swiftness to his steps that Thoma wouldn’t expect.
He leans down her ear so he doesn’t have to yell amidst the clatter of pots and pans, and she obligingly tilts her head so he can have better access.
“Pardon me, ojou, but I am slightly curious why you’re ordering the Lord Commissioner a…” Thoma cranes his head to get a good look at what’s sizzling on the stove, “Grilled unagi? Is it for a special occasion?”
Ayaka blinks at him in confusion before her face clears, something that happens a lot when dealing with Thoma and his gaps of knowledge concerning Inazuma. She closes her fan and smiles at him.
“Ah well, it’s a bit of an early gift since the actual celebration isn’t today, but since we’ll be spending the day together I thought of just giving it to otou-san now,” she says and then: “It’s Father’s Day tomorrow.”
Thoma stares at her, uncomprehending.
“Oh, that’s right! You came to Inazuma to visit your father, right? Will you be taking a day off for tomorrow then? I really think that you should take a break every once in a while,” Ayaka tells him kindly.
Slowly, like a broken compass finally pointing north, Thoma turns to gaze at the sea of people walking by the food stall. Beyond them, the great and merciless sea, and beyond that, in a different country, an empty apartment, near city walls, gathering dust, waiting.
“Yes,” he says, thinking about dandelion wine and unfulfilled promises, “I think I will.”
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The Lord Commissioner lets his surprise show when Thoma asks for a day off, but he gives it to him willingly and without protest, saying to enjoy the day to the fullest with his loved one, to which Thoma smiles tightly.
He tells Furuta and Ayaka of his plans to go out and they both wish him a safe return, Ayaka promising to tell Ayato that he most likely won’t make it to their evening chess game.
Inside his bedroom, he takes off his shirt and carefully removes the stitches on the letter, fearing it will fall apart after everything its been through. Miraculously, only one corner gets caught in the fabric, the rest of the paper safely extracted. Good, that’s one thing out of the way.
Thoma gets to work immediately, leaving for Ritou by foot (since only the Kamisato family were allowed to ride the horses) and popping in to say hi to the Association, giving a brief overview of his stay at the Kamisatos and refusing to be roped into a drinking game led by Ammar.
Much as he hates to admit it, he didn’t come there for his friends, but rather, his contacts.
Thoma buys a bottle of dandelion wine he saw when he first landed in Ritou, not caring about the inflated price or the mediocre taste. He then talks to a couple of middle-aged women, flattering them and subtly reminding them of the favors they promised him, handing them a stash of Mora with a bland smile, who point him to a fisherman by the name of Obata, who tells him that he heard rumors about a man a long time ago making his way from Amakane to a smaller island down in Kannazuka, but nobody for sure knows if he stayed there. Thoma thanks him, and then buys a fish from him, handing over more Mora than needed, giving the fish then to Ryouko who steams it and grills it until perfection before wrapping it up in a sheet of permission leaves, refusing his payment with a hearty chuckle and a wink.
Thoma says goodbye to the Association, saying that he will write them as soon as possible, yes he promises, and then leaves while carrying the bottle of wine and the food, the letter placed above the fish. He walks all the way to Amakane Island, pausing to eat a quick bite at the street vendor and to pay the Yashiro officer a fee so he can use the waverider for an hour, or half a koku.
He gets inside the machine, fiddling with the controls until he manages to kick it into gear. He rides smoothly, the sea being particularly calm that afternoon. Finally, after about twenty minutes, he sees land.
There is a sandy, well worn path leading up to a large rock formation, upon which a wooden house sits, a soft orange glow coming from the closed windows. There aren’t a lot of trees, but the ground seems well managed, and Thoma can see a couple of tilled fields with vegetables peeking out from the dirt.
Most noticeable though, are the two boats stationed on the ground, well, three, if Thoma counts the half broken one to his right. In one boat there are a couple of gardening tools, bags of soil as well as various seeds, a fishing rod and some bait while the second boat is empty but equally as polished as the other.
Thoma walks slowly, trudging up the path to the top of the small mountain.
He fidgets with the bottle of wine, adjusts the paper so it doesn’t fly away in the breeze, the smell from the grilled unagi making him just a tiny bit nauseous. That, or it’s the nerves.
What are the chances that his father is truly here, on some remote island, still alive? Thoma doesn’t want to think about percentages, but he gathers that they’re not in his favor.
The chances that the person living in that house being the exact same one Thoma has been looking for all this time are slim, but not zero. And if they aren’t his father, then no harm done, Thoma will just have to keep searching.
He walks up the three small stone stairs leading to the entrance of the abode. Standing in front of the wooden door, Thoma hesitates, just a bit. There are muffled sounds coming from inside the house, and he doesn’t know if there are more people talking or just one.
Finally, with a hopeful heart, Thoma knocks, knuckles hitting the wood softly: tap tap tap.
The noise quiets down, the only sound Thoma can hear other than his rapid heartbeat being the hushed crash of waves against the shore, the gentle breeze rustling green leaves.
And then, footsteps.
And then, the door opens.
And then. A man.
Salt and pepper hair, thin lips, hints of a beard and wide murky eyes staring deep into his own. He blocks the light coming from inside the house, casting a looming shadow.
“…Thoma?” murmurs the man in wonder, but before Thoma can reply, he sees something move in the background.
Two young girls peek out behind the man’s legs, perhaps six or seven in age, their matching hairstyles and near identical looks signaling them being twins. They shoot him curious glances, holding onto the man’s pants.
But something horribly familiar lies in the shape of their cheekbones, the slant of their eyes. Something that Thoma sees, when he looks into the mirror. Something they could only have inherited, from his father.
“Thoma?” the man tries again, and at that moment, another voice rings out:
“Tadashi, dear, the unagi is done! Girls, don’t bother otou-san, come help set up the table.” The children do so quickly, not even sparing Thoma one last glance as they hurry towards inside.
“Thoma, is that really you?” says the man again, lifting up a trembling hand, as if to touch him.
Something falls to the ground with a thump, glass shattering. His hands are strangely empty.
Thoma glances down, noting the broken remnants of the dandelion wine, the grilled fish having fallen out of the leaf wrap and onto the stone. The liquid seeps into the ground, like a bastardized version of a grave offering. The torn letter with its singed edges flutters beneath the wind, bold letters mocking him as he stares at the goodbye.
Forever yours─
In the silence, Thoma’s wavering breath seems to echo.
Without looking up, he retreats down, one step, two, three, his hands sitting loosely on his stomach.
He bows, picture perfect, exhale when going in, inhale when standing up. Respectful, just as he’d been taught.
He thinks the man says something, but Thoma is not there to hear it.
He starts running.
Running towards the broken horizon, running because of a shattered dream, running from the man he called his father.
He never looks back.
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The sand beneath his feet is coarse.
At some point or another, he’d abandoned his tabi and zori, instead deciding to go barefoot.
He’s huddled into a sitting position, arms around knees in a meager attempt to block out the world, sweat beginning to form on his back and shoulders due to the humidity.
It’s quite dark out, the sun starting to set.
He should probably go back.
But back where?
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Closing his eyes, Thoma allows himself to just…not be. At least for a couple of selfish moments.
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He comes to some time later, not really knowing or caring how long he’s been staring at nothing, eyes glazed over.
The night sky is empty of stars tonight, clouds blocking even the moon’s gentle light.
Something bumps into his leg.
Thoma looks down to see a pale red crab attempting to get around his feet, its many legs moving side to side in agitation.
Unwanted, a memory resurfaces, his mother’s voice ringing out hollowly: My sister and I had been catching crabs in an attempt to amuse ourselves, when we saw a body wash up on the beach…
Vicious, filthy anger curls in his stomach, travelling like lightning up to his throat, fury choking him.
Thoma stares at the animal, and feels disgust unlike anything he’s ever felt before.
With a snarl, he grabs its shell, and then stands up on shaky legs, nearly falling over.
He hurls the crab with all his strength, letting out a roar. It falls into the sea, barely making a splash.
Thoma heaves, gulping in stuttering breaths.
He blinks, clarity returning, and then trembles.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Falling back down to his knees, he brings them up and puts both hands on his face, muffling a scream.
The sea stays silent.
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Like clockwork, Holly’s words pierce through his heart.
I hope when you meet your dad you realize that he doesn’t deserve any of what you’re doing for him.
It’s honestly a miracle how she managed to get it all right. Thoma would pop a bottle of champagne for her intuition alone if he wasn’t busy trying to block her voice out.
When you see him smiling with that big Inazuman family he kept hidden from you…
Don’t say it. Please.
I hope you hear me saying─
Thoma drops his forehead to his knees.
─I told you so.
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Familiar footsteps wake him up from his stupor.
And isn’t that interesting, that he would call Ayato’s steps familiar when months ago he didn’t even know him.
Thoma doesn’t bother to raise his head, letting it stay between the walls of his arms.
“I see you’re spending your off day resourcefully,” Ayato says blandly, his voice coming from somewhere to Thoma’s left.
“Mm,” is all he offers, unmoving.
He hears a put-upon sigh, and then shuffling, as Ayato presumably sits down next to him, their closeness making it easy to feel the other’s warmth.
Thoma doesn’t bother asking Ayato how he found him, sitting on the beach north of the Kamisato estate. He wouldn’t be surprised if the young master had ordered a Shuumatsuban to spy on him the whole day, it probably wouldn’t be the first time, seeing as how he’s paranoid about pretty much everything and everyone. Life growing up as a Kamisato heir, he muses.
Ayato doesn’t bother to speak up again, something that Thoma is vaguely grateful for.
They sit like that, in silence, listening to the sound of the waves.
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When he feels like he can manage to think again, Thoma gradually raises his head, letting his eyes poke out of his hiding place.
He slides them over to stare at Ayato, who has gone into a meditative state, his feet in a lotus position, his eyes closed and his face calm yet focused.
Thoma observes him for a moment, the blue hair spilling over his head and neck, the long pale eyelashes, his profile cast into shadow by the absence of moonlight.
He licks his lips, and asks:
“Ayato…have you ever hated your father?”
That sentence makes the other boy twitch violently, his eyes opening a moment later. He turns to face Thoma, an eyebrow raised.
“Something you want to share?” he asks, but Thoma doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes on the young master as the waves crash onto the sand.
Ayato stares back, mouth a thin line. It’s an insensitive question for anyone to ask, much less a servant his master, but right here, on this shore, outside of other people’s eyes, they’re not that.
After a short eternity, Ayato sighs, shoulders going down. He makes some sort of gesture that Thoma doesn’t catch, probably to dismiss the hidden Shuumatsuban.
“Otou-sama has brought me up to be a man of the Kamisato clan first, and a son second,” Ayato says, for the first time not speaking in roundabouts, turning to look back at him.
It is why I call you by your name and why I call you my son, and not my child.
Thoma waits, letting Ayato continue.
“Growing up he was always busy as the clan head, but in his own way he made time for me, for us. Calligraphy practice, sword training, etiquette lessons…my father was always there for those. Birthday celebrations were more of an event for the public and the family than for just me, but he was there nonetheless.”
Ayato’s mouth twitches downwards.
“I am grateful for his presence,” he says, sounding like he’s rehearsing a speech, “however, much as I hate to admit it, outou-sama changed when Ayaka was born.”
Ayato tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, his face clear of all emotion.
“Suddenly, he was there for everything. For her first steps, her first words, her music lessons, even playing with her in his free time…” he trails off, eyes looking at something far away.
“It was through her that I realized what I could have had, and didn’t. The extent of my father’s love reached me, but perhaps, not deeply enough.”
They both sit with that for a while. Ayato hadn’t really answered his question, but that’s fine. Thoma knows that you don’t love your father unless you hate him, at least a little bit.
“The man I met today,” Thoma begins roughly, his throat dry, closing his eyes, “wore my father’s face, had my father’s voice and was undoubtedly real. But somehow, to me, he was not my father.”
Ayato hmms, letting him know he’s listening as he gazes towards the empty sky.
“The whole reason I came to Inazuma was because of him. His image was constantly in the back of my mind, watching. I never strayed from my path while living here, not once, until…”
I met you.
Thoma had gotten too familiar. He got comfortable playing house with the Kamisatos, enjoyed being a servant and a friend, a secret confidant to Ayato, somebody he could lean on. And look where it got him.
It’s irregular, of course, this line of thinking. You only need to do basic math to figure out that those twins are about half his age, meaning that the same year his father left Mondstadt for Inazuma and left his mother to die, he and that woman─
“You’re bleeding.” Ayato’s voice brings him back to the present. Thoma blinks, lifting up his head more fully. Something trickles down his chin, and he brings up a hand to the lower half of his face.
His fingers touch his lips, and come out bloody. Huh.
“Thoma,” says the other boy, a hint of worry creeping in, “how long have you been here?”
Thoma shrugs, licking his lip, shuddering at the taste of blood, metallic against his tongue.
“Dunno,” he mumbles, experimentally pressing down onto his bottom lip with his teeth. He winces, but the pain at least keeps him awake against the wave of exhaustion that threatens to take him under.
A warm hand presses into his back, right between his shoulder blades. Thoma struggles to lean into it, his mind dazed.
“Let’s go back,” Ayato says, his face close. When did he lean in? His breath smells nice, like mint with hints of herbal tea. Thoma wants to taste it, but he knows better than to think those thoughts.
Like a magnet, he sways to Ayato’s touch, eyes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings.
“Go back where?” he mumbles, shivering as Ayato’s other hand comes up to cup his jaw, a thumb resting on his lip. Thoma notices that he’s wearing the gloves he gave him, and the thought makes his brain fuzzy, like static.
He relaxes into the leather, closing his eyes fully, warmth seeping from the other boy.
Ayato brushes his lip oh so gently, smearing the blood further, making Thoma shiver, not only from the pain.
“Home,” he murmurs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.
Home to Ayato is the Kamisato estate. It’s Ayaka, it’s Kayo-sama and Ayahito-sama, and most likely Furuta, as well as all the members of the house staff and the Shuumatsuban.
What is home to Thoma?
A full house. An empty apartment. Sails on a shore. Leaving. Chasing after. Not coming back. Once, his parents. Now…
Is it betrayal, he thinks, to allow myself to have this?
All his life he has felt untethered, like a dandelion in the breeze, constantly moving and shifting as the gale blows. Never committing, never letting himself be chained down. But is that really the truth? After all, if he felt so free of his father’s memory, he wouldn’t be here, now.
Is it really so bad, to just, want this? A place to belong?
Once again, he can hear Holly, anger and frustration in her voice as she yells at him.
What about us? What about all your friends, your people, your home?
He apologizes in his head, thinking back to Charles, Cecile, Holly, Alois, his neighbors and all the people back in Mondstadt. Things that could have been, if Thoma hadn’t spent his life chasing after a lost dream.
But in that senseless journey, he has met countless other people he never would have otherwise, both good and bad. Ammar, Kurisu, Hana, Daiki, Gonshirou, Kageyama, Miyu, Ayaka…Ayato.
Thoma is tired of waiting. Waiting for his father to come back home, waiting for his mother to get better, waiting for the perfect time to leave, waiting for love he knows he doesn’t deserve.
What about you?
Uncaring how it might look, Thoma brings a hand up to the back of Ayato’s neck, letting it rest against smooth skin as he whispers, voice nearly lost in the night:
“All right. Take me home.”
──────────────────
Life moves on. Time doesn’t miraculously stop just because Thoma found out that his father has been alive the whole time, hiding away with a new family.
He throws himself into his work, not allowing a single doubt in his mind to fester for long. He stops wearing the Mond clothing he usually wore around the estate, instead changing to more traditional Inazuman robes to better fit in.
He takes care of the Kamisato siblings, cleans the estate when Furuta isn’t around to judge him for overworking himself, and goes to bed exhausted only to wake up bright and early to repeat it all over again, a desperate kind of restlessness gripping him by the throat.
The Lord Commissioner grows worse and worse as time passes, his face greying out as he tries to fight off the looming illness.
His declining health affects the rest of the clan, Ayato grows more inwards into himself, Ayaka stops smiling as much and Kayo-sama starts taking over more duties. Thoma’s heart aches for them, and he tries his best to alleviate as much as the heavy atmosphere as he can, joking with Ayaka more, bringing the Kamisato matriarch tea and dango whenever she works late into the night alongside her husband, and spends more time in Ayato’s room simply talking or meditating with the young master than he thinks is appropriate. The Lord Commissioner and his wife sometimes give him calculating looks when they think he doesn’t notice, and Thoma isn’t sure what exactly to make of that.
A couple of people deem it a perfect time to settle scores or to bring the clan to its knees, assassinations popping up on every corner, and in those times Thoma gets the wonderful opportunity to be yelled at by the entire Kamisato family for his recklessness in his pursuit of their protection.
It’s not Thoma’s fault that the easiest way to protect Ayaka or Ayato is to put himself in the way of the assassin. Frankly, it’s much easier than trying to warn them of the incoming strike to the gut if he can just place his shoulder between the blade and them. No need to yell unnecessarily when this way it’s already over with, and with no harm done. Unfortunately, they think otherwise, empathetically too, refusing to talk to him until he apologizes and promises to do better.
It’s fine though. He spends the days after assassination attempts lying in his bed resting, counting down hours until he can be back on his feet. In an attempt to get him to stop being so careless, Ayato insists on getting him a tutor for spear training, something that Thoma definitely doesn’t mind. He likes sparring, especially sparring with Ayato as a form of warming up, but the tutor they get for him is tall, with large shoulders and dark hair and a tendency to look down on him, reminding him of…a certain person, back in Mondstadt. Thoma is tenser and clumsier when they practice alone, his usual focus nowhere to be seen. When Ayato, the perceptive bastard, realizes the reason he’s missing practice isn’t because of his fear of weapons but rather of something (someone) else, he quickly replaces the man with a short and mild lady that Thoma warms up to much faster.
Summer and fall pass with Thoma keeping himself increasingly busy, barely remembering to write a monthly letter to the Association in his single-mindedness, the guilt eating away at him.
And then winter comes around.
──────────────────
Thoma stares at the guard and the box he’s carrying, blinking in confusion.
“Um, are you sure this is for me?” he asks, and the man nods, handing him the gift.
“Certainly, my instructions were very clear, Thoma-san. However, the sender did say that you could return the gift if you were inclined to do so for whatever reason,” he says, putting his hands behind his back.
It’s the beginning of January, his birthday, to be exact, something Thoma didn’t feel the need to advertise. He hasn’t celebrated it for more than half a decade, and at this point it would just be unnecessary. He has most of what he needs, anyway.
Which can only mean one thing.
His hands clenching around the box, Thoma nods tightly to the officer.
“Thank you, I think I’ll keep it,” he says, bowing down in synch with the other man, before going inside the estate and leaving the courtyard.
He enters his room quickly, movements brisk and efficient as he sits down at the low table. Chewing on his lip, he lifts up the top of the gift carefully.
When he peers inside the box, the lid falls from his fingers in mute shock.
There, inside the small container, was a pie. Not just any pie though, a traditional Mondstadt one, with the crust edges carved in spirals resembling the billowing winds, and a small symmetrical windmill in the center of it, presliced, cuts following the lines of the sails to split the dessert into six equal pieces. The circle holding the blades of the windmill was poked through to let out a familiar aroma of berries waft into the room.
Thoma’s hands tremble.
When he was younger, Thoma and his father would bake this exact pie while waiting for his mother to come back from work. It was a simple recipe, and the ingredients were cheap. The berries they could find easily while taking a walk outside of the city, the flour and butter they would buy from their neighbors in the marketplace, and the pie tins and cooking utensils were a gift from Alois, back when his parents got married. It was Thoma’s favorite pastime, simply talking with his father or humming along to the birds singing outside while rolling out the dough and enjoying the warmth of the lit fireplace and his father’s company.
And now, for him to just, send it to Thoma on his birthday, like nothing has happened between them at all. As if time had stopped in that kitchen, now eleven years ago.
Rage boils inside his gut, and he has the unceremonious urge to just throw the pie away, no matter his usual displeasure at wasting food.
How dare you, Thoma thinks, silently shaking, like a leaf in the wind. As if you have any right to─to─
He stands up quickly, the need to distract himself from tumultuous feelings like a physical itch under his skin, and leaves the pie sitting there, closing the sliding door on his way out with more force than necessary.
He loses himself in his duties: sweeping the floors, wiping down furniture and washing the dishes. Ayaka and Ayato serve to be good distractions as well, Thoma comforting them with gentle words and reassurances about their father’s health, lifting up their spirits by tiny bit. It’s much easier to focus on someone else’s worries, and Thoma does just that, spending the entire day losing at chess to Ayato and practicing braids on Ayaka’s hair. When he bids them goodnight, he has honestly forgotten about what occurred that morning, that is, until he walks into his room and is greeted by the sight of the pie once again, waiting innocently.
He stands for a second, just observing it like it might get up and bite him.
Sighing in defeat, Thoma lowers himself to the low table, picking up a slice and hating himself for it.
The flavor dissolves in his mouth, and Thoma wonders just how much it cost to replicate it as exactly as his father did. The imported berries weren’t cheap, and while Inazumans had both butter and flour, they probably didn’t have the specific types they used back in Mondstadt. He finishes the slice, and notices from the corner of his eye the fallen lid, something written on the back of it.
He grabs it from the floor, and reads the damning sentence.
Happy birthday, his father’s handwriting greets him, and nothing more.
Thoma throws the lid, the piece ricocheting off of the wall with the force before settling on the tatami floor, motionless.
He stares at the gift, mouth trembling.
Thoma puts his head in his hands, and tries not to think about forgiveness.
──────────────────
After that, his father starts sending him gifts almost weekly. It takes him some time to figure it out, but he realizes he receives a gift every time a new Inazuman microseason begins. Clear jelly with a fresh taste for when springs thaw, a quill made from a pheasant’s feather for when they start to call, a block of butter wrapped in a large leaf for when butterburs bud and so on. Thoma uses most of the food either for making breakfast or shares it with the rest of the housekeeping staff. The rest, he doesn’t know what to do with, and so he stores them in a nightstand drawer, far from prying eyes.
He manages to restrain himself, pushing back the urge to visit his father, up until the point of Ayato’s adulthood ceremony.
It was a grand event, with Ayato wearing a kanmuri on top of his head while donning a blue sokutai, his head held high and his face expressionless. In that moment, Thoma could clearly see the wonderful leader he would become later down the line. Kayo-sama had gifted him a fine calligraphy pen that she handed over in a silk bag, her eyes watery but shining brightly, and the rest of the gathered nobles did the same, showering the now eighteen-year-old in gifts, compliments and well wishes for the prosperity for the clan. The Lord Commissioner was present only for the first half of the ceremony, leaving to go to his room immediately after, coughing all the way as servants escorted him out. The lunch party and late dinner passed in a flurry of emotions, Thoma managing to convince Furuta to help with the serving of food and the general cleanup, much to her grumbling.
That was not where the trouble started though, no, instead their argument began inside the confines of Ayato’s room.
After the dinner had passed Ayato was called into his parents’ bedroom for quite a while, and then came in while Thoma was preparing his night clothes, having already changed into his own sleepwear, quietly humming to himself.
The door opened with a bang, startling Thoma into dropping the silken fabric onto the bed. Ayato came in, slid the door closed without looking back, his eyes icy cold.
“What are you still doing in here?” he demanded, and Thoma raised an eyebrow at the aggravated tone. He lifted up the sleepwear with one hand, wondering what could have caused such a reaction from the otherwise poised young master.
“Waiting for you so I can dress you up, you know, like we’ve been doing for the past year?” Thoma said, watching as Ayato’s mouth twitched in a displeased manner, his breathing irregular. If this happened outside of the young master’s room, Thoma wouldn’t have pushed, but as it was, he decided to ask what was on his mind.
“Are you alright? You seem more flushed than usual,” he worried, leaving the clothing on the bed and coming over to put a hand on Ayato’s pinkish forehead, checking his temperature.
Slap!
Thoma blinked down at his hand, bruised red from the unexpected blow. When he turned his eyes to the other’s he found them narrowed, his face twisted in an awful expression, one that Thoma had never seen before.
“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, and Thoma felt a seed of hurt beginning to sprout inside his heart.
“Ayato, what’s wrong?” he attempted again, nursing his hand to his chest, “Did something happen with your father?"
Right on the nose, it seemed, from the way that Ayato’s nostrils flared in anger.
“Refer to him with the proper titles, and know your place,” he growled, shoulders lined with tension, and Thoma felt like he was slapped again. Swallowing, he debated on whether or not he should just leave, but Ayato was obviously lashing out because he was hurt, and Thoma hated to see him that way.
“You…That was rude,” Thoma stated firmly, standing his ground as Ayato’s eyes glowered. “I thought you were better than that,” he taunted.
“Well, maybe you should stop thinking then, because you don’t know me,” Ayato said fake sweetly, brushing past him and coming towards the bed to strip. After months of seeing his naked body, Thoma only allowed himself a second of staring at the pale skin before he went back on track.
He’s undressing rather clumsily…is he drunk?
“Oh, really? So you’re saying that the person I’ve been talking to all these past months wasn’t you? I didn’t know you had a doppelganger just walking around,” Thoma baited as Ayato threw his ceremonial garb onto the floor, freezing in his tracks once he digested Thoma’s words.
Furious, he turned around, the intensity of his gaze surprising Thoma. The young master crossed the threshold in a few quick, precise steps, getting in Thoma’s space, as usual. Even when shirtless, the warmth coming off of him was unmistakable, and Thoma kept his eyes firmly on the burning lavender gaze.
“Do not,” Ayato gritted, “joke with me, right now.”
Thoma raised his hands, as if calming down a wild animal.
“If you want to have a serious talk, I’m all ears. We did promise to be honest to each other, don’t you remember?”
Ayato snorted, the sound harsh in the otherwise silent room. “That?”, he said, mouth curling, “Was a mistake. Clearly, you took it more to heart than you should have, considering the way you’re speaking to me right now.”
Feeling his heart beat treacherously fast inside his chest, Thoma licked his lips.
“Ayato,” he began, pleading, “we’re friends.”
The blue-haired boy stilled, his eyes staring into Thoma’s, cold. He smiled, but it wasn’t one of his usual ones that signaled playfulness or amusement, no, this one, and Thoma could only describe it as such, seemed cruel.
“Oh?” he said, slowly closing in, like a predator approaching his prey, coming right up in front of Thoma. “Is that would you call us?”
“Yes,” Thoma said, trying to ignore their close proximity. But Ayato wouldn’t let him, beginning to move yet again, forcing Thoma to take hesitant steps backwards, until he couldn’t anymore, his back hitting the shoji doors.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice smaller as Ayato neared him, not stopping until he was barely two breaths away from Thoma’s face.
“Testing a theory,” the young master replied, almost casually, and Thoma flinched as two hands settled on his waist, fingers dipping into his flesh. His breathing picked up, something that didn’t escape Ayato’s notice, stretching his smirk further.
“You called us friends,” Ayato began, one hand staying on his hip while the other traveled further, slipping inside the inner folds of his kimono, brushing against bare skin. Thoma shivered as the hand traveled up, leaving goosebumps in its wake, coming to rest over his chest, Ayato’s middle finger just barely touching the hollow in his throat.
“But I don’t think that’s the truth,” he said, voice inflicted with fake sympathy. Thoma’s heart had been thundering inside his chest, a rhythmic sound that Ayato could feel, with how firmly his hand was on Thoma’s heart.
He swallowed, and watched as Ayato’s gaze caught onto his bobbing throat, the young master’s face flushed red under the lamp light. Thoma was right, then.
“You’re drunk,” Thoma attempted to be firm, but it came out more as a plea. “Ayato, why don’t you just go sleep? If you don’t want me here I can leave.”
“First you were trying to talk to me, and now you’re pushing me away,” the blue-haired boy sighed, his hand sliding up to his throat, gently caressing it. “Which is it, Thoma?”
He leaned in, breath smelling of soju, pale eyelashes glittering. Thoma swallowed, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at the other boy.
“Running away?” Ayato asked, scoffing when Thoma didn’t respond. “Hmph. You always do this,” he said, the hand on his hip squeezing, making Thoma’s breath hitch.
“You let me get away with just enough to keep me coming back,” Ayato murmured, a hint of hurt bleeding into his tone. “But never enough to satisfy me.”
“Ayato, we should stop,” Thoma whispered, letting his eyes crack open, watching as the blue-haired boy snorted.
“And why is that?” Ayato asked, mouth curled.
“It’s…wrong,” Thoma mumbled, remembering pointed rocks in his back, and vertigo so strong it made him nauseous.
“Ha,” Ayato exhaled, “Wrong? In what way? Is it because we’re both men, or because I’m your master?”
Thoma frowned. “You’re not my master yet,” he protested, and Ayato rolled his eyes, an expression so out of character that Thoma was taken aback.
“Semantics, you and I both know that otou-sama will die before Shunbun ends, and okaa-san is sure to follow, leaving me,” he hissed harshly, “alone, to deal with you.”
The flippant way he said it was definitely thanks to the alcohol’s influence, and Thoma thought that sober Ayato would be horrified at the way he was speaking right now.
“Either way you put it, you’re my servant, which makes it even more interesting,” he added, pushing a sudden knee in between Thoma’s legs, making him let out an undignified noise, “how obvious your lust is for me.”
Thoma’s heart stopped, for a moment, before resuming its lightning quick pace.
“W-What are you─ngh, ah─” Ayato pressed more insistently, rubbing the quickly growing tent inside Thoma’s kimono. “Ayato, wait, why are─mngh!”
“Why, you ask?” The boy leaned in, his mouth barely a breath away from Thoma’s. “Because for a master and a servant to be together…it’s simply─” he sighed, mournful, letting his head fall on Thoma’s shoulder, speaking into his ear “─pathetic.”
It was quiet in Ayato’s bedroom, the only sound loud enough being Thoma’s ragged breathing. Ayato’s head was still pillowed on his shoulder, his knee stopped actively pushing into his groin, something that Thoma was vaguely grateful for, if only for the sake of his dignity. The other boy’s body shook as quiet tremors ran through it, as if he was crying. The pale hand on his neck, simply resting against his pulse point, was making Thoma dizzy, as if he was actually being choked. He didn’t know what to do.
Thoma wanted Ayato to continue holding him. He wanted to give as much as take. He wanted to turn around and catch those lips, and to reassure the other boy that everything would be okay, that he would still have Thoma in whatever way he wanted, no matter what.
Ayato let out a sob, more of a hitch of the breath than anything, and Thoma felt ice wash over him, shocking him into waking up from his daydream.
What the hell am I doing? He’s obviously not okay, and here I am thinking about─about─
Ayato was right. Thoma was pathetic.
With a burst of adrenaline, Thoma pushed the young master, ripping him away from his body. Ayato stumbled drunkenly, managing to fall over his ceremonial hat with a grumbled agh. He looked up, rubbing his head. His gaze was angry but also hurt, a response ready to spit from his lips.
But Thoma didn’t wait for that, instead he yanked open the sliding doors with trembling hands and ran, Ayato’s frantic voice echoing in the hallways: “Thoma, wait!”
Away. Get away.
The world faded.
──────────────────
The empty hallway.
Furuta’s blurry face.
Pounding footsteps.
Fresh air.
Officers startling.
Familiar eyes, wide.
Familiar hands, holding something.
Familiar voice, asking in worry: “Thoma?”
Crashing into a body.
Arms around him.
Warmth.
──────────────────
Thoma blinks, and then shivers, closing the haori more firmly around his shoulders. Wait, haori?
Feeling like a lost deer, he looks around at his surroundings. He’s sitting on a cliffside, leaned on a tree, facing the vast ocean. He’s…on Kamisato grounds, still, which is good, but the problem lies in how he got here, and who exactly, gave him this haori.
Thoma tries to remember what happened after…Ayato, but his mind comes up blank. It’s like trying to catch mist, the memories simply slip away.
Frustrated, he huffs, and then freezes as something shifts behind him, on the other side of the tree.
“Thoma?” asks his father, shuffling, before coming around to crouch next to him, his face lit up by the moonlight, showing off his furrowed eyebrows. “Are you better now?”
This has to be a dream, Thoma thinks, feeling his heartrate pick up in speed. But in his dreams, his father is back in their old house, with him and mama, and not here, in Inazuma.
“What happened?” Thoma croaks, coughing, his throat raw. His father settles, sitting down in a seiza position, so familiar it hurts.
“You, ah, how to say…” he says, hands wrapping around himself, and Thoma just now realizes his father is only wearing a kimono with no additional layers. His cheeks burn, and he attempts to claw the haori off of his shoulders, but a large hand stops him.
“It’s all right, Thoma, you need it more than I do,” he says, and Thoma closes his eyes, trying not to lean into the contact too obviously. He clears his throat, and his father takes that as a silent order to remove his hand, the warmth leaving Thoma’s shoulder. It’s fine.
“What happened?” he repeats, voice steadier, “I can’t remember much, except…” Except for Ayato’s breath, his words, his wandering hands, humiliation, and the absolute bone chilling feeling that he needed to get out of there before he broke apart and did something irreversible.
“I’ll start from my point of view, is that…all right?” his father asks, uncharacteristically hesitant, as if afraid that Thoma would bolt any minute. Which he might, if he were a smarter person. Thoma nods, not trusting his voice.
“I came to the Kamisato estate to deliver you a gift, as you probably expected,” his father begins, “that was before a koku or ah, two hours ago.” Thoma bites his tongue to stop the frustrated I know that from spilling from his lips, annoyed that his father expected him not to know such a simple thing when he was living in Inazuma for nearly a year at this point. Archons, what’s wrong with him?
“I still have it with me,” he says, grabbing something from behind the tree and then presenting it to Thoma. “It’s a sakuramochi, although I’m a bit late to give it to you since Hinamatsuri has already passed. Still, here you go,” he says somewhat stiffly, and Thoma gingerly receives the gift with a mumbled Thank you, feeling off kilter. Usually the guards would give him the box containing whatever his father decided to send that week, and he’d thank them much more enthusiastically, it felt weird to now receive it like this. More personal.
“I spent some time making small talk and then…” his father looks up at him, eyes worried, “…you burst out of the estate doors, running like the Abyss was on your heels.”
Thoma swallows, not responding, because hell if he’s going to explain just what happened in that room to his father.
“You come up to us, and the guards tried to ask what’s wrong but you─ah,” he looks aside, not finishing the sentence. Thoma frowns.
“I what?”
His father puts his hands inside of his sleeves, stalling for a moment before answering.
“…You run up to me and hug me, crying.”
Thoma freezes, nervousness gripping him by the throat. Did he do that? He recalls running, sure, finally feeling like he can breathe and then…warmth.
“…Continue,” he says, deciding to not acknowledge the fact that he hugged his father or the fact that he sobbed in front of him, clinging like a child.
“Ahem, right. Well, after that, a worried old lady came up and asked if anything was done to you, but you couldn’t quite get a word out. While we were trying to figure out what was wrong, you passed out, and Furuta─the old lady─ordered me to keep you company after I told her I was your…father,” he finishes, saying the last word hesitantly, as if that wasn’t an accurate description. “I moved you here, because it wasn’t that far from the estate, so if you woke up and wanted to go back quickly, you could.”
Thoma nods stiffly, “Thank you,” he says politely, and something in his father’s face falls.
Not knowing what to do, Thoma curls up into himself, arms around knees as he faces the sea. His father, gathering that he doesn’t want to talk, begins to stand up but Thoma’s hand shoots out, clutching the hem of his hakama pants.
“…Stay. Please.”
Like a rock crashing into the waves, his father sinks down beside him, crossing his feet into a lotus position, not saying a word. Thoma retreats his hand, burrowing it beneath his chin.
They sit like that for a while, watching the tide roll in. It’s nice, the spring breeze forgivingly gentle, like a lover’s kiss.
Thoma gathers his courage, and then licks his lips in preparation for…whatever is about to happen.
“…Why did you do it?” he asks, and his father inhales sharply. Thoma can’t stand the terse silence, so he continues, voice carried by the wind.
“Why just leave like that, without saying goodbye? Mama─” he sucks in a harsh breath, grief choking him like a vice, “─we waited for you, every single day, hoping you’d come back.”
His father stays silent, and then, just when Thoma considers running away, he reaches into the inside of his kimono, taking out a very familiar letter. His father opens it up, and then traces the only readable lines, down at the very bottom.
“Forever yours,” he reads softly, and Thoma closes his eyes, knowing that even then, the blocky letters have been long since burned into his mind to ever forget.
“I’m sorry, Thoma,” his father says, “for not being brave enough to face the both of you. You deserved to know the truth back then as much as you do now. Just, tell me, how is Frieda doing?”
Vicious anger claws its way up to his mouth, and Thoma turns his head and says, not hiding his fury: “She died when I was fourteen.”
A horrible piece of his mind enjoys the look of absolute shock and grief that’s on his father’s face, but an even bigger one feels shame and guilt for even attempting to take pleasure in something so cruel. He blankets both of those feelings under a cold layer of apathy, refusing to let anything show.
“Ah…” his father trails off, closing his eyes. “…My condolences, Thoma.”
“Back at you,” he spits, furious that his father even deemed to utter those words, as if the fate of his mother wasn’t a direct result of his leaving, as if he wasn’t her husband, but only a stranger. This was a mistake, Thoma should have just thrown himself into the sea when he first saw him.
Wrath thrumming under his skin, he decides to throw away all decorum to fire questions at the man.
“Did you leave us because you suddenly remembered you had a family here in Inazuma? Or was that madam just an unlucky woman you married the moment you stepped foot on the island? Congrats on the twins, by the way, they have your eyes.”
His father’s eyes flash with hurt and anger, and Thoma relishes in it. Good, be mad, be hurt, let’s see what’s really hiding under that false kindness. But his father simply closes his eyes, exhales, and then opens them, calm yet again, like an unwavering rock amidst a tsunami.
“Thank you, though I’m glad you inherited more of Frieda’s genes than mine, they suit you more,” he says, and Thoma hmphs, not letting his grief show on his face at the mention of his mother.
“To answer your question, I’ll have to start with a story, if you don’t mind? I’ll be quick,” he reassures, and Thoma’s eyes flash, wondering if this is really it. He nods, barely there, and his father continues.
“Long ago, I was a young man like yourself, not thinking about much other than what my next meal would be. It was a tumultuous era, the clan wars were rising in tension, and a major one had angered the Narukami Ogosho, leaving her no choice but to eke out punishment.”
Settling more fully against the tree, Thoma listens.
“I met Ichika on a winter morning, hunting for an affordable meal in the city’s marketplace. She was a wonderful lady, kind, generous, sharing with me her omurice amidst the cold. It was easy to fall in love with her, and easier to make love,” Thoma flushes, but his father continues, unperturbed, “But I hadn’t anticipated her family getting in between us. They weren’t powerful, but they were persistent, demanding that she be married off as a bride to a noble of more status, and not a common woodworker. We tried to continue on despite their disapproval, that is until,” here his father’s voice dips down an octave, anger palatable, making the hair on Thoma’s arms stand up.
“Until they forged documents of me failing to pay them back for a fishing boat I had loaned, and had paid for. But that didn’t matter in the eyes of the law, since it was their word against mine, and they had the proper documents to show. After that, I was forced to flee from the Tenryou Commission, and forced to leave Ichika behind, who was pregnant at the time, something she’d told me through secret letters.”
He sighs, massaging his knees. The motion brings back a sense of déjà vu, and Thoma struggles to focus as the memories threaten to overtake him.
“They chased me across the entire Narukami Island, and wouldn’t stop for anything. Finally, I saw an opportunity one night, and snuck out to Ritou, stealing a boat.”
Thoma raises an eyebrow at that, and his father gives him a grim smile, before continuing.
“I only meant to sail around the island itself, in a circle, so I could land on the south of Narukami to meet back with Ichika. But a storm was brewing that night, and against my wishes, I got swept up in it. That is when I passed out and woke up much later, to your mother’s voice calling me.”
Thoma carefully doesn’t react, making sure his breathing stays steady.
“At first, I thought I was dreaming, but a week into my stay at her house proved to be difficult to conceive as anything but reality. She was a benevolent girl, and a curious one at that. We spent the better half of the year just trying to communicate. Mondstadt was freeing, in a way, allowing me to shed away any responsibilities, and so I could enjoy myself. It was like I was living in a parallel world,” he says, voice tinged with nostalgia.
“We got married, much to a lot of people’s shock and disapproaval, and then had you.”
Thoma pretends not to care, feeling something fragile curl up in his heart. His father hesitates, as if already regretting what he’s going to say, and Thoma doesn’t like the look on his face.
“It was the happiest I’d ever been, that day when the nurses came out carrying you to show me. You had Frieda’s hair and eyes, an adorable nose and a clear voice. You were like a blessing from Celestia itself.
But at that moment, holding you, I couldn’t help but think back on Ichika, and her baby, that I’d unwillingly abandoned.”
Ah. It was doomed from the start.
Thoma can’t help but wonder if his father would have stayed with his mother, if it weren’t for him.
“Little by little, as you were growing up, doubt started to fester inside my mind. It was like a cold bucket of water washed over me, and I was finally able to see clear. I felt guilt like a physical thing, weighing me down and making me less and less of a good husband and father. It was before your birthday that I decided I had to go back, if only so I wouldn’t cause Freida and you more misery by turning into a shell of a person.”
Thoma doesn’t remember his father as that. He was cold, sure, an unapproachable, god-like figure that Thoma felt could carry the entire world in his hands, but he was never cruel, or abusive. He didn’t know how to show affection with words, so he did it through actions and gifts. His mother had a lot of wooden carved things, from cooking utensils to ornamental figurines, all done by his father’s hands. Thoma loved to sneak into his workshop just to watch him carve life from wood, precision and concentration evident in every little fling of a knife. It was the closest thing to magic that Thoma had known.
His turmoil was never apparent on his face, but if he was going through everything he’s telling Thoma now, it must have been hard to keep it all in. That is, if he isn’t lying, whispers a voice inside his head that sounds suspiciously like Holly, and Thoma waves it away before it can spiral.
“I remember having to get away before I could second guess myself, and so after your birthday and after Freida had fallen asleep, I went out. I was making a boat for a month and something, hidden beneath the same cliff that I crashed onto. This letter…” he trails off, thumbing the edges, almost lovingly, “…was the only way I felt I could express everything without a direct confrontation.”
“But why didn’t you? Confront mama directly?” Thoma interrupts, and watches his father’s throat bob as he swallows.
“Because I knew she would convince me to stay anyway. Frieda was that type of woman, I could tell her I killed a man and she would kiss me and say that it was time I found another hobby other than carving wood,” he huffs, a hint of a smile on his face, “Nothing could make her love me less, not her family, not her sister, and not any of the townspeople. It was because of that, that I knew I needed to stay away. I didn’t deserve the extent of her kindness, and so I sailed, until I finally came back.”
His father hmms, voice distant as he recalls the events that transpired. That, or he’s just waiting for Thoma’s input, which he won’t get.
“It was hard, of course, I still had a bounty on my head and a woman to find. The first few months I spent mostly reintegrating myself into society, leaving Ritou only when I managed to scrounge up enough Mora for that pesky permit. Luckily, the Tenryou Commission had realized that the document was forged a long time ago, so I was a free man once again. I spent countless weeks searching for Ichika, until one day I heard a rumor that she ran away from her family to avoid having to marry some noble. Hope soared into my heart, and I tracked down rumor after rumor until I managed to pinpoint her location, to that small island in Kannazuka.
“I sailed with my own boat this time,” he says humorously, and then continues when Thoma doesn’t so much as crack a smile, “and found her there. I explained everything to her, not wanting to lie, and she was angry, of course, as she deserved to be. Those first few weeks were tough, especially when I first met my daughter, Reika, and found out quickly she wanted to do nothing with me.”
Thoma blinks at the reveal of a new step sibling. He thought that maybe something had happened to the baby, after all it was a stressful time for all of Inazuma, but he’s pleasantly surprised that she lived.
“I think the last time I saw her was…four, or five years ago, when she came to give late birthday gifts to the twins. We didn’t exchange so much as a passing nod.”
She’s better than me, Thoma thought. I’m dishonoring my mother just by talking to him like this. He’s right, she deserved better than to have a husband like him, and a son like me.
Not knowing the dark turn that Thoma’s thoughts just went int, his father says, his tone wistful: “But as time passed by, so did her anger, and one day she went to seek me out, telling me she forgave me, and we reconciled.”
“Quite well, if I say so,” Thoma quips, and his father winces.
“Ah, yes, Miyuki and Miruka were a surprise, but a welcome one. You’re always free to drop by and talk to them,” his father says, and then closes his mouth at Thoma’s blank expression that screams Why would I want to do that.
“Apologies, that was rude,” he murmurs, and Thoma closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see him anymore.
Where do I go after all of this, Thoma thinks depressingly, his thoughts a jumbled mess.
He and his father sit in silence, listening to the crash of the waves.
They’d never had a talk like this, the only exception being the one about loyalty in his parents’ old bedroom. It was like his father was a new man, his face was brighter, there were deep crinkles in the corners of his eyes from laughing, something he did rarely back in Mondstadt. His guilt over what happened seemed genuine too, but where did that leave Thoma?
There is a deep, desperate urge to forgive his father, to mend things back to be as once they were before. Another, angrier urge wants him to completely cut him off like his older step sister, never to see or hear from him ever again.
If I forgive him, he thinks miserably, I’m betraying mama.
His mother’s face, crying, broken and lost surfaces in his mind’s eye. Thoma clenches his eyes harder, trying to push away the sorrowful image.
I can’t, I can’t, he repeats to himself like a mantra.
Thoma sighs, and the exhaustion that he was successfully ignoring up to this point crashes into him like a wave. Barely managing to keep his eyes open, he sluggishly moves up, swaying on his feet for a second. His father mirrors him, standing up.
Thoma swallows, and then looks his father in the eye.
“I’ll…see you later, I guess, father,” he says, too tired to properly formulate a sentence. His father nods, and then hums.
“All right, Thoma. And…” he trails off, his eyes shining with some inscrutable emotion, “…you can call me dad, or otou-san. I’m sorry that I made you believe like you couldn’t.”
“…okay,” Thoma says, voice small, that fragile feeling in his heart fluttering weakly. “Goodnight…dad,” he stutters, and then turns around swiftly, but he’s stopped by his father’s voice.
“Ah, Thoma, wait,” he hears footsteps, and then a box is put into his hands, calloused fingers brushing his knuckles. “You forgot this,” his father says, putting a warm hand on his shoulder and handing him the singed letter. Thoma allows himself to lean into the contact, just for a moment, before stepping away.
“Goodnight, son,” says the low voice, and Thoma nods, leaving.
Tired feet manage to carry him all the way to the Kamisato estate and into his room. He puts the letter and the box of sweets on the low table next to his futon, before crawling in, not bothering to change out of his clothes. He still has his father’s haori on, and it smells like him, scent of pine and cedar drifting to his nose, lulling him to sleep.
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Despite his exhaustion, Thoma struggles to fall asleep, tossing and turning in his futon, frustrated at nothing.
Just when he’s considering getting up and starting his duties early, he hears a near silent creak on the wooden floors.
His bedroom door slides open quietly, and footsteps hesitantly pad inside, closing the door again. There is only one person who would be bold and presumptuous enough about his space to do this, and despite himself, a kernel of amusement worms its way into his heart.
Ayato walks softly towards his futon, and Thoma hears the shifting of fabric as he most likely crouches down next to him. Thoma keeps his eyes closed, curious.
Gentle, so gentle that Thoma thinks he imagines it, the other boy brushes his bangs carefully from his forehead, letting out a near silent sigh.
“…I’m sorry, Thoma,” Ayato murmurs, his voice barely audible, and his breath still smelling of soju. Did he keep drinking after I left? Thoma thinks worriedly.
“Y’know that I…didn’t mean what I said…not all…” Ayato continues, blissfully unaware of Thoma’s racing thoughts. “You’re a good…good friend…” he says, and then sighs again, “…just wish we were more…than that…ugh, my head,” he grumbles and Thoma makes his decision, heart pounding despite his exhaustion.
“Young Master,” he whispers, and snorts as the other jumps. Ayato blinks down big, red-rimmed eyes at him, startled at being caught.
“…Thoma? Why’re you awake?” he asks, mouth nearly in a pout. “Did you…hear what I said?”
Thoma doesn’t dignify that with an answer, instead lifting up his blanket in invitation. Ayato stares, uncomprehending, and Thoma lets his mouth twitch upwards.
“Come on in, Ayato, it’s late already. You should have been asleep a long time ago.”
Ayato frowns, for the first time not jumping at the opportunity to get close to him.
“We shouldn’t,” he slurs, looking sideways for a second before glancing back, obvious longing in his eyes. He’s probably right, this is completely unbecoming, and he doesn’t really know why he’s doing this in the first place. Maybe it’s due to how tired he truly is, but after everything that’s happened today, Thoma just wants something to go his way, for once. Thoma rolls his eyes and decides to throw Ayato’s words back at him.
“Who’s running away now?” he says, and Ayato frowns. After a brief moment of just staring, Thoma grows impatient, and yanks the other boy forward, tripping him into the futon. Ayato yelps, and then grumbles as Thoma maneuvers them both closer so he can cover them with the blanket.
“…I wanna apologize,” Ayato mumbles, clearly about to fall asleep, “…properly…no….no beatin…’round the bush…”
What Ayato is saying is completely unnecessary, considering that Thoma had forgiven him a long time ago, without so much as a thought. Thoma can’t help but let out a giggle at the other’s behavior, making Ayato light up.
“Y’re laughing…that’s…mm…good…you ‘ave a nice…hic…nice smile…’s all bright n pretty…like bloss’med…cherries…d’you like cherries…Thoma…?”
“I do,” he answers softly, watching as Ayato closes his eyes, sleep taking him over.
“Mm…I’ll give you…thousands…of ‘em…all nice and─” he yawns “─red…mm…”
Ayato drifts off, snoring a little as he does so. Thoma watches him for a moment longer, and then shuffles just a bit closer, enjoying the other’s warmth.
“Good night,” he mumbles, and falls asleep like that, facing Ayato, his mind at peace.
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Thoma wakes up languidly, stretching his neck a little as he yawns, jaw cracking open. It’s incredibly comfortable inside the futon, so much so that he snuggles back into the blankets, his eyes fluttering as he struggles to properly keep them open. Something shuffles next to him, and Thoma lets out a grumble as his shoulder is shaken, trying to further relax and melt with the futon.
“Thoma, wake up,” murmurs a familiar voice right in front of him, tone just a touch urgent.
“…don’t wanna…y’r breath stinks…” Thoma mumbles back, and the figure stills, before huffing out a laugh.
“I know, but I need you to let go of me so I can go and get started with my day.”
At that, Thoma cracks an eye open, taking in the image in front of him. Ayato is balancing his chin on one hand, looking down at him, his eyes clear. His cheeks are back to their pale color, meaning that he’s back to his usual self, something that Thoma is grateful for, but also a bid sad about. He was so carefree and cute before sleep, like a little kid.
“Mm…good mornin’…” he says, and watches as Ayato’s lip twitches upward. He’s glad that Ayato is still here, meaning that what Thoma did yesterday wasn’t a total screw up. Surprisingly, he feels a lack of shame at his actions, most likely due to the fog still inside his mind.
“Good morning to you too.” Thoma shivers as the other boy’s hand goes inside his kimono sleeve, teasingly travelling up his bare arm that’s currently around Ayato’s waist. Wait, when did that happen?
A bit reluctantly, Thoma frees the other from his grip, and Ayato retreats his hand, much to Thoma’s inner disappointment. That explains why he didn’t leave.
Ayato’s eyes become serious, lavender gaze seeking out Thoma’s eyes. The other boy straightens, lifting up their cocoon of warmth, as he sits down in a seiza position.
Blearily, Thoma tries to mirror him before giving up, leaning onto his elbow to watch in puzzlement at what Ayato’s doing.
Then, much to his horror, Ayato bows down, low, his back bent perfectly. Thoma sputters, quickly sitting up to try and lift up the young master, but Ayato’s control is impeccable, and he doesn’t move so much as a muscle.
“I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday, it was unbecoming, selfish and made you uncomfortable.”
“Ayato, get up, c’mon, it’s fine, just, agh─” Thoma finally manages to push the other boy’s shoulders up, straightening his back “─don’t do that, it’s weird,” he protests and watches as a shadow of amusement passes through Ayato’s expression before it’s back to serious again.
“It’s not fine,” he begins, and at least they’re eye to eye this time, something that eases Thoma’s worry. Ayato frowns deeply, putting his hands on his knees. “It was egotistical and childish of me to act like that yesterday, not to mention what I said─” His eyes wide, he grabs onto Thoma’s hand, making him startle.
“Thoma─you know that you’re one of my most precious people, right?” he blurts out, pale cheeks regaining some color at the blunt declaration. Thoma coughs into his free fist, looking sideways.
“O-Of course I do, Ayato,” he reassures, his heart beginning to beat faster. “And like I told you, It’s fine. You were drunk yesterday, and something clearly happened between you and the Lord Commissioner, so you lashed out.” He turns his head around to watch Ayato swallow, a hint of anger apparent in an eyebrow just slightly lower than the other. Thoma decides to ask what’s on his mind, knowing that there is nothing to fear.
“Can I know? What you talked about, that is. I’ve never seen you that upset before,” he worries, and Ayato sighs, his shoulders dipping down.
“About a lot of things, many of them unimportant, but a couple of them concerned you,” he answers, and Thoma’s heart skips a beat. “Otou-sama said that I needed to find a suitable bride soon, since, and I quote, My upcoming death is inevitable, and I would love to attend your wedding. Ha.”
He exhales in frustration, a hint of grief visible in his eyes, and hesitantly, Thoma puts both of his hands over the other’s, making Ayato glance up from behind mussed bangs. Thoma nods, to show he’s listening, and Ayato continues, voice low.
“I told him that I had no interest in marrying anyone at this point, but certainly not a woman─” Thoma inhales sharply “─something which he did not anticipate, and did not like.” Ayato’s lip curls, and Thoma interrupts him, fear clouding his mind.
“He didn’t hit you, did he?” he asks hurriedly, and Ayato blinks at him.
“No, why would he?” Thoma lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relaxing. Ayato gives him a scrutinizing look, one he pointedly ignores, brushing the other’s knuckles with his thumbs. The motion seems to catch Ayato’s attention, and he looks down for a moment before resuming his retelling of events.
“He tried to make me understand that I had to do as he said for the betterment of the clan, I told him I didn’t see how a marriage at this particular point of time would help anyone, and we spent most of the time arguing. Then, he brought up you, and said that I was spending far too much time indulging myself, and that I had to...” Thoma blinks in confusion at Ayato’s stormy stare, shuffling a bit forward so their knees touch, something that makes Ayato exhale.
“…to stop seeing you as much, and that we were being too obvious in our…friendship.” Swallowing uncomfortably, Thoma tries not to let his paranoia get the better of him. Ayato, as if sensing his unease, wraps his hands more fully around Thoma’s, effectively linking them together. Ayato’s eyes are narrowed, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement despite their seemingly dire situation.
“I told him he was full of shit─” Thoma chokes “─I was a bit drunk even then as you can probably tell─and that if he sent you away for any reason at all, I would run away to go search for you,” he says firmly, tightening his hold on Thoma’s hands, and incidentally, around his heart.
“He didn’t like that, but he couldn’t do anything about my ultimatum, so he told me to go cool off in a final attempt at getting the last word in. Hmph. As you can guess, I didn’t do that,” he says, a touch self-deprecatingly. “There was a bottle of soju I received from someone or the other, and so I wasted my sorrows away in a spare kitchen, until I remembered that I had to sleep, and then came to my room.”
He sighs, not looking at Thoma. “It was ugly, how I treated you. But in my drunken state I couldn't comprehend why you would want to stay with me─us, when you could be doing so much better, either serving a better family or being a free man.
“And I pushed you too far, it was clear you were uncomfortable─”
“I wasn’t,” Thoma protests, wincing when Ayato gives him an incredulous look. “I mean, well, not more so than usual when you tease me.”
“Thoma,” Ayato says, “you ran. Away from me, and reasonably so. Why else would you do that unless you didn’t want to stay in the room with me?”
Thoma licks his lips. “Well, your words hurt, for one,” he recalls and Ayato’s eyes flutter closed in shame, but Thoma continues “and because I felt like if I stayed for a second longer, I would do something I would regret,” he admits, voice small.
At that Ayato raises his head, looking at him. “Do what?”
“Ah, it’s not important, you were obviously not well, so I thought the best response would be for me to leave─Ayato, what are you…” Thoma trails off, Ayato’s face much closer to his then it was a moment before.
His hands have left Thoma’s, instead placed on either side of his thighs, caging him in. Thoma swallows, sweat beginning to gather beneath his kimono. He stays where he is, not leaning in or away, feeling exposed, like a butterfly with its wings spread out for all to see.
“Well?” Ayato asks, soft and yet insistent all at once. “I’m not drunk anymore. Show me what you would have done, and I’ll tell you if you should have regretted it.”
This is dangerous.
They were just talking about how they shouldn’t be seeing each other as often, or at least not acting so obvious in their teasing affection to give the illusion that they’re in─that they might like each other in more ways than one. Thoma’s creeping paranoia wants to urge him to bolt again, but there’s a wall keeping it from taking control over his mind, as solid as a mountain.
Ayato is dangerous. He makes Thoma feel like the most important person when he looks at him like this, as if nothing in the world beside this moment matters. All his worries and doubts fade away under that lavender gaze. Thoma wants to give him everything, anything.
Ayato’s trust in him is breathtaking. He believes in Thoma more than Thoma does himself, like there is no doubt in Ayato’s mind about his worth. It makes Thoma want to be brave. If not for him, then who else?
As if under a trance, staring deep into Ayato’s eyes, Thoma raises a shaky hand up. The magnitude of what he’s about to do sinks into him, making him doubt himself. His hand freezes halfway, unsure, heart beating a marching rhythm.
But then, Ayato grips it firmly, bringing it up to his face. He leans into it, resting his cheek on the tan hand, eyes heavy, watching Thoma.
Embers that rested in his gut shift into a burning flame, fire licking its way up to his throat, causing Thoma’s breath to stutter.
If you want something, you need to allow yourself to pursue it.
Closing his eyes, praying for bravery, Thoma leans in.
The kiss could barely be called as such. Their lips are touching softly, simple skin on skin, and Thoma can feel the smile on Ayato’s face. He tilts his head a little, for a better angle, unconsciously letting his other hand travel up to cup Ayato’s face.
The other boy allows it, humming into the contact, his hands coming up to rest on Thoma’s waist, squeezing gently.
It feels nice, even though Ayato’s breath does smell a little due to the leftover alcohol, but it doesn’t lessen the thrill that runs along his spine. Thoma has never been kissed like this before. Like he’s something more than precious, something worth coming back for. He shivers, little tremors of excitement running throughout his body.
They break apart for just a moment for Ayato to murmur: “You’re right, this would have been a grave mistake to do yesterday. Now we can enjoy it properly.”
Thoma huffs a laugh, his heart ricocheting inside his ribcage, giddy. He’s not mad, he’s not disgusted, he’s not... He wants this. He wants me.
Ayato leans in this time, and Thoma obligingly meets him halfway. He loses himself in the kiss, opening his mouth and feeling Ayato do the same. He waits for the other to do something, and when he doesn’t, Thoma huffs a laugh.
“What is it?” Ayato grumbles, annoyed that they stopped, which makes Thoma snort as well.
“Nothing, nothing, just that it’s obvious you’ve never kissed someone before,” Thoma teases, his heart dancing. Ayato’s eyes widen before narrowing. This close, Thoma can see the different hues of purple shining inside his pupils, like crystals under moonlight.
“Are you saying that you have?” he says, voice tinged with an undercurrent of something that Thoma fails to categorize.
“Ye─es? Thoma stretches out the word, making it sound more like a question. Why does that matter?
Ayato stares at him, and then nearly knocks his teeth out with how fast he pushes their heads together, his mouth finding Thoma’s. Thoma flails around for a moment before succumbing to gravity as Ayato falls on top of him.
Somehow, lying down amplifies the kisses, or that might just be Ayato clumsily trying to lick inside his mouth. It’s the first time Thoma has seen him fail at anything, and after a round of giggles he can’t help but let out, the other boy rises, his brows furrowed.
“That’s it,” he says, “you’re going to teach me how to get better at this.”
Thoma blinks, and then opens his mouth to question how exactly he’s supposed to do that, but Ayato’s hand shoots out to grab it before he can utter a single word. His thumb presses down onto Thoma’s tongue, rendering him mute, while the rest of his fingers find their place beneath his chin, holding his jaw open.
Thoma flushes, heat traveling south as he tries to squirm away. Ayato, predictably, doesn’t let him, keeping him secure while he scrutinizes him, eyes heavy. He looks more god than human, pale blue hair framing his head, like a halo. Thoma swallows, tongue pulsing against Ayato’s thumb.
“How many people?” he demands, and Thoma’s scattered thoughts struggle to understand the question. He gives Ayato a confused look, and the other boy elaborates, his tone deceptively even.
“How many people have you kissed?”
Seeing as he’s not allowed to speak, Thoma raises a hand, showing off two fingers. Ayato’s face clears, and then he asks a follow up question.
“Including me?”
Letting his hand fall down, Thoma shakes his head, well, as much as he can with the other boy’s hold on him.
At that, Ayato frowns, expression nearly close to a pout. Thoma would call it adorable if it weren’t for the calculating look in his eyes.
“That’s still too many,” he says simply, and Thoma protests.
“Wh─no it’s not─Mpgfh!” Ayato silences him with another kiss, retreating the thumb from his tongue so he has better access, cupping his jaw. For a couple of moments, their mouths do the talking.
“I didn’t know that─haa─Young Master would be so jealous,” Thoma breathes in between demanding kisses, his voice rough and playful. Ayato just gives him a look, barely letting him regain his bearings before diving back in, claiming his mouth once more.
Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you want to look at it, Ayato’s a quick learner, and Thoma doesn’t need to teach him how to steal his breath away. It only takes him a couple of minutes to notice what Thoma likes, how he should move his tongue and the best way to angle their mouths together. He uses those newfound skills to drive Thoma absolutely mad.
It’s sinful, is what it is, the way Ayato’s tongue explores the inside of Thoma’s mouth. He prods and teases, running it behind Thoma’s teeth, licking the roof of his mouth in long, languid strokes, painting it with his saliva. It takes all of Thoma’s willpower not to lose the rest of his mind amidst the overwhelming feelings. He gets drunk on the dizzying sensation, almost as if he’s actually getting tipsy from the residual taste of soju inside Ayato’s mouth.
Their hands wander, clutching at kimonos and getting tangled in hair. Ayato accidentally pulls on his ponytail harder than usual, murmuring a stray apology that gets lost in the loudness of Thoma’s moan. He blushes, and Ayato’s eyes gleam at the new find. After that, he experimentally tugs on his hair when they’re kissing, the pain-pleasure making Thoma’s head thump on the futon as he whines.
“Thoma─Thoma, do you, ah, want to go further?” Ayato asks, managing to extract himself from Thoma’s lips, and Thoma nods enthusiastically even before the question has left the other’s lips.
“Yes, yes,” he chants, burying his hands in Ayato’s hair, overwhelmed with arousal and excitement, so high on adrenaline he thinks he could do anything at this moment. He’s never been more sure about anything in his entire life.
They undress quickly, throwing their clothing away without a backwards glance, and just when Ayato has settled on top of Thoma’s thighs, he frowns. Thoma, sensing that something might not be right, makes an inquisitive noise, tracing the moles scattered across the pale body with wandering fingers, the black dots like constellations painted on the night sky.
“Don’t tell me…” Ayato begins, narrowing his eyes, “That you’ve done this with someone else before, too.”
Thoma freezes, instantly giving away the answer.
“Ah. Well, uhm. We never got…far? It was mostly just grinding against each other until we finished,” he says, stuttering through the explanation.
Ayato’s eyes turn into slits, and he lets an omnious smile slide onto his face, eyes glittering in unrestrained possessive lust.
Thoma gulps, the look making him equal parts nervous and thrilled.
“I guess I’ll have to make sure you forget everything other than me, then.”
He bows down, and makes good on his promise.
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Lying after on the futon, their arms around each other, Thoma can’t help but think that he’s happier than he’s ever been. It must show on his face, because Ayato raises an eyebrow, smirking smugly.
“Thinking about me?” he teases, and Thoma huffs, slapping him lightly and watching as Ayato exaggeratedly winces.
“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” Thoma mutters, and Ayato raises a second eyebrow.
“You seemed to think quite highly of me based on how loud you were yelling out my name─mmfp!” Thoma covers the other’s mouth quickly, his cheeks red. He fake glares at Ayato, whose violet eyes glittering mischievously.
“Stop speaking,” he orders, “it’s too early for that.” When Ayato does nothing but beam at him innocently, Thoma removes his hand, and instantly regrets it at the other’s cheerful tone.
“It’s most likely past the hour of the Snake,” Ayato says, and Thoma groans, knowing that the fact nobody came to wake him up meant that they heard what was happening in here and decided not to interfere. Just the thought of it makes him want to wither away and die in a ball of embarrassment.
“…You don’t think they’ll kick me out for this?” he worries, and Ayato languidly stretches, his face calm.
“If they do, I’ll just leave with you.”
Thoma huffs. “And what about Ayaka? Will you leave her alone to fend for herself?”
“Of course not,” Ayato scoffs, “I’ll be taking her with me, and we’ll both keep you company while the clan dissolves into panic at losing both of their precious children.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Thoma says, barely holding back a laugh. Ayato waves a hand, his face the perfect mask of nonchalance.
“What will they do? Create another heir from the air? I don’t think so; their only options are to let you come back or leave the rest up to okaa-san.”
Ayato sobers at the mention of his mother, and Thoma chews on his bottom lip, the reality of the situation waking both of them. The unsaid tragic fate of the Lord Commissioner hangs over their heads, and Ayato sighs, turning to face Thoma more clearly, mouth a worried line.
“I’m glad to have you with me,” he murmurs, and Thoma shuffles closer so that they’re nose to nose, trying to offer any semblance of comfort he can. “You soothe my worries like a fresh balm, make it easier to imagine a better future, and aid me in the clan’s affairs, even though you’re not an official part of it. Yet.” Ayato has a certain gleam in his eyes that speaks of a future scheme.Thoma just hopes it doesn’t cause further problems, but with Ayato, a problem is always brewing beneath sly smiles and calculated looks. It just makes Thoma more enamored with him, something that’s most likely reflected in his hopeless grin.
“And I want to repeat that I’m sorry for how things ended yesterday,” he says, Thoma’s hand coming up to thumb the mole under his lip, tracing the smooth skin.
“And I already told you that I’ve forgiven you,” he answers simply as Ayato leans into the touch.
“Mm…you forgive too easily. Some people don’t deserve such a thing.” He nuzzles into Thoma’s hand, like an affectionate cat. Thoma smiles, his heart beating steadily, a fool in love.
“Forgiveness doesn’t require a reason.” Ayato opens his eyes at that, watching him curiously. “People make mistakes all the time. People do bad things for all kinds of reasons, and then realize the extent of their actions at a later date. Some people never realize, or choose not to, and continue being cruel. You can’t change all of them, and you might hate some of them, but at the end of the day, you have to at least try to be kind.”
Thoma closes his eyes, inhaling the smell of their intermingling scents, so blended together that he can’t pick out where his ends and Ayato’s begins.
“It’s what makes us human; mistakes and the many ways we deal with them and their impact on other people. Some people you can’t forgive, either because you don’t want to or you feel like they don’t deserve it. The former is fine, but the latter…”
Sighing, he lowers his hand from Ayato’s mouth to curl his arms around the other boy’s shoulders, hugging him close. Ayato returns the gesture, his hands finding their favorite place: Thoma’s hips, fingers settling on bare skin. Thoma opens his eyes, staring at Ayato, besotted smile playing on his lips, hearing the truth ring out from deep within.
“Who am I to determine what someone deserves?” he concludes, drawing nonsensical shapes on the other boy’s trapezius, enjoying their shared warmth. His mind is pleasantly clear, as if a veil has been lifted from his brain. Maybe it’s just the leftover endorphins caused by their activities, Ayato’s physical and emotional closeness or a mixture of both, but Thoma’s problems seem laughably easy to solve now.
Ayato hums, massaging Thoma’s lovingly bruised waist, his eyes half lidded. They lie together in comfortable silence, and then Ayato’s mouth quirks up, a familiar glint of devilry in his eyes.
“Mm…if sex makes you this captivating and talkative after we finish, I think we’ll just have to mark it down as part of both our schedules. For the betterment of the clan, if you will,” he says, smirking as Thoma chokes, lightly hitting him on the back in embarrassment.
“Archons, you’re insufferable,” he grumbles, pinching the other’s nipple in retaliation and enjoying Ayato’s yelp.
“Yes, yes, but you still like me,” Ayato says, a hidden question underneath his bravado.
Thoma smiles, helplessly, bringing their mouths closer, slotting them together like perfect puzzle pieces before replying.
“Yeah, I do.”
──────────────────
It’s on a fresh spring morning that Thoma decides to go out. He denies the guards’ offer of a carriage, saying that he’ll walk on foot.
On his way over to Amakane Island, Thoma watches the scenery, soft sakura petals floating on the wind and falling on the ground, coating the grass and stone in pink.
Finally, he reaches his destination, paying the Yashiro Commission officer a fee to use the waverider and getting a scrutinizing look in return.
“You seem familiar,” says the officer noncommittally, and Thoma smiles.
“Ah, yes, I was here a couple of moons ago,” he answers and the other gives him a brief once over before shrugging and waving him away.
Thoma balances the box on his knees as he rides the waverider to a familiar small island. He gets out once he lands on the shore, noticing the budding fields of vegetables and the newly raked path up the small hill.
He walks up towards the wooden house steadily, the abode illuminated by the afternoon sun, only pausing before the three stone steps to collect his thoughts.
It’s not just any spring morning, though. It’s the anniversary of his mother’s passing. He would usually spend the day staring at nothing while looking out towards the sea. But now, there’s no need to do that, when the person he’d been searching for all that time is right in front of him.
This day doesn’t have to be just about grief.
Thoma recalls his mother’s smile as she looked at his father. Her laugh, the way her hair would bounce with the force of it whenever he would crack a cynical joke. Her unwavering faith in him, even as she withered away.
But Thoma isn’t doing this for his mother, no matter how heavily her ghost hangs over him. No, he’s doing this for himself, because he knows that if he doesn’t do this, that he would be unable to reconcile with the person he’s been running away from the most: himself.
Gathering courage, he thumbs the familiar shape of the omamori in his pant pocket. Thoma inhales, and walks up, one step, two, three. He knocks on the wood, waiting, fidgeting with the mixed berry pie in his hands.
A man opens the door.
Thoma has many things he wants to tell this man.
I’ve spent my whole life chasing after you. Your betrayal hurt more than an open wound. Why did you leave when you had everything? With a new wife and new children, do you think of me as your child, or only your son? Do I deserve that title? Do you deserve yours?
I want so desperately to hate you for leaving, but that would mean that I would have to live my whole life remembering that small kitchen in our house, the warmth not coming from the burning fireplace, but from your presence, without ever seeing you again. I want to experience that kind of dream again, but properly, this time, with no lies chaining us down.
I met a boy so wonderful I want to be with him forever. Is this the loyalty you spoke of, before? He makes me want to believe in myself, and in the future, despite what it might hold for us. I’m scared of my feelings for him. I would do anything to ensure he stays happy, so much so that it terrifies me. He could order me to catch the sun and I’d spend the rest of my life building a staircase to heaven. I hope he would do the same. I understand now what you meant by calling devotion a privilege only the worthiest deserve. I don’t know if I’m worthy or deserving of anything, but he makes it easy to believe that I am.
Would you be disgusted by that? I hope you’re not, I don’t want to cut ties so soon after I found you. It took a long time, you know. I met countless people, experienced all the good and bad life had to offer. I’m not the same boy I was eleven years ago, but you’re also not the same man you were then. That’s okay, humans change. It’s what we do best.
Am I a coward for constantly running away from the people I love? Or is that just something I inherited from you? Does it matter? I came back, in the end. I needed to.
I miss you. I’m glad you’re alive.
Thoma smiles, hesitant yet hopeful.
“Hello, dad.”
A moment of silence. Then, warm hands envelop him, and pull him inside, the door closing without a sound.
A slice is shared, not just one of fruit, but one of forgiveness as well.