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You leave him during an early blue dawn, and he can do nothing but let you go.
You’d spend at least six months in Liyue, you tell him, and then, you’ll find passage to Inazuma. You would make your way across Teyvat, sending home letters whenever you could.
“Klee is going to miss you,” Albedo says carefully.
“I’ll send souvenirs,” you reply. “Nothing as grand as Alice does, of course.”
“Klee will appreciate it if it’s from you. She was holding back tears the whole time we were eating dinner, you know.”
You smile wistfully, and Albedo wonders if there was someway he could preserve that look in his memory forever. “I’ll miss her, too.”
The merchant group which has graciously offered you a seat on one of their wagons is almost done prepping for the road trip to Liyue, the cargo checked and double checked again. For a brief, fleeting moment Albedo entertains the childish urge to disrupt the wagon using his geo vision, so you’d stay with him if only for a few hours more.
But he couldn’t do that to you. Instead, he takes your hand and presses a key into your palm. “You’ll always have a home here, don’t forget. You can come back anytime you want to. I’ll be waiting.”
You curl your fingers over the key, over his hand. “Yeah? I’ll let you know when I’m on the way home, so don’t wear yourself out waiting for me.”
Even after everything you had been through, even after all your years together, your hands are just as warm as he remembers, and he can’t bring himself to let go first. If he was more selfish, he would ask you to stay. There has never been a single moment where you were so far that when he called your name, you didn’t come running.
But this is the decision you’ve made, and he loves you too much to keep you close when you need to leave.
He wants to laugh at his master, at your mother. What would she do if she could see the two of you now, disregarding her last letter? Perhaps the best thing she has ever done to the two of you is to leave. If she hadn’t been so blinded, she would have realized you were more precious than anything she could ever create. Now, he finally has the answer to her final assignment, to find the truth of the world. The truth of his world is…
The merchants call your name, and you turn to leave, and Albedo knows he’ll never see anything like the light of the dawn reflected in your eyes ever again, not until you come back home, not until you come back to him.
So until then, Albedo smiles, and sends you off as the sun breaks up the blue dawn.
—
You have known Albedo all your life, but your first vivid memory with him is of an endless snow when you are seven years old.
Your scarf wrapped so tightly around your neck that you inhale thick wool with every breath, one mittened hand clinging to his, you guide Albedo patiently over snow drifts he has not yet learned to navigate.
Your grip on his hand is as firm as you can manage. You can’t feel his touch in the cold, and all you can do is hope that he’s still there. Your mother will be angry if anything happens to her prized homunculus; he’s still delicate, having been created just yesterday, after all. It’s your job to help him socialize and adjust to the world. Your mother has no time for frivolities such as that.
You are to teach him basic alchemy, to show him where to find the best ingredients and materials. And after such a heavy snowfall, when the world has been birthed again, a rare beetle perfect for cryo enhancing potions emerges. It is your current task to find it.
“Are you okay?” you ask. The wind whips snowflakes into your eyes. When your mother told you where to go, she had not looked at you even once.
“Yes.”
“If you need to take a break, let me know.”
“I will.”
Your mother had brought Albedo to your lonesome little camp yesterday morning, coaxing him to say hi to you. He did nothing much those first few hours but sit and watch the two of you move around, your mother fussing over him in a way she never has with you. Albedo speaks little. His eyes remind you of a mirror.
Suddenly, Albedo’s hand loosens from your own. In a panic, you turn, and catch him falling face first into a pile of snow.
“Albedo!” you cry, and clumsily reach for his arm, helping to pull him up into a sitting position.
“I tripped,” he announces, blinking snow off his eyelashes.
He looks so bewildered, and you can’t help but giggle. It’s the first sign of emotion from him since you had met. “Be careful,” you say, brushing snow off his hair. “You can just step in my footprints from now on, okay?”
Albedo nods, and reaches for your hand again. The two of you set off once more.
—
Albedo came into being almost eight days, three hours and 23 minutes ago, and there are a few things he has learned during his brief time of being alive.
First, his master is named Rhinedottir. She takes note of everything he does, and often disappears for long stretches of time, presumably to work on her alchemical experiments. Still, her gaze never strays far from him.
Second, you are his master’s child and assistant. Curiously, you never call her mother, not like the children in the stories he’s learning to read. He follows you around, and when he encounters something he has never seen before, you explain its function to him. Currently, he has learned what a pot is, and the varied uses of ropes.
Third, Albedo prefers it when you perform check-ups on him, though he’s still trying to understand why. Certainly, his master is more skilled and swift as she checks for wounds, illness, and shines light into his eyes to see the dilation of his pupils. You are slower, clumsier, but your hands are warm and gentle. You ask how he is, if anything hurts, and chatter about your day, as if he had not been there the whole time with you.
Fourth, Albedo learns that you must peel oranges before eating them. Fruit, he will soon learn, is a delicacy when you are often on the move. When his master brought home oranges for the first time two days ago, you had handed him one with a smile. You then proceeded to fall over laughing at the face he made when you encouraged him to bite into one without removing the peel first.
Fifth, Albedo has what he considers a secret of sorts, something he cannot tell you nor his master. At night, he mouths your name before bed like a prayer, trying to understand the shape and sound of if. If he understands your name, maybe he will understand you, too.
—
As far as you’re concerned, your world consists only of you and your mother.
You don’t remember your father, and your mother has never mentioned him. He might as well be dead, and perhaps he is. Since you could walk you would toddle beside your mother as she taught you the different properties of materials meant for alchemy. The first word you ever learned to gurgle was “ley line.”
You’ve always travelled from place to place, never staying long once your mother’s attention waned and she had collected all the data she needed. At times, she would leave you alone for weeks, trusting you to take care of her alchemy equipment while she researched. You learned to clean every delicate part, and how to stretch rice and beans for days while you waited for her to return.
And now, suddenly, there’s Albedo. Your mother’s greatest creation, life birthed from chalk, and your first friend. Your mother is not gone quite so often now with him around.
He’s funny, you decide. He listens to whatever you say without question, and always tries to hold your hand, and you like to braid his soft hair. Your mother always watches you when you teach him all the alchemical knowledge you know.
Albedo, your mother croons, Albedo, how are you feeling? Albedo, what are you doing? Albedo, have you completed your assignments yet?
Albedo, you clever little boy. Albedo, Albedo, Albedo.
She calls his name so much, you wonder if she’s afraid she will forget it if she stops.
“Rhinedottir,” you say, for she hates it when you call her mother. “I finished my work!” Would she praise you now?
“As my child, you’re expected to do this much,” she tells you, flipping through your notes without looking at them. “Albedo has already advanced onto the next concept. You should try to be more like him.”
On second thought, maybe you don’t like Albedo that much.
—
It is Albedo’s birthday today, his first one since he was created. His master performs his exam with more excitement than usual, listening to his pulse with a satisfied expression.
“It sounds just like a human’s,” Albedo hears her whisper.
Is it supposed to sound like something else?
In the evening, his master claps her hands, and presents some fruit and a small, plain cake without any frosting. “It’s been a year since you were created,” his master says fondly to him. “There hasn’t been any negative development, and you’ve been growing like a normal human. Congratulations, Albedo.”
The whole time, however, you’re silent. His master does not seem to notice and only reminds you to finish your food. When the little party is over, you wander to the periphery of camp. Albedo follows you.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Rhinedottir didn’t celebrate my birthday,” you whisper, your eyes glassy and wet.
Albedo thinks on what to say in moments like these. “Perhaps she forgot. Birthdays aren’t that important, don’t worry.”
He only meant to imply that his birthday wasn’t important. Not once had his master said they were actually celebrating it, anyways. To his master, he would be a homunculus first and foremost, an imitation of a human. You were her child. Your positions were different.
Looking back, Albedo wishes he had never said such a thing to you. He should have hugged you. He should have said that he would remember your birthday. Maybe then he could have stopped your relationship from fracturing apart.
But it’s too late to regret his childish ignorance. That day, Albedo learned what hurt looked like for the first time.
—
You are your mother’s assistant. You are the one who travels to domains with her, who helps her gather ingredients, who she trusts to hand her flasks and beakers during experiments. You’d been with her for the longest, so why is it that you are not the one by her side?
Why is Albedo taking your place?
“Albedo has surpassed you,” your mother says sharply when you complain to her. “If you have time to be upset, you have time to study and catch up. You’ve been learning all your life, and yet in a few years, Albedo is already superior.”
You shrink at her words, at your mother’s disappointed gaze. She looks like a stranger. Suddenly, you long for the time when it was just you and her wandering the wilderness. You remember one summer when your mother had found a grove of blackberries and you picked them until they overflowed from your baskets. You recall the tart sweetness bursting in your mouth.
There would no longer be days like that. Everything had begun to change when Albedo joined you two.
Albedo, your mother’s precious little boy. Albedo, who surpasses you in every aspect. Albedo, who is smarter, and stronger, and whom Rhinedottir has already begun to train in swordsmanship, while you can do nothing but watch.
Your mother often tells you two that if you fall behind, she’ll leave you. She has no use for those who don’t fit into her plans.
Don’t leave me behind, you want to say. But she already has. There is no space in her world for you anymore.
—
Time passes away like sand through Albedo’s fingers. The three of you travel endlessly, exploring new domains and chasing after leylines, while his master tutors the two of you in alchemy. Albedo knows that there are other people out there, but it feels as if the three of you are the only ones left. And would he want it any other way? Unnecessary social interaction to form volatile relationships is energy he can’t spare when he’s focused on his research.
Albedo has you, anyways, and he is content.
But something has changed between the two of you ever since his first birthday, some nameless shift he can’t quite understand. You’ve become more withdrawn, more sullen. You no longer put quite as much effort into studying alchemy, preferring instead to take long walks outside of camp when his master assigns you tasks. You take up sketching, and when Albedo asks if he can try, you drop the hobby. Later, he finds your old sketches burning in the fire pit.
Still, whenever he reaches for you, you never turn him away.
“Aren’t we too old to hold hands now?” you ask, but you’re the one swinging your hands back and forth.
“We won’t get separated this way,” Albedo says, squeezing your hand. Your warmth is constant and reassuring, the one thing about you that hasn’t changed.
“Did Rhinedottir really need me to go with you?”
“She did,” he lies. Though it’s true that if you’re here it’ll be easy to gather and carry ingredients back, the real reason is that he just wants to spend time with you alone.
“How is our little genius doing?” you ask him lightly.
“Master’s assignments have become increasingly difficult lately. You might enjoy some of them, if you come to her lessons again. We recently worked on transmuting--”
“I can study on my own,” you interrupt. “I wouldn’t want to take away her time away from you. I’m not anywhere near as advanced as you. Why? Did she ask about me?”
“No,” Albedo says, and he knows it is the wrong answer when you look away from him.
“We’re here. Let’s hurry up.”
You drop his hand and Albedo fights the urge to take it again.
—
Your mother never goes back on her word.
In the morning, when you wake, you find Albedo holding a letter in his hands, your mother nowhere in sight.
If you fall behind, I will leave you.
Maybe you’re a disappointment to her, but Albedo? The one who kept pace with all her grueling experiments when you couldn’t even fathom where to begin? Truly, if she could leave him, she could do anything.
“I was waiting until you woke up to read this,” he tells you quietly, handing you the paper.
“You didn’t need to.”
Still, your hands tremble as you unfold the paper. There, scrawled in your mother’s familiar, messy writing, the letters bleeding together, is a set of instructions. She does not sign it off with her name, and there is no hint of affection. It is cold, precise; your mother always hated sentimentality. Of course she would leave Albedo a title, Kreideprinz, but leave you nothing, not even a goodbye.
You hand the letter to him. “She wants us to go to Mondstadt. She has a friend there we can live with, Alice. She has one last assignment for you. Oh, but I’m supposed to keep taking care of you.”
“You don’t have to,” Albedo murmurs as he scans the letter.
You look at him sharply. “You don’t want me to take care of you? Or, what, you don’t want me to go with you? I know you can handle things on your own, but… I… I want to go with you.”
“No. No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, frustrated, looking up from the letter. It falls out of his hands as he reaches for yours. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want you with me. If I’m going to go to Mondstadt, I would want to go with you. I’m not going to leave you behind. But we’re the same age. You don’t have to tie yourself to looking after me.”
You stare at the letter Albedo dropped, the taste of ash in your mouth. If you didn’t look after him, what would you have left? You have nothing, nothing but your mother’s instructions. Everything else had already been given to Albedo.
“Rhinedottir only wants me to look after you because you’re precious to her,” you say flatly.
“No, I’m just her precious experiment.”
Why does Albedo sound so bitter? He has everything you’ve always wanted. You don’t understand him.
You sigh. You can’t feel the warmth of his hand in the sudden cold of the camp. “Let’s just start packing. The road to Mondstadt is going to be long.”
—
There are so many people in Mondstadt Albedo thinks he could drown.
At the entrance, knights stop you two and you show them his master’s letter before they let you pass. Vendors hawk their wares, waving their arms to call him over. A child bumps into him and his mother hurries over to apologize as she walks away, scolding him. The city of freedom, indeed.
It is all you can do to push your way through the sea of people until you reach Alice’s house, Albedo trailing behind you. When you get lost, he is the first to stop and ask for directions. All the while, a statue of Barbatos, the god of wind and freedom, watches over the two of you. His master has never cared for the gods, but Albedo cannot help but give it one last lingering look before the door closes behind him.
“There’s no one here,” you grumble, dropping your bags on the floor with a thump. “I suppose Rhinedottir’s friend is just as flighty as she is.”
“There’s another letter,” Albedo says, as he wanders into the kitchen. “It’s most likely for us.”
“Oh, great, a letter. I suppose it would be too hard for someone to sit down and explain anything to us. What does it say?”
Albedo carefully tears it open. The letter is smeared in places where the ink hadn’t properly dried before the owner touched it, and there’s a lingering smell of smoke.
“‘Dear guests,’” he reads, loudly enough for you to hear, “‘I’m sorry I can’t be here to greet you. Rhinedottir has told me so much about you! You can just choose any of the guest rooms for yourself, I don’t mind. Something unexpected came up, so I won’t be able to meet the two of you for a while. Rest assured, as soon as I’m done, I’ll head back to properly greet you! Oh, and I leave my daughter, Klee, in your care. She’s very young, but you’re going to love her! Signed, Alice.’”
“A child? She wants us to take care of a child?” Without him noticing, you’ve made your way into the kitchen, reading the letter over his shoulder. “Where is she?”
“Perhaps someone else is taking care of her,” Albedo suggests. “And now that we’re here, we’ll be expected to take over that duty.”
“Neither of us are equipped to raise a child,” you groan. “How are we going to survive here? We’ll probably need to find jobs. Maybe it’s not too late to just set up camp in the woods.”
“We can probably find an alchemy-related occupation somewhere.”
“But do you think you’ll even have time to balance a job with your assignment?”
His assignment. Though it’s been lingering on his mind, he has not properly thought about it since they left. It is cruel in its impossibility, but he supposes it fits his master in that aspect.
Find the truth of the world.
Did she leave him precisely because she knew he would fail? Did she really think she had nothing left to teach him? Is this an exercise in futility? Or is there’s a greater purpose he has yet to grasp?
“Albedo, hurry up,” you call. “Or else I’m going to take the best room for myself!”
Well. He has plenty of time to figure out his assignment. For now, you’re calling him, and there is Klee to find.
—
Klee, contrary to your expectations, is the one to find you once you and Albedo have finally unpacked from your long journey and settled into the house. Your belongings are sparse; there’s little to your name, as your mother believes firmly in utility, and you were often on the move.
If Alice is anything like Rhinedottir, would that mean Klee would be like you or Albedo?
But the little girl who bursts into the house excitedly while you and Albedo are deciding on dinner is nothing you expect. She’s very small, and very red, and jumps into your arms immediately for a hug. Your hands hover awkwardly over her back. You weren’t used to hugging others.
“You’re here! Mom said I was gonna be able to make some new friends today, but I didn’t know you were gonna get here so soon! Ooo, if only mom was here… she was all excited about you coming! Ah, I almost forgot! I’m Klee!”
Klee runs over to give Albedo a hug, and you cover up your giggle at his flustered expression. “Mom already told me your names! She said we’re gonna be like family!” Klee suddenly takes off her backpack, holding up a dangling fuzzy creature for you to examine. “Oh, oh, this is my bestest friend, Dodoco! Mom made him for me!”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dodoco,” you say seriously.
“Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Dodoco,” he says.
“Are you hungry, Klee? Albedo and I were just discussing what we want for dinner.”
“Um… can we have fish?”
“Sure, but I don’t think there’s any fish in the fridge--”
“That’s okay! Klee has a bunch right here!” To your astonishment, Klee pulls out a bundle of dead fish from her backpack.
“Klee, where did you get those?” Albedo asks gently.
“Klee went fish blasting! Oh, but don’t tell anyone that I did that, okay? Jean will put me in solitary confinement again.”
You and Albedo exchange a glance. It looks like you would need to have a talk with Jean, whoever she is. And, judging from the smell, you might need to clean Klee’s backpack.
—
Despite your fretting over the finances, the matter is settled more easily than any of you had thought it would be.
Klee had informed the two of you that the knights were looking for a chief alchemist; the position has been vacant for quite a while, as no one in Mondstadt thinks much of alchemy. As such, it’s easy enough for Albedo to apply and snag the position, securing an income that could support the three of you.
“You could have applied as well,” Albedo had told you gently the night he submitted his application. “Your skills would be invaluable.”
“There wouldn’t be any point,” you replied thinly. “You’re all but guaranteed to get the job. No one else matches up to you.”
“When I get in, there’s going to be an assistant position. If you want, you could apply for that. You’d get in easily with your skills.”
“The knights aren’t big enough for two alchemists, Albedo.”
That was the last you spoke of the matter.
Albedo’s days in Mondstadt soon fall into a predictable pattern. He’s the last to wake, and it’s always to the sound of Klee’s excited voice and the smell of your cooking. You braid his hair, and he’ll tie Klee’s, and Klee will put clips in yours. You wave them both off at the door as they leave. At night, he tries to return home early enough to make dinner, as you and Klee doodle in the living room. She will chatter about her day, and he’s never heard you laugh like that since you were young.
The knights welcome him easily, treating him like an old friend. Kaeya is quick to tease him and ruffle his hair. Lisa calls him a cutie and hands him book recommendations for “his little sister, and his special someone at home.” Eula seems aloof, but helps him carry in alchemy ingredients when he needs it. Jean always smiles and asks about his experiments. Amber asks him to teach her how to draw; though she’s messy and her technique is unrefined, there’s still something captivating about her work.
Besides all of his chief alchemist activities, he has his assignment to ponder. The truth of the world. What defines “truth”? Does his master want a physical answer, or an intangible one? Is the answer related to Mondstadt somehow? Is that why she sent the two of you there? The more he tries to search for an answer, the more questions that arise.
But, most importantly to him, Albedo wonders if you’re lonely at home. His thoughts often drift to you at work. If you were to call his name, he would drop everything to go to you. But the only time he asks, you tell him this.
“I’m okay. I enjoy the solitude. I’ve never really been on my own before.”
Maybe he should have realized back then that your smile didn’t reach your eyes.
—
For the first time in your life, you are alone.
At home, you read and practice your alchemical skills and take up miscellaneous hobbies (gardening is one of your favorites, and playing the harp? Not so much). You dust off the furniture and clean the floors when there’s nothing else to do; hunting down every speck of dust on the drapes proves to be quite the time consuming task. You wait for Albedo to come home, and it is just like when you were seven, waiting for weeks on end for your mother to return home from exploring a domain. Albedo, at least, has the decency of showing up at a consistent time every evening.
Sometimes, Klee will drag you out, excited to spend a day with her new sibling.
“Let’s go into the woods!” she might exclaim excitedly, tugging your hand along. Then, you’ll spend an afternoon chasing after her and making sure her bombs are aimed far from the city walls.
And this is okay. This is fine. Maybe things can continue like this, just you in that empty house. You were no good with people after a lifetime of only interacting with your mother and Albedo. The most you do is say hello to Sara at Good Hunter every week when you go to buy groceries. The one time you tried to socialize had ended in disaster.
“Oh? Aren’t you the fellow who lives with that genius alchemist?” Some drunkard slurred to you the first time you walked in to Angel’s Share. “Must be nice to mooch off him, eh? You don’t have to lift a finger.”
His friend had rushed to apologize for him, but you could barely bring yourself to smile before you rushed out, making excuses about needing to watch over your little sister.
Taking care of Klee takes up most of the time, you tell yourself. You don’t have any to spare to make friends with people who only knew you as Albedo’s roommate, or those who thought you were something else.
But.
But one day, Albedo comes home with a vision. It gleams upon his shirt collar, where he’s hastily pinned it to keep it out of the way as he works.
“You got a vision? Congratulations.” Those are the only words you can muster as you stare at the golden glow, feeling weightless.
Albedo shrugs. “I never asked for it. I suppose it might be helpful with my research, though.”
Your hands tremble as you fasten the vision to the front of his shirt, just under the star at the base of his throat. “You should be more careful with it. It’s a blessing from the gods themselves.”
“I wonder what my master would say about that?” he muses.
Indeed, what would your mother say? How would she react knowing that Albedo, her greatest creation, has been acknowledged by the gods themselves?
That night, you smile, and smile, and smile, until your cheeks hurt. Klee proudly shows off her own pyro vision. Albedo, who treats cooking like a fine, alchemical art, makes dinner, as he does most nights. You don’t recall what it tastes like.
“When you get a vision, like big brother Albedo, we’ll all be matching!” Klee tells you enthusiastically.
When, she says, when. As if it is a matter of time.
That night, you fall to your knees by your bed. You have never cared much for the gods. They destroyed your mother’s home, and are capricious, fickle, and selfish. This must be another one of their cruel tricks.
“Barbatos,” you murmur slowly, tasting the unknown name on your tongue. “Morax.” You say the name of each god, one by one, like it is a sin.
Please. Please, you have never asked for anything in your life but this. If they were to grant Albedo a vision, could they not also grant you one?
You can’t fall behind anymore than this. You can’t. You’re already surrounded by people who look at you and see Albedo’s shadow, and you’re certain Klee loves her big brother Albedo more than she loves you. And your mother…
When you close your eyes, you can see that golden glow, the vision Albedo had so carelessly treated.
When you wake the next morning, there is nothing on your pillow.
You never pray again.
—
“There’s a new assistant alchemist at the knights.”
Albedo considers it the most trivial piece of news, told to you over dinner as casually as he might talk about the weather or the fact you’re running low on salt.
“Her name is Sucrose!” Klee pipes up excitedly, and you take a napkin and wipe away the sauce staining her chin.
“Indeed. She is going to be working under me starting tomorrow.”
“I’m glad you’ve filled the spot,” you say pleasantly, raising your cup to your lips.
“I would have preferred to work with you, but it would have been a tremendous loss to pass up on her skills and expertise. You should meet her sometime; I’m certain you’ll like her. She has a vision as well–”
You slam your cup down, liquid sloshing down the side. For a moment, all three of you are stunned by your sudden action. Klee stares at you, frightened, as she calls your name. You smile in an attempt to appease her, but avoid looking at Albedo.
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. Can I be excused?” Without a word, you push your chair away from the table and walk away.
“I’ll talk to them later,” Albedo reassures Klee gently, who watches you go with wide eyes. “Why don’t we finish dinner? Weren’t you going to tell me about the new bomb-making materials Lisa gave you?”
Her face lights up. “Yeah! Lisa is the best! She gave me some new stuff to use for my bombs, and it smells super bad, but it makes huge explosions!”
After dinner, when Klee has been tucked into bed while tightly clutching Dodoco, he finds you at your balcony, mapping out the shape of the stars.
“Is it the assistant position?” he quietly asks as he stands by your side. “Do you regret turning it down?”
“No.”
“Is it the vision, then? There’s always empty ones sold on the market, and I could acquire a few.”
“I don’t want a vision.”
“What is it, then? How can I help?” Albedo reaches for your hand, but, in a single movement, so gentle in its cruelness, you draw away from him.
“You can’t help me,” you say. You sound so much like his master in this moment that Albedo has to take a step back.
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. You never do. Put that mind of yours to work, Albedo. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?” you say mockingly.
“Can’t you help me understand?” Albedo asks. “What do you mean?”
“I just think it’s so nice that you fit in so easily. Everyone loves you, Albedo. The knights, Klee, even the gods… You don’t really need me anymore, do you? You have a new assistant, a new family, a new life.”
“Need?” Albedo repeats. He remembers your conversation the day you found Rhinedottir’s letter. “Of course I don’t need you, and I don’t want you to think you’re obligated to take care of me… But I want you by my side, so is that not–”
Your laughter is a sharp, bitter bite. “Oh, of course you don’t need me. You just don’t get it. Why?” you whisper, as soft as the night breeze.
“Why?” he repeats. Your eyes are unreadable.
“Why is it always you? Why is it that everyone always chooses you? I just can’t escape you, no matter where I go. Everyone looks at me and sees you, you, you. I’m just your pathetic shadow, a loser who leeches off of you. I don’t have any friends, did you know that? It’s been months since we came here, and I don’t know a single person.”
“You’re not leeching off of me.” Albedo takes a breath. He has always believed himself to be articulate and verbose, so why is it that his words fail him when he needs them the most? Why is it that all he can do is bring you closer to tears? “And if you’re worried about social interaction, then I could introduce you to the knights; you could have a place there.”
“It’s not that simple. I don’t want anyone’s pity!” Your voice raises with every word, your eyes like glass. “I know that it’s my fault I’m alone! But it’s so damn hard when you’re here, Albedo. I’m always second best next to you. I’m just not good enough, I’ve never been good enough. Even mother– she– she chose you! Why would she want me? Not when she had you. You– you–”
“Do you hate me?” he asks hoarsely. His hands are shaking, and he can’t keep them still no matter how hard he tries.
“I… I don’t know,” you mumble. “I don’t know.”
If he reaches for you again, what would you do?
“Then, right now, I… I’ll leave. I’ll give you some space. Is that alright?” The words tumble out in a rush. You nod your head, unable to look him in the eye anymore. Albedo takes one step away from you. Then another. And you do not pull him back, you do not call out for him, and he doesn’t even know if you watch him leave.
Please, he prays as he stumbles down the stairs, and out the door. The streets of Mondstadt are empty at this time of night, every store shuttered, and there is only the statue of Barbatos left, who watches over his sleeping city with his eyes closed. Albedo might as well be the only one in the world. Please, he prays, and he doesn’t know who he’s praying to. Would the gods even listen to someone like him?
Albedo is a fool. He has grown complacent in his relationship with you. You’ve always been there by his side, so often he has taken you for granted. He has been assured in the knowledge that you two are the closest people in the world. Fool, fool, fool. It is his very presence that causes you pain. Just because you grew up together does not mean that he knows you. He has never known you, never understood you.
When Albedo reaches for your hand, so carelessly, so thoughtlessly, how much has it hurt you to take it? His love has never been anything but a burden.
Once, in the first few days of his creation, he had realized that you needed to breathe, and he did not. It had terrified him to realize that there was such a fundamental difference between the two of you, one he could never bridge. His master had told him it was a silly thing to agonize over.
“You’re not human,” she had said so calmly he felt ridiculous. “You’ll never be.”
You had whispered in his ear when his master did not see. “It’s okay if you don't breath!”
“Why is it okay?” he mumbled back. “It’s weird.”
You scrunch your eyebrows as you thought about it. “Um… it’s because you’re Albedo! And Albedo is Albedo, and I like you the way you are. Besides, I can do weird things, too. Wanna see me touch my nose with my tongue?”
He had fallen in love with you then, and has loved you ever since. Perhaps he was born to love you.
Because even if he is a homunculus, even if his master views him as nothing but a tool, even if he will never be human, you were the first person to reach out your hand to him. Even if you hate him, he would bear it, if that’s what you needed to do to survive.
Because he loves you, and he will always love you.
—
You have always been a means to an end for your mother.
And you didn’t mind, not really, because you’re a good child. You’re good, so good, that it kills you. But this is what your mother wanted from you, so you could not say no. You would do whatever she wanted so she would love you. But not once had she ever looked at you. She never had, and she never will; just like the gods she loathes so, she’s capricious, fickle, and selfish. Your mother treats love like a weapon, and ties it like a noose around your neck.
But Albedo is different. Just by simply existing, Rhinedottir would fawn over him with an affection you had never known. He could do everything you could, but better. What was the point, then, of even trying, when you knew from the beginning you’re simply not good enough?
Albedo. Your only connection left to your mother. You childhood friend, your only companion, who you had wandered the world with, hand in hand. The one who has everything you ever wanted: acknowledgement, a vision, your mother’s attention.
But has her attention towards Albedo truly been such a wonderful thing? Has your mother ever looked at Albedo, really looked at him, not as an experiment, but as Albedo?
Do you really hate him? Could you ever hate that little boy who had looked so bewildered at falling face first in the snow, who had so earnestly bit into the orange you offered him without a second thought?
Is it really Albedo you resent? Or has it simply been easier to resent him?
Your mother would not care if you hate her, but Albedo would.
When you step back into the house, you find Klee peeking around the doorway, Dodoco held tightly in her arms.
“I heard voices,” she says softly. “Where’s big brother Albedo?”
“Don’t worry, we were just talking. Albedo is taking a walk right now.”
“Are you guys fighting? Is it something Klee did?”
“No, no, it’s not anything you did!” You pick Klee up in your arms, and she buries her face in your shoulder. “It’s just… we were… talking about grown-up things. It’s complicated.”
“Grown-ups are so weird,” she says, her voice muffled.
You rub her back. “Yeah, we are.”
“It’s okay, though, because Klee loves you and big brother Albedo anyways.”
“Yeah? We love you too, Klee.”
You walk down the hall to her bedroom, but Klee grabs the sleeve of your shirt as you try to set her down on her bed. “Um… do you want to make bombs with me tomorrow?”
“That sounds like it’ll be fun. But you need to sleep first, okay?”
She nods her head solemnly. “Okay! Klee has been having so much fun ever since you and big brother Albedo moved in!”
You smooth her hair as you tuck her under the covers. “Yeah? I’ve been having a lot of fun, too.”
Klee giggles sleepily. “Klee loves you two, so don’t fight anymore, okay? It’s sad. Because… um… Klee loves that big brother Albedo is big brother Albedo, and you’re you!”
You stay with Klee until she drifts to sleep, and it’s only then that you can let your tears fall.
—
There are a riot of blossoms in the garden out back, no doubt tended by your hand when you’re home alone. Vibrant lilies and roses and asters perfume the air, but his favorites are the small white ones that look like drops of moonlight.
Albedo can hear footsteps behind him. Without turning, he knows it’s you.
“I’ve picked up a lot of different hobbies in Mondstadt,” you say, sitting down next to him. “Gardening is one of the things I like the best. We never got to see many fresh flowers growing up, did we?”
“It’s a lovely garden,” he murmurs. “You did a good job taking care of them.”
“Yeah? Thanks. Albedo, do you… do you like Mondstadt?”
“Yes. There’s much to learn here. When I hired her, Sucrose informed me of a nearby mountainous area called Dragonspine. I imagine it’ll prove a fruitful place for my alchemical pursuits, as my master’s influence is… prevalent there. Besides that, I rather enjoy our life here with Klee, though I do get a bit tired of eating fish for dinner every night.”
“Dragonspine…? Ah. Isn’t that where one of her experiments died? Well, good luck. You better hope nothing there holds a grudge against you. Personally, I hate Mondstadt. I know mother asked us to come here, but there’s no reason I should be bound by her instructions.”
“What are you going to do instead?”
“I might just leave. She told me to take care of you, but…we’re both adults. You don’t need me to look after you. We both have lives of our own.”
“I’m sorry,” Albedo says suddenly.
“Huh?”
“I’m sorry that I hurt you for all these years. I never realized how you felt. When I say I don’t need you, I… I didn’t mean I didn’t want you in my life. I just meant I didn’t want you to treat me like an experiment, the same way that she does.”
“I’m sorry, too, that I just yelled at you like that. I was an asshole to just take it all out on you. Besides, how could you have known how I felt if I never talked about it? It’s not just your fault, but mine as well.” In the dark, you reach for his hand, clumsily entwining your fingers together, as if it’s the first time you’ve ever held it. You hold his hand as gently as you would hold a star.
“I was careless, though. I should have realized how much you've been suffering.”
“You’ve been suffering too,” you say sharply. “If there’s anyone to blame for this, it’s my mother. We were just children, and didn’t know any better.” You take another breath. “Listen, Albedo. I don’t… I don’t hate you, but I don’t know if I love you, either. It’s complicated for me. So… I’m thinking it might be easier to figure out how I feel when there’s distance between us. We’ve been together for so long and I don’t know what it’s like to be without you.”
“And I want to stay here in Mondstadt, not just because my master wants me to, but because I choose to.”
You smile, and you are so beautiful he could have kissed you. “We’re both trying to figure everything out, huh? Maybe I’ll get bored of travelling and come back.”
“I’ll keep your room clean, then.”
For one night more, it is just you and him, and with your hand warm against his, Albedo finally realizes what he believes the truth of the world is.