[When Aether thinks about it — really thinks about it, in the sort of way he'd open up to a therapist if he thought he could handle having one — it all probably started after Dainsleif died. The hollow void of nothing in his heart, anyway; it started like that. He was their older brother, true, but he'd been like a father to the twins, practically raised them since they were infants and he was their parents' ever-faithful teenage son. But he was sick, he'd always been sick, and the last few months of his life, well, they all knew what was coming.
That day Dainsleif died, Aether had held Lumine tight in his arms and sworn that he'd be there for her if Dainsleif could not. The fact that it had involved wrenching out the part of him that wanted to cry, too — he pushed it all aside.
He told himself he only lived for her.
Well. They were much younger then, and part of growing up means parting ways with family. It's a running joke at their university that Aether must be the kind of older brother who'd fiercely defend his sister's honor at every turn, but Childe is a nice guy, really. Tall, handsome, personable. He's got a big family; Lumine and Aether only ever had each other. It hurts to look at him sometimes when he smiles. It must be nice to go over to his house, to hear the sounds of children running and laughing, breathe the scent of dinner sizzling in the kitchen. Aether wouldn't know. He's never been there.
Envy has formed a wedge between him and Lumine that he doesn't know how to breach. Lumine knows, but she's thinking about it the wrong way: she thinks he's just wrestling with the knowledge that his sister is her own woman now, that he doesn't like the man who's come to take her away from him. The reality is that sometimes when they're all on the couch together watching a movie, he thinks he wants to take Childe's hand and kiss him too, and when he gets those thoughts it's just easier for him to make an excuse to go to the kitchen and let himself feel hollow with his head pressed against the dining room table.
It's not like he's in love with Childe, of course; it's nothing like that. Aether's not that shallow. He never knew the man before he became his sister's boyfriend, and by then he'd accepted that Childe was something that belonged to Lumine. It's just that he — he wants things too, sometimes, and he's spent so long being his sister's brother that he doesn't even know where to find them, and at the same time, he really doesn't want to open up to anyone at all.
It's not as simple as saying that all his problems would be fixed if he found himself a nice boyfriend, too.
Childe says he's coming over, which means Lumine doesn't need Aether tonight. So he goes out. Where? It doesn't really matter. Lumine thinks Aether hates her boyfriend, so she doesn't ask, even though he's the kind of young man someone might feasibly worry about. He's small and delicate and pretty, the sort that gets into trouble, but he thinks he can handle himself and he isn't going to get into trouble. He takes his keys, his wallet, his phone. He says he'll be back in the morning.
He never really left himself room for romances of his own, but he has friends, of course. It would be stranger if he didn't. Aether thinks he could probably stay the night at any of his friends' houses — Xiao and Kazuha are rarely ever home, but Bennett and Chongyun and Xingqiu and Albedo keep regular hours — but he doesn't call anyone, doesn't text anyone. Doesn't want to bother anyone, because what is the problem, and how is he supposed to say it? How is he supposed to trust anyone to help him when he doesn't even know how to help himself?
It's curiosity that brings his feet where they wind up, in the end. One of them had been joking over lunch — it was probably Xingqiu, come to think of it — that he knew of a place, a good one. The kind of place that wouldn't lead to trouble, or your hands behind your back in silver cuffs. It's a physical therapy clinic, to all outward eyes, but it's basically run like a massage parlor with a few legitimate medical referrals. And if you're nice, and she likes you, Xingqiu had teased Chongyun, turning the other boy's ears scarlet, you can ask her for the secret menu, provided you have the money for a tip...
Well, it was all fun in the end, and Chongyun had pushed Xingqiu away in gentle admonishment (and he'd sort of been sporting a little bit of a boner but Aether was kind enough not to mention it), and someone had laughed and the conversation moved on. But even so. Aether filed it away in the back of his mind. The places Xingqiu goes, whether he's aware of it or not — they're nice places. You need money to get in.
(He imagines, like he's the suspect in a police procedural, what he'll say if anyone asks him why he did it. I don't know, he'll say. It was just something to do. He'll never, ever admit that maybe the ache in his chest feels like loneliness.)
It's the kind of place that doesn't really feel like a seedy rub-and-tug, which is probably better, all in all, for his nerves. The receptionist at the desk doesn't seem to mind taking a walk-in, though she looks a little troubled. We don't have any women on staff tonight. Is that alright with you? and he says fine, yeah, sure. Shouldn't it be a little obvious. He doesn't say that. His friends don't know, either, though he thinks some of them probably at least suspect it, the way he doesn't really talk about girls. She gives him a list of employees, rows and columns of faces; he, admittedly, picks the man he thinks will be least kind to him. The most handsome one, with the least sincere look in his eye. It's fine. He's acutely aware that even being here is a form of self-harm.
It kind of makes sense, the way they run things. Probably separates the perverted riffraff, who are more likely to be men, from the women with medical and physical needs for this kind of service. One woman, who has the general air of a lonely housewife about her, looks at him as he takes the seat across from her; he doesn't meet her gaze. Soon she's called in, and he's left to wait alone. He scrolls through his phone, feeling vaguely out-of-place and out-of-body.
The lights in the waiting room feel too bright. It's more like he's getting ready for a check-up at the doctor's than doing anything adventurous. Maybe he should have gone looking for someone on the street, but then, you know, he's not stupid.
His thumb hovers over the conversation he has with Lumine for a long time before the receptionist calls his name and he stows his phone away.
He's asked to shower, and he doesn't mind. He was more or less clean anyway, but he takes longer than he has to, since he knows there weren't any other clients after him, and the unfamiliar soap reminds him that he's anywhere but home. It's nice, to be honest. Feels sort of like how he imagines a spa would be, but he's never been to one of those, either. There's a bathrobe for him to wear afterwards, and the room's nice. The lighting's dimmer. There are plants and candles. The plants are probably fake.
The man waiting by the bed looks mildly amused as he eyes up his next client, and Aether suddenly feels all too acutely aware that he probably looks a little too young for this place.]
...Good evening. [What else is he supposed to say, in a place like this, for a purpose like this?] Sorry to trouble you.
[Oh. He regrets saying that immediately. Maybe it's a sign of his guilty conscience. Maybe he's dumber than he thinks he is.]
[He meant to be a doctor, once. He'd been more naive then. It was the sort of thing that had gotten him through college entrance essays because of the trite irony of it all: I'd like to be a doctor like the ones that saved my eyesight. Disgustingly written sentiments of that nature. He sees through one eye and he ought to be grateful for it, because the other is milky white and its vision is long gone.
The honest truth is that he hadn't particularly cared about what he would do with his life, and becoming a doctor was just the easy, respectable thing to want with the cards he'd been dealt in life.
But then, of course, came their father's death, and following that, a disastrous argument with Diluc that ended in the rightful heir to the family fortune unceremoniously tossing his adoptive brother out on his ass. Crepus Ragnvindr hadn't thought to set up any kind of trust fund for Kaeya, apparently, which both amused and didn't fucking surprise the young man. Just his luck, to have been the pity child; just his luck, to have always been the lesser son.
Maybe it wasn't an oversight. Maybe he was always meant to have nothing. The charity of taking him in was supposed to have been good enough.
So desperation led him here, to a place where he could quickly turn his half-completed medical training into a physical therapy license, then pay off all the loans and broken promises that have gotten him to where he is today. It's not exactly Kaeya's first brush with sex work. He's done it before, in a casual way — nothing dangerous, just "college friends" slipping him a few bills to fuck them stupid or do things with his tongue that they'd only ever dreamed of. No strings attached, no pimps, no tip jars, just casual sex with a few bonuses slipped in. But that was how he'd started to think of his body as a commodity, with the problem being that he didn't really even enjoy it, never particularly liked letting people into his space and his life. He'd considered camboy work before he decided that he didn't really like the social aspect of that either — subscriber counts, performing on demand, begging for tips. He's social, but not in that way. And so —
And so. This job. Perfect for his purposes, all things considered. Some anonymity is provided by the front desk; it looks like a legitimate thing on his resume, if ever he thinks he's financially stable and credible enough to switch to a "real" facility; and since he mostly only deals with shy and lonely women, most of his clients are quite satisfied to simply be rubbed and fingered toward release. Most of his clients are satisfied with his pretty face and his beautiful hands, his sultry whispers and his gentle demeanor, and the ones that get on their knees and beg for his cock, well — he doesn't have issues refusing them and telling them to take their money elsewhere. Some of the other men in the clinic do such things, but he makes it clear that he won't stand for it.
This boy that's unexpectedly walked in for his appointment, though — well.
Looking Aether over, at his long blond hair and the way he's holding his bathrobe shut as though embarrassed to disrobe — Kaeya decides that he might not mind breaking his own rules just once.]
It's no trouble at all.
[Smiling — it's more reflex than anything else — he gestures broadly at the bed that's been prepared for his next "patient."]
Come, take a seat. [His tone slips into the sort of thing it always is when he's on the clock: sly, subtly teasing. He affects, however unconsciously, the manner of a doctor.] Well? Where does it hurt?
[It's hard to get the measure of this man. He's smiling, though Aether thinks that people in this industry probably rarely smile — or is it just that he's doing it to put his client at ease? The faux-professionalism feels good, though. It's comforting in a situation that ought to be anxiety-inducing, that makes him feel a bit sick even though he's equally sure that this is something he wants. A moment's hesitation, and then Aether's nodding, sliding into the bed as he's told to. He brushes his hair out carefully so that he's not lying down on it in the bed.]
...I don't know. [That part's honest. Where does it hurt?] Everywhere, I guess. It hurts everywhere.
[He was probably expected to point to his dick or something. He's aware of that. Still, Aether lifts a small, delicate hand and rests it on his breast instead, past the fluffy material of the cheap bathrobe.]
It hurts here the most.
[A beat.]
...You can laugh. [Though he's being serious. But he knows that he's being melodramatic, too.] You probably get a lot of people who say things like that.
[It's a good thing that Aether says he can laugh, because Kaeya's first impulse, quite genuinely, is to laugh. It's a little late by the time Aether gives his permission to do so, though, and so the "therapist" only quirks his lips and lets out a breath that shakes at the end like a chuckle might. At least his client has a sense of self-deprecatory humor.]
Would you believe me if I said you're the first?
[It's true, too — that's a first. It hurts everywhere. Hurts here the most. Kaeya takes the measure of the golden creature that's walked into his office, wondering what exactly it is that ails him: chronic pain, loneliness, depression — perhaps just some perceived social pressure to lose his virginity.
None of that really matters, of course. At the end of the night, they'll likely never see each other again, never need each other again. But now, at least, in the moment — there's something about each of them that the other wants.
The physician leans in, smiling — the curve of his lips professional and predatory at the same time — and rests his hand atop Aether's, lacing their fingers together and pressing his palms into the boy's knuckles until their hands are joined. Their faces are close enough that Kaeya can feel Aether's breath on the exhale, but he doesn't mind. His guest for the night is uncommonly beautiful. There's a part of him that's wondering what the catch could be. There's always some kind of catch.]
And you're sure that this is what you want? For your poor, aching heart.
[The matter of how Aether wants to be compensated is certainly an interesting one, but it doesn't bother Ayato, not really. Hasn't been bothering him in maybe the way it should. What he learned very early on in the political realm is that everyone wants something, and matters are best settled when all parties are given what they are seeking. Leave someone wanting, and you only open opportunities for the conflict to rise again later. Give someone too much, and they become greedy. Complacent.
The art of satisfaction can be such a bitter thing, when no one wants to give anything up, and Ayato has never given anything up. The things he wants to protect are too precious to give up, and too nebulous, too. There isn't a price in the world that could pay for Ayaka's innocence, or Thoma's loyalty, or the cutthroat edge of the Shuumatsuban at its worst.
Not that these aren't pawns, too, in their own way.
But — the traveler. Aether is a nice enough young man. Demanded nothing, after all was said and done with the Raiden Shogun, and so Ayato suspects that nothing Aether wants is anything that would threaten him. It surprises him, mildly, that the traveler declined an evening with Thoma — Ayato thought that prize would have been irresistible to a young man like him, and he's taken the measure of Aether enough to see the desire flickering behind the traveler's irises when he looks at Thoma — but it makes sense, in a way. Not all men are greedy enough to seize what is offered to them.
Well, if Thoma won't do, Ayato thinks, as the wooden doors creak open and Aether slinks into his office, that's fine.
He has the feeling that he will strike a different bargain in his own way.]
Ah, Aether. Come in. I was just thinking about you.
[Was he? Well, not particularly — not much more than on any other day, or than he would about anybody else — but it's just one of those things he's learned to say. Mechanical reassurances he's learned to give. It doesn't mean anything. Shouldn't mean anything, in the way that almost nothing means anything when it comes to Kamisato Ayato.]
[It's not really that Aether wants to be compensated, though he understands why the Yashiro Commissioner might see it that way. Really, there's a part of Aether that wants to avoid entanglements with Ayato altogether. It's not quite that he doesn't trust Ayato, given that Ayaka and Thoma clearly adore him — but Aether only trusts Ayato to operate in a certain way. He acts in his own self-interest, in a selfless way: he only does what is best for the Yashiro Commission, and for Inazuma as a whole. And then, when it comes to things he might do for himself, there is, strangely, nothing. Aether doesn't trust him at all when it comes to personal matters. He's not sure Ayato even understands personal matters, the way that give-and-take doesn't need to operate on a political, nationwide scale.
But if it's for Thoma — if it's for something like getting Ayato to see that the people under his command don't have to be expendable, even though Aether understands full well how the years and tides of making terrible decisions have brought Ayato to the point that he considers others expendable — then he'll tolerate it. He can put himself at risk. He figures he can put himself at risk because he handles threat and danger better than most, and this, in its own way, is Aether's own brand of selfish selfishness.
So maybe they're not so different after all.]
...Ayato.
[The traveler enters the room, polite yet rude in his own way. Normally, he thinks, the desk would be lower, and they would both sit upon their knees, but Ayato, seemingly, has prepared Mondstadtian furnishings for the occasion. Interesting choice. Aether isn't from Mondstadt either, but that's fine.
He walks over to Ayato's table, then takes a seat, as bidden. The proper thing in Inazuma, of course, is to bow to the commissioner. He does no such thing, and Ayato expects no such thing of him. As a traveler, a foreigner, he has never been required to adhere to things like tradition.]
I've completed the mission. I trust you find my results satisfactory.
[Aether doesn't like to falter, but he can't help it; he falters all the same when Kaeya draws close, bringing his handsome lips too-near Aether's own. The young man isn't stupid — he knows what Kaeya is, what he came here for, what they're about to do, and what he's paid for — but even so, his heart is somehow not yet ready.]
I — I think so. [He stuttered. He hates that he stuttered; embarrassment floods his cheeks with warmth.] I mean — yes.
[Ah, now he's done it. And how is he supposed to pick it all up, piece it all together? Even if it's just for tonight, even if Kaeya's being paid to treat him kindly for the evening, Aether just can't stand the thought of being looked down upon, of being thought of as a mere child who is only buying his way into adulthood.
Surging forward with a hitherto unseen confidence, the young man insists:]
I know what I want.
[His hand squeezes weakly around the "doctor's" fingers.]
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That day Dainsleif died, Aether had held Lumine tight in his arms and sworn that he'd be there for her if Dainsleif could not. The fact that it had involved wrenching out the part of him that wanted to cry, too — he pushed it all aside.
He told himself he only lived for her.
Well. They were much younger then, and part of growing up means parting ways with family. It's a running joke at their university that Aether must be the kind of older brother who'd fiercely defend his sister's honor at every turn, but Childe is a nice guy, really. Tall, handsome, personable. He's got a big family; Lumine and Aether only ever had each other. It hurts to look at him sometimes when he smiles. It must be nice to go over to his house, to hear the sounds of children running and laughing, breathe the scent of dinner sizzling in the kitchen. Aether wouldn't know. He's never been there.
Envy has formed a wedge between him and Lumine that he doesn't know how to breach. Lumine knows, but she's thinking about it the wrong way: she thinks he's just wrestling with the knowledge that his sister is her own woman now, that he doesn't like the man who's come to take her away from him. The reality is that sometimes when they're all on the couch together watching a movie, he thinks he wants to take Childe's hand and kiss him too, and when he gets those thoughts it's just easier for him to make an excuse to go to the kitchen and let himself feel hollow with his head pressed against the dining room table.
It's not like he's in love with Childe, of course; it's nothing like that. Aether's not that shallow. He never knew the man before he became his sister's boyfriend, and by then he'd accepted that Childe was something that belonged to Lumine. It's just that he — he wants things too, sometimes, and he's spent so long being his sister's brother that he doesn't even know where to find them, and at the same time, he really doesn't want to open up to anyone at all.
It's not as simple as saying that all his problems would be fixed if he found himself a nice boyfriend, too.
Childe says he's coming over, which means Lumine doesn't need Aether tonight. So he goes out. Where? It doesn't really matter. Lumine thinks Aether hates her boyfriend, so she doesn't ask, even though he's the kind of young man someone might feasibly worry about. He's small and delicate and pretty, the sort that gets into trouble, but he thinks he can handle himself and he isn't going to get into trouble. He takes his keys, his wallet, his phone. He says he'll be back in the morning.
He never really left himself room for romances of his own, but he has friends, of course. It would be stranger if he didn't. Aether thinks he could probably stay the night at any of his friends' houses — Xiao and Kazuha are rarely ever home, but Bennett and Chongyun and Xingqiu and Albedo keep regular hours — but he doesn't call anyone, doesn't text anyone. Doesn't want to bother anyone, because what is the problem, and how is he supposed to say it? How is he supposed to trust anyone to help him when he doesn't even know how to help himself?
It's curiosity that brings his feet where they wind up, in the end. One of them had been joking over lunch — it was probably Xingqiu, come to think of it — that he knew of a place, a good one. The kind of place that wouldn't lead to trouble, or your hands behind your back in silver cuffs. It's a physical therapy clinic, to all outward eyes, but it's basically run like a massage parlor with a few legitimate medical referrals. And if you're nice, and she likes you, Xingqiu had teased Chongyun, turning the other boy's ears scarlet, you can ask her for the secret menu, provided you have the money for a tip...
Well, it was all fun in the end, and Chongyun had pushed Xingqiu away in gentle admonishment (and he'd sort of been sporting a little bit of a boner but Aether was kind enough not to mention it), and someone had laughed and the conversation moved on. But even so. Aether filed it away in the back of his mind. The places Xingqiu goes, whether he's aware of it or not — they're nice places. You need money to get in.
(He imagines, like he's the suspect in a police procedural, what he'll say if anyone asks him why he did it. I don't know, he'll say. It was just something to do. He'll never, ever admit that maybe the ache in his chest feels like loneliness.)
It's the kind of place that doesn't really feel like a seedy rub-and-tug, which is probably better, all in all, for his nerves. The receptionist at the desk doesn't seem to mind taking a walk-in, though she looks a little troubled. We don't have any women on staff tonight. Is that alright with you? and he says fine, yeah, sure. Shouldn't it be a little obvious. He doesn't say that. His friends don't know, either, though he thinks some of them probably at least suspect it, the way he doesn't really talk about girls. She gives him a list of employees, rows and columns of faces; he, admittedly, picks the man he thinks will be least kind to him. The most handsome one, with the least sincere look in his eye. It's fine. He's acutely aware that even being here is a form of self-harm.
It kind of makes sense, the way they run things. Probably separates the perverted riffraff, who are more likely to be men, from the women with medical and physical needs for this kind of service. One woman, who has the general air of a lonely housewife about her, looks at him as he takes the seat across from her; he doesn't meet her gaze. Soon she's called in, and he's left to wait alone. He scrolls through his phone, feeling vaguely out-of-place and out-of-body.
The lights in the waiting room feel too bright. It's more like he's getting ready for a check-up at the doctor's than doing anything adventurous. Maybe he should have gone looking for someone on the street, but then, you know, he's not stupid.
His thumb hovers over the conversation he has with Lumine for a long time before the receptionist calls his name and he stows his phone away.
He's asked to shower, and he doesn't mind. He was more or less clean anyway, but he takes longer than he has to, since he knows there weren't any other clients after him, and the unfamiliar soap reminds him that he's anywhere but home. It's nice, to be honest. Feels sort of like how he imagines a spa would be, but he's never been to one of those, either. There's a bathrobe for him to wear afterwards, and the room's nice. The lighting's dimmer. There are plants and candles. The plants are probably fake.
The man waiting by the bed looks mildly amused as he eyes up his next client, and Aether suddenly feels all too acutely aware that he probably looks a little too young for this place.]
...Good evening. [What else is he supposed to say, in a place like this, for a purpose like this?] Sorry to trouble you.
[Oh. He regrets saying that immediately. Maybe it's a sign of his guilty conscience. Maybe he's dumber than he thinks he is.]
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The honest truth is that he hadn't particularly cared about what he would do with his life, and becoming a doctor was just the easy, respectable thing to want with the cards he'd been dealt in life.
But then, of course, came their father's death, and following that, a disastrous argument with Diluc that ended in the rightful heir to the family fortune unceremoniously tossing his adoptive brother out on his ass. Crepus Ragnvindr hadn't thought to set up any kind of trust fund for Kaeya, apparently, which both amused and didn't fucking surprise the young man. Just his luck, to have been the pity child; just his luck, to have always been the lesser son.
Maybe it wasn't an oversight. Maybe he was always meant to have nothing. The charity of taking him in was supposed to have been good enough.
So desperation led him here, to a place where he could quickly turn his half-completed medical training into a physical therapy license, then pay off all the loans and broken promises that have gotten him to where he is today. It's not exactly Kaeya's first brush with sex work. He's done it before, in a casual way — nothing dangerous, just "college friends" slipping him a few bills to fuck them stupid or do things with his tongue that they'd only ever dreamed of. No strings attached, no pimps, no tip jars, just casual sex with a few bonuses slipped in. But that was how he'd started to think of his body as a commodity, with the problem being that he didn't really even enjoy it, never particularly liked letting people into his space and his life. He'd considered camboy work before he decided that he didn't really like the social aspect of that either — subscriber counts, performing on demand, begging for tips. He's social, but not in that way. And so —
And so. This job. Perfect for his purposes, all things considered. Some anonymity is provided by the front desk; it looks like a legitimate thing on his resume, if ever he thinks he's financially stable and credible enough to switch to a "real" facility; and since he mostly only deals with shy and lonely women, most of his clients are quite satisfied to simply be rubbed and fingered toward release. Most of his clients are satisfied with his pretty face and his beautiful hands, his sultry whispers and his gentle demeanor, and the ones that get on their knees and beg for his cock, well — he doesn't have issues refusing them and telling them to take their money elsewhere. Some of the other men in the clinic do such things, but he makes it clear that he won't stand for it.
This boy that's unexpectedly walked in for his appointment, though — well.
Looking Aether over, at his long blond hair and the way he's holding his bathrobe shut as though embarrassed to disrobe — Kaeya decides that he might not mind breaking his own rules just once.]
It's no trouble at all.
[Smiling — it's more reflex than anything else — he gestures broadly at the bed that's been prepared for his next "patient."]
Come, take a seat. [His tone slips into the sort of thing it always is when he's on the clock: sly, subtly teasing. He affects, however unconsciously, the manner of a doctor.] Well? Where does it hurt?
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...I don't know. [That part's honest. Where does it hurt?] Everywhere, I guess. It hurts everywhere.
[He was probably expected to point to his dick or something. He's aware of that. Still, Aether lifts a small, delicate hand and rests it on his breast instead, past the fluffy material of the cheap bathrobe.]
It hurts here the most.
[A beat.]
...You can laugh. [Though he's being serious. But he knows that he's being melodramatic, too.] You probably get a lot of people who say things like that.
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Would you believe me if I said you're the first?
[It's true, too — that's a first. It hurts everywhere. Hurts here the most. Kaeya takes the measure of the golden creature that's walked into his office, wondering what exactly it is that ails him: chronic pain, loneliness, depression — perhaps just some perceived social pressure to lose his virginity.
None of that really matters, of course. At the end of the night, they'll likely never see each other again, never need each other again. But now, at least, in the moment — there's something about each of them that the other wants.
The physician leans in, smiling — the curve of his lips professional and predatory at the same time — and rests his hand atop Aether's, lacing their fingers together and pressing his palms into the boy's knuckles until their hands are joined. Their faces are close enough that Kaeya can feel Aether's breath on the exhale, but he doesn't mind. His guest for the night is uncommonly beautiful. There's a part of him that's wondering what the catch could be. There's always some kind of catch.]
And you're sure that this is what you want? For your poor, aching heart.
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The art of satisfaction can be such a bitter thing, when no one wants to give anything up, and Ayato has never given anything up. The things he wants to protect are too precious to give up, and too nebulous, too. There isn't a price in the world that could pay for Ayaka's innocence, or Thoma's loyalty, or the cutthroat edge of the Shuumatsuban at its worst.
Not that these aren't pawns, too, in their own way.
But — the traveler. Aether is a nice enough young man. Demanded nothing, after all was said and done with the Raiden Shogun, and so Ayato suspects that nothing Aether wants is anything that would threaten him. It surprises him, mildly, that the traveler declined an evening with Thoma — Ayato thought that prize would have been irresistible to a young man like him, and he's taken the measure of Aether enough to see the desire flickering behind the traveler's irises when he looks at Thoma — but it makes sense, in a way. Not all men are greedy enough to seize what is offered to them.
Well, if Thoma won't do, Ayato thinks, as the wooden doors creak open and Aether slinks into his office, that's fine.
He has the feeling that he will strike a different bargain in his own way.]
Ah, Aether. Come in. I was just thinking about you.
[Was he? Well, not particularly — not much more than on any other day, or than he would about anybody else — but it's just one of those things he's learned to say. Mechanical reassurances he's learned to give. It doesn't mean anything. Shouldn't mean anything, in the way that almost nothing means anything when it comes to Kamisato Ayato.]
Have a seat.
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But if it's for Thoma — if it's for something like getting Ayato to see that the people under his command don't have to be expendable, even though Aether understands full well how the years and tides of making terrible decisions have brought Ayato to the point that he considers others expendable — then he'll tolerate it. He can put himself at risk. He figures he can put himself at risk because he handles threat and danger better than most, and this, in its own way, is Aether's own brand of selfish selfishness.
So maybe they're not so different after all.]
...Ayato.
[The traveler enters the room, polite yet rude in his own way. Normally, he thinks, the desk would be lower, and they would both sit upon their knees, but Ayato, seemingly, has prepared Mondstadtian furnishings for the occasion. Interesting choice. Aether isn't from Mondstadt either, but that's fine.
He walks over to Ayato's table, then takes a seat, as bidden. The proper thing in Inazuma, of course, is to bow to the commissioner. He does no such thing, and Ayato expects no such thing of him. As a traveler, a foreigner, he has never been required to adhere to things like tradition.]
I've completed the mission. I trust you find my results satisfactory.
no subject
I — I think so. [He stuttered. He hates that he stuttered; embarrassment floods his cheeks with warmth.] I mean — yes.
[Ah, now he's done it. And how is he supposed to pick it all up, piece it all together? Even if it's just for tonight, even if Kaeya's being paid to treat him kindly for the evening, Aether just can't stand the thought of being looked down upon, of being thought of as a mere child who is only buying his way into adulthood.
Surging forward with a hitherto unseen confidence, the young man insists:]
I know what I want.
[His hand squeezes weakly around the "doctor's" fingers.]
...I want you.