There's a downside to being famous, thinks Aether.
Well, there's a lot of downsides, once he considers things.
One: terrible working conditions.
Aether can't help but shudder at the memories of Gladiator of the Archons, one of his most famous films. His fans fawn over it but all he thinks of are leather skirts that barely reached his knees, rubber swords that bruised when they hit, and the boiling Natlan heat that nearly melted his skin off.
Or One Dead Winter, a particular favorite that's often the subject of special screenings because of its artistic authenticity. Aether cringes, thinking of Snezhnaya in the literal dead of winter, sub-zero temperatures, and dark days where the sun never rose.
Aether never worked with Albedo again nor does he plan to, despite the man's begging. It isn't worth the waivers that legal requires.
Two: He's always in the public eye.
Aether isn't like his sister Lumine who soaks up the attention like a sponge, basking in all the glory. He loves to act— truly— but he hates the recognition that comes with it. He can't take one step outside his home.
Makes days like this where he actually has time off, an absolute pain in his ass. He sees them trailing him before they can make their move. Ducks around the corner and tucks against the wall, letting out an annoyed sigh.
Even here in Liyue, he can't get around without someone noticing him. All he wants is to enjoy some time to himself. Get out and see the sights, and most of all— be left alone.
Archons know that he doesn't get time to himself, always harped by his sister, his agent, or the project manager of whatever he's filming. Aether sighs, dragging a hand down his face. Presses flat against the building and starts to count to ten.
One.
"I think he went this way!"
Two.
"Ooh, can you imagine an autograph? Or even a picture?"
Three.
"I'd just about die."
Aether would too, but only because he's tired of catering to his fans. It isn't that he dislikes them, but they have their annoyances. He has about three bank boxes of fan mail he hasn't even started to touch.
The gaggle of girls pauses a little too close for his comfort, and Aether panics slightly, looking around. This is a rural part of Liyue and there isn't much to Qingce Village. Not many options to hide.
"To the left?" one whispers.
"Hm, I think I saw him turn the corner—"
Aether's gaze settles on a plain-looking door that's topped with an equally plain-looking sign. Then he smiles.
A better option than the alternative, he thinks as he ducks for the door and throws himself inside.
#
Kazuha Kaedehara's days are very simple.
He wakes in the morning and brews a nice cup of tea. He sits on his small little balcony, enjoys his drink and a light breakfast, and watches the serene scenery that Liyue has to offer. Then he cleans up and heads downstairs to the first level, where his bookshop is located.
There, he spends his day sitting around his mostly empty shop, rearranging shelves and sweeping the floors. He lazes away in the large bay window, flipping through poetry books, preferring the days when there are no visitors even if his bank account doesn't.
When his days are done, Kazuha heads back upstairs and takes a bath. Relaxes his sore muscles from standing and leaning over all day, and the tension melts away with warm steam and soap.
It's quaint. It's quiet. Exactly what Kazuha prefers.
Which is why he's rather unamused when his next customer blows into his shop like a violent wind, slamming the door shut behind him. A book falls from the closest bookshelf.
The traveler looks sheepish at least, scratching at his head. "Ah, sorry," he murmurs, darting for the book and picking it up. Kazuha watches as he puts it back upside-down. "Didn't mean to— uh— well, you know."
Kazuha looks at him blandly. "I don't know," he says quietly. It isn't that he doesn't like people, or that he's unkind; he just likes propriety, which the traveler seems to be lacking in droves. Some parts of his past aren't so easily forgotten, try as he might. "Where's the fire?" he asks.
"Ah, I'm being chased so I ducked into here. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it? Trying to keep my day on the down-low."
Kazuha just stares at the man, taking in his appearance. Long, blonde hair and casual clothes. Gaudy sunglasses. A hat and a scarf, despite the warm weather. Fall doesn't come for another month.
Peculiar, thinks Kazuha, now mildly intrigued. He's always rather liked puzzles.
The traveler fidgets and then says, "Look, if you want an autograph for your silence, I'll happily sign anything you've got."
Kazuha, who was reading before being so rudely interrupted, flips his book upside-down and settles it over his knee. "Autograph?" he asks, genuinely confused. What use would he have for such a thing?
The traveler blinks, hesitant. "Um… yeah?"
"I fail to see the relevance?"
"You fail— wait, you don't recognize me?"
Kazuha frowns. "Should I?"
To Kazuha's surprise, the other man laughs. "I— oh, Gods, I—" He pauses and clears his throat. "Sorry about that, I just wasn't expecting you to say that."
"So, I should have recognized you?" asks Kazuha, cocking his head to the side. There isn't anything there aside from a minor twinge of familiarity.
"No, no, I— I guess I'm known for my craft back home. Not so used to being elsewhere."
Kazuha hums at that, taking in this information. "A foreigner, then," he surmises. "I suppose that's where the lack of manners might come from." The traveler stops chuckling, his eyes widening in fear. "It was a joke," continues Kazuha, "Perhaps a little cruel. I'm often told that my humor doesn't always translate well."
The other man relaxes and then finally looks around the shop, poking at the bookshelves in interest. "Nice… um, shop?"
"Should that have sounded like a question?"
"Is that still a joke?"
This time, it's Kazuha who laughs, rather entertained. "If you so wish. Take it as you will, and look around I suppose. I'll be here if you have any questions." He leans back against the window of his nook, the sunlight warming his back. Opens his book once more, finding his spot in the words and—
"Migratory Patterns of Dihua Marsh Fowl," reads aloud his new customer. "What a title." Then, after a pause, he says quieter, "What a topic."
Kazuha glances up from his book briefly. "Authors write what they know."
"Maybe that's why poetry is so heartfelt."
"Poetry?"
The traveler shows off the next book he's pulled from the shelves, tapping the title. "I like it well enough, even if I don't always get it. But maybe that's the point."
"Poetry that doesn't have a meaning isn't poetry," says Kazuha stiffly.
The traveler blinks and then chuckles. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't. I—"
"Are you a poet?" the traveler asks him.
Kazuha used to be, back in the day. When his life was harder and there was less that truly mattered to him. He was nothing but a cog in a clock, ticking by every day with expectations. Poetry was his escape, in those days. Words laid upon a page carefully with the intent to vent whatever it was that he felt.
His life is far better now that he's chosen to live for himself, but he stopped composing. It always seemed so lackluster in the wake of his new happiness. Strange, how little there is to inspire him now.
Eventually, Kazuha says, "At times." It's truthful enough without being a lie, worming little things he isn't fond of.
"Fitting, I guess," says the man with interest. He taps the book with his finger. "Is this one good?"
"It isn't," says Kazuha, "Truly dreadful, actually."
"What would you suggest then? I could use a book to read while in town."
Kazuha blinks, mildly surprised. He's used to finding books for others, sure, but it's never a solicited opinion. People come in knowing exactly what they want. This man looks like he came in not even knowing Kazuha sold books.
"Poetry?" The man nods. "What themes do you like?"
The man turns a little pink in the face. "Ah, romance? Something happy? I don't really, uh… Maybe that isn't something that most men enjoy—"
"It's perfectly fine to have your preferences, no matter what they are." Kazuha stands and closes his book. Finds his way to the shelf opposite the traveler. "Try this one," he says, pulling forth a dusty copy of something a little older. "Perhaps traditional compared to newer things, but it's a classic nonetheless."
The traveler smiles as Kazuha rings him up and pays the slightly inflated price without a complaint, so different from the haggling locals. Kazuha packs the book neatly and sets it into a bag.
When the traveler reaches the door and opens it, he pauses. "I'm Aether," he says suddenly. "Uh, just in case we see each other again."
"Aether," muses Kazuha, testing the name. It isn't the easiest to pronounce but he manages. "I am Kaedehara Kazuha, the humble owner of this book shop."
The man smiles back, something soft and quaint, and for a moment, there's a pang that slices through Kazuha's heart. It's been a long time since feelings like this have stirred, set in motion by a handsome face with a wide smile.
He isn't sure that he likes or wants it. And yet, Kazuha smiles back and offers him a little wave.
#
"You know, I don't read that much."
Aether doesn't know why he says it. Or why he's bothered to come back to the book shop time and time again. Several weeks have passed and it feels like he spends more time here than he does on set.
But he read the book of poetry that Kazuha suggested to him, and true to his words, he'd enjoyed it. So, he went back for more. Aether's picked his way through four different selections, all of it poetry that truly speaks well— simple in its words and presentation, and very forthright.
It's been a long time since he's enjoyed something. And, really, it isn't just the poetry— he enjoys Kazuha's company as well.
"Oh?" asks Kazuha from across the shop. "Could have fooled me with how often you drop by." He isn't reading today, he's sweeping the floors instead. Aether leans against a shelf as he watches, his eyes lingering on the man's relaxed face.
Kazuha is handsome in an understated way. Wouldn't stand out in a crowd, but pleasing when singled out. Not that Aether is paying attention to such things. It certainly isn't why he's come back time and time again.
"Soon I'll run out of suggestions," says Kazuha with a gentle laugh.
"That'd be a shame," says Aether, pushing away from the stacks. "Then I'd have no reason to come around and I think that my days would become quite boring."
Kazuha pauses at that, looking at him. His mouth parts, unsure what to say and first. Aether wants to slap himself— what a dumb thing to say. He isn't here to flirt, he doesn't want to—
Well, he does. Some part of him, at least. Kazuha's become a decent friend and Aether wonders just how soft his hair might be were he to run his fingers through it.
Kazuha doesn't seem bothered, however. Just surprised. Eventually, he says, "You don't need a reason to come here."
"So it's alright if I come to see you, then?" asks Aether.
Kazuha's mouth tips into a little grin. "What was it that you said earlier? Your days would become rather boring if you didn't? I feel the same."
"You told me that you liked how quiet the shop is."
"You aren't loud," says Kazuha kindly. "But perhaps it's just that I've realized how much I've missed having a friend."
For some reason, his words seem to carry a little weight. Until now, Aether thought that Kazuha was a solitary and lonesome man, but perhaps he'd been wrong. It isn't that he wasn't friendly at first, but friendliness and politeness are different things.
The more that Aether stops by the shop, the more Kazuha seems to open up. And Aether loves it, the genuine camaraderie they've formed. On his days away from the set he often spends hours here, poking through books.
And Kazuha never kicks him out, letting him do his thing as he mills about his workday. So, Aether sits in the window seat, a common occurrence lately. Sometimes he reads, sometimes he surfs his phone. Sometimes he watches Qingce Village bustle outside.
Kazuha talks little about himself and a lot about everything else. Aether does the same. It's such a rare thing to meet a person who has no idea who he is. Kazuha doesn't watch much television or see many movies. Doesn't pay attention to billboards either, because he's never recognized Aether's well-known face.
And Aether knows he should be careful. Tells himself that he can't let himself fall too deep. He isn't in Liyue forever, he's got barely a month of on-location filming left. When he goes back home, Kazuha will be left to his quiet lonesome once again.
He wonders if Kazuha would prefer that.
"For my next suggestion," murmurs Kazuha quietly. He's set his broom aside and found his way into the stacks, running his fingers along the spines of his wares. But then he sighs, resigned, and steps behind the sales counter instead. He pulls a book from the cabinet that's locked. "Perhaps this time, something a little more modern. Ah— don't give me that look. I think it'll still suit you."
Aether's mouth snaps shut before he can reply. He takes the book from Kazuha's hands and runs his fingers over the title. "Modern Compositions in Regards to Love. This doesn't sound much like poetry," he says. Then, he lets out a soft, content sigh. "You truly have a little bit of everything, don't you? What a wonderful place."
Kazuha preens under the praise. "Ah, I've put a lot of work into this place over the years." He runs a hand down the length of one of the hardwood shelves, regarding it fondly.
Aether watches him for a moment too long because Kazuha looks so handsome when he's like this— truly engrossed in the place he loves so much. Aether swallows and then says, "How much do I owe you?"
"Hm? Oh… Just borrow it. It's a special edition. You can give it back later."
"Kazuha, I can't—"
Kazuha laughs, full and hearty, not the usually soft chuckles that Aether hears from him. "Nonsense," he says, "And you will. I insist, just as I would for you to come back. Otherwise, I might get lonely."
Aether's fingers tighten around the book as they meet glances. Kazuha smiles back, wide and genuine, beaming like the sun. Aether is doomed, swallowing thickly as he tucks the book away into his bag.
They say their goodbyes as they usually do. When Aether leaves the shop, there's a twinge of sadness. He really would just rather wrap up in a blanket and sit in the bay window until night falls.
It's only later when he's tucked into his hotel bed, that Aether gets a better look at the book he's been lent. His breath stutters as he smooths a hand over the foil leaf.
Kaedehara Kazuha.
#
While Kazuha expects Aether to show up in his shop at literally any moment, he certainly doesn't expect a journalist.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid that I don't understand," says Kazuha, pausing in his sweeping.
"Aether," the journalist says, holding a tape recorder out, "We saw him come out of here yesterday, and there's a rumor that he's been seen around this shop rather frequently. So, spill— what's your relationship with him?"
"I'm…" Kazuha frowns. "I'm very confused as to why you would care?"
"Anything that concerns The Hero of Mondstadt, concerns the public as well."
"The who?"
The journalist blinks, surprised. And then he smiles incredulously. "Now don't be coy," says the man, slapping Kazuha on the shoulder. Kazuha shrugs him off without a word. "I understand wanting to keep him all to yourself, and if I were dating the most famous actor in Teyvat, I'd likely play dumb too. But I'm willing to pay you a lot for first deets on your relationship with him."
At first, Kazuha doesn't know exactly how to respond. The most famous actor in Teyvat, the man just said to him. He thinks it's a joke, but the more that he entertains the thought, the more that he realizes it must be true. Why else would a journalist come and offer him money? No such thing would occur if it wasn't true.
Then, Kazuha remembers that very first day they met, and what Aether said to him then: Look, if you want an autograph for your silence, I'll happily sign anything you've got.
Kazuha's mind is reeling.
On one hand, he understands. Likely, Aether has never had privacy and the moment he found some, he'd clung to it with a death grip. On the other hand, they are friends, they've become close, and Kazuha likes him a little more than he should. Pesky feelings that he should've stamped out forever ago.
Aether warned him that he wasn't local and won't be in town for long, and Kazuha still fell for the man. And now his heart burns, hurt by the fact that Aether couldn't find the decency to at least be honest with him, even now.
"Well?" says the journalist, holding his recorder out.
"I…" Kazuha sighs, his fingers tightening around his broomstick. "We are nothing," he finally says with resolve. "Only acquaintances. He comes here frequently to buy books to read in his off time. That's the extent of my affairs with him." The words feel sour the moment they leave his mouth and his brain screams that it's a lie, a lie, a lie.
The journalist's eyes narrow, like he's about to push for more, but Kazuha sweeps the broom against the man's ankles. "That's all that I have to say on the matter, so, if you'll excuse me."
Kazuha expects the journalist to fight, but he doesn't, seemingly accepting the pitiful excuse at face value. "All right then," says the man, tucking his equipment away. He leaves without much of a fight, and Kazuha watches after him.
He's always enjoyed the mystery that surrounded Aether, treating getting to know him like it was a game. And, for the first time in a long time, Kazuha considered opening his heart to let Aether right in. Ignored those warning bells in his head because he'd forgotten how nice it was, being with someone. Seems as though it'd been a mistake. He should've known better.
Happiness has never been meant for a man like Kazuha, who's far better in his lonesome.
#
Aether slips into the bookshop quietly, a smile on his face. "Kazuha? I've brought coffee. I know it's a little late in the day, but the girl at the cafe remembers your morning order and—" Aether pauses, his brow furrowing. "Is everything alright?"
Kazuha leans against the sales counter, his arms crossed over his chest and an indecipherable look on his face. "I had an interesting day today," he starts, his voice quiet and cool, a tone that Aether doesn't like right off the bat. "A journalist came to speak to me, asking all sorts of interesting questions."
Aether's breath hitches, already knowing where this is going. Over his weeks of grousing about feelings, his sister warned him. Lumine was right, he should've told Kazuha the truth and he never did.
Kazuha laughs but it lacks mirth. "You know, ever since the moment you walked in here, something nagged at me. I recognized you, somehow, I just couldn't place it."
"I can explain—"
Kazuha tosses a magazine onto the counter, one of those terrible gossip rags that can be found at any cafe or convenience store. "Turns out I've seen these just about every day for years."
"Kazuha—"
"Did you not trust me?" asks Kazuha, finally looking at him. And Aether hates it, the strangled, hurt look that he finds there. "I had thought we were—" He stops abruptly, frowning, and then continues with, "Friends."
Aether knows Kazuha was about to say something else entirely, and his heart cracks. He swallows, his throat dry. "It isn't so simple."
"Simple?" Kazuha laughs again, tired and bitter. "Do you know what isn't simple, Aether? Falling for a man that you thought you knew, only to learn that he's told you nothing."
It's rage that Aether feels in response, of all things. "And what about you?" he snaps, dropping the coffee he bought onto the counter. "What do I know about you, then? Have you kept anything from me? Kazuha, I didn't even know that you were published until you randomly loaned me that book—"
"This isn't about me," cuts in Kazuha, "It's about—"
"My point is that it's a two-way street," says Aether in a low hiss. He shouldn't respond this way, but he isn't wrong that Kazuha hasn't been forthright when it comes to himself. "I don't know much about you, aside from this bookshop."
Kazuha's mouth wavers. "You want to know more?" he asks, "Fine, then. I am Kaedehara Kazuha, eldest son of one of the oldest noble families in Inazuma. Big things were expected of me, but I wanted none of them. You see, I fell in love with my oldest friend Tomo who went and did something stupid, and got himself killed."
Aether's mouth snaps shut as Kazuha speaks, rambling on and on.
"I wandered forever, you know. His death nearly broke me, so I left home. Never stayed in one place; but then I came here and for the first time in a long time, it felt right. So I bought this dumb bookshop that was falling apart, and I poured everything that I had into it. And things were better, but I still couldn't bring myself to write poetry. My days, while decent, were still a struggle."
"Kazuha," starts Aether quietly, and Kazuha barrels right over him.
"Do you know when the next time I felt that feeling was?" asks Kazuha, "That same thing I felt the first time I watched the sunset in this small village? It was the day I loaned my book to you. I felt like finally, I could find some peace."
Aether bites at his lip, unsure what to say. Doesn't feel like there's anything he can do to remotely redeem himself. He just watches Kazuha through a blurred gaze.
Kazuha sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. "I think that you should leave."
"I didn't mean for—"
"I know that you didn't," says Kazuha quietly, "But this is one of those times where the damage is done. And do you know what the worst part is, Aether? You could have just been honest from the start. It wouldn't have changed my interest in you. I still would have enjoyed our days together."
Aether bites at his lip. "Kazuha, I need to tell you that I love—"
"Don't," pleads Kazuha. It's the first crack in his carefully maintained composure. "Please, don't. Just... leave."
Were Aether like his sister Lumine, he'd stay, demanding for Kazuha to listen and sweep him off his feet. But Aether isn't. He doesn't have confidence in himself, or anything that he does.
So, he listens to Kazuha. He sighs gently as he drags a hand through his hair. Then he leaves, giving Kazuha one last glance as he stands in the front door frame.
Aether doesn't think the shop's ever looked so grim.
#
Once upon a time, Kazuha lost the man that he loved and was thoroughly convinced that another would never take his place. It was a fine existence. He lived every day with quiet intent.
And then, one day, an actor named Aether threw himself through his shop door. Kazuha caught feelings like the protagonist in a terrible rom-com, which only led to the biggest mistake he's ever made: telling Aether to leave.
It's been a year. One Liyuen Sunset wrapped up its production about an eternity ago. Kazuha doesn't know where Aether is and doesn't keep up with the gossip.
But he does think about him, no matter how he tries not to. Aether haunts his thoughts and dreams, and whatever pathetic memories that Kazuha tries to forget.
He never watches television, despite having one, but it's late that night and he can't sleep. So he flips through the channels until he sees the one face that makes his heart lurch.
Aether nearly said it, how he shared those same, soft and understated feelings. Kazuha stopped him before he'd finished the sentence. The right choice, he tells himself, even though he knows it wasn't.
His thumb hovers over the channel button, but then he drops the remote.
Kazuha has never watched a movie that Aether's acted in, but he tucks in for this one, watching as a romance unfolds on the screen, the colors blurring in his wet eyes.
When the movie is over, Kazuha pens a poem, the first in years. Minutes meld into hours, and night bleeds into the morning. The sun has already risen and the day has started when Kazuha adds his last few lines.
"And it is tonight that I can write the saddest of lines/And that is to know that I do not have him/And that is to feel that I've all but lost him," he murmurs, testing out the meter with rusty practice. "Though this be the last pain he makes me suffer/And these the last verse that I write for him."
A poem for one man, and one man alone, heartfelt and saddened words that Kazuha will mail to him, putting an end to this madness. Finally, he thinks, I'll be able to move on.
He dresses simply. Folds the poem into perfect thirds. Presses the envelope closed with care. And then he leaves to head to the post.
Halfway down the road, Kazuha comes to a stop, blocked by someone standing in the path before him. And, it should be dread that fills him, he thinks, as the hand that holds his poem shakes uncontrollably.
Aether watches him back, looking tired but good, so good. Not the sickly pale, or the unhealthy gauntness that Kazuha had last peeked on the cover of a tabloid.
They both stand there awkwardly for a moment, but it's Aether that says something first. He closes the distance, grabbing Kazuha by the wrist before he can run away.
"I can't," says Aether, his words coming in a rush, "I can't forget about you. Or the time spent in the shop. How we would talk for hours, or just sit and not talk at all. Your book of poetry... you never asked for it back, and it sits on my bedside table and I read it every night before I go to sleep."
"Aether—"
"I should've told you," he cuts in, his face flushed with fervor, "Archons, there is so much I should've told you, and my sister is right, I'm the dumbest man alive. But Kazuha, none of that changes it. I had to come back and tell you."
Kazuha swallows thickly. "Tell me what?"
Aether chuckles, a soft, breathy sort of thing. He raises a hand and presses it against Kazuha's jaw, thumbing over the arch of his cheek. "That I love you."
It's Kazuha who reaches out, curling his fingers into Aether's shirt. And it's he who pulls him closer, pressing his lips against Aether's mouth. Aether jerks in surprise but returns the kiss, his hand slipping back to sink into Kazuha's hair.
The kiss isn't life-changing. It's not even the best of kisses, but Kazuha's breath is all but stolen away as he chases after those feelings he'd thought he lost so long ago.
When Aether pulls back, he presses their foreheads together, his eyes slipping closed. "I'm sorry," he murmurs so sincerely that it nearly breaks Kazuha's heart.
"Shh," says Kazuha, "None of that now."
"This is my fault—"
"I'm to blame," says Kazuha. "I should have listened. I should have never sent you away." The moment stretches comfortably as they hold on to each other. And then Kazuha asks, "Did your sister truly say you were the dumbest man alive?"
"Yes," says Aether. Then he sees the envelope in Kazuha's hand. "What's this?"
"A poem," says Kazuha, "Penned to a lost love. Seems that I don't need it anymore."
Aether wants to laugh at that, Kazuha can tell. "I always have the worst timing."
"I would think it's the best. Prevented me from making another dumb decision."
Aether brings Kazuha's hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. "Let's go back inside. You can read it to me."
"It's sad," says Kazuha.
"I love you, so I think that I'll survive."
Kazuha smiles, a soft little thing. "Like to say that, don't you?"
"I dreamed of it for over a year. I'll say it forever."
Aether steps back and holds out his hand, waiting patiently for Kazuha to take it. Kazuha looks, watching him for a long moment, taking in his appearance and soaking up the happiness that he feels.
After Tomo, Kazuha never thought he'd find it ever again.
It feels good to have been so entirely wrong.
