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When Thoma first arrives in Inazuma, he doesn’t know which name to offer.
His first name, of course, is a given. He likes it, he’s proud of it, it makes sense to him. Thoma. It’s a good name. It suits him. The last name, however, is a bit more of a challenge.
He could give his father’s last name, the one he was born with, but he hasn’t used that last name in years. He could give his mother’s last name, which would at least make some more sense. He’s signed it on legal documents in Mondstadt, but he highly doubts that’s where he is now, so it doesn’t really matter. Besides, running away to find his father is definitely grounds for his mother’s name to become obsolete. He could even give the name of the family he used to serve in Mondstadt, although they stopped calling him a servant a while back.
It’s a complex issue. Thoma wishes he could convey it all to the person in front of him, but he is in a rather unfortunate position, being half-drowned and delirious.
“Hello?” the person’s voice asks, although they’re sounding more and more disembodied by the second. “Are you still with me?”
Despite his weakening resolve, he manages to choke out, “Thoma,” followed by, “don’t have a last name.”
His rescuer looks at him for a moment, head tilted to the side. Their hair is long and pale, sweeping down in a curtain. Like the waterfall at Springvale. “You can have my last name, then, if you wish.”
“You must be an angel,” Thoma mumbles, at which point his vision goes dark and his head hits the sand.
Thoma would later learn that his welcome was from none other than Lord Kamisato Ayato himself. A great first impression, his lord calls it, though Thoma’s never been too sure. It does make a pretty amusing story for guests, though, so he lets it slide.
***
“Look at this,” Ayato declares in lieu of a greeting. As usual, he’s let himself in uninvited, but Thoma doesn’t mind.
“My lord- “
Ayato waves a hand carelessly through the air. “No, no, this is about you.” He drops something on Thoma’s bed, right in front of him. It’s a piece of paper, pink with red ink staining the front in neat kanji lettering. “ This was sent to you . At our address. Isn’t it curious?”
Picking up the paper, he turns it over in his fingers pointlessly. He’s really not sure what the purpose is, since most people who want to reach him are already within the Yashiro Commission and they have some well-connected internal communications. The Inazuman mail system wouldn’t be necessary for those kinds of letters.
“Thoma,” Ayato huffs impatiently. “Open it already.”
His hands remain perfectly still on the paper’s seal. It feels like cold dread. “My lord,” Thoma says quietly, “do you know what this is?”
“I might have an inkling,” Ayato admits, “but you do as well, don’t you?” A slight smile dances around his lips, and something in Thoma’s chest dances to match.
Thoma simply sighs, resigning himself, and breaks the seal. He does it neatly, precisely, using his nail as an indent to preserve the original seal as much as possible. It’s a beautiful letter, he has to admit, although as he reads its contents he begins to understand why.
I think you’re very handsome, and you’re so charming too- Please consider meeting me! I will be at the garden fence two hours after sunset-
And that’s his cue to stop reading.
“What’s the verdict?” Ayato asks casually, too casually. Something in the lightness of his tone seems forced, stiff. Like the voice he uses when he has to give people strategic advice that he secretly despises.
“It’s- “ Thoma internally winces, though judging by Ayato’s tiny headshake, he may have externally winced as well. “I, uh, I think it’s a confession letter?”
“Clearly.” Ayato plops himself down on Thoma’s bed, crossing his legs over one another like a child waiting for a reward. “I mean ,” he draws out the vowels, “are you going to accept?”
Thoma sputters. “What?” His face is hot, hotter than the spots his pyro vision sometimes inflicts when he leaves it on his bare skin for too long, hotter than he feels under four layers of coats in the summer. He’s sure that Ayato has noticed, mainly because of the rising smirk on his face, threatening to break into a full mischievous grin.
“You know what I asked.”
“My lord, I- “ Thoma clears his throat, hoping to regain some composure. For the most part, the attempt fails, but it was worth a try. “I would never accept something like this. My loyalties lie with the Kamisato household, with the Yashiro Commission,” he drops his voice a little, “and with you.”
Ayato stares at him for a long moment. He fidgets under his discerning gaze, wondering if Ayato can see into the deepest recesses of his brain, if he knows that Thoma wouldn’t accept someone else’s confession even if his loyalties were free as the Mondstadt wind.
“Have you taken a closer look at the front?” asks Ayato, finally. His voice sounds much heavier now, the excitement that had briefly possessed him more subtle now.
Instead of responding, Thoma folds the paper closed again. The handwriting on the front is very clean and neat, and it depicts a name - his name. With one little difference.
Kamisato Thoma .
Even though they’re virtually the same height now, Ayato manages to smile down at him. “That’s highly improper, isn’t it?” His voice is strangely smooth, like silk floating through the night air. Thoma gets the feeling that he’s being made fun of, though it has all the wrong effects on him.
“Y- yes, my lord,” he forces out, “I suppose it is.”
Once Ayato’s gone, he tears off the front part of the note, with his name and his house’s last name, and tucks it into his shirt pocket. Maybe the confession is useless, but the kanji, at the very least, means something to him.
***
“Ain’t done nothing wrong.”
Thoma can almost see the speaker on the other side of the dimly lit alleyway; they’re scowling at him, kicking at gravel, thinking he’s an officer or something. To be fair, he is technically an officer of the Yashiro commission, but his job is so flexible that no one has bothered to give him a title.
“Somehow I sincerely doubt that,” sighs Thoma, almost bored.
A scoff. “You don’t have any proof, Tenryou boy.”
He can’t help but laugh, just a little bit. “Wrong commission, my friend,” he says, tone as light as he can force it to sound. “Although I do have proof. Right here, in fact, in the records of our previous dealings. You might remember me as Madame Yuu? Frequent buyer?”
Dramatic gasps from the space across from him. It’s almost like this has been scripted. Again, he wants to laugh. This is his element, Thoma has realized, and the Kamisato siblings have seen it as well. So maybe he bends the law a little bit, but he’s upholding it in the end. It’s all good. No harm done.
“You’re bluffing,” a different voice states, matter-of-fact. Thoma mentally readjusts, preparing himself to deal with two people instead of just one in the case of a fight.
“Nope.” He shakes his head, even though they probably can’t see it in the shadows. “If you want to see the records I can make you a copy, but my lord and lady are pretty busy, so you might have to wait a bit.” His grin turns a little more maniacal, but luckily, no one is there to witness his lapse in character. “I’ll try to prioritize your request, though!”
“Hang on,” the first voice says shakily. “You’re - “
Thoma braces himself. There’s a lot of names that people call him, especially in the less legal circles that he floats around. Invasive scoundrel and filthy outlander are some of the tamer ones. He tries not to let them sting, but they always do, just a little.
“ - the Kamisato boy,” they finish, more than a note of fear in their voice.
Wait. The … what?
“I’m certainly not Lord Ayato,” he says, more as a defense to his lord than to himself.
“Obviously,” they scoff, and somehow he feels a sense of relief. “The other one. The one who does the dirty work to ruin our deals. The blond one, originally a Mondstadter.”
That’s definitely him, Thoma realizes. He searches for something to reply with, but draws a complete mental blank. His mind flits back to the paper, still in his room, the front of the letter that reads Kamisato Thoma , back to the soft glance he sends it every morning, when he allows himself approximately ten seconds to fantasize about becoming worthy of that name.
“That’s me,” he starts hesitantly. “But I’m really not a Kamis- “
“We’re done for,” the second one says in an undertone.
“Well, yes, I suppose you are,” Thoma replies conversationally. “Still, I’m not - “
He cuts himself off as he realizes he’s talking to an empty alleyway in the dead of night. Footsteps retreat back to the main street, fleeing from him for no good reason. He almost wants to yell after them, but he doesn’t want to risk waking the city folk.
The name should sound wrong, Thoma tells himself as he walks back to Komore Teahouse to spend the remainder of the night. Then again, he also should have thrown out the letter in its entirety. He also should never have allowed Ayato to offer his name in the first place.
***
Somehow, despite his constant protests, it becomes a thing.
Thoma is confronted with it everywhere. He’ll go out for dinner with one of the Ritou officers, and the waitress will insist on sending the bill to the Kamisato household. He’ll go fetch Ayaka’s latest order of fabric from Ogura’s, and he’ll be addressed as a Kamisato family member. He’ll go to Komore Teahouse and be led directly into the Kamisato private room. And of course -
“How could I possibly refuse a Kamisato?” Kiminami Anna chuckles, almost to herself. “Yes, of course we can complete your order.”
Truth be told, Thoma’s fine with this sort of thing in private. Obviously, if his guilty imagination placing his name next to the last name of his lord is any indication. When his thoughts are quiet, he might even enjoy being called by that name, something in his chest weighing a lot less. But with company, it’s a little different.
From his side, Lumine shoots him a look. He can’t quite decipher it, but he can assume its meaning perfectly well.
Thoma just shrugs in silent reply.
“Will you be delivering it to the estate, Thoma?” Anna asks.
“Uh! Yeah, I will be,” he forces a laugh, scratching the back of his neck despite the voice in his brain whispering that tells won’t get him anywhere, “no need to worry about that.”
He goes through the catering list for the upcoming Commission meeting, listing off everything that needs to be kept separate, while Anna listens patiently and takes notes. Once they’ve gone through it all, Anna tells them it’ll be about two hours, and Lumine promptly drags him in the opposite direction with barely an opportunity to say goodbye.
The Traveler leads him to the suburbs, where she plops herself down by the big tree in the center. Thoma sits next to her, and the cats all saunter over to discreetly sit close to him.
“Sorry, kitties, I don’t have any treats today,” he whispers, as if they can understand him. Some of them turn back with badly concealed sadness.
“Kamisato, huh?” Lumine mutters, just low enough to sound threatening.
Thoma swallows. It feels much more difficult than usual. “Not really.”
Lumine raises a single eyebrow at his non-answer.
“It’s just what people call me,” he protests, holding up both hands in a gesture of innocence. “My lord and my lady are very kind, and have welcomed me into their family. I’m forever grateful to them both, not just for taking me in, but for being my companions.”
“Oh, okay,” grumbles Lumine, sounding almost petulant. She sullenly holds out a hand to one of the cats, who nuzzles into her palm; she looks briefly pacified, before remembering herself and putting on an aloof face again.
“I protest it every time, but no one listens,” Thoma admits. “I sort of wish they wouldn’t do it.”
“Why?” Lumine looks off at something in the distance, her gaze fixated firmly on a safe target. Thoma gets the feeling that she’s trying to avoid looking at him so that he can’t read her eyes. “If I had their last name, I’d wear it with pride.”
“I don’t, though.”
Lumine blinks. “You just said that’s what people call you.”
“Yeah.” Thoma shifts nervously under her unusually piercing gaze. “It’s not my name, though. I’m from Mondstadt, so my last name is Mondstadtian. I don’t know which one to use, though. I suppose people just default to my house name.”
“You said the Kamisato family has welcomed you in,” Lumine fires back. It feels like an interrogation, except that Thoma doesn’t know what crimes he’s been charged with.
“I meant as a friend,” he says hurriedly. “And I’m sure I’ll never be their equal, of course, I’m a servant, that’s only natural.”
Lumine suddenly looks as though he’s said something atrocious. Her hand comes to a complete stop on a cat’s fur.
“What?” he asks with a laugh that is definitely nervous.
“From what Ayaka tells me, you’re more than her equal,” Lumine says gently. The corner of her mouth quirks up into a sad sort of smile. “And I’m sure Ayato feels the same.”
Those last words nearly make him blanch. Those are the exact words he’s been trying to convince himself are a lie for the last several years.
“You deserve her, I guess,” Lumine sighs wistfully, and suddenly it clicks. He almost laughs.
“I don’t have feelings for Lady Ayaka.”
“Oh,” Lumine says, a complete blank. Then she laughs, hearty and real, and it feels like her again. “Good. Because I’ve been wanting to court her for the last several months, and I’d hate to have you in my way.”
Thoma’s heart feels lighter than usual, as if he’s done something right, truly right, without using any questionable means to achieve it. “For what it’s worth, my lady probably wouldn’t object to your plans.”
Lumine grins. “I’ll take your word for it,” she says, all roguish confidence and self-assuredness that makes her look worthy of her many weighty titles.
Satisfied with his resolution, Thoma pushes himself to his feet, making as if to walk away.
“Oh, and Thoma?” Lumine calls. He turns around to face her, and instantly he feels nervous again; her smile has turned mischievous. “Best of luck with Ayato.”
He spends a moment contemplating her words in confusion before her words hit, but when they do, it’s like having a door slammed in his face and then tripping over the doorframe on the way out. “Traveler!” he yells back, scandalized. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”
Lumine just laughs as he retreats. Thoma wonders if he’s always been obvious, or if Lumine is just extremely observant.
***
That night, Thoma spends a long time staring at the letter hidden in his drawers. He traces his fingers over the kanji of his name and wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling guilty when he looks at it. Because Kamisato Thoma feels so, so wrong, but if he lets himself imagine for a moment, it starts to take on a completely different light. It feels like brushing Ayaka’s hair and being taught how to dance in Ayato’s private study and fumbling over his own dress robes while both of the siblings laugh. It feels sort of like home.
“Thoma,” a familiar voice sings in greeting.
Thoma hastens to shove the paper in his pocket and close the drawer of his dresser. He watches the door open as if it’s in slow motion. “Hello, my lord,” he says quietly, hoping his voice doesn’t shake, even though he’s certain it does.
“Hello yourself,” Ayato replies, tone light and teasing, and Thoma can feel his face burning already. “Forgive me, but I can’t help being curious. What were you looking at just now? That you hid away?”
“Nothing of importance,” Thoma hastens to say. “Any way I can be of service?”
Ayato shakes his head with a sigh, smiling in a way that’s all soft angles. “Of course it’s important if you like it. Besides, aren’t you supposed to keep no secrets?”
I’m also not supposed to want your last name , Thoma thinks. “It’s of no consequence,” he says.
Without warning, Ayato steps closer and drags a finger across the seam of his pocket. The paper hidden there scorches him. Thoma forces himself to breathe. “Ayato,” he whispers, close to a plea, though he’s not entirely sure what he wants.
It doesn’t work, or maybe it does. In any case, Ayato nimbly withdraws the paper. Thoma fixates his eyes firmly on the ground. He definitely can’t explain his way out of this one.
“You kept this?” Ayato asks, wonder in his voice. Thoma nods, shameful. “I thought you rejected it. No, I know you did, because I waited for you, and you didn’t come.”
Temporarily forgetting his embarrassment, Thoma tilts his head to glance curiously at Ayato. “What do you mean, you waited for me?”
He rolls his eyes. “At the location. You know, the one I mentioned in the letter?”
“I didn’t keep the letter,” Thoma admits. “Just the front part, because … “ He draws in a sharp breath, and it feels strange, but not in a bad way. “I like my name like that.”
“Like what?” Ayato quirks an eyebrow in a way that makes Thoma quite certain he understands.
“Kamisato.” Thoma flushes and fidgets with his pocket. “Kamisato Thoma. I like the way it sounds.”
Ayato grins, like he’s pleased with Thoma, or himself, or maybe both of them. “I thought you would. That’s why I wrote it.” He runs a finger along the edge of the paper. “I didn’t predict that you’d keep it this long, though.”
“Well, it’s sort of a comfort item now- wait,” Thoma pauses for a moment, glancing between the letter and Ayato’s face. “My lord, what do you mean, that’s why you wrote it? ”
Ayato’s smile turns sheepish as he hands the paper back. He doesn’t say anything, but Thoma thinks he understands.
“If you’d come to see me at the edge of the garden that day, I’d probably have asked to kiss you,” says Ayato casually, as if it’s insignificant, as if it doesn’t have any meaning. “You didn’t show up, though, so I’ve never asked.”
“It’s- “ Thoma swallows heavily. “It’s not too late, if you wanted to ask now, instead.”
“Alright,” Ayato hums. Thoma half-expects him to move, but he’s already as close as he needs to be from leaning in to retrieve the paper from his pocket. Instead, he simply tilts his eyes to meet Thoma’s, and his fingers brush against Thoma’s chin in that way that makes his traitorous heart skip a beat. “May I?”
Thoma debates it. He’s never done something selfish in his entire time at the Kamisato household. The honor of his house rests on this decision, if his intuition is right. He could be ruining not only his own reputation, but that of the Kamisato Clan as a whole, and especially Ayato’s. What would someone say if they came in and saw him with a servant ? They’d be surprised, surely, and Ayato would put on his cold persona and the servant would be back on the streets.
But Thoma’s not just a servant. Maybe he never was.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “You may.”
So Ayato closes the rest of the distance between them and kisses him, light and almost playful. He breaks off after what might be two seconds, might be two hours, and laughs softly, like all his worries have lifted away for a moment.
And Thoma thinks that maybe he’ll be selfish a little more often, if this is his reward.