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Freminet had faced storms before, storms of water, of steel, of expectation.

Yet never had his breath abandoned him like this.

Even the revelation behind Furina’s trial, so theatrical, so devastating, had not struck him with quite the same force. There, beneath Fontaine’s vaulted ceilings, truth had felt inevitable, like a script finally reaching its last act. One could brace for it.

This he had never imagined.

When he stepped beyond the last worn path and into the vast green embrace of Qingce’s outskirts, the air itself seemed to change.

His breath caught halfway to his lungs.

For most of his life, the world had been measured in pressure gauges, ticking mechanisms, and the muffled hush of water inside his diving helmet. Fontaine had been all marble, brass, and polished spectacle, streets that glittered like stages, every movement watched, every silence filled with expectation. 

Here, no one was watching.

The land opened before him like a forgotten story.

Qingce Village rested in the cradle of mountains, gentle and ancient, as though the earth itself had curved its body to protect what remained of it. 

Terraced fields spilled down the slopes in patient layers, like pages turned slowly by time. Blue-roofed wooden houses clung to the hills, humble and warm, untouched by the sharp geometry of Fontaine’s architecture. 

It was quiet here, so quiet that the silence did not feel empty, but full.

Alive.

Freminet stood still, fingers curling faintly at his sides.

He was used to silence, the heavy, pressurized quiet of the deep sea, where sound became a distant memory and thoughts drifted like slow currents. The ocean had always been his refuge, the only place where his mind could finally loosen its tight, mechanical grip. 

But this silence was different.

He could breathe in it.

The scent reached him first, wet soil, crushed leaves, something sweet he could not name. Not sterile like filtered air, not metallic like the Court’s machinery.

Real. He could feel each element with every step and noise that appealed to his senses.

The lotus scattered across the water’s edge swayed gently, pale petals trembling whenever the night wind exhaled. Fireflies hovered low above the reeds, their dim glow rising and falling like hesitant heartbeats.

He swallowed.

Much like the depths he had always trusted, the sky stretched above him in a vast, silent expanse.

Just stars.

Where the ocean pressed in, close, heavy, protective in its suffocating embrace, the heavens did the opposite.

They opened endlessly. Freminet tilted his head back, slowly, as though afraid the movement might fracture whatever fragile spell held the moment together.

Underwater, infinity felt distant, muted behind pressure and darkness, something sensed rather than seen. The deep was vast, yes, but it carried weight. It held you. It reminded you, with every breath measured through glass and valve, that there was always a boundary you could not cross.

Now? There was none.

The sky did not press against him.

It simply existed above him, immeasurable and uncontained, scattered with quiet stars that did not flicker like reflections, but burned steadily, unafraid of being seen.

Freminet felt a strange, unfamiliar lightness settle in his chest.

The ocean had always been a sanctuary, safe because it hid him, because its depth swallowed sound and expectation alike.

But this vastness did not hide.

It welcomed.

Freer, he thought, though the word felt too large in his mind.

As if someone had taken the invisible walls he had carried for so long and dissolved them into the night air.

He exhaled, slow and unsteady.

Infinity did not always have to be something you drowned in.

Down, further down, there was something more.

A lake.

It revealed itself between the terraces like a hidden thought finally spoken aloud.

Blue, not the cold, endless blue of the open sea, but something softer, almost luminous. Moonlight spilled across its surface in fractured silver, turning every ripple into drifting shards of light. 

Ethereal.

Freminet felt something tighten in his chest.

Would Celestia have lakes like this?

He took a slow step closer.

The surface reflected the sky so perfectly it became difficult to tell where the heavens ended and the earth began. For a fleeting, dizzying moment, he felt as though he were standing at the edge of two worlds.

He was not underwater, and yet the same quiet wonder unfurled inside him.

Freminet had always believed that beauty belonged to the depths, hidden, unreachable, preserved in places where voices could not intrude. 

His fingers twitched faintly, as if searching for the familiar weight of his helmet, the barrier that softened the world’s noise, that made everything feel distant and safe. 

He did not have it.

The sounds reached him clearly, the whisper of leaves, the distant creak of wooden beams, water brushing softly against stone.

Freminet exhaled, slow and careful, as though afraid the moment might shatter.

The moonlight traced the freckles across his pale skin as he stood there, small against the vast terraces and older mountains beyond. 

For the first time since leaving the sea behind, Freminet did not feel the need to disappear.

He simply stood at the water’s edge, breathing in the scent of earth and flowers, watching silver light ripple across the lake like a dream that had somehow wandered into reality.

What stole the breath from his lungs, what left his mind suddenly, utterly blank, was not the lake.

It was someone.

Near the slow current where the water curved around smooth stones, a solitary figure moved.

At first Freminet thought it was only the wind teasing the reeds, or the restless shimmer of moonlight playing tricks on his eyes. But no, this was deliberate. Measured.

They were dancing.

Each step seemed guided by feeling rather than duty, as if the body were answering a song only it could hear. Their movements were careful, yet fierce in their own restrained way, like embers glowing beneath ash.

They weren’t facing him.

Instead, they looked toward the open lake, toward the horizon where water dissolved into silver haze.

The moon washed over them, pale and soft.

They wore only loose trousers, dark enough that Freminet couldn’t tell their true color in the night, while the rest of their clothes lay discarded nearby on the grass. The wind lifted the fabric now and then, as though trying to return it.

Their hair brushed just past their shoulders, dark as wet stone. For a moment Freminet wondered if the lighter strands he saw were real or only moonlight caught in motion. It made it difficult to tell, girl, perhaps. Or not. Fontaine had taught him better than to assume from something so small; appearances often told only half-truths.

What he could see clearly, 

Was how alive they seemed.

Their build was slender, but not fragile, there was quiet strength in the way their shoulders held, in the steadiness of their footing on uneven ground. Slightly taller than him, he guessed, though distance made certainty impossible.

Moonlight traced the faint warmth of their skin too, just enough tan to suggest long days beneath open skies rather than behind glass domes.

And across their lower back, 

A few small scars.

Nothing grotesque. Just pale lines, old and healed, like memories. Freminet found himself wondering, without meaning to, where they had come from. What kind of life left marks like that.

They did not look broken, tought. Rather, strong, actually.

Unapologetically so.

The realization settled in his chest with a quiet, unfamiliar weight.

Freminet did not move.

He could not.

The night wind slipped easily through the thin fabric of his white shirt, raising a shiver along his arms, but he barely registered the cold. His fingers hung uselessly at his sides, as though even the smallest motion might shatter the fragile scene before him.

The world had gone very still.

There was only the soft rhythm of water against stone… and the quiet, fiery grace of someone dancing as if the entire vast sky were their only audience.

Freminet’s breath stayed trapped somewhere between inhale and exhale.

Beauty was found in hidden places, yet here it was, out in the open.

Unashamed.

Alive beneath the moon.

And no matter how much the cold crept through his sleeves, 

Freminet could not look away.

The figure felt… almost unreal.

Whoever they were, they danced like no one had ever taught them how, like the movements came from somewhere deeper than practice.

There was something passionate about it. 

Freminet didn’t hear any music.

Still, he could feel a something in it. In the steady shift of their weight, in the way their arms moved through the air as if they were following something only they could hear. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand it. Somehow, it still made sense.

He found himself ogling.

Then the figure slowed.

Turned slightly.

And suddenly the distance between them didn’t feel so safe anymore.

Freminet’s thoughts snapped back all at once.

If they turned fully, they would see him.

He hesitated.

Part of him, small but unusually stubborn, wanted to stay. Just long enough to see their face. To know who could move like that in the middle of nowhere, under nothing but moonlight.

But that wasn’t what he usually did.

Freminet had always been better at stepping back than stepping forward. Hiding was familiar. Quiet was safe. It kept things simple, kept people from asking questions he never quite knew how to answer.

His chest felt strangely warm, tight with curiosity he didn’t know what to do with.

Even so, 

He moved first.

Carefully, he stepped back into the taller grass, keeping low, holding himself still the way he did underwater when he didn’t want to disturb anything around him.

He hid.

A moment later, the figure’s footsteps brushed softly against the ground. Freminet caught only glimpses now, the outline of a shoulder, the faint shift of moonlight through dark hair.

Fabric rustled as they picked up the clothes they’d left behind.

Then the steps moved past him.

Unhurried.

Unaware.

And just like that, they were gone.

The lakeshore returned to its quiet, the gentle water, the distant whisper of leaves, nothing else.

Freminet stayed where he was for a few seconds longer than necessary.

The warmth in his chest hadn’t faded yet.

He hadn’t seen their face.

Still… the way they had moved lingered in his mind, clear as if the moment were still happening.

Safe, hidden in the grass, Freminet wondered if just maybe he could ever see them again. A strange hope, despite the slim chances, but he was oh so entranced, he gave in anyway.

The next evening, Freminet found himself walking the same path without fully remembering when he had decided to do so.

It was simply… where his feet went.

By the time the moon had climbed high enough to silver the terraces, he was already there, near the bend where the lake widened and the reeds grew tall enough to hide behind. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and distant cooking fires drifting down from the village.

He told himself it was only to see the place again.

Nothing more.

Still, he arrived at almost the exact same time as the night before.

He waited.

Hidden, as always.

The lake lay quiet. No movement beyond the slow ripple of water and the occasional insect skimming the surface. Minutes passed, long enough for the night chill to settle into his sleeves.

No one came.

Of course. 

Freminet exhaled softly, a little disappointed despite not having expected anything.

He shifted his weight, preparing to leave, when he heard footsteps.

He froze.

Instinctively, he stilled the way he did underwater, body going quiet all at once.

The sound grew clearer, grass bending, fabric brushing lightly with each step.

They were there again.

The same figure moved into the open space near the shore, as if this place belonged to them after dusk.

Tonight the moon was brighter.

Freminet noticed new details immediately.

Their hair, still dark, was gathered into a small ponytail now, keeping it off their neck as they stretched their shoulders. When they turned slightly, the light caught faint highlights running through the strands.

Wine-red.

It surprised him how vivid the color looked against the night.

They wore a loose red hoodie this time, the fabric shifting with every movement. Under the moonlight it almost glowed, a muted, steady red, like an ember that hadn’t gone out yet.

Against the blue of the lake, the color stood out so clearly that Freminet found himself thinking, 

A red star.

The thought lingered longer than he expected.

Soon enough, the dancing began again.

This time, Freminet watched more carefully.

The movements were sharper than he remembered, controlled, deliberate. There were grounded steps, quick turns, moments where their stance lowered as if bracing against an invisible push. It wasn’t just flowing motion, it had structure, purpose.

Strength.

Over the next few days, because without quite admitting it, Freminet kept coming back, he began noticing patterns.

The footwork repeated in certain ways.

The arm movements followed specific lines.

Sometimes there were small, precise stomps that echoed faintly against the packed earth.

It wasn’t random.

Curiosity eventually pushed him further than he usually allowed himself.

During the day, wandering through Qingce, he listened, quietly, to conversations between locals. Watched a group of children practicing with wooden sticks near a field. Later, he found an old man demonstrating movements to them, slow, patient, correcting their posture.

Wushou dance, someone called it.

A traditional one.

Popular here.

That night, when he returned, the movements made more sense.

The figure, still unaware of him, moved with a kind of bright confidence that felt completely different from Fontaine’s rehearsed performances. There was joy in it. Not showy, not meant for applause, just… genuine.

At one point, they misstepped.

Stopped.

Scratched the back of their neck with a quiet, almost sheepish laugh.

Then tried again.

Freminet blinked, surprised.

The moment was small, so normal it almost felt out of place after the almost untouchable image he’d built in his head.

They weren’t some distant, perfect vision.

Just… someone practicing.

Trying to get it right.

For reasons Freminet didn’t understand, that made the warmth in his chest return,  softer this time.

Easier.

Over the following nights he noticed other things.

They always stretched first.

They sometimes hummed, very quietly, off and on, as if testing a rhythm.

Once, they nearly slipped on damp grass, caught themselves, and muttered something that sounded like a complaint before laughing it off.

Another time, they paused mid-movement just to watch the reflection of the moon in the lake, completely still for several seconds.

Freminet found himself waiting for those little moments as much as the dancing itself.

It felt… strangely comforting.

Predictable.

Safe to watch.

He still didn’t know who they were.

Didn’t know their name.

Didn’t even know if they were a girl or a boy, and, oddly, he realized it didn’t matter as much as he thought it should.

What stayed with him instead was the color, 

that steady red under moonlight,

the wine-dark glint in their hair,

the way they moved like the night was something friendly instead of empty.

Hidden in the reeds, Freminet hugged his arms loosely against the cool air, eyes fixed on the clearing.

He told himself he was only observing.

Just learning.

Yet each evening, without fail, he returned at the same hour, when the moon rose high enough for the water to shine, 

Just in case

the red star appeared again.

Freminet was halfway down the familiar path when a quiet, unwelcome thought struck him,

He was late.

He quickened his steps without meaning to, boots brushing softly against gravel and dry grass. The moon was already high, bright enough to spill pale light across the terraces.

He slowed as the lake came into view.

And then stopped entirely.

They were already there.

But they weren’t dancing.

The figure stood near the water’s edge, shoulders slightly hunched, gaze fixed on the lake as if waiting for it to answer something. The usual easy energy, the quiet confidence that always filled their movements, was gone.

In its place sat something tighter.

Unease, maybe.

Even from a distance, Freminet could see it in the stillness.

His chest pulled strangely at the sight.

A soft, uncomfortable ache settled behind his ribs, subtle, but persistent. The kind that didn’t come from fear or pressure, but from seeing something that didn’t feel… right.

For a brief, reckless second, he wondered if he should step out.

Say something.

He didn’t even know what he would say, just that he wanted the tension in their shoulders to ease, wanted whatever had dimmed that steady, ember-like presence to fade.

The thought alone was enough to startle him.

Freminet rarely felt the urge to interfere with anyone’s world. Watching from a distance was safer, for them and for him.

So he stayed where he was.

Quiet.

Still.

Feeling a little foolish for how much it bothered him.

It wasn’t the first time they had arrived before him. On a few evenings he’d come early, earlier than necessary, really, just to avoid the awkward process of slipping into the reeds while they were already nearby. Hiding silently, crouched at odd angles, was never particularly comfortable.

He’d told himself it was practical.

Not… anticipation.

Freminet exhaled through his nose, a small, almost tired sigh leaving him.

Tonight, he didn’t especially feel like going through the whole routine again, the careful steps, the stiff posture, the prickling grass against his sleeves.

But the thought of turning around,

Of not seeing what happened next,

That felt worse.

So, with quiet resignation, he shifted off the path and moved toward the familiar patch of taller grass. Each step was measured, practiced now after several nights of doing the same thing.

He settled into place, lowering himself just enough to stay hidden.

From there, he watched.

The figure still hadn’t moved much.

Moonlight rested across the lake, turning the water into a wide sheet of dull silver. The breeze lifted the edge of the red hoodie slightly before letting it fall again.

For once, there was no humming.

No warm-up steps.

Just silence, and that lingering, uneasy stillness.

Freminet hugged his arms loosely, more out of habit than cold.

The ache in his chest hadn’t left.

He didn’t know this person.

Didn’t know their name, their voice, or even who they were when the sun was up.

Yet seeing them like this, quiet in a way that didn’t look peaceful, felt strangely wrong.

So he stayed.

Hidden in the grass, watching the faint rise and fall of their shoulders, waiting, without quite admitting it to himself, for them to start dancing again.

However, the figure shifted and turned.

Freminet wasn’t ready.

Moonlight fell across the stranger’s face, clearer than it ever had before, and for a moment Freminet forgot how to breathe.

The first thing he noticed were the eyes.

Bright.

Not soft or distant, but sharp with life, like embers that refused to dim, even at rest. They caught the light easily, reflecting it in a way that made them seem warmer than the night around them. Focused, alert… the kind of gaze that looked like it was used to meeting the world head-on instead of stepping around it.

Their features were youthful but defined, cheekbones shaped by sun and movement rather than stillness. There was energy in the set of their mouth, even when they weren’t smiling, as if a grin lived there most of the time and had only stepped away for the night.

Up close, closer than Freminet had ever seen—the wine-red highlights threaded through dark brown hair were unmistakable now, catching silver where the moon touched them. The small ponytail kept most of it back, though a few loose strands had escaped and brushed against their cheek whenever the breeze shifted.

They’d changed clothes.

Gone was the hoodie.

Instead, they wore a fitted black compression shirt and dark shorts—simple, practical, the kind meant for movement. It made the lines of their build clearer: slim, but strong through the shoulders and core, the posture of someone used to jumping, landing, turning without hesitation.

Not imposing.

Just… solid.

Real.

Freminet felt every bit of air leave his lungs at once.

Not sharply, more like something inside him had quietly opened and forgotten to close again.

He had imagined this moment more than once, without meaning to.

None of those quiet guesses came close.

The stranger looked, 

Bright.

Alive in a way that made the night seem dull by comparison.

“Is anyone there?”

The voice cut gently through the quiet.

Warm. Clear. A little rough at the edges, like it was used often, calling out, laughing, speaking without hesitation.

Freminet froze.

Every muscle locked in place.

Hearing them, actually hearing them, sent a strange rush through his chest, equal parts awe and sudden, sharp panic.

They knew.

Or at least suspected.

His mind jumped immediately to the worst possibilities, being seen stepping out from the grass, trying to explain why he’d been here night after night.

Stalker.

Creep.

The words arrived uninvited, heavy and humiliating.

His fingers curled slightly into the damp earth beneath him.

But beneath that fear sat something quieter, and, somehow, worse.

If he was discovered…

This would end.

No more quiet evenings by the lake.

No more watching that steady, ember-bright presence move across the shore like the night itself belonged to them.

No more them.

The thought left a hollow feeling in his chest that surprised him with its weight.

Freminet stayed perfectly still, barely daring to breathe, hoping the reeds and shadows would be enough to hide him.

The lake whispered softly against the stones.

Somewhere nearby, a night insect chirped.

And in the silence between heartbeats, 

He realized he was more afraid of never seeing this stranger again than of being caught.

So Freminet stepped out.

Like someone who had already committed and could only hope his legs would keep up with the decision.

The reeds parted with a quiet rustle.

Moonlight found him immediately.

He lifted his gaze and met the stranger’s eyes properly for the first time.

Up close, they were even brighter.

Freminet’s breath caught again.

The stranger, meanwhile, went very still, clearly startled, eyes widening just a fraction, posture shifting like someone ready to either bolt or square up if needed.

Freminet spoke before courage could abandon him.

“What’s your name?”

The words came out a little breathless.

Lyney’s voice echoed somewhere in the back of his mind: If there’s something worth enjoying, don’t hesitate until it disappears.

At the very least… he could learn the stranger’s name before being chased off.

“You don’t know me?” the other voice echoed.

There was surprise there, real surprise, mixed with a cautious edge… and, strangely, a hint of amusement.

Freminet shook his head quickly.

“No.”

The stranger studied him.

Really studied him, eyes flicking over his pale hair, his clothes, the way he stood too straight like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Silence stretched for a second.

Then the stranger asked, slower this time,

“…Why are you here?”

Oh.

Freminet’s mind went completely blank.

“Sorry—I was—I was—”

He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, scrambling for something that didn’t sound strange or invasive or—

“Looking for a place to rest,” he finished quietly. “And found you.”

Not a lie.

Just… not the whole truth.

For a second, the stranger stared at him. 

Then laughed.

Surprised and light.

It broke the tension like sunlight through cloud.

“You’re from Fontaine?” they asked.

Freminet blinked, caught off guard.

“How did you know?”

“You have an accent.”

“Oh.”

His ears burned instantly.

He resisted the urge to hide behind his collar.

The stranger was grinning now, wide, easy, completely unbothered, and something about it made Freminet want to memorize the exact shape of it before it vanished.

“You’re… not from here either,” Freminet said carefully.

The grin sharpened, pleased.

“Wow. Sharp.”

A small pause.

Then, more casually, 

“My name’s Gaming.”

Freminet repeated it in his head once, silently, as if testing how it fit.

Gaming.

It felt… bright. Like the color red.

“I’m Freminet.”

Gaming tilted his head slightly, as if the name rang a faint bell somewhere.

“Huh. Fancy.”

Freminet frowned, confused. “It’s just my name.”

“Yeah,” Gaming said, amused, “but you say it like you’re apologizing for it.”

Freminet opened his mouth but closed it before words could slip out.

He… did do that.

Gaming huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, then glanced toward the lake.

“You’ve been here before.”

It wasn’t a question.

Freminet stiffened.

“I—”

“You stand like you know where the uneven ground is,” Gaming added, pointing lightly with his chin. “First time here, people usually trip.”

Freminet’s stomach dropped.

“I didn’t— I wasn’t—”

Gaming looked back at him.

Not accusing.

Just curious.

Freminet swallowed.

“…I saw you,” he admitted, voice barely above the water’s hush.

“Before.”

A beat of silence.

Gaming’s brows lifted.

“Oh?”

Freminet forced himself not to look away.

“You dance,” he said simply.

Another pause, longer this time.

Gaming scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little less effortlessly confident.

“…You watched that?”

Freminet nodded once.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You were hiding in the grass.”

“…Yes.”

Gaming stared at him and snorted.

Almost impressed.

“That’s dedication.”

Freminet blinked.

“I thought you’d be angry.”

“Nah,” Gaming said, shrugging. “If I didn’t want anyone seeing, I’d practice somewhere else.”

He kicked lightly at a pebble, sending it skittering toward the water.

“I just didn’t think anyone was watching.”

There was something quieter under that sentence.

Freminet noticed.

“You dance very well,” he said, honest and immediate.

Gaming paused.

The usual grin didn’t come back right away this time.

Instead, he looked out over the lake, shoulders loosening a little.

“…Still messing up half the steps,” he muttered.

“You still try again,” Freminet replied.

Gaming glanced at him, quick, sharp.

Like that answer had landed somewhere unexpected.

A breeze passed between them, lifting the edge of Gaming’s ponytail.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Gaming asked, softer,

“…You come here every night?”

Freminet hesitated.

“…Most.”

“Why?”

Freminet searched for something clever.

Found nothing.

“…It’s quiet,” he said at last. “And you make it feel less empty.”

The words slipped out before he could filter them.

Silence.

Freminet’s stomach twisted.

Too honest.

Too much.

He braced for awkwardness, for laughter, for distance.

Gaming looked at him with an expression Freminet hadn’t seen yet.

Not teasing, but s omething gentler. A little surprised.

“…Yeah?” Gaming said quietly.

Freminet nodded, unable to take it back now.

Gaming exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the lake again.

“Good,” he said, almost to himself.

Another pause.

Then, with a small sideways grin returning, 

“Guess I’ve got an audience now.”

Freminet’s chest warmed despite himself.

“…If that’s alright.”

Gaming nudged a stone with his shoe.

“Yeah,” he said.

Then, after a second, 

“Just… don’t disappear without saying anything next time, okay?”

The words were light.

But there was a faint edge under them.

Like someone who was more used to people leaving than staying.

Freminet noticed.

And, quietly, 

“…I won’t,” he promised.

After that night, Freminet stopped hiding.

It felt strange at first, standing out in the open instead of tucked safely behind reeds, but Gaming had only lifted a hand in greeting the next evening, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

So Freminet did the same.

A small, careful “hello.”

And later, 

A quieter “good night.”

It became… routine.

He would arrive around the same hour, the moon usually high enough to turn the lake silver. Gaming would already be stretching, rolling his shoulders, tying his hair back with practiced ease.

Sometimes he slipped.

Sometimes he landed a step wrong and muttered something under his breath.

Freminet, despite himself, laughed once.

The sound startled both of them.

Gaming blinked, then broke into a wide, delighted grin like he’d just discovered a rare creature could make noise.

“Oh, so you can laugh.”

Freminet’s ears burned. “It was… unexpected.”

“Hey, those turns are hard,” Gaming shot back, mock offended, though he was clearly pleased.

On quieter nights, when Gaming paused to catch his breath, he talked.

Not in long speeches, more like scattered pieces offered between stretches.

He explained the dance, how the footwork needed to stay grounded, how the rhythm followed drums that echoed during festivals. He described the music used for Wushou performances, tapping the beat lightly against his thigh while humming a few rough notes.

Freminet didn’t always understand the structure buthe understood the feeling behind it.

Gaming talked about Liyue, too.

About lantern-lit streets and crowded festivals.

About rooftops warm from the day’s sun.

About his family, how they hadn’t supported his dancing at first.

Freminet listened without interrupting.

“…Thought it wasn’t stable,” Gaming admitted one night, staring at the lake instead of at him. “Didn’t blame them. Still sucked.”

A small shrug followed.

“They’re… coming around now.”

There was pride there.

Careful, but real.

Freminet nodded, storing that detail away like something fragile.

Later, almost offhandedly, Gaming mentioned, 

“Sometimes I get called out to perform in other places. Even outside Liyue.”

Freminet felt something twist quietly in his chest.

He didn’t recognize the feeling at first.

Just a tightness.

A faint, uncomfortable heat.

The idea of crowds, of many, many people watching Gaming the way he did, felt strangely unpleasant.

It was too loud. Too shared.

He didn’t have a name for that discomfort, so he said nothing.

Instead, he asked, “Does it make you nervous?”

Gaming grinned.

“Only if I don’t get nervous.”

That answer stayed with Freminet longer than he expected.

Somewhere along those evenings, he also learned that Gaming was a boy.

The realization settled simply.

Good to know.

It didn’t change much.

In return, Freminet spoke, sparingly, but more than he usually did with anyone.

He told Gaming about the ocean.

Not the grand parts people liked to romanticize, but the quiet ones. How sound faded. How pressure wrapped around you until your thoughts slowed. How sometimes the only thing you could hear was your own breathing.

Gaming listened with surprising patience, chin resting on his knee.

“Sounds peaceful,” he said.

“…Sometimes,” Freminet replied.

He mentioned his siblings, two of them.

A father.

Nothing more.

Gaming noticed the way his voice thinned there and didn’t ask. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, it couldn’t be, they shared too much silences before, it just prolonged.

By the time breaks ended and Gaming stood again, rolling his shoulders before resuming practice Freminet often found himself simply watching.

Not analyzing the steps anymore.

Just watching.

The way Gaming’s movements snapped sharp then softened.

The way his expression shifted when he focused, brows drawing slightly, mouth set in quiet determination.

The way he laughed at himself when he messed up.

Freminet realized, distantly, that the feeling in his chest was the same one he got after staying underwater too long: Lightheaded.

Warm.

Strangely unwilling to leave.

It was like drinking something sweet you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t stop tasting.

Addicting, in the quietest way.

One night, Gaming caught him staring.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, amused.

Freminet blinked. “Doing… what?”

“Looking like you’re trying to memorize me.”

Heat rushed to Freminet’s face.

“I—”

Gaming laughed, not unkind.

“Relax. I don’t bite.”

Freminet looked down at the grass.

“…I like watching you dance,” he admitted, honest as always.

Gaming’s grin softened, less teasing this time.

“Good,” he said. “Then I’ll make it worth watching.”

The words were light.

But something about them settled deep in Freminet’s chest.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but these quiet nights by the lake had stopped being about the scenery long ago, since the first night. They started being about one person standing in the moonlight, mlike the world was wide and there was still time left inside it.

Gaming landed a turn, clean this time, and shot Freminet a quick look over his shoulder.

“Well?” he asked. “Better, or are you still secretly judging me?”

Freminet blinked. “I wasn’t judging.”

“That’s what someone judging would say.”

“I was observing,” Freminet corrected quietly.

Gaming snorted. “Right. Big difference.”

Freminet hesitated, then added, very seriously,

“You improved your foot placement.”

Gaming froze mid-stretch.

“…You noticed that?”

“You were leaning too far on your left side before.”

A slow grin spread across Gaming’s face, wide, pleased.

“Wow. I’ve got a personal critic now.”

“I’m not—”

“I like it,” Gaming cut in easily. “Makes me look cool.”

Freminet frowned, confused. “You already do.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Silence.

Gaming blinked.

“…I— what?”

Freminet’s entire posture stiffened as realization hit.

“I meant— your movements are efficient,” he rushed, ears burning. “And precise.”

Gaming’s grin returned, sharper this time.

“Efficient,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Precise.”

“Yes.”

Gaming leaned forward slightly, hands on his knees.

“Cool.”

Freminet stared at the grass.

“…Yes.”

Gaming laughed under his breath.

“You’re terrible at taking it back, you know that?”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“That’s worse.”

Freminet risked a glance up.

Gaming was still smiling, softer now, less teasing.

“What about you?” Gaming asked. “You ever dance?”

Freminet immediately shook his head. “No.”

“Not even once?”

“I prefer… stable ground.”

“That is stable ground,” Gaming said, tapping the dirt with his foot. It wasn’t, really, it tilted and had a great chance of falling into the lake if you slipped.

Freminet considered that, then replied very seriously,

“It becomes unstable when I’m on it.”

Gaming barked a surprised laugh.

“Alright, fair.”

He stepped a little closer, not invading space, just enough that the moonlight caught both of them at once.

“C’mon,” Gaming said, offering a hand. “One step. I won’t let you fall.”

Freminet stared at the offered hand like it might explode.

“I will definitely fall.”

“I said I won’t let you.”

“That does not change physics.”

Gaming laughed again, softer this time.

“You trust the ocean more than people, huh?”

Freminet hesitated.

“…The ocean is predictable.”

“And I’m not?”

Freminet looked up, really looked at him.

Gaming’s eyes were bright, curious, waiting.

“…You are,” Freminet said slowly. “Just… louder.”

Gaming blinked, then smiled, unexpectedly pleased.

“I’ll take that.”

He didn’t lower his hand.

“Still offering,” he added.

Freminet stared at it for a long second.

“…If I fall,” he said carefully, “this will be your fault.”

“Deal.”

Freminet placed his hand in his.

Gaming’s grip was warm, steady.

“See?” Gaming said lightly. “You’re not dead.”

“…Not yet.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Freminet attempted the step.

Immediately misstepped.

Gaming caught his arm before he could tilt forward.

“Told you,” Gaming said, laughing quietly. “Got you.”

Freminet froze, not because of balance this time.

“…You did,” he admitted.

For a brief moment neither of them moved.

The lake shimmered behind them, wind brushing softly through the grass.

Gaming let go, slowly, casually, like it hadn’t meant anything.

“Again?” he asked.

Freminet hesitated.

Then, quieter—

“…Again.”

And this time—

He didn’t pull his hand away first.

 Night settled over the lake like a held breath.

The moon hung low and bright, scattering silver across the water in long, trembling lines. Crickets filled the quiet with a soft, constant rhythm, and the air carried that humid warmth that made every movement feel slower than usual.

Freminet rarely danced.

Not truly.

Not the way Gaming did, bold, effortless, made to be seen.

But tonight, after far too much coaxing and one very persistent—

“Just try,” Gaming had insisted earlier, grinning like it was impossible to say no to him. “You already move like you’re underwater anyway.”

Freminet had frowned.

“…That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s poetic,” Gaming corrected.

“It’s inaccurate.”

“It’s true.”

Somehow Freminet had ended up trying.

Now he stood near the edge of the lake, slightly out of breath, hair damp at the temples. The movement had been careful, measured, more like flowing than dancing, but he’d done it.

And Gaming had watched the entire time.

Without interrupting or joking.

Which, somehow, had been worse.

Freminet avoided his gaze.

“…You can say it.”

Gaming didn’t answer immediately.

Freminet risked a glance.

Gaming was staring at him like he’d just witnessed something precious.

“…You move like the tide,” he said quietly.

Freminet froze.

“That’s—”

“A compliment,” Gaming cut in quickly. “A very serious one.”

Freminet looked away, ears burning.

“I don’t dance.”

“You just did.”

“I moved.”

“You danced,” Gaming insisted, stepping closer. “You just refuse to call it that.”

Freminet shifted his weight.

“…You’re biased.”

“Very.”

Gaming’s grin returned, soft around the edges.

“You looked good.”

Freminet’s lungs forgot how to work for a second.

“…I nearly tripped.”

“You recovered.”

“I stepped wrong twice.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“That’s because you—”

Freminet stopped when Gaming laughed, bright, unrestrained.

“You’re impossible,” Gaming said.

“…You’re worse.”

“Rude.”

“True.”

Gaming gasped dramatically.

“I praise you and this is how I’m treated?”

Freminet’s mouth twitched.

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m passionate.”

“You almost fell into the water earlier.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“I had it under control.”

“You windmilled.”

“I did not windmill—”

Freminet reached out and gave his shoulder a small shove.

It was meant to be nothing.

Just enough to emphasize his point.

Gaming stumbled back half a step, eyes widening.

“Oh—so that’s how it is?”

Freminet immediately stiffened.

“I didn’t—”

Gaming nudged him back.

Lighter.

Teasing.

Freminet blinked.

“…You started it.”

“You pushed me first.”

“You provoked me.”

“That’s my job.”

Another nudge.

Freminet pushed Gaming back, slightly harder this time.

Gaming laughed. “Okay, careful—”

His heel hit the damp grass near the edge.

He wobbled.

Freminet’s eyes widened.

“You’re going to—”

Gaming grabbed Freminet’s sleeve on instinct.

Which was a mistake.

Because Freminet lost his balance too.

For half a second they both froze, trying to recover. 

Failing spectacularly.

And then—

Splash.

Cold water swallowed the sound of their yelps.

They resurfaced almost at the same time, water dripping from hair and clothes, the shock of the temperature stealing the air from their lungs.

Gaming sputtered first.

“Oh my—”

Freminet pushed wet hair out of his eyes, staring in stunned silence.

Then Gaming started laughing.

Full, helpless, I cannot breathe laughter.

Freminet tried, really tried, to stay serious.

Failed.

A breath escaped him.

Then another.

Until he was laughing too, quieter, but real, shoulders shaking as the absurdity settled in.

“We—” Gaming wheezed, “we both—”

“You pulled me,” Freminet managed.

“You pushed me!”

“You grabbed my sleeve.”

“You were going to let me drown!”

“The water reaches your waist!”

“That’s not the point!”

They dissolved again, laughter echoing across the lake, startling a few distant birds into flight.

Water lapped gently around them, moonlight breaking into shards with every movement.

Gaming wiped his face, still grinning.

“You’re dangerous, Freminet.”

“You lost your balance.”

“You attacked me.”

“I corrected you.”

“With violence.”

“With accuracy.”

Gaming laughed again, softer this time.

For a moment they just stood there in the shallow water, soaked, breathless, ridiculous.

Happy.

Gaming looked at him, eyes bright even in the dim light.

“You know,” he said, voice warmer now, “this is the first time someone’s pushed me into a lake.”

Freminet tilted his head. “…You’re welcome.”

“That’s not—” Gaming shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re unbelievable.”

Freminet hesitated. “…Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Gaming snorted. “I’m freezing.”

A beat.

Then, quieter, “But no.”

The word settled between them, gentle, sincere.

Freminet felt something in his chest ease.

Water dripped from Gaming’s ponytail as he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice like it was a secret meant only for him.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m pushing you first.”

Freminet met his gaze, calmer than he felt.

“…You already did.”

Gaming’s smile softened, something fond flickering through it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I did.”

They stayed there a moment longer than necessary, the lake cool around them, laughter still lingering in the air, one of those small, careless nights that felt like it could stretch forever.

The kind that makes the silence afterward hurt the most.

The afternoon had softened into that honey-gold hour when the harbor stopped shouting and started breathing.

By then the crowds had thinned, vendors counting coins instead of chasing them, ropes no longer dragged across planks, the sea settling into slow, patient sighs against the pier.

Freminet liked that hour.

He stood near the water’s edge, gloves tucked into his belt, turning a small metal piece between his fingers. The familiar weight, the quiet click of the gear, something steady to hold onto while his thoughts drifted.

He hadn’t come here to hide.

Just to think where the world wasn’t pressing so close.

Footsteps approached, light, quick, unbothered by hesitation.

Freminet noticed them, but didn’t turn.

He hadn’t expected company.

He should have.

“Freminet!”

The voice arrived before the person, bright, warm, impossible to ignore. Gaming jogged down the pier with the careless confidence of someone who had never once in his life wondered if he was allowed to take up space.

Sunlight caught in his hair, turning the dark strands almost copper at the edges.

Freminet’s fingers stilled.

He blinked, looking up.

“…Hi.”

Gaming slowed to a stop beside him, slightly out of breath like he’d been moving fast without realizing it.

“I had a feeling you’d be somewhere near the water.”

“…Why?”

Gaming shrugged, easy.

“You always look calmer when you can hear it.”

Freminet’s fingers paused around the gear.

That was… true.

He hadn’t said it out loud before.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” Gaming added quickly, grinning, “but I’m not surprised I found you.”

Freminet tilted his head faintly.

“You say that like it’s obvious.”

“It is.”

Gaming rested his forearms on the railing, gaze drifting across the sea.

“You and quiet places have some kind of agreement.”

“…Agreement.”

“Yeah,” Gaming said. “You show up, it behaves.”

Freminet almost smiled at that.

Almost.

A breeze rolled through, carrying salt and the faint smell of incense from somewhere inland. It lifted the loose strands of Gaming’s hair, turning the edges warm under the light.

For a moment they just stood there, side by side, not quite touching.

Not distant either.

Gaming glanced down.

“What’ve you got there?”

Freminet hesitated, then showed him the small mechanism resting in his palm.

“…A regulator.”

Gaming leaned in, curiosity overriding politeness as usual.

Their shoulders brushed.

Freminet froze.

“For what?”

“…For when my thoughts get too—” He paused, searching. “—loud.”

Gaming didn’t laugh.

He just nodded slowly, like that made perfect sense.

“That’s smart.”

Freminet blinked again.

Most people called it strange.

Or unnecessary.

Or asked why he couldn’t “just ignore it.”

Gaming tapped the tiny gear lightly with his finger.

“It’s intricate,” Gaming murmured, studying it like it was something genuinely impressive instead of strange. “You made this?”

“Yes.”

“How small are the internal gears?”

“…Very.”

“That’s helpful,” Gaming deadpanned.

Freminet looked at him, confused.

Gaming’s mouth twitched.

“I’m trying to understand the scale, Freminet.”

“…Tiny.”

“That’s better.”

Freminet huffed, soft, barely there.

Gaming’s eyes lit up immediately.

“There. You do make sounds.”

“I always make sounds.”

“You make quiet sounds,” Gaming corrected. “Different category.”

Freminet didn’t argue.

Because… that was fair.

Gaming, once again,  tapped the edge of the little device with careful curiosity.

“Does it help?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Gaming said simply, like that was the only part that mattered.

The simplicity of it, no interrogation, no skepticism, settled somewhere warm in Freminet’s chest.

The sea shifted below them, light breaking into soft fragments across the surface.

Gaming leaned his hip against the railing, turning slightly toward him.

“You know,” he said casually, “you don’t have to disappear when things get noisy.”

Freminet stared at the water.

“I don’t disappear.”

“You do.”

“…I relocate.”

Gaming snorted.

“That’s the most polite way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘I ran away.’”

“I don’t run.”

“You absolutely run.”

“I walk quickly.”

“That is still running.”

Freminet’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Gaming caught it instantly.

“Oh, there it is.”

Freminet stiffened. “There what is?”

“That,” Gaming said, pointing at him like he’d discovered treasure. “You smiling.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You are right now.”

Freminet immediately schooled his expression back into neutrality.

Gaming laughed, bright, delighted, entirely too pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m quiet.”

“That’s worse,” Gaming said. “You’re secretly funny and you hide it.”

“I don’t hide it.”

“You bury it.”

“…That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Freminet didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure.

A breeze rolled in from the water, lifting the ends of Gaming’s hair.

For a second, just a second, Gaming turned toward him instead of the sea.

Close.

Too close.

Freminet became intensely aware of everything at once:

The warmth at his side.

The faint scent of incense and sweat from earlier practice.

The way Gaming’s eyes always seemed brighter when he was smiling.

“You know,” Gaming said, softer now, “you don’t have to sit alone all the time.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

Freminet swallowed.

“I like quiet.”

“I like you,” Gaming said easily. “So I’m here.”

The words were tossed out like they weighed nothing.

Like they meant nothing.

But they landed heavy anyway.

Freminet’s throat tightened.

“…You don’t have to stay.”

“I know.”

Gaming didn’t move.

Instead, he bumped Freminet’s shoulder lightly with his own.

Playful.

Gentle.

“Besides,” he added, voice warm again, “someone has to make sure you don’t dissolve into the ocean.”

“I would not dissolve.”

“You absolutely would.”

“I’m not made of salt.”

“You act like it.”

Freminet exhaled, half a breath, almost a laugh.

Gaming caught that too.

His grin softened.

They stood there like that for a while, shoulders almost touching, neither stepping away.

“You know,” he said, casual but quieter now, “I think I like this time of day more than the festivals.”

Freminet glanced at him.

“You? You like quiet?”

“I like… this kind,” Gaming admitted.

“What kind?”

“The kind where nothing’s trying to be louder than everything else.”

Freminet considered that.

“…Yes.”

Gaming smiled, smaller this time, less performance, more real.

For a few breaths they just listened to the water.

Then Gaming bumped his shoulder lightly against Freminet’s.

Not enough to startle.

Just enough to be noticed.

“You’re easier to find than you think,” he said.

“I wasn’t trying to be found.”

“I know.”

“…Then why—”

Gaming shrugged, gaze drifting back to the horizon.

“Sometimes you don’t look for someone.”

He paused.

“You just end up in the same place.”

Freminet’s throat tightened unexpectedly.

That felt true in a way he didn’t know how to argue with.

A gull cried overhead. The sun dipped lower, turning everything warmer, softer.

After a moment, Gaming straightened.

“Hey,” he said, mischief creeping back into his voice, “wanna see something?”

Freminet eyed him warily.

“…What.”

Gaming stepped onto the lower railing in one smooth motion, balancing like it was second nature.

Freminet’s heart jumped.

“You’re going to fall.”

“I’m not.”

“You are definitely—”

Gaming spun once, controlled, graceful, a flicker of performance without the crowd, and landed back beside him.

Freminet exhaled.

“…Unnecessary.”

“Impressive.”

“…Reckless.”

“Very impressive.”

Freminet hesitated.

“…A little.”

Gaming beamed, triumphant.

“I’ll take it.”

He leaned closer again, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.

“If you ever want, I could teach you.”

“I would fall.”

“I’d catch you.”

The words slipped out so naturally it almost sounded like a promise.

Freminet’s breath hitched, barely audible, but Gaming noticed.

Gaming seemed to realize it only after he’d said it, expression softening, not taking it back.

He just stayed there, close, smiling softly.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Close.

Warm.

The harbor quiet around them.

Then Gaming cleared his throat lightly, tone easing.

“Anyway… next time we end up in the same quiet corner—”

Freminet glanced at him.

“—I’m bringing tea,” Gaming finished. “This place feels like it should come with tea.”

“…That would be acceptable.”

“High praise,” Gaming laughed.

They didn’t step away.

Didn’t need to.

They just stayed there, two people who hadn’t planned to meet, hadn’t searched. 

Yet somehow still found themselves standing side by side, listening to the same slow tide.

The night carried that gentle kind of warmth that never quite reached uncomfortable, just enough to soften the edges of everything.

Lantern light from the distant village barely touched the lakeside, leaving most of the shore painted in quiet shades of silver and blue. The water lay calm, reflecting the sky so clearly it almost felt like standing between two infinities.

Freminet arrived first this time.

Which was a mistake.

Because waiting meant thinking.

And thinking meant remembering the exact way Gaming laughed, head tipped back, shoulders loose, like joy came easily to him.

Freminet sat on the smooth rock near the water, elbows on his knees, trying, unsuccessfully, not to replay every conversation they’d had over the past weeks.

The rhythm of footsteps on grass pulled him from it.

Light. Familiar.

Freminet didn’t turn immediately.

He knew it was him.

“You’re early,” Gaming said, voice carrying that usual brightness, softened by the quiet of the night.

Freminet nodded once.

“…So are you.”

“I ran out of things to do,” Gaming replied easily. “Thought I’d come bother you instead.”

“You already do that.”

“Ouch.”

Gaming dropped beside him anyway, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.

Freminet went very still.

He could feel the warmth before there was even contact.

It was ridiculous.

They weren’t touching.

Freminet shifted slightly, intending to create space.

Gaming shifted too, without noticingc closing it again.

Their sleeves brushed.

Freminet’s breath caught.

Why.

It was just fabric.

Just proximity.

Nothing unusual.

He’d stood closer to strangers in crowded streets.

So why did his chest suddenly feel tight?

Why did his ears feel hot?

Gaming leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out toward the lake.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not this quiet.”

Freminet frowned faintly.

“…You talk enough for both of us.”

“True,” Gaming admitted, completely unbothered.

Another breeze passed, stirring the water.

Gaming’s shoulder finally settled fully against Freminet’s.

Casual.

Unthinking.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Freminet forgot how to exist.

His entire awareness narrowed to that single point of contact.

Warm.

Steady.

Real.

His heart started beating faster, so loud he was convinced Gaming could hear it.

This is strange.

You’re being strange.

Move.

He didn’t move.

Gaming, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content, eyes fixed on the lake.

“You did better yesterday,” he said. “With the footwork.”

Freminet blinked. “You noticed?”

“I always notice.”

The words were simple, said without hesitation.

Freminet’s face warmed further.

“…You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Freminet’s throat went dry.

That—

That felt—

Important.

Too important.

He stared at the water instead, trying to steady himself.

“…You watch very closely.”

“Of course I do,” Gaming said, like it was obvious. “You’re interesting.”

Freminet nearly short-circuited.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I stand still, or lay or sit, half the time.”

“You observe,” Gaming corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Freminet didn’t know how to respond to that.

Silence settled comfortable on Gaming’s side. Catastrophic on Freminet’s.

Because now he was aware of everything; The warmth of Gaming’s arm. The faint scent of sweat and clean fabric.The slow rise and fall of his breathing.

It was too much.

Freminet shifted again, trying to focus on literally anything else.

Gaming turned his head slightly.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

Immediate.

Gaming’s mouth twitched.

“You look like you’re about to dive underwater to escape.”

“…That’s a reasonable solution.”

Gaming laughed softly.

“You’re cute when you panic.”

Freminet’s brain stopped.

“I’m not panicking.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I am not.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m—”

Freminet froze.

“…It’s warm.”

“It’s night.”

“That doesn’t—”

Gaming leaned a little closer, squinting like he was inspecting something important.

Freminet’s soul left his body.

“…You are red,” Gaming confirmed, amused.

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you ran here.”

“I didn’t.”

“Your ears are pink.”

Freminet covered one ear instinctively.

Gaming laughed again, softer this time.

Not teasing.

Fond.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not making fun of you.”

Freminet forced himself to breathe normally.

“…Then why point it out?”

Gaming shrugged.

“Because it’s kind of—”

He stopped.

Freminet glanced at him.

“…Kind of what?”

Gaming smiled, smaller than usual.

“Nothing.”

Freminet’s chest did something unpleasant and fluttery.

He didn’t understand it.

At all.

This was—

Annoying.

Confusing.

Unnecessary.

He stared stubbornly at the lake.

“…You stand too close,” he muttered.

“I’m sitting.”

“You’re still too close.”

Gaming leaned back, barely an inch.

“Better?”

Freminet immediately felt the absence of warmth.

Which was worse.

“…It’s fine.”

Gaming watched him for a second, expression soft, knowing in a way that made Freminet nervous.

Then, deliberately, Gaming nudged their shoulders together again.

Intentional.

Freminet’s heart slammed against his ribs.

“There,” Gaming said lightly. “Now it’s balanced.”

Freminet did not trust his voice.

At all.

“…You’re strange.”

“Maybe,” Gaming said.

Another pause.

“But you didn’t move away.”

Freminet’s breath caught.

He hadn’t.

He didn’t.

He didn’t want to.

Which made absolutely no sense.

Freminet swallowed, staring at the water like it might explain him to himself.

“…I just didn’t feel like it.”

Gaming’s smile, unseen, turned warm enough to hurt later.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“I know.” 

The grass was still warm from the day’s heat, though the night had long since settled over the lake.

Crickets hummed somewhere in the reeds, steady and patient, while the water reflected the sky so clearly it felt like the stars had slipped loose and fallen into it.

Freminet lay on his back, hands folded loosely over his stomach, gaze fixed upward.

Beside him, close enough that their elbows occasionally brushed, Gaming stretched out with far less composure, one knee bent, arms behind his head.

For once, neither of them felt the need to fill the silence immediately.

It wasn’t empty.

Just… quiet.

Peaceful.

Gaming broke it first.

“If you were a star,” he said lazily, eyes tracing the sky, “which one would you be?”

Freminet blinked.

“…A star?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Humor me.”

Freminet considered it seriously, far more seriously than Gaming had expected.

“…Probably Gamma Piscium,” he said after a moment. “Dim. Further away. In Pisces.”

Gaming turned his head slightly.

“Why?”

Freminet shrugged, still watching the sky.

“Less disturbance.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It sounds peaceful.”

Gaming huffed softly.

“You’re impossible.”

Freminet didn’t deny it.

A breeze passed, stirring the grass around them.

After a moment, Freminet spoke again.

“What star would you be?”

Gaming grinned immediately.

“Oh, that’s easy—”

Freminet interrupted, voice calm.

“None.”

Gaming stopped.

“…None?”

Freminet turned his head slightly toward him.

“You wouldn’t be one.”

Gaming blinked, caught off guard.

“…Why not?”

Freminet studied the sky again, searching for the right words.

“Stars blend together,” he said slowly. “Even the bright ones. They’re… similar.”

Gaming’s grin faded into something more attentive.

Freminet continued, thoughtful, unaware of the effect he was having.

“You’re not.”

Gaming’s heart did something extremely unhelpful.

Freminet gestured faintly toward the horizon where a faint reddish point shimmered low in the sky.

“You’re more like that.”

Gaming followed his gaze.

“…That’s a planet.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s brighter,” Freminet said simply. “And distinct. You can recognize it immediately.”

Gaming went very still.

Freminet, still completely oblivious, added—

“And it’s red.”

Silence.

A long one.

If the night had been any brighter, Freminet would have seen the exact moment Gaming’s face turned the color of a sunset.

Instead, Gaming stared straight up at the sky like it had personally betrayed him.

“I—”

He cleared his throat.

“Whatever.”

Freminet frowned slightly.

“…Whatever?”

“Yeah,” Gaming said quickly, voice betraying him by climbing half a note too high. “Planets. Stars. Space. Sure.”

Freminet turned his head, confused.

“Was that incorrect?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

“I just—”

Gaming groaned quietly, dragging a hand over his face.

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“…Like what?”

“Nothing!”

Freminet stared at him, genuinely lost.

“I described an astronomical distinction.”

Gaming made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Freminet considered that.

“…You say that often.”

“Because you keep proving me right.”

A small pause settled between them.

Then Gaming exhaled, shoulders relaxing again, voice softer.

“…For the record,” he muttered, “I don’t mind being red.”

Freminet nodded once, accepting the information as if it were practical.

“Noted.”

Gaming let out a quiet laugh, half fond, half defeated.

They fell back into an easier rhythm after that.

Talking about nothing important.

Which vendor in the village cheated tourists.

Which dance step Freminet still refused to attempt.

How many times Gaming had tripped that week alone.

“You count?” Gaming accused.

“You announce it loudly.”

“I do not.”

“You apologized to the ground yesterday.”

“It attacked me first.”

Freminet’s mouth twitched.

“That’s not how gravity works.”

“Says you.”

“Says physics.”

Gaming laughed, the earlier fluster finally dissolving into something warm again.

The conversation drifted, light, unguarded, comfortable in the way only late nights seem to allow.

Eventually the words thinned, leaving only the quiet again.

Above them, the sky stretched endless.

Beside him, Gaming shifted slightly, their sleeves brushing.

Freminet didn’t move away.

After a moment, Gaming spoke,voice softer than before.

“…Hey.”

“Yes?”

A small pause.

“If I were a planet,” Gaming said, trying,  and failing, to sound casual, “you’d still look for me, right?”

Freminet didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Simple.

Certain.

Gaming swallowed, staring very intently at the stars so he wouldn’t have to risk looking at him.

“…Good,” he murmured.

And though the night hid it well. 

His smile stayed there for a long, long time.

That night was heavier than usual.

Humid, thick with the kind of warmth that clung to skin and made every movement feel slower. Even the lake looked darker, its usual silver surface dulled by a thin veil of clouds drifting across the moon.

Gaming tried to run through a sequence anyway, but the light was poor and the ground slick with dew. After missing the same turn twice, he clicked his tongue and gave up, dragging a hand across the back of his neck.

They settled near the water instead.

No music. No movement. Just the quiet rush of insects and the faint ripple of the lake brushing stone.

After a moment, Gaming spoke.

“Why did you come?”

Freminet glanced at him.

“To Liyue, I mean.”

“…Work,” Freminet answered.

It was the simplest version of the truth, the only one that didn’t knot in his throat.

Gaming nodded once.

He understood enough not to ask more.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, just stretched, thin as thread.

Freminet could hear Gaming’s breathing beside him, still a little fast from practice, the steady rise and fall of his chest in the dim light.

He found himself listening to it.

Wondering, without meaning to, what that warmth would feel like closer. Against his skin. Whether it would be steady or uneven.

His gaze drifted.

Red lips, slightly parted as Gaming exhaled.

Bright eyes, dulled a little by the low light but still restless, still alive even in stillness.

Freminet’s chest tightened with a strange, restless curiosity.

He wondered, dangerously, what else Gaming might show him if he asked.

“Not planning on going back, are you?”

The question cut cleanly through his thoughts.

Gaming had a teasing tone, as if Freminet would stay forever. As if he lived there, despite only having been there sightly more than half a year. 

Had gaming expected him to say yes? No? ‘How could I, when I have you here’?

Freminet blinked, pulling back into himself. Time was just something everyone lacked, and honesty suit him best.

“…A month.”

Approximately.

The words felt heavier once they were said out loud.

Gaming turned to him sharply, all too fast.

“You’re kidding, right?”

There was no humor in his voice.

Just disbelief, sharp enough to sting.

Freminet had never seen that expression on him before. The usual warmth was gone, replaced by something rawer. Edged.

It startled him.

And, shamefully, a small, bright thrill flickered through his chest at being the cause of such a strong reaction. He wasn’t joking, but he wasn’t sure of when he left either.

“…Hm,” Freminet murmured, unsure what he’d done wrong. “I didn’t think it was—”

“Fun?” Gaming snapped.

The word came out harsher than anything Freminet had ever heard from him.

Freminet blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t mean—”

“Then what did you mean?” Gaming cut in, voice tight, the frustration sitting too close to the surface. “You say it like it’s nothing. Like you’re talking about the weather.”

“I—” Freminet faltered. “I didn’t think it would—”

“Would what?” Gaming let out a short, breathless laugh that wasn’t amused. “Matter?”

The question landed heavier than it should have.

Freminet’s mind scrambled for footing. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected the air between them to turn sharp so quickly.

“I didn’t know it did,” he admitted, quiet, honest to a fault.

Gaming stared at him like that answer only made things worse.

“…Are you messing with me?” he asked.

Freminet stiffened. “No.”

“Then why,” Gaming pressed, words starting to tumble over each other, “why didn’t you say anything before? You’ve known you weren’t staying.”

Freminet opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t known how.

Gaming ran a hand through his hair, pacing once, agitation leaking through every movement.

“Were you just going to leave?” he continued, voice rising despite himself. “Like—what—just stop showing up one night and that’s it?”

“I—”

“Leave me here waiting like an idiot?” Gaming’s laugh cracked, thin and strained. “Because that’s what it would’ve been, you know? I would’ve thought you were late. Or busy. Or—”

He cut himself off with a frustrated exhale.

“That’s not how people—” He gestured vaguely between them, searching for the word and clearly hating that he couldn’t find it. “That’s not how people keep… anyone.”

The unfinished sentence hung there.

Freminet felt the pressure in his chest spike, sharp and sudden. He didn’t understand where he’d gone wrong, only that he had.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Do you just not care?” Gaming blurted, the question escaping before he could soften it. “About being—”

He stopped again.

Didn’t finish.

The silence that followed was louder than the argument.

Freminet’s thoughts tangled, too many at once, none of them forming something he could actually say. His pulse hammered in his ears. The night suddenly felt too tight, too warm.

He didn’t know what answer Gaming wanted.

Didn’t even fully understand the question.

“We’re not…” The words slipped out sharper than he intended, defensive, desperate to stop the spiral before it got worse. “We’re not anything.”

The moment they left his mouth, he regretted them.

Gaming went very still.

The hurt didn’t show all at once, it settled slowly across his expression, like a light dimming.

“…So strangers,” he said after a beat, voice distant in a way Freminet had never heard before. “Yeah.”

He gave a small, humorless nod.

“That checks out.”

Freminet bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting. His throat felt dry, tight, like if he tried to speak properly something would break loose that he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“I know you,” he managed, barely above a whisper.

Gaming’s eyes flicked back to him, glossy now, the earlier fire dulled.

“Do you, really?”

Freminet nodded his head quickly, frustrated.

“I— I listen,” he said, voice unsteady. “You told me about the dance. Your family. The festivals. I—”

“You don’t tell me anything back,” Gaming cut in, not loud this time, worse, tired. “Not really.”

Freminet froze.

“That part I thought I knew,” Gaming continued, slower, searching for words like each one cost something, “the observant,  quiet yet funny guy who shows up every night, laughs at my bad landings, notices when I fix my footing, called me a planet because a star was too ordinary…”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile that didn’t quite happen.

“I thought we were—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “Something.”

“We didn’t—” Freminet started, then faltered.

Because saying nothing felt wrong.

But saying something felt dangerous in a way he couldn’t explain.

“We didn’t define it,” he finished instead, more strained than aggressive. “I didn’t know what you expected from me.”

Gaming looked at him for a long second, eyes narrowing slightly, not angry, just… hurt.

“So I was just… what?” he asked quietly. “Someone to pass the time with?”

The question landed like a weight.

Freminet’s stomach dropped.

“No,” he said immediately, too fast.

“Then what was I?” Gaming pressed, softer now, which somehow made it worse. “Was I your friend?”

Friend.

The word sat between them, fragile.

Freminet swallowed.

They had never said it out loud.

Never labeled anything.

But the idea of denying it felt like trying to rip something out of his own chest.

“I—” His voice caught. He tried again, quieter. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to call you that.”

Gaming blinked, genuinely thrown.

“…Allowed?”

“You’re—” Freminet struggled, words clumsy around feelings he wasn’t used to naming. “You’re bright. Easy with people. You have… everyone.”

“That’s not—”

“And I’m—” Freminet exhaled shakily. “I stay because it’s quiet. Because you don’t ask me to be someone else.”

His hands curled slightly at his sides.

“I didn’t want to assume I meant more to you than I did.”

The admission hung there, raw and unpolished.

Gaming’s expression shifted, confusion cutting through the hurt.

“That’s—” He stopped, recalibrating. “That’s not what this was.”

Freminet’s eyes stung.

“I know,” he said quickly, misinterpreting the tone. “That’s why I said we’re not—”

“I meant it wasn’t nothing,” Gaming interrupted, frustration flaring again, but thinner now, frayed instead of sharp. “I didn’t feel like it was nothing. I —“

Silence fell.

Freminet’s chest ached with the effort of holding everything in place, he knew Gaming wanted to say more, but looking into his eyes, all Freminet could see was dark and uncomfortable hurt.

Silence…

Freminet stopped for once, craving silence. He wanted to hear—

“So I don’t mean anything to you?”

Freminet’s head snapped up immediately. “That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” Gaming cut in, the thin thread of patience finally fraying. “Because you keep saying things like we’re strangers, like this—” he gestured between them, sharp and helpless at once, “—is just some place you stop by when you’re bored.”

“I never said bored,” Freminet replied, voice tightening.

“You didn’t have to.”

The words landed harder than if Gaming had shouted.

Freminet felt heat crawl up his neck, pressure building behind his ribs.

“I come here every night,” he said, quieter but strained. “I listen. I stay.”

“And you were still going to leave without telling me.”

“I am telling you.”

“Because I asked,” Gaming shot back. “Not because you wanted me to know.”

That—

That was true.

Freminet’s silence answered for him.

Gaming laughed once, sharp and humorless, dragging a hand down his face.

“Unbelievable.”

“I didn’t think—”

“Yeah,” Gaming snapped, “that’s kind of the problem, Freminet. You don’t.”

The words hit like a slap.

Freminet stiffened, something defensive rising fast in his chest.

“I was trying not to assume,” he said, voice starting to shake despite his effort to keep it even. “You have people. Crowds. Performances. You said you’re invited everywhere.”

“And?”

“And I’m just—” He faltered, frustrated at how small it sounded. “Someone who watches.”

Gaming stared at him like that explanation only made things worse.

“You’re not just—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “You think I talk to everyone like this?”

“I don’t know,” Freminet shot back, sharper than he intended. “You never said.”

Gaming’s eyes narrowed, hurt flashing hot.

“I show up,” he said, tapping his chest with two fingers. “Every night. I tell you things I don’t tell half the people who cheer my name. I come to dance for you, when I could just go anywhere else. When people pay for it.”

Freminet’s throat tightened.

“And you,” Gaming continued, voice dropping, “look at me like I’m something you found on the shore. Pretty. Interesting. Temporary.”

“That’s not—”

“Then what am I to you?”

The question came out raw.

Unprotected.

Freminet’s mind went blank again, the same awful, empty white.

Labels felt dangerous.

Expectations worse.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Gaming recoiled like he’d been struck.

“…You don’t know.”

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to call this,” Freminet tried, words tumbling over themselves. “I didn’t want to assume I mattered—”

“You do,” Gaming snapped, louder now, frustration finally breaking through the restraint. “That’s the whole point!”

Freminet flinched.

The sound echoed off the water.

”You’re important me! I just want to know what am I to—“

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, too quickly, panic edging his voice. “I never asked you to— to make me something important.”

The instant the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong.

Gaming went very, very still.

The kind of still that wasn’t calm, just contained.

“…Wow,” he said quietly.

Freminet’s chest tightened painfully.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Gaming cut in, voice flat now, the earlier heat draining into something colder. “You did.”

A long pause stretched between them.

The lake whispered. A night insect chirped once and went silent.

Freminet felt his eyes sting, vision blurring slightly. He hated this, hated not understanding which sentence kept making things worse.

“I just didn’t want to ruin it,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Gaming frowned. “Ruin—?”

“If I said it out loud,” Freminet forced himself to continue, throat tight, “if I called you something—friend, or—anything—then you could take it back.”

The admission hung there, fragile and exposed.

Gaming’s expression flickered, hurt softening into something almost sympathetic—

—but it didn’t last.

“Freminet,” he said, voice rough, “that’s how people work. You say it anyway.”

Freminet shook his head quickly.

“That’s how people leave.”

Silence slammed down again.

Gaming’s eyes searched his face like he was trying to find something that wasn’t there.

“And what,” he asked slowly, “was I supposed to do? Just keep dancing here every night while you decide whether I’m real enough to exist after you go?”

“I never said you weren’t real.”

“You treated me like I wasn’t staying,” Gaming shot back.

Freminet’s chest burned.

“You’re the one who said you perform everywhere,” he snapped, the hurt finally spilling over. “Crowds, invitations, festivals— you will leave too.”

“That’s different!”

“How?” Freminet demanded, voice breaking. “At least you know you matter wherever you go.”

Gaming stared at him, stunned.

“…You think that means I don’t care who stays?”

Freminet’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I think,” he said, voice shaking now despite his effort to keep it steady, “that I was something temporary you wouldn’t notice losing.”

Gaming’s face changed.

Not anger first.

Disbelief.

Deep, immediate.

Then the rage followed, sharp enough to cut.

“Temporary?” he repeated.

Freminet realized, too late, how it sounded.

“I didn’t—”

“So all those nights,” Gaming said, voice rising again, “all the talking, the waiting, teaching you steps, listening about the ocean—”

“I listened to you too—”

“—and you still thought you were just filler?”

Freminet’s eyes burned. “I didn’t think you’d miss me.”

“I would,” Gaming snapped. “I will.”

That certainty hit harder than anything else.

Freminet’s chest seized.

Too much.

Too close.

He stepped back instinctively, like distance might stop the pressure building behind his ribs.

“We shouldn’t—” His voice faltered. He forced it steady. “We shouldn’t make this bigger than it is.”

Gaming went quiet again.

Dangerously quiet.

“…Bigger than it is,” he echoed.

Freminet swallowed, forcing the words out before he could stop himself.

“It was just—” His throat tightened. “Nice. While it lasted.”

The moment the sentence landed, something in Gaming’s expression cracked completely.

Not loud.

Just.

Gone.

The warmth. The easy grin. The ember-bright presence.

All of it snuffed out.

“So that’s it,” Gaming said, voice low and flat. “That’s what I was.”

Freminet opened his mouth, panic flooding in.

“I didn’t— I mean—”

“You meant exactly that.”

“I was trying to—”

“Protect yourself?” Gaming’s laugh was sharp. “Congrats. You did.”

Freminet’s vision blurred properly now. He blinked hard, refusing to let anything fall.

“I thought keeping it small would hurt less,” he admitted, barely audible.

Gaming looked at him for a long, silent second.

When he spoke, his voice shook despite the anger.

“Yeah,” he said. “Well— does it? Hurting others not to affect yourself?”

The words landed like a blade.

Freminet’s chest felt hollow.

Neither of them moved.

The distance between them suddenly felt enormous.

Finally, Gaming stepped back.

Once.

Twice.

Like he was physically forcing himself away.

“…Got it,” he muttered.

Freminet’s fingers twitched, an instinct to reach out fighting with the instinct to retreat.

He didn’t move.

Gaming let out a harsh breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Next time,” he said, voice tight, “don’t bother showing up if you’re already halfway gone.”

Freminet flinched.

“I—”

Gaming shook his head, cutting him off, eyes glossy but hard.

“Seriously.”

Another step back.

The lake wind lifted the loose strands of his hair.

“Just—”

His jaw tightened.

“Fuck you.”

The words came out raw, more wounded than furious.

Then he turned.

And walked away.

Fast.

Not looking back.

The sound of his footsteps faded into the night, swallowed by insects and water and distance.

Freminet stayed where he was.

Breathing shallow. Chest aching like something inside had been pulled out too quickly. The lakeshore returned to silence. And for the first time since those nights had begun, It felt empty again.

Just like that.

Gone..

Freminet remained where he was.

Still.

The lake stretched before him, dark and indifferent, clouds finally covering what little moonlight remained.

The humid air pressed against his skin, suddenly uncomfortable.

Too close.

Too empty.

He stared at the place where Gaming had been standing only moments ago, trying to replay the conversation in his head like a mechanism he could take apart and fix.

Another month.

Too long?

Too short?

Had he said it wrong?

Had he—

Freminet swallowed, throat tight.

The warmth that usually settled in his chest during these nights had vanished, replaced by something colder. Hollow.

He drew his knees slightly closer, fingers curling into the damp grass.

What had just happened?

And why did the idea of not seeing that red flash by the lake tomorrow night feel so much worse than the thought of the ocean ever had?

The next night, Gaming didn’t come.

Freminet told himself it didn’t mean anything.

People had lives. Schedules. Other places to be.

Still, his feet carried him down the same path anyway, at the same hour, as if routine alone might be enough to summon that familiar flash of red by the lake.

The shore was empty.

No stretched fabric on the grass.

No quiet humming.

No sharp footwork breaking the stillness.

Only the lake, dark, patient, unchanged.

Freminet stood there longer than necessary before finally sitting where he usually did, the reeds whispering softly behind him.

The silence felt different now. Before, it had been peaceful. Now it was… loud in its absence.

He found himself looking toward the spot where Gaming normally warmed up, half-expecting him to step out from the shadows with that easy grin, complaining about humidity or bad footing.

Nothing.

Just wind over water.

Freminet exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a moment.

Without meaning to, his mind filled the emptiness.

He could almost see him; That steady posture, shoulders loose after stretching. Dark hair tied back, a few strands always escaping. The way his eyes caught even the faintest light and made it look warmer than it was.

Memory supplied the rest too easily.

The sound of his voice.

The soft thud of practiced steps.

The quiet laugh when he messed up.

Freminet’s thoughts drifted further than he would have allowed if he’d been fully aware of it.

He imagined Gaming stopping mid-movement, walking over instead of staying across the clearing.

Close enough that the distance between them, always careful, always polite, simply… wasn’t there anymore.

A brief, awkward hug.

The kind that wasn’t planned.

Just warm.

The image startled him, and yet he didn’t push it away.

After so many nights of watching from afar, first hidden, then only a few steps away, the idea of that closeness felt almost unreal.

Like something that belonged to someone else’s life.

Despite it all…He let himself linger there for a moment.

Imagining what it would be like if Gaming’s presence filled the quiet again. If that restless, ember-bright energy replaced the heavy stillness of the lake.

It didn’t fix the emptiness.

But it dulled it enough to breathe through.

Freminet opened his eyes.

The shore remained unchanged, silver water, dark grass, no red in sight.

He drew his arms loosely around himself, more out of habit than cold.

Strange.

He had spent most of his life preferring distance, preferring quiet places where no one expected anything from him.

Yet now, sitting alone beneath the dim moon, he realized, thenights were easier when someone else was there. Even if that someone only laughed at his stiffness, talked too much, and filled the silence without trying.

Freminet watched the water ripple softly.

And, without quite deciding to hestayed longer than usual.

Just in case a familiar voice broke the quiet and complained about the terrible lighting again.

The nights stayed warm, the kind of humid that clung softly to skin and made every breath feel heavier than it should. Freminet returned to the lakeside anyway, though he already knew the space would be empty.

No music.

No bright red.

No laughter that rang sharper than the bells tied to a dancer’s ankle.

Still, he went.

Moonlight spilled across the water in a pale, trembling path, and for a moment, just a moment, he could almost pretend nothing had changed. The breeze shifted, carrying the faintest echo of memory: silk rustling, quick footsteps, a voice counting rhythm under his breath.

Freminet sat where he usually did, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the clearing.

He told himself he was only watching the water.

He wasn’t.

In his mind, Gaming was there again, mid-spin, hair catching the light, that easy grin breaking through the focus of his movements. Freminet could almost hear the drumbeat Gaming used to keep time, could almost see the sharp lift of his shoulders before a jump.

The imagined figure faltered, laughed, bowed with exaggerated flair as if acknowledging an invisible crowd.

Freminet’s chest tightened.

He let the thought linger longer than he should have.

In the quiet, his mind betrayed him further, softening the scene, blurring the edges until it felt less like memory and more like a dream. Gaming finished the dance and, instead of stepping away, walked straight toward him.

No audience.

No performance face.

Just him.

Freminet imagined the warmth first, presence before touch. The way Gaming’s energy always seemed to fill whatever space he entered. He pictured him stopping close, too close, head tilted, eyes bright even in the dim light.

“You’re staring again,” the imagined voice teased, low and amused.

Freminet didn’t answer, even in his own thoughts.

Gaming only smiled, softer this time, as if the joke had been set aside. The distance between them narrowed, slow, unhurried, like the last step of a dance neither of them had practiced but both somehow knew.

Freminet could almost feel the brush of breath, warm against the cool night air.

Then the moment blurred, like moonlight breaking across ripples, and the dream-version of Gaming leaned in, gentle, unguarded, their foreheads nearly touching before their lips met in a quiet, fleeting kiss that felt more like a question than an answer.

Soft.

Brief.

Gone almost as soon as it began.

Freminet blinked.

The lake was empty.

No dancer. No music. No warmth, only the distant hum of insects and the slow lap of water against stone.

He exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

The night felt colder than it had a moment ago.

And still, despite the hollow ache settling behind his ribs, he stayed, eyes fixed on the place where the dream had stood, as if waiting might somehow bring Gaming back into it.

Freminet touched his lips without realizing he’d done it.

The gesture was absent, almost distant, as if his body had remembered something his mind refused to hold still long enough to name.

He lay back fully against the ground, the dirt beneath him still humid from the night air, cool seeping slowly through the thin fabric of his shirt. The scent of wet earth and lake water filled his lungs, clean, alive, steady in a way his thoughts were not.

Before him, the lake stretched wide and quiet, its surface trembling only when the breeze skimmed across it.

He watched it without really seeing.

Fontaine waited for him.

The ocean waited for him.

He could almost hear it if he tried, the low, endless hush of deep water, the distant pressure, the familiar weight that had always wrapped around him like something close to home.

He should have felt relieved.

Returning meant routine. Work. Silence. The safety of depths where words didn’t reach.

Instead there was a hollow space in his chest that refused to close.

It had been there since the night Gaming stormed away.

Since the sharp sound of footsteps fading into nothing.

Since the last thing he’d heard.

That voice, angry enough to shake.

Freminet swallowed.

His throat ached.

He hadn’t meant most of what he said.

Or maybe he had.

He couldn’t remember the exact words anymore, only the feeling. Tight, defensive, cornered. Like something fragile had been exposed and his first instinct had been to push it away before it could be taken from him.

Now the memory felt wrong in his hands.

Like holding broken glass after the fact and wondering when it started bleeding.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the water.

He didn’t need anything complicated.

Didn’t need promises.

Didn’t need certainty.

He just wanted Gaming there.

Beside him.

Talking too much.

Laughing at his own jokes.

Filling the silence Freminet never noticed until it was gone.

Friend.

Lover.

Stranger.

Acquaintance.

Anything.

Whatever Gaming would allow.

Whatever fragment of presence he could still keep.

Just one more time.

The thought was selfish.

Freminet knew it was.

He let it linger anyway.

The wind shifted, brushing his hair across his face. The night felt heavier than before, the air thick enough that each breath seemed to drag through his lungs instead of filling them.

His vision blurred.

At first he thought it was the humidity.

Then something warm slipped past his temple, disappearing into his hair.

Freminet blinked.

Another drop followed, tracing slowly down the side of his face.

He lifted a hand, touching his cheek.

Wet.

He stared at his fingers like they belonged to someone else.

He hadn’t noticed when it started.

The tears came quietly, no sound, no shaking, just a steady warmth slipping down into the dirt beneath his head.

Freminet pressed the back of his wrist over his eyes, breath hitching once, sharp, involuntary.

The lake remained calm.

Unchanged.

Unbothered by the quiet unraveling happening a few steps away.

His chest tightened until it almost hurt to breathe.

A name surfaced before he could stop it.

Gaming.

It echoed in his mind, again, and again, and again, like the rhythm of distant waves.

Gaming.
Gaming.
Gaming—

Each repetition felt softer.

More desperate.

Like if he said it enough times, the night might give him back what he’d lost.

But the shore stayed empty.

No footsteps.

No red against the dark.

Only the wind, the water, and the quiet sound of Freminet’s breathing as he lay there, staring at nothing, holding onto a presence that existed now only in memory, and in the aching space it had left behind.

Freminet stepped into the water without thinking.

No suit.

No weights.

No careful preparation the way he always had.

Just trousers, a thin shirt, and a mind too loud to remain on land.

The lake swallowed the sound of his steps, cool water climbing past his ankles, his knees, his waist. The night air clung warm to his shoulders while the water below felt like slipping into another world entirely.

He kept going.

Not deep.

It was never truly deep near the shore.

The moment the water closed around him, something inside his chest broke loose.

Because in the water, everything was easier.

In the water, memory felt closer than reality.

His eyes shut.

And suddenly, Gaming was there.

Laughing.

That bright, breathless laugh that always came after he nearly fell.

A splash, 

A shove to his shoulder.

“You started it,” that voice teased.

Freminet could almost feel it, warm hands, careless and familiar, pushing him back like it was all a game.

In the water, Gaming didn’t storm away.

In the water, Gaming stayed.

He heard him again, closer this time, voice softer, stripped of the sharp edges their last conversation had carried.

“I like being here with you.”

The words echoed through Freminet’s mind like something sacred.

“I like you.”

In the water, Gaming didn’t look angry.

“You’re important to me.”

He looked warm.

“Cute.”

Fond.

“That’s Smart.”

Like those nights when the silence between them had never been heavy.

Freminet’s chest tightened painfully.

Because here, only here, Gaming didn’t leave.

Here, Gaming laughed with him.

Here, Gaming stood close enough that Freminet could pretend the warmth was real, arms around him, steady and grounding, like he wasn’t something fragile that might be pushed away.

Every quiet, selfish wish Freminet had been too afraid to name—

The water gave it back to him.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to hurt.

Because the truth had been there from the beginning.

From the first night.

From the first time he’d seen a figure dancing in moonlight like fire given a heartbeat.

Freminet had never thought of Gaming as just a friend.

Not once.

From the moment he returned the next night—

And the next—

He had already fallen.

For someone whose name he hadn’t even known.

The realization settled now with a terrifying clarity.

He loved Gaming.

All of him.

The laughter.

The stubbornness.

The warmth that filled empty spaces without asking permission.

And the knowledge struck just as hard as the feeling itself.

Gaming was gone.

And very possibly wanted nothing to do with him.

Freminet’s chest seized.

His eyes burned.

Tears slipped free, lost immediately to the water around his face.

He stayed there too long.

Out of habit, his body expected the familiar pressure of a mask, expected air where there was none.

The realization came late.

Too late.

His lungs screamed.

Panic snapped through him, sharp and instinctive, and Freminet jerked upward, breaking the surface with a harsh gasp, dragging in air like it might disappear if he didn’t take enough of it now.

Water clung to his lashes, blurring the world.

He wiped at his face, breathing hard.

And froze.

Someone stood at the edge of the lake.

Still.

Silent.

Watching.

Freminet’s mouth fell open slightly, breath catching all over again.

Gaming.

Moonlight caught the edges of his silhouette, enough to see the tension in his posture, the way his shoulders were drawn tight, hands half-curled like he’d almost moved forward and then stopped himself.

His eyes, usually so bright, were wide with something rawer now.

Worry.

Fear.

Relief, buried beneath it.

He didn’t step closer.

Freminet didn’t move either.

Water dripped from Freminet’s hair, rippling the surface around him in slow, widening circles.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The night held its breath between them.

Two figures, separated by only a few steps of shallow water, and everything that had been said, and left unsaid, hanging heavier than the humid air.

Gaming turned.

Just turned, like he’d already decided this was the end of it.

That was what finally broke something in Freminet.

“Wait—!”

His voice came out sharper than he’d ever heard it, cracking through the quiet of the lake.

Gaming didn’t stop.

Panic surged sudden, violent, unbearable.

“I love you!”

The words tore out of him.

Too loud.

Too raw.

Too late to take back.

Gaming froze mid-step.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head, eyes wide like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“…Excuse me?”

Freminet’s face burned so fiercely it almost hurt, but he forced himself forward, stumbling out of the water, shoes squelching against the soaked ground as he closed the distance between them.

“I—” His breath shook. “I’m sorry.”

The words came fast now, tripping over each other.

“I love you. I— I didn’t know how to say it without ruining everything, and I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I thought if I pretended it was nothing, it wouldn’t hurt when I left.”

Gaming stared at him, completely stunned jaw slightly open, like his mind hadn’t caught up yet.

Freminet kept going anyway, because if he stopped now he knew he’d never say it.

“I never didn’t feel anything,” he said, voice quieter but steadier. “I just… couldn’t understand why you would. Why anyone would.”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“That’s not an excuse. I know it isn’t. I’ll— I’ll work on it. I just—”

His voice faltered.

The next words scraped out of him, fragile.

“…Please.”

Silence rang between them.

Gaming still hadn’t moved.

Freminet forced himself to keep speaking, even as embarrassment crawled up his spine.

“You don’t have to— feel the same,” he added quickly. “You can just—”

He swallowed.

“—be my acquaintance.”

Gaming’s expression snapped.

“Freminet—”

“Or—” Freminet rushed, desperate now, “just let me hug you once before you go.”

The words hung there, small and helpless.

For a second, Freminet thought he’d made it worse.

Because Gaming started shaking.

Freminet couldn’t tell if it was anger.

Or cold.

Or something else entirely.

He found out when Gaming suddenly grabbed him.

Hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him forward, 

Arms wrapping tight around his middle with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs.

Freminet froze.

Completely.

The embrace was fierce. Desperate. Nothing careful about it.

Warm.

So painfully warm.

Then—

A wetness against his neck.

A broken sound.

Gaming was crying.

“Don’t—” Gaming’s voice cracked, rough and shaking. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Freminet’s hands hovered awkwardly before slowly settling against his back.

“I’m—” Gaming sucked in a breath that hitched halfway. “I’m still mad at you.”

Another shaky exhale.

“I felt so stupid,” he muttered, voice muffled against Freminet’s shoulder. “Like I made everything up in my head. Like I didn’t matter at all.”

“You do,” Freminet said immediately, panic flickering again. “You— you always did.”

“You idiot,” Gaming whispered, but there was no bite left in it—only hurt.

Freminet let out a weak, half-laugh that turned into a sniff.

“I know.”

They stayed like that for a moment—clinging more than hugging.

As if either of them moved too fast, the other might disappear.

Gaming pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes still glassy, lashes damp.

“…I might,” he said slowly, voice softer now, almost embarrassed by the admission, “be falling in love with you too.”

Freminet’s breath stopped.

Completely.

Gaming glanced away, a faint flush visible even in the dim light.

Freminet felt something fragile and bright spark painfully in his chest—

Hope.

Real, terrifying hope.

Gaming looked back at him, expression gentler than Freminet had ever seen.

His hands lifted, hesitating only a second before cupping Freminet’s cheeks.

Warm palms.

Careful this time.

Like he was holding something breakable.

Freminet leaned into the touch before he could stop himself.

He’d wanted this.

Wanted it so badly it almost hurt.

The night seemed to narrow around them, the lake, the wind, the distant insects fading until there was only the quiet space between their breaths.

Gaming’s thumbs brushed lightly under his eyes, wiping away the last traces of damp.

“…You’re impossible,” Gaming murmured, softer than ever.

Freminet’s voice came out barely above a whisper.

“…You stayed.”

Gaming’s expression softened, achingly fond despite everything.

“Yeah,” he said. “I stayed.”

“Why?”

“That’s a good question. You’re  just so irresistible, I suppose.”

Freminet let out a choked laugh.

“Tell me more.”

“You’re also mega weird.”

Somewhere between shaky laughter and smiles that wouldn’t quite settle, the space between them finally disappeared.

Freminet didn’t remember deciding to move. Only that one second Gaming was close and the next their lips met.

Soft at first. Careful. Like both of them were still asking the same silent question.

Is this really happening?

Gaming made a small, startled sound against his mouth as he stumbled half a step back, but Freminet followed without thinking, one hand catching at the front of his shirt to steady them both.

The kiss deepened, not rushed, just… certain.

Warm.

Real.

Everything Freminet had imagined in quiet, guilty moments felt suddenly pale compared to the way Gaming actually felt, alive and a little breathless and unmistakably there.

They only broke apart when breathing became impossible.

Foreheads almost touching.

Both of them smiling in that dazed, disbelieving way people did when something fragile actually survived.

“…So,” Gaming murmured, still a little out of breath, “are we…?”

Freminet watched him, really watched him.

The damp lashes. The flushed cheeks. The way he was clearly trying to sound casual and failing.

For once, Freminet didn’t hesitate.

He already knew.

A small, steady smile curved his lips.

“Gaming,” he said quietly, voice still rough, “would you be my boyfriend?”

For a split second, Gaming just stared.

Then his grin broke wide, bright enough it almost hurt to look at.

“Of course.”

The answer came without hesitation. Without doubt.

Like he’d been waiting to say it for a long time.

Freminet barely had time to breathe before Gaming leaned in again, laughter still caught in his voice and their lips met once more.

This time easier.

Certain.

No panic. No fear of disappearing.

Just the quiet, overwhelming relief of finally standing on the same side of something that had been pulling them together since the very first night by the lake.

The first thing Freminet realized, far too late, was that bringing Gaming to dinner with his family might have been a mistake. Gaming was being… charming. Dangerously so.

The dining hall of the House of the Hearth never tried to be warm.

It simply was in a way that felt deliberate, curated.

Long windows framed the Fontaine night like polished mirrors, reflecting soft amber light back into the room. The chandelier above wasn’t overly grand, but each crystal caught the glow of the candles placed along the center of the table, scattering it into small, patient constellations across porcelain and glass.

Everything was precise.

Silver cutlery aligned perfectly with folded napkins. Plates edged in pale gold. Wine poured to exactly the same height in each glass.

It was the kind of table that made most visitors sit straighter without realizing it.

Freminet had grown used to it.

Gaming had not.

“…Okay,” Gaming whispered under his breath as he sat, leaning slightly toward Freminet, “I suddenly understand why you stand like you’re being inspected by the Archons.”

Freminet flushed.

“I am not—”

“You absolutely are.”

Across from them, Lyney smiled like a cat who had just noticed a very interesting bird.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, swirling his drink. “We only interrogate people on weekdays.”

“Lyney,” Lynette said flatly.

He lifted both hands innocently.

“What? I’m being welcoming.”

Lynette’s ears twitched slightly, just enough to betray amusement.

At the head of the table sat Arlecchino.

Her presence alone seemed to quiet the air, not cold exactly,but sharp. Controlled. The kind of stillness that made every small sound, cutlery, glass, breath, feel louder.

Her gaze settled briefly on Gaming.

Assessing.

“You are welcome here,” she said.

Simple and direct.

Gaming, to his credit, straightened respectfully.

“Thank you for having me.”

Perfect tone.

Polite without groveling.

Freminet felt a strange, quiet pride settle in his chest.

Dinner began smoothly.

Within ten minutes. Gaming and Lyney were getting along far too well.

“So wait,” Lyney said, leaning forward, eyes bright, “you perform during Lantern Rite?”

“Yeah,” Gaming replied, already animated, hands moving as he spoke. “Big stages, lion dance teams, drums—last year we had this whole rooftop route—”

“You performed on rooftops?” Lyney’s grin widened. “That’s dangerously cool. I approve.”

Freminet closed his eyes briefly.

Of course they would bond over dramatic entrances.

“It’s not for show,” Gaming protested, laughing. “Well—okay, it is a little for show.”

“A performer who admits that?” Lyney pressed a hand to his chest. “Be still, my heart.”

Lynette sipped her tea, watching them both with the calm patience of someone observing two very loud birds.

Then her gaze slid to Freminet.

Freminet looked down immediately, ears burning.

Across the table, Gaming was mid-story, describing lanterns drifting over Liyue Harbor, the reflection of thousands of lights over dark water.

“…It’s loud,” he admitted, softer for a moment. “But in a good way. Like everyone’s breathing at the same time.”

Lyney actually listened.

“That sounds,” he said, quieter, “nice.”

Freminet noticed Lynette’s ears lift slightly at that.

Across from him, his father watched the exchange with the same quiet, unreadable expression he always wore, but there was the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth.

That somehow made it worse when Arlecchino set her glass down.

The faint sound of crystal against wood was enough to pull the table’s attention back into alignment.

“How did you meet?” she asked.

Unavoidable.

Freminet froze.

Gaming lit up.

“Oh—that’s actually—”

Freminet kicked him under the table.

Hard.

Gaming inhaled sharply.

“…a very normal story,” he continued, voice strained but cheerful.

Lyney leaned forward immediately. “Really?”

Gaming glanced at Freminet.

Freminet shook his head, subtle, desperate.

Gaming tried.

He truly did.

“I used to practice at the lake,” he began innocently, “and this guy—”

Freminet kicked his shin under the table.

Gaming inhaled sharply.

“—this very respectful individual,” Gaming corrected with a strained smile, “was hiding in the grass watching me for several nights.”

Lyney went completely still.

“He was what?” 

Lynette’s eyes slid slowly toward Freminet.

Even Arlecchino’s gaze flickered amusement, brief but unmistakable.

Freminet considered throwing himself out the nearest window.

“I was observing,” he mumbled.

“From the bushes?” Lyney asked.

“It was tall grass.”

“That is worse.”

Gaming was visibly trying not to laugh.

“He thought I’d get mad,” Gaming added, softer now. “I didn’t.”

Gaming rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed now.

“…So my little brother stalked you.” Lyney said.

“I did not—”

“And you,” Lyney pointed at Gaming, “decided to date him anyway.”

“I thought it was kinda cute,” he admitted.

That did not help.

Lyney leaned back, wiping his eyes. “Freminet,” he said, voice full of  amusement. “you’re a romantic menace.”

“I am not.”

“You secretly watched a dancer under the moon.”

“I was just entranced by it.”

“That is the most romantic sentence you’ve ever said.”

Freminet stopped responding entirely.

Lynette glanced at Gaming, then at Freminet again with that same knowing look.

Arlecchino spoke again, calm. “And you continued meeting.”

“Yes,” Gaming said, his tone shifted to a more gentler one. “We just… kept talking.”

Something in the room settled as the laughter faded into something warmer.

Lyney studied them both, expression changing, less teasing now and more sincere, he leaned forward again, eyes gleaming.

“So,” he said, far too sweetly, “how serious are we talking here?”

Freminet choked on air.

Gaming, traitor that he was, answered without hesitation.

“I like him a lot.”

Silence fell for half a second.

Freminet felt something in his chest tighten, then warm.

Gaming’s hand brushed his under the table.

Steady.

Lyney’s smile returned, smaller now, but real.

“…Good,” he said.

Arlecchino leaned back slightly, fingers steepled.

“As long as you treat each other with respect,” she said, calm and even, “you are welcome here.”

“I will,” Gaming replied immediately.

Freminet nodded, quieter. “I know.”

Lynette slid the dessert plate toward Gaming.

A silent offering. “Welcome,” she said simply.

Gaming blinked, then smiled, softer than he had all night. “…Thanks.”

Lyney exhaled dramatically.

“Well,” he said, already recovering, “if you ever break his heart, I will challenge you to a duel.”

Gaming grinned.

“Fair.”

Freminet made a distressed noise.

Under the table, Gaming squeezed his hand once.

Light and Reassuring.

And surrounded by candlelight, crystal, quiet approval, and his ridiculous, impossible family, Freminet realized something that made his chest feel almost too full to hold.  Nothing here felt like something he had to hide anymore.

Lyney immediately ruined the moment.

“So when’s the wedding?”

Freminet made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a dying kettle.

“LYNEY—”

Yet, Freminet didn’t feel like something precious might disappear if he blinked.

It was still there.

Right beside him.

Laughing at Lyney’s terrible jokes.

The night had settled into that quiet hour where even Fontaine seemed to breathe more slowly.

The gardens behind the House of the Hearth were washed in silver. Moonlight spilled across the trimmed hedges and pale stone paths, softening every sharp edge the daylight usually revealed. The fountains had been turned low; the water moved in a hush instead of a song, a quiet shimmer rather than a spectacle.

Freminet stood near the balustrade, hands folded too neatly in front of him, as if posture alone could keep his thoughts from drifting.

Gaming leaned beside him, far less composed, elbows resting on the cool stone as he looked up at the sky.

“The moon’s brighter here,” he murmured.

“It’s the reflection,” Freminet said. “The water makes it look closer.”

Gaming tilted his head.

“…You notice things like that a lot.”

Freminet didn’t answer right away.

He always had.

It was easier to study light, reflections, small details, things that didn’t ask anything of him.

A quiet breeze moved through the garden, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. Without really thinking, Gaming’s hand shifted along the railing.

His fingers brushed Freminet’s.

Both of them paused, painfully aware.

Freminet’s first instinct was to pull back.

He didn’t.

Instead, after a hesitant second, he turned his hand slightly, enough that their fingers met properly this time.

Gaming didn’t grab or rush. He simply let their hands rest together, palm to palm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Freminet felt the tension in his shoulders loosen, just a little. They stood like that, side by side, watching the pale path of light stretched across the water.

The moon hung low and full, its reflection trembling whenever the fountain rippled.

“It’s quiet,” Gaming said softly.

Freminet nodded.

“I like quiet.”

“I know.”

No teasing in it.

Just understanding.

Freminet glanced at him then, really looked.

Moonlight caught in Gaming’s hair, turning the edges silver. His expression was softer than it ever was in a crowd, the usual restless energy replaced by something calm, steady.

Safe.

Freminet swallowed.

“You don’t have to be loud all the time,” he said quietly.

Gaming huffed a small laugh.

“I’m not loud.”

Freminet gave him a look.

“…Okay, I’m usually loud.”

They both smiled.

The kind that didn’t need to be big.

Just honest.

Their hands were still linked between them, fingers fitting together more comfortably now, like they’d already learned the shape of each other.

Gaming shifted closer, not enough to crowd him, just enough that their shoulders touched.

Freminet’s heart started doing that uncomfortable, fluttering thing again, yet he didn’t step away.

The breeze lifted slightly, cool against their faces.

Gaming turned his head slowly, giving Freminet time to notice.

To decide.

Freminet hesitated only a second before leaning in too, awkward at first, careful in the way he was careful with everything.

The kiss was brief.

Soft.

More like a question than a statement.

When they pulled back, neither of them spoke.

Gaming’s thumb brushed once over the back of Freminet’s hand, absent-minded, grounding.

Freminet exhaled, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Above them, the moon continued its quiet watch, light spilling over stone, water, and two figures standing closer than they had been before.

For once, Freminet didn’t feel the need to retreat into silence.

The quiet wasn’t empty.

It was shared.

And with his hand still held, warm against the night air, he found that the stillness didn’t feel lonely at all.