Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Colored sparks, accompanied by snaps, crackles, and pops, decorated the night sky when the two of them met. The air was bitterly cold, and the breeze from the sea only exacerbated the chill. Despite the temperature, Liyue Harbor bustled with masses of people of all kinds. Children ran up and down the streets, giggling and playing their youth away. Adults sat at round tables, debating their incoming fortunes that had yet to blossom. Elders watched from the sidelines, reminiscing on the celebrations of decades past that had become nothing but faded—yet fond—memories.

On a rooftop, high enough to evade the sights of most people, sat a native and a foreigner—two young adults. The native, born and raised in the lush Qiaoying Village, was boisterous. He spoke a mile a minute, a large and toothy grin plastered across his face as he described his culture. His eyes—golden like cor lapis—seemed to reflect the fireworks and glowing lanterns. His hair was styled in a hip half-up, half-down style, perhaps to show off his red underlights in his hair that would otherwise be hidden underneath locks of brown. His demeanor was earnest and warm; not once did he falter in his monologue. He was a cargo carrier and a lion dancer, a questionable combination, though such an active life suited the likes of him. 

He spoke to the foreigner next to him with excitement, though the foreigner did not share his energetic nature. He was from Fontaine, and he looked like it, too: sandy blonde hair, ocean blue eyes, even a set of freckles that decorated over his nose and cheeks. It wasn't uncommon in the slightest for foreigners from all over Teyvat to visit Liyue for the annual Lantern Rite, yet the Fontanian conducted himself like he was still scared of somehow drawing attention to himself. He was shy, gentle, and a bag of nerves—quite the opposite of the acquaintance next to him. But he listened. He listened impossibly well, as if the fireworks, crowds, and music all weren’t there. He listened like they were the only two in the world: with all his attention and effort. Seemingly, he quite enjoyed listening to the native.

The Fontanian had previously explained he was a diver and a freelance mechanic of sorts. He did what he was good at and simultaneously what he loved, something that the man from Liyue admired. One day, he too wished to find a harmony between the art of lion dancing and the reality of paying bills. The brunette had vaguely mentioned that his relationship with his family was strained—partially because of his desire to pursue dance. The blonde understood all too well what it felt like to be under someone’s watchful and expectant eye, someone you don’t want to disappoint. 

Yet, all those worries seemed to wash away when those two sat together. Something between them had felt natural, despite their differences. Their conversations ran smoothly, not because they avoided certain topics, but because they weren’t scared to traverse those topics with one another.

“I’ve never missed a Lantern Rite since my parents brought me when I was itty-bitty. Back when my mom was around and in good health, we’d all go. No two years are exactly the same, so you’ve gotta come back next year!” The lion dancer beamed.

“Mm.” The Fontanian hummed and thought before responding; he didn't feel pressured to respond too quickly. “To be honest, I get quite homesick. But… That’s probably something I should get over. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

“Oh! Well, if that’s the case, I don’t mind coming to Fontaine! I sometimes get assignments to one of the harbors there! Technically, if you came all the way here, I should come visit you next!” The brunette rationalized in a way that seemingly only makes sense to him. 

But the freckled man liked that about him.

“But… I didn’t come to visit you. I didn’t know you when I got here, Gaming. You technically don’t owe me a visit.” He muttered as he picked at the skin around his nails.

“Freminet, I told you everything doesn’t have to be transactional, right?” Gaming huffed playfully.

“You did.” Freminet nodded sheepishly.

“I think if I needed some sort of logical reason to see all the friends and family, I’d go nuts. Sometimes just missing someone is enough. And, for whatever it’s worth, I plan on missing you. You’re really good company.” Gaming always spoke so earnestly, directly from the heart, in a way that soothed Freminet. 

“I guess you’re right. I-I’m going to miss you too, so… Please, if it’s not too much to ask, come see me if you ever wind up in Fontaine.” Freminet’s gaze met Gaming’s eyes.

And it felt like Gaming was more alive than ever before.

“I will.”

– ✦ –

Years. It’s been years since that conversation, yet he hasn’t forgotten a single word. Pale, roughened fingertips caress a white envelope with a gold-colored stamp from Liyue on its corner. Addressed to him, Freminet contemplates opening the letter as the sender’s name rushes back distant, fond memories: Yip Gaming. There’s nothing left for him in reminiscence or daydreaming, however. He tosses the unopened letter into the hearth, where flames swallow the envelope whole. He watches it burn–the way the edges blacken first, the paper curls in on itself, and the fire eats its meal. He gazes in somber silence until the letter is no more.

Freminet turns away from the fireplace and catches his gaze in the mirror. He looks different compared to that night. Little dark circles line beneath his eyes from countless restless nights. His hair is a little longer, just long enough for the short ponytail he keeps it in. His fringe of blond locks fades into a deep blue, one that only makes the remaining light in his eyes wash out. Freminet loosens the bow and chiffon around his neck and unclasps the minor bronze chain accessories. He clears his throat as he peers down at his hands, exhaling as he pulls the velcro apart on the strap that fastens his gloves. The sound irks him, like a tune that’s so egregious he can never forget it. 

Magician’s gloves. Black and white leather, stitched so well that they’re designed to never come off. But the leather is off-white now, slightly browned despite tedious and meticulous cleaning. The blond’s hands shake as he tries to push the memories back. A limp body, decorated with splatters of maroon; ash blonde hair that falls on Freminet’s shoulder as he holds the body close. “His” hat. Where’s “his” hat? “His” capelet is falling off; Freminet needs to fix it. “He’s supposed to be perfect, “he’s” the leader. Why does “his” body run cold?

Freminet’s mind ruminates until there’s a rap on his bedroom doors. His heart beats recklessly fast. Freminet firmly places the gloves down on a bronze-colored tray beside the rest of his accessories. He swallows down the rocks in his throat. Control your emotions. You know better.

“You think he’s asleep? I told you we waited too long!”

“Well, if he is asleep, arguing with me will wake him up.”

A brief warmth strikes Freminet’s heart as he hears two siblings bicker outside the door. Momentarily, he considers waiting a little bit longer to answer, simply to see where the conversation will go. However, he has business to deal with. His metal boot heels click on the tile as he moves to meet them at his bedroom door. Their expressions briefly amuse him as he opens the door.

“Let’s discuss the shipment. You two should get to bed afterward.” 

– ✦ –

Fontaine’s considered a good travel spot for Qiaoying villagers. The air is less muggy due to the seascape, yet the temperate nature of the area makes the change in location less of a shock compared to other regions. The nation and the village border each other, making Lumidouce Harbor a bustling import and export hub between Fontaine and Liyue. Usually, Gaming’s business stops at the harbor, where the cargo is to be loaded on a boat to ship to the next stop. However, this cargo is special. These boxes were to be shipped directly to the purchaser. Of course, due to the long nature of the trip, the lead coordinator of the Sword and Strongbox Secure Transport Agency called upon the best of the best for this shipment:

“—And that’s what I said, I was like: ‘dude, you’ve gotta be so for real with me’!” 

Jolly as ever is a suitable way to describe Gaming. He’s easily the favorite coordinator at the Sword and Strongbox; most of the carriers find him a joy to work with. Personable, genuine, friendly, and efficient are among the most commonly used words in his reviews from customers and coworkers. The group laughs as they recount personal experiences and lug the cargo cart down a dirt path. The wooden hand carts lightly squeak as the wheels make slow rotations in sync with their footsteps. It’s a good delivery day—everything has gone according to plan, and the weather is comfortable. There’s a steady breeze providing relief as sweat beads on their foreheads.

Yet, Gaming hears something; he’s sure of it.

He catches the sound of cogs and clanks long before any of the rest of the crew does. His eyebrows furrow as he suddenly stops pulling his cart, the rest of them stopping behind him to ask what’s wrong. Before Gaming can open his mouth, a suanni beast—no bigger than an average long-haired house cat—appears out of thin air. That’s all the confirmation Gaming needs. His pyro vision glows as he summons his greatsword–slightly curved like a cleaver and the color of obsidian and ruby. Crafted from blackcliff and crimson ore, the dedicated craftsmanship has made the blade barely thicker than a thread of silk. Off the handle hangs a black and white tassel; it’s a lucky charm of sorts.

Out of the dense Fontanian forestry emerge two clockwork meka. Their bodies are like intricate, metal dolls, bronze and white detailing all over.

“You guys fall back—I’ve got this.” Gaming nods. He reads the worry on the guys’ faces, yet he doesn’t falter in the slightest.

In truth, Gaming knows close to nothing about Fontanian technology. Science and arithmetic—it’s never been his thing. But he knows one thing: since they’re not people, that’s one less caution he has to take in battle. He has never swung his sword to kill when in altercations with other living beings. The brunette springs into action as the meka charge toward the cargo.  Metal clashes with metal, and sparks fly as Gaming deflects a shield that was thrown by one of the meks. He runs to meet the machinery where it’s at, keeping it a safe distance from the cargo. He tangos with them as they block each other's attacks. Gaming soon realizes they’ve been programmed to predict common sword movements.

“You guys aren’t playing fair, you know.” Gaming’s vision heats up again before he springs into the air and impales one of the meks with his sword. It’s a reckless move, but it works despite Gaming landing incorrectly on one of his feet. The pain is easy to ignore with the help of adrenaline and a vision, but Gaming notes to take care of it later. He rips his sword out of the mass of metal and wires before he guards against a swing from the remaining mek. He can’t pull that move again—if he tries, he might be left with a limp that will slow the delivery down. 

He can handle this. He’s got this. Just think.

Before Gaming can muster a new solution, he’s interrupted by an arrow piercing the mek's metal body. It must be imbued with an arkhe because it leaves the mek stunned and frozen in place. Gaming notices the faint sparks of electro around the arrow.

“Hey, you! Duck!”

Gaming’s body complies before he can turn his head to look for the source of the feminine voice. A polearm, long and elegant with ribbon tied around it, takes the mek’s head clean off as if it’s nothing. Gaming notes it’s almost gruesome—if not for the fact that the machines were simply metal. The brunette slowly stands up, turning his head to the left to see a duo—twins. The young lady has an outfit comparable to a captain at sea. A hydro vision jingles on her person as she emerges from the shadows. Her hair is bluntly cut at her shoulders and a purplish burgundy in color. She’s followed by a young man who looks far more intrigued by the meka than Gaming. He’s dressed like a blacksmith of sorts; an electro vision sits decoratively on his belt.

“Sorry for jumping in. These goods are really important; we were sent to make sure nothing goes wrong.” The young man’s voice is serious.

“We were right on time, too. Not that you didn’t look like you had things covered, but, well, someone was antsy to shoot.” The young lady rolls her eyes with a sly smirk at her brother.

“Sent? Sent by who?” Gaming blinks.

“Oh! Our father was the one who requested these. I’m Manon, this is my brother Masson.” The young woman, Manon, is seemingly the more talkative of the two.

“I wanted to get things over with. There’s no reason to be out here if we were going to stand and watch him fight on his own.” Masson interjects. They bicker exactly how one would expect siblings to bicker.

“Well, thanks for the help!” Gaming beams. “It’s better to have all hands on deck with delicate metals and materials.”

The cargo carrier motions for his team to finally follow him, the crew eager to get back on the road. The sun will soon be at its peak, which is when cargo carrying becomes hardest. Gaming introduces himself and the rest of the workers to the twins as they begin to walk again. The twins stick together as if glued, walking in front of the crew and softly speaking with one another. Soon enough, the cargo carriers begin to mingle with one another again, picking up where they left off in their conversation. Gaming makes it a mental note to treat the siblings to some sort of dinner, even if they were unaware of how much they saved the job. 

Still, it’s a bit odd to be conveniently sent to help guard an incoming shipment. Does that mean the patron knew of the likelihood of an ambush? The meka looked faulty; it seemed unlikely they were sent by someone. Perhaps it was a hunch on the requester’s part. The twins looked to be in their late teenage years—eighteen or nineteen—yet they had quite the combat prowess. Secretly, Gaming can’t wait to see what their father looks like. He keeps a sharp eye, in case these twins aren’t as trustworthy as they seem, but Gaming’s confident in his ability to judge character. And, as he sees a large house on a hill in the distance, he’s relieved he was correct in trusting them. He pulls a pocket watch out of one of his pants pockets. It’s barely noon, and they’re actually an hour ahead of schedule.

This is good: gold star rating in the bag, time to take these kids out for a treat, and time to relax at the hotel with the guys. Piece of cake!

Gaming hums as they arrive at the bottom of the hill, stopping to stare at the polished wooden sign:

Hotel Bouffes d’été Youth Home

Gaming isn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t an orphanage. Really, what business does an orphanage have with a bunch of metal parts? He usually isn’t too curious, but he grows excited the further they head up the hill. The cargo crew is careful not to trample any of the flowers that line the path to the house—rainbow roses, if Gaming isn’t mistaken. They reach the top of the hill, and Gaming briefly marvels at how beautiful and well-kept the house is. It has a front deck with whitewash wood, a few rocking chairs, and an overhang to keep it cool. Gaming briefly wishes this is the house he could put his father in—he’d enjoy it without a doubt. 

But Gaming isn’t here to fantasize about alternate realities. He parks the hand cart, dusting off his hands before he grabs a clipboard from between two of the crates. He just needs a signature to confirm receipt, timeliness, and maybe even a review if the patron is feeling generous. Gaming looks up as he hears the front doors swing open.

And his heart drops.

Blond locks with a blunt fringe, he could never forget it. Ocean blue eyes so deep one could get lost in them, he could never forget them. Pale skin with brown freckled cheeks, he could never forget it. Even a beret, albeit not the same one Gaming remembers, sits atop his head like he remembers. He knows him. This isn’t just a patron.

Hey, old friend!

You’re busy these days, aren’t you? It’s been forever since we talked! Four years, maybe? Three, if you count letters as talking! I hope this letter still finds you well. I still think about you every Lantern Rite: the cool Fontanian guy I miss, all that good stuff. Man Chai misses you too! That little stuffed mouse you made him, he cuddles it rather than playing with it like intended. What are you up to nowadays? My memory’s faded just a little, but are you still working on that little penguin dude of yours? Pers, was it? How’s the family? Everyone doing good? How are you, most importantly? You’re taking care all the way over there, right?

Ah, look at me, getting ahead of myself again. Oops! I can’t help it, I really do regret falling out of touch. I thought about going on vacation to hand deliver a letter to you, but that was a little absurd—even for me! But, if you do need anything in Fontaine brought to you, I’ll be in Fontaine for a bit for a shipment. Funnily enough, it’s all metal pieces and tools, which really makes me think of you. It’s a bit last-minute, and I hope this letter reaches you in time, but I’d love to reconnect.  

All of that to say, if you find yourself in need of company, I’ve left my hotel address below and the dates I’ll be there. Can’t wait to see you again, Fremi.

— Yip Gaming

Did he receive the letter? Gaming never got a response. No, this address was different from the one Gaming sent the letter to. He must not have received it. Gaming’s heart quakes as the blonde’s eyes narrow at the sight of him; it’s as if he’s displeased to see Gaming. No, he wouldn’t be displeased. Something’s just… wrong. Why is he dressed like that? Clad in a long, navy blue, sleeveless petticoat with intricate lapels, with numerous belts acting as a corset of sorts, Gaming barely recognizes him. Despite all the words that fly through Gaming’s brain, only one manages to escape his lips:

“Freminet…”

Chapter Text

“Freminet…”

The twins rush past Gaming to greet the blond, but they seem to curb their enthusiasm when they notice Freminet’s facial expression.

“Father, there was only a minor altercation. It was a stray meka.”

Gaming goes pale.

“Don’t you think Father can tell it was minor, Manon?”

“Excuse you?!”

Despite the twins' bickering, it leaves Freminet unfazed. His eyes don’t leave Gaming’s until he swiftly turns around on his heel and strides back into the house. The air escapes his lungs—he can’t scream, not in front of kids like this. Is he angry that he hasn’t heard from Gaming? Why is he dressed like that? Why are they calling him ‘Father’? 

“W-Wait.” Gaming utters. He takes one step, then another, then breaks into a full-blown sprint to the front door. He only skids to a stop when he sees the twins summon their weapons. Gaming wants to reason with them: this is important, this is between us, I just need to know what’s going on. But, he doesn’t know where to begin. A frustration begins to build; he wants to yell at them to just move. He doesn’t have time to explain their history. Freminet is right there, can’t they see this is bigger than them?

“Manon, Masson, let him in. Please, just help them sort the shipment.” Freminet calls. The twins look at each other, then at Gaming, quickly lowering their weapons. The girl looks a tad embarrassed while the boy’s eyes narrow in distrust.

“I’ll make it up to you guys.” Gaming sighs apologetically at the two before he rushes inside the home.

It’s even more beautiful on the interior: dark, hardwood, polished, wooden floors, large windows, beautiful, light coffee colored area rugs. Despite all the kids that seem to be running in and out, even the furniture looks to be in great shape. Gaming’s stomach wrings itself as he refuses to waste time marveling at the decor. He just needs to talk.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been sending you letters, there’s gotta be some misunderstanding—.”

“There’s no misunderstanding.” The blond’s voice is cold as Gaming follows him down the hall.

“Well, what’s with the get-up?! A-And ‘Father’—what’s that about!? I mean, this place is gorgeous, but I feel like I missed a few chapters—y’know?!” Gaming nervously rambles.

“Gaming…” Freminet sighs as he opens a pair of doors to a neatly organized office space, stepping to the side to let Gaming in.

“A-And where’s Lyney and Lynette, you guys are always together—.”

Freminet nearly slams the door after Gaming enters. 

“You seriously haven’t changed at all.” Freminet hisses.

Gaming isn’t sure what it is, but the way Freminet speaks irritates him. It’s cryptic yet direct—like an adult that’s withholding information from a child that’s unable to comprehend the truth. However, they’re both well into their adulthood—enough to not warrant sugarcoating or indirectness behind closed doors. 

“You’ve clearly changed so much.” The lion dancer grumbles, noticing the way Freminet’s shoulders stiffen as he bites back. Suddenly, Gaming feels guilty. He shouldn’t have said that; Freminet is sensitive—or he was sensitive. That’s how Gaming remembers him. 

Freminet turns around and avoids eye contact with Gaming as he picks a pen up off the surface of his desk.

“Hand it to me.” 

“Wh-What?” Gaming stammers.

“The clipboard. I have to sign it, don’t I?” Freminet holds out his hand.

“Oh. Right, um… Yeah just… Here.” Gaming slowly hands the clipboard over, staring at Freminet’s gloved hands. He bites his bottom lip as the two of them stand in silence as Freminet signs off on the delivery. It’s painfully awkward for Gaming. Usually, he lights up a room, but the storm clouds around Freminet’s person are far too dreary and heavy for him to make a dent, seemingly.

“You knew I was an orphan. I took over the orphanage once someone needed to step up. There are ten children here in total. I let them stay for however long they want.” Freminet breaks the silence as he writes.

“Yeah, but I don’t remember the name. I thought it was like House of… I don’t remember.” Gaming sighs in guilt.

“House of the Hearth. That was the proper Fatui name, yes.” Freminet scribbles, not looking up from the paper.

Freminet’s status as a Fatuus was always a grey area between the two. Gaming was, more than anything, glad Freminet told him early on. Though Gaming wasn’t particularly trusting of the Fatui when the two of them met, he could respect Freminet’s sole desire to protect his family.

“So… You changed the name?”

“This orphanage is no longer affiliated with Snezhnayan diplomacy. I…” Freminet falters and stops writing momentarily.

“I didn’t want the kids to deal with that for the rest of their lives.” He admits before he’s back to writing review notes.

Something about the way he struggles to admit what he’s done relieves Gaming. The shade of insecurity, humility, empathy—it relieves Gaming to know the Freminet he remembers isn’t gone. Freminet’s words genuinely leave him with more questions than answers, unfortunately.

“And I’m sorry about the twins readying their weapons. They’re… really protective.” Freminet adds.

“No, no, it’s cool! I get it. I don’t think most people would take well to someone just trying to run into their house. I probably looked crazy back there.” Gaming nervously laughs.

The brunet peers around the office now that things seem to be lightening up. It looks more like a detective’s office than an orphanage owner’s. There’s a big corkboard on the far left wall, adorned with pictures, newsletters, and other pin-able small items. Really, all it’s missing is the red string connecting the pins to confirm Gaming’s suspicions. The wall behind the desk that sits in the middle of the room is nearly fully windowed. Thick curtains lay at each end, dense enough to completely block out sunlight if Freminet were to close them. Gaming turns his attention to the right wall, eyes widening as he sees another familiar face.

“Pers is here!” He exclaims, walking over to the console table that displays framed photos and vased flowers. The clockwork toy penguin looks as polished as ever; it’s no surprise Freminet has taken good care of it.

“The kids like to hold him when I call them into my office. I don’t take him places anymore, but he still serves his purpose.” Freminet sets his pen down on his desk.

A warm sensation strikes Gaming’s chest as Freminet refers to the toy with the familiar “he”. He looks at the pictures that sit beside Pers. One is a family portrait, with a Freminet that looked much more familiar to Gaming. Lyney and Lynette, the famous magician twins, are with him as well. This family was much larger than the number of kids the orphanage currently has. Gaming opens his mouth to ask further. But Freminet finishes signing off in the nick of time.

“They should be almost done with the boxes.”

Gaming opens his mouth to respond. There’s more he wants to ask, more he wants to know, more he wants to see. He can’t help but worry that the two of them truly will never speak again after this interaction. It’s hard enough to wrangle guardians of one or two children for an outing together, let alone ten. But what can he say? This is business.

“I’m unaware of your plans, but if you’re not returning to Liyue tonight, you’re free to join us for dinner and spend the night. I should warn you that the kids really like having guests, so it might be a bit—.”

“Oh, pfft, that’s no problem, I’m good with kids! I can just tell my guys to take the paperwork to the hotel with them, they’ll understand!” Gaming beams, grinning at the slight shock on Freminet’s face from his instant acceptance.

“Mm…” Freminet hums as he leads Gaming out of his office. “If you say so. I’ll have to make sure the guest bedroom is ready, but please make yourself at home in the living areas.”

Kids are quite attentive, or perhaps nosy would be a better word. As the two of them return to the living room, Gaming’s quickly swarmed by six small children:

“Mr. Gaming, your friends out there said you’ve travelled all over Teyvat!”

“And then they said you’re the best cargo escorter out there!”

“Oh, and, and—you go out for dim sum every night!”

Gaming is quickly swept into a tailspin as the kids fire off questions.  Seriously, how did they gather all the information in the thirty minutes he had been with Freminet? Perhaps they wanted to know who their Father was letting into their home so easily, or maybe it’s like Freminet said: they simply really like company. Gaming doesn’t get the chance to ponder the reason as he quickly urges the kids to the living room, watching them sit on the carpet as if ready for a storytime.

“Oh, wait, Frem—.” Gaming stops himself as he looks around and realizes Freminet has already gone upstairs to prepare for his stay. The brunet sighs, turning back to the kids with a soft smile.

A little storytime wouldn’t hurt.

– ✦ –

The outside garden is quaint. The two of them sit surrounded by well-trimmed bushes, lumidouce bells, and pluie lotuses. In a sea of purples and blues, Gaming feels a little out of place. Even the moon seems to emit a blue hue, rather than the warmer, yellow hue it has on other nights.

“I haven’t figured out what third flower I want to put back here.”

Gaming looks up from his dinner to Freminet, whose eyes are fixed on the flowers. The moonlight reveals a small scar the blonde has on his jawline that’s now faded to the same light brown as his freckles. He wonders where it’s come from; it looks too sharp to be a simple shaving nick. Besides, Freminet doesn’t seem to grow much body hair. Speaking of hair, Gaming wonders what his hair looks like out of its ponytail now. It’s not the blunt cut he remembers; it seems Freminet has let the ends grow out past his shoulders.

“I hope the kids didn’t wear you out. Thank you for entertaining them.” Freminet turns to Gaming, silently bemused by his surprised expression.

“Pfft! It’s no big deal! I’m used to getting to play with kids! When I make deliveries in a village, the kids usually ask me to play for a bit. Actually, even when I go to Bubu Pharmacy—.” Gaming stops himself once he realizes he’s about to ramble. He assumes Freminet doesn’t have time for the conversation.

“What’s on your mind, Gaming?” 

Gaming nervously swallows. The way Freminet says his name is pleasant to his ears.

“A lot. Things are just… It's different now. It’s a lot to take in. You’ve got this big, pretty house, and the kids love you a lot. You even look different. I-I know I do too, but still!” He explains, a sheepish smile on his face.

Freminet quietly hums as he looks Gaming up and down. His style is quite similar to when they met—baggy, fluid pants with a skin-tight tank top. His cropped hoodie hangs off his shoulders, showing off his muscular shoulders from years of physical exertion. His hair is similar in length, maybe a few centimeters longer, but there’s a small red streak in his bangs that’s grown out over the years. It’s as fluffy as ever, from what Freminet can tell. 

“How’s your dad?” Freminet suddenly asks.

That’s right, when the two of them met, Gaming was in a rocky place with his father. Truthfully, things are still sometimes rocky, but a mutual understanding has been built. They don’t go back and forth nearly as much, and when they do, it's no longer explosive. 

“He’s good! I think he’s starting to finally accept that he's of retirement age. He hurt his back last year and never fully recovered, so now he does a lot more administrative stuff for his tea farming business. I told him that’s what it's all about: being a CEO in a cushy office and being able to delegate to folks! He likes it, I can tell—just stubborn as ever.” Gaming explains.

“And what about your business?” Freminet blinks.

”My business—? Oh! Cargo carrying is good! I actually don’t often have to go out for shipments anymore; usually I’m doing a lot of training and managerial stuff.” Gaming assumes Freminet’s talking about the Sword and Strongbox.

“No, I mean… Your dance career, how’s that going?” Freminet clarifies. He meets Gaming’s eyes as he asks, Gaming marvelling at the deep blue abyss.

“Haha, wasn’t sure if you’d care about all that,” Gaming admits. “It’s getting there. I get a bunch of time off before and during Lantern Rite to focus on dancing. Usually, that’s not allowed, but my boss made an exception for me. I’ve actually picked up a few mentees for dance, too! In a way, I guess I’ve taken some kids under my wing, too!” He jokes, pleased to see Freminet nod in approval.

“Speaking of kids… I wanted to ask how you… you know, took all these kids in.” Gaming notes how Freminet seems to sit up in his chair.

“It’s similar to how Father did it. Kids at their lowest end up here, and they build up from there. Many of their parents are dead or nearing death, for whatever reason. Since the orphanage is no longer affiliated with the Fatui, a lot of funding comes from the Fontanian government. Though…” Freminet trails off.

“Though?”

“Father left quite the amount of money behind before she…” He inhales before he continues. “Was lost.” 

“Lost?” Gaming questions.

“It’s complicated. Father, the previous owner of this orphanage, was a descendant of an ancient bloodline—the Crimson Moon Dynasty. Actually, the concept of an orphanage that took in kids from all walks of life originated from back then. But that bloodline was cursed by the Gods, and Father was no exception. Though her body was deteriorating, what really deteriorated was her mind. She eventually descended into madness in her final mission to protect our family.” Freminet sighs. Father wouldn’t want Freminet to mope over her, but he can’t help dropping his facade of stoicism momentarily.

“Freminet…” Gaming isn’t sure what to say.

“It’s alright. She taught me a lot before she… passed? I’m not sure what the right term would be. She wasn’t perfect, but she was a pillar of strength we could lean on. That’s all I want to be. There are some things I disagree with her on. I don’t want to raise soldiers. I want to let them be kids. There are things she probably wouldn’t agree with me on as well. She’d probably say I’m being far too soft with the children.”

“Too soft? Freminet, respectfully—.”

Gaming’s interrupted by the sound of children bickering before they burst through the back door. A small toddler is in tears, holding the hand of Masson. Freminet immediately stands up, glancing apologetically at Gaming. However, Gaming firmly nods as if silently telling Freminet that the kids come first. Through tears and a serious lack of “inside voices,” the children explain that the toddler hit her head on the banister whilst running downstairs. Masson adds that she wouldn’t stop crying until she was taken to Freminet.

Gaming watches as Freminet slowly picks the little girl up, softly moving her bangs to see the red spot on her forehead. He bids the other children goodnight as he gently sways the toddler in his arms. He mutters something quietly to her, the smallest of smiles lining his lips before he kisses her forehead. Gaming’s expression turns to one of awe as he watches Freminet in parental mode. His smile is soft, discreet, and as gentle as he is. His eyes soften, and the littlest of lights form from the shine of the moonlight, turning them into sapphires. Gaming’s heart begins to thump like it’s in rhythm to the deep drums during Lantern Rite. Firecrackers go off in his chest as he watches—as he remembers. This sensation, it’s all too familiar. This is the Freminet he’s been dying to see, the one his soul responds to.

“I’m sorry to cut things short. I have to put her to bed.” Freminet looks over to Gaming, whose cheeks are rouge.

“Is it uncomfortable out here? Your face is flushed…”

“No! No—ahem—everything’s fine!” Gaming pulls himself together, a little embarrassed that Freminet caught him gawking. “You’re just… a good dad.” 

He watches as Freminet inhales and closes his eyes, as if suppressing a reaction. His lips press together as if trying to crush a smile that so desperately wants to form. 

“Sorry, was that—?”

“Don’t be. Thank you, Gaming. Goodnight.”

“…Night, Freminet.”