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The night air settles on Clorinde's skin like an old friend. A gentle breeze kisses her face, and she revels in the twinge of cold she feels on the tip of her nose and on the shell of her ears. It didn't bother her, no. Not in the slightest.
She's content to be alone. At least, away from the noise. Inside Hotel Debord, a party continuous on, hosted at Furina's behest to celebrate Fontaine's past year and the one incoming. For Clorinde, it was coming to a point in the night where the faces and sounds seemed to merge, and the lights started to blur and drag in her vision. Not even the alcohol in her system could save her.
Her mind sought out a reprieve, so here she was, alone. Though not completely, her company wasn't too bad: herself and the stars, shining down on the Court of Fountaine, which she currently overlooked. She was perched on a set of stairs with her knees tucked, the radiance of the celestial body above casting a soft glow on the embellishments of her attire, the tiling paved onto the roofs of buildings, and the shapes and lines that made up Fontaine, casting dark shadows on the floor which stretched to meet her.
Shadows. Those she was familiar with. Despite the public nature of her role as a Champion Duellist, it's where she preferred to stay—to dance undetected without needing to concern herself with society's conventions. It's a void where she could simply exist without pretence.
She's alone, and Clorinde's okay with it.
Until she isn't.
The hinges of a door creak, the sound cutting through the gentle stillness she's curated. Then, they shut—a loud boom in the night. For a moment, Clorinde believes her psyche is playing tricks on her as she is thrust back into the stillness as if nothing ever happened. But she feels something, a pair of eyes trained on the back of her head and tracing the outlines of her body with care. A scent reaches her nose, one that wafts with familiarity. Clorinde inhales deeply, allowing the sensation to ruminate in her lungs and consume her senses.
Finally, the figure seems to have fulfilled their fix as Clorinde hears footsteps echo in her ears with a pointedness that can only be made with heels. Click, click, click. One after another, each in succession. She counts the sounds down until they eventually stop; right next to her, she realises, then cranes her head and comes into contact with the most brilliant eyes she's ever seen. Blue is too simple—cerulean puts it perfectly. Cerulean like the Belleau coast, shimmering under the light and pulling you in like the moon pulls the tides. Magnetic. Simply beautiful.
"Mind if I join you?"
The nod she gives is entirely her body's doing. Her mind gave it no thought. After all, this is what she wants. Navia will always be what Clorinde wants.
Her skirt pools across the stairs as she takes the seat next to Clorinde. She's close, but not close enough. Clorinde wants to feel the heat radiate off her skin and envelop herself in Navia's being. She helps Navia flatten her attire, smoothing out any wrinkles with great care, then scoots closer and gets exactly as she wishes. Well, almost.
Navia giggles, a saccharine melody that's been stuck in Clorinde's head since she first heard it. A small smile begins to flourish across Clorinde's lips as she notices a stray hair fall across Navia's face. Gingerly, her hand braves the distance, tucking the golden lock away and brushing it behind the curve of Navia's ear.
"Thanks," Navia breathes out with a matching smile. A hint of pink dusts her cheeks, standing out against the glow of the night.
"Anytime," Clorinde responds smoothly.
She was too enamoured by Navia's presence to notice the bottle of champagne tucked neatly into her side and, with it, two glass flutes.
Clorinde's lips quirk into a faint smirk, the corners of her mouth betraying her amusement. "Where'd you get that from?" She asks, her eyes flicking towards the bottle. The glass gleams underneath the moonlight, a faint silvery glow painted across the surface.
Navia chuckles, a light, carefree sound that fills the night. "Anything is possible when you're the president of the Spina di Rosula, my dear Clorinde." Navia's tone is playful, but Clorinde's chest tightens at her words. Dear. It stirs something inside of her, her blood rushing around her body to sate the sensation. She ignored it, but it was invigorating to say the least. "Besides, you look like you needed it."
Clorinde arched a brow. "How could you tell?"
Navia shrugs, the corners of her mouth lifting to a sly grin. "You looked like you were waiting for someone to shoot you while talking to Wriotheley."
"Yeah, well, he's shit company." Clorinde lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "He kept waffling on about the difference between Liyue tea and Mondatadt tea."
"How interesting. Perhaps you should have stayed with him," Navia muses with a teasing lilt in her voice.
Clorinde levels her with a deadpanned stare. "Hilarious," she drawls, rolling her eyes at Navia's comment.
Clorinde would be happy to stay at this moment and have it suspended at the time: herself, Navia, and the stars. Before she knew it, a bottle was being held out to her, and Navia was beckoning her to take it.
"Would you do the honours?"
Clorinde’s lips curved into a soft smile, her gloved hand reaching out to take the bottle. "I'd love to."
She wraps her hands around the cylindrical bottle, using a tight grip as she pulls on the cork. A loud pop punctuates the air, followed by the hiss of fizz as small tendrils of smoke spill from the opening. Navia holds the two flutes out to Clorinde as the latter carefully pours. The golden liquid cascades into the glass, catching hints of the light as it trickles down. It fizzes, it sparkles, it bubbles, until finally, it settles.
It settles like the words left unspoken between the two of them. It settles like history between them. Tumultuous, yes. But their past brought them to their present, and their present to their future—bright and limitless, a scene yet to be painted but unfolding in perfect technicolour. A lot has happened this past year, for the better or worse. The foundations on which Fontaine was built had been torn apart and put back together—reconstructed with the threads tied by humanity. So yes, this past year had been a lot, but despite it all, Clorinde was grateful. She was grateful to be alive, grateful to have food and a roof over her head.
Grateful to have Navia back in her life.
Gently, she places the bottle next to her with a clink, then reaches for the flute in Navia's hands.
Navia was studying at her; Clorinde could tell in the way her cerulean eyes seemed to hyper-fixate on every detail on her face. It makes Clorinde grow hot from her attention—it was the only attention she ever craved.
"You're staring, ma cherie."
"I am," Navia admits freely. "I can't help myself around you."
Nothing could have stopped the smile that tugged on Clorinde's lips at the realisation. It's infectious, she supposes, as Navia's lips begin to mirror her own—a sight that outdoes anything Clorinde has or will ever see in her lifetime.
"Let's make a toast," Navia declares, her voice light as she lazily lifts her glass towards the sky. The stars seemed to twinkle in response.
Clorinde follows suit, raising her own glass, but quirks a brow when Navia doesn't say anything.
"Well?" She prompts. "Take it away."
Navia grows shy, craning her head to the floor as loose beats of laughter slip past her lips. "Of course," she says, bashful, before clearing her throat. Navia then lifts her head, and Clorinde immediately notices a difference. There's a resolve melded into her features, a clarity shining so brightly in her eyes that it leaves Clorinde awestruck.
"To Papa, to Silver and Melus, and… to us." Navia licks her lips, and a wistful smile appears. Then, she speaks once more. "Many things have tried to pull us apart, but the forces that tied us back together will always be stronger. The time we spent apart was… some of the worst and loneliest times I ever had to endure. But now that you're here with me, Clorinde. My world has become better. Brighter. So much so that I've forgotten what it was like before you. Thank you for teaching me the beauty of forgiveness and that there's more to living than staying in the past. I don't know where I'd be without you, and I never want us to part again. Thank you for always being there for me—for being present—from when we were kids to now. So… here's to us."
It barely registered that Navia had her glass raised, her hand suspended in the air as she awaited for Clorinde to tap their glasses together. How could she? Navia had just spoken of Clorinde in a way that made her words seem laced with gold, in a way that made her feel so achingly alive. She wants to cry and have Navia wipe away her tears with a delicate hand, to tattoo the words onto her skin to prevent it from getting chipped away by the cruel hand of forgetfulness, to take Navia's words and store them in a music box for her to crank the handle and listen to them whenever she pleased. It was beautiful, and it was everything to Clorinde.
A "Clorinde" cuts through the haze in her mind, spoken with a questioning inflection that snaps her out of her reverie.
"Sorry," she apologises quickly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "To us."
She clinks their glasses together, and bubbles erupt at the interface between the air and the liquid. Then, she brings the flute to her lips. The glass felt cold against her lips, the gentle fizz of champagne tickling her nose as she tilted the flute backwards and allowed the liquid to trickle down her throat. She savours the taste, savours the bubbling sensation as the golden liquid glides in her mouth and pools in her belly. She even savours the peach of Navia's lips, two plush pillows that leave behind a lipstick-stained imprint on her glass as she pulls it away from her mouth.
"You know," Clorinde began, her voice carrying the same richness as the liquid champagne swirling in their flutes. She tilted her head, her dark eyes glinting with amusement. "You say you're toasting to us, but it feels an awful lot like you were just talking about me."
She watches Navia's cerulean pupils roll like the waves against the shore. "Someone's full of themselves," she teased, a playful smile on their lips as she bumps their shoulders together.
"I- uh… no! I just meant-"
Navia cut her off with a light laugh, raising her glass as she interrupted, "Relax, Clorinde. I'm just teasing." She took another sip of her champagne before lowering her glass and meeting Clorinde's gaze with mischief dancing in her eyes. "Okay, if I'm you think I'm great, then hit me with your worst."
Clorinde hesitates, racking her brain for what to say. It's not that she can't—she can use many words to describe how she feels about Navia. She's just stuck—there are infinite ways she can order the infinite words she wants to say about Navia. How can she even compare to what Navia had just said about her? She feels anything that comes out of her mouth would pale in comparison.
"Wow," Navia drawls, a long, exaggerated sound as she shakes her head. "Nothing, Clorinde? Really?"
Clorinde lets out a soft sigh, the corners of her lips suddenly feeling heavy as she feels a small pout form. "I've never been good with words, Navia. You know that, right?"
"No, I know," she says, her voice now gentler as she nestles further into the nape of Clorinde's neck. "I'm just teasing you."
A silence settles between them. Not an uncomfortable kind—but one tinged with an understanding unique to them alone. It's nice to have someone who knows you so well, so wholly. Who can see you for who you are at your core without having to delude themselves into seeing a version of you that doesn't ring true.
In the quiet that stretches between them, the world seems to grow louder, every sound magnified in the stillness. The crickets rustling in the grass, their chirps resonating in the air. The gentle murmurs of trees, whispering secrets to one another as they danced in the wind. Even the distant hum of the party reaches them, faint but persistent. The sounds all intertwine, an ebb and flow that grouds them in the moment.
It must be nearing midnight, a realisation Navia and Clorinde come to simultaneously as voices spill through the cracks of Hotel Debord's interior and diffuse into Fontaine's night sky.
A countdown. They're at twenty right now.
At fifteen, Navia and Clorinde share a look, and at ten, they join in.
At nine, her violet eyes meet Navia's cerulean ones.
At eight, their hands intertwine.
At seven, Navia presses closer and lays her head on Clorinde's shoulder.
At six, Clorinde revels in their shared warmth.
At five, Clorinde gets an idea,
and at four, she realises she's never been more sure of anything in her life.
Three.
Two.
One.
A sudden burst of colour blossoms across Navia’s face, a fleeting kaleidoscope of hues that reflected in her eyes and illuminated her features features. A loud boom follows, emerging from afar and reverberating in the stillness of the night. Reluctantly, Clorinde turns her head to focus on the sky, the stars now accompanied by brilliant displays of light painted across the cosmos. The fireworks come in different shapes and sizes that streak and shimmer and expand, then disappear—some smaller, some larger. Some red, blue, pink, and some a combination of all three.
“Hey, Navia?”
“Yes, Clorinde?”
Their eyes meet once more, and it's as if the world around them dissolves into oblivion.
"I have a toast for you," Clorinde murmurs, her voice steady but tinged with something more profound.
Navia tilts her head, a hint of curiosity swimming in her cerulean eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, but…" Clorinde’s voice trails off as her gaze flickers downward, landing briefly on Navia’s lips. The glance is quick, fleeting, but not quick enough to escape Navia’s watchful eyes. "It's better if I show you."
Navia licks her lips. And then, she speaks, her voice low and husky.
"Show me, then."
With a steady hand, Clorinde guides Navia's head off her shoulder and presses the palm of her hand to the blonde's cheek. Her palm lingers, the warmth of Navia's cheek igniting sparks of electricity where skin meets her gloved hand. Clorinde's thumb brushes over Navia's cheekbone, tracing a gentle line down to the curve of her jaw before cradling her face with a tenderness that came second to none.
Navia's breath hitches, her lips parting ever so slightly as she waited, expecting the inevitable to happen. Her chest rises and falls to a steady rhythm as she lifts her own hand to rest against Clorinde's wrist, tethering her to the connection between them. Clorinde pauses, but not out of hesitation. It's to savour the moment, to savour Navia's presence, which she once thought she had lost. Forever.
Their breaths mingle as Clorinde leans in, her lips brushing against Navia's in a delicate touch. Soft is the first word that comes into her mind—impossibly so that it left her feeling dizzy and aching for more. Clorinde's other hand rises instinctively, fingers skimming along Navia's jawline before settling at the nape of her neck. Navia's hand slides to Clorinde's shoulder, clutching at the fabric with apt desperation.
The kiss deepens, and Clorinde tastes the faint sweetness of champagne lingering on Navia's tongue. Clorinde presses closer, her hands snaking upwards to thread her hands through golden locks. Clorinde was drunk—intoxicated. But not from the alcohol but from Navia herself. Her lips, her sounds, and her tight grip on Clorinde's body. Clorinde wanted more, and she wanted to taste every last drop.
When they finally break apart, Clorinde pants heavily as she catches her breath, her forehead resting lightly against Navia's. Navia's voice, when it resurfaces, is husky and melodious. "You sure know how to make a girl feel special," Navia murmurs, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite being caught in a daze of her own.
“Bonne année, Navia.”
“Bonne année, Clorinde.”
In her lover's arms, Clorinde realised the shadows now seemed smaller.