How she can constantly run into him and rope him into some unexpected task, that he can attribute to her liveliness. How she can find his presence interesting and ask for company each time she sees him, he can not fathom. All in all though, it is not that surprising considering just how many people in Fontaine know her. In fact, he has heard of her before hearing her voice for himself. As for when he saw her first, well…

 It was one of his free days, the ones where he had no Fatui duties to attend to which meant that he could forgo all and throw himself into the icy waters first thing in the morning. The first half of the day went per usual: he awoke before the sun rose, snuck out of the bedrooms and prepared all the equipment, heading out of the city after a light breakfast. The water was cold, untouched by the early morning light that was only now making itself known. He sank deep under, familiar routes and currents accompanying him as Freminet took himself apart and put his own mind back together. Breathing slowly, he felt his muscles relax, and allowed himself to rest.

It was what came after that set this day apart. A solid few hours had passed when he emerged from the water, the sun hanging confidently in the sky. Feeling the cold wind hug him and ushering him back to the comfort of the waves, Freminet felt tempted to listen, but pressed on nonetheless, heavy boots leaving heavy imprints in the sand. He remembers noticing their silhouette for the first time the moment he took his helmet off, his breath wavering for a second, his step faltering as he briefly considered retreating back into water after all. An adventurer with a curious gaze and a warm smile, rocking on their heels back and forth immediately opening their mouth the moment their eyes met.

Freminet was never comfortable with talkative people. How easily they shared, how big and heavy their words were, spoken with such simplicity.

Soon enough he learned the name of the adventurer and the very purpose of the conversation–coming from Sumeru, Yeni had always heard about the special qualities of waters in Fontaine and wanted to admire the beauty of the submerged world up close, yet lacked the knowledge and experience to do so on her own. He sighed inwardly, surely, were she to ask around the city, she would find someone more suitable to help. He could not fill the silence like she did, mostly awkwardly nodding along to questions or gently rejecting the more outlandish of her ideas. He could not look her in the eye easily, thanking wet bangs plastered to his face for hiding it away from their curious gaze thrown in his general direction.

It was their voice that made him agree, he thinks to himself later on. He had expected it to feel louder, more suffocating, more overwhelming. It didn’t. Smooth, expressive, cheerful and upbeat in a way that in itself perhaps wasn't something he was never met with–but the feeling accompanying him listening to it was. They spoke with such ease and seemed unbothered by his clumsy responses, that Freminet, although reluctantly, agreed to show Yeni the underwater world.

What Freminet won’t tell you, is that he used to fear looking Yeni in the eye because of how bright they seemed.

He had long learned that they are easier to talk to than others. Freminet's sure that’s how everyone felt. Wherever he accompanied Yeni somewhere in the city to prepare for their upcoming journey into the ruins of Fontaine, there was someone thanking them for help, asking them for a favor, offering an item or a snack on the house. And since Freminet had learned that it was not their voice he had to look out for, he had grown fearful of looking at them, afraid of being blinded.

How he knew her eye color, how he wished to admire it freely, but never looked unless in passing, before catching himself in his foolishness, his own gaze retreating. It wasn’t just the color, though. Her eyes akin to the sky sparkled as if there were countless stars trapped inside. There was fear that if he looked, the sight would imprint itself under his eyelids, his breathing would waver and the world would become all too loud for him to handle.

And if he allowed his breath to waver, his eyes would start wandering, seeing their hair tousled by the wind they fight with, seeing how her hands speak with her, how the corners of her lips constantly go up and down as she dons many expressions recalling her own adventures. And after his eyes, his hands would ache to brush past hers, have her cheek rest against the palm of his hand, to feel the warmth of her skin against his own cold paleness.

Freminet would not allow himself for such wishful thinking. He could not afford it.

So Freminet did not look more than he had to, more than it was acceptable. Instead, he looked for them elsewhere. Anywhere else, everywhere. When he dived the water around him turned aquamarine in color, and when he felt the breeze against his skin he would hear their laugh ringing out in his ears. When he lied down in his own bed in the evening, he'd trace over his own fingers wondering how'd it feel to hold Yeni's. Whether they asked themselves that question too. When he closed his eyes, consciousness slipping away, he'd see the upturn of their lips, their eyes crinkling in delight.

In retrospect, Freminet did not look enough.