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bonus version

For all intents and purposes, the words that the redhead next to you says should be scathing, but they're not. They're amused, and your inebriated mind can't wrap your head around what exactly that mirthful glint in his fire-stained eyes means. You stare at him lazily, as the warmth of whiskey spreads throughout your body.

"Why're you here, Diluc?" You grumble, trying your best to not pathetically slur your words.

"Well, let's see." Diluc pretends to think over his words, but you know him well. He was likely rehearsing exactly what to say on his way over. The Uncrowned King of Mondstadt has never been one to half-ass anything, especially not his... convoluted relationship with you.

"You, a former nominee for the position of Acting Grand Master, suddenly returns to Mondstadt and hightails it to the most notable bar dissociated from Dawn Winery... My patrons may think they're being quiet with their gossip, but drunkards have never been able to whisper," Diluc says, staring down at you with a softness you don't deserve.

You despise the fact that you can still read behind the stoic mask he adorns for almost every conversation. You despise that he came all the way here to save you from your own inebriation. Most of all, you despise the fact that you can still see the affection in his eyes that you don't deserve, especially not after holding his glass heart in your hands and shattering it so long ago. He looks at you with restrained desire, the emotion smoldering and festering in his eyes like campfire embers waiting to reignite if stoked properly.

"I've never seen you drunk," he adds, filling up the silence that seems to stretch between the two of you endlessly. Diluc is always one to avoid idle chatter and small conversations, but not with you. Never with you. Back when the two of you were on better terms, you had asked him why you were the exception. I'm not a fan of idle talk, but our conversations are never just mindless chatter. Not to me. He had said, and you loathe him even more as that sweet memory bubbles in your mind and sends your heartbeat skipping with longing once more.

"Thought they were mocktails," You say quietly, words a soft, discontent murmur that are barely audible over the loud caterwauling of the drunken bard in the corner that should have been kicked out long ago. Diluc looks at you with amusement in his eyes.

"You think you can make it home alright?" He asks softly. As much as you hate to admit your weakness, you know that it'll be another few hours of chugging countless glasses of water that Diona brings you until you can even think about making it back to your apartment.

"I can just..." You begin, but your words falter. You don't recognize anyone here, besides the underage feline-esque bartender that is somehow permitted to serve alcohol... and the drunk bard in the corner that's definitely not the Anemo god, but he's farther gone than you are.

"I'll live." You finally say, and Diluc lets out an amused chuckle.

"Alright, Y/N, I'll take you home," Diluc says firmly, but his voice laced with amusement at your completely helpless state.

As much as you hate the way he makes you long for him after all of these years apart, you can't bring yourself to fight him off. If it was any other man, you'd likely be terrified, drawing your weapon and drunkenly swinging at their attempt to abscond from Cat's Tail with you as their drunken trophy. Yet, the acceleration of your heart in Diluc's presence is not a frightened one. Despite the rift between the two of you, you trust him, so you let him put your arm around his shoulders and his arm around your waist.

You stumble two blocks with him in a blur, shivering closer to him as the midnight air chills your skin. Yet, he does not force you to make the arduous trek back to your apartment. Instead, he guides you along the once-familiar path to Dawn Winery, escorting you in the back entrance and guiding you up the steps to the spare bedroom above the tavern.

It's different than you remember. You notice that even in your drunken state. He's exchanged out the colorful quilts for a sterile white comforter. The pictures of you that once sat on the nightstand are gone. Everything is in pristine condition, as if the room is scarcely used anymore.

"Lay down," he urges gently, gently sliding your arm off his shoulders and letting you fall onto the bed. Diluc looks over your outfit, and you can see him think over his options in his head as what to do with your dirty outside clothing, but he shakes his head. "There are spare clothes in the dresser should you need them."

Diluc turns to leave, but looks back over his shoulder at your drunken form, eyes meeting yours.

"I know you probably aren't the most interested in doing so, but please rest here tonight. No one will bother you. I can't keep you here, but as a reminder, the door locks from the outside, but you can unlock it from the inside if you do decide to leave." Diluc says softly. His words are more guarded than they were back at the bar. You nod at him with bleary eyes, struggling to pay attention as the drunken warmth consumes your body, threatening to pull you into slumber atop the comfortable mattress.

"I'll stay," You mumble, tongue heavy. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Your eyes shut before you can realize the old nickname you call him. You don't see the wistful expression that covers his face as you do so, nor the way he gives you one last longing glance before leaving the room. Sleep holds you tight in its embrace, unwilling to let you realize how Diluc longs for you to be in his.

When you wake the next morning, there's a glass of water on the nightstand, a breakfast protein bar, and a note written in the same familiar, elegant script that you used to read countless love letters in. Fighting off the dehydrated headache that eats at you, you look at the note.

Welcome back. Try visiting Angel's Share instead. I work the bar tonight. - D

You stare up at the ceiling, letting out a heavy sigh. You hate the way Diluc makes you long for him after all these years, but... it's just one more visit. What do you have to lose? You think about the offer subtly imbued in the black ink of the note, and you make your decision.