My interpretation of various genshin men being âOkokokâ or âLalalaâÂ
notes: Trying a new format, ngl guys Iâve been going through it lately (à« ïœĄâąÌ á” âąÌïœĄ )à«, mainly fluff but Tartagliaâs part is mildly spicyÂ
⥠Heâs pretty and he knows it. Heâs not afraid to use his looks as a means of persuasion.
âI promise Iâll rest soon. Iâm almost done.â His soft voice betrays just how tired he is, yet the deep stare he gives you as his lashes flutter have the words âOkay, five more minutesâ leaving your lips faster than youâd like.
As he finishes his work for the day you undo his braid. He makes a startled sound of surprise as he continues to work. He knows he wonât be able to extend his time any longer after successfully doing so twice already.
Your hands begin to braid his hair. He involuntarily shivers at the pleasant feeling of your fingers in his hair.
He manages to finish his work just as you're at the end of his braid. You help him clean up and close Bubu Pharmacy for the day, and as youâre walking home you ask if the two of you can take a detour tonight.
Heâs tired, and he almost asks if you can go on this detour another night, but the stars in your eyes and the way youâre holding onto his arm causes him to say âOkay, but only for a short while.â
Huh.
Looks like heâs not the only one who knows how to use his stunning looks to his advantage.
He follows you to a secluded area on a hill, and he looks to the sky in awe alongside you.
Itâs a full moon, and the stars are clearly visible tonight without a single cloud in the sky.
As you continue to look at the stars he subtly shifts his gaze to your face. As your eyes glimmer with profound emotion, the truth reveals itself to Baizhu.Â
He realizes he can see the stars anytime he wants.
âItâs getting late, itâs time we rest. Sleep is vital to your health, you know.â Baizhu ushers you away from gazing at the beautiful sky with a teasing lit to his voice.
âBut I remember when you told me that youâre usually too tired to come here and see the stars at night. You said the other night when you had enough energy to come here it was raining, so you just went homeâŠâ He glances at you as he intertwines your arms together once more, and he chuckles at the adorable pout on your lips.
âYes, I did say that. However, I recently came to the realization that I could see the stars whenever I wish since youâre always by my side.â He enjoys the way your eyes widen in surprise as you quickly decipher the meaning of his words.
Just in case you donât come to the correct conclusion, Baizhu clues you in. He leans forward to press a kiss against your now closed eyelids.
Before you can open your mouth to speak Baizhu announces your shared arrival home.Â
âOh, would you look at that. Weâre home.â You can only chuckle as he opens the door for you, and you follow him into the comfort of your shared abode.
âĄAnytime it rains, he always has an umbrella for you to use. He doesnât need one, but he always has one on him in case you need it.
⥠Whenever he makes a new drink heâll have you taste it before he releases it to the public. If you donât like alcohol heâll make a virgin version for you to try if you still want to taste it.
âDiluc, rest your head here.â Heâs silent for a moment, openly contemplating whether he wants to do what you asked of him.
It isnât long before he comes to a decision. He moves to stand in front of you, and you motion for him to sit in front of you.
His expression is absolutely adorable as he fulfills your request with a sigh of false exasperation.
âHonestly..â He begins to say, but heâs silent once your hands are in his hair. He visibly shudders as your fingers comb through his thick red strands. You get to work on your usual self care night time routine with Diluc.Â
First, you comb through the tangled strands of his hair. You know he enjoys this part the most, but he refuses to acknowledge it whenever you ask him. Once youâve combed out all the tangles, you usher him up to follow you to the bathroom.
âDo we really have to do this every night?â He asks this as he leans his face closer to you, allowing you to place the face mask on him.Â
âYup. Stop complaining when we both know you enjoy this. Now, come cuddle with me.â Diluc is happy you put the face mask on him already so you canât see how flustered your words make him. He dutifully follows you to the area of your choice, which is the couch tonight, and he doesnât voice a single complaint as you pull his body towards you.
He sighs in content as he rests his head on your shoulder, careful not to smudge the face mask. Youâve scolded him countless times for resting his head there with a face mask on, but somehow he always manages not to smudge it so you let it slide.
As you two sit in silence, enjoying the warmth your bodies provide, Diluc quietly begins to tell you about his day. You comment when he pauses to hear your thoughts, and you pride yourself on getting a chuckle out of him when you tell him a joke.Â
It feels like hours pass before the timer goes off. When you tell Diluc to get up, he groans as he begrudgingly follows your command. âCan we go to bed after this?â Dilucâs voice is unusually soft as you lead him to the bathroom. You giggle at how cute he sounds.
Heâs perfectly still for you as you follow the instructions for removing the face mask. As Diluc washes his face you return to your shared bedroom to hand his clothes to Adelinde to be washed for tomorrow.Â
When he returns from the bathroom he looks refreshed and ready for bed; his eyes are noticeably droopy, and he yawns into his hand.Â
Diluc joins you in bed, and he wastes no time in cuddling up to you as he places his face in the crook of your neck.Â
âGoodnight, love.â His whisper, combined with his lips pressed against the skin of your neck, causes a shiver to go down your spine. You run your fingers through his hair as you reply, âGoodnight, my love. Sleep well.â Heâs asleep moments after you wish him goodnight, and it isnât long before you follow suit.
Youâre both asleep in each otherâs arms soon after.
⥠How did you get this man to be in a relationship with you? Are you sure itâs him and not one of his clones?
⥠Well if you werenât sure before, you are now. After all, he wouldn't stop grumbling over the inconvenience of losing his clones due to âa fair trade with the dendro archonâ for weeks.Â
Will gives you crumbs of kindness to keep you hooked.
That is, until he finds himself buying your favorite treat for you at the nearest grocery store. You ran into his arms crying after a bad day, and he has to do something to cheer you up. He was disgusted by the tears streaming down your cheeks, and aggravated that the source of your angst was another human being.Â
As he quickly makes his way back to you, your favorite treat in hand, he suddenly stops walking as his anxious thoughts of you come to a halt. Heâs come to the unfortunate realization that youâre not the only one in love.Â
Heâs a busy man with things to do and places to be, yet he finds himself content holding you in his arms as your tears slowly subside upon his return.Â
He hates the way his cheeks warm when you finally smile as you eat the treat he most definitely did not go out of his way to retrieve for you.Â
He silently contemplates if he ever felt this way for another person before as you make yourself comfortable in his arms.
He decides it doesnât matter as he sneaks a picture of your sleepy face, with your cheeks squished against his chest and droopy eyes struggling to stay open.
Hm.
Maybe he enjoys your company more than he lets on.
⥠He will begrudgingly happily go along with whatever you ask of him. His annoyance and snarky comments are only for show.
âDottore, hold my hand.â âAnd why should I waste my precious time heeding your childish request? I have research subjects I need to test on, and I need both of my hands available to do so.â You roll your eyes as he slips his hand into yours, even as he continues to complain and ridicule your request.Â
Good thing a kiss never fails to shut him up.
You relish the rare flustered look he gives you when you pull away, and you internally swoon when he chases after your lips.
Speaking of expressions, has he ever shown his face to others beside you?
⥠Youâre still struggling to solve the mystery of where this man gets all his money from.
⥠Thereâs no way Zhongli has the funds to be buying you all the extravagant gifts that he does, but somehow your room is full of gifts. All of the finest quality.
Heâs a calming presence beside you wherever you two go, and you love to close your eyes as he tells you facts about something that has caught your interest.
You may or may not go out of your way to think of things to ask him, things that you know only heâll know being the Geo Archon.Â
Just so you can hear his voice.
As you two are walking side by side around Liyue Harbor, you decide to ask him something so you can listen to him talk. You slip up and ask him something thatâs virtually common knowledge to the people of Teyvat. His eyebrows rise in question. You anxiously hope he doesnât catch on as he remains silent.
It takes a moment before his facial expression changes, almost like something registered for him. You realize heâs finally caught on to the truth behind your endless slew of questions. You can only hope he isnât offended by your actions.Â
Zhongli starts chuckling, and soon heâs hunched over and slapping his knee in amusement. Â
You start laughing at the sight of Zhongli bent over and slapping his knee like an old man, but you donât tell him that.
Zhongli literally has tears in his eyes as his laughter continues. Since heâs bent down, you move closer to him before you press a kiss to the unshed tears on his pretty lashes.
He awkwardly coughs as he suddenly stops laughing; your actions clearly fluster him. His face is as red as a Jueyun chili, and you adore the sight of him in this state. Oh, the tips of his ears are red too. Wait, is he.. shuffling his feet?
Aww.
His hand searches for yours, so you waste no time in fitting your hand in his. He squeezes your hand as he straightens himself.Â
You squeeze his hand back as he begins to tell you everything he knows about your very obvious topic of conversation.
You take note of the way his eyes soften as he looks at you, and a warm smile presents itself on your lips. His eyes follow the curve of your lips with a gentle smile of his own.Â
⥠Once heâs closer to you he drops his whole âhappy go luckyâ act since he feels he can be himself around you without judgment.
⥠Heâs still friendly and silly at times, but itâs significantly less than the front he puts on for others.
He almost hates the way his heart lurches as you finish getting a bath ready for him.
âCome.â
Heâs silent as he obeys your command. He sits on the edge of the tub as you do your usual scan of his body for any new cuts, bruises or scars.
âHas this one always been here?â You suspiciously eye a cut that, yes, has been there for two days now. He recalls you scolding him when you initially discovered it.
âActually, it has-â The rest of his sentence gets caught in his throat when he feels the press of your lips against his skin. You mindlessly trace the scar with your finger as your beautiful orbs stare into his.
âAre you okay, Ajax? You seem a bit.. out of it tonight.â
A lump forms in his throat at your question. His emotions threaten to spill over as he gives a shaky exhale. Heâs not sure how you can tell heâs had a rough day today, but heâs thankful for your keen eyes.
âJoin me tonight?â Itâs almost as if your clothes magically come off as you usher him into the welcoming bath.Â
He steps in first, and youâre right behind him. Your arms wrap around him as your fingers locate the scar they were previously tracing.
âWant me to wash your hair?â You reach over to grab the shampoo bottle, already knowing what his answer will be.
As you gently rub the shampoo into his hair he closes his eyes in bliss.
He always appreciates your doting.
So itâs no surprise that once you two exit the bath, you open your shared bedroom to an overflowing pile of expensive gifts ranging from clothes to a physical copy of the newest video game, if thatâs something youâre into.
âAjax.â Your stern tone only causes his grin to grow larger. âI have to show my appreciation for you in some way.â His playful tone is quite adorable, but you push that thought to the side.Â
âAjax-â He stops your scolding with a passionate kiss to your lips as he wraps his arms around you to bring you closer.Â
âWell, there is another way.â
He loves the knowing look you give him. âOh really? You might have to show me, Iâm not sure I know what youâre talking about.â
He loves the way you shiver as he presses a kiss below your ear. âGladly.â
Xiao àŒșâĄàŒ»
Reader is implied to be afraid of heights. If you arenât afraid of heights, imagine itâs high enough to make you feel a bit nervous.Â
⥠He loves to caress your thigh as he rests his head on your shoulder, watching on with whatever youâre doing.
If you happen to be on your phone and you scroll past a cute couple video, he tells you to scroll back to it so you two can watch it together.
Will shyly suggest you two do whatever couple trend is going on, but make it seem like you were the one who asked.
âI know humans love their silly trends. You donât have to look at me like that, we can do it. Iâm only doing this for you, you know.â He even sighs as he says it, making it seem like youâre really forcing his hand when heâs the one taking the initiative.
You honestly donât mind and find it adorable.
Although some trends heâll hesitate to do, especially if theyâre a bit more hands on.
âDo I really have to guess what flavor this is?â Heâs asking this as he leans in to kiss you, his cheeks blossoming into a hue thatâs as red as a rose.
Despite his obvious hesitance, he enjoys any and all âincomprehensibleâ fun human past times you two do together.
Cue going to an amusement park as Xiao somehow wins all the rigged games and all the oversized stuffed animals you could ever ask for.
When he rides roller coasters with you his face becomes more expressive the more intense the roller coaster is. You love the subtle wide eyes heâll make or the clench of his jaw as you two go barreling down the coastersâ track with the other riders.
Your favorite part of the whole day is when you two go on the ferris wheel.
I know, cliche, but itâs the feels good warm butterflies in your chest cliche.
When you two reach the top it stops, and as much as youâd love to enjoy the beautiful orange and purple hues of the sky your heart is pounding in your chest.
You look anywhere but down, eyes darting left and right.
Xiao huffs in annoyance, and when you turn to look at him heâs walking over to you from across the small pod.
âHow could I forget? Humans and their weak minded fear of heights.â Before you can retort his comment with a snarky reply, heâs beside you and pulling you into his arms.
You muffle a weak âsorryâ against his chest, and his response is a heartfelt sigh.Â
When he presses a sweet kiss against your hair, your heart pounds for a different reason.Â
âBe quiet. I like holding you like this. I donât need the sunset with you here in my arms.â Although he probably wasnât intending to be romantic, your cheeks warm and a giddy giggle escapes you.
Que the adorable sight of two idiots holding each other as the ferris wheel makes its slow descent down, the orange hues of the sky faded long ago, as the stars glimmer and wink in the romantic night sky.
⥠Alhaitham has never been in a relationship before; heâs a busy and productive man who has things to do. He goes home early to be alone and read in relative peace.
âĄThat is, until he got to know you.
Alhaitham doesnât see himself as the romantic type, yet he finds himself doing simple acts of service for you without a second thought.
Do you wake up completely exhausted after studying all night? A steaming cup of coffee is gently placed into your tired hands as soon as you greet Alhaitham. You donât like coffee? Alhaitham substitutes it for something thatâs more your taste.
Youâll find fluffy blankets draped over your previously slumped figure on cold nights, your papers neatly organized after a quick bathroom break, and even little note cards placed on your belongings with encouraging words.
It took you multiple instances of these caring acts of kindness before you realized Alhaitham was the one behind them.
The notecards are what gave him away.
You thought you were being delusional as usual when you recognized Alhaithamâs handwriting on one of the note cards, despite sparsely seeing it. You confront him about the little note cards you've been seeing despite your apprehension of him behind the person behind these kind acts.Â
Lo and behold, a few conversations and a study date later, Alhaitham is your dedicated boyfriend. Although heâs different than you thought heâd be in a relationship.Â
In a good way, of course!
During a late night stroll in Sumeru, Alhaitham gently intertwines his hand with yours. When you look at him in surprise, he looks away with an obvious redness to his cheeks.
In another instance, Alhaitham walked in on you dozing off over your study notes. âI thought you said you were going to study all night, no interruptions?â Alhaithamâs teasing voice against your ear catches you off guard, but what really surprises you is the lingering kiss he presses underneath your ear.
With your study partner Kaveh gawking at him from the other side of the table.
This time around, Alhaithamâs head is resting on your chest as his tall figure is basically sprawled across your lap. Itâs honestly adorable, but if anyone were to see this scene with their own eyes theyâd probably think theyâre hallucinating. Surely thereâs no way the Akademiyaâs scribe would behave this way, right?
Well theyâd be proven wrong, and quite quickly.
Alhaitham reads his book without a care in the world as his head rests on your chest, flipping a page to continue reading out loud to you. âHonestly Alhaitham, I didnât expect you to be so⊠openly affectionate like this in a relationship.â You hope your words donât come across as offensive, but this is Alhaitham youâre talking to; You're not worried.
Alhaithamâs silent for a moment before he looks into your eyes. Your heart skips a beat at the swirling emotions you see in them, a rare sight for a man like Alhaitham.
âI feel at ease when youâre around, and I love many aspects about you, including your flaws. Why should I be bothered to conceal these feelings? Doing that wonât get me anywhere. Only a fool would hesitate to show how much they love and care about their partner.â Alhaithamâs words are concise and brutally honest, yet itâs as if heâs serenading you with a romantic ballad.
In a trance, you hardly register the way he presses a sweet kiss to your lips before he continues to read out loud to you, distracting you from your many assignments as he originally intended.
âŠ
Oh.
âOkay.â Is the only breathy response youâre capable of.Â
You donât miss the smirk on his lips when he hears your response.
⥠Putting Kaveh anywhere other than lalala wouldnât feel right.
⥠Kaveh, the hopeless romantic who smothers you with affection like itâs his job.
⥠Kaveh, whoâs somehow always up before you to make you breakfast and ensure you have everything you need for the day.
⥠Kaveh, who pepper's your face with sweet kisses before you walk out the door in the morning and when you return home for the evening.
⥠He was a blushing mess when he asked you out, and his face was an adorable display of elation when you happily agreed to be his partner.
Now, Kaveh rests his head on your shoulders as he peers at the video youâre watching on your phone. âHonestly if that were me I would have broken up with him by now. Did you see the way he rolled his eyes as he let go of their hand? How disgraceful.â Kaveh clicks his tongue as he criticizes the male lead.Â
You burst into a fit of laughter when Kaveh begins to cheer the maleâs partner on for dumping a glass of wine over his head.
âHe doesnât understand how lucky he is to have someone care for him so deeply and intimately.â Your words strike a chord in Kaveh, and he reaches over you to pause the video.
âWait, what do you mean by that?â Kavehâs worried tone reaches your ears. Youâre quick to turn around and press a loving kiss to his lips to dispel his worries.
âWhat I mean is, Iâm lucky to have you in my life. Youâre a ray of sunshine on my sunniest and darkest of days. I can only hope I make you feel as loved and cherished as you make me feel Kaveh. Iâm the luckiest person in the whole of Teyvat to be able to wake up to your pretty snores.â Kaveh blushes as he scoffs in indignation. âSnores? I do not snore. Even if I did, you're wise to realize theyâd be the prettiest snores youâve ever heard. They wouldnât be as obnoxiously infuriating as, say Alhaithamâs, would sound.âÂ
You chuckle at Kavehâs indignation, before your chuckles quickly morph into uncontrollable giggles as Alhaitham chooses that moment to return home.
Unfortunately for Kaveh, Alhaitham heard his name being said. As Alhaitham questions Kaveh on your topic of conversation, Kaveh's fingers trace imaginary hearts on the back of your hand.
You enjoy the sound of surprise Kaveh makes when you grasp his hand to place a kiss against each of his fingertips.
Thankfully Alhaitham takes the hint to leave the two of you alone, and you two spend the rest of the day in each otherâs arms, enjoying the irreplaceable warmth your bodies provide each other.Â
⥠To be the partner of Kamisato Ayato is a blessing in and of itself.
⥠Waking up to his pretty face resting beside you is now your favorite way to start your day.
⥠You love the way heâs always one step ahead of you. When you suddenly remember you forgot to bring an important item, Ayatoâs calming you down with hushed whispers of love as he hands you the item in question.
You groan in annoyance as you put the paper in your hand down. Youâve been craving your favorite snack since this morning, and itâs getting harder and harder to resist the craving. You come to the conclusion that itâs worth putting your work down to get it, and at that moment Ayato enters the room.
Itâs almost creepy how Ayato walks into your shared room with said food item you are currently craving.
You love how Ayatoâs not afraid to kiss you in front of his retainers, and how he often brags about your achievements to others in front of you.
âThank you for your hard work. Oh, speaking of hard work, my partner successfully completed that assignment I told you they were so worried about. Haha I know, they were worried over nothing. Iâm quite proud of how far theyâve come. They even- my, whatâs got you so riled up?â Ayato knowingly teases you when you approach him with a flustered expression, dismissing the retainer's soft chuckles and fond expression as they watch the two of you.
Ayatoâs not one to shy away from cuddles and spending time together. No matter how busy his schedule is, he always makes time each and every day to spend with you.
 Whenever youâre together Ayato always has some part of him touching you. Whether that be his hand against the small of your back, his chin on your shoulder, or even his hands tangled in your hair, heâs always touching you.
When asked about this habit of his, heâll simply respond, âIt brings me a sense of comfort.â
Whenever Ayatoâs seen with you, heâs the physical embodiment of ââŠand all of the stars and infinite galaxies could be found in the vast beauty of their eyes. All it takes is one look at their partner, and their eyes shine like the sun's first rays of dawn.â
⥠You fell first but he fell harder⊠and when he did fall, oh boy.
⥠Heâs severely touch starved.
Heâll make any excuse to cuddle and be physically close to you. âThis pillow isnât fluffy enough and itâs hurting my neck. Move closer so I rest my head on your chest.â âBut my chest isnât fluffy???â
âIâve never been in a romantic relationship before, and I need practice.â âPractice holding hands? That seems pretty straightforward to me-â âSilence.â You only watch in amusement as he averts his gaze, shyly holding your hand.
He looks so cute like this, you know you have to take a picture. As heâs preoccupied with avoiding your gaze, you deftly maneuver your phone in one hand and open the camera app. You snap an adorable photo of him.
Unfortunately for you, your phone flash was on.
You talk your way out of deleting the picture by agreeing to take a selfie with him.
When the alarm on his phone wakes you up the next morning you tap his phone to turn it off. You stare at his phone in shock as it lights up. His lock-screen is the selfie you two took together a few hours ago.
⥠Will literally do the sweetest and most heartfelt gestures without being asked, and then get defensive about it when it clearly makes you happy.
You wake up to a bouquet of flowers and breakfast in bed. Wandererâs silence as you stare at him says all the tender words he struggles to voice.
When your eyes water and a wobbly smile presents itself on your lips, he clenches his jaw and rolls his eyes.
âI returned home late last night and missed the opportunity to fall asleep beside you. I figured youâd appreciate this sweet gesture, but clearly your mind is too addled with sleep to properly thank me. ..Wipe those tears away, theyâre unsightly.â
Heâs the one who gently wipes your tears away without complaint.Â
As he presses a chaste kiss against your lips, you tell yourself you chose the right man to be your partner.
Bonus: If you ask for him to pray with you to whichever deity you follow, including the archons, he will. Despite believing in no deity or higher being, heâll happily pray with you since he knows itâs an important aspect of your life. Heâll respect that and pray with you. Itâs no big deal; he enjoys the thankful expression you have anyway. Donât worry, he knows he doesnât have to, but he chooses to do so with you because he wants to. Plus, he gets a free favor out of it every time. What he uses that favor on differs each time, but itâs always a good result for the both of you.Â
⥠Albedo is known to not be the most.. expressive individual, yet he has no trouble expressing his love for you, consistently and with the same amount of fervor every time.
⥠Overall heâs the best partner you could ask for. He's your safe space, and youâre his.
⥠Albedoâs experiments are of utmost importance to him, so when an emergency arises that you need assistance with, it warms your heart when he stops his experiment mid way through to help you.
âIâm sorry I asked for your help while you were in the middle of an experiment. I couldnât reach anyone else, and-â Albedo stops your hysterics with a tight hug and a kiss against the crown of your hair.
âYouâre just as, if not more important to me than any of my experiments. Please, donât hesitate to contact me at any given time, even if itâs not an emergency. Iâll always welcome the opportunity to hear your lovely voice, although Iâd prefer if you didnât sound so distressed.â
âHey, âbedo, youâre zoning out again.â âOh, my apologies. Here, Iâve completed it.â He hands you yet another sketch of yourself. Your features are beautifully depicted to be looking off into the distance, with dragonspine serving as a mystical background.
âYou could sell these you know. Youâd make a lot of Mora.â Albedo looks at you with clear offense in his eyes. âThe day I sell my drawings of you is the day I stop loving you, and thatâs a day that will never come to pass. Come, the temperatures are dropping and Iâve gathered enough starsilver for my next experiment.â
Your heart skips a beat as your hands effortlessly find each otherâs. Albedoâs flushed cheeks are prominent as he presses a kiss against the back of your hand.
âOh, there you are. I made you hot chocolate, the temperatures are lower than normal⊠Do you want to cuddle?â When your response is an immediate âyesâ Albedo wastes no time in guiding you to a comfortable area and tangling your limbs together.
Donât worry, youâre still able to drink the hot chocolate.Â
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|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 16.2k  || ao3 || masterlist || NEXT â
You return to Mondstadt after many years away, sick, with an feeling that's all-too familiar and unwelcome.
â my heart, your song - @firein-thesky â
minors & ageless blogs dni
a/n: AH!! here it is :'^) the diluc fic!!!! thank you so much to @itoshisoup for beta reading (along with my non-tumblr pals han & ennis as well!!) this section contains four chapters, separated by partitions. if you'd prefer to read this fic with the chapters/parts separated, it will be posted as such on ao3!
this fic is a collab with the lovely cielo (@firein-thesky)!! our fics share a mostly canon compliant universe :3c give it a read!! it's linked above!!!
...
tags: alcohol use, descriptions of vomiting, reader with chronic injury, reader is referred to as 'little sister' by kaeya (not related), unreliable narrator/reader, soggy soggy SOGGY diluc, protective diluc, diluc and reader were childhood friends to lovers, reader is a healer
PART o: kismet
Once, on one of your several trips to Sumeru, you visited the Akademiya. You only went to poke at dusty books and sit in on a few lectures as a wanderer who liked a good story and a bit of learning. There, you met a scholar whose name didnât stick with you, from the Rtawahist darshan.
They had the far-off look in their eye of someone who had seen a bit too much, for who they were. You knew that some scholars went mad in their pursuit of knowledge. Saw things that they couldnât cope with even if they tried. Your new friend looked to be close to such a threshold.
Perhaps, in an act of pity, you took this scholar out for a drink. Or two. Or seven. The exact number of cups and goblets escapes you now. But what you do remember, as you sat together on a terrace high above Yazaha pool, legs swinging, was their ramblings.Â
âThereâs a map of everything, up there.â They gestured wildly to the sky, twinkling and bright, with the moon as company. âDeciphering it... Well. Thatâs another thing. But itâs there. And if we figure it out, fate will be in our hands to know.â
They continued, stretching their hands to the cosmos above them, as if their fingertips could decipher the orchestration of the Gods with nothing but passion, wine, and will. It was admirable, in your drunken state. Perhaps foolish to your sober mind.Â
Nonetheless, such an idea stuck with you. Even after you departed from your bygone friend, and continue your wanderings, you think about it. You laid on your bedroll more than once, staring upward, and wonderingâ
Why did the gods mosaic the sky?Â
You are just a mortal, how are you to know? You tried not to dwell on that specific thought. The one you find yourself coming back to, in your worst nightsâ
(If I could read the stars, and foresee a tragedy, is there any way for a calamity to be stopped? If you knew fateâs charted course, the crest of its fortune and the wake of its tragediesâ could you circumvent them?)
(Could you have stopped your calamity?)
It was a self-deprecating thought, and it dragged you back to a place and time that was both unpleasant and unnecessary to recall.Â
Thereâs no way to change the past, you reminded yourself. You could only move forward. Never back. You only balked at the stars in your weakest moments and pondered such ideas like fate and destiny. You could live in the illusion of carving your own destiny as you traversed Teyvat. One where you wrapped gauze around wounds after the disaster had passed. Heal sullied ground. You could do everything you could to help people. That was enough, you decided early on in your travels.Â
Youâd help people (and avoid the nation Mondstadt). Simple enough.
One foot in front of the other.
PART i: thereâs a puzzle we crafted
Youâre tired.Â
So tired.Â
Itâs a merciless type of exhaustion that you rarely, if ever, let yourself slip into. To wander Liyueâs peak and narrow paths in such a condition is dangerous, even if the Millelith and Guild did a decent job keeping settlements of Hilichurls suppressed. In general, you can take down slimes on your ownâ except when you find yourself this deliriously tired.Â
Normally, you donât even bother traveling in this state. You would drag yourself to the nearest village, throw some mora at a layperson and set up shop wherever they had space. Be that an inn, back room, or stableâ you arenât picky. As long as you could rest for a few days, perhaps help out the village in your spare time.Â
Your most recent wanderings, however, took you far onto the Yaoguang Shoals for several days, and by the time you returned to solid, proper earth, you were desperately low on essentials. Your nearest respite was an old village crawling with Hilichurls. Your next best option would be a miniature expedition onto the shores of Dragonspine and hope the cold wouldnât kill you before you could find shelter and stoke a fire.
So, you keep going. Â
All the way past Stonegate and the quarries beyond it. Youâre only half-lucid as you wander into Mondstadt for the first time in years.Â
You roost in an abandoned cottage some ways down the road. Finally resting for the first time in days. Never mind your still-damp bedroll or the structural unsoundness of the ruin. You practically fall to your knees and pass out, given your state.
(Running has made you tired, hasnât it?)
When you awaken, you ache. (Familiar). You nibble on the last of your rations and it hits youâ
Youâre back in Mond, arenât you?
Archons.
You should leave, really. Itâs your first thought when you realize where you are. You shouldnât be here. Youâre not even near the city proper, but a panic unfurls in your chest like youâve been struck. You immediately begin to pack up your thingsâ
Two things hit you then:
One:Â Youâre far lower on supplies than you had thought.Â
This isnât a new development, however. Itâs just far worse than you thought. You paw at the contents of your bag, realizing that the dried zaytun peaches and jerky you had for breakfast were the last of your rations. The weather had been poor across Liyue in the past weeks, and many of the normal markets you wouldâve run into were shuttered because of it. Regardless, you didnât think you were on your last fucking morsels.Â
Deep in your bag, all you have is a torn, unusable tarp and a pitiful handful of the crystalline shards you used to purify water.Â
You donât even need to look at your medicine kit to know the paltry state itâs in. Far too many empties.Â
Two:Â A burning sensation that splits you wide open and threatens to eat you alive.Â
You barely twist your foot the wrong way. Hardly at all. Regardless, something like liquid electro shoots from the twisted (broken, mutilatedâ) parts of your right foot, up your thigh, and shakes you down to your bones.Â
You stumble, using the wall for support and keeping your weight off the injury. It shouldnât be aggravated this early in the day. You shake it off from your ankle, lowering yourself to the dirt floor to massage out any of the tension and subsequent pain that you can. Youâll be able to walk, surely, but itâs getting harder and harder to deny that the old injury isnât worsening over time.Â
You remember, vaguely, hearing tell that there was a skilled healer in Mond once again. Younger, a Vision-bearer in the Church, maybe?Â
You know enough about the Church of Favonius that they would at least look at your injury, if this half-remembered healer really does exist and is affiliated with them.Â
You hate that Mondstadt seemed like the best option.Â
(Later, youâll realize itâs all a bit like fate, pushing you toward that stupid city.)
You find yourself at a loss, shake your head, and sigh, â... I guess it wouldnât... really be so bad to visit.â
Youâll just stay for a day or two.
...
Mondstadtâs front gate is so familiar it nearly hurts. The guards have different faces than the ones you remember from your youth. Their demeanor is the sameâ kind, open, like how people from Mond tend to be. They donât hound you too much as you pass, and you enter the city without issue.Â
Midday sun lights Mondstadt proper when you arrive (your journey from the quarries took a bit longer than necessary, considering your route went wide around a particular plot of land that you refused to go near.)
The city bustles with noise and activity. Merchants line the streets, carts and stalls overflowing. Seafoam banners and floral wreaths hang along the stone arches and walls, while garlands of fresh flowers stretch from building to building. The scent of fresh flowers, baking bread, and sweet wine envelopes you.
Windblume, you remember. It is spring, after all.
You hope the crowds of the festival will help you blend in as you meander through the city. You keep your head down, counting cobblestones and being quick with your purchases. Better to get in and out, probably. If you can snag a new tarp and bedroll, you could set up across the bridge for the night, and be gone by morning if you could track down that healer within the afternoon too.Â
As you walk up the main run of Mond proper, toward the fountain and the smell of warm spiced meat, someone, archons, gasps from behind you and says your name.
(Later, youâll recall this moment. Perhaps kismet turned on its axis for you to still andâ)
You freeze, going stiff. Youâd know that voice anywhere. Sweet and teasing, curling down your spine in a way that feels both ambiently flirtatious and horribly familiar.Â
Part of you screams to ignore her. Let her think she has the wrong person and continue your journey in Mond unimpeded by an old specter. You could be out the gates in a number of hours, if not minutes if you really need to (run, run, run).
But, thereâs a temptation. It breathes itself alive, from the back of your mind to the front, entirely unavoidable.Â
(How long has it been since youâve seen a familiar face? One that you know instead of just recognizing?)
You turn slowly. â... Hi, Lisa.â
...
And, somehow, you end up in the Knightâs of Favonius headquarters, with a perfectly warm cup of tea in your hands, nestled in a library you hadnât been inside for nearly a decade. It smells of old parchment and leather. Steam rises from your cup, fragrant with Sumeru rose and Guili cinnamon stick with black tea leaves. You recall the scholars of the Spantamad darshan favored this blend; you shared more than a cup or two during your visits to the Akademiya.Â
Lisa settles in the seat across from you, with a small box of pastries that look sticky and sweet. Your mouth waters.Â
âHow have you been, dear?â Lisa gives you a soft look. âItâs been so long.â
So long, you add to yourself. Sitting across from Lisa is giving you a gut-twisting sense of deja vu that has your palms sweating.
âIâve been well,â you say, gently. âTravelling, still.â
âOh, how exciting.â Lisa smiles and lays her cheek on her palm. âWhat was your most recent destination?â
You hummed. âI recently went to Natlanâs capital, just for a few months. I ended up staying with a smith who gave me odd jobs in exchange for housing.â
âOh, wow,â Lisa preens for you. âAnd before that? I apologize, dear, Iâm not caught up with your journeys.â
Ah, the lack of letters.
âI apologize.â You rub your forehead. âI havenât been writing lately. Itâs been... hard to keep track of things, though itâs not an excuse.â
âI would disagree.â She flashes you a sympathetic smile. âYouâve been crisscrossing Teyvat; it makes perfect sense why you would struggle to keep in touch with folks. Iâm sure youâve met plenty of friends on your travels, too. I imagine you have lots to juggle.â
Lisa is partially correct, you suppose.
âYou continue to give me so much amnestyâ too kind,â you laugh, and lean back in your chair.Â
Lisa looks a bit wistful as she puts down her cup in exchange for one of the pastries. You recognize the expression on her. Youâve only seen her wear it once before.
âHow long are you staying in Mond?â Lisa asks, nodding down to the box. You leave the treats untouched.
âNot long.â You refuse to look at her as you answer, âJust for the day. I needed some supplies and Mondstadt was the most convenient.â
Itâs a clinical answer. One you say intentionally, perfectly, so she canât poke holes in your logic. You hope, pray, she doesnât push back on your short visit. Any longer, and you might accidentally run into more faces you donât wish to see. Lisa was tangentially related to... everything, but she was the least obtrusive person you could have run into. Still, youâre in the lionâs den, in the Ordoâs HQ, for a cup of tea, praying that you can slip in and out undetected outside of Lisa.
(Itâs easier like this, you tell yourself. You canât get twisted up in this place again.)
Lisa examines you, tracing you up and down with her gaze in a way thatâs horribly disarming. If it was from anyone else, youâd think they were checking you out, especially with the sweet, upward quirk of her lips. But, this is Lisa, and you had forgotten how astute she is.
âOnly a day? Thatâs a shame.â She sighs, sitting back and stirring the tiny spoon perched in her teacup. âIt's Windblume. You should stay.â
âI could,â you muse and give her a sympathetic smile. âBut, I donât think it would be wise. It would be better if I got on my way quickly.â
She raises an eyebrow. âHow far back would a few days in Mondstadt put you on your travel plans?âÂ
âPlansâ.Â
You nearly bark out a laugh, but you keep it lodged in your throat.Â
âNot terribly far, but I... I donât want to stay, Lisa.â You reach across the table and squeeze her free hand. âIt isnât good for me to linger here.â
The look she gives you breaks your heart. Her brows wilt, her eyes get a little sadder, and she grips your hand unyieldingly. â... Are you sure, sweetheart? Iâm sure the Knights could put together some lodging for youââ
She presses, and you hate the feeling of it. You know her kindness is not misplaced, but it makes you roll around in your skin regardless. Archons. You interrupt her with a tight smile, âTruly, Lisa, I am grateful for the offer, but I will be on my way come tomorrow morning. Perhaps another year.â
âPerhaps.â
You sip your tea in silence for a moment. You stew, barely, not at her specifically but circumstance. It boils just underneath your skin, just as it has been since you entered Mondâs border. Speaking to Lisa has only made the feeling grow and burn.Â
You canât meet her gazeâ you canât. You can feel it on you regardless. You know youâll see more pity and maybe that familiar bite of anger she wields so well.Â
âWhy donât you tell me when and how you got that Vision then?â She nods low, down to your waist. Your dendro Vision hums there, tied to you with a fraying, braided string that desperately needs replacing.Â
There isnât a problem with indulging a bit of... this, is there? Youâre only sitting to chat. Drinking some tea. You can hunt for that healer and duck out of Mondâs walls by sundown. Easy. You pluck one of the buttery-looking pastries from the box and plop it on your plate.Â
âSure, but only if I can get a refill on this tea.â You smile and raise your cup.
...
You lose track of time, talking to Lisa.Â
You do tell her how you obtained your Vision, and of your subsequent journey through Snezhnaya to its port following your graduation. She tells you some of the new gossip of Ordo Favonius, and that sheâs been thinking about picking out a ring to give to Jean (though, she has a hunch the other already has one in mind. Lisa thinks it'll be fun to meddle with whatever precise plan the Acting Grand Master (nice) has in place.)
She continues to pour you tea and push more baked goods onto your plate. You enjoy them, and her company. Itâs a rare treat to sit down for so long with nothing more than chatting on your mind.Â
âHow was studying in Snezhnaya?â Lisa asked, eyeing your various bags. âCold, I imagine?â
âVery.â You grimace, fishing around in your satchel. âBut, worth it.âÂ
You pull forth a palm-sized metal insignia. You keep it tucked away, most of the time, only flashing the thing when necessary. You only need legitimacy every so often.
âOh, wow.â Lisa gawks a bit. âMay I see?â
You hand it to her. âBe my guest.â
She studies the metal, running her fingertips along the edges where the different colors meet. Vibrant blues meet greens and whites, with pink and purple flowers cast around the bottom edge. The shape resembles something between a shield and wheel, with each one of its seven portions having some meaning for the institution. They escape you now.Â
âIâve heard that the Tselostnyy School is quite the place,â Lisa says. âNo one at the Akademiya seemed fond of them, but I imagine it was out of some sort of insecurity.â
You snort. âProbably. Folks at Tselostnyy actually teach healingâ not just study the human body for the sake of some academic pursuit. The two schools have opposing goals.â
It was one of the main reasons you declined to apply to the Akademiya at all.Â
âIâm glad you found a place to studyâ I know it was hard, after Teacher passed away.â Lisa reaches out as she speaks, going for your hand.Â
You withdrew your own from the tabletop, hiding it in your lap. âIt was. But I managed.â
âManaged.â
Lisa gives you a look that drips pity. She looks as though sheâs going to reply, just as the door to enter the library clicks open.Â
Your gut drops to the floor and your shoulders stiffen.Â
âLisa? Could you proofread this draft for me? Iâm afraid I sound too formal againââ Itâs Jean, itâs Jean.
Itâs her voice, the distantly familiar click of her hard heels against the wood flooring. You bunch the fabric of your trousers in your fist, forcibly reminding yourself to breathe. Jean walks from behind you, rounds the table, stops at Lisaâs side and looks at you.Â
Jeanâs eyes widen.
âOh, sorry sweetheartâ Iâm a bit busy with a friend right now,â Lisa says easily, oblivious (seemingly, probably not.) She gestures to you and winks. âI can take a look after lunch, if you can take a break with me.âÂ
Jean says your nameâ gasping it more or less, tightening her grip on the document in her hands.Â
â... Hi, Jean.â You give her a little wave. âHow have you been?â
Itâs bittersweet, the feeling that curls and grows in your chest as she brightens and pulls up a chair next to Lisa. Itâs familiar and rotten, all the same.
...
The commotion in the library brings other visitors.
Lisa wears a smitten smile as other knights make their way into the library. Aramia and Flynâ they look older, long grown out of their adolescence and more into their skin. Hertha has crinkles around her eyes that grow tight when she recognizes who you are.Â
The Spark Knight barrels in the room being lazily chased byâ
Kaeya.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckâÂ
He scoops up the little knight and turns to the tea table, now surrounded by familiar faces, and you can see he has his lips pursed for some sort of teasing quip. Probably at the expense of the Ordoâs acting Grand Master and Librarian.
Then, Kaeya sees you.Â
You watch his jaw snap shut. Whatever clever thing he had to say dies on his tongue and you watch it. Itâs a little satisfying after all this time. Youâll cherish this moment, you think. The split second of confusion, the realization, the shock andâ the guilt.
He wipes the expression off his face easily, as if it were never there to begin with. But youâll revel in his discomfort. Your own little revenge, several years too late.
âOh, wowââ Kaeya whistles, clicking closer and settling Klee on his hip with a bounce. He says your name almost breathlessly. âLittle sister, itâs been quite some time. Weâve missed you.â
âDid you?â You tilt your head. âThatâs surprising.â
You hold your tongue. You dig your teeth into the sides of it, forcing yourself quiet. The feeling thatâs boiling in your chest wonât be extinguished by verbally thrashing Kaeya in the middle of the Knightâs HQâ but, Archonsâ
Itâs tempting.
ââSisterâ?â The little knightâs nose scrunches. âMister Kaeya, you said you only had Diluc, whoâs only kinda your brother. No sisters!â
âHeâs teasing me,â you placate her, voice sweetening. The little knight looks at you with wide eyes, a little awed. ââMister Kaeyaâ is an old friend of mine, we played together lots when we were little like you.â
An oversimplification, of course. Little Klee doesnât need to know what happened after the sun-swept days of sword fighting and house ended at the winery. Kaeyaâs air quickly fades as Klee squirms down and asks kindly for a hug. You donât think she can remember youâ you only held her once, when she was so smallâ but you know her kind age and remember so differently from your own.
âWhy are you in town?â Kaeya asks. âI thought Iâd never seen you within city limits again. Color me surprised.â
You lock your jaw, as Klee bounds away from you and wrestles her way onto Jeanâs lap, âPassing through, is all. Iâll be gone by morning.â
â... So, youâre not staying for Windblume?â Kaeya sits, pouring himself a cup of tea. You think you might hate him. âThatâs a shame.âÂ
âIâm not,â you clarify and roll your eyes. âThough everyone is insisting that I do.â
âYou really should.â Lisa takes the opening and insists, âIt would be lovely to have you.â
Of the group that has congested in the library, you only hear agreement. Jean has a bright look in her eye that makes you shy away.Â
âI... I really shouldnât.âÂ
âWhy not?â Kaeya grins, foxlike. You think he just likes making you squirm.
âDo you have somewhere to be?â Jean inquires, setting her chin on her fist.
âWell, noââ Thereâs always somewhere for you to be. You canât stay. You shouldnât even be here now.Â
âThen, stay.â Eula leans against the doorframe, entered at some point.Â
Youâre being thoroughly peer-pressured, it seems.Â
â...Iâm being bullied into staying for Windblume, arenât I?â
âPerhaps.â Jean gives you a sheepish grin. âYouâre missed, Windblume is just an excuse.â
You ache.Â
âStay in the city, enjoy some wine,â Lisa insists. âCatch up with folks. Iâd love to see more of you while youâre here. Iâm sure you have stories to share of your travels.ââ
You barter, â... If I do stay, I need to find a healer. I heard that thereâs a skilled one, living in Mond. A Vision holder.â
Jean opens her mouth, but Kaeya speaks first. âDone.â
You consider.Â
Youâre fully aware that your arm is being horribly twisted into staying for Windblume. You know this is unwise. Butâ
(Thereâs something to it. Something you canât admit it to, not aloud, not yetâ but being in a room full of people who do not see you as a stranger, but rather an old friend. They know your name, and you know theirs. Thereâs something to knowing the streets you will walk if you stay. Familiarity is a wretched comfort.)
âIf you need lodging, the knights could easily put you up in the dormitories,â Jean offers.
âNo, Iââ You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your cheeks. âI appreciate the gesture, but if I do stay Iâll camp outside the city.â
âSo youâre staying?â Kleeâs eyes shine.Â
âIââ
âIn that case, come out for drinks tonight,â Kaeya insists with a sly smile that makes you want to eat glass. âIâll buy a round.â
âWaitââ
âAngelâs Share does bring out its Windblume vintage tonightââ Lisa says enticingly.Â
âAbsolutely not.â You smack your hand on the table, far louder than you intend.Â
Kaeya cocks his head, amused. Lisa and Jean share a look, and the rest of the knights look a bit bewildered. You hate to raise your voice, but Archons, this crowd can be pushy.
âIâll stay. But Iâm not going to Angelâs Share.â Never ever again.
Lisa does seem to notice her error in suggesting it and gives you an apologetic smile. She reaches for your hand and squeezes. You feel a bit lighter.
âDiluc wonât be there,â Kaeya states. On the nose. âHe doesnât bartend on weeknights, even during Windblume.â
â... Really?â
âHe doesnât,â Eula corroborates. âI have knowledge as well that he is in the middle of merchant deals with a group from Natlan. There is no reason to think heâd be at Angelâs Share this evening, if thatâs your concern.â
You pick at the skin around your nails.Â
âIâll think about it.â
(You agree, by the time you leave Ordo HQ. After many other promises of free wine and dancing, you find it hard to refuse. It doesnât hurt that you confirm with multiple others that Diluc doesnât bartend on weeknights. That heâs been caught up in business, and hasnât been in the city much at all.)
...
You had enough mora for a few nights of lodging. You figured that Goth may have even given you a discount, as an old friend of his. Archons know how many times you worked odd jobs for him and his sons, patching up walls and the occasion twisted ankle or jammed finger.Â
After some searching, you find Goth in one of the many gardens of Mond proper. As happy as he is to see you, he regretfully informs you that he has no free lodging.Â
âWindblume has booked out all of my short-term properties,â Goth sighs. âUnless youâre looking for a minimum six-month lease, I donât have any rooms available.â
(Goth explains to you that the goddamn Fatui has rented out the entirety of his hotel... indefinitely? Upfront? Hence the lack of a room.)
You tell him itâs no trouble, wave off his concern. You donât mind a few more nights of camping. The only allure of an inn or hotel was the possibility of consistently bathing and a soft mattress.Â
You pick a spot outside of Mondstadt proper to set up your camp. There are many tents already set upâ travelers, like yourself, here for the festival. You recognize colors and fabrics from all over Teyvat. It warms something in you, that you arenât alone in being an outsider here.
(Such a thought feels wrong, because it is, isnât it? You arenât an outsider at all. This is your home. The only place youâre not an outsider.)Â
You struggle to set up your tent, and decide to leave it for later. Wandering around Mond for the afternoon aggravated your injury, and you instead take the time to poke around in your medicine kit for a quick tincture. Something to settle theâ
(Burning, screeching pain that tracks up your leg. Youâre grateful the other travelers arenât watching how you collapse against a pile of discarded crates, barely holding back a hiss of pain.)
(Itâs getting worse, isnât it?)
Teacher always said that nothing was harder on sickness and wounds than stress. It was a wisdom you remembered but barely heeded.
You use the dropper and place the tincture under your tongue. It tastes bitter and coats your throat as you swallow.Â
...
The sun rains gold on Mond as you meander toward the Angelâs Share. Liquid amber that coats the buildings and cobblestones. Itâs nostalgic in too many ways, and it makes something behind your ribs ache.
(Youâre hit with the distinct urge to run. To turn tail and leave Mondstadt forever, again.)
You shove it down, swallow it whole, and bear it. Bear it. Not forever, just for a few days. You can catch up with some old friends, leave any old scores unsettled and untouched (undisturbed, unthought aboutâ), and depart. Maybe even fix up your foot in the process.
You hesitate outside of Angelâs share.
It looks different than you remember. The door and its frame have been replaced, the door and its frame hardly ached. Thereâs a message board outside that you canât recall being there previously. A wreath hangs on the door, woven with blue and white flowers for Windblume.
You want it to be different. You do. Because if things are different, walking into Angelâs Share wouldnât feel so daunting. You could pretend that this horribly familiar tavern was someplace else entirely. Maybe even delude yourself into thinking that this little building was its own, unique, carved-out square during one of your travels. A fantasy where youâve never been here before.
(The warmth under your disgust wouldnât feel so misplaced then.)
You enter.
Itâs lively, bustling with patrons of all types with the festival beginning so soon. You recognize clothes and people from all corners of Teyvat, and it comforts you once more. You blend in easily, lingering near the door, and peek at the bar.
Diluc is nowhere to be seen. Another barkeep mans the kegs, barrels, and bottles. You donât recognize himâ which brings you some relief.Â
It would be easy. To be delusional about this whole thing. That Angelâs Share could be just a tavern in the middle of nowhere and the faces that are around you have no chance of being familiar. Youâre in a sea of folks who are travelers, just like, or mostly unfamiliar. You could, couldnât you? Tell yourself that this isnât a place whereâ
(You had your first drink. Learned how to mix cocktails with Crepus. Play fought Diluc and Kaeya in the rafters on the third floor. Where you last saw Dilucâ)
You clutch a hand to your chest. Who knew that emotional pain could be so violently physical?Â
Jean calls your name from across the room, pulling you from your stupor. You meet her eyes, and the smile you force to meet your eyes feels a little more genuine.
With the call of your name, several other patrons look up and gawk for a moment. You get a few more âoh hello!âs and âI didnât know you were in town!â thrown your way and you give them all sheepish smiles. Faces you canât place very well. Features and familiar expressions mutilated by time and a botched memory. It makes you feel sick to your stomachâ archons, and you havenât even sampled this yearâs selection of thousand-windâs wine, have you?Â
Jean flashes you a sympathetic look when you finally make it to their table. The table is flushed fullâ intimidatingly so. The knights have come out tonight. Lisa and Jean cozy up on the same bench seat, while Kaeya (die) and Albedo sit across from the two. You offer the alchemist a timid wave, which he returns in kind. Some of the other knights have spilled out to the tables around you, chattering away with wine-stained lips.
And the nightâs still young.
âI wasnât sure if youâd show,â Kaeya practically purrs (choke) and leans closer to you on an elbow. âWere you able to find some lodging for the festival?â
âYeah, I found something that will work.â Itâs not technically a lie. Besides, they donât need to know where youâre sleeping.
Kaeya raises an eyebrow and Albedo elbows him politely in the ribs. You make a note to buy him a drink later.
âIâll get this round,â Lisa says, standing and grabbing you by the arm. âMy treat. A welcome home present.â
You let her tug you through the crowd.
You end up seated properly at a barstool while Lisa orders. She wove her way through the crowd and up to the bar so easily, like liquid. You hardly have to wait at all before a drink is passed to you across the bar top.
You gulp half the glass down, greedily.
You, notably, have chosen not to cessate from dandelion wine in your absence. It was a rare treat to come across outside of Mond and Liyue, so when you could get your hands on glass, you let yourself partake. Whatever melancholy it brought with it could be tempered with more of it anyways.
It goes down easyâ it always does. Thicker than other wines, sweet but bodied, with some type of nutty and berry note to it. You never understood the process of winemaking, despite so many years spent at the winery. When Crepus or Diluc or one of the staff attempted to explain, it all easily went over your head.Â
The tannins sour your cheeks. You swallow down another mouthful, greedy, and slam down your empty goblet. Lisa looks at you wide-eyed.
âI donât recall that you were ever much of a drinker,â Lisa remarks as she flags down another glass for you. She sips her own, mischief in her eyes.Â
You shrug, nodding to the barkeep who fills your cup. âI indulge, occasionally. Forgive me for needing a drink in this environment.â
You gesture to the carousing around you. A lyre and fiddle play in the corner, and you distinctly hear two different bard songs. One is significantly better than the other, and you may have even enjoyed it if you could hear it fully.Â
Being near the bar forces you to see changes. Theyâre hard to not notice. The signage behind the bar has changed. An old menu and drink list have been changed out for something sleeker. Paintings and their frames replaced. The glass youâre drinking out must be new, along with the tankards that the barkeep washes whenever he has a free moment.
There are still ghosts in the corners.
âGods, you look like a wet towel.â Kaeyaâs shouts, nearly in your goddamn ear, as he slips into the empty seat next to you. He drapes an arm over your shoulders like youâre old friends and not the byproducts of a dissolved relationship. You think about shrugging his arm off, but decide against it.Â
You throw back the rest of whatever is in your glass and shout for another.
Kaeya catches your eye for a moment with a nearly unreadable expression. You recognize it (and concur that you need to be far more drunk than you currently are in order to survive the evening.) His brow lays smooth, lips in a not-quite smile, and his posture is a bit too rigid. You know heâs picking you apart, albeit quietly.
The expression disappears a moment later, and he has a new bottle of wine in his hands (âFor you, little sister.â) Your cup fills yet again, and you drink.
The world begins to feel fuzzier, easier, and the pain in your foot and leg dulls. God, you try not to indulge in drinking too often (itâs simply a recipe for reliance, given your condition. Regardless, you're a physician who knows better than to turn to the bottle rather than medicine), but you feel the temptation of it occasionally.Â
Itâs an easy friend to indulge in under these circumstances.
One of the bards, the one with loose braids, strikes up a conversation with Kaeya, looping you in with an exchange of introduction. Your cheeks warm when you notice the slur of your words, sipping your cup to disguise any embarrassment. The bard must be drunk, with how much sweet wine he drinks, but he hardly acts it. Poised.
Lisa pats you on your back after your fourth glass, seemingly pitying you in your stupor.Â
The good bard, at some point, leaves Kaeyaâs side. Kaeyaâs back to leaning into yours, the furs of his outfit prickling your nose. If you were sober, youâd be spewing curses at him. But in your drunken mind... it was fine. Fine. Maybe the warmth of him against your side wasnât entirely unwelcome either.
You loosen up, whether you want to or not.Â
Lisa drags you out of your stool after your fifth drink, to take pulls off a pipe a traveler offers and to dance with her in the main room of the tavern. The bards play a duet now, in tune, though the good bard from earlier carries the performance.
You laugh as she twirls you, dipping you near the floor. Some of the patrons cheer and whistle at the move, and you let loose a giggle that never wouldâve left you in your right mind. Her face swims before you. Your insides are warm. Things are okay, maybe. For now.
So, you dance.
You dance with Jean and Kaeya, even dragging Hertha in for a round. Eula refuses, though apologetically. Sheâs a bit too drunk herself, and Amber insists on staying by her side to nurse her with water and pyro-warmed pets to the back of her neck.
(Do you envy them? Maybe. The skinship of it seems nice. Theyâre so familiar with each other, even from a distance. So lax and tender with each other even within such a setting. You cannot imagine receiving such treatment.)
Kaeya spins you back to the bar and buys you another glass.
âYou dance better than you used to,â he croons in your ear. âeven with that dreadful limp of yours.â
You bark out a laugh and punch him in the arm with hardly any force (youâll regret not making it hurt more, later). âWow, and here I thought wine curbed your silver tongue.â
âUnlike some, I can hold my liquor just fine.â He shrugs and sips.
You, on the other hand, turn the corner from âtipsyâ to âblastedâ as you hit the bottom of your goblet. Your stomach churns, spelling a hangover that will rot your stomach and the space between your eyes come the morning. The room doesnât spin, not quite yet.Â
You lay your forehead on the bartop.Â
âAw, had a bit too much?â Kaeya tsks. âHow unfortunate of you, to not know your limits, even after all this time.â
You grumble something unintelligible.Â
He sets a cold hand on the nape of your neck and your ground yourself on it.
(You can regret it in the morning.)
You have absolutely no idea what time it is, though the tavern is still rowdy. You imagine late, at least near the high moon if not into the early morning. Windblume was a celebration of drinking after all. Angelâs Share stays lively, despite the hour, though the drone of voices and folk songs becomes lost on you as your eyes slip shut.
Amongst the din, thereâs a firm thudâ the sound of wood on wood. Another sounds just after, though much closer and more shallow. You only make out the sound because of its old familiarity. The sound of the counter flap falling and straining its hinges. It must be one of the only pieces of original hardware from the old Angelâs shareâ the sound is identical to the one in your memory (maybe, youâre drunk, you may just be nostalgicâ)
The barkeep (Charles, he told you his name though you didnât give him yours) shuffles away, maybe, based on the thump of feet amongst the roar of the tavern. A shift change.
âI wasnât sure if youâd show.â Kaeyaâs hand leaves you. You can hear the grin in his voice.
Thereâs a huff from behind the bar. The clink of a glass. A squeak as itâs dried and shined with a rag.
âDo you think Iâm unreliable?âÂ
Your eyes stretch open, wide, in a flash. Horrible, wretched familiarity (with the way a voice can bring you so much anguish and warmth in tandem.) You donât look up. You stare down at the floorboards, count the grains and notches in the wood. Steady your breathing.Â
You know that voice.
You look up, slowly, against all better judgment. If you were sober (Archons, if you were fucking soberâ) you wouldâve turned, held your eyes shut and ran out of the bar without looking back. You wouldâve never dared to peak and pull the thread that dangled in front of you.
Heâs blurry, but heâs there. A trim waist that leads up to broad shoulders, arms that bulge more than you remember, scarlet hair that falls in waves from a high-tied ribbon. Scarlet eyes, cut and polished like rubies.Â
Itâs Diluc, who meets your gaze for the first time in almost a decade. Just as shocked and wide-eyed as you are.Â
The glass slips from his hands and shatters.
PART iii: the World (born)
You met Diluc Ragnvindr when you were just children, doing what children do bestâ playing while the adults talked.
Your parentsâ traveling merchantsâ and Crepus Ragnvindr sat down for wine and sweet rum after a lavish supper. Your parents shooed you off. They didnât need you clinging to their legs while trying to discuss the intricacies of a potential (and lucrative) contract with Dawn Winery and its splendid dandelion wine.
Crepus takes you under his wing a bit, showing your parents to a fine vintage and you to his two boys.
âThey like to play in the vineyard this time of day,â Crepus says, a bit wistful. He leads you by the hand. âThe crystalflies soar lower when the sun dips beyond the hills, and the fireflies come out.â
You like fireflies.
He shows you out to the courtyard, and you catch sight of two boys scampering around amongst the greenery. Crepus calls them and they both dutifully bound over, the way young boys do, enthusiastic and fast. The one with the pretty blue hair follows the one with the pretty red hair.
Crepus introduces you. Kaeya. Diluc.
Diluc has round cheeks and a soft jaw. He carries baby fat still, pudgy in his arms and legs and round in his belly. His cheeks are flushed with the late summerâs heat and a day of play. He has a brush of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His hair is shorter than it will become, but long enough that you think your mother would envy him.
His eyes widen when he sees you. Youâll never be sure why.
(Kismet turned for him earlier, maybe. All it took was you.)
You spend the evening with your side wedged into Diluc's, watching the lazy flight of anemo crystalflies by the water. You tell the boys about the constellations you know, and make up a few that you donât. You trace them in the sky with the tip of your pointer finger. You ask to braid Dilucâs hair and he lets you.Â
Crepus finds you all, just after dusk, dozing as the fireflies begin to dance.
...
Your family visits the winery several times each year. You enjoy the visits immensely. Youâve grown quite close to the Ragnvindrâs, and Kaeya too. You always barrel off your familyâs wagon, running ahead of them to greet the boys, who are always waiting for you too.
You play swords with them, though you arenât any good at it. You always bring them trinkets from wherever you and your family have been. You like to gift Crepus a book or two as well, though you donât know what theyâre about. You choose them based on the covers.
Diluc lights up when you hand him a little shell from Liyueâs shore. You tell him about the cliffs where you found it, and how youâll go there together some day. Youâll show him the geometric columns of stone that seem to climb all the way to Celestia. You will show him where the sand bars become one with the sea, and how to dig for crabs and shells with your bare hands.Â
Diluc likes you, you think. He always lets you slip into his room after the manor has fallen asleep. You sit across from one another on the velvet window bench. You hug a pillow while he tells you about how heâll start training as a knight soon. He holds a vision nowâ he pats it with pride.Â
(He tells you how he obtained his vision in your absence. The first time he picked up a sword against an adversary, it appeared to him. Itâs a grand thing, brave. He was protecting one of his favorite stray winery kittens from a boar near the edge of the property. He raised his rubber training sword and he was granted Celestiaâs blessing.)
You think heâs lovely.
...
The boys start training with Ordo Favonius. They practice with the Gunnhildr girl, the older one, who wears a ribbon in her hair and has eyes like midday sky. Sheâs a few years older than you, and intimidates you with her maturity, but sheâs kind.Â
The older knights let you watch their training when your family visits. You post up during their drills, watch their forms, their blunders, and their successes. A knight named Varka always takes Diluc aside to teach him how to best wield his vision with his weapon of choice.Â
(A greatsword. A claymore. Itâs almost your size, probably. The one Diluc uses during training is Favonius issued, smithed with their crest near the base of the blade. You know the one heâll really use. A family relic that Crepus brought up from storage for himâ a rectangular blade, metal cast in black and red, with an elaborate furl stretching from the hilt. Crepus asks Diluc to wield it when heâs ready.)
Kaeya offers you his sword, one day, at the end of training. The junior knights soak in their own sweat as you take the blade from Kaeya. The knights make it look so effortless to wield such weaponry. They carry it at the hip like it's an accessory and not carved metal. When you wrap your hand around it, the weight shocks you. You barely heft it up, struggling with the balance of it. The trainees rib you a bit for it, and it makes you blush hot and hard.
Diluc scolds Kaeya, taking the blade from you when it's clear that brandishing it one-handed as intended is close to impossible for you. You feel some relief when Kaeya takes it back and shrugs.Â
âYou wonât have to worry about wielding a weapon like thatâ ever.â Diluc says on your way home (home, home, home, itâs becoming your homeâ) that day. âEspecially a sword.â
âWhy?â You ask.
âIâll make sure you never have to.â
âHm... what if I want to?â You try to be cheeky with him.
He gives you a playful shove and you bump into Kaeya. The latter groans and makes a choking sound.
âYou donât,â Diluc replies, flashing you a smile. âIf you did, you wouldâve played swords with Kaeya and I more when we were little. You always liked to watch.â
âItâs more fun that way!â You hip check him. âItâs interesting to see all of it, rather than participate.â
âYeah, sure,â Kaeya chimes in. âIâm sure it has nothing to do with how weak your arms are.âÂ
He squeezes your bicep and you shriek at him, chasing him ahead down the path. You squabble all the way home (home, home, home), rolling down the hills back into the Wineryâs valley. You belly laugh together, tears in your eyes. Itâs good.Â
You only go silent when you notice your familyâs wagon, packed and ready for departure, idling in front of the winery.Â
...
You donât travel well, you never have.Â
Your parents had informed Crepus of this during your first visit (âNever well, even when my wife my pregnantâ the little thing gave her the hardest time on the road.â) Despite this, you had always meandered with your family on their circuit from Liyue to Mond.Â
One of your visits to the winery, just around the turn of your childhood to adolescence, you fall ill.
Your parents brush off your complaints upon arrival. Chills, aches, and a coughâ âItâs from the rain. Your clothes are still damp.â. Your usually lively arrival was dulled. You barely touched the dinner Crepus provided before retiring to your favored room.
You hate being sick. You hate how your gut churns and you feel so cold, despite the fire one of the maidâs stoked in the big fireplace. You sniffle and snot over the back of your hand, fighting tears. You fall ill so frequently, but it doesnât make it easier. Even your softest clothes feel scratchy against your tender skinâ you feel horribly breakable.Â
Thereâs a gentle knock on your door before it opens. Diluc joins you by your bedside, kneeling, watching you with wide ruby eyes.
âMy father told me youâre sick,â he says gently. âYou donât look well.â
You give him a wilted look. âIt happens.â
â... It shouldnât,â Diluc says with a conviction that your fever forces you to miss. âHe says that you get sick often.â
âI donât travel well.â You parrot what you heard your parents say a thousand times, to innkeepers and merchant-folk alike. âItâs alright, Diluc. Iâll be well in a few days.â
Your teeth chatter. You bury yourself deeper in the covers.
Diluc looks unconvinced. He disrobes as much as is proper, and asks quietly if he can join you. Heâs warm, from his pyro vision, he tells you. He can see how cold you feel.
Whether he had such a vision or not, you wouldâve said yes.
You pull away the duvet, inviting Diluc closer. Itâs innocent, a sharing of heat. You press your forehead to his chest and he lets his arms fall naturally to your waist. It cages you. It feels safe and warm, and you donât think youâve felt that before.
You give him the smallest âthank youâ, voice burnt and charred with fever. Diluc chases off the chill and embers alike, replaces them with the hearth that he will become to you, and you think that kismet mightâve shifted for you then, too.Â
...
You leave, a few days later, still sick.Â
You return, several months later, still sick.
Whatever cold you had during your last visit had metastasizedâ or so your parents say. They seem moderately unconcerned as they sort through the inventory theyâll be taking for their run.
Crepus doesnât look convinced.Â
Diluc helps you inside. You barely hold yourself on two feet, and need to stop and catch your breath several times. Kaeya loops his arm over your neck and Diluc hoists you by the waist, and the two nearly drag you to your room.Â
A doctor is called, a healer from Mond that knows the Ragnvindrâs well. Diluc and Kaeya stay by your side as the healer draws up tincture and grinds down herbs and oils into a soft balm to slather on your chest.Â
Diluc lays with you in bed again that night, over the covers, not daring to touch you. You seem so fragile, only half-there in the room with him. He resents your parents horribly for allowing you to carelessly decline in such a state. It shows in the way his expression twists into a scowl whenever theyâre within his vicinity.
...
Crepus offers his home to youâ no, rather he insists.
Youâre still ill, lungs gunky and fever hardly waned, by the time your family deigns it time to leave. They plan to cart you along, never mind your condition. Diluc, if he had less restraint, wouldâve cursed them out in the wineryâs foyer.Â
(The wet sound of your breathing. The little whimpers when your fever spiked, signaling that it was time for more of the tincture the healer left behind. The way you balled your fist in his nightshirt during the worst of it.)
Crepus says itâll be no trouble to house you, for however long you need. Youâve always taken to the winery easily, and clearly need a stable place to recover from your illness. He enjoys taking in a stray or two. One more, especially one he thinks so fondly of and that he knows his boys adore, is simply a blessing, not a burden.
...
Diluc ascends to cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius just around the time that you make a full recovery.Â
It takes monthsâ for both of you. Diluc patrols and trains with the knights when heâs not by your side. Heâs incredibly well-regarded by Mond, beloved by his fellow knights and the townsfolk as well. He has ample support from all around, and his father glows with pride.Â
(Diluc bears the weight of his fatherâs expectations well. You donât even notice Diluc squirm under the pressure of it. It all seems to come naturally to himâ being a hero.)
You see your healer every few days, drink your teas and diligently rest while you recover. The illness sticks in your lungs and you take to reading up on medicinal plants and potential treatments. It gives you some understanding of the remedies that your healer makes for you. Your healer finds you promising, despite your sickly state, and offers you an apprenticeship, if you choose to pursue such a profession.
Itâs success after success, a time bathed in thick gold sun that feels as warm as it tastes.
You and Diluc dance at his ascension celebration. He holds you by the waist, clumsy like the young man he is, but you donât mind. You loop your arms over his shoulders, memorizing the blush that paints his cheeks, and the dimples that carve them. You twirl him under your arm and laugh up to the sun and moon alike. You pull the ribbon from his hair so it unfurls over his shoulder. You run your hands through it without a care.
(Diluc looks at you, when youâre not looking at him, with such a reverence. You canât see it yet, but itâs a burgeoning thing. Love and devotion caramelized by innocence, by want and need intertwined. He doesnât know how to say how he feels, not yet; the feelings are still loose and undefined. But smoldering kindling he is.)
...
Crepus offers his home to you, permanently. You have taken to it so well, and his boysâ his boys adore you. The staff does. You have so much growing for you in Mond, it seems silly to pack up your belongings small and tight so you can ride out on merchants circuit once more. Only to return sick once more.
You accept, hesitant at first. Itâs a scary thing to give up the life youâve known, even if the one Crepus extends to you is far more comfortable. Your parents have no qualms. You think they enjoyed your absence too much. They seem content to leave you at Dawn Winery, promising to continue their circuit, so youâd see them a few times a year.
It makes something in your ache and cry, but thereâs many things to balm it in the manor. A warm fire and Adelindeâs recipes, along with whatever new tarts and sweets Crepus brings home from Mondstadt properâ they all make it easier. Good company too. Kaeya always has new ideas for schemes and little adventures. Crepus brings you gifts and makes sure youâre settling in well to your new space. Diluc is ever-dutifully at your side, whatever the circumstance, and you at his.Â
You still sneak into Dilucâs room in the late night. You nestle up, side by side, on his plush window bench. You link pinkies and talk about everything.
...
âI thought this one was a bit boring.â You look up to Diluc, backwards, craning your neck. âThe love interest was a bit shallow for me.â
âI agree,â Diluc answers from above you. He shuts the book deftly with one hand. âThis authorâs pieces usually have a bit more depth to them. This one was a bit flat.â
You tend to come to the same conclusion on the stories you share.
The Small Study (ow, ow, ow, ow) is a room most near Crepusâ wing of the manor. Itâs exactly as it soundsâ a small study. Something Dilucâs mother made sure was constructed for him, prior to her leaving. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line the walls, with a long table slicing the room in two. When you were young, very young, you, Diluc, and Kaeya would sit at the table and write your own stories. Color with paints that Crepus bought for you from Snezhnaya on recycled receipts and old ledgers.Â
These days, the table is mostly bare and a bit dusty. You use it more than Diluc, though most of your studying with your teacher happens at their cottage, in Mond proper. Diluc and Kaeya have a training room a few doors down, one that Crepus constructed, with mats and straw targets, and more armaments than Ordo Favonius probably knows about.Â
Most of your time in the Small Study is spent in the corner, tucked close to each other. You have amassed an impressive number of spare sheets, pillows, and blankets, and have constructed what could only be called a nest. You and Diluc take to lounging on it in the mornings and evenings, when you both have the time. You read together. Sometimes you aloud to him, and sometimes him aloud to you. Â
Dilucâs voice has taken to breaking lately. You find it adorable and canât help teasing him about it.
âIâll have to hunt for a new novel at the markets today.â You sigh. The sun is rising above the cliffs, bathing the shelves and columns of dust ichor gold. You throw your hand up, watching the beam soak your skin warm.
Diluc catches your wrist and brings the back of your hand to his lips.Â
Little things, skinship, he likes. He never says anything much about it, only asks quietly if it's alright that he keeps such proximity to you. You eat it up, his heat, his presenceâ you want all of it. Youâre gluttonous in your youth (you have yet to know starvation.)
âBe careful on patrol today, okay? Iâm helping Adelinde make that sweet bread you like before I visit Teacher.â You huff, maneuvering to youâre at his eye level. You tug his cheek, still soft with baby fat. âYou better not have any extra bruises when I pick you up today.â
âIâll try.â He rolls his eyes. âEven if I do, youâll patch me up, wonât you?âÂ
âI could have Teacher do it,â you huff. âI know you donât like how rough they can get with you.â
Diluc scoffs, âThey donât like meââ
âThey like you plentyââÂ
You squabble, soft in your chests, because it's all easy and slow. The romance novel gets tucked away into an overflowing shelf, bulging with others that youâve already finished.Â
Kaeya is shining his blade in the armory, and you collect him before heading to Mondstadt proper. Itâs a routine, each day, one that you enjoy and cling to. You enjoy your training and you feel only pride seeing your boys bud and grow in their strength. You fight, like young ones of your age do, but it's all in jest. Simple. Your squabbles get settled with wrestling by the river or when Crepus intervenes and fathers the three of you.
Itâs good and you never want it to end.
...
Diluc grows into himself. Heâs gangly in his teen yearsâ long arms and bulging shoulder blades heâs yet to grow into. The pudge heâd had around his belly has disappeared, sucked away by a growth spurt or two. He grows a bit more into his frame, each year closer to adulthood that he gets. Muscle building on muscle.Â
Teacher says youâre doing well with your studies. You pour over books on medicinal herbs and medical techniques during the day, and watch Teacher heal when patients are around. You become adept enough to see patients on your own, for small injuries.Â
You fix up Diluc whenever he comes home to you. Cuts. Bruises. The odd fracture or two. Heâs the person you ever stitch a wound together for. He doesnât flinch. So trusting.
...
Crepus gets odd, at some point. Youâre almost old enough to be considered an adult. He starts asking you questions you know the answer to, but it seems like heâs seeking something other than the truth. Sentiments that he wants to squeeze out of you, to satiate something in him that you can clearly see, but donât know how to name.
(Heâs a businessmanâ is it in his nature to be greedyâ?)
(Forget. Forget. Forget.)
...
You wish it had stayed so kind and good for longer. You wish you appreciated it more, but you didnât fully understand the goodness laid before you until it was so brutally ripped away from you.Â
The night Diluc turns eighteen, your world shatters. Burns. Immolates while you lay drunkenly dozing in a friend's warm bed. You donât greet the wreckage until you awaken. Alone, drowning and with a new pang in your stomach.
PART iii: the stitch the wound the burning
You instantly slam your hands on the bartop. You whip your head around to Kaeya. He wears a wide, awful grin. So fucking smitten with himself.
You hate him.Â
âFuck you,â you snap.Â
You push up, knocking the bar stool over with a bang. You turn on a heel and run from the tavern. Wordless.
(You run. You shouldâve run. You shouldâve never come back. Ever.)
You know the display caused enough of a ruckus that Angelâs Share fell nearly silent as you left. You know that your vision shuddered out of your control, sending dendro to liven the flowers around the tavern. It felt sick. To know that the blooms would be wider and more beautiful while you ran. Running, running, running.Â
Lisa and Jean, maybe, shout your name as you sprint away. You ignore themâ you have to. The temptation to turn back and face them drowns in the wine that churns in your stomach. Your breath feels too hot and heavy in your lungs, like lead and steam. You feel like you might die.
(Diluc in the same room as you. Diluc in front of you. Not a ghost, a breathing body. Flesh. He wouldâve been a bit too warm, to the touch. You know him to be. Heâd grown so muchâ how much had you missed? Archons, you miss himâ)
You barely get out of Mondstadt proper before you bracing yourself on one its outer walls, forcing your finger down your throat, and heaving your guts out onto the high grass. All of the splendid wine you sampled color the ground blood red, surely staining your lips. Tears drip from your lash line. You feel sticky as you draw your fingers from your throat, spit and dribble sliding down your wrist.Â
You curse and shake.Â
You wipe your hands down on your trousers and scrub at your lips with the edge of your sleeve. You spit pretty scarlet and nearly hurl again.
The sun has set, and the dark is a comfort. It cloaks you, allowing you to duck easily between shadows and firelight that other travelers warm themselves by. No one looks at you twice. Youâre sure you seem like a drunkard, notâ Not whatever you are. You drag yourself back to your campsite.
You fall to the ground, drawing up your good leg by the knee and press your forehead to it.
Fuck.
Fuck the healer. Fuck Windblume. Fuck seeing any friends or familiar faces. You discard the plans, crushing them down until you decide theyâre not worth it. None of this was worth it. If youâd only ducked in and out of Mondstadtâs market, you wouldnât have met Lisa. Gotten twisted up with Kaeya. Dared to enter Angelâs Share. Seen Diluc.
You knew the mere sight of him would send you. You knew. You feel foolish. Stupid. If you were a fraction more sober, you wouldâve dragged yourself out of self pity and set up camp for the night. Instead you stew. You swallow back dread and bile and clutch your shoulders.
(You always knew this was a risk, coming back here, didnât you? Thatâs why you never dared to even get near Mondstadtâs borders. Now youâve done it.)
You certainly have.
You rub your eyes again, grimacing at the taste in your mouth. Forcing yourself up is a task, especially trying to keep weight off of your (now very) bad foot. You struggle to balance, propping yourself up on a pile of discarded crates and get to work setting up your campsite for the night. You resolve to sleep until dawn, pack up, and be on your way. Youâll head back to Liyue and catch a boat out of the harbor. Youâll go anywhere. Do anything.Â
(To be far away from here.)
You struggle with your tent and tarp. Itâs infinitely harder to set up your sleeping arrangements when youâre hobbling around on one leg. Emptying your stomach of its content has made you lightheaded (or, it's the panic that is thick and porous in your blood. Burrowing into your flesh. Will you even be able to sleep tonight?) You fight to keep your breath steady as you struggle to stake the tarp into the dirt.
Someone says your name from behind you. Breathes it like it's lighter than air, weighted like a gospel.
You turn, for the second time, against better judgment.
Diluc stands above you, wearing the same shocked expression he had in Angelâs Share.Â
Your lips twist, your brow falls. You feel yourself sink. Itâs the same feeling you get in your stomach when youâre put toe-to-toe with an adversary out in the wilderness. Itâs the feeling you get when you get a patient a little too late and canât be sure if youâll be able to drag them back from the brink.
You breathe his name right back.
â... Youâre here,â he says. His voice has evened out. Deeper than you remember, and rougher, but barely.
âI am,â you answer as neutrally as you can. You school your expression and turn back to your tarp. âPlease leave.â
Diluc doesnât answer. Heâs frozen above you, so close that you swear you can feel the heat coming off of him.Â
âDonât ask me to do that,â Diluc says, like a demand and not a request.
You bristle.
âIâm setting up my camp for the night,â you state plainly. âThen I will be sleeping. I will be gone by dawn tomorrow. I apologize for any disruption I caused at... at Angelâs Share.â
You press your hands over the top of a nail. The iron digs into your palms. You shove at it anyway, until itâs snug against the earth.
âI donât care about that,â Diluc replies with an edge to his voice thatâs unfamiliar. âThatâs not of consequence.â
â... Then why are you here?â You crawl across the ground, brace yourself on a crate, and stand. Your weak foot hovers just off the ground. âWhy follow me, Diluc? Iâm sure you have better things to do.â
You say his name like it's a curse and face him.
(And itâs like coming home.)
(If you had any less of yourself, you wouldâve sank into the earth and wept.)
âI donât,â he says. Arms crossed. Shoulders square. You see him struggle with his words, chewing on the inside of his cheek, just like he used to. âYou left so quickly, and Kaeyaââ
âBastard,â you spit.Â
Diluc muffles a laugh (a full sound so lovelyâ you used to do anything to hear it). âHe didnât tell you I would be bartending, Iâm assuming?â
âHe told me, expressly, that you would not be bartending.âÂ
â... It is my tavern. Windblume is the busiest time of the year.â He looks a bit wounded. You canât tell if youâre imagining it. âKaeya sent word that Ordo would be at Angelâs Share in full force this evening. My presence was called.â
You scowl, âI realize that now.â
Diluc sighs, deep and hard and full, âYou left so quickly, and Kaeya told me you were most likely staying outside of the city. I was... worried.â
You let out a breath through your teeth, maybe a laugh, some unholy thing and you shake your head. You canât bear to look at him for too long, âWell, Iâm fine. Promise. I just wasnât expecting to see you.â
âClearly.â
âAnd you werenât expecting to see me?â
âNo.â Diluc sighs. âI... No. I wasnât.â
You donât know what else to say to him.Â
âGo.â You shoo him off. âI need to finish setting up and get some sleep. Sorry again for causing any trouble.â
You turn away, going to reach for your tentâ
Diluc grabs your upper arm. He keeps you steady and upright.
âYou didnât.â
The contact burns. Sears through you like youâre just gossamer and old silk. You tense with it. When did his heat become unfamiliar?
You open your mouth, part your lips just barely, but nothing comes out. Your mind empties.
âCome back to the winery.â
His words cut you from any of your reverie. Your grief forces itself up in plumes, from the base of your spine to the corners of your damp eyes.
âAbsolutely fucking not.â You tear away from him.Â
He lets you go. (You suffocate the part of you that mourns the loss.)Â
âItâs not safe outside the walls.â He takes a step back. Breathing room. âThereâs no lodging available in the city, Iâm sure you found.â
âI did, and Iâm fine out here, Diluc. I can protect myself just fine.â You pat the dendro Vision on your hip. Your weapon remains unsummoned and out of sight.
âItâs going to rain.â Diluc frowns. âAnd, your tent is torn.â
He gestures behind you, and sure enough, a massive tear runs through an entire side of your tent. You hadnât noticed.Â
(If you will not go where you are supposed to be, perhaps fate will push you there? Align the stars and cosmos just rightâ)
âI recall that you never enjoyed camping,â Diluc says and it's like a knife to the chest. The idea that he remembers anything about you. âYouâll have a bed for as long as youâd like.â
âDilucââ Youâre near to cursing him out, let the Archons, Celestia and the damn Stars hear itâ
âIâm sure Adelinde would love you to see you too.â
Oh.
Ohâ Adelinde. When was the last time you sent her a letter? Or read one of hers? You have a stack of them, sealed with purple wax and bound in twine, shoved in your bag. Among your most prized possessions. Youâve hardly let the ink smudge, despite time and condition.
âSince you came back to Mondstadt,â you answer for him. âSince you returned to the winery.â
Elzer had been at your side too, when you were running the winery in Dilucâs absence. Same with Adelinde.
Archons, you miss them.Â
âIâll stay at the winery,â you say after a beat. âSo I can see them.â
Diluc lets out a sigh, shaky and short. He flexes his hands, open and closed. Relieved. The moment of vulnerability passes.
âWill you be able to walk there withââ He gestures to your foot.
âYes, Iâll be fine.â You put weight on it, swallowing down any pain. You can bear it.Â
Diluc offers his arm, and you refuse it, striding past him.Â
You walk side by side back to Dawn Winery.
...
It does begin to drizzle, eventually. Nothing close to proper rain, but a thick mist that dampens your hair and clothes. The chill of it sinks into you, unpleasant but not unbearable. You cling to the discomfort of it. You and Diluc do not speak to each on the way back, other than the time or two you announce you need a short rest for your foot.
Fatigue hits you as you stumble down the valley paths leading into the wineryâs main grounds.Â
You blame the wine.Â
The front door looks almost the same, perhaps the wood refinished. Diluc pulls forth a shining brass key (different, than the one that you had during your tenure as âmasterâ of Dawn Winery. That key was thick, old iron. Rusting at its corners. It always felt cold and heavy. An entire year it was tied to you. Tethered to your waist on the very same belt that now holds your vision.)
The lock was replaced.
The interior of the winery is different too, you find. It makes stepping inside less jarringâ the floors, once dark, long-planked hardwood, has been redone to intricate patterns of lighter, warm-toned wood. Less candles, more electro-powered fixtures set into the walls and ceiling. The couches look different, brighter and fluffier with fresh cushions. Even the grand carpet that covers the main room, bearing the Ragnvindr crest, appears to have been freshened. Maybe even re-tuffed. Itâs generally brighter.
âYouâve... updated things.â Your voice trails off as you shrug off your cloak and hang it on your arm.Â
Diluc follows your line of sight to a new tapestry on the east-wall. Not of the family crest, but the vineyard. Itâs far more ornate than any you remember; you can see the metallic gold weavings shine, even in the lowlight. The tapestry is ringed by paintings, portraits and some landscapes. You recall Crepus commissioning many of them, or creating them himself. Thereâs a number of new photographs as well.
âI have over the years,â Diluc replies. âIt was necessary.â
You hum, pausing. â... I like it. Itâs nice.â
Itâs nice because it doesnât feel quite as much like youâre walking into a still-breathing cadaver. You expected to be greeted with an interior you had seared in your memory. Corners youâd still see ghosts in, picture frames that were askew that you hadnât been able to bring yourself to fix. You know which floorboards were creaky and which windows had the worst draft.Â
This version of Dawn Winery from your memory doesnât exist anymore, in any way or facet. Whatâs left certainly isnât blank or void, but itâs more unfamiliar than you expected. It smells like rose oil and beeswax rather than cedar and tobacco.Â
âMaster Diluc? Youâre back earlier than expected.â
Adelinde breaks you from your stupor.Â
She looks much the sameâ the same uniform, though perhaps her hairâs a bit shorter? Thereâs new wrinkles around the corners of her eyes, sun spots around her forehead and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are still kind. They go wide when she sees you, and the mug sheâs holding nearly slips from her grip.
Your chest tightens.
She says your name and itâs like youâve been cut through. Flesh parting around a sharp blade.Â
âHi.â Your voice sounds soft and so much more broken than you can accept it is.Â
âWelcome home.â She smiles, all the way up to her eyes.
If you were a little more weak, perhaps a few months more weatheredâ you wouldâve broken then. You wouldâve fallen apart in the foyer of Dawn Winery, drowning and hungry and soaked to the bone in something colder than rain water. You hold yourself together, barely, thin threads wound around you to the point of constricting keep you upright. Sure-footed. Almost-whole.
But, Adelinde knows... doesnât she? She must. She has an uncanny ability for these things. Itâs because she watched you grow, watched your toils and supported you. Mothered you when needed. You counseled and consoled each other, during the worst of it.
It makes you feel less guilty, less ashamed, when you nearly throw yourself at her. You wrap your arms around her shoulders and smother your face in her shoulder.
Adelinde hugs you in kind. She still smells like pine-cleaner and that jasmine perfume she imports. She wraps you, in herself, squeezing so hard youâre afraid sheâll undo the strings binding your heart together.Â
âH-How have you been?â you ask. Tears sting your eyes.
She strokes the back of your head, through your hair. âIâve been well. And you?â
You smush your face into her shoulder. You donât know what to say to her. Instinctual honesty climbs up in your throatâ you suppress it.Â
âIâve been better,â you say, softly. You hope only she can hear. âExcited to sleep in a real bed. Take a bath.â
Adelinde goes still, slackâ then she almost crushes you. You feel her heartbeat and your lip wobbles.
âIâm glad youâre home, then. Let me fetch you a cup of tea. Iâll make sweet bread in the morning.â
âT-That sounds nice. Thank you.â
Diluc, who has been silent and watchful, clears his throat. âThey can take whichever room they like.â
âIâll prepare the west wing guest room.â (Far from your old bedroom.) She whispers to you. âThere was a Fontainisian merchant we were hostingâ she left all of her luxury skincare and bath supplies here.â
You pull away, narrowing your eyes, âAre you implying something?â
âNot at all.â She gives you a good-natured smile. âTheyâre yours. Letâs get you settled.â
You nod and she guides you with a hand on your lower back, up the stairs, to the west wing. Diluc has made himself scarce, seemingly disappearing into thin air to the northern wing of the manor. You only half notice.
Archons, youâre tired.
Adelinde helps you settle in. She sets your bag on a vanity stool, shows you a newly renovated bathroom with a tub that could easily fit you and a Rishboland tiger in it. The rest of the details of the room fade. Something stickier and older than fatigue works its way up through your bone marrow, leaving your body as a yawn.
Adelinde gives you a sympathetic smile when she brings you a cup of lavender and chamomile tea.Â
The world is blurry when you crash into the pillows. They smell like the herbal detergent you suckered Crepus into buying during your teen years. Diluc liked it. Whatever potential revulsion you could have has wilted with your exhaustion. Instead, something warm brews in you. You shove your nose into the silken case. The feeling is good. You donât mind it.Â
(Fuck, maybe you even need it.) Â
...
You sleep for three days.Â
You donât mean to, and itâs not continuous. You rise for your promised sweet bread, tea, and a much-need, thorough bath. Youâve spent the past few months using communal bath houses or washing in rivers and lakes, quick and rarely relaxing. You indulge in the massive, stone tub for a private soak that leaves you pruney and smelling like rose oil and Natlani bright grass.Â
The position of the sun feels arbitrary. You just sleep. Like the fucking dead. No dreams, thank the gods. Thick curtains keep your room dark and you relish every moment. You hadnât realized how deeply fatigue had woven itself into you. Youâd become so acclimated to exhaustion, it only hit you when you finally had a (safe and) quiet place to sleep with no end date.Â
Adelinde brings an armful of clothes at some point. (âWe put these in storage, when you left. Iâm sure some still fit.â) Some do, thankfully, and youâre grateful to have more than four garments, especially when they go together. Itâs nostalgic to slip into skirts and trousers you havenât worn in so long, and you decide theyâll suffice. Unideal, but comfortable.Â
The tiredness is an odd blessing. You feel too blurry and foggy to really pick apart your feelings. All of them. Youâre aware of the knot thatâs formed somewhere between your ribs and gut (or rather, revealed itself), and you ignore it for as long as you are able to. No one comes to you except Adelinde, who never presses you.Â
(You donât know what you would do if she did. Adelinde knows discretion, she knows wounds and scrapes and bruises, and knew yours once. Well and thoroughly. You think she can see all of your ills now too.)
(Youâre glad she doesn't pry at you. In your moments between wakefulness and sleep, you tend to dream more loosely. You imagine what you might say to Diluc, had you... the opportunity without damage. What would you say to him? The you thatâs mostly a dream screams at him sometimes. Enraged. Sometimes you cry, asking questions that neither your sleeping or waking mind has answers for. Theyâre not... unfamiliar dreams, but theyâre unwelcome. Theyâre more vivid now that youâre staying in the Winery.)
They feel more real. Diluc is only rooms away at any given time.
(Heâs not a specter.)
On the third day, you awake midday to a frantic knock on your door. Adelinde, you assume. Stumbling from bed, and pull on a dressing gown and nothing more, and pull open the heavy oak doorâ
Itâs Diluc. Of course it is. In working trousers and a loose, white top. Dirt stains his knees and the tips of his fingers. Pretty red hair spills from its loose tie, bouncy with a fresh wash. He tenses, when he sees you. Fists balling at his sides and shoulders going rigid.
Your jaw locks and the air in your lungs suddenly feels heavy and too hot. Your throat bobs with a swallow, and you gather up the satin of your robe before it has a chance to slip down to the crook of your elbow.Â
(Just seeing him sends you. Into a rage. Into a fit of grief. The visage of him forces you to reckon with something more awful and sticky and molten than you know what to do with.)
(You wish it was more avoidable.)
You freeze.
Your several days of rest afforded you the time to... ignore Diluc. Hide from him, and the knot that you desperately donât want to unravel. Despite sleeping in one of his beds and eating his food, you need distance. It feels like youâll explode if you donât have it.
âThe child of one of the vineyard workers is injured,â Diluc says, maybe a little out of breath. âCan you take a look?â
âOf course,â you reply without hesitation. A hurt child takes precedence over most things.
The child and his mother sit in Dilucâs foyer, you can hear them as you approach. The girl sniffles and clings to her mothers sleeve with one hand, the other limp in her lap. One of her legs splays the wrong way, equally limp.Â
You approach easily, introducing yourself. The air has an edge of crisis to it, but you wade through it easily. If anything, itâs comfortingly familiar. To be calm and confident in the face of serious injury or illness is often medicine in and of itself.Â
You set your large, leather-bound caboodle beside you and take to the floor. Your Tselostnyy insignia is pinned to the outside. The motherâs eyes dart to it as she pets over her daughterâs hair, and she relaxes at the sight of it. A qualified stranger, you are.
The mother is younger, someone before your time as the Wineryâs temporary master which is a relief. Diluc lingers behind you, watching you work, probably. You attempt not to care.
You scooch forward, on your knees, knitting your fingers together and hover them over your patient. You focus on the spiral of dendro through muscle and bone, reading the injury:
Two clean breaks. Closed fracture of the left ulna. Closed fracture of the left femur.
Itâs a miracle that the child isnât shrieking in her motherâs lap.Â
âHow did you get hurt?â you ask the child directly.Â
She sniffles. âI f-fell outtaâ the big tree by the water. I was trying to climb it.â
Her mother almost scolds her, but you beat her to speaking. âThatâs a hard tree to climb. The oaks by the stables are much easier.â
Itâs just a slip of the tongue, to be so familiar.
You turn to the child and school a smile on your lips. âIâll be able to heal your injuries with my Vision. Youâll get some medicine as well, and it needs to be stirred into juice. Do you have a favorite kind?â
The child looks unsure, and her mother answers for her: âShe likes apple best.â
âApple, master of the house.â You wave a hand behind you. âCan you fetch some?â
âOf course,â Diluc answers without missing a beat and you hasten him away.
Knitting your fingers together once more, you begin to work on her injuries. The child is holding up quite well, despite the immense pain she must be in. You work quickly regardless, but keep in mind you do have the luxury of time. Thereâs no one more broken or more sick just beyond her who needs to be treated as well.
Dendro sews together her bones. Encourages new flesh and muscle to grow where it is needed.Â
When Diluc returns, you instruct him further, gaze never straying from the knitting bones, âTake the third vial from the right on the top row of oils, will you? Stir half a dropper into the juice and stir for a minute. If you see oil on the top, keep going.â
âWhatâs the medicine for?â The girl asks.Â
âRelaxation and sleep,â You reply softly. âThis type of healing is very effective, but it takes a lot of energy out of the person who is being healed. Youâll be tired once Iâm all done, but you may have trouble resting since your body is still reacting to the shock of your injuries.â
The mother lets out a sigh of relief. Perhaps too wordy of an explanation for a child, but her mother seems grateful for it.Â
When the childâs healed into proper pieces again, you unknit your fingers and fall back on your heels. Diluc wordlessly passes the goblet of well-mixed apple juice to the child, who shakily gulps it town. The medicine doesnât have much of a taste, more of an oily texture to it that requires it to be drunk quickly after being mixed. The juice must be from one of Dilucâs best stashes because the child beams after chugging it.
â... Thatâs it?â She asks.Â
You nod and crack your knuckles, now stiff. âThatâs it.â
â... Nothing else?âÂ
âNope.â You crack your neck. âOther than the fatigue, but a few extra hours of sleep should remedy that. Sheâll be back to normal after a nap.â
âThank you,â The mother says and your chest feels sticky and warm. âI know that Barbara from the Church has similar skills with her Vision, but Iâve never seen healing like yours. Mondstadt could use a physician like you, you know.â
The feeling goes cold, but you keep your smile. Bear it.
âIâm sure they do.â Teacherâs shoes hadnât been filled, apparently. And youâd departed to the Tselostnyy School and never returned.Â
The mother and her child give more thanks before leaving and you keep your facade up until theyâre out the door. The girlâs no doubt ruffled still, even with the light sedative. The mother frazzled. The last thing youâd want to do is burden them with your own misplaced ire. They canât know. They wouldnât know.
Diluc, howeverâ
Heâs been the silent spectator to this whole affair. He idles by the couches and the hearth, arms crossed, still-dirtied from whatever vineyard work heâd been doing prior to fetching you. Youâre sure he was working in the fields, heard the child shriek, and rushed to their aid. Typical.
Diluc stares at you like he could immolate you alive.
âYouâre incredible.â He says it like itâs the simplest thing in the world. Like the sentence doesnât implode something in you.Â
Your fists shake at your sides. âHardly. Itâs just my profession.â
Diluc works his jaw and considers his words. You note the way he looks stumped and lost. Itâs not intentional, if youâre being honestâ so thereâs no harm in enjoying the way he stumbles to speak around you, is there?
(Itâs only fair. Diluc had always been so sure-footed and sturdy with his words. To see him flounder now reminds you that heâs changed too. Something in him has paled and been mutilated, just like you. Two wounded. His suffering isnât what you revel in, but the knowledge that heâs affected. Neither of you came out unscathed and youâve spent the last years refusing to imagine how Diluc mightâve coped.)
âWill you have tea with me?â Diluc asks, the words ringing off the glass chandelier in minor key. âYou donât have to if you donât wantââ
âI will.âÂ
...
Adelinde kindly brings you both tea, by the hearth and its embers. Itâs served with a few small cakes and rounds of steaming sweet bread. Diluc takes his tea just as he did when he was youngâ a heavy dash of cream and a spoon and a half of sugar (âthe half is very importantâ he had always said). Adeline leaves you a carafe of coffee and shoots you a gentle smile before leaving the two of you be.
You rest on one of the couches, leg pulled up beneath you and blow over the rim of your mug.
Diluc sits adjacent from you, in a resplendent mid-morning sun beam. The chair is high-backed, upholstered with the red and gold pattern of the Ragnvindr clan. He looks regal, like a king from the stories you used to read together. Sunlight halos the frizz in his hair and the dust that shifts around him.
He sits with one heel propped up on the opposite knee, cupping the tea cup from the bottom, unbothered by its heat.
(Heâs pretty, just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe more so.)
It makes something in you feel rotten. You pick at your nails and curl over your core.Â
He glances at you and you look away into the hearth, into the small flames that eat at the last of a birch log.Â
Having Diluc in front of you is uncomfortable. Maybe worse than uncomfortable, as discomfort is bearable and the sensation crawling up from the back of your throat isnât. It makes your skin itch and feel too tight. Your palms sweat. Maybe you want to puke.
(Itâs dread, or something like it. Like just seeing him put you on a precipice you had convinced yourself didnât exist.)
âWhen did you start drinking coffee?â Diluc asks, breaking you from your spiral. âIf I recall correctly, you hated it. Too bitter for your palate, or something like that.â
Ahâ
âIn your absence. In the year I stayed here, when you left.â Itâs the truth. â Lots of paperwork. I got used to the flavor after a while.â
(You used to prefer tea, favoring some black variety that Crepus painstakingly imported from Natlanâs volcanic cliffs. The first time you tried to drink it following his passing, you retched it back into your cup.)
You both shift uncomfortably.Â
âI see.âÂ
You pretend not to notice the way Dilucâs grip goes white-knuckled for a moment. Your chest feels tight, too tight, and you squirm under your skin.Â
âI donât know how to face you,â you blurt out.Â
(You never thought you would have to.)Â
Diluc looks away from you, into the fire. âIf you donât wish to âface meâ, then you donât have to.â
âAre you suggesting I simply ignore you?â
âIf thatâs what you would wish to do.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â You frown, something burning between your ribs.Â
Diluc chews on his words for a moment. âAllow me to clarify. I have no expectations of you while youâre staying within the Winery.â
âSo, if I simply ate your food and slept in one of your beds, ignoring you, youâd be alright with that?â
âIf thatâs what you wish, then yes.â
(The answer hurts to hear. You refuse to think about why.)
âAlright.â You take a long sip of your coffee. Youâre not sure when your stomach began to ache.
âYouâre unsatisfied with that answer,â Diluc guesses.
âEntirely,â you reply. âYouâre basing your wants off of mine. Itâs bothersome.â
âItâs the truth. As I saidââ
âYou âhave no expectations of meâ,â you parrot. âWould you truly be satisfied if I didnât speak to you at all while Iâm here?â
Diluc chews the inside of his cheek (a new habit you donât recognize). âMy satisfaction isnât of consequence.â
âIdiot,â You snapâ you donât mean to. âOf course it is. I donât want to make this any more unbearable than it already is.â
âDo you think this is unbearable for me?âÂ
â⊠Yes?â You feel yourself shaking. âMaybe? I donât know.â
(Itâs worse than unbearable. The feeling in your chest is blooming, radiating out into your arms and legs, down to your hands. Thereâs a buzzing in the base of your skull.)
âI understand that itâs difficult for you to be here,â Diluc grits out. âI do not want to make that any worse by some expectation or assumption you think that I carry. If you wish to enjoy the festival and ignore me, thatâs more than fine. If it would be easier for you to stay here and think of me as only some type of⊠concierge, I wouldnât resent you for it.â
(You hate it. You hate him. You hate Diluc Ragnvindr endlessly, perhaps. You want to burn Dawn Winery to the ground.)
âDo you really think I could ever think of you as anything other than yourself?â You spit, intending to. âItâs insultingâ a fucking affront to think that I could view you in such a way.â
âI donât know how you view me.â Dilucâs voice wavers with what you can only assume to be anger. âIâm trying to make this easier for you.â
âIn what way?!â You stand. âDo you think ignoring you would be easier for me?â
âI am making a well-intended inference based on the fact that you havenât returned to Mondstadt for years.â Diluc stares at you like he wants toâ âI am assuming youâd like to continue to ignore me, given that youâve never given any indication otherwise.â
â⊠Youâre the one who left first.â You spit the words, like how a sword cuts through air. âYouâre the one who left and gave no â indicationâ of returning.â
Diluc swallows, thick and hard with a bob of his throat and he rises to his feet. You instinctively take a step back. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a snap of his teeth. The fire cracks and a log loses its structure, tumbling in the hearth with a flurry of embers.
He looks lost for words. You let loose a laugh, something awful and torn that you wish you could stuff back down your throat.
âNothing to say?â
âIt was a long time agoââ
âAh, itâs irrelevant to you. I see.â Archons, you donât want this. You shouldâve never come back. It canât be worth it, can it? It feels like your ribs are being broken, one by one.Â
(How wretched it is, for him to have such a power over you.)
âDonât twist my words.â Diluc rises, taking a step toward you. âI only meant to sayââ
âI am well-aware of what you meant to say.â You want to vomit, maybe. âIt was so long ago, so itâs easier, right? If I view you as nothing more than a doorman with a familiar face, and if you view me as a guest to be treated with pleasantries.â
(Letâs forget all the history. Etch a lie onto a slate thatâs already been shattered beyond repair.)
Dilucâs expression twists. Your hands shake and you cross them over yourself, wrapping your arms over your own shoulders and squeezing. He looks⊠hurt. Gutted.Â
âDo you think me cruel enough to ever think of you in such a way?â
âYes, actually.â You laugh with a shake of your head. âNot even a letter, Diluc? Couldnât even spare me a thought, could you?â
(Meanwhile, you clung to the hope that heâd arrive home through the front door of the Winery for months. How many did you sit in front of this very same hearth, wrapped in his old blankets and left-behind clothes and pray to any God whoâd listen that Diluc would return?)
The admission guts Diluc. You can see it in his face, the way his expression tears open and he balls his fist and he almost seems to shake with it.
(Despite everything, it hurts to see him hurt.)
You step away, almost toppling into the couch. Diluc catches you by the arm with a lurch and keeps you upright. The contact burns like youâre too close to a roaring fire. You feel singed.Â
âI canât forget, Diluc.â You laugh, shudder in his grip and you feel the bits of you fray even further. âIâ I donât know. Iâm sorry. I resent you. I hate you. I look at you and Iâm struck by the feeling that Iâm looking at a ghost.â
You watch Dilucâs jaw lock. âPot, kettle.â
âPardon?â
âYou left Mond as well, dear.â Diluc says the pet name and then flushes. An old habit, unearthed by sparring. You maybe would swoon if you werenât feeling light-headed. âYouâre a ghost to me as well. Maybe something worse.â
â... Am I? â you spit, writhing in your skin.Â
His expression tightens and you see the hurt. A crack. His lip twitches and he stands. He has to look down at you and you feel the height.Â
âDo you think I havenât been haunted by you?â
Oh, itâs like being punched in the gut. Youâre being flayed, surely, on his great room floor. If youâre not careful, your entrails will spill and youâll die here. Youâre sure.Â
âDonât lie to me.âÂ
âYouâre impossible,â Diluc says, grip almost bruising. âDo you truly think Iâm lying?â
(You donât.)
You swallow and step away from him. The moment you pull against him, Diluc lets you go, and you stumble back.Â
(Youâre too frayed for this. Burnt. Cinders at a masquerade.)
âI need some time,â you say, fire in your voice is gone. You burn down so easily. âIâm sorry.â
Diluc stays silent for a moment. You canât be sure what heâs thinking.
âTake all the time you need,â he says, before striding past you to his office. You hear the door nearly slam.Â
ïŒGENSHIN IMPACT !! ⥠â PRINCE AU/FORBIDDEN LOVE DRABBLES.
#. synopsis! â drabbles featuring tighnari, diluc, & ayato as princes whoâve fallen for a commoner reader .
#. characters! â tighnari, diluc, ayato .
#. warnings! â mentions of genre typical hierarchical discrimination .
#. alt accounts! â @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .
#. others! â navigation & masterlist .
ïŒ TIGHNARI !! âĄ
Curious Prince Tighnari who sends you love letters tied round the neck of stout pigeons; their beaks tip-tapping ever so gently against the sunlit window you sit beneath, a novel page tucked between your fingers. Itâs been little more than a few days since you last saw him in the castle garden, your skin awash in comforting moonlight, but he writes to you nonetheless in delicate, melancholic cursive. He tells you of the longing you leave deep within his chest; âof the many times his mind has drifted far away to a place you reside alongside him as he flips through books in the castle library.
You imagine he sat down to pen this in the early hours of the morning light, rolling it gently, tying it ever so gracefully with a bright red ribbon that sealed his deepest desires inside. He tells you of the nights heâs spent tossing and turning atop his silken sheets, restless and fitful as he yearns for your sobering warmth. To have you in my arms, he writes, is the sweetest dream of all. And itâs one that he canât often have, âone that goes by much too fast when it comes around under a blue moon.
Ah, âbut those nights are none too average. The flowers in his personally-maintained garden seem to glimmer in the moonlight and sway like graceful dancers in the breeze. He holds you close amongst the flora, under a sky dusted with glittering stars; ones he swears shimmer just for you. The fur of his ears, a tall, proud symbol of his nobility, tickles your cheek when you rest your chin on the crown of his head. Sometimes, you find yourself wondering if you deserve a lover with such a lavish lifestyle; âif all the discontent you fear from both sides of the tracks have valid points laced within their venom.
Your lover soothes your worries down like a cat licking at the staticy fur of its kitten. His angelic touch alights your skin as he whispers words of love and devotion into your ear until the fire inside you has been stoked to heights once thought impossible for your demeanor.Â
Tighnari slips a de-thorned, ruby red rose just beneath the scarlet ribbon, sending it off to find you.
I vow to you, my darling blossom, that we will meet again before the final petal of this rose has fallen from the stem.
ïŒ DILUC !! âĄ
Pensive Prince Diluc who knows too much and is none too thrilled about stepping into the position of King in less than a yearâs time. He was once the prize of his family, the gem of his nation, âa young man everyone thought would make the perfect ruler one day. However, now that the day is fast approaching, it seems like Diluc is in a constant battle with his thoughts and often daydreams about waking up a different person; someone simpler and much less renowned.
When he lies next to you like this, Diluc feels perfectly ordinary. Heâs not the soon-to-be King, nor the preppy young Prince of his glory days; âheâs simply yours. And you donât ask of him things he cannot provide. Your lips feel like sundrops sent from heaven against his neck, peppering along the column of his throat until you capture his mouth in an ardent kiss. He hums ever so softly, a sound that resonates like royal instruments from the back of his throat.
âY/n,â he breathes when you slowly pull away, your forehead coming down to rest against his own.
Somehow, you know the next words falling from his tongue will be apologies for things youâve seldom concerned yourself with. His propensity for shouldering the blame of generations that came long before him is much too great a burden to bear, even for a young man of his valiant strength. Thus, youâve vowed (in silence, of course) to shoulder that burden with him, if only from the shadows.
Youâre quite used to darkness, after all. . . Itâs here that he meets with you under the humble moon, stealing kisses from your supple lips.Â
âDonât,â you say softly, in a voice just above a whisper, ââthereâs nothing to say sorry for.â
Ah, but youâre so wrong. He knows he should apologize for the very state of affairs as they are, as he sneaks you around like youâre some sort of criminal who swept in from a nearby kingdom to swipe his heart away. He knows he should apologize for all the times heâs passed you by without a second glance, as if you were little more than a stranger when youâd woken up in his bed the very same morning.
Diluc swallows his apology, instead whispering to you something much more profound, something akin to miraculous for such a simple lifetime.
âI love you.âÂ
ïŒ AYATO !! âĄ
Dutiful Prince Ayato who falls for you so deeply between lessons and hours-long studying sessions; seeking refuge in your embrace when his eyes go bleary from the stress. The weight of the kingdom rests heavy on his shoulders, but he braves the storm with a confident smile because he knows no other way. But when his head rests in your lap like this, you like to imagine that behind his sealed eyelids, heâs found some semblance of peace away from all the pressure.
He looks so ethereal, even when signs of exhaustion plague his handsome face.Â
Your hand matches the curve of his cheek, his brilliant irises coming into view as his eyes peel open to stare up at you lazily. This is the first time in far too long that heâs felt so blissful and calm, as if sinking into you is all it takes to even him out and shelter him away from all the crushing responsibilities of royalty.
Here, with you, there are no expectations that he fears he canât live up to. Thereâs nothing to plan for days in advance, careful thinking plaguing every little detail lest he make even the slightest of mistakes. Instead, thereâs warmth and freedom, a chance to spread his wings and fly through the late evening sky.
âLove,â he says to you, voice dripping with milk and honey, âIâll have to walk you to your quarters soon.â
You hum in acknowledgement having known the time for such was fast approaching, yet you make no move to hurry him along. Your fingers card through his hair, prodding softly at his sensitive scalp. It dawns on Ayato then that he much prefers the gentle brush of your fingertips to the frigid graze of any crown.
âYou donât have to come along,â you tell him. âItâs not like Iâll be getting lost.â
He appreciates the joke you make less so because itâs funny and more so because it makes you smile.
Ayato comes anyway, striding through the empty halls. They stretch on for what seems like miles in his lethargic state, suppressing yawns as his heels click against the glossy hardwood. Just inside your room, one of the small spaces offered to the help of the castle, the young prince matches the curve of your cheek to the plane of his hand. He brushes his lips past your own, diluting the urge to pull you in and kiss you with enough passion that it just might sync his heartbeat to your own.Â
Youâd do anything to have him stay the night, but the risk is much too great. Itâs better if he returns to his room, âif he keeps his distance for now. You bite your tongue as he bids you goodnight, the taste of him lingering all the same.
ïŒGENSHIN IMPACT !! ⥠â A LONELY WOLF HOWLS AT THE DRUNKEN MOON (DILUC X READER).
#. synopsis! â you spend your days sorting out conflicts as a negotiator, but nothing could have prepared you for the bad blood between your dearest childhood friends. diluc says a lot of things he doesn't mean, âbut also says a lot of things he does .
#. characters! â diluc .
#. warnings! â angst, mentions of the canon death of a loved one, family issues, explicit depictions of arguments .
#. word count! â 3.9k .
#. alt accounts! â @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .
#. others! â navigation & masterlist .
When this journey began, youâd been expecting a lot of things, âmostly Kaeya and Diluc bickering back and forth, the younger instigating petty verbal spats only for the older to snap back after a while of disinterested replies. Youâd even been anticipating a night or two of awkward sleeping arrangements, folding in on yourself in hopes of keeping your distance from each of them, as if you hadnât sought their warmth as your protectors in your youth.
But youâre not a little kid anymore, and the two young men at your side are no longer your closest friends. Your nights arenât spent telling silly ghost stories under cozy blankets in the bedrooms of Dawn Wineryâs manor. Nowadays, Kaeya shows off on the battlefield, glints of bloodlust in his visible eye, rather than climbing trees in your backyard until slivers of fear began to prick at his feet and the best option was simply to climb back down. Diluc, on the other hand, doesnât show off much at all. He works alone, his head held high and his walls higher, âkeeping everyone out, because heâll never be able to tell where the next betrayal is coming from.
You like to think you havenât lost all of your childlike wonder and spark. At least, not to the extent of either of them; one who bears a Cryo Vision and yet burns with guilt and shame, and the other who wields a Pyro Vision, but has frozen himself to the bone just to keep others away.
As a so-called negotiator, employed by the Adventurers Guild to deal with a variety of issues that often stem from conflicts and misunderstandings, it feels disgraceful that youâd be incapable of playing peacekeeper between the two of them. But your skills feel years beyond rusted as you stand with them, seeking refuge from a ruthless storm in an old, abandoned hilichurl camp. It had rolled in from far away, taking all three of you by surprise. Abandoning your uncovered wagon with minimal supplies to manage through a few days' journey was the only viable option as the wind began to whip loose branches from trees and lightweight rocks and pebbles from the ground.
Even in such horrid weather, thieves offered no breaks from their crime. They snatched away your wagonâs contents, in spite of it having been hidden away in the trees. You canât help but wonder how long theyâd been tailing the three of you from the city. . .
Beyond that, you wonder why fate has decided to be so cruel to you. Diluc was a distant assistant of the Knights of Favonius these days, only offering help when it was completely necessary. Why he chose to take charge of this mission is beyond you, and why Kaeya decided to join at the last minute, youâll never understand. Especially now that all theyâve done is largely overlook your existence in order to get petty digs in at one another.
Theyâd managed to complicate what was supposed to be a simple trip to Liyue Harbor to settle an even simpler dispute.
âHey, Master Diluc,â Kaeya calls out, tone condescending, âmind giving us a hand over here?â
The redhead spares his brother an agitated glance, nearly throwing daggers with his tongue before his gaze came to rest on you. . . Youâre just as sweet looking as he remembers. Thereâs always been something so innocent and warm swimming in your eyes, as if your full well of kindness has overflown and pooled right into your stare. For your sake, Diluc swallows his not-so-kind words and makes little show of lighting the fire between yourself and Kaeya, who offers no thanks.
âYou should sit down,â you say to Diluc softly, moving off to the side to let him rest before the newly lit fire. âYouâre dripping wet.â
âIâm fineââ he begins roughly, but stops himself immediately when you flinch at the harshness of his tone.
He hadnât meant for it to come out like that. A deep breath in, and he tries again, gentler this time.
âIâm alright,â he corrects, but offers no apology for startling you just before. âA little rain never hurt anyone.â
If both of you had been younger and these past few years had never happened, youâd have been quick to question his liberal usage of a little. Itâs pouring, maybe more than youâve ever seen it, and lightning slits the sky ruefully as thunder booms from the heavens.
âDonât be so cold,â Kaeya chides, and takes pleasure in doing so, âIâm the one with the Cryo Vision.â
âYouâre also the one who doesnât know when to keep his crooked nose out of other peopleâs affairs,â Diluc answers bluntly, a sharp edge to his voice.
âCrooked?â The younger questions, ignoring Dilucâs blow to his character in lieu of the cosmetic insult.
âEnough,â you insert yourself tiredly, ânowâs not the time to be arguing.â
Archons. How had this come to pass? It was bad enough that the two of them had found themselves on the same mission, âbut for you to be here as well? Talk about bad luck. Maybe all those times of patching Bennett up after unfortunate circumstances got the better of him has made his fate rub off on you. . .
Neither of the brothers apologize for their actions, but you hadnât been expecting it anyway. Youâd have been more surprised if they did, actually.
âFine,â Kaeya shrugs, âletâs change the subject then while the soup heats up.â
You take that as your cue to scrape some poorly sliced veggies into an old hilichurl pot that Diluc had placed for a crude wash in the rain. Itâs set to be rudimentary at best, but your hope is that the mint leaves you managed to gather along the way will add enough of a flavor contrast to make it edible at the very least. Your choice of fancy ingredients was well beyond diluted, and whatever you managed to scrounge up from the wreckage of this hilichurl camp is as good as itâs going to get. Beggars truly cannot be choosers, especially in situations such as this.
âItâs been a while since Iâve spoken to you, y/n,â Kaeya notes. âHowâve you been fairing?â
âIâve been well,â you answer, only paying him a fraction of your attention. âYouâd know that if you ever bothered to read any of my letters.â
His face drops for a moment, confident facade staggering in the shadow of your newfound shortness. He knows youâre right, and Kaeya canât blame you for being upset. It wasnât his intention to lose sight of you, but somewhere along the line between that fateful stormy night, the dissolvement of his relationship with Diluc, and his subsequent promotion to Cavalry Captain. . . His fondness for you had been lost to the wind. He got your letters, would sit them aside for later, âand then later would never come. Eventually, heâd lose those letters too amongst the towers of paperwork on his cluttered desk.Â
âYou wrote to him?â Diluc pipes up, sounding all too casual for the ache that lingers in his heart.
He hadnât received any letters from you. . . Not one. Not a single message, short or long, âjust nothingness, like throwing flames into a limitless void. Why Kaeya, the one who hadnât even bothered to answer? Why couldnât Diluc even be your second choice?
âJust. . . Just a handful of times,â you say softly. âI never heard back, so I stopped writing.â
Kaeya opens his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to make things infinitely worse for himself, but Diluc beats him to the punch.
âYou know I would have answered you,â he tells you. âItâs been forever since the last time we spoke, âdonât you think it would have been nice to hear from you? Just to say hello?â
Now, youâve found yourself in Kaeyaâs shoes; stuck between a rock and a hard place. Thereâs no appropriate excuse as to why you never chose to reach out to Diluc, you just. . . Didnât. In the same way Kaeya never wrote you back, you never wrote to Diluc at all. But Kaeya did.
âItâs not like you can shove all the blame off on other people,â Kaeya interjects, tone laced with a seriousness you donât often hear from him. âYouâre hardly easy to approach these days. Youâve practically holed yourself up and away, wallowing in your own self-pity.â
âKaeya, thatâs a little much, donât you thinkââ you start, but Diluc is quick on the attack, speaking over you and then over the thunder that resounds through the atmosphere.
âAs if youâre any better,â the redhead scoffs, âI donât need to be patronized by someone like you. You talk to everyone, but you donât have any real connections. Your secrecy forces everyone away eventually, and when you wind up alone again, I hope you remember that youâve done it all to yourself, Kaeya.â
âYou donât mean thatââ you say, eyes widening and heart dropping low into the pit of your stomach.
âOh, and youâre wishing that on me so you feel less alone about living that way now?â The younger male retorts.
Of all the years youâve known the both of them and of all the times youâve seen them argue, none of it has ever amounted to something like this. Their voices are dangerously low, as if the misty grey indifference of passive aggression has clouded their judgements, leaving them void of everything except simmering rage for one another.
âWhat, so now Iâm not even entitled to choose how I get to grieve?â Diluc accuses.
âNobody even said that,â Kaeya bites back in return. âThere you go, twisting peopleâs words again so you feel better about villainizing them.â
âI donât need to villainize you, âyou do a good enough job of that all by yourself.â
âGuysââ
âI could say the same to you,â Kaeya scoffs. âPushing everyone away because youâre too scared to make connections, running off for so long just to come back a completely different person, abandoning everyone who ever cared enough about you to take your burdens for themselves.â
âOh, and you think you fall under that category somehow?â Diluc demands. âAs if you werenât the one whoâd been lying the entire time, keeping Celestia knows how many secrets from everyone? I know youâre the Cavalry Captain now Kaeya, but donât be such an arrogant fool. Get off your high horse and come join the rest of us in reality.â
âThatâs rich coming from you,â Kaeya all but snarls. âAll youâve done since that night is run away, âfrom your duties, from your family, from the nation you claim to love so much. And you know what I think, Diluc?â
âI really couldnât care less what you think, Kaeyaââ
âI think youâre the one who needs to come down off your high horse. You werenât the only one who got hurt that night, but you mope around like thereâs nobody in the world who shares your burdens! Youâre not special. Youâre not the only one who lost someone!â
âHe was my father!â Diluc says, right on the cusp of shouting over the pouring rain that pummels against the roof of the hilichurl hut.
âHe was my father too, dammit!â Kaeya yells, the flat of his palm slamming against the dampened dirt. âBut I didn't just lose him, âI lost you too.â
The elder male is visibly stunned by that assertion, unable to form words in reply. Kaeya doesn't wait for a response, good or bad. Ungracefully, he pulls himself to his feet and storms off into the rain, and despite your protests, he doesn't look back. You suppose he's back to pretending like you never existed.
Silence reigns between you and Diluc for a short while. When you make the first move, parting your lips to say his name softly, he's quick to cut you off in a small, sad voice.
"Why didn't you write to me?" He questions. "Why didn't you ever come see me? You knew I'd returned, and you still didn't come."
Though his words are accusatory, he doesn't sound particularly angry. If anything, Diluc just sounds hurt.Â
"I. . ." you begin, knowing nothing you can possibly say will make this any better. "I just didn't think you'd want to hear from me."
His stare is blank, as if he isnât sure what to make of your admission. He opens his mouth to speak, but just as quickly closes it again, swallowing the words down to dilute their harshness. Maybe Kaeya was right, he thinks to himself. Maybe Iâve pushed everyone so far away that Iâve alienated myself completely.
If thatâs the case, he notes soon after, then I have no one to blame but myself.Â
âIâm sorry,â you apologize genuinely, interrupting his spiral of thought.
Diluc looks your way again, meeting your eyes diligently this go around, but still, he says nothing.Â
âWhen I heard youâd returned, I walked by Dawn Winery every morning, thinking that I could work up the courage to see you face-to face,â you explain. âIt sounds selfish of me now that Iâm saying it out loud, but. . .â
âNo,â you interrupt, shaking your head to offer a correction, âit was selfish of me. I was being selfish. I couldnât stomach the thought of seeing you again because I knew youâd be so different, âIâd be meeting someone new in the place of the boy I grew up with, and I wasnât ready to face it.â
Strangely enough, Diluc understands where it is that youâre coming from. Heâs not dense enough to be blind to all the differences he exhibits in comparison to his slightly younger self. Once upon a time, he was vibrant and open, âhe let people in because he assumed the best of them. Diluc sought trust and love from the people of Mondstadt, vowed to protect them with his very life. . . Even now, he feels that way. These days, he acts from the shadows instead, as if loving openly will somehow make him more vulnerable to injuries of the emotional kind.
âDo you hate it, then?â He inquires, ââthe man I am right now. Do you hate me?â
âNo, Diluc Iââ
You stop again to take a sharp breath in. Itâs now or never to say all the things you never chose to write down in a letter for him. At the very least, he deserves that much.
âI should have come to see you,â you admit. âI knew that from the start. And I wanted to see you, because itâd been so long, and I just needed to know that you were okay; that whoever youâd become while you were gone, you were healthy and hadnât just given up on the world. But I got glimpses of you from afar, and it made me realize just how much of a distance had grown between us. It was like I could hardly recognize you, even when you looked the same. So I turned around, and eventually, I stopped going to Dawn Winery altogether. I hid when I saw you in public, just to avoid the conversation, âto avoid the âHi, howâve you been?â because I knew youâd just lie and say everything was fine.â
The bitter truth is that youâd been pushing Diluc away, just as heâd been doing to you. You yearned to be close to him again, to be able to pull him so close that you could feel his heart beating against you. . . But the space between you and he only grew wider with the passing days. He made a routine for himself, and you didnât want to disrupt it. Not when heâd had to pull himself up from the depths of despair just to manage it in the first place.
You worried that you represented little more than the past to him, âthat youâd be some ghost of a childhood friend coming back to haunt him, and heaven knows Diluc doesnât need anymore demons wrapping around his pretty fingers.Â
âEverything should be fine,â he answers softly. âEveryone has to move on eventually. We canât live in days that have already passed us by.â
âThat doesnât mean doing it is easy,â you remind him, matching the gentle tone of his voice.
âItâs not easy,â he agrees. âIt hurts like hell. I hate going home because the manor feels so empty, and I canât find any trace of anyone there. Not my father, not Kaeya, not you, ânot even myself. Itâs like all the rooms just swallow everything whole until thereâs nothing left to feed on, and all the good things have disappeared. All the memories, all the laughter, all the love is just. . . Gone.â
Another apology creeps up the back of your throat, but you know now isnât the time to be saying sorry a million and one times over. You can take any other time to feel guilty, to feel sorry for yourself in the wake of your own recklessness. . . But this is about Diluc.
âAll the art my father hung up on the walls, âthe chess board he taught me how to play on. Iâve run my fingers over every frame, every pawn, every knight, and I canât feel him anywhere. Itâs almost like he never existed, even though every part of the manor has remained unchanged since his passing. The maids and other staff donât speak of him; at least not when Iâm around. . . Itâs like theyâve all signed some unspoken contract to guard my feelings by pretending nothing ever happened.âÂ
Youâre left speechless by his show of openness, thinking to yourself (if only passively) that itâs been far too long since youâve heard Diluc be true about his feelings.
âKaeya comes around sometimes, but he never comes in,â the redhead continues. âThe manor was his home too, but it seems that he canât stand to be inside anymore, so heâs left me alone to pick up all the pieces, and I hate him for it. But I love him too, from the bottom of my heart. Heâs my brother, âblood or not. I know heâs hurting too, and it kills me.â
âHe knows that,â you insist. âKaeya knows that you love him, and he loves you too. Itâs just that all the animosity between you two reaches a boiling point when you stuff everything down and hide your pain away, and he wears it on his sleeve, letting it seep out the moment he gets set off. Both of you love to pretend that youâre fine alone, that everything will work itself out somehow if you ignore it for long enough, âbut I think weâve established that thatâs not quite how this is gonna go.â
And then Diluc laughs. Itâs low and deep, coming straight from his chest, lasting no more than a handful of seconds. The stars in his eyes burn alight again, flickering like a lost lantern in the wind. A softer breeze than the howling gusts just outside the hilichurl structure youâre sitting in thatâs miraculously managed to stay intact thus far.
âThatâs so like you,â he comments, amusement clinging to his words. âYouâre so honest in a roundabout way; trying your best to protect my feelings, and Kaeyaâs if he happens to be eavesdropping on us, all while essentially saying we should stop being idiots and just talk about our problems.â
Although thatâs a very watered down version of your conviction, it works well enough, you suppose. A giggle bubbles up from the back of your throat, exploding into the chilly air.
âThatâs one way to say it, I guess,â you laugh. âI know thatâs a lot easier said than done, but Iâm hoping you see where Iâm coming from. It might not be my place to say it, âbut itâs hard to watch you two ram heads like this. Even though none of us are kids anymore, itâd be nice to be like we used to sometimes.â
Diluc agrees. He thinks about that more than heâll ever be willing to admit; about the days he spent running past the vineyards, you and Kaeya right on his heels, laughter soaring through the open air. He thinks about the sweet taste of freshly mixed juice drinks, foam clinging to his upper lip. . . He can make his own drinks these days, of course, but they never taste quite like his fatherâs.
When he smiles like this, you get a glimpse of the boy you grew up alongside. You get a glimpse of the young man you fell in love with, yet never made any mention of it so as not to upset the balance. It was easier if everyone remained friends; if you never chose to cross the line. You suppose thatâs yet another reason why it was so hard to approach him after he arrived back in Mondstadt. It wouldnât be fair to grieve the loss of who he used to be, but it was nothing short of inevitable.
I loved you then, and I love you now.Â
âIn any case, I. . . I should go look for Kaeya,â you say; but thereâs no conviction in your words.
Heâs an adult, and you know better than most that Kaeya can take care of himself; rain or shine. In fact, with that Vision of his, he might as well be better suited to stormy nights and rainy days. Though he seems like he wants to, Diluc says nothing to keep you from going. Maybe itâs just that he doesnât want you to soak yourself to the bone, or maybe itâs that he just wants you to stay; nothing more, nothing less. Either way, he doesnât say it.
Until he does.
âY/n, please. . .â
You pause, turning to look at him the moment he says your name. Diluc swallows, hoping the words donât go down with it.
âDonât leave.â
Your heart stutters. As the sky grows darker somewhere off in the distance, as the rain slams roughly against the little hut youâre stuffed in, âas thunder resounds loud enough to shake the very ground beneath your knees, you find yourself pulled into his orbit again.
Itâs all too easy to love him like the sun is dying.
Nowâs not the right time, this isnât the right place. . . Nothing about this is right, but you canât bring yourself to pull away. He smells of rain, soil, and must; hair disheveled and falling out of the loose, low ponytail at the back of his head. The plain scent of bland vegetables boiling just a foot or two away would have thrown you off if youâd been lucid enough to care.
His kiss is fervent and desperate in a way you never expected, âsomething less than sweet, but far from bitter. Damp hands cup your cheeks like youâre made of brittle porcelain, so gentle that you can melt into his touch without having to question why. Itâs hard to believe these lips are the same ones that threw insults Kaeyaâs way just a bit ago, and when you rest your forehead against his, breathing through the haze, itâs even harder to imagine that his lovesick stare is only meant for you.
You could spend forever here, but that wouldnât serve either of you.
âGo,â you whisper softly, pressing the flat of your hand to his chest. âHeâs your brother.â
Diluc hesitates, but deep down, he knows youâre right. Heâs angry, âheâs been angry for a long time now. Itâs eaten at him for longer than heâll ever care to admit, burning up his mind and scorching all the flowers.Â
And maybe, he thinks to himself with your face cupped in his chilled hands, itâs time to start letting some of that anger go, washing it away with the rain.
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|| diluc ragnvindr x f! reader || E/18+ || hurt/comfort, fluff, post-trauma || wc: 13.3k  || ao3 || masterlist || â PREVIOUS + NEXT â ||
As much as you allow yourself to, you 'settle' in.
â my heart, your song - @firein-thesky â
minors & ageless blogs dni
a/n: a!!! chunk!!! AHHHH!!! i'm so excited to finally share more of this piece :'^) thank you endlessly to mao (@itoshisoup) and collab-partner cielo (@firein-thesky) for beta-reading and riffing throughout this piece. their input and edits have been vital to polishing this story and getting it all the way here!! to posting!!! thank you both!!!!!
check out the masterlist above to read cielo's piece for this collab <3 leave them and kaeya some love đ
please enjoy this next chapter, with all its sharp-teeth and softness (and some oral đđ!!!!) ENJOY loves!!! <333
...
tags: smoking, vague descriptions of dissociation, references to reader's past, almost-wife (an unnamed oc), some smut (as a treat), soggy soggy soggggy!!!
PART iv: the thaw
Adelinde comes to your door the next day and takes your measurements. Circling you with a sewerâs tape here and there, she records numbers on a little notepad.Â
âThe Windâs Breath dance is in a few days.â She tells you. Days have been blurring together. âMaster Diluc has requested that an outfit be fetched for you for it.â
You should be upset, it seems like an overstep. It is. But, for âstaying for Windblumeâ, you havenât been back to Mond proper since youâve settled down in the Winery. The Windâs Breath dance, or rather night of fucking debauchery does have somewhat of a dress code. Thereâs a traditional style of Mondstadan clothing that most wear, aside from perhaps knights and some merchants. The colors align with Windblumeâs yellow, soft teal and creamy ivory.Â
Certainly clothing you donât have now, and a night of drinking and dancing sounds absolutely lovely. You remember enjoying the ceremony of it, in your youth.Â
â... Did you hear Diluc and I last night?â You ask Adelinde when she has the tape around your bust.Â
Adelinde chooses her words carefully, more interested in the measurements than your question, âI heard shouting by the hearth, but nothing after. Should I have heard more after?â
You flush at her insinuation, âAdelindeââ
âSorry, sorry,â She laughs without a bite, going to your inseam. âItâs a little too easy to tease you, dear. Forgive me.â
You narrow your eyes at her in jest, rolling them a moment later and let her prod you for the length of your wingspan.Â
âI did shout at him though.â You admit. âI couldâve chewed him out more. He deserved more, maybe. I donât know. It feels confusing.â
âWhy confusing?â
âBecauseââ You rub a hand over your face and your balance wobbles. âItâs Diluc. Thereâs just so much there, good and bad. I donât know how or if I should broach it.â
Adelinde thinks for a moment, gives a thoughtful hum, and rises, âThatâs entirely up to you, whether you choose to examine or confront your history with Diluc, and Iâd say the winery, as well. I know that he has caused you a great deal of suffering and grief.â
You laugh, âIt sounds like thereâs a âbutâ coming.â
âBut,â She smiles. Smooths your collar down. âYou also loved him, didnât you?â
You stew for a moment.
Of course you loved him. Love, still. Youâve buried it so deep in you, but it wonât suffocate. You havenât fed it in years, starved it from light and air, but it still knows yearning and want better than any other part of you.
You lie, âOnce. Maybe.â
âAnd he loved you too, yes?â
(Oh, he did. He told you so, showed you so, over and over again. In the little gestures of childhood, to firsts that you shared, to the way his eyes shone so brightly for no one other than you. He had always been such a caring boy, and you were the subject of his greatest attentions.)
(Such knowledge has tormented you. To be loved in such a way, and have it ripped away in the way he didâ)
âYou know this already, Adelinde.â You side-step her question and go the vanity. Fidget with a bottle of perfume left by a previous guest. The glass bottle is small and amber, half-full. It smells floral with a hint of musk; you can tell even before you uncork it.
Adelinde watches you as you do. You can feel her gaze on you. When you dare to lookâ she keeps a soft expression. Wizened, and perhaps a bit sad. It aches to see her that way. She was there. She had taken care of Kaeya, Diluc and you in your youth. Sheâd been a fixture. Seen the lot of you through it all.Â
You wonder how she has beared it.
âSuch care does not go away easily.â She says gently. âEven if we would like it to. Even if living would be easier if they did. I think both you and the master of the house know this well.â
You pop the cork on the perfume. Itâs oily, and sticks to the tips of your fingers. You grimace. âIt is... difficult to imagine Diluc caring about me, even residually, after his departure.â
âI imagine so.â Adelinde says so kindly. âBut, I know the Master well enough to say he wouldnât have invited you back to the manor so openly if he didnât care for you. Heâs not the type of man to do things he doesnât want to do.â
(Sheâs right.)
(You remember Diluc dragging his feet and bemoaning having to wash up after days on the riverbank, covered in sand and dirt. How his hair would snarl and get so knottedâ he hated brushing it, his scalp too tender and Crepus was, respectfully, a bit clueless on how to manage Dilucâs hair. You wonderâ)
You rub your forehead, then your cheeks. âEven still. Itâs hardââ
(Because you simply cannot fathom Diluc loving you still. Such a reality cannot exist. If it didâ if thatâs trueâ)
Adelinde must see your panic and redirects. âI think it would serve you well to try and remember where you are. Stay grounded in the good things you can find in the present, here, rather than a past that hasnât been kind to you.â
â... I donât have to forgive him, do I?â
âNo. Not unless you want to.â Adelinde grabs your shoulders and squeezes. âEnjoy the fields. Visit your friends. Catch up with Elzer, if you can too. Maybe Kaeyaââ
âNot Kaeya.â You donât mean to snap, but you do.
âNo Kaeya, then.â Adelinde seems unaffected. She smooths your collar and tucks your hair behind your ear. âLisa, then. Iâm sure there are folks who will continue to need your healing, too. Not to mention I do think Diluc will give you as much wine as youâd like.â
âPlease, Iâd rather he didnât think of me as a drunk.â You paw at your cheeks as Adelinde pulls your ear with a cheeky smile.
âDoes that mean we canât share a bottle by the hearth? Thatâs a shame.â
âOh, I never said that. Weâll just have to wait until Diluc goes to bed.â
âThatâs not necessary.â Your statement gives Adelinde pause. You catch it, how Adelinde schools her expression and straightens herself. âIâll be sure the master doesnât give us any grief.âÂ
You could pry. Thereâs something there. You know how to smell out a secretâ half of being a physician traveling from citadels to isolated villages is picking out peopleâs hidden aches and pains. Ones they come accustomed to hiding or have become used to. Itâs a learned skill, one you did not have in your naivete and youth, but youâve honed it now. You see Adelinde falter.Â
Diluc has always been dawnâ the insinuation of Diluc and the night causes her to stumble.
You do not pry. You school yourself. Because you are here for Windblume. And to find this damn healer. And if Diluc hadnât invited you to his (not your) home, youâd be happily sleeping in your tent just outside of Mondstadt proper.Â
You do not need to entangle yourself more than necessary.
(Youâve already stepped too close to a chasm that youâve avoided for far too long. You do not realize how steep its edges are or how fragile its cliffs.)Â
You laugh to yourself, âAs if Iâd let him.â
âIâm sure you wouldnât.â Adelinde softens once more. You can see the wrinkles around her eyes and in the center of her forehead. Thick patches of freckles on her nose. â You, though. Take your time. Rest. Be good to yourself. Iâm always here to talk, if you would need or like... and if I may?â
âOf course.â
âIâve given the Master similar advice. Heâs more affected than he lets on.â Adelinde reveals and presses her lips to your forehead. âYou are both dear to me, and I donât wish to watch either of you suffer in the ways you have. Though, I wonât mettle more than this.â
You sit with the knowledge sheâs presented.
âThank you, Adelinde.â And you hug her hard like youâre trying to suck the wisdom from her body into your own. âMay I ask you one other thing?â
âOf course, dear.â
(You feel unsteady. You donât want to think about this. But, perhaps, itâll provide you some stability. Assuredness.)
âDid you ever end up telling Diluc about what happened while he was gone?â You canât look at her. Even if you were, your gaze would be elsewhere. Even acknowledging âitâ (forget, forget, forget) has you feeling untethered.Â
Adelinde grabs your hands in hers and intertwines your fingers. Theyâre worn, calloused from washing and carrying burdens she shouldnât have to.
âNo, I didnât,â Adelinde says, softly. âBoth Elzer and I have kept true to what we promised you when you left for Snezhnaya. Though Diluc has... asked, weâve been vague about it over the years.â
Youâre grateful. Endlessly.Â
(It means that something is still sealed, well-bottled and shoved away, and hidden. It was the only request you made of them upon your departure.)
âThank you.â You hug her, but Adelinde is already moving to pull you close. She strokes the back of your head like a mother would.
âAlways, dear.â Adelinde assures you. You scrunch the fabric of her dress in your fists and bite your tongue.
(Lest you reveal too much, or break something that should stay fractured but whole.)
...
The Winery gets pleasantly warm during the spring afternoons. The sun slants just right, and the light that spills in heats the manor better than any of its many hearths could. You leave your window open, soaking in the bird songs and petrichor from the morning drizzles. Youâre half-tempted to wander in the vining fields, but abstain.Â
Youâve spent the afternoon mulling over Adelindeâs advice. You trust her and her sagely wisdom. Without her guidance, you surely wouldâve crumbled during your tenure as the wineryâs unofficial master. You had no reason to doubt her, or think that she was leading you astray with her wordsâ
And yet.
(How could Diluc care about you? How, how, howâ)
You fist into your own skull, as if you could quiet your thoughts with nothing more than brute force.Â
The day lazily slinks by, and you meander to the kitchens for a meal as the sun goes gold with the evening.
Youâre surprised to find Diluc there.
The kitchen is an organized mess, notably. Bowls and latched boxes of dry ingredients lay out on the countertops, and the center prep station is dusted in flour with several round balls of dough at the ready. You see a bottle of milk and bright yellow dust in a jar.
Dilucâs jacket has been discarded, hung on a hook near the back door entry to shield it from any potential mess. Heâs left in his trousers and waistcoat, any of the more ornamental gold bits have had their sheen dulled by baking dust. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He kneads a ball of dough with a motion that looks far too practiced for someone who was once a knight, and now a businessman. Strong, worn hands, ducking into the dough, then out, smearing it on the butcherblock. His forearms bulge. Itâs obscene.Â
He must notice you, but he doesnât stop. You side-step him to the icebox, fish out a handful of berries and a wedge of cheese. You perch on one of the counters and fold your legs under you, stretching to grab a knife from a block.
â... Are you going to spectate?â Diluc asks, pausing, only to look at you for a brief moment before continuing his kneading.
You hum, combining a bite of berry and cheese and speaking through it, âI suppose. What are you making?â
âSweetbread.â
âWhen did you learn to make bread?â You ask, a bit baffled. Heâd always been a rather poor cook, and an even worse baker.Â
âSometime back. I was forced to, while I was away.âÂ
â... Oh?â
Diluc doesnât look at you, âA comradeâs wife taught me how to. She said it was an important life skill.â
âThat sounds about right.â Youâd never mastered sweetbreads, but you feel quite adept at making flatbreads on round stones.
âThese were supposed to be a bit of a surprise,â He grumbles under his breath. Almost pouting. âA gift... And perhaps, an apologyâ for you. For yesterday.â
â... Oh?â
â... âOhâ?â
You trip over your words, shoving a berry into your mouth to try and disguise your stumbling, âI didnât expect you to apologize.â
âIâm not yet, the bread isnât done.â Diluc sets the finished ball into another bowl, greased with oil and butter.Â
âI see.â You raise an eyebrow and take another bite. The berries stain your fingertips wine red. âWhy are you apologizing?â
âI overstepped,â Diluc says simply, adjusting his sleeves and going to work the next dough ball.Â
âNoâ I. Thatâs notââ You groan, and throw your face in your hands. It feels warm. âItâs fine, Diluc.â
âDenying it wonât stop me from apologizing.â He shoots back. âYou have every reason to be angry with me. Besides, this bread will go to waste otherwise.â
You shoot him a half-baked smile. A distraction, for both you and him. Hopefully, itâs enough to disguise the way your shoulders go rigid and the way you white-knuckle the lip of the corner of the counter. His words bounce around in your skull, like a mocking echo that just wonât shut upâ
(How long had you waited for that admission from Diluc? How many star-filled nights have you toiled, once, craving that validation from him? You wanted him to balm the wound that he left, even if you knew it was impossible.)
(At some point you asphyxiated the want. Crushed it down into something that could be swallowed but never digested. Hope canât be killed, but archons, did you try.)
Dilucâs words unearth the dormant thing. You don't think Diluc understands the gravity of what heâs said to you, and you hope he doesnât put it together.Â
(It feels raw. Heâs cut you and bared your insides without regard.)
â⊠Fine.â You concede to him (hopefully he doesnât prod you further. Bear your neck to him and perhaps the action will be enough to keep him interested and tempted but not to bite down.)
You refuse to look at him. You smash the last bits of a raspberry between your forefinger and thumb and watch the juices drip down your skin. Itâs a pretty red that you suck off when it reaches the knuckle.
Diluc sighs, and perhaps scoffs, before the sound and motion of dough kneading resumes in your periphery.
âIâm sorry too,â you say, breaking the fragile reverie.Â
âYou have nothing to apologize for,â Diluc speaks quickly. Heâs not wrong, but you feel inclined to anyway.
(Your rage is more than justified. The thing bubbling under your skinâ guilt, regret, topped with dreadâ is as well.)
You hop off the counter and teeter to bear your weight on your good foot. A hiss of pain gets caught behind your teeth and you chew the inside of your teeth. Diluc regards you, expectantly, hair spilling over his shoulders, half-hunched over his last ball of dough.
âI should give you the benefit of the doubt, at least a little.â You sigh. âI jumped for your throat, and that perhaps, wasnât fair. You had a point, it was a long time agoââ
âStop diminishing yourself. Itâs painful.â Diluc interrupts you for once. âI deserve your ire. My reaction to your anger wasnât justified or appropriate.â
âYou stop being self-deprecating.â Guilt-ridden bastard. âRegardless of what you deserve, which I wonât be debating with you, I still care about you.â
(Love, probably. Most certainly.)
Itâs an admission you donât mean to give him. You instantly feel too vulnerable with the feelings; you wish you had kept it close to your chest and hidden. You watch your words cut him, and Diluc freezes. Heâs so plain with his reaction that itâs almost comical. His eyes go wide and he goes stiff as a board. You donât fare any better. You feel as though youâve revealed a card in your hand that you shouldnât have.Â
(You trade blows. One for one, flayed flesh for a split spine.)
You chew the inside of your cheek. You taste blood. Diluc clears his throat and collects himself. You leer away, laughing under your breath.Â
(A younger Diluc wouldâve jumped at your words. Shown so brightly he could rival any hearth, become a human sun, if only for a moment. He wouldâve gleamed. Itâs difficult to admit that heâs darkened.)
He doesnât return the sentimentâ not directly. Not the same way.Â
Diluc finishes his dough and leaves it to rest before exiting the room without a word. You donât get a chance to protest, heâs back so quickly, with a âstaffâ cane in his hand. A metal-caste owl sits at the top while the wood is stained a rich burgundy.
Diluc hands it to you.
âI donât know if itâs sized correctly. I based it on the measurements Adelinde provided me.â
â⊠Thank you.âÂ
You swallow and accept the gift. It is sized correctly, perfectly even, and it takes some adjusting to re-remember how to bear your weight on it. The ache in your foot lessens almost instantly, quelled.Â
âIt surprised me, when you didnât have a cane with a limp that severe,â Diluc says, watching you take a few test steps.
âI did have oneâ several. Previously.â You examine the metal owl with a frown. âWhere did you get this?â
âMy fatherâs study.â
âDiluc.â You freeze. âI canât possibly accept a Ragnvindr family heirloom.â
âNonsense.â He rolls his eyes. âItâs been collecting dust for decades. Make good use of it.â
âDilucââ
âTake it. Donât be so stubborn. You can hardly walk.â Diluc huffs, though the blush on his cheeks hasnât waned. âWhat happened to your previous canes?Â
âUhhhââ You drawl, clicking your tongue and examining the floor. âOne was surely stolen. At least two broke? I definitely lost one at a pubâ in Fontaine? I never got a chance to go back for it.â There was a village victim to a particularly bad flood that needed tending to. Canes can be replaced.
It takes you a moment to place the look on his face. His brows pinch. Mouth set in a line. Creases under his eyesâ
Disapproving?Â
It snaps to something more neutral, a moment later. Unreadable and guarded, entirely expected and perhaps welcome. He returns to his baking, tidying up the kitchen with his back to you. You open your mouth, then close it a moment later.Â
(Later, thereâs a knock on your door accompanied by a tray of steaming sweetbread, the rounds decorated with edible flowers and dusted with sweet flower pollen. Diluc apologizes, barely able to meet your eye. It should be insulting, but itâs cute, in a boyish way. You let it be cute. It doesnât silence the pangs and pains in your chest, but it makes them easier to bear.)
(The sweetbread is delicious, and you half-wonder about the star map that led him to learn a skill so foreign to a lord like him.)
âŠ
You arenât sleeping well. Maybe itâs penance, for how well you slept your first days at the winery. Your body is, overall, less fatigued than before. The sleep debt youâd run up was somewhat satiated, which apparently meant not fucking sleepingâ
(You could fall asleep, mind you. You just couldnât stay that way. Dreams woke you each night, of memories and flashes, rib-breaking sensations, and the crunching of bone. Rain-soaked silk clinging to your arms and legs. A bloody nose. A hangover so bad you vomit red and black. A garnet red stone, set in black leather, round as low-set sun.)
(Fragments, really. Twisted and mangled together.)
You shoot up in bed, again, sweat dripping down your sternum, sticky on your forehead. The throb in your chest hardly wanes as you struggle to catch your breath. You clutch at the fabric over your collarbones, breathing through your mouth in light pants.
Your thoughts spin and tumble. It takes you a moment to distinguish moment from moment. Where you are. What you are. When you are.Â
Shifting for a sip of water, a shot of pain tangles around your foot and ankle. The muscle is drawn too tight with your fear, panic tugging the tendons wrong. You muffle your own pained wince, keeping it just a wince, and bite down on your lip.
You try to settle, after a while, praying that a few deep breaths release enough tension for a proper sleep. The electric zing that eats at your ankle keeps you awake, uncomfortable to the point of being unbearable. Your heart wonât stop racing with it.
You give up trying to sleep, instead wandering from your room with your new cane, and situate yourself in front of the great roomâs dim hearth. You fuss with it, tossing another log and a bit of Pyro starter on the spitting embers. It catches, lights the room soft amber and you collapse on the lounge closest to it. You face your right foot toward the heat of the fire, hoping the heat loosens some of the bound-up muscle.
You splay out. Veg. Keep your eyes half-lidded and watch the fire lazily. Fixate on the licking flames and let the heat burn away your dream and hope it chases the physical pains too.
Thereâs a slam, when youâre beginning to nod off. Wood on woodâ a door near the back of the manor. There are a few more bumps and thuds, ones you canât place or recognize. You straighten up and listen to the heavy steps that follow. No one would be stupid enough to just break into Dawn Winery, not when Dilucâs fighting prowess is somewhat legendary in Mondstadt.Â
You donât see Diluc enter, only hear him. His stride is wrong.Â
âYou smell like blood.â You say with the tempo of the crackling flame. âIs it yours?â
Diluc freezes, just behind the lounge. Caught.
âWhy are you awake?â He asks, unmoving.
You crane your neck and assess his condition as quickly as you can, âCouldnât sleep. Are you injured?â
He sighs, âNot severely, itâs nothing you need to worry about.â
âOh no, nuh-uh, let me see.â You reach for him around the lounge. âYou canât board a physician and then expect them to ignore you when you come back in the early hours of the morning blood-soaked. Besides, Iâd be breaking oath.â
Diluc grumbles something under his breath but regardless comes around to you.
Heâs not really bloodsoaked. Not entirely. Heâs missing a glove and thereâs a slice through the sleeve of his jacket, burnt at the edges. Dried blood coats his palm. You ask him to move his jacket, and you see a red stain blooming over his abdomen.
âCan you take off your jacket?â
âThatâs not necessary.â He straightens his lapels and takes a step back. âMy injuries are minor. Donât strain yourself.â
âDiluc.â You narrow your eyes. âLet. Me. Help. This is literally my job.â
âYouâre sleep-deprived.â
âHealing a flesh wound takes as much effort for me as it would take you to lift your sword.â You scoot forward on the couch, resisting tugging him closer. âItâs really no trouble. Please, Diluc.â
It must be your begging, maybe. Youâre too engrossed in Dilucâs condition to notice how his cheeks pink. He shrugs off his overcoat, and you cajole him into peeling off his waistcoat as well. It sticks to his undershirt and you wince.
Itâs easy to slip into your role as a healer. Itâs a clinical way of thought, youâre presented with a problem and the way to fix it is apparent and well within your abilities. Seeing Diluc as a patient rather than⊠Diluc is a cheap trick, and perhaps if you were well-rested and less dissociative, youâd feel guilty.Â
âWere you burned?âÂ
âOnly singed.â
You hum thoughtfully, âI need to touch you to heal you. Is that alright?â
He nods, slowly, deliberately, âThatâs fine.â
Heâs not fully bare, so you need to do some exploratory touching. Youâre not sure which is more vulnerableâ for Diluc to be shirtless in front of you in the firelight or the way you lay your hands gently over his sides (ticklish, you recall. You watch him suppress a jump.) Your fingertips skim over his ribs, flares of Dendro wiggling into his skin. It bounces around, then back to you.
Three bruised ribs on his left side. Four-inch laceration on his right side.
âThis will only take a moment.â You send a strong thread of Dendro through him. Liquid and lengthy, and carefully stitch the wound closed. The skin knits back together easily, clean and free of infection.Â
You move on to his next wound and Diluc moves a step closer.
âYour hand, please?â You ask, soft. The heat of the room has lulled you.
(The contact is weakening you.)
Diluc offers it to you, and you take it, as gently as you can. This wound has more burning, but nothing too severe.Â
Second-degree burns affecting seven inches of cumulative skin.Â
âWho the hell were you fighting?â You ask, brows furrowing as you cleansed and balmed the wound. You wince as your Dendro eats away the burn. â What were you fighting?â
âUnimportant.â
âI hardly think so.â
âDrop it.â
â Dilucââ
âSomething that deserved it.â
You huff. âFine, keep your secrets.â
We all have them.
The wound has healed, but you find it... hard let go of Dilucâs hand. It hits you how close he is. You sit with your legs spread and splayed, and he stands between them. Heâs inches away, and youâre level to his navel.Â
You look up at him, swallowing the heat in your cheeks.
Diluc has always been pretty. Since he was little, just a cherubian boy running about the prairie grasses. He grew into it well, though he has gotten a bit more rugged over the time you were apart. You recognized scars littering his forearms, and felt scar tissue buried in new flesh. His hair has grown obscenely long, tied back with a ribbon into a bow. It's only half-up, now, spilling over his shoulder as he looks down at you.Â
Your breath catches in your throat. He swallows and you fixate on the bob of his throat.
(You havenât been close to him like this in so long. Since you were young, having so many firsts together in his too-big bed. His hands look bigger, warmer. How many times did you crave him, the comfort and heat of him? How many times did you wish the stars were twisted and angled just a little differently, so that you never lost him in such a way?)
(To be so closeâ itâs an unavoidable thought.)
You squeeze his hand, âDo you want to be farther away?â
âNo.â He squeezes yours backâ harder. Longer. Like heâs afraid. It makes a fragile thing buried in your shake and fracture. âDo you?â
âNo.â You swallow, but itâs late. And youâre weak. All crushed bones and scar tissue. âThis might even be nice.â
âThisâ is loaded. Bigger than the word, bigger than the distance your traveled while crisscrossing Teyvat. Maybe bigger than the distance between the stars you scorn.
Diluc rubs a thumb over the back of your hand. It shakes. The heat of the fire and Diluc are making something warm and tender rise up from the base of your spine to the back of your skull. You shake with it.
âIt is,â Diluc admits, voice thick and sticky. âThank you.â
âOf course. Itâs my job.â
âNot just that.â Diluc squeezes your hand again. Harder. Searing. âFor allowing me this. You shouldnât.â
âDonât tell me what I should and shouldnât do.â You frown. âYouâre being silly. And self-loathing. Lord Ragnvindr, I wouldnât ever expect such a thing from you.â
Diluc sputters a half-laugh, and for a moment, he sounds like the knight you first held hands with when you were young.Â
âI only mean to say that you have every reason to be upset and keep me at arm's length. I wouldnât hold it against you if you did.âÂ
âItâs not like Iâm not upset with you.â You worry the fraying skin around his cuticle. âIâm indulging myself too, you know.â
(You dance around what this means so well. When did you both learn the steps, as aptly as you twirl now?)
âThatâs comforting.â Diluc pulls his hand from yours and it flexes into a fist. He surprises you thenâ kneels, lowering onto his knees between your legs. Youâre at eye level. You feel pleasantly faint. âYou must tell me if I misstep.â
âOh, you know I will.â You give a warbling laugh and your stomach flips.
So much of Diluc is unfamiliar, but proximity with him isnât. The heat he radiates is the same as you remember, even if heâs a bit rougher and far more wilted. He hovers close, tentative, but not in the boyish, inexperienced way you once knew. Heâs not expectant, heâs not taking and tugging and searchingâ he lingers but only comes so close, giving you the ability to make the first move.Â
He sets up the pieces but doesnât force your hand to play. Itâs wretched. Itâs thoughtful, or itâs cowardiceâ either way, it's to your benefit.Â
Diluc licks his lips, throat bobbing. You canât meet his eyes for too longâ there, you see searching. Heâs lost his way with words, and you can see the way he grapples for the right ones now.
âI missed you.â
(âRight onesâ. Subjective. The ones he gives you are objectively the wrong ones. Only because they force another fissure into you.)
(Youâve spent so long swallowing your own desires and convincing yourself that there was no possible way for Diluc to feel that way about you. You created any number of mental theses as to why Diluc discarded you. Anything to make it bearable.)
(Anything to make the past palatable and controllable.)
(Forget, forget, forgetâ)
You tense with the thought. Your wound pulls wrong and you yip. Shooting away from Diluc, you double over to your right side. You wrap your hand around your foot (wishing praying cursing that your Vision doesnât allow you to touch your own wounds) and slap a hand over your mouth. The pain brings nausea and the last thing you want to do is vomit on Diluc.
Diluc immediately fusses, hands hovering over your shoulders and neck, but never touching. His Vision must be alightâ you swear you can feel the lick of imaginary flames off his skin.Â
âYouâre unwell.â Diluc kneels lower, hands apparently alright to touch, and he tries to shoo yours away from your ankle.
You hold fast, âItâs just a temperamental wound.â Your voice wavers and you rest your forehead on your knee. âIâm sorry for ruining the moment.â
âHush, nothingâs ruined.â He idles his hand over your own. Your vision blurs and you really think you might throw up. âLet me see.â
âNo.â
He says your name, like a cut.
âItâs already healed, Diluc. Just wrong. This happens. Thereâs no use poking at it.â
âSatiate my curiosity, then.â
âWhy should I?â
âBecause Iâm asking honestly.âÂ
You hesitate. Think if this is going to unearth something that youâd rather have stayed buried. Perhaps it was the distance, the heat from the hearth and Diluc in tandem making you melt into the couchâ
âFine. Only because of those sweetbreads the other day.âÂ
You attempt to peel off your stocking, trembling, but Diluc stops you. His palm (so, so warm. Like the kindest flame) wrap around your wrist and places it back on your lap.
âLet me.â
Your mouth dries, tongue going heavy and useless. Tentatively, you scoot back on the couch and adjust so your right leg is fully extended. Your belly feels exposed, the softest parts of you bared in a way that feels foreign and uncomfortable.Â
Diluc waits until you situate yourself, resting patiently on folded knees. Palms on his thighs.Â
(He looks like heâs praying, like youâre the altar. This is both an indulgence and a rite.)
One of his wide hands hooks under your knees and lifts your injured foot from the ground. Diluc pushes your night clothes aside, finding the top edge of your stocking and slips his fingertips just below its edge. You jolt with the contact (whatâs beyond touch starvation?) and hiss under your breath.
He pauses, flame licking in the reflection of his eyes, âIs this alright?â
You nod, his touch sears you.Â
He peels your stocking away. His touch drifts to the arch of your foot, wrapping his fingers around with enough force to be comfortable, secure. It almost burnsâ but in the good way. Open flame on nearly-frost-bitten fingers. The hot springs in Inazuma or the hot stone massages they favor in Natlan. It seeps into you.
The heat goes cold when Diluc stills, eyes widening and shoulders drawing up. You watch his jaw lock and you nearly rip your foot from his grip. Gruesomeâ
âHow did this happen?â There are visible ridges of shattered bone, prominent enough to catch the shadows the fire throws. Two toes with mutilated nails, still. A scar or two.
âI fell.â
âDonât lie.â snaps Diluc. âThis is not the kind of injury you obtain from a âfallâ.â
You start to sigh his name, but he cuts you offâ
âHow.â
âI. Fell.â You grit out. Your chest hurts again.Â
Diluc traces the worst of itâ a diagonal scar on the bottom of your foot, from the ball of it to your big toe. (You donât remember the moment, only the sensations. The feeling of the knife slicing, hitting things it shouldnâtâ)
You jolt, squirm, protest under your breath but Diluc tightens his grip, firm and unyielding.
âP-Pleaseââ Your voice breaks and you lurch and grab his shoulders without thinking. Steadying yourself, grounding yourself on the bulk of him. âPlease, donât pry on this one, Diluc. Not tonight.â
(Perhaps youâll muddle through the memory of it to give to Diluc. One day. Not now, when you feel like the gooey center of you shifts a little too close to seeping out of the spaces between your ribs. If you fall apart, will you ever collect yourself back up again?)
Diluc stills and stares at you. Into you. A little wrinkle appears between his brows, a half-scowl formed in the curve of his pretty lips. It makes your heart pound. You nearly backpedal, tell him the whole truth, the one youâve shoved down your throat like chrysanthemum petals. The garden youâd throw upâ
He relents. Allows you respite. You take it greedily.
Diluc coaxes you to lie back down on the couch, touch hovering most of the time. His contact ginger, âYou donât have to give me anything you donât want to.â
The assurance hits you in the chest. Like a crack that bludgeons your sternum in three. Â
ââKay. Thanks.â You say. Two words is all you can get out around the threads that bind you upright and together.
Diluc sits back on his haunches, going back to your foot. The pads of his thumbs massage at your ankle, slow and light at first as he gauges your reaction. You swallow thick, watching him with darkening pupils. His touch moves higher, up your calf, shifting your bed clothes aside.
Heâs more worn. Calluses make the skin of his thumbs just a bit rougher than you expect. The vision on his waist thrums and throws light as he touches you. Pressing his heat into you. His touch makes you goopy. You slouch into the couch.Â
He never ventures higher than your knee, but itâs enough. Maybe itâs too much. The lack of sleep and the fucking heat put you in a state just above sleep. Heâs horribly gentle with you, pausing and noting every twitch and jolt you shake out. Asks low and quiet if a certain touch is too much. Itâs all overwhelmingâ decadent. You glut yourself on it, just a bit. The pain of the injury dissolves and all that youâre left with is Diluc. Dutifully petting you and soaking you in something rich and spiced.Â
You only feel warm. It spreads up your bodyâ cows the shaking little thing between your ribs. Diluc relaxes you into a slump that has you sleepily blinking, perhaps keening once or twiceâ you canât recall. Perhaps Diluc slides back on your stocking and helps you up. Perhaps he guides you up the stairs and back to your guest room.Â
(You think about inviting him in. You think about dragging him down and in to bring him closer to that thing in your chest that festers, balm it.)
(You think better of it.)
(Youâre too tired to notice the way he lingers on you. His hands, holding you a moment too long. The squeezes to your sides and arms as he walks with you up the stairs. Even when your own breath stutters, youâre unaware. Blissfully ignorant to the effect you have on Diluc.)
You dream of it, maybe. Warmth and heat and familiarity that isnât wretched. You dream of favorable stars and a warm bed.
...
Something shifts between the two of you after that. Even if the moment of vulnerability was brief, it's like a rift has opened up in your chest. Split. Cleaved. Archons.Â
You feel the inexplicable urge to be near Diluc, despite all of the unsettled anger that burns in your belly. The memory of the heat of him is an intoxicant in and of itself. The way Diluc touched you like you were something fragileâ cherished.Â
(Archons, youâre fucked, arenât you?)
You avoid Diluc, somewhat. You take to watching him instead. Perching in your bay window, you watch him work in the fields during the mornings and evenings, and listen to him thump around in his office during the midday when the sun is high. He receives a guest or two, maybe, thereâs always activity in the main foyer of the winery. You suppose, given that the manor functions as both a home and a business, and itâs the busiest season for Dawn Winery, it makes sense.Â
Elzer, actually, is the one who gives you a bit of grief for it.
âHe doesnât bite, you know,â Elzer tells you when you perch on his desk, early one morning while Diluc is out. âYou may even enjoy talking to him.â
âWe have talked.â You clear your throat, pounding your chest. âJust. Itâs complicated.â
âIâm aware.â
Elzer was around, during your tenure as âmasterâ of Dawn Winery. Though Adelinde grew closer to you, Elzer was still a reliable and kind confidant. More-versed in the business end of things than either of you were, and from him you learned a great deal. He, in turn, learned a great deal about you. Adelinde too. Gods, how many nights did you sit at this same desk, organizing mislabeled paperwork over goblets of wine and teacakes?Â
âDoes your wrist still bother you?â you ask.
âYouâre deflecting,â deadpans Elzer.
âYouâre not answering my question, either.â
He rolls his eyes. âYes. It does. I take a tincture for it sometimes.â
â... Can I see itâ your wrist? Let me have a look.â
He holds out his arm and you shift around the desk to prop yourself up on the same side he sits on. Your cane lays idle against the matching mahogany. Thereâs a reluctant pull at his brow, but he still scoots forward on his seat, rolling up his sleeve.Â
Taking his arm in a gentle, practiced grip, you send sparks of Dendro through him. Elzerâs brow scrunches with the feelingâ youâve been told it can be jarring if youâve never experienced Vision healing before. You tighten your grip.Â
You smooth a finger over the meat of his thumb. âTendonitis, still?âÂ
âYou always said thatâs what it was, but never gave me anything conclusive back then.â
âWell, it certainly is,â you huff. Inflammation crawls around the tendons of his hand and wrist, stretching into his shoulder.
You sink a balm of Dendro into him, rather than sparks, more like a sheet. Elzer visibly relaxes, hand going a bit more slack and loose in your grip. Sagging forward, like a ragdoll with half-cut string. Your other hand rises to steady him, firm and solid against his shoulder.Â
âDoes Diluc work you too hard?â You send another wave of it through. âIâll chew him out, if you want. I have nothing to lose.â
âHe doesnât.â
âOh, so itâs just the bad posture?â
Elzer snorts and you canât help but laugh with him. Itâs easy to rib him, like a little brother. He was practically your same age, but he always kept the aura of someone your junior. As adept as he was at everything he did, thereâs a boyish charm to him that hasnât faded with time.
You barely see him out of the corner of your eyeâ Diluc. Rounding a corner with an armful of papers. His grip goes tight and his steps stutter as he enters the little atrium. Elzer tenses behind you. The Dendro lingering in him bounces back to you.
Diluc clears his throat, fist over his mouth. He looks at Elzer, then you, and clears his throat againâ
âAh, I suppose Iâm interrupting working hours. Apologies.â You shrug and hop off the desk. Wobbling past Diluc, you disappear into the shadows of the house.
Itâs intentional, really. You donât want to give Diluc any more of an opening than he already had and fuckâ you saw him, didnât you? The way he drew up, the fire that ignited in his eyes at the closenessâ
Archons, Diluc, jealous?
The thought is too sticky to cope with. You retire for a nap early in the afternoon.
...
Nightmares come for you again, and you busy yourself wandering the halls of Dawn Winery. Itâs a moonless night, and far too dark to be wandering without a lantern or candle, but you do so anyway. Adelinde and Elzer are surely asleep, as with the rest of the staff. You assume that Diluc is out, as he tends to be late at night. The tap of your cane against the wooden floors echoes against the silence of the rest of the winery.
Your latest nightmare felt repetitive. The same images, the same feeling of being untethered against an unstoppable swell. Drowning but without water. Asphyxiating on something that crawls up from your lungs.Â
(Red, rotten memories. Rotten.)
(Forget, Forget, Forget.)
You pause in front of a particular door in the south wing. Ambient light from the manor bounces off its brass handle, polished by clearly tarnished with time. Its design is different from the crystal doorknobs Diluc has replaced around the rest of Dawn Winery. Its original, untouchedâ a relic.
You pause in front of a particular door in the south wing. You know this door. The wood, unlike most of the rest of the manor, hasnât been re-stained or replaced. Itâs the same dark tone you remember from your youth, and the knob shines the same brassy gold. It appears unchanged.
You wonder if youâre still dreaming.
Clearly, you arenât, as you enter the room. Your nose burns as you do. A layer of dust covers everythingâ the table that cuts the room in two, the stacks of discarded books, and old, dry quill. An untouched pile of blankets and pillows in the corner appears to be lightened, sun-bleached.
You kick the pile and laugh, something low and a little defeated.
The Small Study hasnât been touched. Never redone, not even cleaned. Itâs entirely preserved and more painful to see because of it.
(So much tied up in a simple room. You had avoided it at first, didnât you? You knew everything that happened here. A love that bloomed, a betrayal, your own decay.)
All thatâs left is the skeleton of the room. Flesh eaten by time and memory, consumed to this point where thereâs nothing further to rot. Just a vague shape to mourn.
Based on the absolute state of neglect and disuse, you assume that Diluc hasnât poked around this room much, or at all, in the time since he returned. Youâre grateful thatâ you hid a secret or two here that now feel too dangerous to have in the open.
(Despite the fact that itâs clear this place is too painful for Diluc to touch, too. Heâd never find the bits of you that you buried here.)
You tug down a leather-bound book from a shelf, eye-level (still), and rub dust off the spine. Over the cover is embossed some type of Fontainisian design, swirls of gold concentric circles and feathering blots of blue and purple over the leather. It was a gift, back then. Something artisanal that a craftsperson brought to Mondâs marketâ One of the many gifts Crepus gave to you in the months before his passing.Â
You curse under your breath, pressing your fingertips in the cover. Thereâs a ring of teeth marks on one cornerâ your teeth. Had you really bitten the cover in a fit of frustration?
(Probably. Your memory feels fuzzy and fragmented. Broken glassâ you canât pick them up without risking slicing your hand wide and bloody.)
A door shuts, a heavy one, somewhere else in the manor. Diluc has returned. Part of you itches to seek him out, survey him for injuries and help where you can. It takes you nothing to stitch and sew him up. Healing a wound for Diluc feels like a twisted debt paid, maybe. He isnât aware of it.Â
Being in the Small Study makes you horribly aware of it.
The pages of your old journal feel brittle and dry against your fingers. Some stick together, even now, with dried ink that you spilled over the pages. Some of the script is illegible, your pen having muddled into something beyond understanding. What you are able to read, you try not to absorb. Itâs only morbid curiosity that has you peeking at it, at all.Â
(You should probably burn the thing. It has far too many secrets written in it.)
Diluc calls your name from the door, and you freeze. The journal is easily tucked back in place.
âYes?â You donât look at him, but twirl on your heel to the middle of the room. As if you should be there.
(Maybe you should be, for him. All you are is a relic to him, maybe. Something from the past that should stay that way. Arenât you just a skeletal remain?)
(The thought persists.)Â
âWhat are you doing in here?â Diluc asks, lacking any edge. He rests his hip on the long table.
You consider the question, mull over it and roll your answer around on your tongue.Â
âReminiscing, I guess,â you say, itâs too late to be dishonest. âI couldnât sleep.â
âThat seems to be a pattern.â
âReminiscing?â
âI meant your inability to sleep through the night.â Diluc sees through your diversion. You let him, cow your barely there instinct to fight him.Â
You sigh and laugh, weak, âI suppose.â
Dilucâs gaze is on youâ you can feel it. You kick at the floorboards, counting the swirls and irregular notches. Itâs easy to imagine the look he must be wearing. Pity, maybe. You feel like a stray cat, cornered and hungry, but ever-wary.Â
âMay I ask why?â
You click your tongue, âGuess, and if youâre right, Iâll tell you.â
âIsnât it a bit late for a game like this?â
âCall me a night owl.â You clamor on top of the table and sit semi-cross-legged, with your injured ankle extended.
â... Your injury?â Diluc asks.
You shake your head.
â... You always ran cooler. Are you cold?â
âMaybe a bit, but not really.â
Diluc stalls, and you can see him sort out the correct answer. Heâs known it since the beginning of this conversation, but youâre both so fluent in denial, you might as well dance together in it for a while.
âDreams?â
You nod.
Diluc opens his pretty, petal lips to speak, then thinks better of it. Instead, he removes his jacket and lays it over his arm. You expect him to prod you.Â
âWould you like some tea?â Diluc asks. âIt may settle you, allow you a proper rest.â
Tea sounds nice, you think. Something warm and someone warm. You know better than to walk so close to him when youâre so shredded at the ribs and tummy. Vulnerable. You know better.
(Then why is the idea of closeness with him so intoxicating? You donât care about the potential consequences, not really. Your tangle of emotions feels superseded by desire, and youâre barely holding onto self-control.)
(Archons, you want to let go, just a little.)
The threads loosen, just a fraction.
âIâll take tea,â you admit. âI think thereâs some of the sweet bread rounds left too.â
When you look up, Diluc has a simple smile painting the edges of his lips. Itâs small, nearly uncatchable, but you recognize it immediately. You resist the urge to go to him and press into the dimple that carves his right cheek.Â
Itâs awful, the way your heart seizes in your chest, nearly breaking you down your center. You twin him with your own smile, a small oneâ lest you burst in the middle of the Small Study.Â
(Where everything began to fall apart.)
(Forget, forget, forget.)
...
You both sip cups of tea and pass a packed, cherrywood pipe back and forth on Dilucâs balcony. Itâs sizable, enough room for you to curl up against the railing, far enough from Diluc to not feel crowded, but still accept the pipe each time he passes it to you. The tobacco smoke feels thick and rich in your mouth, and you resist the urge to draw it too far back into your throat. You instead distract yourself with the smoke that lazily curls from your lips with each exhale.
(You catch Diluc entranced by it as well, the way your lips fall open.)
The sky feels starless; heavy clouds cover the cosmos low. You imagine itâll rain again in the next few days, especially with the ache in your injury. The air bears down on you, just like the clouds do. You crave a moon or single star to fixate on, rather than proximity or the inevitability of an interaction.Â
Youâve become truly versed in avoidance.
Diluc looks... perplexed. Perhaps lighter than he did in the study. His shoulders sag more than they did before, and he almost looks to be melting into the chair he sits in. His heavy coat had been left behind in his room as you passed through, leaving him more bare. You can see blood seep up from flesh wounds, staining the white of his shirt, but heâd already brushed off your concern that evening. You didnât have it in you to fight him on itâ you vow to patch him up in the morning if you can catch him before he starts his daily business.
You must, really.
The quirk between his brows bothers you. The draw of his lips and the way heâs purely staring at you.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â You frown. Prodding seems like a bad idea, given your exhaustion and the maw thatâs cracked open between your ribs.
Diluc seems to stare harder. If that is possible. He sits before, elbows on his knees, and folds his hands. Covers his mouth with them. Theyâre thick and worn, unfamiliar to you. You canât stop looking at them. You recall him having beautiful pianistâs hands, slender and sure-fingered. Itâs easier to fixate on some trivial, physical difference rather than his expression. Itâs verging on vulnerable. He withdraws to take a drag.
âI donât know how to put you together,â Diluc admits. He snaps his teeth around the smoke.Â
You tilt your head quizzically.
Diluc chews on his words, looks at you, and then away. He takes another draw from the pipe and sighs. âYou confuse me. You never used to confuse me.â
Thereâs a pressure behind your eyes that wasnât there before. âHow do I confuse you now?âÂ
Diluc exhales. He smells like fresh smoke, ash, and the heat from a flame. And he looks at you and his gaze is soft. The pull of his lip and brow, the shine to his eyesâ he looks hopelessly fond and sad. Heartbroken, even. Thereâs a smear of soot under his eye and you resist the buried impulse to wipe it away as something in your cracks. Threads snap.
âIâm not sure I know you anymore.âÂ
(It hurts, it hurts, it hurts to hearâ no one knew you better than Diluc. Youâve made yourself a stranger, and you must now reap what youâve sewn. Youâre just a vagrant in his home, fit for healing and burden and nothing moreâ)
Your eyes burn and you tear your gaze to the fields, âWhat a surprise. Itâs not as if Iâve been around for your to be familiar with.â
âI understand why you left Mondstadt,â Diluc tells you, hushed like he is speaking to a frightened cat. Maybe thatâs what you are. âI know it mustâve been very lonely.â
You almost snap at him. You almost screamâ
(âI hate you! I hate you! I hate you for knowing me and knowing how I felt and being gone and leaving me here to ache all alone. I hate that you know me so well and forgot.â)
You donât.Â
âI had Elzer and Adelinde,â you say. âDawn Winery was hardly empty. I donât need your pity.â
âItâs not pity.â Diluc doesnât sound offended. âNever pity.â
âSure.â
âYou donât believe me?â
âNot entirely.â You wish the stars were out. Youâd have something tangible to direct your ire toward. âWhat else would it be?â
Diluc sighs, not resigned, but you can hear the exhaustion in it. Heâs wounded, he needs rest. You both do.
(You both need so much rest.)
Your nose burns and you sniffle.
âI still care for you, even if you are unfamiliar to me.â He says quietly, low, sweet, and gentle because it's only meant for the two of you to hear.Â
You meet his gaze violently. Your neck nearly snaps turning to him, and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying. You feel fragile, so close to crumbling.
âDonât toy with me.â Your voice wobbles, your conviction does not.
âIâm not.â He assures you. âI wouldnât.âÂ
âYouâre a wretched man.â You tell him. Thereâs no bite to your words.Â
âFor you, Iâd be better.â
âNoâ thatâsââ You rub your eyes. â Stop it.âÂ
âStop what? Iâm not sure I can.â
(You donât say: âPlease stop being so kind. If you keep being kind to me, Iâll never leave. Iâll take every scrap you feed me and pretend it makes me a king. Iâll open myself up for heartbreak to be by your side. If you keep being kind to meââ)
(You donât say: âIâll think that you love me still.â)
Diluc cups your jaw and says your name, soft and slow and easy.Â
Youâre sedated, because Diluc looks just as frightened as you feel, and speaks as earnestly as he did when he was young. When you used to lay over his chest and count the summer freckles he was blessed with. When he used to hold your cheeks, pressing your lips together, overzealous and honest, like how young lovers do. Like the young lovers you were.
Would this be easier, if you really were two strangers, sharing a pipe and tea? If there really was an ocean and deep sea more than changes of appearance or the way you hold yourself. You know itâs youâ that youâve changed since Diluc saw you. Last saw youâ the day of his eighteenth birthdayâ
The feeling in your chest is violent. Shreds you. Tears you open. You ball the fabric of your sleep clothes in your fist, over your heart, and almost wince.Â
âIâm sorry,â is the first thing you think to say. You donât know what youâre apologizing for.
âDonât apologize, youâve done nothing wrong.â He rubs a thumb over your cheek, and his touch and voice tremble.
âWhat if I have?â you half-admit, flashing him a withered smile.
(Forget, forget, forget.)
(A red stone like the garnet they tug out of the Chasmâs walls. Rounded. Pulsing. In the left palm of a man who couldâve been your father.)
âThen, Iâll help you fix it if you like.â He canât. Diluc lets go of you, only to stand and fix a hold on your wrist.Â
âItâs not that simple.â Youâre already saying too much. Forget, forget, forget. Shove it down into your chest, to the back of your mind.
You remain sitting on the cold ground of the balcony. Your leg remains splayed on the cobblestones, splinted and aching. You canât bear to look up at him. You want to cry. Maybe, in the daylight, past dawnâ youâd be better at facing this. You want tea. You want to sleep. You want to weepâ
(into Dilucâs lap. To beg him for things that feel unfair to ask.)
âWhy did you ask me to have tea with you?â you ask. âIf it was to share smoke and try to have this conversation or two when weâre both clearlyââ you gesture to yourself, balled up, and Diluc, bloodiedâ ânot our best, I will retire to my room. I donât want to... I canât broach this.â
(âYet.â)
(Itâs inevitable, isnât it? One you feel in the stars, rushing toward you.)
âIt was never my intention to push you.â Diluc rushes to assure you. You look out the pitch-black vineyard, and Diluc kneels in front of you. âI didnâtââ
You snap, voice wobbling, âWhat do you wantâ?â
âI want to know you again,â Diluc tells you, confesses, breathlessly. He sounds like a (your) lover again. âI want nothing more. Just let me, please.â
(You havenât heard Diluc beg in so long. You remember how heâd beg you for the extra candies that Teacher would give you after lessons. Diluc would beg you to trace shapes on his arm and the nape of his neck when youâd stay up whispering to each other during Mondâs cruelest winter nights. Heâd plead for you to ride on his horse, with him, rather than your own.)
You squirm under your skin and refuse to look at him. If you do, youâll shatter. You have to hold it together, just a little longerâ until the end of Windblume, then youâll leave, youâll fucking runâ
And Diluc says your name, begs you, âLook at me, please.â
âIf I do, Iâll cry.â Your voice wobbles far more than you thought it would.Â
âThatâs okay.â
âItâs notââ You laugh, and barely look at him out of the corner of your eyes. âI canât start crying, Diluc. Iâll never stop.â
âThatâs alright.â Diluc sounds like he might cry. âIâll take you, however you are.â
He sounds romantic.Â
You look at him.
He looks soggyâ wilted, like the way two-day-old cut flowers do. Still beautiful, because Diluc Ragnvindr is nothing if not attractive. Hair spilling down his shoulders, a fresh scrape over his cheek, eyes that crinkle in between because he looks as gutted as you feel.
And you laugh, something weak and small and feeble. A barely there noise you only let out to distract from the tears that wet your bottom lashes.Â
â... What do you want to know?â you ask him. Forcing yourself to settle, bear it, and look at him.Â
Dilucâs eyes go wide. The barest hints of joy squeeze the skin around his eyes and you see a boyish smile on his lips youâd forgotten he knew how to wear. You want to kiss it, him, because the feeling in your chest is bursting. The craving, needâ to kiss him stupid and share it with him is overwhelming.Â
âEverything.â
Youâre damned, surely.
âI donât think I can give you that yet,â you tell him, honestly. âIâm still mad at you.â
âThatâs alright,â he placates you. âI want to know about that, too. Anything youâll give me.â
Itâs an awful admission, really. That he cares to know you.
(Some part of you, festered for so long. Convinced yourself of untrue things because it was easier than facing an uncertain reality. The mere idea of Diluc caring for you breaks a small delusion that you wouldnât be welcomed. That the boy youâd love and linked pinkies with was dead and gone far from you.)
(Heâs here, right in front of you.)
You shift forward without thinking. Onto your knees, with your injured side limp, and you press your forehead into Dilucâs shoulder. Itâs stiff, with your arms still tucked to your center, protecting your most soft and vulnerable bits. Itâs all you can give him.Â
Diluc turns tense, then slack, so slack, like heâs been doused in warm water and left to dry in midday sun. You feel the muscle against your cheek go limp and you press your eyes into the smokey fabric. It dampens beneath you and youâre too tired to care.Â
(Youâre being chipped downâ It was inevitable, wasnât it? Returning to Mond meant this. Part of you always knew that.)
His hand cups the back of your skull and you shiver with it. Warm and big, just like he has become with the years. He presses his thumb and ring finger into your scalp, scratching, and something between a sob and a wince gets caught in your throat.
âIs this alright?â Diluc asks.
âMore than.â You keep yourself from weeping on him, barely. Instead, you grip the loose fabric against his chest and smother yourself in him.
...
Thereâs a part of you that you canât quietâ the fragment that whispers and thrashes âthis is an awful ideaâ and âstop it, before you get sucked so deep into him that you canât climb out.â Itâs the part of you that keeps your arms wrapped around your middle and only lets you drag your lips over Dilucâs throat without rhyme or reason. Itâs mindless, never a kiss, because that would cross an invisible gulf you dare not to breach.
Diluc leads you inside, hand in hand. You wonder if he can feel how youâre shaking, beginning to fracture from the inside out. You already have been. Youâre pouring out from your seams.
âIâm going to fetch more tea, Iâll be back in a moment.â Diluc steps toward the door and a bolt of panic shoots through you. It hurts, physical, dread-filled pain that has you stumble up, toward him, reaching out desperately for him.
You grab his sleeve and ball your fist in the fabric.Â
Diluc attempts to placate you. âRest, itâs alright. Iâm just going to the kitchens.â
You say nothing and tug him tighter. Closer.Â
(Part of you wants to kick Diluc away and lock the door behind him. Thereâs another that wants you to fall to your knees, and beg him to stay close. Heâs given you a morsel and you should know better than to roll over for scraps butâ)
(Youâre so scared. So scared youâll lose his heat all over again.
You listen to the latter part as you drop to your knees in front of Diluc, just steps into his bedroom.Â
Youâre not sure what possesses youâ
(You do. Youâre distracting Diluc from whatever sticky, honeyed thoughts he is having by replacing them with something more carnal. Physicality is just thatâ physical. Tangible and touchable and far easier to fixate on the immaterial.)
(... Right?)
Diluc breathes your name, wide-eyed as you brace your palms on his thighs. You can feel how tense he is. The thick rug against the floor cushions your knees.Â
âWhat are you doing?â His voice is small.Â
âI want to make you feel good.â You ask, running your hands up to his waistband and begin to untuck his dirtied shirt, âMay I?â
Diluc gives you a look. Itâs all apprehension and worry, creasing the lines of his pretty face. He works his jaw as you toy with the leather of his belt.
(You understand it, really.)
(You donât like the look he gives you, but you donât know which one youâd rather see him wear. Hatred would perhaps be better. Desire would be the worst.)
(Diluc had always been the sure-footed one. Confident, but never cocky or boisterous. Even in the ways youâve seen him now, heâs been firm and familiarly stubborn. But, at the sight of you below him, offering, heâs creased over in apprehension.)
Diluc gives you an almost imperceptible nod and tucks his bottom lip between his teeth. You smother your smile into the fabric of his trousers before palming him. Heâs soft, though hardening under the layers of fabric. Your hands tremble as you undo his beltâ maybe theyâre going numb at your fingertips. Itâs hard to tell.Â
Itâs easier to pull Dilucâs cock free and stroke idly. You flash him a smile, you donât know how real it looks.Â
(You love him.)
He is pretty. Itâs not the first time youâve seen his cockâ hardly, but itâs been so long and his body is in so many ways unrecognizable. Even from the sliver of skin visible at his waistline, he has scars. Thick and thin, burnsâ heâs decorated in them.Â
(You wonder how many you couldâve prevented.)
The thought rots something in you and your hands tremble.Â
His cock thoughâ his dick, thatâs what youâre focused on. You fixate on the head of him, half-hard, pitching forward to press a kiss to him. Diluc makes an unholy, high noise, and you latch on to the sound of it. You lap at his slit and savor any pearls of precum that you taste.Â
Pulling away, you spit into your hand, and stroke the length of him. Your ears are ringing.
You look up at him, neck aching, and push the bottom of his shirt up. âYou should hold this between your teeth, hm?â
Dilucâs almost trembling, shaking as he nods and puts the hem of the shirt between his teeth. Itâs compromising, surely. Heâs suddenly so bare, and youâre on his floor, clothed. Mostly. Your robe is slipping, revealing bare shoulders and an unblemished collar. Youâre sure itâs doing something to him. It has to, you hope it does.
You stall as he bares his chest to you.Â
(So many wounds, healed and sealed. Most of these are new. Even with his battle prowessâ what has he been doing to himself? To be so battered must mean that he put himself in harmâs way, above his abilities. Or face a foe he hadnât expected.)
You tremble.Â
You purse your lips and flatten your tongue. The taste of him is distracting, pleasantly. Itâs more musk than smoke, all him in a way that makes you swallow him down more. One of his hands hesitantly rests against the side of your head. He doesnât push or shove you. The contact is so light, it almost feels like heâs hovering rather than making contact.Â
(Is he in pain? Does he have old wounds, like yours, that heâs just better at hiding? He was always the type to suffer in silence. Diluc wouldnât tell you if he was hurting, would he? Youâd only been able to goad him into letting you heal him when he was clearly returning home from a brawl, blood-stained, or both.)
You hum around his length and dig your fingertips into his thighs. Corded muscle covered by a layer of fat. Your mouth waters at the thought of taking a bite of him.Â
(You know he bruises easily.)
Itâs hard to breatheâ you hadnât realized Dilucâs size when you endeavored to suck his cock, but youâre feeling it now. You bully him further down, forcing yourself to relax until the head of his cock nudges the back of your throat.
Diluc says your name so breathlessly, pinched around the edges. Your eyes stay shut and you anchor yourself on sensation. The heat of Diluc, radiating into you from the inside, the desperate way he breathes through his teeth and the shirt tucked between them. You hum around him and relish the choked sound that he canât hold back.Â
(Like this, whatever is simmering under your skin and behind your eyes feels duller. You can chase sensation, grip it so hard it hurts, and bring pleasure at the same time. Isnât thisâ)
You begin to bob your head, shallow, once, twice, and then a third timeâ And with a broken-sounding groan, Diluc comes down your throat.
Itâs fast. Itâs unexpected. The only warning you had was the way Dilucâs hand tightened around your skull, not pushing, but firm. Your eyes stretch wide as you try to swallow his release. Itâsâ a lot, more than you expect, and it spills from the corners of your mouth. Diluc jerks his hips, clearly involuntary, and you properly choke on him.
And then he pulls out of your mouth, dripping and sticky and softening, and you hang your head, swallowing thickly and coughing. The ringing in your ears is worse, and the world feels far away. Even Dilucâs heat feels lukewarm. Itâs not peace, nor unsettling, something in the middle that is more unpleasant than pleasant. Itâs hard to focus.
Itâs easier, when Diluc goes to his knees next to you. Heâs hastily tucked his cock away, belt still unbuckled. Thereâs dirt and singed fabric on his kneesâ you still havenât checked his injuries. Foolish.
You reach out a hand (are you really shaking that hard?), Dendro curling around your fingers. Diluc catches your wrist and holds it steady.Â
The ringing in your ears clears enough to hear him say your name. Itâs hard to register. You send the Dendro through his wrist insteadâ how many fractures has he had on that bone? The scar tissueâ
Diluc says your name once more, more sharply, more worriedâ and he cups your jaw and tilts your face up to his.
âOh,â you reply softly. Your voice is wrecked. âHi.â
âHello.â Dilucâs brow is creased, relief bleeding in his voice. âAre youââ
âIâm fine.â You pat his hand thatâs on your jaw. âPeachy. You taste good.â
Itâs fun to watch Diluc flush even moreâ he always has always blushed easily. It spreads down his neck and up to his ears. You mindlessly lay the back of your free hand over the cheek to feel how warm he is. Burning. You swear heâll scorch you alive.
âI donâtââ Diluc shakes his head, rubbing at your cheeks. Itâs intimate. If your ears werenât ringing, youâd be on the other side of the room by now. Maybe Mond. Maybe Teyvat.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â you ask him. You feel breakable beneath your haze. âIs something wrong?â
Diluc looks at you. Really looks at you. Though you look back at him, the world is too fuzzy to take account of details.Â
(If you could, youâd see concern. Wretched, awful concern and care that he has kept tucked so far away from you since youâve returned. You closed the distance so swiftly between the two of you, violently, and Diluc is split wide with it.)
âYouâreââ Diluc presses a finger down to your pulse point. âYour heartâs beating so fast.â
âUh-huh.â You nod. âI couldnât breathe for a moment there.â
âThatâs not it.â Diluc counters you, but doesnât argue. Instead, he strokes over your cheeks, conflicted.Â
You reach out without thinking and tug the black ribbon from his hair. It spills over his shouldersâ the waves are a mess. You see snarls and soot. Maybe even chunks burned together.
âCan I brush your hair?â You ask, running a hand through it and grimacing as your fingers get caught. âNo, I should wash it first.â
âNo,â Diluc says sharply. It startles you enough that you jump. It makes him wilt even more. âYou wonât.â
âBut I canâ?â
âThat doesnât mean you should,â Diluc says softly, squeezing your shoulder.
Diluc has been so incredibly tentative, almost unsure, about any sort of physical contact with you prior. But, in this moment, heâs so sure.
He presses his lips to your forehead, firm and unyielding. Itâs so warmâ like a hearth thatâs always been lit and rolling. High enough to cook a pot over but not enough to burn you down. Youâd forgotten this part of his heat.
(How could you?)
âIndulge me?â he asks, lips soft against your skin.Â
â... In what way?â
âSleep in my bed,â he says softly. âWith me.â
You frown. âYou donât need to return the gesture.â
âThatâs not why Iâm asking.â Diluc pulls away and presses his lips to your wrist instead. He must be able to feel your pulse.Â
You consider.Â
(Youâre not within yourself. Youâre floating; itâs not his fault. Circumstance and sleeplessness and the horror of intimacy do such things, you know. Itâs a tempting offer when Dilucâs heat is so comforting.)
(When he is so comforting.)
âAre you sure?â you ask.
Diluc nods. âMore than.â
(Is it really greed, if he invites you?)
âOkay.â
Diluc makes you tea. Scenes seem to skip before your eyes. One moment, Diluc is gone, then in the en suite bathroom, then beside you with a warm cup. The order of these events changes the longer you think about it.Â
The tea grows colder in your hands and Diluc coaxes you to drink it.
Heâs thrown on some soft linen sleep clothes. You get distracted by the obscenely deep-v of the cut, and it takes Diluc repeating your name a few more times to bring you back, closer to the present moment.
Exhaustion catches you quickly once youâre horizontal. Itâs easier to fall into and accept when youâre surrounded by the smell of Diluc and his heat. Him. Itâs too daunting to touch him fully like this, but you face him when you lie down. You both grab the otherâs hand, and squeeze in tandem.Â
âIs this alright?â he asks.
You nod, burying your nose in the sheets. âYeah. Was earlier bad?â
âNo,â Diluc says quickly. Itâs too dark with the candles blown out, but you imagine him blushing. âStrange, maybe, but not bad. I didnât expect it. I would prefer some notice, if youâre going to proposition me again.â
Thereâs something left unsaid after, but you canât make yourself pry.Â
Youâre so whittled down, really. Youâre just bones and cracking flesh and tears burgeoning before falling. The idea of sharing a big, warm bed with Diluc, despite everything unresolved and open and festering, breaks something in you.Â
(Youâve been so hungry. Starved. Emaciated and just fucking dealing with it. And now youâre offered a feast on a platter and youâre horribly loyal, at your core.)
âI donât share beds often.â A memory bubbles up to the surface.Â
Diluc plays with your hair, scratching at your scalp, motions nearly scalding and circular. âIt doesnât seem like youâve kept much company on your travels.â
âOnly a few times.â A melancholy smile twists your lips. A memory drags you down from floating. âI was engaged, once, you know.â
Maybe itâs cruel to say, and part of you revels in the way Diluc squeezes your hand so tightly it almost hurts. â... You were?â
âYes.â
âBetrothed?â
âYeah.â You smother a laugh into the buttery sheets. âShe was a healer in Fontaine. We met when I stayed in her village to tend to victims of a fungal plague. She asked me to marry her after Iâd stayed with her for a while.â
âBut, you didnât go through with it?â Diluc's voice sounds tight. Or, youâre imagining it.Â
âNo.â You bring your legs up, curling around yourself. âI couldnât. I called things off a few weeks before the wedding.â
âWhy?âÂ
You think, thinkâ because itâs been a long time, and the memory has become scattered. The face of the woman who was almost your wife is nearly gone in your memory. You remember the sound of her laugh, the color of her hair, and the way her home smelled when she burned her favorite candles. Butâ butâ
âI couldnât do it.â You feel withered. âShe treated me so well. I could have lived well. The village cared for me and it wouldâve been a kind life.â
You choke on the sound of your own laughter. Morose. You wrap your arms around Dilucâs one, burying your face in his bicep like itâll take the burning away from your chest.Â
â... Why couldnât you?â he asks.
(Because it wasnât here. It wasnât him.)
âYou know, at the Akademiya, thereâs a whole Darshan dedicated to studying stars and the alignment of the cosmos.â You tangle a leg with Dilucâs. Youâll give him this much, another admission. âThey say that fateâs written up thereâ for all of us.â
Diluc pulls you closer, under your thighs, slotting you together. Itâs like you were made to be that way.
âI guess Celestia didnât deign for me to stay in that village forever and get married.â You ache, all over.Â
(But the stars did bring you back here. To Mond. To him.)
Dilucâs breath catches. He holds you tighter.
âThey took you away too, though.â You curl the fabric of his shirt in your chest, over his heart. Like you could rip it outâ (just like how he ripped out yours.) â You left. Chasing something, right?â
And you throw your head back and laugh. You turn away from Diluc, something rotten bringing you back into yourself. Not memories, but dread and panic (forget, forget, forget.) You hate the feeling. You shove your face into the sheets and savor the feeling of it. The smell and the heat that youâre sure will be ripped away from you. Itâs Dilucâs scent. Cecilia and oat soap and stale cologne. You indulge.
âYou said you hate me.â Dilucâs voice is close. You lay on your stomach, twisted at the hips, and Diluc looms over you. His hands bunch in the sheets on either side of your shoulders.Â
âI do, at least a little,â you admit, awful, wretchedâ âMaybe a lot.â
(As much as you love him.)
âYou have every reason to.â
âSo you keep reminding me.â
âI donât regret it.â
It burns to hear. âI wouldnât expect you to. A chance to play knightâ hero?âÂ
âDid you expect me to not do anything?âÂ
âI expected you to at least say goodbyeâ!â You turn, sharp, and spit the words in his face even as your voice breaks. Heâs closer than you thought, hovering so that youâre nose to nose.
A few tears slip, dripping down to your hairline. It takes every last shred and thread holding you together to keep from shattering. Diluc looks like heâs been slapped, shiny ruby eyes polished. Candlelight flickers in them, flame on flame.
You bite your tongue until you taste blood. Because, Archons, if you say anything else, youâll regret it.Â
âIâm sorââ
âTell me in the morning,â you cut him off with a smile, one that makes him frown. âPlease?â
And Diluc is nothing, if not weak for you.
Itâs an easy shift, for him to drag you to the center of the bed, close to his chest, and pull the duvet over the two of you.
When Diluc presses you, front to front, with your head wedged under his chin, he says soft and breaking, âYou worry me.â
You nearly laugh again. âDonât.â
He just squeezes you, hard enough that you might break.
(You feel like youâre going to shatter. You donât know if youâre ready.)
iâve never requested before so i hope im doing this right
could i request something v angsty with diluc?
thank u!! <3
ïŒ GENSHIN IMPACT !! ⥠â SUNSETS WITH(OUT) YOU (DILUC X READER).
#. synopsis! â sometimes, moving on feels impossible. guilt sits in diluc's gut like heavy stones. he'd do anything for one last chance .
#. characters! âdiluc .
#. warnings! â heavy angst .
#. word count! â 1.8k .
#. alt accounts! â @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .
#. others! â navigation & masterlist .
The pain comes in waves.
Sometimes, it laps at Diluc's shores like a comforting kiss, âthe kind you used to pepper thoughtfully down the line of his jaw after a dayâs work. The kind he'd all but melt under, reducing himself to putty in your hands. Other times, it crashes and roars like the howling wolves of the forests, pulling him in and under, washing him out to sea until he's lost, confused, and losing his will to move forward.
Tonight, he's hurting.
He stumbles in through the door after a night at the tavern serving drinks to cheerful drunks and rowdy lightweights. Kaeya wasnât there. He hasnât been since he heard the news, though Diluc isnât sure why. Or maybe he does know, somewhere deep inside, and yet feigning ignorance is easier than facing things head on. All Diluc really knows for certain is that Kaeya wasnât there. . . But heâs starting to wish heâd show up again. Heâs starting to wish heâd come waltzing in through the door, no need for pity or anything of the sort. Just that cocky smirk and arrogant aura, making snide comments on little things just because he can. Yeah. . . Diluc could use that normalcy.
His heart is heavy with the thought of you. It's been a while, but the wound is fresh. It bleeds and bleeds and bleeds until Diluc lets it consume him, lets it strip him down to a mess on the floor. It bleeds until he falls apart, knowing that come morning he'll have to piece himself back together with reckless abandon and hope for the best. It'll never last long, but he has to admit that sometimes it's nice to pretend that he's learned how to live with the loss. It might even be easier to pretend that it doesn't always poke at his heart, reminding him of the hole you left behind that he doesn't know how to fix or fill.
Tonight, he's drowning again.
Diluc looks around at his bedroom and exhales, shakily so, listening for the sound of his mask of security shattering away into nothingness at his feet. He can't bring himself to throw away the dead flowers on the nightstand, âthe ones he got for you in celebration of nothing in particular. Once a beautiful bouquet of cecilias, the petals are long past the point of being shriveled. They've blackened and fallen away from their rotting stems, curling into pathetic shells of what they once were. If Diluc were to pick them up, they'd crumble into dust in the palm of his hands. The vase is void of water now after quite a bit of neglect, but he'll make up for that in the morning. He'll water those long-dead stems and gently sweep the corpses of those lifeless petals into a little pile.Â
Not that it'll make him feel any better.
In fact, it might as well be making things worse. But he'll do it in spite of that, because you once held those now-dead flowers close to your chest with a beaming smile on your face. You were happy in that moment, and he canât bear the thought of getting rid of them when you were the one who carefully filled that little vase with water, the one who placed it on the nightstand next to your bed. His bed. The bed you once shared with him each night, wrapped up in each other, thinking maybe if he loved you hard enough it would shield you from the world itself.
Some days, he wakes up and has to fight the urge to slam that vase to the ground, watching as it shatters against the floor. And then Diluc is sure that heâd cry, fall to his knees atop all the shards with no regard for the pain itâll cause him once heâs wrung himself dry again.
Heâs good at making himself miserable.
Thatâs why he hasnât washed the sheets in months, âbecause heâs tricked himself into believing that your side of the bed still smells like you, even after all this time. Acknowledging that itâs faded is far more hurtful than the alternative of clutching onto the pillow you always used, closing his eyes, and pretending that youâre still there with him, snuggling into his chest and mumbling something about how he made you feel safe.
His heart throbs.
All you ever wanted was for him to keep you safe, and yet here he is having completely failed you. And the worst part of all is that he knows youâd be the first person to tell him that he did the best he could, âthat he tried, and that it was enough, even though he knows it wasnât. Diluc knows you wouldnât blame him. . . So heâs blaming himself enough for the both of you and then some.
Not because itâs what youâd want, but because itâs what he thinks he deserves.
He sits by the window now in that same spot you used to watch the sun set, slinking its way out of the sky as your eyes reflected the dimming rays. Diluc can hear you now as he gazes from the same window you once did, âgushing over the beautiful blend of colors awash in the sky. . . Youâd always invite him to share the moment with you. Now, he regrets having said no so many times. If he could go back in time and do it all again, heâd never turn down a single offer. Heâd hold you close, wrap you up in his arms, kiss the sweet spot just below your ear to hear you hum ever so lightly in bliss.
He really wishes he could do it all again.
The thought of it often keeps him awake at night.
Diluc feels that same wave of dread wash over him that heâs felt at every sunset since that fateful day. He might have grown to hate them by now if it werenât for your love of them, âif it werenât for the lingering shreds of your presence that he swears he feels when he gazes off toward the horizon as the sun lowers itself out of the sky to make room for the moonâs humble glow.
Maybe itâs just another way heâs deluding himself, watering down the agony that reaches for his heart every chance it gets, but itâs better than the emptiness that awaits him as an alternative. Itâs better than the nothingness that Diluc knows would swallow him whole if he were to accept things as they are. Bleak. Completely desolate. . . Colder than even the windiest strips of mountainside atop Dragonspineâs all but infinite summit.Â
At least here he can trick himself into believing that your fingertips are trailing along the back of his hand the way they always did, like little nimble spider legs just dancing along his flesh. Though Diluc has long been a man who prefers his space, you were one of the few people he would thoughtlessly allow close, âcloser than anyone else could ever dream of being. So close that it might have been suffocating.
For the millionth time, Diluc is forced to come to the sobering realization that this room no longer feels like his own. This manor, the one his father took such care of when he was alive and well, has been reduced to nothingness. It feels utterly forsaken.
Thereâs nothing left here, and yet this room of things, dead flowers, little trinkets, and all the memories he canât seem to part with, is all he has left of you. If he doesnât come here, where else is there to go? He doesnât feel you this strongly anywhere else, ânot along Mondstadtâs cobble streets, not in the tavern where youâd swing by every now and again to entice him upstairs and onto the balcony, stealing kisses just to leave him breathless under the stars. He doesnât feel you next to Starfell Lake where you used to feed the ducks and call them by names, âoneâs youâd given them. Diluc still isnât sure how you managed to tell them apart, or even if you ever truly did at all.
He doesnât feel you like this at the top of Starsnatch Cliff where he took you on a first date, one that was sloppily planned and poorly executed on his part, but you said nothing of it and held his hand below an inky black sky anyway.
Try as he might, he only feels you so stirringly here in the room you tended to when Diluc himself chose not to. When work would pile up for him, youâd take care of all the smaller things just to give him a soft place to land at the end of each day.
Needless to say, the room has divulged into calamity without you.
Diluc wishes he could pull himself together, keep up with the tasks you always took care of with ease. He wishes he could fill your place, but itâs painfully obvious that he doesnât have the will nor the strength to do so. Heâs drained himself of every last drop. Thereâs nothing left to find inside him. Heâs running on empty, and try as he might, thereâs seemingly nothing he can do to fix it.
And above all else, Diluc just wishes that everything were different.
He wishes that his dad was still here to talk him down, to give him advice, to point him in the right direction. He wishes Kaeya were here, even if heâs still angry with him. Heâd give the world to have a shoulder to cry on, âto have his brother here for the first time in forever. Itâs selfish, he knows, considering Diluc drove the wedge between them himself and has since adamantly denied every last one of Kaeyaâs attempts to mend things. . . But right now, selfishness is one of the few things Diluc can manage to conjure up.
And selfishly, heâd let the entirety of Teyvat burn to a crisp around him if it meant he could have your lips pressed against his again, even if only for a moment.
Diluc reaches out to open the window. The sunset is gone and the stars donât glimmer as brightly as they once did. He feels nothing but bitterness well up inside as he listens to the song of the wind and trees. Heâs sure youâd want to dance to the tender melody of the breeze stirring the branches up above. Maybe, he ponders, if I send a message off with the wind, it just might reach the right place. . .
With a heavy, aching heart, Diluc traces the window sill, fingertips easily sliding over the smooth material. A sob creeps up the back of his throat as he closes his eyes, feeling that same breeze caress his skin under the moonlight. Itâs nowhere near as comforting as he wishes it was, but itâs all that remains. Itâs all heâs got left.
Though the words nearly die on his tongue, Diluc forces himself to speak; sending that message off with the wind in hopes that you might hear it wherever you are now.
ïŒDILUC RAGNVINDR !! ⥠â DROWN ME IN YOUR FLAMES - PROLOGUE + CHAPTER I: PHOENIX, RISING.
#. synopsis! â in an attempt to hide his ailing health, your father breaks a cardinal rule known to all but every citizen across teyvat: do not trust any member of the fatui unless youâre looking for trouble. left to shoulder the weight of his mistakes, you find yourself reunited with a once-beloved childhood friend whoâs changed quite drastically since you last stumbled along the edge of wolvendom together. now, as you suffocate in the dripping maw of teyvatâs twisted underworld, clinging to diluc arouses one too many feelings than you know what to do with, many of them just as ill-timed as your reunion. down here, few rules are abided by and bitter truths lie just beneath the surface. mora spills like blood from wealthy, tainted palms; âand one thing remains far too clear for comfort: people like you do not belong here .
#. characters! â diluc .
#. warnings! â violence, generally dark content, graphic depictions of fights/injuries .
#. alt accounts! â @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .
#. others! â navigation & masterlist .
#. to be added to my taglist for this series! â this fic is an ongoing, multi-chapter work inspired by stories like levius and kengan ashura! because it will span several posts, if you'd like to be added to a taglist in order to be notified of updates, please feel free to let me know in either of the following ways: sending me a private message on tumblr or commenting under this post .
How? How could your father have done something so completely, utterly, all-encompassingly foolish? It was bad enough that heâd been colluding with agents of the Fatui, âbut to also be hiding his poor health atop it all? The news of it came like a raging typhoon, snuffing out so much in a single instance. You had so many questions, so many things to say, but you sat in utter silence, unsure of how to unravel the harrowing mess of tangled threads festering in your mind. In the end, you stood from your place on the living room sofa, the one your father used to carry you from late at night when youâd doze off and he was keen on tucking you into bed.
The door clinked shut behind you, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you set off. If word of this were to spread, your familyâs long-beloved bakery would undoubtedly fail. Even the loyalest of customers wouldnât be caught dead spending their Mora at an establishment working with the Fatui. Theyâve done nothing but create unrest amongst the citizens of Mondstadt for far too long, âlingering about the public with their mask-adorned faces and threatening the blissful lives of city-goers with their underhanded deals.
Working with them was like working for the devil, and even those whoâve long chosen to forgo the will of the Archons wouldnât dare test their luck in such a manner.
Youâre angry, but even more than that, youâre hurt. Itâs painful to know that even your own father didnât see you as being worthy of his honesty. If heâd just been truthful when his health began to decline, so much of this would be different. Sure, maybe Mora would have been tight during the course of his treatment, but struggling for a while or picking up some odd jobs here and there would have been miles better than this. He was playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes.
Atop it all, so much more had been put at risk than would have been necessary under normal circumstances.
And. . . He was sick. Your loving, doting father was ill, and there was nothing you could do about it at present. His health was failing, and you were powerless to stop the flow of nature in that direction. None of this was fair. A part of you even held onto lingering hopes that this was just a dream âa nightmareâ that youâd be able to wake up from.Â
But you had to plan for the worst in spite of that. So you swallowed your pride and slipped a poorly-scrawled note into the hand of a dispatched agent in passing, afraid that having even a quick conversation in public would raise far too many red flags amongst your fellow Mondstadters. You felt like a lowly criminal in the time that followed, sitting beneath a wide tree just past the edge of Wolvendom. When you were younger, you often came here. Back then, it was an innocent gesture of youth, âplayful giggles spilling from open-mouthed smiles as you dashed and jumped about with your friends.
It dawns on you then, albeit rather inopportunely, that you havenât spoken to most of them in quite a while. Not even Diluc, who youâd have ventured to call your best friend at one point in time. As you let your mind wander a bit, you wonder how heâs doing now. . . How all of your past friends have gotten about since you last saw them and were privy to the ins and outs of their lives.
âYou,â a gruff, agitated voice calls out to you, shattering the peaceful silence, ââwhatâs this about?â
The note youâd slipped into his hand dangles from his pinched fingertips, a wiry scowl etched into his lips. Itâs the only feature of his face youâre able to catch sight of, the rest hidden behind his Fatui mask. You pull yourself to your feet upon his arrival.
He seems like a generally unpleasant fellow, âthe kind of guy most would assume to be working for such a twisted organization. Youâd picked him out of the crowd because he had a slighter frame than the others youâd passed, and mistakenly assumed because he seemed less physically formidable that perhaps he wouldnât be quite as difficult to deal with as the rest.
You were pretty off base, in all actuality.
âTell me how to pay off a debt to your group,â you request, though it sounds more like a demand.
It canât really be helped when youâre aggravated to this degree, but a part of you cringes at the bossy tone youâve taken. Itâs unlike you.
âA debt?â He sneers, and you can just imagine the way his judgemental eyes have slit themselves into mocking lines behind the mask he dons. âWhat kind?âÂ
âI donât know,â you snap, ââthe kind you trick desperate people into taking on, I guess.â
âIf you were stupid enough to take it on, I donât see how itâs any of my concern as to whether you pay it off or not,â he shrugs. âGo find the one you made the deal with in the first place. Itâs got nothing to do with me.â
âI wasnât stupid enough to do anything,â you retort.
âThen stop playing hero for whoever you care about that was,â he answers bluntly. âTheyâll either figure it out themselves, âor they wonât. Weâre both just bystanders in this one, so my suggestion is that you sit back and watch. You might even have some fun.âÂ
âMaybe you get off on watching innocent people suffer, but thatâs really not my cup of tea,â you reply.
âWhat, so weâre the evil creatures lurking in the shadows and everyone who chooses to work with us of their own free will is just a hapless little rabbit getting pounced on by some big, bad wolves?â He challenges. âGet real for a second. It takes two to tango, and your friend, family member, âwhoever it is, they did this to themself. I think itâs high time you stop meddling in other peopleâs affairs.â
It annoys you that heâs being so sanctimonious about this, âbut itâs worse that heâs right. Your father, as much as you love and care about him, is far from innocent in this matter. In fact, he may just be the one holding the most blame for it all, even above the Fatui themselves.
âWhatever,â you try to brush him off, though his words sting in spite of your attempt at indifference. âJust tell me how to fix this.â
âSorry,â he answers, âand you know he isnât in the slightest because of the way he snickers right after.
âHaven't got a clue.â
With that, he turns away, likely to return to his place in Mondstadt City. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, squeezing so tightly that your nails dig into the flesh of your palms.
âEven if I did though,â he calls out, never looking back your way, âitâs not like Iâd tell you.â
âThank you!â Amber says happily, taking a fresh loaf of bread from your hands with a grateful smile.
âOf course,â you answer, âit was nice seeing you!â
Sheâs always a treat to have around, so unabashedly kind and considerate. Despite her busy job as Mondstadtâs highly renowned Outrider, she often makes time to support the local businesses around the city, and your familyâs bakery is no exception.
âYou too, y/n! Letâs find some time to catch up sometime soon!â
You nod your head in confirmation, offering her the best smile you can muster up in your tired state. The sun is quickly setting behind the rolling hills of Teyvat, and youâre readying yourself to close the shop up for the night. With your father laid up in bed for the time being and your mother taking time away from the bakery to care for him, youâve been left to handle things here alone.
Itâs not a particularly difficult job, really. Youâre used to the motions of it by now, having grown up around it and all, âbut the responsibility weighs heavy on your shoulders since finding out about your fatherâs more illicit affairs. Your mother doesnât know the extent of it, and in spite of your better judgment, you promised your father you wouldnât be the one to tell her of the situation. He swore heâd do it when the right time presented itself, but if that doesnât come to pass soon, youâre prepared to drop the bomb yourself; even if it means betraying his trust.
For now though, you wipe the counter down with a wet cloth, collecting crumbs and flour typical of a dayâs work.
Just when it sparked your mind to flip the sign outside the door to closed, it swings open, and with it comes a familiar face. Long, fiery red hair tied back behind his head, gloves fitted over his hands, Diluc meets your gaze and strides toward you in long, deliberate steps. Itâs been a while since you last saw him, âeven longer since you last had any kind of meaningful conversation. Though youâd been quite close to him in your youth, the test of time had not been kind to your friendship, and after his fatherâs passing, he stopped coming around to the bakery altogether. It was rare to see him out and about, and you eventually stopped going to the Angelâs Share, if only out of fear you might cross his path and be left with nothing to say.
You canât help the way you gawk a bit, taking him in. . . He doesn't look too dissimilar to the boy he once was, âjust taller, more muscular, and sharper all around. Still, thereâs an air about him that feels much more intimidating, and the blank expression he wears is much the opposite of the happy child you knew him to be when he was younger.Â
âDiluc,â you utter for the first time in Celestia knows how long.
Even his name feels foreign on your tongue.
âI havenât seen you in a while.â
He hums in acknowledgement.
âIt has been quite some time since we last spoke, hasnât it?â
You nod, noting the contrasting feelings bubbling up inside you. On one hand, thereâs a sense of comfortable familiarity with him that seeks to quell your nerves, âbut on the other, youâre forced to acknowledge that he isnât the boy you once knew him to be. Heâs a man now, and youâre none too acquainted with him as he stands before you.
âWhat can I get you?â You smile, assuming heâd stopped by for something like old timeâs sake, maybe for one of your motherâs famous bread rolls that he used to gobble down in a matter of seconds.
âActually, Iâm not here to purchase anything,â he notes, dismissing your pleasantries. âIâm here to speak with you about your fatherâs affiliation with the Fatui.âÂ
Your eyes widen as your blood runs cold. Even if you were to lie, your reaction gave you away completely.
âIâm. . . Not sure I have any idea what youâre talking about,â you reply after taking a few seconds to collect yourself.
He notes the way you fail to meet his eyes when you speak now, as if youâre ashamed on your fatherâs behalf. Diluc doesnât seem angry or disappointed, but you know the baggage such an accusation comes with, and youâre certain that if he really does happen to know the truth that itâs greatly impacted his opinion of you. If the roles were reversed, you canât say you wouldnât feel similarly.
âYou donât have to lie,â he tells you. âIâve known for quite some time. . . About his illness, the expense of the treatment, and his collusion with the Fatui as a result of it.â
âYou. . . You knew?â The question spills from your lips laced with venom, âbecause if heâd known all along, why hadnât you?
It wasnât as if your father had anything to do with Diluc as far as you were aware. Moreover, heâd been so far removed from your family for so long now that it came as a slap in the face for him to have been so informed and yet you, the child of the man at the center, had been left completely out of the loop as if your feelings and right to know were just playthings to disregard at will.
âYou knew for so long and yet you never came to me?â
Diluc purses his lips for a moment, thinking before he speaks. He understands why youâre angry, understands that youâre scared, worried, and stressed beyond belief. And thatâs why heâs here now, even if itâs a little late.
âI didnât think it was my place,â he answers. âThe last thing I wanted to do was cause more damage where it wouldnât be necessary.â
âWhy is it suddenly your place now then?â You question. âWhat changed?â
âI know that youâve personally been in contact with a dispatched agent here in Mondstadt.â
The way your face drops is subtler now, something you could likely play off if you put on a convincing enough performance going forward. This really isnât the way you expected this reunion with Diluc to play out, full of twisted secrets and deceit, âbut in this moment, he is not your friend. Heâs a complete and utter stranger, and youâve no obligations to him above that of your own family (no matter how stupid their decisions may be.)
âYou canât prove that,â you say with a shrug, hoping you sound more nonchalant than you feel. (You donât.)
âI canât,â he agrees, digging one of his gloved hands into his pocket.
From it he pulls a familiar slip of parchment. You donât need to see the writing on it to know it was the same one youâd stuffed into the hands of a Fatui agent just a week prior.
âBut I think weâd both agree I have enough evidence to make a reasonable assumption about it.â
As if to emphasize his point, he places the note on the counter before you. If it had eyes, you just know it would be staring up at you mockingly right about now.
âHow did you get that?â You inquire, taking it into your hands in order to tear it in two.Â
Diluc doesnât even flinch when you do so.
âDoes it matter?â He answers your question with one of his own.
âIt does,â you nod. âBecause at this point, I think you really owe me some answers. Otherwise, this conversation is over.â
He isnât fond of your hostility, but isnât naive enough to question why you arenât choosing to be trusting of him right off the bat. Knowing what he does, Diluc thinks itâs only natural for you to be reacting this way, âunable to take him at his word, and beyond that, unable to see him as an ally given the circumstances.
Nodding, his voice lowers to a cautious tone, as if heâs scared someone is lingering outside the door.
âGet rid of that,â he points to the fist where the torn note resides, âand meet me at the manor for Dawn Winery. Weâll talk there.â
You stare for a bit, as if searching his face for any signs of nefarious intent.
â. . . Fine,â you agree, albeit begrudgingly so. âBut youâd better not be wasting my time with this, Diluc.â
âI wouldnât dream of it.â
You took your anger out on that note before trudging your way to Dawn Winery. It was left in small, crumpled pieces, the message to meet you at the edge of Wolvendom unrecognizable by the time you were done with it. Once it was disposed of, you did a lot of thinking on the walk over. It wasnât necessarily Diluc you were mad at. . . Maybe it was just the world at that point, every little thing striking all the wrong chords inside you. He was right, you suppose, that none of it was really any of his concern; at least not enough to have approached you about it before then.
Itâs not like the two of you were best buddies. You couldnât even recall the last time youâd spoken to him. But really, that only proved to make you feel worse. Heâd known so much while youâd known so little, âabsolutely nothing at all, in fact. Your father had chosen to leave you in the dark, and for someone like Diluc to have been sat in the light, no matter how he came to be there. . . It just wasnât right.
Upon your arrival, you were greeted warmly by the Dawn Winery staff. You guessed Diluc must have informed them in advance that youâd be showing up, as a sweet, bubbly maid quickly showed you to a room upstairs where Diluc and a man youâd never seen before sat and stood respectively around a round wooden table. A duo of teacups was placed on either side, and Dilucâs eyes seemed to follow you across the room as the young maid quickly shut the door behind you with a soft click.
âHave a seat,â he gestured. âThe tea is freshly brewed, if youâre interested.â
You had no reason to deny it, so you took the warm cup into your hands and gingerly took a small drink of the fragrant liquid. It was quite flavorful, âif a little bitter in the aftertaste.
âThanks,â you say, âbut Iâm not exactly here to sip tea with you.â
âIâm aware of that,â he replies, offering you the ghost of a smile.
Itâs likely not the right time to be noticing such things, but heâs quite. . . Handsome. Youâve always known him to be cute, but thereâs something endearing about the air of mystery that lingers over him now, though itâs just as equally annoying for the time being.
âIâll start by introducing you to someone,â Diluc begins, glancing up at the man standing just beside the table.
Heâd been so still and silent that youâd almost forgotten he was even there in the first place.
âThis is Henley. Heâs one of many individuals employed by myself working undercover with low-ranking Fatui agents across Teyvat.â
You let your gaze travel to his face. His features are sharp and he seems like a dignified young man, just a bit older than Diluc from the looks of it. Mousy hair falls in loose waves, barely touching the edge of his jaw on either side. Now that youâve gotten a better look at him, he seems. . . Familiar. Your eyes squint up, and he lets out a soft tuft of breath, a smile finally cracking across his face.
âI take it youâve noticed?â He asks.
Though his voice is much less growly than before, youâd recognize it anywhere. Itâs been playing in your mind for days, spinning the same cycle out of control.
Heâs the Fatui agent you spoke with not long ago, âthe one who snapped at you and told you to sit back and watch your father be swallowed up by his debts.Â
You offer a sarcastic laugh, setting your stare on Diluc once more.
âThatâs how you got the note?â
âPrecisely,â he answers. âHenleyâs also the reason I came to know about your father, âhis illness, the deal he made with members of the Fatui, and now, the debt heâs drowning in.âÂ
âThen maybe he can also give me some answers that my father wouldnât,â you quip, looking up at Henley again. âHow much debt has he racked up?â
When he came clean, your father sought to avoid specifics even then. In many ways, his honesty left you with more questions than answers, âwhich is why you solicited a Fatui agent to begin with, thinking one of them could give you the information you craved.
âI couldnât say for certain,â Henley replies. âIt wasnât my deal, and even when agents brag, they keep the specifics to themselves.â
âGive me your best guess, then,â you request, fiddling with the handle of your teacup.
The man pauses before giving you a response.
âAt present, probably a couple hundred thousand Mora,â he estimates. âBut the Fatui donât take kindly to those who borrow Mora they canât pay back, so it could be more depending on how generous theyâve decided to be with him.â
A shaky breath passes your lips.
âI. . . I canât afford that,â you say softly. âEven with all of my familyâs savings put together, I donât even think Iâd be able to make a dent.â
Your stomach twists with anxiety. If you couldnât manage to pay it back, thereâs no telling what would happen. The family bakery would be long-gone, all the hard work leading up to such a dismal end. Worst of all, your fatherâs illness would be left untreated, and heâd be stuck withering away until there's nothing left.
âLend me your ear for a bit,â Diluc chimes back in.
âWhat Iâm about to tell you has to stay between us. If word gets out, thereâs no telling what all could go wrong. Do you understand?â
Though youâre not sure you can really handle any more large-scale secrets right now, you give him an affirmative nod nonetheless. It canât hurt to listen when youâve already come this far.
âI understand.â
âGood,â he notes, not missing a beat. âIâll be summing months of investigative work up as best I can, but if you have any questions, feel free to interrupt. And besides that, âthe point Iâm making is that working with me for a bit might just be a saving grace for you and your family.â
Heâs got your full, undivided attention now, and youâre just praying he wonât misuse it.
âHenley, the map, please,â Diluc requests, holding a single gloved hand open.
The other man moves like some sort of machinery, pulling a rolled piece of paper from the inside of his coat. You catch a glimpse of the Fatui attire he wore not long ago just underneath the dark fabric. With refined precision, Diluc unravels the paper, revealing a map of Mondstadt. Itâs a typical map of the nation, ânothing much out of the ordinary at first glance. But upon closer inspection, thereâs a series of markings on the surface that donât seem to pinpoint any important locations that youâre personally aware of. Now, youâre no scholar of Mondstadtâs geography, and youâre certainly no cartographer, but as many times as youâve seen a map of your home nation over your lifetime, youâre sure you would have noticed at least one of those before.Â
With the map in hand, Diluc rises from his seat, tea untouched. Itâs only then that you take notice of the empty board just to your left as he makes haste of pinning the parchment down to it. You follow in his footsteps without being prompted, your own cup of tea long forgotten.
âWhat do you see?â He asks.
âThese marked points,â you mutter, reaching out to ghost the tip of your index finger over the one stationed just past the fringe of Wolvendom, ââwhat are they?â
âWonderful question,â he praises. âWith no added information, this map is basically useless. It pinpoints locations that, if you go to them on any regular day, hold nothing more than what youâd expect from the nature that surrounds them.â
He places the flat of his palm against the map now, gaze catching yours and holding it hostage as he continues.
âBut these locations are far more than what meets the eye. Theyâre utilized by the Fatui at random, âlikely to cut down on suspicion, and the more remote nature of these points lowers the likelihood of being spotted considerably. If not for my network of agents, Iâm not sure I would have ever caught on what with how sneaky they tend to be.â
âOkay, I get why theyâd choose places like that, but what exactly are they doing there?â You question.
âThatâs where things get a little. . . Outlandish,â Diluc prefaces.
âThese more secluded, often open areas are replicated in little pockets of a slower moving reality. They call these mimicked spaces abyssal zones, and inside, thereâs an underworld of sorts where they throw Mora around like candy for some pretty. . . Barbaric entertainment.â
Your brows furrow in confusion, attempting to wrap your mind around it all. Itâs a lot to take in at once, thatâs for sure.
âHow does that even work?â You question finally. âThey just slice open reality and stuff themselves inside?â
âItâs a bit more complicated than that,â Diluc notes. âThe exact details are still pretty fuzzy as far as Iâm aware, but the harnessing of abyssal energy from the Void Realm allows for the creation of these temporary abyssal zones that look just like the area theyâre formed in. After itâs been created, it can just as easily be hidden away, âlike closing some kind of illusionary curtain over the entrance.â
âThe flow of time inside an abyssal zone is completely different to the flow of time in Teyvat,â Henley pipes up. âIâve only been inside one a single time, but I stayed for over a day. When I returned, it was like nothing had changed at all. Like Teyvat had frozen itself over.â
âBy my calculations from the information my informants have provided me with, a full day in an abyssal zone is roughly equivalent to the passing of one hour in Teyvat,â Diluc adds.
âOkay, well that definitely sounds trippy and all, âbut what happens inside the zones or whatever? And how does this connect to my fatherâs situation?â You inquire.
âI was just getting there,â Diluc pulls his palm away now, pointing to the unfamiliar markings on the map again.
âFrom what I know, thereâs a common thread of using abyssal zones to hide a vast amount of criminal activity. Because theyâre forged in collaboration with members of the Fatui, that should hardly come as a shock within itself, âbut the real flesh of the issue comes down to the fights that take place there.â
âFights? Like, physical ones?â You question for clarityâs sake.
âYes,â Henley confirms, âbut theyâre likely a lot worse than what youâre imagining. Iâm not sensitive to violence after being undercover with Fatui agents for so long, âbut what I saw there really struck a nerve. It gets unbelievably gruesome at times.â
âThereâs a system in place for it all,â Diluc adds. âLots of wealthy individuals around Teyvat gather in these zones to place bets on fighters, and some even enter competitors of their own. The catch is that each fighter has to be backed and represented by a business or a company, âsome kind of corporation that verifiably has enough Mora to pay up if their fighter loses a match.â
âThere has to be an entire business involved to even enter a competitor?â You gape. âJust how much Mora are they betting on these fights?â
âIâve heard that some have tipped over the million mark for a single match,â Diluc replies.
Your eyes flicker between him, Henley, and the map.
âWell. . . All of that is definitely really intense and all, âbut Iâm not seeing what it has to do with me or my fatherâs debt.â
Moreover, you werenât sure why Diluc was choosing to share any of it with you of all people. Itâs not as if he had enough of a grasp on your current character to really know that youâd stay silent about it all, even if you did assure him that you would prior. Youâre sure someone out there would be itching for information like this, and it could likely be sold for a hard price if you played your cards right. . .
âIf we enter these matches and create a winning streak, the hype around it all will rake in plenty of Mora, âprobably more than either of us will even know what to do with. Beyond that, doing so will help steer the funds in a more positive direction, allowing us to take a vast source of income away from the Fatui and redirect it to people in need. People like your father whoâve found themselves in over their heads.â
That idea is good in theory, but in practice? Youâre not sold under any stretch of the imagination. In fact, a part of you feels like itâs way outside the scope of your capabilities to even stomach an environment like that in the first place, nonetheless get deep enough in it to rake in large sums of currency.
âDiluc, have you even thought this through?â You ask. âIâm sure that kind of organized violence is illegal in one way or another no matter what nation youâre in, âbut besides that, Iâm not exactly in any position to be fighting anyone.â
âAnd I wouldnât ask that of you,â he assures quickly. âWhen it comes to competing, I mentioned that every fighter is required to have a backing organization to support them financially. However, a competitor canât even set foot in the abyssal zones to fight without an âexecutive director,â âa formal representative of the company who can call for the end of any match at any point in time if they fear for the safety of their fighter or have another reason for withdrawing.â
Diluc continues: âExecutive directors are also in charge of placing bids on fighters, even those who donât represent them or their organization. They receive all the monetary benefits of competing and placing bets, and they choose how they allocate those funds.â
âBut donât they also have to have enough Mora to sponsor their own fighter with their backing corporation in the first place?â You question. âMy familyâs bakery doesnât bring in anywhere enough to manage that.â
âI wouldnât ask that of you either,â he replies. âPutting your familyâs business on the line like that, especially with your fatherâs situation as it is, isnât something Iâd even dream of pushing you to agree to. Instead, Iâm asking that you become the executive director and official representative for Dawn Winery.â
You stare at him for a moment, blinking slowly in surprise.
âSir,â Henley interjects, ââI donât mean to overstep here, but are you sure thatâs a good idea?â
Dilucâs expression drops into a scowl for a moment, but the answer he gives is nothing harsher than before.
âWe wonât know for certain unless we try,â he concedes.
Henleyâs expression seems to imply that he wants to say more, but he resigns himself to silence in the wake of Dilucâs curt response.
âI admit, thereâs a lot that I donât know, and thereâs likely even more that could go wrong. I donât have all the details about any of this, and for most of it, weâll just have to play it by ear. I shared all of this information with you because. . . I thought youâd understand where I was coming from, I guess. But if you donât, or if you do and still want nothing to do with any of it, âI get it, and I wonât try to convince you of anything that youâre not already sold on.â
Youâre not sold. Not in the slightest. Still though. . . Perhaps the more naive side of you that grew up around Diluc and remembers all the times heâd go along with your games as children, even when they werenât perfectly planned nor executed, feels that itâs your time to repay the favor. Itâs a poor comparison, certainly, but something about him is comfortable in spite of how different he is to the young boy he used to be.
Nowâs definitely not the time to be agreeing to things based on nostalgia, âbut when he looks at you like that, youâre not sure how to say no.
âHypothetically,â you begin, âsay I agree to all of this and I represent Dawn Winery as an executive director. How can I do all of that and still manage to care for my familyâs shop? My father is laid up in bed, and my mother is stuck taking care of him as best she can because the treatment he needs is so far out of our price range that itâll take us weeks of business to save up enough for a single dose of proper medicine. Working at the bakery is the only sure-fire source of income we have right now, and I canât forgo that for a little flicker of hope that I might score big with whatâs basically just glorified gambling with some live action combat to go along with it.âÂ
âRemember, time flows much faster in abyssal zones,â Diluc reminds you. âAs far as I know, these events donât begin until after sundown on specific dates. Most of the attendees are also running their own businesses: things like shops, guilds, service providers, and even those in positions of power. That gives you daysâ worth of time to spare, âand I can make arrangements for you to have extra staff with no cost to you or your family.â
âAnd what about the time that I actually spend in the abyssal zones? A place that reveres violence to such an extent doesnât seem like the kind of environment that would do its best to temper it out. Isnât it dangerous just to go there in the first place?â You inquire.
âTypically not for the attendees,â Henley answers. âThe fighters are definitely another story altogether, âbut violence amongst members of the audience is strictly forbidden, and though Iâm sure it still happens, I doubt most of them would even risk it. Violence between competitors outside matches is also prohibited, but again, Iâm sure not everyone abides by that rule either.â
Honestly, youâre just surprised a scene like that would have actual rules for anything. It sounded more like a free-for-all of blood and knuckles than anything else.
âI wouldnât let anything bad happen to you,â Diluc chimes in. âAs your representative fighter, Iâll be with you at all times unless Iâm actively in combat, and Iââ
âWait, wait,â you interrupt, âyou? Youâre going to be the representative fighter?â
Somehow, youâd been expecting him to shove another operative off on you, or maybe to pull some insanely talented warrior from out of nowhere. Youâre sure Diluc isnât completely incompetent in that sense, but. . .
âYeah,â he nods, âis there something wrong with that?â
âNo, I mean, not really, I just. . . I donât exactly wanna stand around and see you get hurt is all. . .â
Diluc looks at you like heâs shocked you even care, and you briefly wonder just how crass youâd been with him before for that to come as a surprise. Youâre not the biggest fan of senseless violence one way or the other, but when your childhood friend is involved, no matter how long itâs been since you were close to him, it automatically feels a bit more personal. A lot more personal, actually.Â
Eventually, his look of brief bewilderment turns into a soft smile. Itâs the kindest expression youâve seen from him all evening.
âI can take care of myself,â he says, hoping it will reassure you. âEverything will be fine, and Iâll leave it in your hands to call the shots. If you ever think itâs too much and you want to call the match off on my behalf, Iâll leave that decision completely up to you.â
Ah. . . Thatâs a lot of responsibility that you never planned on signing up for. But Diluc locks your eyes in an ardent stare, âthe kind that itâs impossible to pull away from, even when your mind itches for you to let your gaze flitter about.
âWhat do you say, y/n?â He presses softly. âAre you in?â
You really should turn him away. This plan is nothing short of inconceivable, and itâs dangerous for the both of you (albeit one much more so than the other.) Plus, thereâs no guarantee that saying yes will even go the way youâre both desperately hoping it will from the bottom of your hearts.
Above the nagging voice in the back of your mind that tells you to just say no and walk away from this, you let out a soft sigh.