#makialene

With a deep, exhausted sigh, Diluc walked into the Winery, hanging up his coat, taking a moment to pause, holding onto the coatrack for a brief second, if only to have that much less weight to hold him down, to have to stay upright.

A long night of his being the 'Darknight Hero' [he, admittedly, found the name somewhat cringy, but not enough that he'd do anything about it] followed a morn of getting everything set up in the Winery after the last... event that happened, making sure everything was clean and clear before the customers flooded in, an agonizing day of paperwork and trying to negotiate to get his wine transported to Liyue, and planning a meeting with Ningguang considering this... And a long, drawn-out evening, a dinner with the Winemakers' Guild, where they all did everything they could to get his sponsorship for their own agendas.

The sun had long since sunk and the moon hung high in the sky when he got home. Every bit of him ached. But, he was home, and while there was always more to be done, his body and spirit were no longer willing. He could catch up tomorrow morning after he finally got some rest [even if there was never any actual catching up. Getting the most high-priority things handled, and chipping away at everything else.]

When someone said his name, in a blissful tone, he paused, and instinctively straightened his back, turning to look at the stairwell you walked down, with a smile on your face. He couldn't help but sigh in relief- it was nice to see you, even if he wasn't sure he was much for conversation or company.

You always understood that, sometimes, he just didn't have it in him. He was a busy man... and admittedly overworked. He wasn't very good at letting others handle things for him. It was self inflicted, but also not such a simple task to figure out.

"There's my handsome man, after doing so much good. Are you feeling okay?" You asked as you walked towards him, grabbing one of this hands with both your own.

He struggled for a moment, before replying with a weak smile, "I'm just tired."

"Of course you are. Have you eaten?" You asked, and he nodded,

"I'm just tired." He explained, and without another word, you started leading him to the bedroom- He took the moment to close his eyes and just let you, not needing to worry. He knew you had every wholesome intention towards him, and this wasn't something he needed to fear.

For a moment, he just let his eyes close- he was being led. He didn't need to be wary, not in this little, quiet moment.

He was safe. A rare, but never unwelcome feeling.

Diluc could tell, just from the habit of walking around the Winery, the change of the sound that his own feet made, and the slight creek of the door, he sighed and opened his eyes. His room was dim- which was exactly how he preferred it. He only realized how close he was to overstimulation, but perhaps he was still buzzing with the day's anxiety. But it was coming to a close, it was almost over.

He walked ahead and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots, tossing them off to the side- before he could get his tired hands to try and work at his clothes, you were already on it, getting off his coat, his shirt, untying the ribbon in his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, the relief of his hair no longer tugging on his scalp was a blessing.

It wasn't haphazardly tossed about, instead was put away to be cleaned at a later time, so he didn't need to worry about the visual clutter. He watched as you walked back from doing this small, but more than meaningful task for him, and stood right in front of him. Confused, he stared at you as you cupped his cheeks.

"I love you."

He smiled, "I love you too," though it sounded a bit odd with how you squished his cheeks. He felt... silly, but he didn't really mind. Not right now, anyway.

"You work so hard, and always come back safe..."

He felt a warmth in his chest, but it was dwarfed by the confusion,

"Why are you saying this?" He asked- not suspicious, only confused and curious. "Did something happen?"

"You just deserve to be told how good of a man you are."

Admittedly, Diluc didn't feel like he was that good of a man. He wasn't a bad person, but there was always a haunting guilt taunting him, that he wasn't doing enough, that he wasn't enough,

"You've always been more than enough. You've given everything you had and then some. But even without that, I'd love you anyway."

He exhaled softly, and opened his mouth to say something back- anything, even when his brain was so frazzled, only to have a finger pressed over his lips,

"No, no more talkie. You've done enough of that today, haven't you?"

Exhaling through his nose, he smiled. He didn't need to say anything, or even nod. Even if you let him.

"Well, actually one more talkie. Do you want to cuddle?" You asked, "I'm sure you're tired."

"Would you mind?" He asked,

"Of course not."

"... Even if you were the big spoon?" He asked, a little shy. He wasn't massive, but he also wasn't small.

"Of course not."

And even if it was, maybe, a little comedic, and he took care to pull his hair over his shoulder to get as much of it out of the way as possible, resting his hands over yours as they wrapped around his torso, he exhaled softly, relaxing in the soothingly cool room. He'd pull up the blankets when he was ready to completely fade, but...

Right now, he just wanted to doze, to rest, as he could hear you whisper sweet little praises, chaste and loving.

He was human, in the end. Even he wanted to hear praise, if only it was once in a blue moon, it was...

Closing the social media app left you staring blankly at your arrangement of the other applications. What to do, what to do… I could play computer games. But that meant getting up, which you couldn’t find it in yourself to do. A thoughtful hum accompanied your furrowed brow. You sifted through the different apps, but nothing seemed appealing.

In what was almost a desperate (or fruitless) attempt to find some form of entertainment or motivation, you opened the gallery and skimmed through the albums of fanart, memes, screenshots of conversations, and photos of your friends (both those of the RFA and those outside of it). You found yourself grinning as you were reminded of events and get-togethers, silly things, pranks. You weren’t by any means a professional photographer, nor did you have any plans to become one, but you still liked to capture moments of life via any method – be it videos, pictures, or voice recordings. You organized everything as best as you could, typically by event. And when one friend had a particularly high number of photos or videos, you gave them their own album.

Of course, this was the case for Saeyoung. You had close to 600 photos and almost 40 videos featuring him alone, a couple hundred more of the two of you together, and more of him with other people. You loved looking through his album, loved having a way to view his face when you couldn’t do so in person – such as right now. He was working hard in his office on a recent assignment; you didn’t want to bother him.

But soon – too soon – you reached the end of the album, the photos dating back eleven months. It had been almost a year already since you met the RFA, since you fell head-over-heels for the redheaded hacker (and him for you), since the craziness with Mint Eye and Rika. Since Saeran had begun his recovery.

How time flies.

You sighed quietly and turned off your phone to stare up at the ceiling instead. Not a minute later, a familiar face popped into view, over the top of the couch, accompanied by a loud shout— No, it was closer to a playful roar, what with the growl that edged it.

Whatever the hell it was, it made you shriek, and before you could even process all that was happening, your phone was flying towards Saeyoung’s precious face. And all you managed in response to that was a choked gasp and hushed swear.

By some miracle (or a little thing called agency training), Saeyoung dodged in time, with a yelp of his own. Not only did he dodge the projectile, he also – after a bit of flailing – managed to catch it.

There was a pause. You gaped at him, awed, heart pounding a little faster from the whole ordeal. “Holy…”

He snapped out of his own stupor at your whisper; his lips curled into a smug smile. “Didn’t you know your God Seven is awesome?”

You huffed a laugh. “Oh- No, I just thought you were some loser.” You pulled an exaggeratedly puzzled expression. “Who are you again? Why do we let you live here?”

Saeyoung pouted, and you grinned. He leaned over the back of the couch, moving closer to you. “I paid for this place, and this is how you treat me? I see how it is~.” His pout twisted into a playful smirk.

"Mm-hm~.”

“It seems you need a little reminder,” he purred. He turned to your phone. “Let’s see~ You’re always taking phot—” His words caught in his throat as he lit up the display and his eyes landed on your lock screen. His eyebrows rose in mild surprise, and red dusted his cheeks.

Oh. Oh no. That’s right. You had changed the image yesterday.

To a photo of him. And not just any photo – one of your favourites. One you had snuck at the last RFA party. Because damn he just looked so good in that suit… and with his hair like that… and the confidence etched into his features… And the moment you caught… Well, it simply screamed, “Hot damn.”

Oh, boy. You weren’t gonna live this down, were you? Because it wasn’t just the photo, it was the caption: Look at mah man. He’s so sexy in that suit hehe <3 …because you had sent it to a friend. Your best friend, in fact – the one person you were absolutely comfortable sharing that with. Because damn, you just had to share such a beauty with someone!

You were certain your face was redder than Saeyoung’s at this point. You tried to stammer out some excuse, tried to instead calm down and throw out some nonchalant line, but the words dried up with the rest of your mouth.

Glimmering gold shifted up from the now-dark screen to lock onto your flushed face. A teasing smile played upon his lips, and it quickly grew into a grin. “Aw, honey~ You think I’m sexy? Sexy enough to be on your lock screen, too~. Hehe, you’re so cute.”

“W-well, I— I um… u-uh… Y-you just… It’s a good picture, okay!” you blurted, flustered and a little indignant. “You always look so dang good in that suit an’ with your hair all like that so- so just hush up about it! How can I not take a picture?” Or two. Or five. Or thirty.

Saeyoung opened his mouth to reply, but he seemed frozen in place, layers upon layers of red washing over his face until it blended with his hair. You blinked a few times, overcoming your own embarrassment, and felt your mouth tug into a smirk. Oh~? Tomato boy is here to join us, hmm?

A good half minute (first of silence, then of incoherent stammers) passed before he gave in and just groaned, brushing one hand through his hair. You giggled a bit, for the action left bits here and there sticking up.

“Gaah, stop being so cute!” he whined.

You could only giggle again. “I’m not doing anything~.”

“Stop that!” He let out another groan and clutched his shirt, as though it would calm his heart. “Are you trying to kill me? My heart can’t take your cuteness!”

“Hehe, maayyybe~.” You leaned against the back cushion, cheek resting on the comfy material as you grinned up at him (perhaps trying to optimize your supposed cuteness). “Maybe I can’t help it when I’m with you.”

He squinted playfully. “You’re cute all the time, don’t try to deny it, [Name]~.”

Perking up, you feigned shock. “Then how have you survived all this time?”

Saeyoung drew near (almost smirking), slipped your phone into his pocket, and held your face in his warm hands, squishing your cheeks together a bit. “I’ve learned to handle it. But sometimes your cuteness levels go way, waayyy up, and my poor heart is struck once again!” He nuzzled his nose against yours, then pecked it, eliciting another soft giggle from you. “You’re blushing,” he teased quietly, and this time planted a kiss between your eyes.

“Shush.” You tried to sound half-stern, but it came out all-delight. Your heart fluttered at even a glimpse of the adoration in those sparkling eyes of his – so you shut your own, a flustered laugh escaping you. His lovely chuckle followed, and he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you~.”

You opened your eyes, hands coming up to loosely grasp his arms. You bit your lip (failing to control a smile), tittered again, averted your eyes. “Jus’ come here,” you said, tugging at his arm. “The couch. Come on, come cuddle.”

The redhead beamed, pressed another (messy, hasty) kiss to your forehead, and released you to skirt around the couch (last time, he had vaulted over, but that didn’t end well).

In a moment of boldness, thinking back to the photo he had discovered, you forced the words out: “You know, you really are sexy in that suit.”

His glowing face turned pink, but his confidence didn’t falter – nor his enthusiasm, given that he half threw himself against you, hugging you and sending you both crashing down. He pushed himself up and smirked down at you. “Good to know.”

Oh, you knew that face, knew it all too well. He was planning something with this new piece of knowledge. But, you thought, how bad could it be? If it had anything to do with his suit, with his styled hair, with his confident demeanor, then you could only see stars in your future.

You grinned and wrapped your arms around him. “Love you,” you sang quietly – almost shyly. Leaning up, you stole a sweet, deliberate kiss. Falling back, you brought a hand up to weave through his vermillion curls. And his eyes shut at your gentle motions, and his features relaxed with the rest of him. He shifted, closing some of the remaining distance between the two of you. And again his eyes fluttered open; his lips curved into that beautiful smile – then they were capturing your own, and thoughts of him filled your mind, flushing out everything else. You twirled curled strands around your fingers: mindless. He drifted a hand down your side to hold your hip: habit.

He pulled away, kissed your cheek, and nuzzled into your neck, tickling you with a contented exhale. You giggled; in turn, he did, too.

With his weight comfortably holding you down, with his presence surrounding you, you let your eyes slide shut, fingers still absentmindedly combing through Saeyoung’s hair.

“Love you,” came his muffled promise.

“Love you more.”

“Untrue. Loved you first.”

“Doubt it. Love you forever.”

He waggled his fingers against your flank. You squeaked, squirming beneath him, and he snickered lightly.

“Jerk.”

“Hi, Ray.” You sit a little straighter, turning on the lamp beside your bed. You regret it instantly as he winces—his eyes are a little bloodshot, the shadows under them darker than usual. He lets the door swing shut behind him; by the lamp light, he looks almost as though he’s shrinking into himself, like he could be blown away with a single breath. “Come here?” you ask, and he takes a hesitant step forward, then seems to think better of it.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. “I just…wanted to check on you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here at all.”

You shake your head vehemently. Ray always looks as though he could disappear at any moment but tonight he’s like just-blown glass: so fragile you’re afraid he will shatter.

“I’m happy you’re here,” you tell him. “I missed you.”

You slide to the edge of the bed—slowly, cautiously; it reminds you of a time you saw a baby deer while camping in the forest as a child, and tiptoed toward it, getting close enough that you could see its frightened eyes.

Ray doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t back away, either. He gulps, finally breaking eye contact, looking down at the floor. 

“Are you alright?” you ask him. He has that look about him you’ve noticed several times over the past few days—his eyes are a little too bright, his pale hands trembling at his sides. “Are you feeling sick?”

He makes a gesture with his head that could be either an affirmation or a denial. Tentatively, you hold out a hand, and his eyes grow huge—in his pale, hollow face, they are almost otherworldly.

“My head hurts,” he admits slowly. You lean toward him, hand outstretched, not even sure what you’re offering. “My fingers hurt. I just wish…”

You wait, patient (though your pounding heart says otherwise). He doesn’t finish his sentence; he appears half-ready to flee, half-…something you can’t quite place.

“What do you wish, Ray?”

He shakes his head—this time clearly, vehemently.

“I shouldn’t say,” he mutters. Oh, but his eyes are so bright.

You make your decision in a split second; your breath catches in your throat, but you force yourself to speak before you lose the nerve.

“Would you please come over here?” you ask him, voice trembling a little. He gazes at you with those eyes, round as the full moon, and in spite of the miserable way he looks at you—as if he doesn’t quite believe that you’re real—you are emboldened. “I’d really like it if you would,” you add.

And perhaps it’s the late hour, or the firm way you speak, or whatever is making his hands shake like that—but he does. He closes the distance between you surprisingly quickly, as though he feet are moving of their own accord. You can see every strand of glistening white hair; you could count his eyelashes.

“Thank you,” you say. And before he can stop you, before he can turn and run or beg you not to think of him, you open you arms and—still perched on the edge of your bed—wrap them around his thin frame.

Ray makes a sound you’ve never heard before—something between a squeak and a whimper. And oh, you almost can’t believe how good it feels to hold him. Your arms reach all the way around him easily; with you on the bed and him standing, you can rest your head on his chest. Even through all his layers, you hear his heartbeat—it’s pounding, pounding, pounding, and you rest a gentle hand at the small of his back and swear that, for just a moment, his heart stops.

“Is this okay?” you whisper, and you know he hears you, because he’s so close. You’re surrounded by the scent of him, roses and rain, and he’s so soft, so small, barely there—and yet in your arms like this, he’s solid, too. Present. Alive.

“Y-yes…” he murmurs; and for a single, fleeting moment, you feel him rest his head on yours. And for that one moment, he gives in to you: you feel his tight muscles release, his fluttering fingers still. “But I…I shouldn’t, it’s…not my place…”

“Please,” you say, and he falls silent immediately; you hold on a little tighter, knowing you’ll have to let go soon, knowing the feeling of his fragile body in your arms will haunt your dreams. “Please let me hold you for just a little bit longer.”

You feel him inhale; the breath rocks his whole body, and you’re reminded again of something fragile and dark and easily broken. Ray is a shadow.

You feel his hand twitch, but then it stills—he melts into you. And it’s ephemeral, fleeting, but in this moment, he’s here and he’s real and he’s letting you hold onto him. And when he answers you, his voice is so soft you can barely hear—but you feel it, resonating within your bones.

“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, just for a little bit longer.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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