(tonight i’m drowning.)

You feel his eyes on you, but you don’t mind it at all. You continue walking down the city streets, and you wonder if he’ll stare at you until you have to part ways at the end of this road. That seems like something Thoma would do. I love you, it says. I love this. You hide a smile under his gaze before turning to look at him back, ever-so-slightly stepping closer to him. It’s subtle, and you hope he doesn’t notice. It feels warmer now. The warmth he has, the warmth he radiates, the warmth he is, comforting on such a cold night. You step closer once more.

“What’s on your mind?” You nudge his arm with yours, offering him a lopsided smile. His eyes never leave yours when he shakes his head. The stars that reflect in the deeper greens of his eyes move.

When your hands touch again, he holds it this time. He takes it in his and keeps it there.

“Not much,” he hums. “You look lovely.”

You could not hold back the small laugh bubbling in your throat at his words. I love this, it says. “Do you not ever get tired of showering me with your sugarcoated words?”

His steps cease, and yours stop with it. He tugs you to face him, pulls you into his space, nuzzles his nose on your temple. “They are not sugarcoated! It is the truth, I would never get tired of telling the truth,” he huffs. He wraps an arm around your waist, another holds your hand up. “Dance with me.”

It comes suddenly. It comes from nowhere. Dance with me, he asks. “Now?”

“Yes,” he simply replies. Thoma is an equally balanced man of thoughtful and spontaneous. “There is music playing somewhere, do you hear it?”

When you strain your ears to listen, Thoma starts moving. Slow, careful. How would you two look if someone were to see you here, in the middle of the night?

“Come on,” he giggles. “Dance with me.”

“I don’t dance, Thoma. I cannot compare to your grace,” you mumble, and albeit hesitant, you sway with him. “And I cannot even hear the music.”

When Thoma hums—whether as affirmation or dismissal, you don’t even know; you don’t bother knowing—he steps to his left. It was not any exaggeration when you told him you don’t dance, because you trip on his feet when you step to your right. The failed coordination is something only you, Thoma, and the street light above you bear witness to. He does not laugh, though. Neither did the street light. And the stars remain in their place in the sky.

The music seems louder now. You hear it. Perhaps the world turned quieter. Perhaps the world is now holding its breath, watching this unfold. Is the universe finding entertainment in this? In the ungraceful, uncoordinated slow dance you and Thoma share? Imperfect and clumsy. Awkward and inelegant. Perhaps it is the very essence of it all—the sheer love from a silly slow dance, in the middle of the night under the street lights of Inazuma City.

Thoma rests his forehead on yours, and you find yourself closing your eyes. It’s been seconds, or maybe minutes, or maybe even hours, but you kept dancing, and dancing, and dancing. There are trips and falls. There are moments of small laughter when you miss a glide or you step on his foot. Thoma puffs his cheeks out and pulls you closer to him. He stops moving to tap his feet onto the pavement, left then right. You could only pull away from him slightly, enough to let him see the silent question written in your face.

Thoma grins, “Go prop yourself on my feet so you can follow my lead.”

His response isn’t very much of a help. You stare at him, eyes wide. “Why?” your brows furrow, “Wouldn’t that hurt?”

“Maybe. But I don’t really mind. You seem uneasy with all the misses we had, and I don’t quite want this to end yet,” he shrugs, but you don’t miss the slight tint on his cheek. It’s a little harder to see in the harsh, dim yellow of the street light, but it’s there. You don’t miss the subtle quietness of his last few words either.

You nod at him, carefully settling your feet on top of his, wary not to hurt him. Moving your hands from the back of his neck to his shoulder instead, you grasp onto him for support. He holds you carefully, tenderly, not letting you fall.

(But that’s funny, isn’t it? You’ve fallen for him so, so long ago. And you would fall for him again, and again, and again. He would be there to catch you. He would be there to hold you by the waist and dance with you.)

Thoma steps to his sides, left and right. You step with him, a look of concern etched on your expression for the mere fact that you are practically standing on his feet. He dismisses your silent inquisitions with a soft kiss to your nose. “I’m alright, (Name). I promise.”

The music does not stop—and you wonder where the music is, actually. Who is playing? What is this tune? For all you know it might be a lullaby for a child, or a song for a loving mother, or a piece for two old lovers.

You’re perfectly content with being in Thoma’s arms.

The music comes to much more mellow harmony, fitting for the coolness of the night. It seems that it’s about to end, but the night is still young and Thoma looks like he’s having the time of his life like this. He looks absolutely beautiful here. He looks absolutely beautiful everywhere. In your arms, he just looks a lot more handsome, almost celestial.

When the music ends, Thoma slowly stops with it. You carefully get off him, planting your feet firmly on the ground, standing on your tiptoes to stretch for good measure. The feeling of the pavement seems foreign now. How long have you been dancing?

The only sounds were the light exhales that leave Thoma’s lips. He remains in his place, his arms around you and his forehead on yours. There is a moment of silence, and the stars breathe. Thoma whispers, breathless, “Thank you.”

You lightly squeeze his shoulders. “For what? For crushing your feet?”

“No,” he laughs. The stars laugh with him, it seems. “For dancing with me. For being here with me.”

The dim yellow of the light above shines a kind of spotlight on you. It makes Thoma look ethereal. He looks godly here. You’re sure you look just as breathtaking. With Thoma, everything is beautiful, even in silence.

AROUND THE KITCHEN, WITH ONLY THE CANDLELIGHT ON…

This is your first home together.

Thoma would most probably say something cheesy, like, “Home is wherever we’re together,” but to finally, really have your first home together feels exhilarating and almost surreal.

The moment you stepped into the house for the first time, you knew this was it. You knew that this is the home you would share. You remember seeing how the sun entered through the windows. You remember how Thoma walked around the small, empty house. Scanning the rooms, pointing at which walls you’d redo and which floorings you’d keep. Telling you how he thinks the bed should be by the windows, so you’d wake up with the morning view of Inazuma. Blinking excitedly when he asked for your input, smiling fondly when you agreed. 

You remember how the sunlight bathed Thoma into a kind of golden glow; how everything dull in the room turned into something otherworldly, unearthly. No empty wood, no blank wall. Just the sunlight, in your new home, with Thoma’s magic.

There is not much to see yet. There is nothing but cardboard boxes and dusty chairs all around. There aren’t even lights in the rooms except the kitchen. Granted, the only light in the kitchen comes from a single lit candle, but there is light nonetheless. There is still sunlight seeping through the open windows, which helps too.

Thoma insists that this is important to do first: to set the kitchen up.

(“We can go to sleep without fancy beds or work in the day without lights, but we cannot function with an empty stomach,” Thoma says, like an elderly man teaching children about the do’s and dont’s of life. Like a man of wisdom, one who has seen more in his life than most people have.)

Another thing he believes to be of priority is the small player in the corner of the common room. It plays some funky music that neither of you know the title of, and it has been on repeat since the day started. Thoma tells you that it’s to liven up the house while you unpack, but you’ve been moving boxes and sweeping floors with him and nothing seems alive but him.

Thoma walks through the entryway of the kitchen, and your gaze follows him from your place in the middle of the floor. You offer him a bored look, and he returns it with a slightly stern stare. It elicits a small groan out of you that Thoma chuckles at. You have no choice but to continue going through box after box, moving each item in place. You don’t comment when Thoma sets the sweeper on the counter and leaves the room.

When every box has been emptied, you move from your seat and twist sideways. Left, right. The stretch soothes the aches in your body from sitting for so long. You eye the array of things you laid out on the floor, and feel a rush of motivation to get moving. Thoma isn’t lazing around, so why are you?

You bend to pick up the nearest thing to your feet, empty salt and pepper shakers. On the first overhead shelf, to the left. Your steps are drowned out by the music from the other room, and you find the next thing to put in place after walking back. Two pans. On the hooks by the second shelf, to the right. Just above the stoves. Dish rack. Just beside the sink. Utensils. In the drawer below the sink, with the organizer Thoma handmade. A small potted plant. Why is there a small potted plant?– In the middle of the kitchen counter. You hear the music stop.

A ladle. In the utensil holder, by the stove. A perforated spoon. In the utensil holder, by the stove. A turner. The music starts again. An upbeat song that you and Thoma listen to on sunny days. There are hurried footsteps from the other side of the room. A spatula. There is a holler, and you almost drop the cooking utensil in your hand in surprise

“Archons, Thoma, what–”

You swiftly turn, and there, by the entryway, Thoma is on his knees with a broom in his hands. He mouths the words of the song and strums his right hand hurriedly, as if playing (quite inaccurately) a larger version of the zither instrument you once saw in the nation of Liyue.

You are at a loss for words. You cannot find anything to say. But Thoma continues, his eyes closed as if he’s passionate about this– But he’s passionate about everything, intensity in every moment. It shouldn’t surprise you that it extends to something as silly as pretend instruments in an empty home. Brooms in hand and knees on the floor.

Thoma opens an eye to peek, then he nods at you. Come on, it says. Dance with me.

You skip across the floor and stand just in front of him, laughing to your heart’s content, preparing to join his shenanigans by pretending to clear your throat before bringing the spatula to your lips. Dance with me. A groove to your left, a sway to your right. Pretending that the spatula is your microphone, the kitchen becomes your stage. Your arm swings with your moves, a dance that looks absolutely horrifying to professional dancers—or to anyone, really—but you don’t shy away. Thoma stands and throws the broom to the side.

He jumps around the room, careful not to step on the remaining things on the floor. He kicks upward, then throws his hands with it. He seems to have a lot of energy to spare, and with all the sitting and sighing the whole day, you do too. You run around with him, singing along with the music.

The setting sun enters from the windows and suddenly, everything is alive. With Thoma, everything comes alive.

This is it. This is home.

Thoma. In the kitchen, dancing around. No perfected moves, zero choreography. Just golden light. Magic, otherworldly, unearthly.

When sunlight is no longer streaming in through the windows and the wind turns cold as the night makes itself known, Thoma rests by the entryway. The sun no longer bathes him, the music comes to a stop. There are only breathless lovers in the kitchen of an empty house.

Thoma wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand before turning to look at you with a boyish grin on his face. “Had fun?”

You take a time to breathe before nodding at him, returning the smile, “So much fun.”

He straightens up, a determined look finding its way to his face. You don’t question him when he walks away and out of the kitchen, and instead takes the time to catch your breath. The broom long forgotten, the sweeper silent on the counter, the rest of the kitchen items you didn’t manage to put into place left on the floor. (Blame Thoma for this. This is his fault.)

You sigh, though. There is a smile plastered on your face that you just couldn’t brush off. It remains there, and you almost throw a laugh remembering how the previous moments unfold—running around the room and dancing instead of doing chores, like children. Thoma still does not return, but soft music starts to fill the house.

You turn to the things laid out across the expanse of the empty kitchen and find a newfound motivation to finish your chores. You pick up the towels, walk towards one of the drawers to place it there. The cups, setting them one by one on the shelves. Plates. Bowls. You hear Thoma’s footsteps grow nearer to you with each passing beat of the music, and when you feel his presence just behind you, he coughs, lowering the timbre of his voice, “May I have this dance?”

Thoma holds your elbow and slowly turns you around. He eyes the bowl in your hand before grabbing it and reaching towards the shelf behind you, pinning you between him and the counter. What a tease, he is. Your hand hits his chest jokingly and he laughs at this before circling his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek.

“Didn’t you just scold me for lazing off this morning?” you joke to him.

His nose scrunches at your words. “No, I didn’t.”

Thoma walks you to the spacious part of the room. He looks you in the eye before he starts swaying to the music. You roll your eyes at him, but you dance with him nonetheless, arms around him. The sun is no longer there, but the candlelight creates a silhouette of you and him dancing. The room catches your shadows, entangled in each other’s limbs. No empty wood, no blank wall.

“Not verbally.”

Thoma puffs his cheeks at this, and you tease him with a knowing smile. He pulls you closer. “We can finish this tomorrow,” he resigns. “Just dance with me, now.”

IN THE RAIN, JUST BEFORE NOON…

“I told you it would rain,” you snicker.

Thoma clicks his tongue in disappointment, shaking off his legs, wet from being in the rain. You carefully hold his jacket above both of your heads, leaning closer to him to get better coverage—a feeble attempt to shield off the rainfall.

You’re not exactly drenched, but you’re not quite dry. Not at all. Thoma has it far worse, what with letting you take up most of the space under the small cover as you run towards a small camp just at the outskirts of Chinju Forest. It seems to have not been used for a long time, its tent dilapidated and falling apart, not much of help than Thoma’s jacket.

He sighs. You squat down deeply to rest, closing your eyes as you feel Thoma’s sulking presence just beside you. He sighs again, turning to look up the skies with narrowed eyes, as if he could stop the rain that way. As if he could control the weather. He clicks his tongue when it fails.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, nudging you gently. His gaze falls to his feet and you could not even fathom why he is apologizing for something like this. Thoma continues, “We’re supposed to have a fun date today. Even with the rain we could be–ugh, if only I didn’t forget an umbrella. If only it didn’t rain– Archons–”

With furrowed brows, you grab his arms and carefully turned him to face you. His expression sports dejection, and on any other day you would have laughed and swooned, teasing the undeniable similarity of his pout and Taroumarou’s. On any other day you would have kissed his frown away.

But the kiss would come later.

“Hey,” you click your tongue. His face now rests on the palms of your hands, and you gently squeeze as some form of comfort. “I’m having fun, Thoma. It would’ve been much better if we’re both dry, sure, but that doesn’t mean our day is ruined.”

Your thumbs rub the apples of his cheeks, and you watch in wonder as it turns into a shade of red under your touch. The coolness of the winds and the rains does not help with the blush on the tip of his nose, too.

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better…”

With a light but steady hold, you lift his face up so he would look at you directly. Ah, there it is. Such eyes like Thoma’s could really rival Taroumarou if Thoma tries. It distracts you for a moment.

“I’m not only saying this to make you feel better. I am genuinely very happy. I’m happy that you went out of your way to ask me out today, despite how busy you are at the Kamisato Estate. I’m happy that you planned out a whole day for us two! Though it may not have gone as planned, I’m just happy that I get to be with you,” you chuckle at the way he tries to look away, but you keep your hold firm. There is shyness in his stance, embarrassment in his eyes. You took this as an opportunity to finally tease him, “And I’m very happy, because you’re being very adorable right now.”

Thoma grabs your wrists, eyes wide. He pushes your hands away, gentle enough to not hurt you but still enough to keep your hands away from him. You laugh at his clumsy resistance against your fondness. Still, you managed to hold him and kiss him tenderly. In your arms, he relaxes. It’s a split second yet it feels like an eternity.

When both pull away, you gently nudge him to follow you as you step out of the tent. “Come on,” you tell him, voice excited but still delicate. He could only respond with the furrow of his brows.

“Where?” he tilts his head ever so slightly. “In the rain?”

“Yes.” The answer comes without a hint of hesitation. Thoma just lets himself be pulled by you to wherever. “We’re already drenched, anyway. Come.”

Thoma does not protest, his jacket long forgotten, left on the muddy ground in the abandoned camp you took temporary shelter in. He would scold you for it usually, but he does not now. You run into the middle of the road, arms spread as you turn and turn and turn until you’re almost dizzy and the silhouette of your lover turns blurry. Thoma becomes more puzzled than ever, but only mirth leaves your lips.

You don’t know how it happened. One minute, you’re laughing and letting the rain soak your through. The next, Thoma pulls you into his arms, the warmth of his body on yours. He holds you close enough that you don’t even know where you and him starts and ends.

“What’s with you today? Hm?” Thoma jests. You respond with a laugh, leaning the weight of your whole body onto his arms. He places a small kiss on the tip of your nose before holding the back of your head close against his chest. “You have an odd way of dates.”

He laughs, and it has been laughter ever since you stepped out of shelter. You hear it echo in your ears and you feel his chest shifting with it. You decide to squeeze your arms around his torso instead.

Voice muffled against his drenched clothing, you retort, “Says you, Mr. I-forgot-to-bring-an-umbrella!”

“I thought you said you’re having fun, regardless?”

Such banter between you and him seems unfitting under the weather. If the gods are watching, you would curse them for the unpleasant day. Plans are ruined, paths are cold, skies are dark. But Thoma suddenly pulls you away from the warmth of his body and holds you by your elbows, arms straight, only to spin both of you around. Water sputters everywhere, and your shoes are beyond saving at this point. Nothing is unfitting about this. Everything is perfect.

(Maybe not the shoes beyond saving part, but Thoma is to blame for that.)

All the spinning and running leave you both out of breath, and the raindrops jump against the grass. If you listen carefully, maybe it’s even playing a rhythm with its pelting against the trees and the roofs of the houses in a nearby village.

“The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up,” Thoma says, breathless. “We should change our clothes into something warm, else we risk getting sick. The Kamisato Estate is just up the path, we can–”

“Oh, no,” you immediately reject his idea, hands in defense. “No, no, no! Thoma, that’s–”

“What’s wrong?”

“We can’t– I can’t possible impose– No, I can’t!” Your head shakes rapidly. “That would be so impolite, Thoma!”

“Ayato and Ayaka treat you as their friend, you know? You don’t have to be so prim with them,” he soothes you, rubbing your arms with both his hands. “We could have tea there to warm up. They have great tea, I should know! And they both have been wanting to see you again, since it’s been so long. I think they’re both at the estate right now–”

You grimace at the thought. “That’s even worse. I just–” A sigh escapes your lips, and Thoma waits for you to speak. He remains calm and composed, coaxing you gently and keeping you comfortable. That is just how he is, loving as he will ever be. “In the state we are right now, all wet and muddy, I don’t feel that it is appropriate.”

Thoma purses his lips, as if he’s thinking, then he nods, “Okay.” He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you in an embrace. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

A quiet smile finds its way to your lips, and you lift your arms to brush through his wet blonde hair. “It’s alright. I know you had good intentions.” You hear Thoma hums, and you are satisfied with it. You rest your head on his shoulder, continuing to play with the hair on the back of his neck. “We could go home now, if you want. So we can change out of our clothes and wash up. Would you like that?”

“No,” he says. “No, let’s stay like this for a moment. Let’s just make sure to wash up as soon as we get home.”

“Okay.”

If the gods are watching, you would curse them. Under the rain, one afternoon in Inazuma, you had found yourself into your lovers arms. If you get sick after this, you would curse the gods. But…

But you feel Thoma’s heart. It is beating against your chest, and it rings in your ears. It sings a song, and you think, maybe, this isn’t so bad. Thoma moves, and you move with him. The rain dances on your skin, the pitter-patter of the raindrops fall freely on the ground.

The world dances with you.

Right, a dance. What you have with Thoma is exactly that: a dance, carefully done, graceful, wonderful, beautiful. Fluid.

A choreography may have its set steps, but each dancer makes it their own. With every new stage comes a new story.

This is your own dance. Your own story. A pas de deux.

IN MONDSTADT, ON A WARM, LIVELY DAY…

Perhaps you just don’t quite get it. Perhaps you would just never know what it feels like to have half of your being hundreds of miles away, because you have always been whole in one place and never more.

Thoma was not always the Thoma you now know.

He was not always Thoma, the well-known “fixer” of Inazuma. He was not always Thoma, the housekeeper of the Kamisato Clan. He was not always Thoma, Kamisato Ayato’s most loyal. Thoma, Kamisato Ayaka’s most trusted. Thoma, your most loved.

There was a time when he was just… Thoma, in Mondstadt.

Just Thoma, cooking hash browns for his Mondstadtian mother early in the morning. Just Thoma, strolling along the Mondstadt streets leisurely content. Just Thoma, spending his free days in the Favonius Library. Just Thoma, running around the fields in the outskirts of town with certain blue-haired and red-haired boys. Just Thoma.

“Is that them?”

Thoma pauses his small conversation with the fruit stall owner, excusing himself before turning to you. “Hm? Who?”

“The gentlemen you said you grew up with,” you recall, pointing subtly towards the center fountain of the Mondstadt city plaza where a red-haired man adorned with black clothing walks and greets every person they pass by and a blue-haired man with an eyepatch following suit. They both seem to be moving towards your direction.

“It is,” Thoma grins. You feel him move forward, excitement coursing through his body with every step he takes before he waves and the two men wave back.

You follow Thoma, staying behind so as to not overwhelm yourself and to let them bask in the joy of their reunion first. Your lover is as happy as one could be — in glee, in the way you had never seen of him back in Inazuma. Something about this joy, this Thoma, that melts your heart. It’s something so new, yet still so familiar. Because this is Thoma.

“It has been way too long, Thoma,” the blue-haired gentleman says in lieu of a greeting before pulling Thoma into a warm embrace. He pats his back a few times, and you hear Thoma laugh softly.

“It has,” Thoma replies. “I’m glad to see you again, Kaeya.”

You watch as they pull away in all smiles, then as Thoma faces the red-haired man with a subtle mischief to his grin. He gestures for a hug, which the man returns, though less touchy but still visibly affectionate.

“You’ve grown taller, Master Diluc,” Thoma teases.

The man, Diluc, snorts in brief amusement, “Well, I sure am excited you are back to make fun of my height. You and Kaeya loved that when we were kids.”

The three men burst into a quiet laughter, one filled with nostalgia and childlikeness. You see this with your own two eyes and you think that seeing the half of Thoma that you had never known feels so fulfilling. You are seeing him now, and you start seeing him whole. This is Thoma. Just as he is Thoma of Inazuma, Thoma of Mondstadt. Thoma in the Kamisato Estate, Thoma in the Ritou streets, Thoma in the Mondstadt Plaza, Thoma in the Windrise fields.

Your Thoma.

“The dance is about to start,” Kaeya starts once their laughter died down. “You still know how to hold the rhythm, Thoma?”

“Ehh, I’ve done some practice,” Thoma boasts. He turns to you after, flashing you a sweet smile. “Would you like to join? It’ll be fun! But I don’t want to overwhelm you, either, so we can just sit and watch if you want.”

You open your mouth to respond, but before words could even form on your tongue, Kaeya interrupts. “Oh Barbatos, how rude of us! I didn’t know you’d bring someone with you, Thoma!” he happily croons, “Spouse?”

A rush of heat and panic courses through your fingertips. “Oh, oh no–”

“Yes,” Thoma nods fervently, interrupting you before you could even defend yourself. His hand finds its place in yours, intertwining your fingers as it has always done before pulling you closer to him. You look up at him abashed, and he turns to you with a look that he knows. He knows. He knows. And he is not regretting anything, nor is he taking anything back. “Diluc, Kaeya. This is my spouse.”

“Goodness!” Kaeya exclaims, clapping twice. “Then I’ll be the first to ask, would you like to dance?” He puts his hand towards you, gesturing you to take it. He senses your hesitation so he continues. “Don’t worry, I can teach you, and you’ll be better than Thoma in no time. And we have quite!”

You glance at Thoma worriedly, and he gives you a reassuring smile. “Go on, (Name)!” Then he glares at Kaeya, “No funny business, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry! I won’t speak about the time you were running home because you really needed to go to the toilet but you didn’t even get past your front door before your pants were soi–”

“Archons, would it kill you to shut up for a seco–”

Kaeya gently grabs your wrist, pulling you to the center of the plaza and away from Diluc and Thoma. The red-haired man waves and Thoma just shrugs.

Lively music starts to play, and a few people started joining in. There is not an order to the dancing in the plaza, since everybody seems to be taking their time to practice first. Kaeya taps your forearm twice, catching your attention.

“Sorry about that,” Kaeya sheepishly apologizes, “and sorry about grabbing you. I hope it’s fine.”

“It is, don’t worry,” you reassure. “Though, uhh… I don’t really know how to do this.”

Kaeya laughs, shooting relief down your spine. “Honestly? Me neither! But here’s what I know.”

The blue-haired man in front of you grabs both your hands, gentle in touch. You feel the calluses on his fingertips. He guides you to move, left and right. “Kick out your left foot, then your right. Alternate them in steps forward…” He instructs, one by one, as he moves in unison with you. “...Aaaaand, turn!” Kaeya turns you around, holding you steady with an arm to your elbow when you stumble slightly.

You feel your heartbeat grow quicker with the excitement and nerves, and Kaeya smiles at you with a look that says, that was great! You’re doing great! You glance behind him, locking eyes with Thoma and he raises a high thumbs up to you, easing the tension you didn’t know you had stuck in your body.

“That’s all there is to it, actually,” Kaeya explains. “It’s just a series of repetitions. Kick, left and right. Step, left and right, then turn! You already got the hang of it.”

The music continues and both you and Kaeya move to it. The sun is at its perfect place in the sky, and the city is starting to find its rhythm. Everyone dancing begins to neatly follow their parts in the plaza, and you’re glad that you haven’t stumbled once since you last did when Kaeya was teaching you.

“You know,” Kaeya starts, kicking, left right, stepping, left right, turn. “He was the best behaved child among all of us in Mondstadt. Not even Diluc could compare, because our father would always tell us how good of a boy Thoma was, and we should be more like him.”

Kick, left and right. Step, left and right. Turn. Kaeya chuckles lowly. “Of course I never listened, and neither did Diluc.”

You nod in acknowledgement, gesturing him to continue and that you’re intently listening. You get to hear snippets of Thoma’s life long before you two ever met.

“He’s a great man. I’m sure you know that, too.”

Before you could even continue on with the conversation, a gloved hand gently nudges your elbow and you turn to look. Diluc stands before you two, looking at you with his fiery eyes. “May I?”

“Oh,” you glance at Kaeya, gaze asking. He nods, carefully pushing you into Diluc’s reach without missing a beat. “Of course!”

Kick, left and right. Step, left and right. Turn. Turn. Turn.

“How are you enjoying Mondstadt so far?”

“Uhh,” you try to speak, but not being used to dancing tires you too quickly if you try to speak, “It’s been great. Happy. To see Thoma’s childhood.”

Diluc rubs the back of your hands with his thumbs, apologetic in his actions. “Sorry, you don’t have to talk if you can’t. I’ll do the talking,” he coughs. Left, right, left, right, left, right. Turn. Left, right. “Although I’m not very good at talking either.”

“It’s fine, Diluc,” you grin at him reassuringly. “I’m just not very athletic and definitely not very good at dancing.”

“You’re doing great,” Diluc says.

More people started to join the dance, and everybody else not in the center claps to the lively music. A few people started bringing their instruments and adding to the bustling city their own flavors of music. Kick, left, right, left, right. Step, left, right, left, right. Turn. Turn. Turn.

“Thoma was a good boy,” Diluc wonders aloud, “and now he has grown into a great man.”

You nod in agreement, smiling at the parallel anecdotes from both Kaeya and Diluc. You decide to respond, “He has. He is a great man.”

“I see it. You are so lucky to have him,” Diluc nods, smiling to himself. “But I’m sure he’s just as lucky to have you as well.”

You find comfort in the warm words of Diluc, and you grin inwardly, looking down to try and hide it. He holds you and guides you with ease and grace, and the city of Mondstadt becomes a part of you as well.

It’s so fulfilling. To be able to see the half of Thoma, and to become a part of his whole.

Your eyes look around, searching for the blonde-haired boy, and you see him skipping towards you. He moves to the beat, moving closer inch by inch. He never misses, and you realize that he has danced his whole life. He has danced every part of who he is and he has asked you to dance with him.

Diluc offers your hand to Thoma, and he waves you a small goodbye before moving to the side. Thoma kisses your palm, never losing rhythm.

“Dance with me?”