Work Text:
“How do you find my new haircut?”
Diluc barely spares Childe a glance. “Honestly? I just really hate your face.”
An outraged gasp echoes, to which he only answers with a noncommittal grunt because it’s not like they actually have the luxury to make idle chatter: the work isn’t going to be finished on its own.
When realising no other thoughts will be spared for him, Childe places a hand on his heart and sighs, eyes half lidded, “You wound me, Diluc, you really do.”
Diluc doesn’t care. This is the answer he was asking for, after all.
Since the teacher had the brilliant idea to pair students herself for chemistry practical work, the redhead has found himself obliged every week to team up and actually get along with none other than effing Childe. And with every passing week, he feels the will to be accommodating leaving his body.
The worst might be that the redhead can’t come up with a good enough explanation of why it’s impossible for them to get along, even for a few minutes. Maybe it’s Childe’s always too wide and toothy smile or the fake aura of politeness surrounding him which makes him so easy to despise. His whole persona he has built since his arrival only feels fake to Diluc, and he doesn’t have time to spare for people like this. But these kinds of arguments aren’t good enough to stand their ground against their professors or worst, the headteacher.
“You shouldn’t be so surprised.” Seeing Childe’s dejected face, a feeling of surprise creeps up his spine. “Wait, you didn’t expect a serious answer, did you?” Because if it were to be true, I would give up any hopes I had left for you, Diluc doesn’t add because contrary to popular beliefs, he does retain some manners when he’s with Childe.
The latter one rolls his eyes. “Of course not. For your information, I’m actually smarter than that.”
This time, it's Diluc's turn to raise his eyes heavenward. “Then put your brain into real use and get back to work.” He smacks his notebook into the ginger’s arm — he knows it must hurt because the spiral bindings aren’t kind to anyone. There’s something strangely satisfying in the yelp of surprise Childe lets out, but Diluc doesn’t dwell on it: this dilution required by their textbook isn’t going to appear out of thin air.
“Since you’re so clever, could you give me this bottle?” The redhead points toward the small wanted recipient to underline his demand.
One could believe it or not, but Childe had the uncanny ability like no one else had to bring the worst side out of him without much of an effort. A smug glance, a crooked smile, a boisterous laugh, all of these are enough to send the redhead’s blood boiling and his mind reeling.
“Wow, thank you for asking with such politeness, I think I’m flattered,” Childe drawls while reaching out for the vial, only to drop it in front of him. “Here. Delivery for His radiating Sunshine.”
And he has the audacity to wink at Diluc.
The redhead would very much answer something along the lines of “go away”, but that would only fuel that menace to pester him further. Instead, Diluc merely glares daggers at him, knowing the ginger will get the feeling he wants to relay. Annoyance. Disdain. Contempt.
Childe turns to get back to his own corner of the lab bench where Diluc can not reach him when his lab coat catches itself into the screws fixed on Diluc’s chair. Before the redhead can even open his mouth to yell something, anything really, Childe carries on, unaware.
The cloth holds steady onto his chair — which would actually fall over if it wasn’t for Diluc sitting with all his weight on it, until it isn’t. Childe trips, the chair and Diluc wobble together, and no matter how hard Childe waves in arms to stay upright, he tumbles down right on the lab bench.
Clatters. Broken glass.
There’s something wet sticking to Diluc, and it takes him too long to register it. The cause? The spatters of the products which were previously into test tubes. Childe is still sprawled across the lab bench, and it’s only when the ginger turns his head towards him that Diluc has the honour to witness the look of utter disarray written on these features.
His not so white lab coat is worse than Diluc's now, splattered with different colours. With a stroke of luck, there isn’t anything on his face apart from his usual freckles. Diluc stares at him, an uneasy feeling curling in his stomach. Perhaps it’s due to the way those blue eyes don’t shimmer with mischief, or how Childe’s face is lacking his usual relaxed smile.
“You’re a disgrace to the human race,” Diluc mutters because it’s the only way of communication he can think of with Childe.
“You can’t blame a man for being a tad clumsy…” The ginger’s voice trails off, and now there’s an awkward grimace plastered on his face. Perhaps this is even worse.
Diluc sends him an unimpressed look. “Watch me, see if I care.”
The other student opens his mouth, but before an intelligible sound can get out of it, Miss Sucrose is already coming their way.
“Is everything alright—?” She glances from them to the mess on the bench lab, and then from the bench lab to them. There’s a growing wrinkle on her forehead, and Diluc doesn’t think it will get any better today.
This man is an idiot and a menace to society, Diluc doesn’t say.
Please, allow me to swap lab partners, Diluc doesn’t ask.
Instead, he steps aside.
༄
It’s Monday morning. Sleep tugs, heavy, at his eyelids. Even the coffee has stopped to help. There’s nothing in the world that Diluc wants more than dropping his head on his arm and letting sleep take him away.
A loud thud at his left sends his desk wobbling — someone has decided to sit beside Diluc. Used to the sight of Amber slumped on the table next to him every day, he doesn’t react right away when it’s ginger curls instead of brown ones greeting him.
“You—”
“Aw,” Childe sighs. Something akin to annoyance stirs into the redhead, and suddenly, there’s nothing he wants more than shutting this boy up. “I didn’t think my presence could get such a reaction out of you,” Childe laughs, and it’s too loud, too obnoxious.
“Don’t flatter yourself, you’re more like a mosquito. Anyone would want to slap you away.”
“Clever, aren’t you, Your Royal Happiness?”
His answer is a dark glare.
“But you know what they say about mosquitos?”
Diluc sighs. He’s going to have a headache. “I don’t, and I think you’ll tell me either way.”
“They keep you up all night!” Childe has the nerve to wink, a huge smile drawn on his face.
That’s it. Diluc will strangle that ginger fool currently sitting next to him, and then perhaps he’ll jump out of the window because that seems to be a far kinder option than attending the next class.
But he doesn’t let all of these feelings show on his face, not even once.
“Oh, honey, you can do better than this.” Diluc drags out the words, like the ginger always does when he’s trying to antagonise him. To stoop so low to the same level as Childe makes his skin itch, and he wants to throttle himself for this. But at last, that seems to be enough to shut Childe up: he will take that as a win. Scowling at the ginger student, Diluc turns to face the black board just in time to see the professor strolling into the room.
This is going to be a long day.
༄
“Am I dreaming, or did I really see you flirting with Childe this morning?” Diluc chokes on water while Amber sets down her tray next to his with her usual enthusiasm.
“You were dreaming,” Diluc says once he’s recovered enough. “I’d rather have holes drilled into my teeth than this, so please don’t bring it up again.”
The girl explodes in giggles before his bemused eyes, totally disregarding his previous warning, only to nudge his elbow with a huge smile when her laughter has died down.
“You've grown up with Kaeya.”
“What does this mean?”
Amber’s smile only grows wider — is it even physically possible? “Of course you would know how to handle a ‘headless and stupid idiot’, your words, not mine.” She flattens her hands on the table and pushes herself forward. “And here I thought you were going to grow old and bitter—”
“So you're saying Kaeya is a ‘headless and stupid idiot’,” Diluc cuts her off, an eyebrow raised. “Your words, not mine. Coming from you, that's a low blow.”
“Hey, don't twist my sentences!” Amber jabs a finger at him. “I can see what you're trying to accomplish here, and it's not going to work.”
“Really?” Diluc says as his other eyebrow raises to confer him an image of pure incredulity while Amber studies his face with a renewed focus.
“Don't frown so much, you're going to get wrinkles,” he adds.
Amber opens her mouth to retort when her eyes widen as she spots something behind his shoulder. Discarding their conversation, she nudges him and points out with her chin the queue of people waiting to get their tray of food.
“Speak of the devil, isn’t it your lab partner?”
Ignoring the innuendo in the brunette’s voice, Diluc turns towards the mentioned direction only to catch sight of the so familiar ginger hair surrounded by his usual friends. When their stares meet, his heart shudders, and Diluc turns back as fast as he can.
“Stop staring, for god’s sake!” The redhead flicks his fingers before her face to bring her attention back to him. “I don’t want to deal with them right now.”
Amber has the guts to roll her eyes at him. “You’re no fun.”
“Have you forgotten who we are speaking of? Isn’t Dottore the one who told you that you’ll never understand maths and get an average grade?”
His friend doesn’t answer, but the flash of anger in her eyes is telling enough. They fall into silence, but that doesn’t keep them from stealing glances at the group of friends. A smile is drawn on Dottore’s face — too recognisable by his blueish hair — as he watches Childe and Scaramouche bickering on the side: even though the latter one is quite smaller than Childe, it seems they have no problem antagonising each other.
Maybe he likes their relationship that way?” Amber suggests unhelpfully when he shares his thoughts about the pair. “He doesn’t mind when you two argue. In fact, I would even say that he might like it—”
“This is pure nonsense.”
Amber sits back on her chair, arms crossed. “I’ve forgotten you can be like that sometimes.”
“Like what?”
She sends him a triumphant look. “Stubborn as a mule.”
To answer, Diluc throws her the best dark stare he can muster, but this threat holds no water since they both know he doesn’t mean it at all.
“You can’t ignore the truth forever, you know.”
“What truth?” The redhead shrugs. “That we can’t get along even to save our own lives?”
His friend scoffs like he’s just said the most idiotic and moronic sentence one could ever fathom.
“I give up on you. You’ll see.”
“Right,” Diluc replies before falling silent.
When he looks down on his plate, the sight of the greasy grey meat and the way too roasted carrots greet him. If there’s a critic to point out on this highschool, it would be without a doubt about the quality of the meals served, which is shady at best. The hunger draws out of him until he feels nothing but disdain towards the food (?) placed before him.
This is a long day; he feels like he’s already spent years in that school, and yet it’s only been a few hours.
What a disaster.
A voice cuts through his thoughts. “If you’re not going to eat them, can I have your carrots?”
When he raises his head, it’s to find Amber’s stare upon him. There’s something akin to gentleness in her eyes as if she wasn’t the very one telling him he was hopeless a few minutes ago.
Diluc sighs. Then, he pushes his plate towards her, a motion he knows by heart now.
The way a big smile draws over her lips and glitters shine into her eyes is enough to warm his heart for the rest of the day.
༄
“Hey Diluc!”
Here it is: a headache coming at full speed towards him.
“I wanted to ask you something.” Childe is running down the halfway, drawing nearer to him at full speed in a brazen display of friendliness that makes his feet ache to run in the opposite direction.
It’s no, Diluc wants to answer, but straight up refusing without hearing the other student out before is another level of pettiness he isn’t willing to reach. And so, he stops in his tracks to wait for the ginger to reach him, fighting the urge to roll his eyes because that wouldn’t be so nice of him.
When Childe finally arrives by his side, there’s a glitter of mischief lit in his blue eyes: this isn’t a good look on him, Diluc decides while unease starts to stir in him.
“You are quite good at chemistry, aren’t you?”
To say Diluc is taken aback by the sudden question is quite an understatement; even though the redhead tries hard to keep his surprise from altering his facial expression, his brain rattles with the shock.
“I manage to get good grades. Why are you asking—”
Childe doesn’t even let him finish his sentence. Instead, his lab partner reaches for Diluc’s hands, and the next thing the redhead can register is the blue wide eyes filled with a silent plea and hands clutching his own with a strength born out of despair.
“What the flying hell is going through your head—?” Diluc tries to pull back his hands, but Childe has more strength than he has accounted for: the ginger holds steady.
“Please, please — I beg you — tutor me!”
Diluc opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out of it. He closes it. He opens it, and then—
“Don’t make a face like this!”
The redhead lets out a strangled sound, “Like what—”
Childe pauses — as if the question required actual thinking — before answering with one of his biggest smiles plastered on his face, “Like a mudskipper gasping for air, I’d say.”
Cheeks burning hot, Diluc manages to free one of his hands to hit the utterly moronic ginger idiot standing before him. “Try again. Choose your words carefully.”
Childe gulps — if Diluc’s eyes follow his Adam’s apple going up and then down, this is only pure imagination — before raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Let’s forget that, shall we?” When his annoyed stance doesn’t tone down, Childe rubs a hand behind his neck with a sheepish grin. “I really, really need your help, and I swear to you this isn’t some kind of sick joke!” A pause. “And I can pay you! Twenty bucks per hour, how does it sound?”
Diluc ignores on purpose the last sentence. “There are more qualified students than me.” Albedo, for example, he doesn’t say, but the name hangs between them, heavy.
“But it’s you I know best! That would be too awkward to ask them, you know.”
“Since when do you care about being awkward with people?”
As far as Diluc recalls, Childe has never been one to be afraid of reaching out to people, whatever the consequences may be.
“A guy can change, you know.”
Even though he doesn’t quite buy it, Diluc finds himself tempted by the idea: what could possibly happen at worst? A murder? Never mind how irritating the guy could be, Diluc still trusted his nerves to be strong enough to restrain the urge of murdering the other. At best, he could use the time to study the subject more thoroughly: one always says tutoring someone else is great for gaining a deeper understanding of the discipline
Childe must see his resolve shift because the sheepish smile slowly morphs into something more joyous and genuine, but Diluc interrupts him before he can open his mouth.
“I agree.” The redhead raises a hand to stop Childe from talking. “But if you start being a nuisance — this is over.”
“I would never.”
Diluc’s eyes quickly gauge Childe’s demeanour (even though his lab partner tries to act well-behaved and put up, he knows this must be just an act) before the redhead answers with all the sarcasm he can muster.
“Right. You would never.”
“Glad we reached an understanding!” Unfazed, Childe extends his left hand towards him to Diluc to shake it.
When their fingers collide, he can feel the smooth skin beneath his fingertips, and Childe’s heat radiating from his body.
This is unsettling. This is unwanted. This is—
Diluc cuts short his train of thoughts before the wreck.
“Don’t think that makes us friends.”
“I would never.”
And Childe smiles, too wide, too big; there are small gaps between his front teeth and too many freckles sprawled on his cheekbones. The only thing the redhead can do is stare at that face he hates with all his heart with dread.
“Wait!” Childe cries out after him, “do you have a phone number? It might be easier—”
Diluc ignores that ginger menace and keeps walking.
Somehow, Diluc knows he’s doomed.
༄
“I think I got it!” Childe cries out — Diluc could swear there are tears shining into his eyes.
“Are you sure? Or do you want a third explanation—” The sentence is cut short by Childe nudging him hard with his elbow.
“What in the world—” Diluc starts, too loud for a library, and after a deep breath he picks up his sentence again, whispering this time, “What in the world are you doing?”
Some students turn toward the desk he’s currently sharing with Childe only to throw him dirty looks. His lab partner, a blissful ignorant, doesn’t even flinch, still frowning at the paper sitting between his hands: in the end, it’s Diluc who has the decency to look sorry for both of them.
“I will do the explanation this time, and you’re going to judge if I understood right or not!”
Here it is, the headache coming at full speed. Again.
If Childe notices his dejected expression, he doesn’t comment on it as he points out something in his textbook.
“Here we have the equation which describes the chemical reaction.” Diluc nods. “And if we want to have the same quantities on both sides…” Childe trails off, and in response the redhead only softens his scowl a bit. This is his way to show support, at least to his lab partner. Childe clears his throat and starts again with a less assured voice — the redhead can almost hear
shivers in it.
“Then, then you count the number of different atoms on each side.” Diluc nods again. “You — multiply or divide to get the same amount of atoms on each side!”
Up and down, Diluc shakes his head, “Well, it seems you won’t need a third explanation after all.”
Now, there’s a wide smile lighting up Childe’s entire stupid face, but due to whatever unknown reason, he can’t bear to look away.
“What?” Childe says when the silence stretches too long. “Is there something on my face?”
Mortification creeps on his cheeks, but Diluc refuses to back down or provide an explanation (because he has none).
“You’ve got something in your teeth.”
That is efficient: Childe stops smiling right away and throws him a worried glance.
“Wait— I’ll be back!” And with that, the ginger student rises from his seat and hurries away, surely to find the bathrooms.
Left alone, Diluc lets out a small sigh of relief, letting his gaze wander across his surroundings. Everywhere his eyes can fall upon, there are students buried in their textbook or writing at a mad pace, pens squeaking against paper. And just like that, Diluc feels like he’s out of place, lost somewhere he doesn’t quite belong to. He finds himself wishing that Childe would hurry to return, so they could go back to work as fast as possible.
Right.
If his traitorous brain whispers to him that he might as well have a totally different reason, Diluc doesn’t listen to it. At all.
༄
They meet every Thursday and like every Thursday, Diluc feels he might tear his hair apart and take a step closer to becoming bald.
“Are you sure about that?” Childe would say, and without missing a beat, Diluc would entertain the idea to smack him right in the head.
“Can you explain again? I think I’m going to fail this class,” Childe would ask, and without thinking twice beforehand, Diluc would roll his eyes while answering something along the lines “it’s your life you’re going to fail”.
It seems it’s the only way they know to reach out to the other.
Then, it’s Kaeya’s birthday party, and he must suffer through the unpleasant ordeal of finding himself to be in the same room as Childe in a context where using sciences and maths to distract himself from the urge to strangle the ginger isn’t socially acceptable.
Before Diluc can think twice about it, he’s in a karaoke with Childe, eyes locked together, singing an old song about how they are made for hating the other.
And then, Diluc finds himself staring at that boy with his idiotic smile, his obnoxious laugh and his stupid face as they brush over the word ‘love’ and proclaim their undying hatred for each other.
“Aren’t we great together?” Childe winks at him when the song is over.
His exhalation catches in his throat. The air blazes in his lungs; he cannot breathe. It's only when he lays two fingers against his cheek and the burning warmth radiating from his skin clashes against his cold fingertips that the realisation strikes him: he is the one emanating heat.
Oh.
Oh.
He understands now.
A deafening sound comes out of his heartbeat and pierces his mind as every piece of the puzzle comes together until Diluc’s unwillingly able to perceive the bigger picture.
He might— There’s a tiny, microscopic chance — No.
For a long second, the world spins out of its axis, leaving him alone to fight for establishing a balance back. He clenches, unclenches his fingers as he breathes in slowly through the nose. His head reels from the dizzying feeling of exploring uncharted territories.
There’s an infinitesimal possibility that he might think Childe would make a decent friend, and if the world had been perfect, the ginger would have stayed a despicable student just good enough to be despised. But since the world could never be that great, he’ll just have to deal with it. Perhaps Childe's personality is much more interesting and intelligent than the first picture he drew of him. So what. The guy’s personality is still as infuriating as possible; nothing has changed, and it means nothing, nothing at all. Childe is still the same guy who is terrible at chemistry, sports terrible looks (yes, terrible) with his unkempt ginger strands, and his terrible sense of humour. Maybe Diluc feels a little less animosity toward the guy. So what? The world isn't going to end.
“Right,” he manages to get out, as sarcastic as possible. He tries his best to not wince when the words stumble out of his mouth, as if himself doesn't quite believe in what he's saying.
If he’s going to throw up, alcohol wouldn’t be the one to blame. In a daze, his eyes wander across the room, trying to find an opportunity to excuse himself from Childe’s company. When Diluc finally catches sight of his brother, it’s to find him slumped against Albedo, who doesn’t seem to mind it at all. This is it.
“I’m going to check on him,” he says without specifying who’s this ‘him’, but he has the feeling Childe will understand.
The redhead strides to the couch where Kaeya is currently lying on it without looking back once, not even to check on the ginger’s reaction, and lets his body drop lifelessly on the soft mattress. Albedo, surprised by the sudden sound, raises his head, allowing their stares to meet.
Is everything alright? Diluc can read into the blonde’s eyes, and he nods to appease the other student without alerting him.
“Hey!” Kaeya slurs as he hangs an arm around Diluc’s shoulder when he has finally noticed the redhead’s presence. “Long time no see, ‘Luuc!”
These days, Kaeya almost never calls him that way when they’re outside. Which can only mean one thing.
“You’re wasted.”
“Absooolutly not!” The words blend together so fast that Diluc has to focus hard on what Kaeya’s saying to get the meaning. And then, slower and quieter as if he's telling a secret, his brother adds, “Are you enjoying yourself?”
It's tempting to answer by the negative, but Diluc manages to hold his tongue back. “That’s a very nice party you’ve got there, Kae.”
The blue haired boy’s face lights up as if he’s a child the morning after Christmas Eve, opening his presents with a barely hidden delight.
“You never call me that anymore.” Then a pout. “You don’t love me, admit it!” And glee, again. “It must be a special night, then! Or did we go back in time when we were still children, did we?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Inffe— Insf— Inse—” Kaeya frowns: maybe even in his drunken state has he realised what a fool of himself he’s making? Diluc’s hopes are shattered when his brother’s sudden burst of laughter tears up his eardrum. “Doesn’t matter since I’ll always remember this moment.” He raises a finger, “Best birthday after the one where you dropped one of your turtles (Lili, was it?) in the pool, and you cried so much—”
“For the record, it was a mistake because I tripped on a tile, and I thought she was dead,” the redhead cuts in a vain attempt to salvage his public image and to keep his foolish brother from sprouting more nonsense, “and we were five!”
Beside Kaeya, Albedo snickers with a lopsided smile, one which should be deserving of a punch, as if young Diluc deserved the mockery.
“And you remember wrong; it was actually Lele who got dropped into the pool,” he argues back, just to have the last word on this stupid conversation.
This time, Albedo lets out a quick guffaw synonym of victory to his ears while Kaeya huffs and puffs as he tries to nudge Diluc with his elbow to no end since the redhead’s dodging abilities are far superior to those of a drunkard.
“I’m heading back,” Diluc says without ceremony when his brother’s attacks have relented. “Don’t make a fool out of yourself, and refrain yourself from starting false rumours about me, either.” Kaeya’s eyes widen, and the drunken haze lingering in them is almost cleared for one second.
“I would never!” comes the first reply. A lie. Then, “Are you—okay?” The blue haired boy tries to get up from the couch he’s slumped into, but strength seems to fail him as Diluc, bemused, watches him fall back gracelessly. “Do you need a ride?”
With a hand placed on his shoulder, Diluc stops Kaeya from trying to get up one more time. “You’re way too drunk for this, Kae. Let Albedo drive you home.”
An exchange of stares with the blonde is enough for him to be assured that his brother’s fate will be in good hands: if there’s a person in this world he trusts more than himself to take care of a drunk Kaeya, it’s without a doubt Albedo.
Diluc snaps his fingers before his brother’s face to bring back his attention to himself. “Hey Kae, look at me.” Kaeya’s eyes flicker back to him. “I’m fine. This was a great party. I’m heading back, I’ll text you, okay?”
“You’re not lying?” the blue haired boy says with a childlike voice. “Sometimes you lie about it.”
“About what?”
“You know,” he makes a wide gesture, “you being fine.”
Diluc almost — almost! — reels back, yet he manages to get his body under control, not moving. He would never have guessed his brother could perceive his lies that easily: here Diluc thought he was being clever and good at hiding his emotions.
“I just know you well, ‘Luc,” Kaeya mumbles, his words almost lost as someone has started a new song.
Before Diluc can press him further (what do you mean by that!?), his brother’s attention has already shifted focus, and now the target in question is none other than Albedo.
Kaeya will be fine.
“Good luck with him.” Diluc nods at Albedo, more to thank him than to bid him goodbye.
“Don’t worry. I’ve chosen this.”
The fond look the blonde gives his brother is enough to give him goosebumps — not in front of him, for god’s sake! Diluc rolls hard his eyes to make his point clear, but the blonde is too engrossed in staring at Kaeya’s face to notice.
“These couples and their dumbstruck love,” the redhead mumbles to himself, like the old person he is, before getting up on his feet. The music playing has changed, again: this time, it seems the one currently going for a pitiful attempt at singing aims to tear up his audience's eardrums, which must be alcohol’s fault. This is his cue to leave as Diluc will not let his ears be murdered in cold blood without doing nothing.
He’s already making his way toward the exit when he recognises Childe’s voice yelling after him.
“Wait, Diluc—!”
But Diluc doesn’t wait, doesn’t look back, not even once.
༄
“Can we talk about what happened at my birthday party?”
Kaeya’s voice echoes softly behind him. Diluc sighs, and turns on his chair to face his brother, although unwillingly. He tries to hide away his wince because, right now, talking about feeling is as appealing as biting in a lemon, and something tells him his brother won’t take well this rejection coming from him. “Does knocking before coming in mean something to the empty brain of yours?”
The blue haired boy shrugs, “Never has been, I’m afraid.”
“Well, it’s never too late to learn: get out, and do it the right way.”
“Are you being serious?”
Unmoved, Diluc stares at him and gestures in the direction of the door to emphasise the importance of it.
“Maybe I’ll answer your question if you obey.”
“You’re such a pain.”
Despite Kaeya’s reluctance, the blue haired boy yields and goes along with Diluc’s absurd demand, closing the door behind him, not without flipping Diluc off before exiting. Waiting for the knocking to come, Diluc lets his gaze wander in his room always perfectly tidied up — Kaeya can’t say the same about his own.
The bed is made (he does it every morning) and to his greatest satisfaction, there’s nothing standing out, not even in contrast with the greyish floor: everything blends well together in black or white, whether it’s the blankets or his desk. Diluc likes the balance which comes with it. In fact, the only thing clearly standing out in his room is the terrarium in which his turtles live happy and peaceful days — unlike him, it would seem.
At the same moment the redhead recalls he hasn’t been able to clean the terrarium in the past few days, making it an urgent matter, Kaeya knocks on the door.
“Come in.”
“God, you do feel smug about it.”
That’s true.
“There’s nothing better than having your rules being respected.”
“Oh, cut the crap.” Kaeya sits down on Diluc’s bed and leans towards him. “So. My birthday party. Did you enjoy it?”
His blue eyes skim over the redhead’s face; he feels caught into the spotlight, where each of the smallest tics is amplified and analysed over and over. A primal desire to push back rises up, but he tames it down before its claws can reach Kaeya.
“Yeah, of course,” Diluc says, simple and straight to the point.
The wrinkle lodging between Kaeya’s eyebrows doesn’t soothe; quite the opposite instead, if anything the frown has worsened.
“You mean that?”
Diluc rolls his eyes, hard. “Why would I lie to you?”
“You do that sometimes.”
This conversation, which should have never started, is stretching already for too long to his own liking, and Kaeya shows no sign of relenting. Swatting his arm away, Diluc huffs.
Give up, he doesn’t say. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Last time I checked, I was still the main resident in my own head. Maybe you should try to trust me.”
At this, Kaeya's shoulders hunch forward as he crumbles into the stance of an old man. “I don't want you to lie for my sake.”
“Bold of you to assume that I would do something for you,” Diluc says, raising an eyebrow. This is a lie, and a bad one at that (Kaeya could prove him wrong within five seconds), but it is enough to carry the message to his brother.
Diluc can see the precise moment when the fight leaves Kaeya’s body; his shoulders slump as he lets out a long sigh. “Alright, you win. For this time.” The blue haired boy jabs a finger in his chest. “Don’t think I will forget that easily.”
“Couldn’t dream of it.” Diluc nudges him in the forearm right back with the same amount of force. “You’re a pest.”
“Yet, you love me,” Kaeya answers with an easy smile.
Diluc doesn’t dignify this with a fully formed sentence, only letting out a small grunt while the silence fills the void left by the absence of words.
The seconds start ticking down until Kaeya feels compelled to break the silence surrounding them because, in a true Kaeya fashion, the blue haired boy can never stay quiet for too long.
“What about the other part?”
“Which one?” the redhead huffs, knowing all too well he’s being obtuse on purpose. Kaeya knows it, too.
“Yeah, I wonder.” Her brother imitates a thinking pose, “Well, we could start with the part where you actually get along with Childe for more than two minutes without screaming at his face?”
“Isn’t it what you wanted, though? Everyone getting along with everyone?”
Kaeya sends him an annoyed glance. “You know what I mean.” He points an accusatory finger toward Diluc. “Since when do you sing with Childe, who is — and I’m quoting — the most brainless student ever to take a chemistry class, and any sane person would rather shoot themselves than to be partnered with him? Because, for your information, singing together is quite the same as being paired with someone. But that’s only my humble opinion.”
“Don’t think too much about it; you’re going to hurt yourself.”
But Kaeya waves his jab away with a flick of the wrist. “And then, you fled just after the song finished. If you want my opinion, Childe looked pretty dejected after you left. So—” His brother claps his hands together as a satisfied smile draws on his lips, “what do you have to say for your defence?”
“You’re being ridiculous. More than usual, that is.”
“Being this snarky doesn’t suit you at all, ‘Luc, you can do better.”
Diluc rolls his eyes. “What do you want to hear?”
“Maybe you finally found out that Childe can be a nice guy when you don’t hold a pointless grudge.”
“I don’t—!”
“Oh yes, you do.”
Diluc throws him a dark glare, but that doesn’t unsettle Kaeya the slightest bit as the blue haired boy keeps going, “I don’t know why you despise him since he transferred, but—”
“Don’t you see the people he’s friends with? That’s telling enough.”
“Hey! I’m one of his friends!”
“My point, exactly.”
“You’re being difficult on purpose now, ‘Luc. Just admit you like the guy,” Kaeya says, driving a final knife in the already open wound.
The redhead almost recoils fiercely when hearing the infamous word, but he finally manages to get his nerves under control before his slight disarray becomes noticeable.
He sighs, “Why are you being so stubborn about it?”
“I don’t know, Diluc, I just— I just think you should stop hating everyone at first sight, it’s refreshing, you’ll see.”
“I don’t hate everyone,” the redhead mumbles even though he knows it’s a lost fight with Kaeya. “That’s not true—”
“Venti?” Diluc’s about to open his mouth to protest, but Kaeya’s faster. “Dottore? Scaramouche? Childe ? Eula?”
The redhead opens his mouth to protest, but no sounds come out of it. Instead of trying to deny the impossible, he settles for something he can advocate for.
“I'm only pretending to hate Eula.”
“Right. That makes it so much better.”
“And I befriended Amber, does that mean nothing to you?”
As expected, his brother shakes his head with a smug smile plastered on his lips, “Amber could be friends with a tree.”
“And Albedo? I think we get along pretty well.”
“I befriended him first, though.”
“With ill intents.”
Without heat, Kaeya slaps his arm. The touch lingers on his skin. “I liked his mind too, you know.”
The redhead rolls his eyes back in their socket, the kind of gesture which shows more white than colour, one Kaeya particularly despises because it exposes blood vessels and uncanny white.
Unfortunately, his brother doesn’t take the bait as he pushes Diluc’s face away, cold palm sprawled across his hot cheek. “Very clever. Answer this question truthfully, and I’ll leave.”
This is a bad idea.
“Fine,” Diluc sighs, like a warrior fallen during a gruesome fight.
“Has Childe become a tolerable idiot to spend time with?”
Correction: this was an atrocious idea.
Diluc considers the question, considers it even though the obvious answer appears before him. He considers it even if he can feel Kaeya’s gaze upon him, and he can guess his brother has his arms folded on his chest, fully expecting his answer. Diluc considers lying, running away, and beating around the bush to mislead Kaeya. Except he does none of these.
“Yes.” Seeing the smile blooming across his brother’s face, the redhead adds quickly, “And that means nothing.”
Kaeya’s grin only grows wider. “It does, ‘Luc, it does. ‘Tolerable idiot’ is the closest you’ll get to the word friend. Besides, you were too quick to deny everything after your admission.” The blue haired boy assesses him with a calculating look. “I'd say you were telling the full truth. Childe is really a friend for you.”
With that nagging phrase hanging in the air, Kaeya raises two fingers to his temple in a mocking salute and exits his room without saying anything else. Diluc barely registers the sound of a door closing that he has already let his forehead meet the hard surface of his desk in a loud clutter.
He might be utterly fucked up.
༄
“Are you mad at me?”
Childe’s voice startles Diluc, and he raises his head hurriedly, only to meet an azure stare watching him closely with something akin to worry mixed with defiance in it. His breath catches in his throat, and Diluc can only hope his foolish brother hasn’t revealed anything of their past conversation to the ginger menace.
“No more than usual. Why are you asking?”
“You—” Childe shifts his weight on his other foot. “You left earlier, and I tried to call after you, but you didn’t answer.”
Ah. This. The sudden moment of clairvoyance he would have lived very well without it. He’d rather die than confessing it to the ginger.
“I had no idea,” Diluc says, like a liar. “There was loud music, remember?”
“I was— well, what I meant is that — I mean I—” Childe stutters before cutting himself.
“Come again? Not in gibberish this time.”
His lab partner laughs, twisting his fingers. “Never mind, it’s no use now.”
This is utterly frustrating, yet Diluc forces himself to remain calm. Deep breaths. He forces himself to relax his fingers into palms.
“Okay,” he says like he doesn’t care. He does, his interest has been sparked. “Is that all?”
Childe lets out a little laugh, which still sounds a little awkward. “Um, are you still good with you tutoring me?”
“I don’t think why would I change my mind.”
The ginger student grins at him, “Well, it’s settled then!”
Everything seems to be back to normal, so there would be no use in dwelling on it any more, yet an uncanny feeling settles low in his stomach, and there’s nothing more tempting than to claw at it to dislodge the buzz from his ribs. Diluc knows better than to make a bloody mess out of him, so he lets the feeling sit and fester in his chest.
༄
If the world was totally and utterly perfect, Childe wouldn’t be standing next to him in a chemistry lab. In fact, even if the world wasn’t absolutely perfect, Childe still shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near him in a chemistry lab with corrosive products in it.
But it would seem that the world is far from ideal.
“Don’t you think my hair is a bit flat today?”
Diluc sighs heavily before turning to face his lab partner. Truth to be told, he has never paid much attention to Childe’s features (rolling eyes at each other doesn’t count), so when he pauses to take a long look at the other student, this is still something unheard of.
Childe has dark shadow underneath his eyes circled with sunken cheeks accentuating his bones frame, yet, despite the tiredness reflecting all over his features, his freckles are still stars shining on the pale colour of his face. Even though the bright eyes and the sparkles on his cheeks are appealing on their own, the ginger strands more unkempt than usual tone down the presence of his looks.
“You’re a nuisance.”
Childe’s grin deepens. “But does my hair look flat?”
This is a chemistry lab: he could murder the ginger idiot right here, right now, and he would be able to hide or dissolve the corpse without breaking a sweat. Diluc wouldn’t miss him the slightest bit.
“It’s a bird nest,” Diluc answers without thinking. And it kind of suits you, in a weird way.
The thought comes to him raw and fast, knocking him off his feet and leaving his mind reeling from the impact.
Childe, unaware of his inner turmoil, makes a face, hands resting on his chest in a dramatic gesture, “Would it kill you to be nice for, like, one second?”
“I think it would, yes.”
“Don’t be so heartless, Your royal Happiness.”
There’s the start of a stupid grin on Childe’s stupid face: Diluc wants to whip it off by the strength of his own hands.
“Humour me, just once so that I can write down that date in a calendar.”
Diluc sends him the best death glare he can muster before he articulates very slowly, “I think your face has seen worse days than this one.”
“Ah!” Childe starts to bounce on his feet with a restlessness befitting of a ten years old child — and Diluc’s being generous here. “So it would kill you and deprive you of your soul to be kind!”
With a growing angst, the redhead watches the phial currently held in the air by the ginger being shaken, being shaken with so much ardour that the liquid inside starts to stir.
If there’s a god out of there, please, I beg you, don’t let it fall.
“You should try harder.”
Once again, to the redhead’s utmost terror, the liquid comes too close to the surface of the phial before receding. Draws closer to break free again. Pulls back. And goes up again.
“Fine!” Seeing Childe’s distrustful look, Diluc adds, “Your hair is fine! But for god’s sake, put that phial down.”
Perhaps surprised by the intensity of his words to react to his own admission, the ginger slowly lowers the small flask until it plops on the lab bench.
“Jeez, I didn’t know it was so hard for you to compliment—”
Dear gods.
“Do you actually know what’s inside?” Diluc cuts off the sentence. Seeing Childe’s dubious look is telling enough. “It’s sodium hydroxide.”
As an answer, the ginger sends him an apologetic stare which is easy to believe in, but Diluc must stick to his character, and he puts back on his sarcastic front as he rolls his eyes.
“Put this on your clothes, and you won’t get them back in one piece.”
Childe turns a bit pale — more than he already is — as he clutches his lab coat around him.
“You know a lot about chemistry.”
“I don’t. Unlike you, I listen to the teacher.” The ginger winces at the accusation, but doesn’t deny it either, surely because it’s mostly true.
“Just—write,” Diluc sighs, “I’ll handle the practical work.”
Childe frowns. “Don’t you trust me?”
The redhead makes a wide gesture covering the entirety of their lab bench. “Since you’ve almost spilled over a corrosive product, I don’t.”
Childe’s dejected face doesn’t haunt him for the rest of the day and the following. It doesn’t, not at all.
༄
“Hey!”
A clatter.
Diluc raises his head to meet Amber’s confused stare reflecting his own while Childe sets his tray down, next to the brunette. His heart does a somersault at the mere sight of his friend (?).
“What—” Diluc takes a deep breath to get his nerves under control. “What the hell are you doing?”
If his breath catches in his throat when Childe grins at him, it’s only because he’s on the verge of choking himself with water.
“Eating?”
Amber lets out a strangled sound. “With us?”
Childe only shrugs as if it was a common sight to witness every day. It isn’t.
“Aren’t you with your friends?” Diluc can’t help but to press further: this has to hide something somewhere, and he will find out. Amber kicks him under the table while frowning at him, trying to pass him a message either by physical contact or by the intensity of her gaze. ‘Be nice with him for once in your life’.
“Aren’t you my friends too?”
There’s a nasty remark lingering on his tongue, yet Diluc keeps his mouth shut, mostly because of the deathly stare Amber keeps sending in his way, but also because upsetting Childe right now won’t bring answers.
“Am I counted in this?” the brunette raises her hand as she speaks. “Because, uhm, we never—”
“Of course!” Childe slides an arm around Amber’s shoulders and brings her closer to him. Their stares meet: Diluc can tell that even her has no idea of what’s going on. “Don’t you know the saying? My friends’ friends are mine!”
“Cut it out, Childe. Do you want something?”
So much for politeness. But his lab partner doesn’t seem to mind Diluc’s harsh tone.
“I just want to eat without being watched over as if I’m a sort of criminal.”
“To me, you'll always be some kind of delinquent,” Diluc says at the same time Amber chirps a delighted “We can do that!”
Their stares meet again; Amber sends him a warning look while Diluc can only try his best to look apologetic.
“He's joking,” the brown haired girl adds as she whacks his shoulder, “right?”
“Right,” he agrees with a sullen look.
“Aw, isn't he such a ray of sunshine?” Amber adds as she keeps nudging his arm.
The fond look Childe gives the girl when he realises she used the same kind of diminutive as he usually does is enough to make Diluc frowns. Kaeya was right, then, Amber can befriend anyone, even someone like Childe, someone who makes bad taste jokes and can’t recall dangerous products' names, not even to save his own life. Perhaps it was also that easy for her to befriend brooding and sulking Diluc two years ago at the start of highschool. Perhaps it’s also that easy to get a liking to this high-spirited girl.
With their new-found shared similarity, Childe and Amber keep arguing over other ridiculous subjects (Why do you think the sky is blue?) while Diluc stays silent, only eating without really listening to them. They get along well, almost too well for his own sanity: the way their eyes light up with the same gleam when they team up against him is almost uncanny.
“What do you think, Diluc?”
“About what?”
Amber stares at him for a second, frowning as she understands he wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, before she lets him on the subject. “Do you think aliens might exist somewhere out there?”
“My little brother loves aliens,” Childe chimes in very unhelpfully. “He has so many books on the subject.”
“Ask someone else,” Diluc says, glaring at the ginger.
“Wow, I had no idea you were this fun.”
“I’d say I had no idea you were this stupid, but guess what?” Now it’s Diluc who’s grinning. “I already knew that.”
Amber gapes at him, but Childe lets the jab slide with an easy smile.
“At least I’m charming. Not like you can say the same, Mister little sunshine, always sulking.”
“So you do admit that you have only your good looks and nothing else?”
“So you do admit that I am, in fact, good-looking?”
Diluc flinches himself back into his chair, a knee-jerk reaction he cannot hide. This, this isn’t rational. He shouldn’t behave like this. His nails dig holes into his tray to regain a semblance of control over his body, yet his heartbeat rises up in his throat. The dining hall feels claustrophobic; the walls close around him, trapping him in their shadows.
Good-looking? This wasn’t an adjective Diluc would have used to describe that ginger menace—no, that’s not it: this was never an association that would occur in his brain if he was sound of mind. Yet, the redhead finds himself considering the question in all seriousness. Maybe Childe wasn’t the most popular person in their highschool, but there was no point in denying that the sharp cheekbones, the clear blue eyes or the freckles adorning his cheeks like stars in the dark blanket of the sky didn't hold any kind of attractiveness.
Wait.
Did he just admit to himself that—
“Diluc?” Amber’s gentle voice cuts through his mind, disrupting his thoughts along its wake. “Are—are you okay? You were spacing out.”
His breath is uneven; he realises it only now. Diluc blinks, and blinks, as if it would be enough to clear up his mind. (It isn’t.)
“You weren’t responding,” Childe stares at him with a look he can’t put a name on. “It was actually really weird to see you glaring at nothing—”
“I couldn't handle the enormity you’d just said,” Diluc retorts, and it’s a relief to note that sarcasm still comes to him as easy as breathing.
“Right. Guess some things never change.”
Amber is currently giving him a ‘do you want to talk about it’ look, but Diluc ignores it. There’s nothing to say.
“I’m sure aliens don’t exist,” he adds to no one, so the attention is brought back to the previous subject.
From the corner of his eye, Diluc senses Childe gaping at him, but he spares the ginger no glances.
If his heart swells with a feeling he won’t allow himself to name, if he starts to yearn for something he will never allow himself to consider, it’s nothing but a pipe dream because there is no lost love between them, only hate and contempt.
And the world would be better if he had never been friends with Childe in the first place. But since the world could never be that great, Diluc will just have to deal with these unnecessary feelings every day.
Unnecessary friendship and unnecessary curiosity.
༄
“Can you hand me this bottle?” Diluc asks, without looking at Childe, still frowning at the paper he’s currently holding.
“Do you mean ‘this phial of highly corrosive product’?” The ginger winks. “I’ve got it right there.”
The small bottle is handed just right under his nose, and Diluc blinks a few times to be sure to correctly read the words written on the glass.
“This is — This is the right vial,” the redhead mumbles, loud enough for Childe to hear it, unfortunately.
“Ah! I told you I’d get better!”
Congrats for knowing how to read. Diluc bites his tongue before the words can actually come out of his mouth. There’s something shining in those blue eyes he can’t bear to shut down, to see it fade away: he’ll let the ginger fool get the satisfaction of doing something right, even if it’s something as small as reading a label.
Joy suits you well, Diluc doesn’t say as he takes the vial from Childe’s hands.
༄
“Did you know that our glasses’ glass isn’t really made of glass?” Amber says as if she had just discovered something incredible.
“Wait, what?” Childe shouts as if he had just heard the most amazing and world breaking news.
Diluc doesn’t pay them attention as he starts eating.
“Isn’t your world rocked, Diluc?” the ginger cries out in his direction.
“I already knew this. Sorry. We’re not the same.”
Amber tries to kick him under the table as a reminder to stay polite, yet Childe laughs and laughs as if Diluc just said the funniest thing one could have thought of.
Your laughing face… isn’t so bad after all, Diluc doesn’t say as he takes another bite of his meal.
༄
Childe calls his name in the hallways, with always a big, wide smile sprawled across his face. Get lost, Diluc wants to scream. Still, he always stops in his tracks, even if he makes a point out of rolling his eyes every time it happens.
Childe slings an arm across Diluc’s back chair every time they’re seated next to each other. Where’s my personal space? He wants to snap each time the ginger leans a bit closer to him because he’s Diluc Ragnvindr, and Diluc Ragnvindr isn’t one to be tactile with Childe of all people. Still, because he is learning to become a better friend, he holds his tongue as he leans closer too, even though he can tell Childe doesn’t notice it.
You don’t smell that bad, at the end, Diluc doesn’t say.
༄
“Can I ask for your number?” Childe asks one day.
“You’re already asking. Why do you need it? We were doing fine without it, before.”
A sheepish smile. “To ask you more questions!” A pause. “And to officiate our friendship, of course!”
Diluc sighs, but he still gets his phone out of his pocket. Childe’s eyes shine as if he just took the stars out of the sky with the sole aim to make him smile.
As Childe types his number in, Diluc does not think about what happened just now.
(So they are officially friends now.)
༄
Backpack hanging on his shoulder, Diluc’s making his way toward his school’s front gate when he catches the sight of Childe by the canteen’s entrance, frowning at his phone. Moved by an impulse, Diluc stops in his tracks, and before he can think about it any further, he changes his path to make his way to the ginger instead.
“Waiting for someone?” Diluc asks, casually. Or at least he tries to, but his voice comes out too croaky to be smooth like he intended to.
But the snarky remark he expects never comes. Not even meeting his eyes, Childe only sighs as he crosses his arms against his chest.
“I was. But something came up.”
He takes a deep breath. This is getting ridiculous.
“Who were you waiting for?”
“My friends.” Dottore’s proud smile and Scaramouche’s scowl flash briefly before his eyes. Right. These friends.
“Am I not your friend?” Diluc raises a single eyebrow. “Let’s go eat before there’s nothing left.”
He goes on to step into the canteen, but Childe catches the crook of his elbow. “Wait! Weren’t you supposed to meet Kaeya for lunch?”
He almost asks how Childe knows such a thing before it comes to his mind that the ginger is indeed also friends with the menace his brother is. His eyes roam across Childe’s body with the sole purpose to decipher what’s going on in the ginger’s mind: even if his lab partner has the same relaxed stance as always, there’s a hard gleam in the blue of his eyes, and his jaw is clenched.
“He’ll survive,” Diluc says, clearly without thinking: this is a bad idea in every aspect he goes through, and yet he lets the words escape from his lips without putting up a fight. “He can still join us if that makes you feel better.”
He’ll send Kaeya a text; it’ll be fine: there are ninety percent chances that his brother will take this opportunity to eat with Albedo alone. The ginger raises his head so fast that the redhead wouldn’t be surprised to hear every bone of his neck cracking.
“We can be alone together,” Diluc hears himself say, like the loser he seems to be.
“Well, if you insist so much,” Childe grins at him, all the gloomy feeling melting like snow under the snow, “I’ll be happy to entertain you with the best company ever!”
To stay in character, Diluc makes a point out of rolling his eyes, yet he still follows the ginger inside without fighting him every step of the way.
“Thank you,” Childe whispers to him once they’re settled to a table, so low that Diluc would’ve missed the sentence if it wasn’t for the sigh of his lips moving. “It’s not like I mind eating alone. But sometimes I still feel like a watched animal in a cage. Like my first week here.” He shrugs. “Though, I know it’s mostly in my mind now.”
“Don’t mention it,” Diluc says when no other sentences sound good enough in his brain. There’s a raw honesty in his tone which surprises him. “Plus, for your information, I think people have nothing to laugh about you.”
Childe stares wide-eyed at him so long that Diluc almost believes a third head has grown on his neck.
“Are you actually being nice? Nice on purpose?”
“I was going to add that it was because of your blandness, but thank you for interrupting me.” The ginger gapes at him, not really offended, as there’s no heat in Diluc’s voice. Despite the smile tugging at his lips, the redhead rolls his eyes because he has a reputation to uphold. “I’m always nice. Not to you, though.”
“And here you are. God, I almost missed you.”
On impulse, he drawls out a chuckle which is too high-pitched that he doesn’t recognise his own voice, not to mention that one Diluc Ragnvindr doesn’t laugh casually with Childe.
“I know you love me,” Diluc says, tasting the words on his tongue.
A pregnant pause. Then Childe answers with his usual smile, “Maybe I do.”
“I’ve been told that often,” the redhead answers as if the words come to him smooth and polished. As if he’s not going to dwell on this sentence right now and after, as if his world is not blown over, sending his brain into mush. As if it doesn’t matter.
(All of them are lies.)
For a second, he wonders if Childe’s cheeks always have been so tainted with red, if the freckles prevented him from noticing so, and he frantically pushes the thoughts away.
A small voice in his head — one which sounds suspiciously like Kaeya’s — whispers to him that it is a not so friendly behaviour, but he’d rather die and dig his own grave than to go through the mortifying ordeal of acknowledging it.
༄
Childe smiles at him during lunch, during class or across the hallways when their stares meet. Childe bursts out from laughter at the few jokes he cracks from time to time like Diluc is the funniest man known to earth.
Childe leans against him when they walk together in the hallways, shoulders brushing, touch light as a feather, yet it leaves Diluc craving for more.
Childe, Childe, Childe.
Childe has slotted himself in a tiny corner of his life, and Diluc doesn’t know what it means any more.
༄
“Do you think about the future sometimes?” Childe asks out of the blue a day when they’re sitting next to each other to get their chemistry work done.
“After high school?”
“Yes and no. Do you ever think of what your life would look like in ten years?”
Diluc tries to conjure a picture of an older self — wrinkled and dark circles forever imprinted on his skin — but his brain fails to conjure a single pixel: his mind stays blank.
“Um. No.”
Childe laughs as if it was the funniest thing he’s ever heard —clearly, it’s not. “I can imagine you at thirty with wrinkled eyes and graying hair at your temples.” Diluc rolls his eyes. “But don’t you worry, no matter how creased your skin will be, I’m sure you will still be quite a sight to lay eyes upon!”
“Quite the poet, are you?”
The ginger rises a hand against his heart. “You know me, I’m a man of few words.”
“I can quite picture you becoming a bard on the road.”
Childe’s smile only grows wider. Diluc’s heart skips a beat as his stomach churns.
༄
Diluc hates it, that face lighted up with stars marked on the skin, that laugh too deep and rough holding a semblance of unconcealed delight and sweetness, that utterly ridiculous eyes, translucent pools of water shining brightly when the sun goes down to kiss them. Diluc loathes him with all his being with the purest form of hatred, and suddenly his heart is void, free from that abhorrence.
And suddenly, there is friendship.
And suddenly, there is—
Diluc screams in his pillow.
༄
Today, it’s only Amber and himself sitting together.
“Isn’t your new best friend here?”
Diluc ignores the teasing tone to focus on the question. “He texted me he had a bad cold.”
“Aw, aren’t you best buddies?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here.”
“Sure you do.”
Diluc stays silent, and he makes sure to maintain eye contact with his friend as he bites into a carrot sitting on his plate.
“Hey! You’re not being fair!” Seeing he doesn’t stop chewing, Amber pouts. “You don’t even like carrots.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
“No you didn’t.”
Raising his eyebrows, he finishes his first carrot under the horrified glare Amber gives him.
“Fine!” The brunette folds her arms against her chest. “I’ll stop teasing you as long as Childe isn’t back.” When the lack of answer becomes oblivious, Amber adds quickly, “I promise, I really do.”
Diluc waits a few seconds more, just to make her unsure of his agreement to the deal, before he pushes his plate toward the brunette as he has always done in the past.
“Get these carrots out of there.”
A wide smile lights up Amber’s face. “I knew it! There’s no world in which you like carrots.” After a pause, she adds, “How long it’ll take for Childe to come back to school?”
Diluc shoots her a warning glare, but she is back at picking food on her plate and manages to avoid the full impact of his death stare.
“I’m just checking on my friend, that’s all.”
Why don’t you ask him yourself? The redhead bites the remark off his tongue. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “He’s fine. In a few days, he’ll be good.”
The look Amber sends him is telling enough about what she thinks of the whole story, yet, compelled by an undying love of carrots, she remains silent.
“This is not what you think,” he starts, but he is cut short by a clatter at his left.
Lumine with all her golden glory appears in his line of sight, a tray in her hands and a gentle smile on her face.
“Isn’t it my favourite people here?”
Amber throws back her head with a big smile drawn on her face. “Sunshine!”
“Sunshine yourself,” Lumine says with a smile as she leans forward to kiss Amber’s head.
With an exasperated breath, Diluc rolls his eyes at the obvious display of affection like he always does.
“Don’t let other people’s happiness get the better of you, Diluc.” Lumine fires back.
“Only for you.”
The blonde's face lights up with a broad smile; this is the only warning he gets before she reaches for him to ruffle his hair. Diluc leans forward to dodge, but Lumine’s uncanny speed and reflexes aren't meant to be defeated today as her fingers start to tousle his strands. Overpowered, the struggle is vain.
“I missed you too,” the blonde nods when she lets him go to sit down next to Amber.
The thing is that Lumine doesn’t eat as often with them as she used to do the previous year: now she has classes during their lunchtime, which means noon isn't equal to a hang-out time anymore.
That being said, the redhead would gladly believe that the blonde is left unaware of the past weeks' debacle with Childe, but he would not bet on it since Amber shares almost everything with her girlfriend. And icing on the cake, he could stake his life on the fact the whole school is well aware of his petty fights with the ginger.
“Speak for yourself,” Diluc taunts, but Lumine can hear his fondness despite the harsh facade he’s put on. It's a dance, a ballet, engraved in their hearts now. “I barely remembered your voice.”
“So,” the blonde digs into her plate, discarding his attempt at casualness, “I heard pretty interesting things, you know.”
“Pray, tell me more about it?”
“I heard that someone grew close with a certain ginger,” Lumine strikes, without pity.
So no chasing around or straying away from the subject is allowed. His heart does a weird thing in his ribcage while his throat becomes so dry that it hurts to swallow.
“Don’t mistake tolerance for friendship.”
Lumine raises an eyebrow.
“Didn’t you know? There’s a time he almost dissolved my clothes; I cannot be friends with such a clown.”
“Yet, the facts tell another story,” The blonde gives out a little chuckle. “Don't worry, we can all keep a secret here.”
“Better us than Kaeya!” Amber chimes in with a voice too enthusiastic. “He will be insufferable when he knows.”
“This won't happen.”
Because there's no way he’s friends with that disaster of a human; if Diluc's heart thinks irrationally, his head does not
“Because you'd rather die than telling your brother about your feelings?” Lumine finishes for him with an amused glint in her eyes.
For three long seconds, his brain short-circuits, and he tries to pick up the pieces with an energy lingering on despair while she keeps him under the beam of her stare.
“Because you are mistaken,” the redhead asserts as fast as he can, words tumbling out of his mouth.
Amber turns to Lumine with a triumphant ‘I told you so’ look written on her features. Diluc can guess it was meant only for the blonde girl, yet, Diluc’s here as a witness.
“Well, never mind. We'll talk about it later” With that, Lumine smacks his arm with too much strength before he can open his mouth to ask for an explanation, sending his mind tumbling down.
Fine. If Lumine and Amber want to believe he's friends with the ginger menace, Diluc can make peace with it. Maybe. Or maybe it isn’t too late to avoid the mortifying tribulations which come hands in hands with friendship.
(But something in his guts tells him there is no turning back.)
༄
“Could you hand me the—” Diluc stops before he can embarrass himself any further.
Childe’s not here: nobody will answer his call. He shuts his mouth quickly, praying that no one has heard him since he’d rather die than being caught red-handed relying on Childe’s — Childe of all people — help to get through this practical.
Okay. Maybe, maybe, he has got used to Childe’s annoying presence by his side, watching carefully every one of his moves (chemistry and clumsiness don’t mix well, ah), yet without always understanding them. It was—useful. This is it: Diluc had simply made a habit out of someone stalling behind him, ready at any moment to go and get him the exact thing needed to fulfil his desires.
Inference: Diluc had grown lazy. And now, he must get accustomed to being alone.
Without bickering and fighting with Childe at every opportunity given, it’s very unsurprisingly easier to focus on work, and work alone. Within the confines of his mind, it’s even quieter when there is no obnoxious voice to interrupt his line of thoughts; the only option left is to argue by himself in some twisted act of madness.
“I’m impressed by the work you’ve managed to get done.” Even though Miss Sucrose’s voice is soft and gentle, Diluc startles when the words cut through his mind and disperse his ideas. His pen wobbles between his fingers until gravity makes its entrance and drags the object down on the ground with a muffled click.
“I’m so sorry!”
Before he can think of moving, Miss Sucrose has already scrambled to crouch down and gets up, handing the pen over with an apologetic smile on her face. Not really knowing how to behave, Diluc takes it with unsure hands so undeserving of being those of a great chemist. Then, he remembers his teacher had asked him a question, and he has yet to answer it.
“I just wrote the equations before coming here,” he says, shrugging.
Miss Sucrose nods, and by the way she smiles he can tell she’s pleased with his work.
“Then, am I right to assume everything goes well with Childe?”
For a second, he frowns at her, not really understanding the meaning behind her question, but then it appears to him clear as day: she’s only inquiring after her students, just like any other teachers would do.
“Yes, working with him is effortless.” The lie rolls easy on his tongue. “He’s always quick to understand.”
Against all odds, the last sentence turns out to be more of a truth than of a falsehood to please the teacher. While it cannot be denied that Childe doesn’t get chemistry, it is true that, when the ginger is focused, Diluc doesn’t need to explain the problem twice. It’s also true to say that Childe being entirely focused on chemistry doesn’t happen much, at least on his own free will until Diluc slams some sense in him — literally — for it to become easier. But Miss Sucrose doesn’t have to know this.
The teacher lets out a relieved sigh. “I’m glad to hear that. I think Childe was under the impression it was going to be a bit rocky…”
Diluc raises an eyebrow. “What was going to be rocky?”
“Your partnership? Though I’m glad he was proven wrong—”
Before Diluc can hear the end of her sentence, Miss Sucrose is called elsewhere, surely by one of his classmates in dire need, leaving him wholly confused about the conversation which just happened.
He almost turns back to a non-existent Childe to ask further questions, but he holds back just in time before he can make a fool of himself, again. It would seem that even without being physically here, Childe still does a great job with messing with his mind and starting a fire in his head.
“I hate you,” Diluc mumbles to a ghostly Childe, who only shrugs.
༄
Diluc doesn’t like the way he turns around in the hallways to catch the sound of echoes whispering his own name in a way too familiar voice, only to find no one following his footsteps.
Diluc doesn’t like how he keeps glancing behind Amber’s shoulder as if he’s waiting for someone to come out of nowhere to greet them while he’s perfectly aware that the only fool who has the guts to do such things is currently bedridden.
Diluc doesn’t like how the library feels so quiet now despite that nothing has changed — the place has always been so silent.
Diluc doesn’t like the way his fingers itch toward his phone, and how he catches himself more than once checking it for any new messages.
It’s been three days, and it’s getting ridiculous.
༄
Diluc is sitting at a canteen table; the cold emanating from the bench sweeping through his clothes, freezing him into place. There's Amber facing him with her face tilted down as she skims through her plate with the tip of her fork.
‘Not enough carrots?’ the redhead wants to ask, but for some reason, his throat is constricted and refuses to loosen up, caging the words within his mouth.
He's about to move to catch the brunette's attention when there is a loud noise next to his right as someone sits with all their weight on the bench. An arm slings over his shoulders as a warm body presses against his side. Turning his head, Diluc's eyes meet with pale blue glittering with mischief, so characteristic of Childe.
“How are you doing, Babe?” Childe says with a wink.
In front of them, Amber emits a gurgling sound. “Not in front of my carrots!”
Childe discards her protest completely to lean forward; without missing a beat, Diluc mirrors his action, stepping into the ginger's personal space without a second thought. Lips, soft and warm, meet his own, and even if the sudden touch should surprise him, Diluc melts into the embrace as his thoughts vaporize into thin air.
Diluc jolts awake, heartbeat drumming in his chest, echoing loudly in his ears.
What the fuck.
What the ever loving fuck is wrong with him?
Shivers crawl down his spine when the mere thought of his past dream springs up in the turmoil spiralling inside his mind. During one quick second, banging his head against the table until his skin tear sounds like a good and viable option for any future life plans, and Diluc almost yields to the temptation. But he doesn’t quite trust Kaeya’s brilliant mind to come up with a decent epitaph — that is, in itself, a reason good enough to hang onto this life a little more and to face denial, the greatest enemy known to mankind.
With a groan, Diluc rolls over and smashes his head into his pillow to let out a muffled scream.
This is one of his brain's whims; by tonight, everything will be back in order and that damn dream forgotten in his memory's depths.
༄
It wasn’t a whim.
When Diluc finds himself plagued with ginger lingering at the periphery of his vision, when his mind starts replaying over and over again that familiar drawling tone, a burning anger fills his body until the only thing he can register is red, red everywhere.
“I hate you,” he spits out to the Childe renting in his mind.
No answers.
“Go fuck yourself,” he whispers through gritted teeth.
Still no answers. And Childe is still there.
༄
He must have mistaken something.
This dream could have a different meaning, and this is not far-fetched; Diluc has read somewhere that some dreams might be deprived of any sense. So now the question is: why is he giving so much thinking time to a pointless matter which could be solved with a quick Internet search?
The question is: why does all of this hold so much importance? People have made weirder dreams, why should he be special?
Or maybe, a traitorous voice mumbles from the depths of his heart, maybe that dream pictures exactly what you want—
Diluc bangs his head on his desk.
༄
Seriously, why Childe of all people? In an entire highschool full of single students, why must he pick a ginger menace out of all of them?
A part of him wants to bash his skull open while the other only desires to hole himself up in his room to never go out again. It goes without saying that both options are out of the question.
His bedroom’s door creaks open, and Diluc doesn’t have to look up to know Kaeya’s entered the place.
“Overthinking life again, ‘Luc?” The redhead can hear the soft sound of someone sitting on the covers of his bed.
“That wouldn’t be me,” he snorts, but there’s no heat nor sarcasm in his tone. Only defeat. He’s nothing more than a warrior vanquished by a mere toothpick, yet leaving a shattered body and steaming ashes for his family to weep on—
“Hello? Earth to Diluc?” Kaeya’s hand enters his vision.
“What?” the redhead snaps more harshly than intended.
“Do you want to get ice cream?” Diluc raises an eyebrow, but Kaeya isn’t deterred as he nudges his shoulder. “Just like we were kids.”
His brother tugs on his arm harder, “C’mon, the cold will clear your mind, you’ll see!”
The objection (‘it’s actually winter, Kaeya’) dies on his lips as Diluc yields to the pull and lets himself be dragged away by his idiotic brother, too grateful for the distraction offered to put up a fight.
༄
Fine.
Childe isn’t like his other friends in his mind.
Because mere lab partners don’t desire to hold each other’s hand with a hidden meaning which goes beyond the boundaries of friendship.
Because friends don’t picture themselves happily in a committed romantic relationship without it meaning anything. At least for Diluc.
Fine. He needs to deal with these unnecessary feelings, and it would seem that burying them deep in his mind until they are no more than mere recollections is not the glorious solution as it appears in his mind.
Diluc almost texts Albedo, but something stops him from unlocking his phone. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t quite know how to get to the matter without being rude. ‘Hey, how did you find out that you liked my empty-headed and foolish brother?’ doesn’t quite strike him as a good opening sentence. And to be fair, ‘hey, I may have found myself in the same situation you were before: infatuated with an idiot’ doesn’t sound any better.
His forehead meets the hard wood of his desk in a loud noise.
༄
He doesn’t think about how uprooted he is when Childe isn’t around. Maybe, maybe if he just gave a little, a small, the tiniest shove to Childe to push him away, then it would solve all his problems in the best outcome possible.
༄
“Are you feeling better now?” Amber asks between two bites of carrots. “Diluc told me you caught a pretty bad cold.”
The redhead throws her a dark glare to keep her from talking, but to his own astonishment, nothing further is added.
“Guess it’s true,” Childe smiles, but there’s an underlying sheepish tone to it. “My little brother was sick for a few days. Hanging out with him wasn't the best idea, I guess.”
“You're an idiot.”
Childe shrugs, “Figured you would say that.”
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Diluc lets his forehead rest against his palm, “Guess I have become predictable.”
A silence stretches out.
“Say, did you miss me?” The tone is casual, light-headed, yet, as the remark breaks neatly the quietness, it also shatters something within Diluc. His heartbeat echoes in his ears, a deafening sound rendering him senseless. A feeling imprinted with unease pools in his stomach, taking roots against his wishes.
Diluc clenches his jaw, and all hell breaks loose.
“I'd rather chew my own hand before I start missing you.”
Childe’s shoulders slumps a bit, but he’s quick to recover, “You wound my pride here!” His almost too cheerful tone is back, but this time, it feels off. Like Childe is some kind of broken record. The way his jaw tense is also unmistakable.
“Oh, please. Cry me a river.” As soon as the words have left his lips, Diluc knows he has messed up somewhere. Perhaps it’s the way Childe’s eyes widen and how fast his easy smile’s wiped away. Or perhaps it’s the way Amber’s glaring daggers at him, and he can feel every of them cutting, slicing through his skin.
Keep pushing, a voice urges him through his head.
Diluc grits his teeth together.
“Could it kill you to be nice just for two seconds?” Childe’s tone has, once again, lost its cheerfulness. This time, there is a hard, ruthless glare shining in those pale blue eyes.
“With you? Yes, it would.”
“I knew friendliness wasn’t really your forte, but I didn’t expect you to be that cruel.”
“Cruel?” Diluc repeats, feeling stunned like someone just struck him behind the head.
This is what he desires; this is for the best.
The redhead lets his mouth take an agonising fold as he snickers, “I thought you could take a joke.”
“So this is your idea of a joke?”
“Maybe it is. So what?” His head pounds, his heart beats too fast, his cheeks are burning. Yet, nothing can stop the words from coming out of his mouth. Not even himself. “Your whole life is a joke.”
Childe’s hold on his arm tightens until his knuckles become white. “Wow, that was clever. Reaally clever.”
Hurt, break, damage before he gets too close, before he can get the chance to like and maybe to be liked back, before he can strike a relationship and watch it come undone before very eyes by his own shortcomings.
“I mean, it’s the truth, isn’t it? Always with this stupid face of yours looking too hard at papers, always asking questions even a child could answer, and yet never understanding.” Diluc feels his lips tightening into a smile. “I’ve changed my mind: you’re the joke, a clown for the whole world to laugh at.”
Childe bites his lips hard enough to draw blood; this is not a gracious gesture by any means, and Diluc almost reaches out to quell the injury. He doesn’t. The light in the ginger’s bright eyes dies down until there is only a defeated man staring at him. Resignation. Faded anger.
“So this is how you see me.” Childe’s voice breaks, and his stare goes down.
On his right, Amber is glaring daggers, real ones he has never faced before; each of them are slicing his skin, cutting up bruises and wounds, each of them well deserved. Yet, the words are still there, hanging heavy in the air between them, and nothing can be done to take them back.
“Well, fuck you.” Childe looks up without making eye contact with Diluc, jaw squared and clenched so hard it must hurt. Turning so he only faces Amber, “Have a good meal and day.” The ginger solely nods to the brunette, to which Diluc has no right to be mad about, before rising up from the bench and striding away from their table at high speed.
He doesn’t miss the way Childe’s fists are clenched, so that his nails dig into his skin, leaving crescent marks in their wake.
Going back to his plate, Diluc crosses stares with Amber. He expects everything: hatred, reproach, scorn, disillusion and blighted hopes about friendship. But the brunette’s face is absolutely blank from any emotion, and nothing in the world could have prepared him for such a display of void. The redhead wacks his brain in hope to find something acceptable to say (‘sorry’ isn’t enough to get his emotions out of his skull and into the open air) but the brunette surprises him once again by taking the floor.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “We’ll talk about this later.” Her heavy glare is nothing but a warning that Diluc can’t weasel out of this conversation this time. Wordless, Diluc hands over his plate, and after a questioning glance, she takes the recipient and plucks out the carrots.
They eat in silence.
༄
Diluc refuses to get started on Childe’s subject. His lips are sealed shut: not even Kaeya with his usual coaxing — Diluc never always shields away too long from his brother — could pry them open. His brother has resumed to send him long, heavy and meaningful glares, hoping to make him wither until the thin thread of his determination cuts loose.
Amber and he are carefully avoiding the subject: no matter the promise exchanged at the end of conversation, they'd rather dance and skirt around the topic with measured, cautious steps. The brunette knows he needs time, but the redhead can tell she’s getting impatient, and she has every right to be. Yet, Diluc can’t bring himself to cross the wall standing tall between them.
They eat together, he still gives away very willingly his carrots, and Amber still takes them, but there’s now a darker shade in her eyes, and her smile has turned grimmer; the genuine happiness has flickered away. They don’t acknowledge the wide gaps in the conversation, which are more prominent now that Amber doesn't take upon herself to fill them. Their usual table’s empty too, mirroring the bloody void in his chest, and Diluc cannot find a way to seal it shut. He would have guessed that the hollow space left by Childe's departure would have healed much faster, but in the end, he's only human, and it's only up to him to sew back the patchwork of his heart.
After a week spent eating in silence, Amber starts to pipe up with stories of her day. Even if he never says it out loud, Diluc appreciates these moments in which life resumes to Amber recounting in great detail how boring the maths class was or how Dottore acted like the pompous and self-absorbed idiot he is. The saying is true, after all: one understands the true value of something after losing it.
These conversations clear his mind in a way that’s almost too cathartic: Childe and everything linked to him fade away in his brain until there’s only Amber and her anecdotes. At this point, Diluc can't even tell how he managed to go through a whole week without it.
He rides the feeling until he feels high as a kite, drunk on the feeling. And here's the relapse: Childe appears again in his mind. If the world was perfect, these ludicrous, obnoxious and unnecessary feelings would never ever have taken root into his heart. But everyone has their own shortcomings, and it would seem that not even himself could stray away from that rule.
“Are you okay?” Amber’s voice cuts through his mind. His thoughts crumble into ashes until he’s entirely surrounded by a dark circle made of scattered dreams and ideas.
“I’m fine.”
The brunette eyes him too long. Instead of pressing further the subject, Diluc tries a change of ideas. It is time to face his fears and tackle the elephant in the room.
“Are you mad at me?” The question comes rougher than he intended it to be, but Amber makes no comments on it. She narrows her gaze at him.
“Yes.” The brutal honesty makes him wince. “I mean, not any more? You were a real jerk last time, and it’s my duty as a friend to tell you when you go off the tracks. You were too far gone, and honestly? Childe didn’t deserve your anger.”
“I know—”
“Why did you do that?” Amber interrupts him. “I thought you were getting along well.”
“Too well, to be honest,” he mutters under his breath. “I got scared.”
“Scared? Of a relationship?” She snorts, a sound he seldom hears from her. “It's always going to be scary, no matter who or when. There's always going to be doubts and questions about your choices, your life, your future, everything, really. And guess what?” She jabs a finger in his chest. “You will have to deal with that whether you like it or not. You cannot spend your entire life running away from your feelings.”
“What if—”
“That’s the thing,” his friend interrupts, “you can rebuild the world with ‘what if’, but in truth, you will never really know. You’ll have to trust blindly, and that’s exactly what makes it terrifying, if you want my opinion. But sometimes it’s worth it.”
Something tells him they are not talking about strictly friendship now, but if Amber is willing to let it slide, then so is Diluc.
“How can you tell if it’s worth it?” he rasps out.
“I’ll never know how it’ll end up,” Amber admits, looking down. “But you have to accept that you cannot avoid the heartache at some point, though it gets better with time, I swear.” She nudges him with her arm. “It’s going to be alright.”
Diluc huffs, shoulders slouching. “I’m sorry. For making a scene, for—”
“I know,” she cuts him off again with the beginning of a grin, “I know you and I also know you’re never that nasty. Though, I'm not the one who needs to hear that apology.”
Diluc gulps down as he says, “Unfortunately, I’m aware. And I will as soon as I find the right moment.”
“Don't wait too long.” Amber fiddles her carrots in her plate with her fork. “If you think too hard about it, you'll never find the perfect moment, and you let the occasion slip right under your nose before you even realise it. I can tell you care about him more than you let on; don't ruin your ‘friendship’ for some feeble feeling of fear.”
Their stares meet. Amber's eyes are unusually shiny and glassy under the lights, and to mirror, his own sting with unshed tears.
“When did you become so wise?”
The brunette stocks her tongue at him. “Always have been. It’s not my fault if you have always been too dim-witted to notice.”
“Don't push your luck.”
This only makes Amber’s smile widen further. “I won't apologise for that.”
No, she won't, of course. Weirdly, Diluc can live with it.
A thought seizes him without warning, and the words are thrown into the open before he can hold them back.
“What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
“The choice is only up to him. But for that, you must give him the opportunity to choose.”
“Can we just skip to the part where he straight up rejects my apology?”
“Are you a coward, Diluc?” When he looks up to meet Amber’s stare, he sees nothing but gentle teasing reflecting into her brown eyes.
“It’s appealing right now,” he mumbles.
She flicks him on the forehead as he lets out a disgruntled cry. “Wrong answer, try again.”
A sigh. “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”
“To give you hope to live on, I don't think he actually hates you.”
“This is reassuring,” Diluc whispers, and for once there is no sarcasm or irony in his tone.
“I know, right!” She chirps up. “So there should be no problem if you go to him tomorrow or after tomorrow, right?”
“Absolutely none,” Diluc says even though there is a problem, and a big one: he would rather make a mockery of himself than trying to submit himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
“I’m proud of you,” Amber says, three seconds before disaster as she breaks the barrier between them (the canteen table) to come forward to ruffle his hair. This. This is the disaster in question. Diluc shies away with a scowl on his face. Ah, feelings. When dust has settled, and they are back in the original seats, facing each other, she gestures toward his plate full of carrots. “Can I?”
Without adding a word, Diluc hands her over the plate as a truce offering; it's almost like he's waving a white flag to her face while he surrenders his weapons.
Amber's face lights up.
The world is at peace again.
༄
With his new-found determination, it seems he always manages to catch a glimpse of ginger strands of hair at every turn, every class. This is unbearable. The world’s mocking him whilst parading Childe before his very eyes, so close yet so out of reach at a time when Diluc would do almost everything to get a hold on the ginger.
Tomorrow will be the right day, he thinks as he watches Childe’s back disappear into a classroom. The same lie he’d told himself yesterday and the day before tastes bitter on his tongue. It is time to face his mistakes, and Amber was right, running away can only last so long before one gets tired.
“C’mon, your dad didn’t raise a quitter, let alone a coward,” he mumbles to himself.
He doesn’t feel an ounce stronger nor braver, not even when his feet carry him toward a certain doom (the classroom).
The walls are painfully white. There aren’t enough students present to keep him from spotting Childe within thirty seconds since he has stopped in the door frame: the ginger is seated alone — for now at least — next to the window.
Diluc breathes in. He doesn’t let confidence or determination slip through his fingers, and he moves before the thought of backing down can even cross his mind. Closer, he gets to take a better look at Childe, a stupid whim in which he hadn’t indulged in since their argument. The dark circles under the ginger’s eyes have only grown larger — Diluc wouldn’t be surprised if they’d left an irreversible mark on the pale skin — and his mouth is drawn into a thin line, sight so rare that it must tell only one thing: Childe’s been thinking. Perhaps about their fight, but Diluc wouldn’t delude himself into thinking to have this much importance over the other’s life. What is the best method to break the ice other than inquiring about one's health?
“Hey.” Diluc tries — too hard — to sound casual, but he fails miserably, as his voice comes out too rough and raspy. Childe raises his head, startled by the sudden sound; his eyes widen even bigger when he registers who’s just talked. Well, time to own it up, Diluc. “How—Are you okay?”
Brilliant, this is such a brilliant display of genius that Childe must be impressed, really.
“It's your stupidity rubbing off on me,” he wants to snarl, but this is not the time to antagonise Childe any further. Instead, he keeps quiet, waiting for an answer.
“Fine,” is the reply from the ginger, short with a dry tone. “I didn’t catch the memo saying we were on speaking terms.”
‘I stopped being a coward’ isn’t quite the answer for that question.
‘I missed you and our friendship’ feels too intimate and too rushed, as they’re far from ready to have a conversation like that.
‘I stopped running away,’ is too dramatic and doesn’t quite fit his tone.
Instead, Diluc doesn’t say anything. He shrugs, endeavouring to look detached, and failing wretchedly by the way his tensed jaw and curled fingers betray him.
“Can we—” He glances around him: there are more students coming by the door. The sudden urge to run and to get the fuck out of here suffocates him; it takes him all of his will power to stay rooted in the same spot. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”
Childe’s blue eyes quickly gauge him — Diluc tries his best to not shudder under the inquisitive stare — before the ginger lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“Fine. Meet me outside the building at four?”
Without waiting for an answer, Childe ducks down his head to focus his attention back on the textbook open on his desk. Diluc gets it; this is his cue to leave. He wants to add something (‘good luck for your last class of the day’ or ‘see you later’) but words die in his throat before they have time to get out in the harsh world.
Too well aware he starts to look weird, standing like that next to Childe’s desk without Childe actually acknowledging him, he can only run away.
Guess now, he has two hours to prepare himself for the impending conversation.
༄
It’s quite frightening how long two hours can stretch when he’s in a state of stress and intense despair. Just in case, he goes through his mental plan like he has done umpteenth times in the past hours. First apologise, then ask if they can do something to save what’s left of their friendship, and if he’s faced with a straight-up rebuttal, he’ll have to take the fall, draped in the last remnants of his dignity.
He tucks a wild strand of hair coming loose behind his ear as he cracks his knuckles, the sound oddly comforting for his ears.
Breathe out. Here are some facts.
There are exactly thirty steps on the staircase which connects the pathway to the building where classes are taught.
Childe might not forgive him, and that's only understandable.
The red paint covering almost every wall must be coral pink as the colour’s too soft, too toned down for it to be coral red.
He’s royally fucked.
“Hey.”
Childe’s standing before him with a serious frown; no matter how hard Diluc tries to come up with something clever, witty or anything remotely funny, the words die on his tongue.
“Hey,” he parrots, and if he could see his face, he doesn't doubt that a dumbfounded look, which doesn’t suit him at all, must be displayed all over his features.
Neither of them utter a word after that. The silence stretches between them; even if they’re standing side by side, there are galaxies pulling them apart. His palms are sweaty, and he does his best to wipe them up on his jeans, hoping Childe won’t notice.
Diluc opens his mouth, and suddenly he's a juggler throwing ideas and half formed sentences above his head, yet failing to catch them all, and suddenly he’s playing a dangerous balancing act, walking the tightrope while getting closer to the ground with each step taken.
Childe’s features are neutral at best, if not a little creased, but he makes no moves to come to Diluc’s rescue for their conversation.
“I’m sorry,” Diluc blurts out when the silence becomes unbearable.
His mouth feels dry, and he almost fidgets with his fingers before his self-consciousness hits and refrain him from doing so.
“For what?”
“Our—fight?” Childe raises an eyebrow. This is so unusual, seeing the ginger’s face devoid of any smiles. Another silence.
“I messed up.” His voice breaks on the last words; he hates how quickly his body betrays him. “You didn’t deserve this, didn’t ask for this, and if I could take back every word I said I would. I was unfair with you, and to be honest, I don’t believe the slightest what I said to you.” Diluc swallows. “And—I don’t expect anything from you, I’m just—sorry. Yeah. I thought I’d let you know.”
“You thought you’d let me know that—you’re sorry?”
Diluc nods, “To be frank, I missed our friendship.” He doesn’t stutter at the mention of the last word; this is something he would be proud of in a different setting. “So now, it’s only up to you. I mean it. Really. Whatever your choice is, I’ll understand it. I swear.”
When Childe speaks, his tone isn’t cold nor full of righteous anger. When he speaks, it's with a dead intonation of a man walking toward his doom, already resigned to his fate. “Do you know that ‘sorry’ isn’t a magic word able to fix everything?”
No, of course not.
“If you were to ever forgive me,” Diluc pauses when the dramatic tone he’s taken hits him, but he’s too far gone to give up now. “I don’t expect everything will go back as it was.”
Childe nods like he sees the whole point. Hope flickers in his chest despite his best efforts to muffle that spark. In his chest, his heartbeat goes wild, walloping against his ribcage like a bird yearning for freedom. Forget tests, assignments and good grades, everything is pushed into the far corner of his mind when Childe’s looking at him.
“Okay,” the ginger says. Diluc’s breath hitches. His eyesight is plagued by a pale reddish colour; there is Childe and Childe only, and he’s leaning forward without registering his gesture when Childe finishes his sentence. “I forgive you.”
His heartbeat makes a deafening noise which should be heard miles away.
“Why don’t you hate me?” Diluc demands even though he knows he shouldn’t: Childe’s ready to embrace indulgence, why can’t he let the matter go? “It’s only fair for you to be resent me.”
The ginger’s eyes widen. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too young to wallow in resentment for the rest of my life?” Childe grins. It’s been a long time since Diluc has been a witness for such a sight, and he’d be lying if he pretended he didn’t miss it. “Besides, it seems I can’t really hate you.”
Diluc can only gape at him like a goldfish; the grotesqueness of the situation isn’t lost on him.
“Why?”
“The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.”
“Are you fucking quoting Blaise Pascal at me?!”
Childe has the audacity to wink at him. “Maybe. It was an interesting conversation to say the least, but I’ll have to leave your good company to pick up my brother.” He taps his fingers to his temple, and with the dazzling grin of his, he’s gone.
If the redhead keeps pondering even hours after the meeting, replaying the scene in his mind, reviewing each of the words spoken by Childe, it’s nothing but a misunderstanding: Diluc Ragnvindr isn’t an overthinker.
(Even in the wee hours of the morning, he isn’t able to reach an inference satisfying enough for him.)
༄
They sit next to each other during class again. Amber notices, of course she does, and she wiggles her eyebrows at him when he catches her glance across the classroom. As for Childe, he stays true to himself except for their interactions: they are all toned-down, which means that Diluc still pushes but instead of shoving right back, Childe shies away from the conflict. Their usual banter is reduced to nothing more than words cut out from pure politeness, and if the ginger won’t put up a decent struggle, then Diluc won’t fight at all: there is no pride in kicking a downed man.
So he avoids winning the award of ‘asshole of the year’ which, honestly, he kind of deserves, by backing down, letting Childe breathe and speaking with him only with the utmost civility.
(Amber had stared at him, mouth wide open, when he greeted the ginger with a posed ‘hello’.)
If his heart clenches when he considers the possibility their relationship will never be the same, if his heart shatters in his chest when he gazes upon Childe, Diluc says none of it because that’s not his place.
༄
“So I’ve heard you patched things up with Childe?” Kaeya’s voice echoes behind him as they enter the main hall of the Ragnvindr manor.
The living room greets them with its tiles adorning a brownish hues pattern and the soft purple carpet covering most of the floor. The wood, whether on the walls or stairs, or even the one constituting the furnishings, is well polished and well-kept — if Diluc stopped long enough, he’d certainly cross eyes with his distorted reflection in the polished surface.
No matter how opulent and immense the walls surrounding him could be in the eyes of a child, they never had trapped him within their den, allowing his imagination to run wild and laughs to rise up in the air. Today, despite the flow of the years, is the first time the building closes upon his head to suffocate him in a golden cage.
Breathing hard, he blinks a few times before answering, “How did you know we had a fight?”
“I didn’t. I had a hunch, but thanks for confirming my theory.”
The redhead rolls his eyes. “Then, why are you asking?”
“Can I just care about my friends and family?”
Diluc snorts, “I think you’re just being nosy.”
“You’re being obnoxious on purpose. Again.”
“You worry too much. Again.”
Their voices echo loud and clear in the empty manor, and for a fluttering instant, he keeps his ears open for any sound which could betray a presence (their father or one of his employees) coming after their trail to chastise them about the ruckus caused. But they’re not children anymore, and no one will chase them now.
“I was being nosy, that’s true,” Kaeya concedes, “but I was also worried about you.”
“Really?” he heaves a sigh.
His brother makes a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know, you were smiling more these days, and just like that you stopped. Then, Childe also lost a spark in his eyes—”
“This is called a ‘coincidence’.”
“And just after that, I noticed you two stopped hanging out as much as you used to—”
“You’re grasping at straws,” Diluc cuts in again.
“Suddenly, everything made sense in my head,” Kaeya keeps going on without paying him no heeds, “the two of you had some kind of fall out! This is the only believable explanation, besides, you confirmed it yourself.” With a little bow, he adds, “I rest my case.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Diluc mumbles under his breath, mostly because he cannot straight up deny his brother’s claims, which are far closer to the truth than he would have liked them to.
“I’m serious, though,” Kaeya says as he nudges his forearm. “Don’t mope all by yourself; I’m aware talking about feelings isn’t something you like, but know that my door will always be open for you.”
Diluc smacks back his shoulder — it’s a gentle push, it really is — and they both exchange a smile, tentative for him while it’s a sincere one adorning his brother’s features.
“Thanks,” he says, and he means it.
When they start to go through the stairs, Diluc speaks up again, “I did fix my mistakes.” A deep breath. “Whatever happened between Childe and me, it’s in the past. Everything’s fine.”
༄
Turns out, everything is not fine.
༄
“Could you pass me this bottle?” Diluc gestures toward a small vial placed on the lab bench. “Please,” he adds quickly, even though he has never burdened himself to use that word with Childe before (‘asshole’ was a way more regular thing to hear between them), but since the ginger is so keen on maintaining basic politeness between them, Diluc is no man to refuse him this right. He will comply.
With the way Childe gapes at him, mouth slightly open and big blue eyes roaming across his face as if Diluc hides all the universe secrets in his brain, the word was most evidently unexpected.
“Here,” Childe says at last, handing him over the right bottle.
Their eyes don’t meet, not even once. A pang pierces his chest: for a short instant, Diluc would do anything to keep Childe’s brilliant blue eyes pinned on him. But the moment is gone, only leaving behind the pulsing ache in his heart.
“Thank you.” He has never bothered before, but hell, if politeness is the way to mend their relationship, he’s not going to do it by halves.
Childe gapes as shock distorts the corners of his eyes and his mouth; for an eerie millisecond, Diluc hopes a snarky remark will come out of these lips. But Diluc’s mistaken (again) because the other student shakes his head like Diluc just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
“Are you sick?” the Childe renting free in his mind cries out.
“Only sick of you.”
In a perfect world, this would be a comeback he could have been proud of, even when thinking back of his day late at night with eyes wide open. Since his life could never be that great, Childe says nothing, neither does Diluc.
༄
“We should stop our tutoring sessions,” Childe says out of the blue, shattering the silence they have become so accustomed to when sitting next to each other during class.
His breath hitches, and he can only hope that Childe hasn’t heard that.
“Why?” Diluc keeps his voice even, head proudly raised like a perfect little soldier immune to pain, going to war with a smile plastered over the face. Except, he’s not.
Childe merely shrugs, “I do fine enough in maths now, I think I can manage on my own. It’d be pointless to keep bothering you.”
The throbbing ache is back in his chest like a knife twisting between his ribs, again and again.
‘I like when you bother me,’ the redhead doesn’t say because it would be unlike himself, as Diluc Ragnvindr doesn’t get along with Childe and most importantly, Diluc Ragnvindr doesn’t enjoy spending time with Childe. Or at least, he’s not supposed to.
“Okay,” he manages to say through gritted teeth. “Okay, I’ll be happy to get your face out of my sight.”
The joke doesn’t quite have the effect intended: instead of smiling and playing along like he would have done before, the playful light in Childe’s eyes has flickered away, only to leave behind that dead look of his. In addition, a wrinkle creases hard lines between the ginger’s eyebrows.
“Right,” Childe says back, tone bored as if their conversation doesn’t hold any stakes, as if Diluc doesn’t matter.
Just like that, he can’t breathe.
Even if he’s a drowning man, Diluc holds his head as high as he can, draped with the last shred of his dignity and self restrain. Who is he to complain when he’s only reaping what he sowed?
༄
“Did you hear?” Amber’s voice — the one she has when she’s thrilled about something — rings too loudly into Diluc’s ears.
“Pray tell,” Childe perks up with a barely concealed interest.
“Chongyun and Xingqiu!”
“What about them?”
“They’re together, as in, a couple!” Amber’s radiating pure glee in a way that can only be suspicious.
“Wait, I always thought they were in a relationship—it’s official only now?”
“You did not bet on them, did you?” Diluc interjects despite his better judgement, cutting Childe short. If the ginger sends him a dark glare, he pretends hard he didn’t notice.
Amber’s sheepish face is speaking volumes.
“Hey! It was only about when they were going to tell everyone!”
Diluc fights the urge to smile. “At least, did you win?”
That makes Amber’s whole face light up like a child’s spotting presents under the Christmas tree.
“Of course! I do have a good gut feeling for these things.”
Without warning, Diluc reaches for Amber across the table to ruffle her hair to raise cowlicks on the top of her head — it’s not often that he strikes first, but every time he does, the flabbergasted air on Amber’s face is always there to greet him.
“Congrats for the money,” he says when Amber manages to free herself from his hold.
“I hate you,” she fires back as she tries to flatten the strands standing on top of her head.
“Sure you do.”
Amber's dejected face framed by her slouching shoulder and crowned by the mess of her hair is such an unusual sight that he cannot help but to laugh. The brunette's eyebrows rise up at first, startled by the sudden euphoria, but soon enough she joins him in laughter and joy. They are two idiots guffawing in a canteen, surrounded by strangers, yet there is no fear nor shame in his heart; as long as they share a laugh, they are untouchable.
From the corner of his vision, Diluc doesn’t miss how Childe’s eyes linger on them, the blue of his gaze charged with wistfulness like clouds obstructing a clear sky.
Diluc says nothing of it because he has lost that right a long time ago.
༄
Diluc’s in a hurry. He knows Kaeya’s already waiting for him like he does every day because his brother has some kind of superpower which allows him to get out of the school faster than anyone else. (The truth is, Diluc’s just slower; he likes to take his time to pack his stuff.)
The redhead quickens his pace: even though he knows it is pointless, he still tries to get out of the school on time. The faster way he always takes is a less regular path, one that runs alongside the library.
When he strides closer to the wide and large windows showing a lovely view of the inside — students buried up their nose into textbooks with a frenzy filled with anguish and gloom. Facing such pitiful sight, Diluc can only relate too well.
Perhaps it’s his muscle memory kicking in and betraying him, but out of the blues, a ginger burst of colours catches his attention from the corner of his eye. This means nothing at all, since Childe isn’t the sole redhead in this fucking school, yet, before he can think twice about it, his body turns around. Diluc blames it on their many tutoring sessions, which have etched the habit of looking out for Childe more thoroughly in his mind than he was led to believe.
First, the ruffled hair more akin to a nest on bad days enraptures his attention, then it’s the freckles spread on the cheeks shining like galaxies against the pale skin. The last strike is the bright blue eyes seeing without sight, focused on something ahead, a most well-known air since Diluc has been on the receiving end so many times.
Childe. It is truly Childe here, sitting below the window.
Life has, for sure, the most peculiar sense of humour, Diluc thinks to himself with a snicker he doesn’t bother to hide.
They never sat under the windows as Diluc's resolve to avoid these seats never wavered. Every passer-by is allowed the opportunity to pry: to death privacy, for every hardship and every moment of distress are written all over the body, only to be witnessed by mere strangers.
Before Diluc can look away, a blonde boy takes the seat next to Childe, and then, he witnesses the ginger bestowing a thousand iotas grin upon the newcomer.
(At this point, he doesn’t even remember what Childe’s smiling face looks like.)
The stranger looks up, and their stares meet before Diluc can avert his stare and pretend to go on his way like a normal person. When he registers whose frosty pale eyes belong to, his breath catches in his throat.
Albedo.
The blonde student looks down with that bored demeanour of his, leaving Diluc alone with the maelstrom of his thoughts. This must be one of the worst kinds of betrayal since he has no reason at all to feel the stab of treachery between his ribs. It’s even him who pushed Childe towards Albedo; if anything, he’s the only one to blame. So Diluc banishes any lingering thoughts, which include that ginger menace as he pretends hard there is no ache within his heart.
༄
“Are you done moping around?” Amber’s voice raises on his right, and that’s enough for Diluc to stop completely in his tracks.
“What makes you think that?”
Amber makes a vague gesture toward him. “Your face, I’d say. Not only that, but you’ve been walking on eggshells around Childe lately.”
“I do not walk on eggshells around Childe,” Diluc repeats back, just to be stubborn.
“You do. And I can tell you it’s getting painful to watch. But since I’m a great friend (and you should thank me), I can’t let both of you be miserable, brooding in your own corner,” Amber chirps, hands on her hips and a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Right.” For once, he rolls his eyes before the meaning of her words hits him harder than a truck. “Wait a second. He’s miserable too?”
Seeing the way Amber’s eyes light up with bashful glee, the mistake he has made comes to his mind clear as day, but it’s too late to take back his own words.
“So you do admit you’re miserable?”
The redhead opens his mouth to retort something witty, clever or even funny, but instead no sound goes out from his throat. There’s not a single thing that hits closer to home than the truth, nothing but the truth. Amber’s right, and he loathes to admit she is.
“This is my right to silence,” he says at last, even though he knows all too well it’s pointless: the phrase is a confession in itself.
“I’ll take this as a yes,” Amber cheers too loud, “Thank you for the time saved, I really thought it would take you longer.”
“Since I seem to be your endless source of entertainment, I’d guess you’d be bored to death,” he says, discarding her last comment.
“A shame, really.”
Still, his small victory isn't enough to wipe out the smug grin off her face. “So you’re going to try to have a real conversation with him? To be honest with your feelings, like we said? Will you really do that?”
He sighs like he’s a man walking toward his death; it certainly feels like it. “I will. I swear,” he adds to placate her.
Fine. Diluc must suffer through the mortifying ordeal of being known until the very end, and he will face this major test of strength with the head held high. It’s only a tenth of what he owes Childe, after all.
༄
Childe’s going out of the library, hair unruffled like he had been pulling strands out of his scalp, eyes a bit haggard, looking into nothing. Diluc lingers, trails off, but when he cannot delay that fateful conversation anymore, he takes a leap of faith off that bridge and plunges toward his impending ruin.
“We need to talk,” he says when he reaches Childe, breath falling short on his lips. If the ginger finds amusing the sight of him struggling, he makes no comment.
“Right.” The ginger frowns. “Wait, I thought we were fine.”
“We are.” The words come out too quickly, too hasty. “I—wanted to clear things up.”
Childe widens his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Diluc doesn’t dignify this with an answer — a coward’s way out to buy more time — he only makes a sign at Childe to follow him. What’s unexpected is the other student falling into steps behind him without a protest; Diluc’s tempted to ask what’s wrong, but he bites his tongue. They’re here to talk about feelings (bane of his existence right now), not antagonizing each other even though they’re much better at the latter one.
“You know, there’s a saying,” Diluc starts, words tumbling out of his mouth;.
Childe doesn’t answer, only folds his arms against his chest.
“There’s a saying,” the redhead says louder as if it will give him strength (he finds none), “that you only know the true value of something when you let it go.”
The ginger raises an eyebrow. “Something?”
“Someone.”
The silence stretches on and on, like Childe isn’t willing to understand anything.
Please, Diluc begs in the recesses of his mind, don’t make me say it. But this is only fair after months and days spent under the name of uncertainty; he has already established he owed at least that to Childe.
His guilty heart goes wild in his ribcage as his breaths fall short on his lips, his whole body entering in a fighting stance for the most arduous wrestle of his life. One, two and three, and when he cannot retreat any more, back hitting the wall, the only way is forward.
“I’m—sorry.” Diluc inhales to appease his mind, but to no end. Here goes nothing. “For all the things I said. Even if you’re obnoxious in the mornings—” Childe makes an affronted noise, “—even if you fret over unimportant things during the day. But you still deserve better than my contempt because it turns out you’re a great guy, a smart one, and it’s always nice to have you around. I don’t know why, but talking with you is always easy; it’s because of the jabs, if you want my opinion. And I miss you, our friendship, and for your information? I did really think we could have been great together.” Diluc takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, truly sorry for only recognizing it now.”
If he could, he would go back in time and rewind days to make things right. But one can’t take words away, not when they are already engraved in the flesh; they must suffer through and get on with.
Shock ripples through Childe’s face like ricochets.
“Is this your idea of a farce?”
“What?” Diluc scowls. “Who do you take me for? I wouldn’t joke about that!”
“Are you serious?” Childe’s disbelief morph into an emotion closer to rage. “Tell me you did not confess with your apology—”
Diluc’s eyes widen as he feels time slow down in a cheap recollection of the Matrix movies’ finest moment. This is what gives him away, a silent confirmation of Childe’s inquiry.
Oh. Oh.
And panic hits him faster than a train.
He muzzles his first reaction which is lashing out at Childe as it would quite defeat the whole point of this apology, as well his second reaction (running away from an unpleasant conversation) because, that too, would defeat the meaning of his endeavours. Plus, he has a promise to uphold. So, facing his impending doom, it is.
“Are you okay?” Childe asks with a small voice when Diluc fails to achieve anything, from uttering a word to moving.
Tongue-tied, Diluc goes down on one knee as he reaches for Childe’s hands, Childe who emits a strangled sound followed by, “Isn’t it a bit early for that?” but he indulges Diluc all the same.
“I was an asshole,” Diluc starts again, although with a lump in his throat, but he pushes through, leaning his forehead against Childe’s hand, “because I was scared. That doesn’t make it alright in any way, and I know I wounded you.”
In the corner of his brain, he hangs into the belief that Amber will be proud of him when she’ll hear about this. He swallows, steels his mind and goes back to war. “I was scared of you, of what a more intimate relationship with you could mean, and what if we were just going to set ourselves for failure, no matter how hard we would try to believe in us? The ineluctable fall will only wound deeper, and I couldn’t bear that thought.”
Diluc exhales, feeling the weight of Childe’s glare upon him. “So here’s a fact: I like you.” Just like that, the three dreaded words are out in the open, lingering in the air, yet the world keeps spinning, and life goes on as if Diluc didn’t confess his worst secret.
He laughs with quavers in his voice, “This was the last truth I owed you. You don’t have to answer now or later; you deserved the honesty, that’s all. We can forget it and never speak of it again—”
“You’re an idiot.”
Startled, Diluc rises his head to meet Childe’s stare. “What?”
“I accept your apology.”
“So you forgive me? Just like that?” Disbelief bleeds into his tone. “Where’s your glare? Where’s your hatred? Are you an idiot?”
“I don’t know,” Childe shrugs with his grin that shows all his teeth. For a second, Diluc is blinded. “It turns out that I missed your company too. I’ll even say that I reciprocate your declaration of passion, guess I must be that weird.”
The world is spinning out of its axis, all thanks to one ginger menace. Diluc is left reeling from the impact of their words colliding, cheeks burning bright red.
“It’s not passion, it’s more like—” Diluc interjects, but seeing how Childe’s smirk grows wider, he reigns himself to a calmer state. “You’re a moron.”
“So I’ve been told.”
With a burst of laughter, Childe tugs on his arm, and Diluc complies, following the movement and rising up to his feet. Then, the absolute menace pulls the redhead toward him, and before Diluc can say anything, their lips meet in a burst of colours and sensations that send his mind reeling and his heart racing. Their breaths intertwine. Childe’s lips are warm and soft against his, and Diluc relishes in the contact, one he has longed for and desired in the past months without allowing himself to acknowledge.
Life has never been this vibrant than at this precise moment, kissing a man he was cursing out and loud a few months ago.
“We’ll have to do some legwork, but I think there’s a world where we turn out fine.” Childe whispers against his skin when they part. “And we’re going to make it all come true.”
“Let me guess, ‘cause you were made for me?”
Childe’s eyes glint with delight, “And girl, I was made for you.”
“Such smooth talking.”
“I think you still owe me a song,” the ginger counters, and the growing light in his stare is nothing but mischievous.
Never mind heartfelt confession, the strong urge to strangle that menace floods him. (Is this what they call love nowadays?)
“You’re a nightmare,” Diluc spits back, but the smile on his face betrays him. “Fine! Your stupid face wins out.”