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The moment Varka pushes open the door to Angel’s Share, the first thing that enters his eyes is the sharp red of Diluc’s hair, standing behind the bar with his arms crossed and a scowl across his face.
Then comes the ever-so-familiar laughter of a certain Bard-Archon, his chortles incoherent.
And lastly…
Varka whistles at the sight as he strides over to the bar. Its surface is littered with a ridiculous number of empty tankards and glass bottles for two drinkers, and Varka glances upon the form that lies amidst them.
Lying on the bar with his head resting in his arms is a man with long shadow-like hair dipped in snow. Eyes close, breathing even, he lies there in such serenity that one might think he is simply asleep, but the way the blue flames in the lantern hanging from his belt is burning extraordinarily bright tells Varka everything he needs to know.
“Wow, you actually managed to get Flins drunk.” Eyes fixated on Flins, Varka addresses the bard siting beside the fae with a raise of his brows, impressed.
“Ehe~ Look whose here! I can keep going~” Comes Venti’s reply, making a toast to his unconscious drinking buddy with his half-empty tankard before taking a swig from it.
With a quiet mumble, Flins stirs from his rest. Golden eyes blink open and languidly meet Varka’s, a soft smile forming across his pale lips when he registers the man by his side.
“Oh, but I’m not drunk, Grand Master.” His voice is bubbly as if he had just woken up from a long night’s sleep. A soft pink flush spreads across his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears between strands of dark hair. “Are you here to pick me up?”
“Yup. Enjoying your evening without me, Flins? And we all know that the drunk never admits to being drunk.” Varka teases, half in sarcasm that he couldn’t join for the drinks, nor be there to witness the fae getting drunk for the very first time in perhaps forever.
Eyes half-lidded, Flins replies with a soft, melodious laugh. “I have nothing to say.” He sits up from the bar and reaches for Varka with both arms. With a huff of endearment, Varka leans down and lets them wrap around his neck, hands moving to pick Flins up from his seat, one arm sliding under his knees and the other supporting his back.
Blue eyes widen ever so slightly the moment he lifts Flins from the stool. The fae feels significantly heavier in his arms, and, Varka thought he’d imaged it at first, but Flins actually feels warm to touch.
“Flins, my dear, how much did you two have to drink?” He asks as Flins adjusts himself in Varka’s hold.
“Hmm… How much indeed…” Still smiling, Flins nuzzles into the crook of the knight’s neck as he pondered.
“Thirty-nine serves of Dandelion Wine and three bottles of Fire-Water.” Diluc answers for him.
“Wow, if only I’m there-”
“Each.” He adds, cutting Varka off and leaving the Grand Master’s mouth agape.
“… Now that’s something.” What he is now, is really jealous that he couldn’t be there. Curse the paperwork.
“Yeaaaaah~ And I won!” Venti flaunts and throws his head back, chugging the rest of his wine, then proceeds to collapse onto the bar with the empty tankard still in hand, his face beet-red. “Wine’s on Flins tonight!”
Diluc sighs. “Forty."
“So that’s the deal.” Varka tilts his head towards the fae in his arms. “Won’t you have one more, Flins? You’re not gonna just let him win like that, are you?”
“Hmm, I’m afraid I’ll have to admit defeat. It’s your victory tonight, Mr. Venti.” Flins mutters under his breath, half asleep.
“Come on, where’s the spirit?” Varka gives Flins a bounce in his arms, but that only makes the fae cling even tighter onto him like some oversized cat.
“Grand Master.” Diluc warns, voice stern. Varka offers him a toothy grin in apology.
“Varkaaa, seeeee? We’ve already shared sooooo many drinks, yet your boyfriend still won’t drop the ‘mister’! Master Diluuuuc, can I have one more~? Pleaaaaaaase?”
“No.” Diluc rolls his eyes. “If you will, I would like to close up the tavern. Please settle the tab as soon as possible and take your leave.”
“Awwww, stingy.” Venti whines and collapses back onto the bar. Varka has to bite back his laughter lest he further irks Diluc. Indeed, it is so late into the night that the four of them are the only ones left in Angel’s Share. Varka mentally reminds himself to make it up to Diluc for entertaining those two.
“Oh dear, this is quite the problem.” Contrary to the concern in his tone, Flins himself looks quite relaxed in Varka’s arms. “Sir Varka, will you be kind enough to settle the tab on my behalf? You see, I’m rather incapacitated at the moment.” He tightens his hold and further nuzzles against Varka’s neck as if proving a point.
Varka doesn’t even think twice before doing exactly that.
“Before we go,” Varka turns his head in front of the door, a soft smile across his lips, “thanks for keeping him company, Barbatos, Diluc.” Over Varka’s shoulder, Flins manages a polite dip of his head.
“A pleasure~ Let’s drink together again on another day!” Venti waves lazily, sprawled out across the bar, completely wasted. Arms crossed, Diluc shakes his head.
“No thank you, and Fire-Water is out of stock for the next two months.”
Varka can’t help but laugh loudly as he kicks the door open with his foot.
The night air outside the tavern is crisp and clean. The sky is clear, the moon hangs high, and the stars are twinkling where they belong. Varka takes in a deep breath, the fresh air carries the scent of Windwheel Asters, its pleasant coolness a gentle contrast to the warmth in his arms and wrapping around his neck. He breaths out, and begins walking to take them home.
“Kyryll.” Varka murmurs.
“Hmm?” Flins replies just as softly, those eyes bright as stars in the night sky lifting to meet blue.
“You’re not drunk, aren’t you?” Says the knight, a tiny lift at the corner of his lips, amused.
“Oh? What gave you the idea, my dear Varka?” Eyes half-lidded, Flins smirks in return. “It was you who accused me of being inebriated.”
“‘The drunk never admits to being drunk’.” Varka answers with a playful wink, a tilt of his head towards the fae in his arms, smug.
Flins lets out a breathy chortle at that. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Varka’s broad shoulder. He need not say more.
“So, that’s technically a draw.” Varka continues, eyes returning to the path before them.
“I’m honored to have your utmost support in this little contest of ours. However, I have undoubtedly lost.”
“Is it something to do with you getting all sleepy?”
“Hmm. Something like that.”
“So? Do you want to tell me what this is?” He presses an audible kiss into Flins’s hair, coaxing.
Flins chuckles at the gesture, the rumbles of his laughter further warming Varka’s heart. “A lantern can only take so much fuel in one sitting. I’m simply… very full after a hearty meal.” He slips a hand onto the bare skin of Varka’s neck, sharing the rare heat emanating from his form with the knight. “It’ll take some time for me to burn through them. This hasn’t happened since I left the Belyi Tsar’s court, but even then, it scarcely happened. I’ve almost forgotten about it over the years.”
Then, a sly smile spreads across his lips. “Perhaps, instead of Dandelion Wine, we can consider letting Fire-Water take the spotlight of our next contest. Alas, Master Diluc has no more of them in stock. What a pity.”
Varka can’t help but grin, bright and wide. Diluc usually doesn’t even have them in stock— he started importing them only after Varka and his knights returned from their expedition; after the Lightkeepers came to Mondstadt. “Perhaps, Kyryll, you’re more suited to be a Mondstadter than you think.”
Flins languidly fidgets with a lock of Varka’s blonde hair at his nape. “Is that so? What a pleasure it is to receive such a compliment from the Grand Master himself.”
Varka halts in his steps, his gaze meeting Flins’s. His smile softens, and in return, so does Flins’s. Varka lowers his head, Flins pulls him in with the hand at his nape, and their lips meet under the starry night sky.
A gentle breeze rustles through their hair, as if the wind itself is blessing their union.
Their kiss is soft and tender, warm and gentle, caressing each other with lips that taste like wine, savoring the moment, speaking a language that has no words; needs no words.
When their lips part, their smiles lingered.
“Thank you for coming home with me.” Varka murmurs, pressing his forehead against Flins’s. “And once again, welcome to Mondstadt.”
Flins huffs out a laugh, breath warm against Varka’s lips. “Then I have no regrets coming home with you, Varka.”
“Really, what am I going to do with you?” Varka pecks one more kiss against Flins’s lips before righting himself, bounces the fae in his arms to adjust his hold, before resuming their little journey.
Flins tucks himself against Varka’s neck and closes his eyes, arms tightening around the man, “that will be for you to decide,” and lets the knight carry him home.