Chapter Text
Diluc woke to sunlight.
Not the pale, reluctant gray of dawn he had grown accustomed to, nor the sharp jolt of an alarm dragging him from shallow rest—but honest morning light spilling through the curtains, warm and unhurried. For a moment, he lay still, breathing evenly, the weight in his limbs noticeably absent.
He felt… rested.
It startled him.
Weeks of exhaustion had become so familiar that he’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to wake without tension coiled tight beneath his ribs. No ache behind the eyes. No dull throb of sleepless nights. His thoughts came slowly, naturally—clearer than they had been in a long while.
And, as if summoned by habit alone, his first thought was Kaeya.
The realization followed a heartbeat later, sharp and strange.
He didn’t need to go to the Cathedral.
There would be no quiet footsteps through stone halls, no careful knock at a hospital door, no gentle arguments with Barbara about rest and restraint. No chair pulled close to a bed. No excuses to linger.
The absence left an unexpected hollow in his chest.
Diluc exhaled slowly and pushed himself upright, pressing a hand briefly to his face. Get a grip, he told himself. This was a good thing. Kaeya was well. He had recovered. That was the outcome Diluc had wanted from the beginning.
So why did it feel like he’d lost something?
Shaking off the thought, he dressed quickly and headed downstairs, boots echoing softly against the polished floors of Dawn Winery. The house was awake, but quieter than the city—sunlight catching on glass and wood, the air carrying the faint scent of grapes and clean linen.
“Master Diluc—!”
Adelinde’s voice reached him just as he stepped into the dining area. She looked up from where she stood near the kitchen entrance, eyes widening in clear surprise.
“Oh! I—please forgive me,” she said at once. “I wasn’t expecting you to be down so early. Breakfast isn’t prepared yet.”
Diluc paused, then shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize. I can prepare something myself.”
She frowned faintly at that. “Nonsense. You’ve barely eaten properly in weeks.” She sighed, soft but knowing. “You were always rushing out before dawn. I suppose I grew used to it.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I… won’t be needing to do that anymore.”
Adelinde’s expression softened immediately. “Because Sir Kaeya is well?”
“Yes,” Diluc replied. “He was officially discharged yesterday. Nearly fully recovered, according to Barbara.”
Adelinde smiled in genuine relief as she turned toward the stove. “That’s wonderful news. I imagine he’s already back with the Knights, then.”
“Likely,” Diluc said, taking a seat at the table. “Though I suspect ‘light duty’ will last all of a day before he ignores it entirely.”
She laughed quietly. “That does sound like him.”
The sizzle of bacon filled the room as Adelinde worked, the domestic calm settling over them. When she set the plate before him—simple eggs and bacon, neatly arranged—Diluc inclined his head.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
He ate in silence for a few moments, the food grounding him more than he expected. It had been too long since he’d taken a meal without distraction.
Adelinde watched him for a moment before speaking again. “Master Diluc… may I ask something?”
He looked up. “You may.”
She hesitated only briefly. “How are things between you and Sir Kaeya?”
The question didn’t surprise him—but it did still him.
Diluc set his fork down carefully. He couldn’t tell her about his feelings, not yet. Words came slower now. “Better,” he said after a pause. “Much better than before.”
Adelinde nodded, smiling as if that was exactly the answer she’d expected. “I’ve heard as much. People talk, you know—about how devotedly you cared for him.”
Heat rose unbidden to his face. “I simply did what was necessary.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, unconvinced but amused. “Still. I’m very proud of you.”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t refute it either.
Her tone shifted then, gentler—but more serious. “Did you ever… apologize to him?”
The silence that followed was heavier.
Diluc’s gaze dropped to the table. He knew what she meant. Not the small apologies. Not the softened gestures or quiet concern. The real one. The one that mattered.
“I haven’t,” he admitted quietly.
Adelinde didn’t chastise him. She only nodded, as if she’d already known the answer. “I thought as much.”
He exhaled slowly. “Things have been… peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb that.”
Sensing his hesitation, Adelinde softened her expression.
“You don’t need to force yourself,” she said gently. “These things take time.”
Diluc nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. Then she continued, her voice calm, almost casual—
“But you can’t turn the page,” she added, “until you’ve finished the chapter.”
The words struck harder than he expected.
Diluc froze.
He understood, of course, what she meant. The unfinished chapter was their past—the resentment, the silence, the wounds left unspoken between him and Kaeya. He had always known that apology would be unavoidable someday. And yet… the phrasing unsettled him.
Turn the page.
The thought lingered uncomfortably.
It sounded less like advice about reconciliation and more like an acknowledgement that something new was waiting on the other side. Something Adelinde had already noticed. His chest tightened as realization crept in.
Did she knew?
The idea sent heat rushing to his face. He had believed himself careful—reserved, even—but Jean’s knowing smiles, and now Adelinde’s measured words, suggested otherwise. Perhaps the truth was simpler: perhaps caring so openly, staying so constantly by Kaeya’s side, had betrayed him far more than he’d intended.
Diluc looked down, jaw tightening.
Was he really that obvious?
If so… the thought was both mortifying and strangely relieving.
He exhaled slowly, then inclined his head. “You’re right,” he said at last. “Kaeya deserves an apology. A proper one.”
Adelinde’s smile held quiet approval. “I think so too.”
He turned to leave, then stopped himself. His hand hovered at his side before he turned back to face her again, posture noticeably stiffer than before.
“Adelinde,” he said, voice lower, almost hesitant. “If I wished to… speak with him today—without it seeming forced—what would you suggest?”
Her eyebrows lifted, just slightly, and then she laughed. Not mockingly, but warmly.
“Oh, Master Diluc,” she said, clearly amused. “You don’t need an excuse. Just go and talk to him.”
He frowned faintly. “That’s… all?”
“Yes,” she replied easily. “Sir Kaeya would appreciate the effort. Truly.”
Diluc imagined Kaeya’s grin, the inevitable teasing remark that would follow such directness, and felt his stomach tighten with nerves.
Still, he nodded. “Thank you.”
As he left the winery, resolve settling into place, one truth remained clear in his mind:
He could no longer pretend this was merely about mending old wounds.
If he wanted to move forward—really forward—then he would have to face Kaeya honestly. Past and present alike.
And this time, he would not shy away.
—
By the time Diluc reached Mondstadt, the morning sun had fully climbed the sky, bathing the stone streets in warm light. For a brief moment, he considered diverting his path—turning toward the Knights’ Headquarters instead of Angel’s Share—but responsibility tugged him firmly in the opposite direction.
Kaeya was recovered now. Truly recovered.
That meant Diluc needed to resume his duties at the winery, which included managing the supplies at the tavern.
Angel’s Share greeted him with its familiar scent of polished wood and aged wine. Inside, Charles stood behind the counter, methodically polishing glassware with practiced ease. He looked up at the sound of the door and blinked in mild surprise.
“Master Diluc,” he said, straightening. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Diluc replied, inclining his head. “Thank you again for last night. I appreciate you closing on your own.”
Charles waved a hand dismissively. “It was no trouble. Besides,” he added with a grin, “you look like you finally slept.”
Diluc paused. “Is it that obvious?”
“Very,” Charles said cheerfully. “You look… healthier. Less like you were running on spite and coffee alone.”
Diluc huffed softly despite himself and moved past the bar, retrieving the ledger from its place beneath the counter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Please do.”
He immersed himself in work soon after—counting bottles, checking stock, noting what needed restocking. The routine steadied him, grounding his thoughts. Between assisting Charles with the occasional midday patron and tallying inventory, time passed almost peacefully.
Almost.
He was jotting down the final figures when the tavern door swung open.
“Charles, my friend! Still treating these glasses better than most people treat themselves, I see.”
The voice hit him like a spark to dry tinder.
Diluc’s hand stilled mid-stroke.
Kaeya.
His heart skipped—genuinely skipped—and he closed the ledger with more care than necessary before setting it aside. Slowly, he turned toward the bar.
Kaeya stood in the doorway, framed by sunlight like he belonged there. Gone was the pale, fragile man from the hospital bed. In his place stood the Cavalry Captain in full—coat immaculate, posture relaxed yet confident, eye bright with mischief and life.
Alive.
Radiant.
Too radiant, Diluc thought faintly.
“Captain Kaeya,” Charles greeted with a laugh. “You’re looking lively for someone fresh out of the Cathedral.”
“I have indications I might survive after all,” Kaeya replied smoothly, then glanced around—until his gaze landed on Diluc.
His grin widened.
“Well,” he drawled, pushing himself off the doorframe, “if it isn’t Master Diluc himself. You look positively domestic behind that counter.”
Diluc felt warmth rise to his face and quickly masked it with a frown. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping forward. “It’s barely noon.”
Kaeya clasped a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Is that any way to greet a man who nearly died?”
“You’re still under orders,” Diluc said flatly. “No alcohol.”
Kaeya laughed, the sound easy and unrestrained. “Relax. I’m not here to drink.” His tone softened—just slightly. “I’m on my lunch break. Thought I’d spend it somewhere...”
And then, after a pause—
“With you, if you’d like.”
The words were simple. Casual. Yet they landed with startling force.
Diluc blinked.
Heat bloomed in his chest, spreading outward in a way that left him momentarily speechless. Kaeya watched him with a knowing glint, clearly pleased by the effect.
“…I see,” Diluc managed. “Then I suppose I should be honored.”
Kaeya stepped closer to the bar, lowering his voice. “You should. I could’ve gone anywhere.”
Charles, wisely sensing the shift in the air, cleared his throat. “If you’re finished with inventory, Master Diluc, I can handle things from here.”
Diluc nodded, grateful. “Thank you, Charles.”
As he removed his gloves, Kaeya tilted his head. “So? Any suggestions for lunch, or should I take the lead?”
“Surprise me,” he answered with a half smile.
Kaeya’s smile turned genuine.
They stepped back into the sunlit streets together, the hum of Mondstadt wrapping around them like a familiar melody. Kaeya walked beside him with easy confidence, hands tucked into his pockets.
“You know,” Kaeya said lightly, “it feels strange being out here again. Almost feels like nothing happened.”
Diluc glanced at him. “You were unconscious for days.”
Kaeya chuckled. “Details.”
They settled at a small outdoor table near Good Hunter, ordering something light. As they waited, Kaeya leaned back, watching passersby with relaxed ease.
“You’ve been busy,” he remarked casually. “Charles says you practically lived at the Cathedral.”
Diluc stiffened. “He talks too much.”
“He worries,” Kaeya replied softly. “As do others.”
Diluc met his gaze then, surprised by the sincerity there. “I worried,” he corrected quietly.
For once, Kaeya didn’t tease him for it. His expression softened, something unguarded flickering across his face.
“I know,” he said. “And… I’m grateful.”
The food arrived soon after, and conversation flowed more easily than Diluc had expected. Kaeya spoke of returning to duty, of Jean’s endless paperwork, of Bennett nearly hugging him too hard. Diluc found himself smiling more often than not, responding without the usual sharpness.
There was something different between them now—less tension, more warmth. A sense of something unfinished, yes, but no longer brittle.
As Kaeya laughed at one of his own stories, Diluc watched him quietly, heart beating faster than it should have. Adelinde was right, it wasn’t going to be hard to approach Kaeya, he just had to do it, just like Kaeya did with him.
He lifted his glass slightly. “I’m glad you came.”
Kaeya blinked, then smiled—soft, real. “Me too.”
And Diluc allowed himself to believe that this—whatever this was becoming—might be worth every step it would take to reach.
Brick by brick.
—
A week passed in a quiet, almost surreal rhythm.
Diluc hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been until that tension finally eased. His fear—that once Kaeya recovered, they would drift back into distant orbits—proved unfounded. Instead, their days began to overlap in ways that felt effortless, almost inevitable.
If Diluc didn’t see Kaeya at the tavern, then Kaeya appeared at the winery gates under some flimsy pretext. If Kaeya didn’t stop by Angel’s Share, Diluc found himself wandering past the Knights’ Headquarters, lingering just long enough to be noticed.
They ate together. Talked. Teased.
And Diluc—against all reason—found himself happier than he had been in years.
Kaeya’s presence had become a quiet addiction. The sound of his voice, the easy warmth of his laughter, the way he leaned closer when he spoke as though proximity itself were a shared secret—it all settled into Diluc’s chest and refused to leave.
Yet even in that warmth, something weighed on him.
The apology.
The chapter he had to finish.
He could feel it looming every time Kaeya smiled at him without reservation, every time they brushed shoulders or shared a look that lingered just a heartbeat too long. Diluc knew—knew—that he couldn’t build anything real atop an unresolved past. Adelinde’s words echoed relentlessly.
You can’t turn the page until you finish the chapter.
He just didn’t know how to begin without risking everything they were rebuilding.
That internal struggle followed him late into the evening, the sky already deepening into indigo as he walked back toward Dawn Winery. The road was quiet, lit only by moonlight and the soft rustle of leaves.
Then—
Clang.
Steel rang sharply through the night.
Diluc halted.
At first, he dismissed it—adventurers, perhaps, or a routine patrol handling minor threats. But as the sound echoed again, harsher this time, his instincts flared.
The rhythm was wrong.
Too fast. Too heavy.
He broke into a run.
The clearing came into view—and his heart dropped violently into his stomach.
“Kaeya—!”
Kaeya stood alone at its center, surrounded.
Four Fatui skirmishers closed in on him, weapons glinting cruelly in the moonlight. He was still standing—still fighting—but the signs were unmistakable. His breathing was labored, sweat darkening his hair, movements just a fraction slower than they should have been.
Still, that damned smirk curved his lips.
“Come now,” Kaeya taunted, voice strained but steady. “Surely you can do better than that.”
A Geo skirmisher slammed his weapon into the ground. Jagged stones erupted forward.
Kaeya twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the worst of it. A sharp shard grazed his cheek, drawing blood—
—and then another projectile struck him squarely in the abdomen.
Right where the scar still lingered.
Kaeya’s breath hitched sharply. He crumpled to the ground with a pained hiss.
Something inside Diluc snapped.
White-hot rage surged through him, drowning out reason entirely.
His claymore was in his hands in an instant, flames roaring to life along its blade as he charged forward with a guttural shout. The Geo skirmisher barely had time to react before Diluc brought the weapon down in a crushing arc, sending him sprawling.
The others turned—
Too late.
Fire and steel moved as one. Diluc’s strikes were merciless, precise, driven by fury he didn’t bother restraining. One skirmisher fell, then another. The last, seeing the carnage left in his wake, fled into the woods without a backward glance.
Silence fell abruptly.
Diluc dropped his weapon and was at Kaeya’s side in seconds.
“Kaeya,” he said urgently, kneeling. His eyes swept over him, cataloging injuries with clinical speed. “Don’t move.”
Kaeya looked up at him, blinking in surprise. “Well,” he breathed weakly, “if it isn’t my savior. You always did have impeccable timing.”
“Stop joking,” Diluc snapped—and then softened as he saw the blood trickling down Kaeya’s cheek.
Without thinking, he reached out.
His hand cupped Kaeya’s face, thumb brushing gently across the cut to clear the blood. Kaeya stilled instantly, breath catching as if the touch itself had startled him more than the pain.
“Are you alright?” Diluc asked quietly, voice thick with worry.
For a heartbeat, Kaeya didn’t answer.
Color bloomed across his cheeks, his smirk faltering into something unguarded, vulnerable. “It’s… just a scratch,” he murmured. “You should see the other—”
“Kaeya,” Diluc interrupted firmly. “Your stomach.”
Kaeya hesitated, then sighed in defeat. “You’re relentless, you know that?”
He lifted the edge of his shirt.
The scar had held—but just barely. A small tear had reopened, blood seeping sluggishly beneath it.
Diluc’s jaw tightened. “You need stitches.”
“What? No,” Kaeya protested. “It’s hardly—”
“We’re not debating this.”
Kaeya eyed him, then smirked faintly. “Since when are you this bossy?”
“Since you started bleeding in front of me.”
A beat.
“…Fair.”
Diluc exhaled sharply. “The winery is closer than the city. I’ll take care of it.”
Kaeya blinked. “You’re inviting me home now?”
“This is not—”
“I’m joking,” Kaeya laughed softly. “Mostly. Lead the way, Darknight Hero.”
Diluc rolled his eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He helped Kaeya to his feet, ignoring the other’s half-hearted protests.
“I can walk,” Kaeya insisted.
“Humor me.”
They moved slowly down the path, Kaeya leaning into him more than strictly necessary.
“You know,” Kaeya drawled, “if you wanted an excuse to get me alone, you could’ve just asked.”
“This is not romantic,” Diluc muttered.
“Mm. Could’ve fooled me.”
Despite himself, Diluc felt warmth rise to his face.
He glanced at Kaeya—at the way he smiled through pain, unbroken and infuriatingly charming—and realized with startling clarity that the path between them was no longer obscured.
It was right there.
And for the first time, Diluc was no longer afraid to walk it.
—
The Dawn Winery stood quiet beneath the night sky, its halls dimly lit by the warm glow of wall lamps. The familiar scent of aged wood and grapes wrapped around them as Diluc closed the door behind them, shutting out the chill of the evening—and the danger that had followed Kaeya there.
“Sit,” Diluc said, gesturing firmly toward the couch near the hearth.
Kaeya raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the pallor of his skin. “Straight to giving orders again? You really are slipping back into old habits.”
Diluc ignored the comment, already moving away. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
He took the stairs two at a time, his mind focused and restless all at once. The familiar routine of gathering supplies steadied him—antiseptic, needle, thread, clean bandages. He paused briefly as he picked up the thread, his grip tightening.
Focus, he told himself. This isn’t the time.
When he returned to the main hall, Kaeya was lounging on the couch with forced ease, one arm draped across the backrest as though he were merely a guest enjoying a late-night drink. The sight made Diluc exhale through his nose.
“Shirt off,” he said bluntly, setting the supplies on the table.
Kaeya blinked. “You know, you could at least pretend to ask nicely.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
A faint flush crept up Kaeya’s neck. “Is that so?” he teased lightly, though his fingers hesitated at the hem of his shirt. “I didn’t realize you were so eager.”
Diluc shot him a warning look. “Kaeya.”
That did it.
With a soft chuckle, Kaeya tugged the shirt over his head and set it aside. Diluc immediately looked away—too late. The image had already burned itself into his mind.
Lean muscle, defined but not bulky, skin faintly marked with old scars earned from years of service. Too familiar. Too close.
Diluc swallowed and forced his attention downward.
He knelt in front of Kaeya and began preparing the antiseptic. “This will sting.”
“I’ve had worse,” Kaeya replied breezily.
“That’s not reassuring.”
The moment Diluc cleaned the wound, Kaeya hissed sharply, fingers digging into the couch cushion. “Ah—! You weren’t exaggerating.”
Diluc allowed himself a small smirk. “Stay still. You’re usually better at enduring discomfort.”
“Oh, trust me,” Kaeya muttered, voice strained, “I’m enduring plenty right now.”
Diluc pretended not to hear the implication, though heat crept up his neck. His hands remained steady, practiced, even as his heart pounded far louder than it should have. Every brush of his fingers against Kaeya’s skin sent a spark through him—unwanted, undeniable.
Kaeya, for his part, had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He stared resolutely at the far wall, posture stiff, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.
Once the wound was clean, Diluc leaned closer to tend to the cut on Kaeya’s cheek.
Too close.
He could see the faint crease of Kaeya’s brow, the flutter of his lashes as he blinked. For a brief second, the world narrowed to the space between them, breath shared, tension humming.
Then Diluc straightened and prepared the needle. “Ready?”
Kaeya nodded, jaw set. “Go on.”
The needle pierced skin. Kaeya sucked in a sharp breath, fingers clenching again.
“Distract yourself,” Diluc said quietly. “What were you doing out there tonight?”
Kaeya stilled.
Diluc glanced up. “Kaeya?”
There was a pause—then a sigh. “I was following a lead,” he admitted. “Information about the Abyss attack. I suspected Fatui major involvement.”
Diluc frowned, anger simmering beneath his worry. “You’re still recovering. That was reckless.”
Kaeya huffed softly. “Concerned, are we?”
“Yes,” Diluc said flatly. “Excessively.”
Kaeya’s expression softened, teasing giving way to seriousness. “The Fatui are coordinating something bigger. They’re the ones pulling the strings across the regions attacks. I don’t know why yet—but it’s dangerous, they’re somehow using the Abyss.”
Diluc tied off the final stitch with care. “And you think facing them alone is the answer?”
Kaeya met his gaze. “It’s my job.”
Diluc exhaled slowly. He couldn’t argue—not really. He’d lived that truth himself.
As he finished bandaging the wound, he noticed Kaeya watching him with a wide, almost fond grin.
“What?” Diluc asked, frowning.
Kaeya chuckled. “You worry too much. I kind of like it.”
Diluc flushed. “You should stop giving me reasons to.”
“Can’t promise that,” Kaeya replied lightly. “Danger comes with the title.”
Diluc tied the final bandage and sat back, sighing. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep saving you.”
Kaeya smiled—soft, genuine.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Kaeya reached for his discarded shirt, moving carefully as he pulled it back on. His movements were slower now, mindful of the fresh bandages, though he tried to mask it with his usual ease. Diluc watched him from where he knelt, the sight stirring a familiar mix of concern and something warmer—something he no longer bothered trying to deny.
“Thank you,” Kaeya said lightly as he fastened the last button. “For… well. All of it. The stitches. And the dramatic rescue earlier.”
Diluc rose to his feet and gave a small nod. “You’re welcome.”
The words felt insufficient, but Kaeya smiled anyway.
For a moment, silence settled between them—not awkward, but heavy. The kind that pressed against Diluc’s chest, demanding attention. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, shadows dancing across the wooden walls of the winery. Standing there together, in the place that had seen so much of Diluc’s solitude, the truth struck him with startling clarity.
So much time. So many years lost.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. Adelinde’s words echoed in his mind again.
You can’t turn the page until you finish the chapter.
“Kaeya,” Diluc said suddenly.
Kaeya paused mid-step, glancing back at him. “Hm?”
“There’s something I need to say.” Diluc inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His heart hammered against his ribs, louder than any battle he had fought. “Something I should have said a long time ago.”
Kaeya’s expression shifted—his teasing ease giving way to quiet attentiveness. “You’re starting to worry me,” he said softly, though there was no mockery in it. “Go on.”
Diluc took another breath. “I’m sorry.”
The words fell into the space between them, simple and long overdue.
Kaeya blinked.
“I’m sorry,” Diluc repeated, voice firmer now. “For the years I shut you out. For the way I treated you after my father died. For choosing silence instead of trusting you.” His jaw tightened. “And most of all… for that night. For raising my blade against you.”
Kaeya froze.
“I convinced myself that pushing you away was easier,” Diluc continued, each word dragging something heavy from his chest. “That it was the only way to survive the anger, the grief. But I see now that all I did was hurt you. I ignored your feelings. I ignored you.”
For a heartbeat, Kaeya said nothing.
Then he laughed softly—not his usual bright, teasing laugh, but something fragile. “You really are serious.”
Diluc met his gaze. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
Kaeya’s visible eye shimmered. He turned his head slightly, as if embarrassed by the sudden moisture there. Something tightened in Diluc’s chest. How long had he been waiting for this moment to arrive?
Kaeya waved a hand, attempting his usual nonchalance. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” Diluc interrupted, surprising them both. He softened his tone immediately. “I needed to say it. Properly.”
Kaeya exhaled slowly, then looked back at him, something open and vulnerable in his expression. “Then… thank you,” he said. “For saying it.”
Relief flooded Diluc so suddenly he nearly staggered under it. The tension he had carried for years—since that night under a fractured sky—finally loosened its grip.
He smiled. Not the restrained, polite expression he wore in public, but a real one—unburdened, warm.
Kaeya noticed.
“Well,” he drawled, lips curving into a soft grin, “that’s a sight I don’t see often enough.”
Diluc huffed quietly. “Don’t get used to it.”
Kaeya chuckled and glanced toward the door. “I should head back before Jean sends a search party.”
“I’ll walk you,” Diluc said immediately.
Kaeya raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
That seemed to settle it.
They stepped out into the cool night, the moon casting silver light over the vineyards and the distant city of Mondstadt. As they walked side by side, conversation came easily—light jokes, familiar banter, echoes of the closeness they had been rebuilding day by day.
Diluc listened to Kaeya laugh, watched the way moonlight caught in his hair, and felt something settle peacefully inside him.
The past was behind them now.
And Diluc didn’t fear what came next. He welcomed it.
The chapter was finished. Now he could finally turn the page.