Work Text:
jean's hair reminds him of a bit of the sweet flowers he sees around mondstadt. especially underneath the rays of the light that sparsely brighten up the room from across the street.
the water droplets plopping off the strands of her hair also remind him of early morning dew at dawn winery. and yes, diluc could most probably name everything—anything—in teyvat that stirs up a memory of her, none of those similarities are of much importance right now.
her hair is wet. he watches it drip onto the white sleepshirt she chose to wear that evening. that sight, whilst also being aware of the cold air swatting his cheek from the open balcony, irritates him.
"you're going to get a cold at this rate," is what he points out. to anyone else, his drawl would be painted out as annoyance for something completely idiotic, but this is jean he's talking to. and even if it is true that irritation is currently sparking through his skin like a wildfire, it isn't her he's irritated at.
after years of knowing jean, diluc expects some sort of excuse to fall out of her mouth. and he does get one.
"my constitution has never been that weak. you don't need to worry," he isn't surprised that the touch of sleep hasn't even fazed her. her mind moves like clockwork, like a well-oiled cog in a system of complexities. it is something years of overwork has accumulated to—the necessary act of keeping part of one's head awake, no matter what the situation.
he understands that.
but to the point of forcing alertness, even within the solace of her own apartment?
she moves to bury her head more comfortably onto the olive-green sofa, diluc catches a glimpse of the darkening shadows beneath her eyes.
she looks as tired as she sounds.
he clicks his tongue. "jean."
she waves her hand at him as if simple dismissal can wash away all his concerns. he huffs. and though he is glad she trusts him well enough for the absence of even more forced attentiveness, his fingers still grip her wrist with a piercing gaze. "jean," he repeats.
now, her lidded eyes open to dark, crimson ones. here, he sees the mountains of paperwork that keep her up until the break of dawn. (deep within his head, he somehow knows that she has already asked that alchemist for something on nutrition.) here, he sees a fragile girl trying to prove herself, as if she has not done enough.
she knows what he wants her to do. and she does oblige; she straightens her back and scoots over to the edge, albeit slowly.
he ruffles the small, bath towel he found earlier through her hair, first drying the ends of her blonde tips to prevent even more droplets from seeping into her shirt. her hair feels like silk. but she must have been sleeping for a while because her shirt is damp. and that fact irritates him, too.
jean is never careless. (well, careful about everything but herself.) the jean he knows is anything but that. if he can still hear the balcony doors rattling with the wind, she must have been too exhausted to get up and close them after her bath.
a shiver runs through her as another strong breeze visits the room.
"diluc," she whispers, nuzzling onto the warm touch of his hands.
hearing his name alone only confirms his suspicions.
he bites the inside of his cheek, tasting iron. if another cat hunt is the cause for her weariness, he's going to kill every last knight in that archon-forsaken building himself.
he slips his hand underneath her thighs, lifting her body close to his chest. she hums, cheek pressed to his neck. as his palm holds the small of her back, he realizes her shirt is more soaked than he thought. aside from a good night's rest, she does need something drier. but the thought of scouring her apartment for clothes is something he can't bear doing.
he does have standards.
well, he could also use his vision.
she remains complacent in his arms as he tucks her underneath her bedsheets. when he leaves to scour the room for something to sit on, the grip she maintains on the tip of his dress shirt is weak. brittle. in that alone, he hears the don't leave she conceals on the spur of the moment hand touches and hesitant farewells.
never. his fingers intertwine hers as he presses a kiss to her freezing knuckles. he hears her sigh and something flutters in his chest.
he almost thinks she has fallen asleep until he hears her move, slowly untangling herself as his footsteps move towards her.
"...master diluc?" she says, peering into the darkness. "what are you doing?"
"looking for a chair," he replies, simply.
"is that something you need right now? a chair...?" he watches her think. he almost sees the lightbulb flashing over her head as she finally connects the dots. her hand then pats the space, the very soft cloth, on the bed beside her. "oh. you can sit here, you know."
he arches a brow. "should a woman be inviting a man to her bed?" despite saying that, he still carefully places himself on top of the sheets on the edge, facing away from her. "especially one of your... esteem?"
a sigh falls out of her lips. "...well, no." he feels the weight of her head against his back. despite the lack of open windows and cold bedsheets, she still seems to be searching for warmth. "but master diluc, you must agree that both you and i aren't simply just that."
"is that so?" his lips curl into a smile. "what makes you think so, master jean?"
his back instantly weighs nothing, and her cheeks are as pink as valberries. "that is not fair, m—"
"—jean."
underneath the streetlights, her eyes are liyuean jades. they fall from his gaze, her forehead leaning onto his shoulder. "i cannot possibly—"
and suddenly she's looking at him with those beautiful blues and he wants to touch her. feel her. burn away the cold that sticks to her skin. his thumb swipes over her lower lip and he can feel the hitch of her breath and diluc realizes now how dangerous this feels, but he can't pull away. "—are we not beyond formalities? or was i merely dreaming when you called me by my name?"
he feels her shiver. he feels her fingers shake around his collar and her hesitance almost makes him regret his slip of restraints until she pulls him and he tastes both the cold and the fire on her lips. when his hands search her back for purchase and he feels nothing but ice, something within him wants to mark her skin, to prevent anyone else from exhausting the woman he adores.
in the heat of the moment, she whispers his name. she does it again and again, and—oh. he thinks he loves her.