Chapter Text
"So," Crepus says, as primly dressed servers take away the platters of hors d'oeuvres from their table, "I heard from Jean that you have a...paramour."
Diluc doesn't choke on his drink—years of table manners drilled into him by his tutor helps in preventing that particular kind of accident, at least, although apparently it is still not enough to stop him from putting his glass down with such force that it rattles the neatly placed utensils.
"I—excuse me?"
Crepus frowns. "Did you not try to court the young man you swooned over for rescuing Frostgnyaw?"
"Okay, there was no swooning—"
Not in public, at least. Diluc would neither deny nor confirm that swooning in any form occurred in private, and his only witness—Frostgnyaw—is sworn to secrecy.
"—and nobody courts anyone anymore, Dad, this isn't the aristocratic era."
"But—?" Crepus is hiding his smile behind the rim of his wine glass, but there is no mistaking the mischievous gleam in those eyes Diluc inherits.
"His name is Kaeya," Diluc says, and even the mere act of saying that name out loud is enough to make him feel warm all over, his cheeks pinking as he remembers the long stretch of Kaeya's neck and the sound of his laugh. "And all I did was offering to mix him a couple of drinks at Angel's Share, as a thank you."
Crepus tips his wine glass at Diluc's direction, his eyes brighter still. "Smooth."
The warmth is burning its way to the tips of Diluc's ears, and he is grateful for the servers carefully placing beautifully plated Fontainian pigeon de bresse on the table for giving him a few seconds to regain some semblance of composure. "It's nothing like th—we've only just met, Dad!"
"Ah," Crepus' smile widens, "but you do like him."
Diluc groans, burying his face into his hands. Jean is so going to have to explain herself later, when Diluc has finished fantasizing about setting himself on fire so he can avoid having this conversation with his father, who is still giving him that fond, knowing look.
But—does he like Kaeya? Diluc thinks he hasn't spent enough time examining his feelings about it to come to a proper conclusion. Sure, he does spend a completely normal amount of time recalling the first time he met Kaeya and the shape of his mouth as he said, "I believe this gentleman is yours?" as he handed Frostgnyaw back to Diluc. And sure, he does find himself smiling whenever Kaeya replies to his texts, and so what if he sets a special ringtone just for Kaeya? So what if Diluc sees him in his dream, his impossibly pretty fingers caressing Diluc's cheeks and—
Okay—maybe he does like Kaeya, just a little bit. A lot.
He cannot remember the last time he felt this strongly; he isn't sure he has ever felt this strongly, when it comes to romance. The knot in his stomach, he knows, is made tighter by the twist of anxiety that makes him feel like a teenager all over again—every private lesson on public speaking, everything he has learned from a handful of failed romances in his younger years, all seems to evaporate at the thought of Kaeya. But their relationship is still too new, built on the fragile foundation of sporadic texts and video calls and a couple of free drinks, and a part of him that sounds too much like his fifteen-year-old self wonders if Kaeya likes him at all.
"I can hear you overthinking things all the way from here," Crepus remarks, snapping Diluc's attention back to his untouched meal and his father's teasing mind. "What are you so worried about?"
"It's just...been a while."
Between his job at Angel's Share and his day-to-day responsibilities for the family business, there is precious little time left for any semblance of social life—which is fine by him, really. He likes to think of himself as pragmatic, which his past boyfriends had translated as insufferably workaholic and I feel like you love your cat more than me. When the relationships inevitably broke down, well—he doesn't remember ever feeling awfully sad about it, the way the protagonists of Lisa's collection of terrible romcoms always do. His world didn't end; life goes on. Frostgnyaw is still waiting for him in his apartment, sweet as he always is, his eyes humongous as he meows softly for Diluc's attention.
Diluc used to think that's all he needs in life: a handful of close friends and Frostgnyaw. But then Frostgnyaw went missing for a week that seemed to stretch forever, only to return in the arms of the most beautiful stranger Diluc has ever met, which is not an issue in itself, beyond the way Kaeya's smile seemed to cease Diluc's cognitive from functioning. The bigger, more pressing issue is this:
Frostgnyaw likes Kaeya.
Frostgnyaw, who usually skitters and hides himself behind Diluc whenever he's introduced to a new human, had allowed Kaeya to carry him in his arms; even terrified as he was, his fur matted and his ears droopy, Frostgnyaw had curled up against Kaeya's chest as if some base instinct of his knows that Kaeya is safe, that Kaeya, somehow, is home.
And that's the thing, isn't it?
None of Diluc's exes had ever received Frostgnyaw's immediate approval; none had ever called Diluc only to ask how his cat has been doing and laughed as Diluc made a deadpan remark about his priorities. But there is something there, too, in his easy smile as he sidesteps Diluc's small talk on the issue of family and the tiredness that seems to have etched itself permanently on the corner of his eye, that reminds Diluc of something so easily shattered.
He wants to keep Kaeya from shattering.
He wants other things, too—soft laughter and softer kisses, their arms around each other. Bullet points after bullet points of domestic fantasies that he only allows himself to think of as he lies in bed at night.
"How had it been, for you? When you started dating Mom?"
Crepus' eyes turn soft. Two and a half decades after her death, and he still has the same look he had in his wedding picture, the one he framed and put on his desk at work. "Oh, I was a mess," he says with a laugh. "I remember seeing her for the first time, and before our parents even introduced us to each other, I knew I wanted to make her happy. But I was also desperately trying to impress her, and there was this one time..."
The rest of their fathers-son dinner seems to pass by, just like that. Diluc finds himself laughing at the image of a younger version of his father, nervously showing up to his mother's place with the biggest bouquet he could find, only to find out the hard way how allergic his mother was to pollen; that one date they had by Starfell Lake where Crepus tripped and nearly fell into the water, saved only by Diluc's mother's quick reflexes. Stories upon stories that paint them in soft watercolor, their edges blurring against each other.
"I think the question you need to ask yourself is," Crepus starts, "do you want to make Kaeya happy?"
Diluc knows his answer, even without thinking. "I do."
"Then go for it, don't get yourself in a bind by overthinking this. Chirp him something on Teyvatgram to ask him out for dinner or whatever kids do these days, you know?"
"We don't ch—" Diluc stops himself, because Crepus might not know the difference between one social media and another, but he does know his son. "I will, thank you, Dad.”
Crepus laughs.
"Just remember to ask him if he has any allergies before you try to surprise him with a grandiose gesture of affection, okay?"