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Diluc nurses his glass of apple cider spritz. The slight buzz of the alcohol and the faint coolness radiating off the glass do their best to distract him from the overwhelming warmth slowly phasing out of his body. Offsetting discomfort with a blend of a dislike and temperature therapy isn’t the best treatment for this kind of situation. Still, it’s much better than naturally riding out the dehydrating, overheating wave of a pyro whopperflower sting.
He hadn’t anticipated spending a night gripping onto what ounce of strength and level headedness he could in this hole-in-the wall establishment. A cramped room and a drink he could barely stand don’t exactly spell out a “fun time” for Diluc.
Contrary to being able to see through the glaring falsehood of some Treasure Hoarders having any intel on the whereabouts of Rex Lapis’s Gnosis, the Harbinger couldn't foresee - and swiftly counter - an attack from a rogue pyro whopperflower. Fortunately there were other diplomats that could cover his Northland Bank duties while he writhed in agony for gods know how long near Cuijue Slope. How he managed to make his way back to Liyue Harbor - and why no scouts or other Fatui members could’ve been sent out in his place - still baffles him.
Watery yet sickly sweet alcohol slides down Diluc’s throat as he takes another sip from his glass. He resists the urge to shudder and groan. If he’s going to take on the outward appearance of a patron, he’s got to act the part, even if it makes the gash in his side and the space behind his eyes throb.
“I’m thinking that drink isn’t as good as you thought it was when you ordered it,” a voice cuts in.
Diluc sets the drink in question down, opting to give his attention to it rather than the random stranger seemingly trying to lecture him on his life decisions. All he wants to do is drink the bittersweet concoction he paid for and strategize an inconspicuous route back to his lodging. A gentle yet insistent tap on his gloved hand completely ignores said intentions.
With a sigh he reluctantly gives in to the individual set on not letting him enjoy some peace and quiet. His eyes note a lack of anyone sitting directly next to him and opt to take in the figure in front of him behind the bar counter.
A dark red dress shirt fits snugly on a lean frame, sleeves pushed to the elbows and revealing arms scattered with stray freckles and scars. Diluc internally questions the gloves on the bartender’s hands. A sanitary precaution? A “fashion” choice? Diluc doesn’t think they add much, but that part doesn’t matter.
He moves past the small feature of the larger puzzle, finally meeting the bartender’s gaze. Behind tufts of orange hair lie sea blue eyes that don’t quite carry the same brightness as the smile on this man’s face. Diluc has a suspicion that the disconnect is due to more than just an act of business-related politeness. The man already seems out of place with his more casual-looking appearance, but that’s most likely dismissable for now.
Diluc’s suspicions also give way to the realization of how close this man is to him. The bartender’s leaning forward, his arms spread on the countertop as if the two of them are close friends about to discuss how long it’s been since their last encounter and what’s changed since. Diluc, however, is not in the chit-chat mood with this boundary-breaking acquaintance .
“Is there something wrong, sir?” Diluc questions. He sits up in his seat, trying to avoid looking like he’s done any potential misdeed and also getting some distance from the bartender, in case Diluc needs to quickly take his leave.
“Oh, not at all!” the other man reassures him, leaning back a bit. Diluc isn’t sure if the bartender - who, Diluc notes, is a lot taller when he stands up straight - caught onto his discomfort, but he appreciates the shift... even though he’d never say so.
“I just want to make sure your drink’s to your standards,” the ginger continues. “Even if I didn’t make it, it’s still my job to make sure our patrons enjoy our service.”
Diluc nods, internally scolding himself for not realizing the change in staff from when he first arrived. The whopperflower sting’s disorienting him much more than he anticipated it would. “I see. Well, I appreciate the concern but I’m fine here, Mister…”
“Childe,” the other man supplies with an outstretched hand. “No need for formalities or keeping up appearances here.”
The last few words prod Diluc back to the defensive edge he’d briefly - foolishly - dropped moments ago. His side dully throbs as his muscles tense ever so slightly. “Is that so?” Diluc responds to the – to Childe..., keeping a levelness to his voice while he debates shaking the man’s hand.
The ginger leans back with a nod, shifting his hand away from Diluc and crossing his arms. “Skirting past the obvious signs that you’re not from around these parts… I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone order an apple cider spritz in a Liyue bar, especially so late in the evening.”
Now it’s Diluc’s turn to cross his arms. You don’t look very local yourself, he wants to counter, but formalities take precedence.
“I have my preferences .” He winces at the small break in his composed and level-headed facade.
Childe raises his hands defensively. “And that’s fair! I’m not one to judge simply on alcohol tastes alone. Not everyone’s well-suited for some of our stronger drinks. Besides, if catering to your needs keeps you here just a bit longer, I’m not complaining.”
The redhead raises a questioning eyebrow at Childe. “So these are the kinds of business tactics being taught nowadays. How… interesting.” His brain’s not clear enough to find any other to-the-point words for how he feels about being challenged or sweet-talked into potentially buying something much stronger than his spritz.
Childe laughs softly. This time Diluc notes a slight liveliness reaching those dull eyes, a sight that’s a lot more intriguing than it should be. It’s probably just a one-off occurrence, or a symptom of the post-toxin haze.
“Well if you staying makes my boss more money it’s just an added bonus. You’re easy on the eyes, and I always love company on slow nights like these, so I’d be lying if I said I haven’t taken a liking to you.”
Diluc scoffs, bringing his glass to his lips again to avoid having to form a response. Just smile and nod and then leave , he coaches himself. Afterwards he’s none of my concern .
“It’s also obvious you have, well, something on the mind judging by how long you’ve been holding onto that glass,” Childe adds on. His hands settle onto his hips. “Is it even that refreshing anymore?”
And that’s the cue to leave .
Diluc decides to knock back the rest of the watered-down beverage and take his lingering pain - and growing annoyance - on the road. Walking among the cool night air drifting through the harbor will very likely provide better comfort at this point.
He gently sets the glass down with one hand, using the other to fish around in his coat pocket for a pouch containing much more Mora than necessary. Maybe buying out this cunning imbecile will shut him up and steer him away.
“You make a great point there,” the Harbinger responds to the bartender with false enthusiasm. Diluc’s fingers brush against the most generous Mora bag he has on him. He wastes no time in plopping it on the counter and pushing his seat back. “I admire your attempt at customer service, but as you’ve noted, it’s getting late. At this point, leaving is probably the best option.”
The best option before I hit you upside the head and leave you sprawled out on the bar floor , Diluc’s brain fills in.
“Of course!” Childe responds a bit too enthusiastically with Diluc’s nearly empty glass in hand. Had he wanted Diluc gone this whole time? “It’s been a pleasure to serve a patron as… alluring as yourself, Mister…”
The redhead waves off Childe’s goodbye greeting, pushing in his chair. “Remember what we discussed earlier? No need for formalities or keeping up appearances.”
Diluc turns on his heel without another word, ready to leave the otherwise vacant bar and continue his trek back to his residence. It shouldn’t be too far from here –
“Heatshield potion,” the ginger calls out just before Diluc can get his foot out the door.
Balling his fists, Diluc stays faced away from the man. For archons’ sake, what does this idiot want now ?
“Also you should brace yourself on that door frame or something close in the next few moments,” Childe adds on. “Things are about to get really painful for you.”
The redhead laughs dryly, sharply turning to give this bastard a piece of his mind. “Why should I heed the advice of some underdressed, unprofessional ba –”
Not even a second through the last syllable, a searing pain emerges from Diluc’s side, knocking the air from his lungs and any strength from his legs. He slumps onto the floor, his hands reaching to wrap around his chest. The pain and unbearable heat engulfing the area and coursing through his veins makes gripping onto the door frame a much less agonizing response to the pain.
“ Fuck ,” he spits out, gasping between gritted teeth and slight tears in his eyes. It’s an anguish the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in ages. Comparing it to how his body feels after overusing his Delusion is a gross overstatement. To put it simply, it’s a hell of a painful experience.
Every little sound seems to ring loud in Diluc’s ears while he struggles to keep it together on the floor. Footsteps echo the most annoyingly, creeping closer and closer at an irritatingly slow pace. A pair of dark brown boots come to a stop right in front of Diluc, the shadow of their owner looming tall and with an air of intimidation from above. Continuous clinking sounds suggest Childe’s tossing the Mora bag up and down in one hand. Diluc continues to hang his head low, refusing to look the probably smugly gloating ginger in the eyes again.
“Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?” Childe comments with a coarse, unfeeling edge Diluc isn’t at all surprised by. At the very least, they’re sticking true to dropping their fake appearances. “You’re taking that sting on a lot better than some other less fortunate victims I’ve seen before.”
Diluc grunts weakly. How did he know?
“Don’t worry,” the menace continues, “you Fatui still give a great performance of pretending nothing’s wrong even when you’re parked outside death’s door. Well, the toxin’s not gonna kill you. It sure won’t be a pleasant next few hours, though. Still, that’s only a small price to pay for the transgressions you’ve undoubtedly committed over the years, right?”
Fuck off , Diluc mentally lashes out. Or so he thinks, before Childe lets out one of those small, soft laughs like earlier before, this one dripping with spite.
“Ohoho? Trying to fight back now, are you? Save your breath, you’re out of your element, Harbinger.”
The Mora bag Diluc had provided lands unceremoniously on said injured man’s lap. He finally puts some effort into turning his head up to glare back at his verbal assailant. Surprisingly no smirk or grin lies on the other man’s face. Only an expression of absolute distaste.
“And what do you intend to do with this Harbinger ?” Diluc inquires through a wince, rising to his knees. “You already know the likes of me don’t go blindly disappearing into the night. Regardless, I’m expendable. Can you say the same for yourself?”
Childe’s cocky grin amid his disgusted glare unnerves and infuriates Diluc. “I’m counting on it.”
The ginger quickly reaches into his pocket, grabbing what looks like a clear vial filled with reddish-orange liquid. He haphazardly tosses the vial towards Diluc’s lap.
“Drink up,” Childe commands. “You’re gonna need it if you want any shot of getting home without me carrying you the whole way.”
Diluc clicks his tongue. “Is that supposed to be some poor excuse of an alcohol pun?” He eyes the vial warily, debating the pros and cons of heeding his aggressor’s words.
“Maybe, maybe not. What’s life without a few jokes to cut through the tension?”
The ginger bends down, squatting low. A gloved hand takes Diluc’s own amid some restraint on the redhead’s part. Childe uses his free hand to grab the vial Diluc hasn’t dared to touch yet.
“I’m not trying to kill you,” Childe reassures him, gently inserting the vial between Diluc’s hands and folding them closed. “Well, at least not yet. I believe in the inherent satisfaction of winning a fair fight.”
“How generous,” Diluc deadpans in response. He stares down at his folded hands for a moment, still debating. When looking up into Childe’s expectant, insistent gaze tells him drinking the liquid's unavoidable if he wants to get out of here, he sighs heavily. Worst thing that could happen is that I die , he tells himself.
He finds it somewhat humorous that he, the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger, is getting health advice from some random bartender who looks nations away from his true home. Then again, stranger things have happened.
With a quick twisting off of the cork and an exaggerated vial raise to Childe, Diluc downs the liquid all in one go. The bitter taste that fills his mouth afterwards makes him momentarily regret doing so. Right away though, he feels the searing sensation in his veins and muscles start to simmer down. A dull ache lingers in the areas, and his gash still - understandably - hurts like hell, but he’s in a much better state than he was moments before.
“Worked like a charm, huh?” Childe stands back up, grinning proudly and resting his hands on his hips.
Diluc sniffs. As if I’d give you the satisfaction of affirmation , his tired, unamused eyes convey.
“Alright, alright, no need to flash those ruby reds at me.” Childe looks away, eyeing a thin storage cabinet in the corner. Diluc watches him stride over to it, letting out a quick, emotion-packed exhale while the tall man rummages around for something. Childe removes a gray jacket just as quickly as he shuts the cabinet.
“Are you gonna just sit there and watch me dress all night?” the ginger teases him, sliding the jacket on. “If you keep watching me so intensely I might have to take that Mora back from you, Fatui . Fair payment for a good show.”
The Harbinger scoffs. “You flatter yourself too much.” The quick jab temporarily calms his mind from wondering how complicated it’s going to be to stand back up and move around again.
“Self-love is important. Did you not learn that growing up in Snezhnaya?”
Diluc bites his tongue. What would he know ? A whole realm of complicated experiences with his real birthplace - not the wintery lands connected to his… occupation - make such unimportant matters as how one perceives themselves much lower on the hierarchy of concerns.
Of course, that backstory isn’t the concern of an increasingly unpleasant new acquaintance.
With a deep breath, the redhead attempts to maneuver his way back to standing upright. He uses the door behind him as a crutch to propel himself to a squatting stance. Despite some leg shaking, there’s some confidence this could end up successful.
“Want me to help you up, firefly?”
Diluc shoots a look mixed with confusion and irritation at Childe. “Since when did we get on such friendly terms for nicknames?” he shoots back. “I thought” - he pauses briefly while attempting to slowly rise on his legs - “just a few moments ago you made it very clear you intend to kill me at some point.”
The lights flicker off with the help of an unseen force. Childe’s doing, no doubt.
“What’s the fun of letting a Harbinger go scot free from me if I don’t tease him around first?”
Ridiculous, Diluc grumbles to himself. This is absolutely ridiculous .
By now the redhead’s almost reached full standing position, a dull throb in his legs and from his side making him wary of how far his limits are.
The other man sighs, shaking his head. “This is painful to watch.”
How do you think I-
Somehow between the start of Diluc’s thought and where he was going with it, Childe quickly closed the distance between them. Before he fully processes it, Diluc’s being pulled up the rest of the way and having his arm slung around Childe’s shoulder.
“NOW WAIT JUST A MINUTE!” he belatedly yells out. A reminder of a gash in his side and the still-recovering status of his limbs in aches and throbs inhibits him from continuing.
“The more you struggle, the longer this is gonna take,” Childe says matter-of-factly. “I’m pretty sure neither of us wants that.”
He readjusts Diluc’s grip on his shoulder, circling an arm around the smaller man’s waist and reaching towards the door handle with his free hand.
Diluc’s left to just surrender and let this Fatui-detesting stranger briefly have his way with him for the rest of the trip home.
Besides, he could always send some grunts to return the favor at a later time.
A time that heavily depends upon when this blue-eyed bastard finally decides to open the damn door.
“Is there something wrong, Childe ?” Diluc questions, no longer trying to hide his discomfort and impatience.
The taller man’s hand hovers over the door handle for a few more moments before he pulls it back, simultaneously sliding Diluc’s arm down from his shoulders. Diluc suppresses a growl as Childe manhandles him like some plaything. The shorter man’s arms fall limp to his sides, Childe meanwhile gripping onto Diluc’s shoulders with an insistent pressure.
No phrase even close to “look at me” slips out of the ginger’s mouth. Still Diluc feels compelled to look up into his eyes, albeit with a scowl on his face.
“I take back what I said about formalities,” Childe tells him, running some stray fingers along the gold clasps on Diluc’s black cape.
“How about you act a bit more professional before you go about approaching them, then?” Diluc snaps. He slowly but surely locks his hands around Childe’s wrists, forcing the taller man to stop playing around and get to the point.
Childe laugh-winces. “You still pack a punch, firefly.” He avoids an indirect punch directed on Diluc’s end, breaking the human chain off him and resting his hands back down forcefully on Diluc’s shoulders. “But now it’s time to get back to the point. Think of it as your fee to leave, with me as your brief escort.”
“I’d rather go home escort-free , if you don’t mind.” Diluc mentally bores holes into the taller man’s thick, arrogant skull.
“That part’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid.”
Childe slides a hand from Diluc’s shoulder, finally opening the door that Diluc should’ve left through long before he got wrapped up into this mess. The tall man gestures grandly to the exit awaiting them both.
“Freedom - with some restrictions - could be all yours for a very, very small price! All you gotta do is say the magic word.”
“I have an overwhelming feeling that a simple ‘please’ won’t suffice.”
Once again, the ginger laughs. Diluc can’t tell if he hates the sound or that cocky grin more.
“Clever and gorgeous. You’ve got a good combo going for you, Harbinger.”
“ Get to the point .”
“I am!” Childe asserts. “All you’ve gotta do is tell me something real simple.”
“And that is?”
“Your name, of course.”
Diluc’s brows knit together, his mouth hanging open. “I-”
Words briefly fail him as he tries to strategize. To give Childe an alias and risk having the bastard hunt him down trying to find the truth, or to divulge his true name and have Childe still hunt him down but for retribution instead?
“At a loss for words?” the imbecile in question pulls Diluc out of his strategizing zone.
Any semblance of a smart or curt response leaves the redhead at the sight of the taller man’s raised eyebrows and growing grin. Small streams of moonlight radiate off the taller man’s face, revealing a speckle of freckles along the bridge of his nose. The light adds something to those dull eyes competing with unruly orange hair for Diluc’s attention.
Something about that face….
It makes Diluc’s blood boil.
“I have many titles,” the words finally come to him. “Shall I let you take your pick at which one I’ll tell you?”
A wry laugh leaves the space where that irritatingly arrogant grin sits. “How about I give you an example? Maybe that will help you decide.”
“Certainly.”
Childe’s free hand travels to his chest, his eyes still locked in determination on the Harbinger. “I’m the Cavalry Co-captain of the Knights of Favonius, also known as Childe. While I would normally haul your corrupt ass to the nearest prison cell, I don’t have as much authority here.”
Diluc raises an amused eyebrow at the so-called “Co-captain.”
“From the Knights to the bar counter,” he muses. “How quaint .”
And how far from home , he adds in his head.
“I do what I can to get by,” Childe counters, resting his hand back on the Fatui member’s shoulder. “And now for your introduction, dear Harbinger.”
The redhead smirks.
“Diluc. Of Snezhnaya. And Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, if you care about the full title. I’m not one for nicknames or idle small talk, but I’ll give you a pass tonight alone.”
A silence passes over the two before the ginger realizes he’s not getting any more information out of Diluc. Well, at least not for free.
Childe pats the other man's shoulders. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, Diluc ?”
“Whatever you say, Co-captain ,” the smaller man shoots back. Only time will tell whether it was a mistake to let the imbecile know his real name. “Now, are you going to escort me home like you promised, or am I to entice you with the Mora you so willingly returned to me?”
Childe’s laughs are slightly more tolerable now that a tension previously present has dissipated ever so faintly. The man once more wraps an arm around Diluc’s waist, this time letting Diluc maneuver his own arm comfortably onto the taller man’s shoulders.
“All set, firefly?”
Diluc’s glare falters midway as he recalls the condition he’d just made to the “knight.” It’s obvious by Childe’s grin - how it continues to get wider baffles Diluc - that the taller man of questionable occupational status recalled said condition.
“Do you even know where to go?”
“I’ve got an educated guess.”
“Then lead the way.”
With the closing of a door, an overexcited pep in the “knight’s” step, and a reluctant Harbinger’s acceptance of fate, the two slip off into the harbor.