Chapter Text
Sunlight falls across Huffman’s face like a warm blanket, glowing through his eyelids. He rolls to face it, shielding his eyes with a hand. Under his fingers he sees the metal frame of an intricately wrought doorframe, made with clear glass. The pattern is very much like the balcony doors he’s seen on the higher floors of the Goth Grand Hotel.
…the hotel.
Huffman sits bolt upright, and heaves an extensive sigh of relief at finding himself still fully clothed. His armor is discarded, and he sees it in a pile on the floor near the doors. His sword and Vision are right near that, so he hasn’t misplaced anything, probably.
Having checked that, he can now address the more imminent problem: being in a Harbinger’s bed.
He rubs his eyes and looks around. He’s fairly certain that is in fact where he is: not only from the relative opulence of the room, but… Well, he’s not the kind of drunk that forgets everything. He can hold his liquor reasonably well.
…Is he in love with Tartaglia?
Archons above. He can’t be. It’s a breach of workplace etiquette, it’s a conflict of interest—
The very thought makes his heart flutter like a pigeon fleeing when someone walks across the bridge to Mondstadt.
The bathroom door swings open and knocks against the wall softly. Huffman turns to see Tartaglia in the doorway, shirtless except for a towel thrown over his shoulder. His hair is still damp from a bath, sticking up at odd angles and dripping water onto his shoulders.
Huffman can’t help it. He starts laughing.
“Hey,” Tartaglia protests. “Are you—are you laughing at me?”
Huffman swings his legs over and slides out of bed, padding over to Tartaglia in his sock feet. He calms down enough to say, “Your hair looks ridiculous,” and then continues chuckling to himself as he combs through Tartaglia’s hair with his fingers.
“Of course my hair looks bad,” Tartaglia complains. “I just washed it.” He waves his hands around his head, catching Huffman’s fingers and holding them. His face seems unusually flushed for having just washed with probably cold water. “So…” he starts.
Huffman studies his face; his mouth, especially. “I think I like you,” he says, straightforward. Then he presses his lips to Tartaglia’s.
It’s an effective way to shut him up. When he pulls back, Tartaglia blinks once and stares at him, mouth slightly open.
“This definitely isn’t simple,” Huffman says, “and I don’t know where it’s going to go, but I’m happier right now than I thought I would ever be around you.”
Tartaglia sighs, a smile on his face. “I guess I should take that as a compliment.” He tosses a hand around the back of Huffman’s neck and pulls him in for another kiss.
They sit down at some point, and eventually Huffman pulls back and leans his head on Tartaglia’s shoulder to catch his breath. “I should probably tell them to assign a new knight to you,” he realizes out loud.
“Why should you?” Tartaglia says, with the confidence of being one of the top-ranking people in his own organization. “You can just be my liaison. I don’t care if you’re biased.”
Huffman sighs. “You don’t get it. I don’t have the sway that you do—they’d fire me in case I would side with you on matters of the city’s safety.”
“Of course. It’s your city.” Tartaglia leans back, hands linked behind Huffman’s neck. He stares at the ceiling, thinking. “Why don’t you just… not tell them?”
“But what if someone’s seen?”
Tartaglia pouts. “Stop worrying so much. Aren’t you still supposed to be resting, anyways?”
Huffman bites his lip. Technically, the three weeks isn’t up yet, but he’d practically begged Acting Grand Master Jean to let him return to duty. He had felt useless, and anyway, he wasn’t going to get any better than he already was by just sitting around. Speaking of which—he rolled his shoulders; they were stiff.
Tartaglia rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know, you’re just raring to go.” He jumps to his feet. “What d’you say we spar? It’ll get us both back in practice.”
Huffman raises an eyebrow. “Really?” He thinks about it. “There’s a stone pavilion behind Springvale,” he suggests. “We could go there.”
The Harbinger beams. “Sounds perfect.” He rushes to the closet to get his shoes, and Huffman, catching the hurried motions, goes to put on his armor and boots. “Oh!” Tartaglia exclaims. He turns back to Huffman. “You should probably go down the back stairs again,” he says apologetically.
“It wouldn’t do for me to leave through the front door when they hadn’t seen me come in,” Huffman agrees.
Tartaglia catches his arm when he reaches the balcony doors. “A kiss for good luck?” he says, eyes wide and soft.
“Alright.” Huffman presses their lips together one more time, then again—who could blame him if he gets a little distracted? “Alright,” he says again, slightly more flushed. “I’ll go now.” He slips down the back steps easily, landing in the small plot of grass behind the hotel. The morning sun lights up Mondstadt in a lovely serene way that fills him with warmth; it reminds him of how he feels around Tartaglia, as cheesy as that sounds.
He sets off to a new day.