Chapter Text
Huffman leans on his forearms at his table on the second-floor balcony of the Angel’s Share, praying to Barbatos that he won’t be called upon to handle the situation downstairs.
He curses under his breath as he hears timid footsteps. “Fine, I’m coming,” he groans.
“Mr. Huffman—oh, thank goodness!” It’s one of the other patrons, a part-time guard in the Knights if he remembers correctly. "I know you're off-duty, but—"
"Yes, I can hear it," Huffman responds, waving the young knight away. He eyes his glass of cider once more, tosses it back and gulps down the last few sips, and heads downstairs.
Tartaglia… is in a goddamn bar fight. The other participant is a very drunk adventurer, but even with Tartaglia close to totally drunk as well—his face is flushed, and he's rambling under his breath as he circles the room— the Harbinger clearly has the advantage. The adventurer swings and misses, and Tartaglia sticks his tongue out childishly. Everyone else is nearly pressed up against the far wall in an effort to get far away from the fight.
Huffman steps in just as Tartaglia swings his fist, and he catches the blow on his forearm. He doesn't flinch back, but he winces, and Tartaglia's eyes widen dramatically. Huffman puts a hand on the adventurer's shoulder and pushes him back into a seat, trying to calm him down. After about 30 seconds, the drunkard passes out.
When Huffman stands back up, Tartaglia has settled on his feet a little, no longer in a fighting stance. He's swaying a little, and his hands are clumsy when he grabs Huffman's arm and pushes the sleeve up, pulling Huffman closer to look at his arm.
"Are you alright?" Tartaglia mumbles. "I didn't know you were… You shouldn't have stepped in." His fingers press on Huffman's arm, approximately where he'd hit him.
Huffman stands there patiently. "You're drunk again," he says, slowly. Best to get the facts set first.
A slow smile spreads across Tartaglia's face. "Yeah. I know. It's not just the drink when I say you look pretty when you're annoyed at me."
Huffman rolls his eyes. "You need to go home and stop bothering the other customers."
Tartaglia sways on his feet and grins. "Aw, but… I'm not so sure I can walk all that way," he says, and sways more deliberately, falling directly into Huffman's arms. His arms wrap around Huffman's neck gradually, and he blinks slowly up at him, as if surprised.
Huffman catches him on instinct, and sighs. "You were just trying to break someone's nose. You can walk."
Tartaglia whines and gets his feet under him again, but still leans on Huffman's shoulder. His arm slips around the knight's waist. "At least accompany me? It's dark and scary out~!"
“Not as scary as you, surely,” Huffman mutters, but opens the door and practically drags the Harbinger along with him. Tartaglia nearly falls up the stairs heading towards the upper levels of Mondstadt, and Huffman catches his wrists to steady him.
“Thank you,” Tartaglia murmurs, his head canted to one side as he stares at Huffman’s hands. He looks up at the knight through half-closed eyes. “You’re so steady,” he says slowly. “Do you really not drink?”
“Not when I have to deal with idiots like you,” Huffman retorted. “I have to keep my wits about me.”
Tartaglia slips his wrists out of Huffman’s grasp and slides his hands up the knight’s arms to hold his biceps. “Do you not trust me, then?” He exhales slowly and lifts one hand to Huffman’s chin. “Or do you not trust yourself?”
Huffman nearly forgets to breathe; he’s surely terrified. What else would he be feeling to make him hyper-aware of every inch of Tartaglia’s skin against his? (Impossibly, he wants to close the space between them. Maybe the half glass of dandelion wine was too much.)
Tartaglia leans closer, and his lips barely brush Huffman’s before the knight panics and pushes him away. Tartaglia pouts, his mouth turning down at the corners petulantly.
No. “You,” Huffman states, breathing hard, “are drunk.” His heart is pounding in his ears, but he has to get this man home right now—back to the Goth Grand Hotel so Huffman can hand him off. Make the Harbinger someone else’s problem.
(He wonders, as he drags Tartaglia mercilessly by one arm, his lips tingling, why he hasn’t seen the Harbinger annoy anyone else with his flirting. Maybe he only focuses on one person at a time. Maybe everyone else is scared of him; the maids at the hotel certainly are.)
(Huffman tells himself he’s scared, too. His dreams say otherwise.)