Chapter Text
Diluc tossed the box back and forth between his fingers, feeling the soft velvet flocked surface. He recalled when he was younger, somewhere around eight or nine years old, he was running around the winery. Hell bent on creasing the freshly ironed red vest Adelinde had fixed him in, and the hand of his father catching his shoulder for he could clatter to the ground after tripping.
After all these years, Diluc could still hear the joyful laugh of his father ring loudly in his ears, as he scooped the boy up into his arms, and walking him out to the carriage they were taking for the day. “Slow down there, boy. We have a wedding to attend.”
Truth be told, Diluc, at that tender young age, hadn’t known who’s wedding they were going to. Honestly, even today he couldn’t tell you, some aristocrat who was merely unimportant to him in the grand scheme of things. What Diluc did remember was asking his father why people even got married in the first place, as they rode in the carriage to go pick up Jean and her mother, who were also scheduled to attend. And while he didn’t remember his father’s exact choice of words that day, he did recall that it was something along the lines of “Well, we grow up and we marry our best friend.”
Yes, Diluc remembered eagerly gazing out the window when they pulled up to the Gunnhildr estate, smiling one of the biggest smiles he could muster as his best friend strode down the path, holding her mother’s hand. They had spent the better part of a week, running around together, telling just about any adult who would listen that they were best friends and one day, they would be wed.
The shopkeeper laughing to Crepus when he leaned up on his tiptoes to see her, excitedly relaying the information. “Do you know Jean? She’s my best friend and I’m gonna marry her!”
Thinking back, it was an embarrassing ordeal. More so when you realized that at some point in time, most everyone in Mondstadt came to their own separate conclusion that Jean and Diluc would definitely be married someday.
His father sat him down in his office somewhere around 16 years old, a serious, but proud, look etched on his face. Crepus handed him two boxes that day, both velvet but one was a rich navy blue, and the other a deep mauve. They contained his parents' wedding rings.
“One day, I know you’ll want to ask Jean the very same question I wanted to ask your mother when I was younger. I know she’ll answer the same way.”
At some point in time, Diluc had begun wearing his father’s ring, regardless of his marital status. Somewhere underneath his gloves, and on the wrong finger. Even after he had long since lost the right to ask Jean that do or die question. It wasn’t exactly his fault, the course of his life had just gotten derailed, and his relationship with her was one of many casualties it took.
Sometimes, when he was nervous, he twisted that ring on his finger, hoping somewhere inside that his father could somehow lend him a couple of his famous ever soothing words. They never came, but the comfort did, nonetheless. That’s what he did now, firmly placing the box on the desk, only slightly cringing at the way it echoed against the wood.
Yes, Diluc had long since lost the right to ask Jean to marry him. So why did he still intend to?