Work Text:
You nervously made your way to Uyuu Restaurant in Hanamizaka, where you agreed to meet him after a long day of meetings in Ritou and the Yae Publishing House. He insisted that you two dine out in celebration of a recent project you’ve worked on together.
You’ve worked with him for years already, and these outings have been a tradition whenever a project concludes; taking turns on who shoulders the treat.
Thoma is not exactly your colleague from the task force. Helping you out is technically not on his job description, but there have been some instances that his aid as a fixer was rather needed, and he ended up being your partner. Of course, he has always been a helpful friend, but credit is due to him, you think. This dinner is just to show your gratitude for his unfaltering help in your time with the Yashiro Commission.
Upon entering, you noticed that the establishment is abuzz with the late dinner crowd: people your age gathering with their friends to start their long nights, all seeking respite from the stressful workday. You never liked crowded places, but it was a much better option than the somber Komore Teahouse. At least we can’t be too intimate here.
You drag yourself upstairs when you realize that the face you’re looking for is not to be found on the ground floor of the restaurant. Each step you took felt laborious, your chest pounding uneasily with the thought of Thoma. You felt guilty having this sentiment. He’s been so helpful and so kind that it’s just so unreasonable to not want his company.
True enough, you see him sitting near the window—his honey blonde hair stood out from the seemingly monotonous crowd. His emerald gaze zoom into you, while his signature smile creeped up his lips. You felt another jump in your heart as he threw you a look that felt like longing as he watched you inch closer to him.
You sat across Thoma, food already festively laid out on the low yumemiru table for you, but still piping hot as if they were served not even a minute ago. As always, you often deem that making everything in perfect condition is a talent he possesses.
You eye the food he had ordered for both of you and realized that every single dish is a favorite of yours. In your head, a quick supercut of all the times you ordered each specific item with Thoma played—he really took note of your preferences. On a normal day, you would have been appreciative, but now, a sinking feeling bored through your gut at the thought. As if having read your mind, he finally broke the silence, “Well, I don’t think you’re feeling adventurous after a long day of work, so I ordered your favorites to be safe.” He scratched the back of his head. “I hope you don’t mind my lack of creativity,” he beams.
You flashed back a genuine smile as you thanked him. Like on autopilot, he excitedly placed a pair of chopsticks on your plate and poured water on your glass. You didn’t know why you felt a spark of hesitation when he did—as if cautious. You reminded yourself that this is Thoma, a dear friend for how many years—and he can never do that to you.
“Y/N? Are you alright?”
As if sensing your apprehension, he handed you the drinks menu. “If you want something else…” His eyes were wide with curiosity and concern.
“Oh, I’ll have coffee…I think.” You answered almost immediately but unsure—as if trying to conceal your malicious thoughts that probably cracked through earlier.
“Y/N~" He crosses his arms across his chest, "It’s already evening, you might have a problem falling asleep.” He cooed, berating you playfully. “Aren’t you fond of their Sunsettia juice…”
You suddenly felt something snap inside you, “I’LL HAVE COFFEE” fell from your tongue, almost akin to a shout. “Sorry—it’s a bit loud here.” You immediately explained as you saw concern wash over Thoma’s face. It’s almost criminal how guilty he almost always made you feel. You try to collect your thoughts and think, he’s just concerned.
And he’s right. He’s always been right.
The worry on his face turned into a gentle smile. His warm hand stroked yours that was on the table, fingers ghosting your knuckles to reassure you. “‘s okay. Let’s order coffee.”
Since when did you start being so irrationally sensitive about everything Thoma does when he’s around you? He was one of your first friends from work and had relentlessly made your job so much easier and to some extent, enjoyable, for you.
When you barely had time to eat at work, he never failed to put food on your table and reminded you to take a break. The coffee he makes for you is now your favorite, and you often wonder if anything else would compare. On late nights at the estate when work spills over to the dead of the night, he accompanied you so you’d stay awake. He’d listen to you rant about the old men who tried to manipulate you just so they get what they want. “I’m not easily tricked, you know,” you declared. Thoma would always laugh.
Thoma never offended you. In fact, he’s done everything—even though it wasn’t his job—to make your work life better. You didn’t find this brand of comfort from your colleagues in the task force, nor the Commissioner who you all swear is the best boss ever. Thoma’s presence is just…different. Comforting. Familiar. He took up an insurmountable space in your heart over years of friendship.
But lately, the care and attention from him felt more like a thorn than a blanket, wrapping you up and poking you with discomfort—pain, even. You managed to discuss this matter with him one time, when he stayed up all night to tend to you after you fell ill from overwork; and his insight made sense: maybe you’re just unfamiliar with the love and care you never received from your estranged family.
Thoma was the only person who knew you were left to your own devices as a child. You never knew who your father was, and your mother despised you for existing.
Thoma knew all about this after a night of drinking when he accompanied you to your mother’s funeral (that only both of you attended.) You remembered being embarrassingly intoxicated—crying in his arms as you recount how hard you fought for a person that never showed you affection.
He swore to you that you will only know love from that point on.
You were too tired and too inebriated to even think about what he meant by that, but it was his warmth that kept you company through the coldest winter night of your life.
The coffee arrived, the mug’s loud thud on the table brought your thoughts back to the restaurant’s rackety atmosphere. Across you, Thoma was already eating, but he made sure to pepper you with attention when he could.
“You’re not touching your food,” he remarked. You don’t know if it’s because his mouth was busy gorging on the tempura, but his voice was unusually low.
You still can’t find yourself to move, conflicting feelings bubbling up your gut. As you were about to open your mouth to speak, you find a piece of beef hovering near your lips, held by Thoma’s chopsticks as he commanded you,
“Eat, the food’s getting cold.”
You’re dumbfounded for a second, but the mortifying image of Thoma shamelessly feeding you like you were a child embarrassed you further.
You open your mouth and he slips in the piece of meat. You start chewing but only bitterness panned out on your tongue. When you swallowed, Thoma peeled his cold stare away from you and back to the plate of yakiniku.
“Please don’t do that again.” You almost whispered, and in all seriousness. When he returns his attention to you, his gaze already softened.
“The food’s getting cold! It would be a waste to not indulge in it while it’s hot, y’know.” Thoma’s tone perked back up to his usual lilt.
This was the longest dinner of your life.
—
You were able to repress your thoughts so you can force yourself to enjoy the rest of the dinner with Thoma. He narrated to you the ongoing preparations for Irodori Festival, a project that you wished to partake in, but had no time to do so. Or rather, Thoma advised you to not bother, for you had too much on your plate already.
The two of you stepped into the cold spring night. Always the attentive one, he noticed a subtle shiver washing over you and immediately offered his jacket. You accepted, fearing that if you declined, he would offer to wrap you in his embrace instead.
As you walked back to the estate, Thoma went on to tell you about his friends and early life back in Mondstadt, which seemed to be a topic that was out of the blue, but by some stroke of fate, it gave the words you were meaning to tell him a push.
Was it really fate? Or did he already know that you were about to tell him about being whisked away to Mondstadt for work?
The Yashiro Commission recently received an invitation to the Windblume Festival in the coming month. The Lord Commissioner tasked you to be the envoy, accompanying the ikebana artists from Inazuma invited to participate.
“Thoma?” There was a subtle shake in your voice.
“Mm?” He looked at you with a stern, half-expectant gaze. Oh, he knew.
You don’t even know why you are hesitant to tell Thoma about your job. He was merely a friend from work. Nothing more. You don’t even know why you were feeling uneasy.
As a friend, Thoma should be excited for you. The Sakoku Decree has just been lifted, and the prospect of traveling should be a fun notion for a woman, yet here you are—as if you were a kid asking, no, begging, for playtime.
“What is it?” He’s still smiling. He placed a hand on your shoulder, thumb gently stroking circles on your blades, as if comforting you. You shuddered from his touch.
If I appeared ecstatic, he would feel guilty if he gets disappointed, right? You convinced yourself.
With a practiced smile, you beamed at him, “I’m going to Mondstadt for a week!” Cold air filled your lungs as his thumb stopped moving. You felt a subtle curl of his fingers around your shoulder—abrupt and insignificant, but undeniable.
Silence.
Then, he burst out into laughter. “Of course, I knew that!” You remembered how to breathe again. This time your smile became genuine.
“Lord Ayato immediately told me about it ever since he received the invitation from Master Jean. And…” Thoma’s hand lifted from your shoulders and into your hair, patting gently.
“...naturally, he thinks it’s a great chance for me to finally visit my dear Mondstadt, too!” He flashed you his signature close-eyed smile as yours slowly retreated.
Of course. He’s the Mondstadtian. Silly me.
Of course, you wanted to be happy for your friend, but something about going on a trip with him made you uncomfortable. You feel flames ravage your pit, confused whether this was just fullness from your dinner—acid rising to your throat, or something else consuming you. "I'm sure it will be a fun trip for us, don't you think?"
The rest of the walk had Thoma chiming in about the sights you two should visit when you find yourself some free time. The pain inside you is slowly creeping in, too tumultuous to be shunned. When both of you reached the estate’s gates, he finally acknowledged your discomfort, now evident from the fact you were stroking the area above your belly.
“Is your stomach hurting?”
You cringed when he placed his hand on your stomach, the pad of his thumb gently caressing, but your protest faltered when you were attacked by a sudden sharp pain inside. You simply gave him a nod and described that it felt like acid rising from your gut.
He escorted you to the exceptionally quiet receiving room where he sat you on the floor, near a kotatsu table. You hurriedly scooted to warm your legs under it, head falling on the wooden surface, wincing from the pain that seemed to start spreading all over you.
Thoma disappeared into the kitchen, probably scouring the drawers for an antacid. You were torn between having him take care of you yet again or just running to your room to be alone—albeit enduring the pain through the night. And what, Thoma comes rushing to my room, anyway? You whined when you heard his footsteps inching closer back to where you were situated. Whether from pain or fear—you don’t know.
He stopped in front of you, crouched down, and leaned even closer to your person. You forgot to breathe. You looked up at Thoma—obvious concern plastered on his face, but his eyes were lacking the usual gleam. They were a bit lifeless.
“This is the last one I found. Hope this is enough. I need to restock the medicine supplies tomorrow.” He held the vial in front of your face, opening the lid with a pop. Your rationality wanted to check if it really was an antacid. As you lift your hand to take the vial from him, your eyes widen when he suddenly puts a thumb on your lips, as if prying your mouth open.
“Open up.”
His command fell cold on your ears. You felt like you had no choice but to submit and do as he said. The bittersweet liquid filled the cavern that is your mouth, and you can’t help but stare at his emerald orbs, lifeless and consumed with something else.
Thoma was so awfully close that you can feel his increasingly labored breath fan over your face. When you finally swallowed and surmised that the vial was empty, you immediately closed your mouth shut and pushed his hand away from your face.
“Thank you, Thoma. I’ll rest now.” You hurriedly stood up, fighting through the ache that’s still not quelled, knocking him back slightly which jolted him back to his feet too.
“I told you the coffee was a bad idea!” As if something snapped inside him, he was back to his usual demeanor—seemingly no remorse for his prior advances. “I don’t think that was the food. You barely ate!” His arms were now across his wide chest as he watched your haste motions.
You playfully rolled your eyes and replied weakly, yet trying to make light of your current ordeal, “I know. My fault.” I can’t crumble, I can’t let him take care of me. Again.
Before he could even speak, you turned your back on him and raised a hand as if to dismiss him to not follow you as you make your way to your quarters.
“Good night.” You forced through your breath. You don’t even know why you're feeling guilty as you dismissed him. Not this again.
Uncharacteristically, he didn’t articulate anything back, and you haven’t heard him move an inch either. In a way, you wanted to check if he was staring at your figure, but you were terrified to confirm that and meet his gaze again.
You’re still reeling from the pain that you start to feel dizzy. On top of the weird discomfort in your gut, the medicine is probably kicking in, making you even more sensitive to your predicament. Your steps were wobbly but you were determined to reach your room without tripping—he can’t see you helpless. You don’t want him tending to you again. You wanted to be alone.
You didn't know what washed over you, but you felt tears welling up in your eyes as your hands finally touched the cool metal of the shoji door’s lock. You hurriedly scoured your pockets for the keys to your room.
Fuck. Nothing.
You stood there, heart pounding heavily, refusing to look back at Thoma for help. Not fucking again. You forgot that the employees' room keys were surrendered today for the maids to do general cleaning.
Tears now stream down your face as pain crashed with frustration. You scanned your pockets again, desperately reaching out for your keys that simply weren’t there. Too focused on your actions, you didn’t notice Thoma’s presence looming.
His tall figure towered behind you, an arm reaching out to the lock in front of you while the other hand glossed over your shoulder. The sound of your keys clanging drags you back to your situation.
“You really can’t do anything without me, huh.” He delivered in his usual playful tone, but you felt an underlying pity and mockery with it. Your heart clenched as Thoma turned the keys.
Click.
You stood still, frozen, as he slid the door sideways for you, revealing your room. Thoma continued to uncomfortably invade your personal space, and you’re too afraid to look at him. You heard him hitch a breath behind you. You frantically snatched your keys away from him, the harrowing sound of metal ringing in your ear.
“Good night,” Thoma hushed coldly in your ear, which felt like a declaration rather than a wish.
“If you need anything else, I’m just right here.”
You didn’t know what he meant by that until he lead you inside, closed the door behind him, and nudged you to your bed. You wanted to scream and run away as he tucked you in gently, but your body betrayed you as the comfort from your mattress and blanket engulfed you into submission.
The wetness from your eyes, the darkness of your room, and the claiming of your weariness blurred your vision, but you saw Thoma watching you intently—his face uncomfortably hovering over yours. You felt his hand move from your back to your hair, sweeping stray strands from sticking to your face. You felt his lips on the skin of your forehead. He stayed there for a while.
When he peels himself from you, you see him situate himself in the ottoman across your bed. You blink for the last time before sleep finally consumes you. The image of Thoma is clear now.
He'll be watching you.