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As the clock on the wall chimes three in the morning, Angel's Share is an eery sight to behold. With all of its patrons having long since left, behind the locked door lies nothing but darkness and quiet solitude. The ticking of the clock counts down the minutes until sunrise, only to be rudely interrupted when the tavern door swings open, colliding violently with the wall beside it.
Heavy footsteps announce the arrival of the tavern owner, followed by lighter footsteps close behind. Diluc trudges over to the counter, practically falling into one of the stools that line the front of the bar. His companion closes the door quietly behind them, ensuring it's locked before he joins Diluc sitting on the bar stools.
"Sitting around like this won't make your wounds heal any faster," Dainsleif grumbles. The Twilight Sword of Khaenri'ah, Captain of the knights of the nations final dynasty. How someone of such high regard came to be sitting next to him in his grubby little tavern in the dead of night, Diluc will never know.
He throws his head back, rolls his shoulders and his neck and feels them ache at the movement. He lets out a loud huff, opening one eye to glance over at Dainsleif. The blonde is sat with his forearms resting against the bar, carefully inspecting the wounds that cover his hands and arms.
"There's bandages upstairs," Diluc speaks, voice hoarse from all the yelling, still breathless from all the running. He's in desperate need of some water and a lie down, but he knows Dainsleif will never let him rest without having tended to his wounds first.
The blonde nods, getting back to his feet and waiting expectantly for Diluc to do the same. Another huff, followed by a wince (awkwardly masked as a cough) when the movement jostles one of his worse injuries — a wide valley cut deep into his thigh, carved out by the blade of an Abyss Herald — and Diluc is finally on his feet again. After having rested for even the tiniest moment, all of his injuries feel all the more present now. His arms ache from brandishing his claymore, and his legs feel like they could give out from under him at any second. Dainsleif must catch the way his face scrunches up in pain, because there's a guiding hand wrapping gently around his bicep to help him up the stairs.
It's embarrassing, to say the least. His trust in Dainsleif has grown greatly over the past few months, countless missions completed successfully, many nights spent sat by the bar in Diluc's own tavern, conversing, sharing stories, trauma. He's found someone to confide in, in Dainsleif. But, even then, the thought of Mondstadt's Darknight Hero needing someone to help him walk up the stairs makes Diluc's face burn with shame.
He brushes off Dainsleif's hand, making for the stairs and sparing a glance back when he doesn't hear the other following him. Dainsleif is still stood in place, an eyebrow raised in question and his face scrunched up. Diluc just huffs in response, nodding towards the stairs in a silent plea for Dainsleif to hurry up. He receives a sigh in response, feeling his heart twinge with guilt as the blonde's face falls in a look of dejection but, nonetheless, Dainsleif does as he's asked.
Walking up the stairs is, much to Diluc's dismay, more than a little difficult. The muscles of the arch of his foot seem to burn every time he puts pressure on them, making every step feel like he's walking through fire. His knees feel weak, stiff to bend and it feels like they might snap from under him. By the time they reach merely the second floor, the redhead feels about ready to collapse. His aching muscles feel like flames biting beneath his skin, ready to burst forth and ignite flesh that has already been torn open. As if he hasn't had enough of that tonight.
He raises his head just enough to catch sight of Dainsleif watching him intently. There's worry painted on his face, even if he's an expert at hiding it. Dainsleif has grown good at masking his emotions, while Diluc has grown good at reading him anyway. The soft frown of Dainsleif's eyes says everything his voice won't. Diluc hates it. He doesn't need other people to be concerned about him, doesn't deserve to have people care about him.
He doesn't want Dainsleif to worry about him.
So, he continues up the final set of stairs, desperately trying to ignore the way his head is beginning to pound. If he can just make these final few steps, he can collapse into bed and everything will be fine. But the gods have other plans, Diluc notes, as the room begins to tilt when he's only halfway up the last set of stairs. The floorboard creeks beneath his weight as he sways to one side, reaching for the handrail in an attempt to steady himself. An arm wraps around his back, holding him tight and preventing him from falling backwards. Of course he couldn't complete such a simple task without help.
Dainsleif's grip on his arm is secure, no room for error if Diluc happens to take another bad dizzy turn. The redhead sighs, surrendering his pride to the night and lets his head drop onto Dainsleif's shoulder. He can blame it on the fatigue, or the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe the poor state of his health would be a good excuse. Anything but the comfort, the warmth that radiates through him at the feeling of Dainsleif holding him so carefully, knowing he's there to make sure he's safe.
Diluc finds himself both undeserving and overwhelmed at the care Dainsleif offers him. Something inside him screams out that he shouldn't accept such kindness so easily, while another feels almost giddy when he feels Dainsleif rests his head atop his own, a thumb beginning to rub smoothing patterns into his arm.
"We're almost there," Dainsleif says softly.
"I know," Diluc grumbles, eyes squeezed shut in the hopes it'll get his head to stop spinning. There's a gentle coaxing at his arm, and it's enough for him to muster up the courage to take another step. His eyes remain shut, but he knows that Dainsleif won't let him go anytime soon. They finish the stairs like that, with Dainsleif guiding him, while Diluc pinches the bridge of his nose in a desperate attempt to reduce the pain in his head.
Diluc feels himself being pushed down and let's himself fall onto the mattress. Some of the tension in his body seems to ease off once he's sitting down again, and he feels like he could just collapse into the mattress and pass out within seconds. Instead, he cracks an eye open, relieved to see the room has stopped spinning so much, and watches Dainsleif disappear wordlessly into the bathroom. He hears the tap turn on and though the sound of running water isn't exactly unwelcome, archons, he could really use a glass of water right now.
When Dainsleif returns, there are two wet cloths in his hand and a glass of water in the other. He must've swiped one of the glasses from the bedside when Diluc wasn't paying attention. The glass is handed to him, while Dainsleif holds one of the cloths against Diluc's forehead. The redhead lets out a shaky breath, shivering at the sudden cold against his burning skin. The chill does help to ease his headache, so he can't complain. Dainsleif turns the cloth over, pressing the other side to Diluc's skin, while he downs the entire glass of water in one go.
"That's enough now," Diluc gives a small nod, and Dainsleif removes the cloth from his forehead. The cloth is instead replaced with Dainsleif's hand, checking Diluc's temperature and then brushing a few stray strands of red out of his eyes. Diluc lets out a contented sigh at the feeling of Dainsleif's fingertips against his skin, prompting the other to run his hands through Diluc's hair. He reaches the back of his head, carefully loosening the silky black ribbon that keeps Diluc's hair tied in place. Waves of red cascade down his back and over his shoulders, with Dainsleif combing out some of the knots with his fingers.
Diluc tilts his head further into Dainsleif's hand, drawing a quiet hum from the other. "Don't get too relaxed yet, 'Luc. We still need to take care of your injuries."
"I know," Diluc mumbles, fully opening his eyes again and squinting at the light in the room. His head is still a little sore, but it's manageable now. He watches Dainsleif get into a knealing position, reaching for the top button of Diluc's shirt. He lets himself sit back, resting against his elbows while the blonde takes his time undoing each button. He works carefully, cautious not to bump against Diluc's torso and aggravate any of the wounds littering his chest.
A peaceful silence settles over them as Dainsleif peels the fabric away from Diluc's skin, tugging as gently as possible to remove the fabric where it is stuck to his skin with dried blood. Dainsleif is a man of very few words. Diluc has come to learn this over their time together. Some things, in Dainsleif's eyes, just don't need to be said. Diluc has found he could talk for hours about the things he's passionate about, yet all the same, the air of mystery never seems to leave him. He's an anomaly, and a supernova all the same.
Sometimes their eyes will meet and Diluc finds they needn't use words at all. Dainsleif's eyes speak volumes, mountains of words his mouth never could say out loud. Tales of years past, moments long forgotten and erased from memory with time — but not Dainsleif's. There's things he will always remember, that he's been cursed to remember.
Their eyes meet now, as Dainsleif undoes the final button and Diluc sits forward to help him remove the shirt. An understanding seems to pass between them, words exchanged in the silence of the room.
Let me take care of you.
... Okay.
So Diluc relaxes, tries his best to sit pliant while Dainsleif presses the other damp cloth against each of his wounds. He can't help the way he trembles, or flinches when Dainsleif's hands come close to some of the more severe injuries he's sustained. There's blood stuck to Diluc's skin, smearing when Dainsleif tries to wipe it away. Diluc used to say his eyes were the colour of blood, Dainsleif said they look more like rubies.
After a while, a lot of scrubbing and wincing, and nail marks pressed deep into Diluc's palm, the majority of his wounds are cleaned up. Dainsleif sits now with bandages in his hand, patching up the deep gash in Diluc's side, courtesy of an aggravated Abyss Herald. There's a similar slash cut into his thigh, but they'll get around to dealing with that one later. As Dainsleif presses the bandage down over broken skin, he's careful to avoid the bruising under the redhead's ribs. With all of the dried up blood gone, the patches of blue and purple stand stark against Diluc's skin.
"You're keeping awfully quiet tonight," Dainsleif mumbles, focused on securing the bandage in place. He gives Diluc's thigh a gentle pat when he's finished, a way of saying well done for being brave. Diluc feels his face heat up a little.
He sighs, watching Dainsleif as he gets to his feet and heads back into bathroom. The blonde runs some more water over the cloth, before coming back to sit on the floor by Diluc's feet again. Diluc nudges Dainsleif's leg with his foot. "I just don't have much to say."
Dainsleif appears deep in thought for a moment, before humming quietly and moving to tap Diluc on the knee. "Take these off, so I can deal with that thing on your thigh." And Diluc does as asked. He throws his jeans on the floor somewhere, discarded until one of them can be bothered to pick them up again. As Dainsleif starts on the wound, he asks, "Do you think the mission was successful?"
It's a question Dainsleif rarely asks. Success. Something they are both accustomed to, both in their personal lives, and their work together. They've rarely had a job go sour, more often than not managing to tie up the loose ends at the last second. But tonight had been different, and the question sits heavy over Diluc's head.
They'd been on the trail of an Abyss Herald, following an increased number of Abyss Mage sightings out in the wilderness of Starfell Valley. Dainsleif had rushed into the tavern to inform his of traces of an Abyss Herald, and they'd set out earlier that day to find it. Clues led them to an old ruin, where followers of the Abyss lay in wait deep inside. They'd cleared out most of them, save for the Abyss Herald and two Lectors. The electro Lector had made a pretty nasty mess of Diluc's right side, but luckily Dainsleif had been there to help him through it.
That sparking, tingling feeling is still present at the forefront of his mind. Fighting electro enemies will be the bane of his existence. He can still feel the heat radiating from the pyro Abyss Mage and the Lector, countering his own flames and stinging across skin already marred with burn scars.
Upon seeing the murky blue fog beginning to swirl at Dainsleif's fingertips, the remaining Lectors had fled at the Herald's order, the three of them disappearing through a portal which seemed to manifest and vanish again in the blink of an eye. Rage seethed from Dainsleif and that cloud of deep blue only seemed to grow angrier, but as they both watched the Herald disappear through the portal, the murky fog surrounding the blonde quickly dispersed, and within seconds he was crouched by Diluc's side, checking him over to make sure he was as okay as he could be — at least for the time being so they could both get out of here and Dainsleif could fix him up properly back at the tavern.
They'd never lost an enemy before. They always cleared out camps and took down each little pocket of the Abyss one by one. This was the first time their fight remained unfinished. Was the mission a success? Maybe it would have been, if only Diluc hadn't gotten hurt. If he were only stronger, the Herald wouldn't have gotten away.
Where Diluc has only ever become accustomed to success, Dainsleif has also become accustomed to failure.
Dainsleif doesn't place the blame, and he doesn't beat himself up for losing sight of their enemies. He knows a future opportunity will always arise in due time, (and Celestia knows he has more than enough of that).
As if having read Diluc's thoughts, Dainsleif grumbles out, "It wasn't your fault." He pulls particularly tight at the bandage he's tying around Diluc's thigh. The redhead winces, a hiss pulled from behind gritted teeth. Dainsleif sighs tiredly, stroking his thumb back and forth over Diluc's thigh, a silent apology for his silly actions.
When the bandage around Diluc's thigh is tightly secured, Dainsleif lets out a heavy sigh. He pats the redhead on the thigh, making a move to stand up, but Diluc reaches out and holds him there, a hand lay steady atop his head. Dainsleif peers up at him through his lashes for a moment, before easing back down to his knees and laying his head on Diluc's thigh.
"You got hurt too," Diluc says, running his fingers through blonde locks. Dainsleif's hair is incredibly soft, and Diluc curls a few strands around his finger before watching as it gently falls back into place. "Let me take care of you now."
He hears Dainsleif hum, feels his head shake beneath his palm. "I'll be fine. You're in no shape to be making a fuss over me."
"Dain," Diluc moves to stand up, but a hand pressed to his shoulder ensures he stays down.
Dainsleif shushes him, getting to his feet before Diluc can protest again. "Diluc," he looks him dead in the eyes, blue stars twinkling brighter than those in the sky above. "I promise I'll be fine. Just lie down, I'll be right back."
Before Diluc can get a single word out, Dainsleif is gone. The tap runs in the bathroom, turns on and off periodically. Cupboards are opened and closed, the doors squeaking on their hinges. After a while, however, Dainsleif does return like he said he would. There are fresh bandages wrapped around his forearm and hand, and the shallow cut across his check has been cleaned up. Dainsleif frowns when he sees Diluc still sat up at the edge of the bed, and walks over to stand in front of him.
"I thought I told you to lie down."
Diluc hums, "I was waiting for you."
He hears Dainsleif sigh. The blonde takes his hand, and Diluc notices the couple of plasters wrapped around his fingers. Dainsleif helps him swing his legs into bed, and the softness of the mattress beneath Diluc's back is enough to almost put him to sleep there and then. But he persists, stays awake, if only to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Dainsleif's breathing and his fingers in his hair.
The mattress dips beside him, and the sheets are jostled around until Dainsleif finally gets comfortable and settles down. Diluc doesn't often sleep beneath the sheets, his body always burning up too much for him to sleep comfortably. Dainsleif, on the other hand, always seems to be freezing. Diluc inches closer to him, securely tucking his head in beneath the others chin. He nestles himself into Dainsleif as closely as he can, prompting a grunt out of Dainsleif when he keeps trying to push himself further against him.
For the first time tonight, Diluc feels comfortable. This space is calm, serene. Safe. Nothing like the fight they'd been in earlier. The night had been cold, but here it is warm, safely tucked away from the horrors that seem to lurk in every corner of their world. Diluc feels his racing thoughts finally slow to a halt, his senses focusing in on the feeling of Dainsleif's skin pressed against his own. The chill of Dainsleif's body counters the heat of his own, sending shivers running up Diluc's spine. Dainsleif feels him quiver and wraps his arms tightly around him, drawing a contented sigh from his lips.
"You know," Dainsleif starts, "I used to think you were a brute."
Diluc pauses, shimmies back a little so he can look up and meet Dainsleif's eyes. "Why is that?"
A shrug, "All the rumours of Mondstadt's 'Darknight Hero' gave you quite the reputation. Painted you in an interesting light, y'know."
"Well, as you just said, those are all rumours." Diluc grumbles, burying his face into the pillow. He doesn't want to imagine the kinds of things Dainsleif has heard about him.
There's a pause, a moment of silence between the two and Diluc is beginning to get his hopes up that they're about to drop the topic, before Dainsleif cuts through his thoughts and prayers.
"Is it true that you interrogated an Abyss Mage?"
Diluc lets out a groan, hiding his face behind a curtain of red hair. He hears Dainsleif chuckle from the other side, feels his own cheeks burn a fiery shade similar to his hair. There's a finger beginning to draw patterns onto Diluc's back, slowly coaxing him out from his hiding place buried in the pillow.
Dainsleif plants light kisses over Diluc's hair, kissing his forehead and nose through the waves of red that keep them hidden. Diluc sighs, brushes the hair out of his eyes so he can look up at Dainsleif. The blonde smiles.
"You act like it's a bad thing that you've done that," Dainsleif muses, giving gentle squeezes to Diluc's hips. "Most people wouldn't be strong, nor brave enough, to do something like that."
Diluc hums, replies in a hushed voice, "You would." He nuzzles his face into Dainsleif's neck again, planting kisses against the pale skin. He can feel Dainsleif's pulse thrum beneath his lips.
Dainsleif is, arguably, far stronger than him, in every sense of the word. Though it isn't something Dainsleif is often fond of speaking of, the little bit of information Diluc possesses about Dainsleif's past is evidence enough. To have held on for so many years, to be able to keep his sanity after the things he's seen, the memories he's lived with and carried with him for so long, takes a lot of strength. Diluc feels somewhat weak, pathetic even, in comparison to him. He's nothing but a mere dull flame, in comparison to Dainsleif's light — his aura that glows like a star in the sky, illuminating Diluc's nights brighter than the moon ever could.
He feels Dainsleif tug gently at his hair, twirling strands around his fingers as his other hand holds tight onto Diluc's waist. He holds him like a lifeline, and sometimes Diluc thinks, after everything Dainsleif has been through, that's all he really needs — something to anchor him, to keep him grounded and present in his own body, his own mind.
"Don't you actively hunt down Abyss Heralds as a hobby, Dain?" Diluc states amusedly, running his fingers through blonde hair. There's a small smile on his face, a hint of teeth ghosting against Dainsleif's neck when Diluc laughs quietly. He hears Dainsleif huff out a laugh, can picture the smile on the blonde's face, mirroring his own.
"I wouldn't quite call it a hobby..."
Diluc hums, placing one last kiss to Dainsleif's neck before shuffling back, pulling Dainsleif with him until he's laying on his back with Dainsleif tucked into his side. One of Dainsleif's arms is still wrapped securely around his waist, the other now wedged beneath his own pillow. As Diluc stares up at the ceiling, Dainsleif resumes drawing little patterns onto Diluc's waist with his fingertip, the pair of them falling into a comfortable silence.
Diluc focuses in on the sound of Dainsleif's breathing, the feeling of each miniscule movement he makes pressed up against Diluc's side. In the quiet of the room, wrapped up in Dainsleif's embrace, Diluc feels himself slowly beginning to drift off. Dainsleif's breathing sounds more calm and evened out, and Diluc decides that it's a good enough time to let himself rest too.
Sleep doesn't always come easily, for either of them. having seen the things they've seen, lived through what they have, sleep is often plagued with nightmares, and their nights are spent restless. But, when together, sleep seems to come easy, and the pain of those nightmares is washed away by the feeling of the other by their side.
They both fall asleep easily. Wrapped up in one another, safely tucked away from the darkness of the world outside.