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Jean does not often recline in her chair. She would much rather be looking at the endless list of business in Mondstadt, or be out there on the streets herself, looking for any sign of wrongdoing, or even just training the knights that continued to turn up at her door.
But even she needs a break every now and then. She sighs deeply and looks up at the ceiling. The paint is chipping. It needs replacing.
The door swings open. With a start, she sits up, knocking into the piles of paperwork that sit in front of her. The papers sitting on her desk cast into the air, like a thousand slowly falling snowflakes, as they obscure whoever just walked in.
“W-who is it?” she asks, trying her best to look as nonchalant as possible. Diluc does not say anything. He stands there, clad in his usual dark, ornate robes, his eyes fixated on her.
His left arm is streaming with blood.
“Just me, Jean,” he says, not an ounce of hesitation or concern in his voice. As Jean watches, mouth slightly agape, she notices his usual pristine manner is a little perturbed.
His clothes are ruined, his hair a tangled mess, falling over his face, and the blood-
“L-let me look at that!” she says, dashing over to him. He withdraws his arm quickly, using his hand to keep her away. That too is now covered in blood.
“Look, I didn’t want to make a fuss. What bandages do you have?” he asks, moving over behind her, and rifling through the doors of her desk. He does so with speed- as if he has rooted around in there before.
Jean huffs. “If it’s a bandage you’re wanting, I always carry some with me,” she says, pulling a tightly wound roll of cloth. Diluc quickly clears the floor and tries to take it from her.
She snatches it away from him.
“Hey!”
“You’re sitting down. And I’m putting this bandage on. I’ve had enough of you thinking that you can have the run of this place…” she trails off, gently guiding the tall, imposing man to her chair.
His blood drips onto the floor, and the arm of the chair. He frowns, but accedes to her demands, raising his arm up.
With a practised hand, Jean wraps the bandage around his arm, feeling the large gouges that run down it. It is warm. He winces.
“Gentler!” he cries, trying to pull himself away. She continues to bandage him.
“I know you won’t tell me what happened. But you have to start looking after yourself,” she says, admonishing him. She is surprised to see him almost blush.
“I do what I do for the city. Who cares what happens to me?” he answers proudly. He has never been one to consider anything else, after all.
Jean’s eyes get a little wider as he says this. Something long and unspoken wells up within her.
“I do. I care,” she says quietly, as she ties up the bandage, watching as it slowly becomes stained crimson. “Take it off when you get home.” She pulls out another bandage. “Wash it, and then wrap this around yourself.”
She walks away, desperate to avoid his gaze. She had not meant to admit that.
He does not say anything. Instead, she hears the sound of his hand being wiped on cloth, and then the barely audible squeak of her chair as he stands up. He steps once, then twice, and then his hand is wrapped around her chest, drawing her close to him.
This is beyond anything she could have imagined. She turns to look at him, only to see his piercing gaze looking down at her, deep ruby eyes full of sadness.
He raises his good hand, still slightly smeared with blood, and traces the shape of her lips. It tastes of metal and sorrow.
“Diluc…” she whispers, his hand now resting under her chin. He smiles. She has never seen him do that before.
“Thank you, Jean. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but I thought I should let you know how much I appreciate you.”
“I-I see,” she stutters out. His whole body is so warm, like a radiant heat that fills her with an unyielding passion.
She can hardly remember all the work that remains to be done, now scattered all over the ground under their feet. His face leans closer to her.
“Jean- I-” he begins to say. He is interrupted by the forceful hand of Jean pulling him down into her lips into a clumsy kiss. Their noses run into one another’s, and the angle is not quite right.
But slowly, he pushes back, his body now supporting her, craning down to feel a different kind of warmth to the one he carried around with him always. Hers was a gentle, soothing kind of warmth- the kind he had longed for, for so long. Her lips are soft and kind.
They part. Diluc can still taste fresh berries- the remnants of a lunch- on his lips. Their breath is rapid, their chests heaving slightly.
Quickly, they break away from one another. There is a smattering of rushed comments.
“S-sorry, I thought-”
“N-no, Jean, t-that was my-”
“You don’t understand-”
Diluc raises a finger to his lips. Jean falls silent, her eyes downcast. He walks her back to her chair. With an expression of resignation, she looks up at him.
“Rest easy, Jean. You’ve earned it,” he says at last, leaving a parting smile, full of love. And then, in a moment, he is gone, the window wide and free. As flashy as always, she cannot help but think.
Jean reclines in her chair. She closes her eyes, and overwhelmed by everything, falls into a fitful slumber.
She wakes up not long after. Her desk is neatly organised, papers stacked neatly, and the door is closed. The window is shut firmly tight. She rubs her eyes, a little weary. A dream. Or a nightmare?
She leans over and checks the floor. There are no signs of blood. She goes red thinking of what had just run through her head. Clearly, she needed to get out more.
She pats herself down, feeling the two spare bandage rolls she usually carried. A trick of a tired mind. That’s all it was.
She sighs, and sweeps out of the room, ready to do the work she always did, come rain or shine. In her haste to leave, the small stain of blood that still remained, seeped into the fabric of her chair, went completely unnoticed.