Work Text:
It has to be Jean. Adelinde is a dear, always ready to help, to make phone calls and lists and tables and present it all written down to Jean as one cohesive, quick thing. Charles keeps trying to help her with the buffet but with all due respect, it sounds more like pestering than anything. Lisa is the worst Maid of Honor to ever walk in Mondstadt.
And Diluc is... well, he is Diluc. Even though he has been very supportive throughout the whole thing, never once behaving like a wedding party was a silly princess dream, he is not the most helpful.
If Jean asked him if he would prefer white or cream tablecloths, he would turn and ask Adelinde which ones she thinks are more fitting.
Regardless, Jean is satisfied with his contribution. Right before he proposed - and she should have seen it in the signs -, he gave her a master key and free reign over his accounts, which is something Jean could not take lightly. Diluc has always been a very private person. Having access to his accounts means that Jean can see every transaction he makes, having a key means she can come and go as she pleases and no room in the manor is out of her reach. That gesture of trust means much more to her than any ring Diluc could buy to put on her finger.
The best part is that since the proposal, he has been clingy.
It is adorable in a way that shouldn't be.
Diluc frequently visits her at the Headquarters at random, and frankly inopportune, moments just to bring her a slice of fruit cake or a dandelion he had picked while working at the winery. He has picked up the heart-achingly sweet habit of taking her hand in his to play with her wedding ring. The amount of eye contact he has been offering her is almost overwhelming.
They are both workaholics, Jean is very much aware of that. So all the time he has been demanding of her - the time that their upcoming wedding has been demanding of her - is simultaneously exciting and grating.
But Jean is at fault as well. She loves him, and isn't that a burden? After a hard day at work, all she wants is for him to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her thoughts away, to touch her, to talk to her, to touch her.
Sometimes, the feeling is so overpowering, she chokes on it and coughs, she can barely turn the key in the keyhole because her hands won't stop shaking, she can barely climb up the stairs because her legs feel way too light-
She opens the door to Diluc's office, and all the warmth that buzzed inside her body is swept away by a freezing wind.
The scene inside is rather off-putting.
Diluc, sitting behind his desk, slumped onto his armchair with his lips downturned in a frown so expressive Jean had never imagined he could produce.
Across from him, to his right, sitting on top of the said desk with his back to the door, is Kaeya. Jean can't see his expression then, and it will forever be a mystery: as soon as she steps in, he turns to her with a bright smile.
"There she is!" he exclaims. "The beautiful bride-to-be!"
His voice is sugary sweet as he desperately tries to hide whatever is wrong from Jean, and Diluc schools his expression to a fabricated void - she has known both of them for too long to not know exactly what it is.
She smiles softly and doesn't press it. "It's good to see you, Captain."
"Oh, come on," Kaya dramatically groans. He jumps off the desk and practically skips to Jean's side. His grin is bright and playful and it almost looks genuine. "We're not on the clock, Acting Grandmaster. Here, I am Kaya." He takes her hand, the right one, and kisses the back of it with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Your humble servant. In case Lisa is too busy to plan your bachelorette.”
Entirely aware of how hard Kaya is trying to keep her away from whatever quarrel the two of them had gotten into, Jean plays into it. It's easy banter.
"You know, she is going to complain that you keep trying to steal her spot as maid of honor," she laughs. "Try to be less conspicuous!"
Kaya pouts. He lets go of his hand to point an accusing finger at Diluc. "Well, that's because somebody still hasn't formally invited me to be best man. "
"Dream on," Diluc speaks at last. "Leave."
"At least say hello to your future wife," Kaya snaps.
Jean is about to defend herself (and, perhaps, Diluc as well), but Kaya is quick to grip her shoulders and stand between her and her view of Diluc, with a mockingly somber expression.
"You know, Jean, if he ever treats you as bad as he treats me, you should let me know, okay? Bad treatment is reserved for younger brothers. Spouses should be treated as your reason to live." He winks at her. "Besides, you're too pretty for him.
He already has frown lines between his eyebrows. Small ones, but look closely and you'll see it."
Diluc stands up. "I said leave, Kaya-"
"On my way!" Kaya sing-songs. He turns to Jean one last time with a soft smile.
"Until tomorrow, my friend."
And then, Kaya leaves. He shuts the door a bit too hard and leaves behind a baffled Jean, standing frozen in the middle of the room. Her chest tightens and she clears her throat, patting hand aver her heart.
Diluc finally walks up to her, his brows furrowed in distress and worry. He takes her hand, the right one, and plays with the wedding ring while keeping his gaze downturned.
"I'm sorry, Jean," he says. His voice is close to a whisper - full of an anxiety Jean has not heard in him in so long. "That you had to come home to this."
She doesn't miss the way he refers to the Winery as her home. "What happened?" she asks.
Diluc shakes his head. "Nothing of importance."
"That's not what it looked like."
Then, he stares at her. For no more than a few seconds, but it feels like hours - every look of his feels like a test, like she is being assessed. Jean doesn't know why, or for what.
"I simply mean to not have you worry about it." He offers her one of his rare smiles. "You work too hard, already. You need every moment of rest you can get."
Diluc places a kiss on her forehead, but Jean's insides coil. She pulls away and puts a hand on his cheek.
"Was he mean to you?"
"We are, more often than not, mean to each other." Diluc sighs. "But let's not talk about it anymore. Let me take you to the city for dinner."
Jean nods, backing down promptly. There is no need to extend a brothers' fight to their partnership. "I just need a moment to get ready."
Diluc smiles at her. And this time, it feels real. "All the time you need."
They part ways by the office's door, Diluc is off to arrange their car and Jean sneaks into the master bedroom to find date-appropriate clothes and shower.
Jean tries to not think about it, but she can't. She fills up the bathtub with scalding-hot water and slips inside, yet her muscles feel tense. In fact, she feels even more tired. Her throat itches. Her chest feels tight with anxiety.
Diluc is right, she reckons, for not wanting to involve her in his relationship with Kaya - they are both adults, she tells herself, and disagreements are part of life. Especially between family. She is, after all, close with both of them. She trusts both with her life. It would be unfair for her to pick a side.
Those years Diluc vanished, Kaya and Jean had leaned heavily on each other.
Kaya is not a workmate, he is not merely a subordinate - he is Jean's friend. He is the one who, despite his attempts to cover it, never forgets an important event in Jean's life. She knows for a fact that regardless of the means, he will complete whatever mission she asks of him. From grabbing a coffee just like she wants to clearing camp after camp of treasure hoarders.
She must not push him away over Diluc's woes and stubbornness. And she must not let Kaeya stand between her and her soon-to-be husband.
Although the realization clears her mind, her chest tightens further. She takes a deep breath, then another, and another - the air slips through her mouth like a shaky little wheeze, and she takes her hand to her neck.
Oh Archons. Oh Barbatos.
She tries to breathe in and manages to do it, but the whole process feels like a sandpaper is being shoved down her throat. A loud noise and her body is hit by a sudden impact, her vision darkens, her heartbeat rings in her ears - ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump - she tears her mouth wide open, shoves her soap-dirty fingers inside, and convulses on the wet ground.
Jean coughs - or vomits, she can't be sure. All she knows is that she needs to breathe. Something comes out of her mouth, solid and wet, a plug of mucus or blood or both; it tastes bitter, metallic, herbal like the worst tea she has ever drank. Trembling, Jean kneels on the bathroom floor. She pokes her fingers inside her mouth again, pulling out the disgusting mixture. Gasping and retching, she opens her eyes.
Despite her fear, Jean is a soldier first and foremost. She has seen the worst and the best of this world and kept her head high despite her self-doubt. Her mind goes quiet in moments of crisis and the path is always clear in front of her.
She scans the blotches of blood and spit and water mixing over the tiles. She finds a solid piece among the liquid. Many of them, in fact. Smooth, glistening, colored a deep crimson, and about the size of her thumbnail.
Silently, she picks up a petal and stares at it.