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The city of freedom was once again buzzing with a sudden rush of excitement. Hushed whispers reverberated around the quaint cobblestone streets, every citizen seemingly taking it upon themselves to spread the word; after being missing for three years, Master Diluc had finally returned to Mondstadt.
He looked older, they said. More mature. They wondered where he had been, what he had been doing for three long years, each person coming up with theories that were more unlikely than the last. You couldn't bring yourself to participate in the speculation, however; wherever Master Diluc had been, you wished he had stayed there and never returned to Mond.
For three years, you had struggled to swallow correctly past the ever present lump in your throat. For three years, you had slept restlessly every night on tearstained pillows. For three years, you had tried desperately to forget the pain. Now, with the young Ragnvindr walking the streets of Mondstadt again, the wound that had just barely begun to heal had been torn open once again. Every glimpse of that painfully familiar scarlet hair was a sharp stab of pain to the gaping hole in your chest.
Thankfully, Master Diluc proved fairly easy to avoid. For weeks after his sudden reappearance, you remained determinedly focused on the peaceful life you had carved out for yourself in a secluded corner of Springvale. He never ventured out in that direction on his daily journeys between the winery and the city, and so your still new home remained untouched with memories.
Until one morning a month after his return, when a quiet yet firm knock at your door pierced the stagnant silence that pervaded your home.
There he stood on the doorstep, taller and broader than you remembered, yet his face still had that boyish look, and you were overcome with the sudden urge to wrap your arms around him, to hold the boy close and cry with him as you had never had the chance to- but you refrained, for despite the resolute set of his shoulders, he still looked as though he may run away at any moment. His eyes, red, so different from his father's, could not meet yours.
In one of his hands, gloved in leather and clenched by his sides, was a small bundle of parchments, folded neatly and secured with a silk ribbon. Instantly, you recognised them.
"Master Diluc," you greeted the young man as calmly as you could, despite the growing pit in your stomach, "it's wonderful to see you again."
It was your best attempt at maintaining a polite appearance, but the words felt hollow on your tongue. Of course, you were relieved that the boy you had loved was home and safe once again, but having him here, on your doorstop, was bringing the bitterest memories out of the shadowy recesses of your mind and into the harsh sunlight.
Then, Diluc finally met your gaze, and with that one look it was clear that you both already knew why he was here.
"May I come in?" he requested quietly. Without a word, you stepped aside, allowing the young nobleman to enter your home, to walk around your tiny kitchen and tarnish it with the dull ache you associated with the past.
Diluc stood in place beside your dining table silently for a moment, brows furrowed and seemingly deep in thought, while the dread in your stomach steadily fermented. Before he spoke, he cleared his throat gently, and your heart broke again for because even his cough sounded just like Crepus's.
"Forgive me for my sudden arrival, I won't take up much of your time." He began, and despite his nonchalant tone, you were sure that this would be an uncomfortable conversation for the both of you once he found the words to begin it. "I was sorting through some of my father's belongings in the winery. There was a locked drawer in his desk which contained…these."
He placed the bundle of parchment gingerly on the wooden tabletop, as though it were an impossibly valuable ancient relic. Or perhaps he knew that to you, they were. Scrawled across the pages was your own handwriting, the ink forming words which you could hardly recall almost five years after writing them. Crepus's responses, however, remained fresh in your mind, as though you had received them just yesterday. As though the pain of the last three years had never happened.
For several moments the room was quiet, Diluc unsure of how to proceed and you too embarrassed to know what to say.
"Did…did you read them?" You managed to ask weakly. The pink that tinged the tips of his ears gave you the answer that his thinly-pressed lips refused to voice. "Master Diluc, I'm-"
"Please," he cut you off with an almost exasperated sigh, "just Diluc."
With sudden clarity, you recalled a conversation you had had with his father years prior to this moment. Despite your connection to the Master of the family, you were ultimately still one of the common folk. Due to this unavoidable fact, you had insisted on referring to the two Ragnvindr boys as 'the young Masters', out of politeness.
"How have the young Masters been lately?"
"I bumped into the young Masters in the city earlier today."
"You look tired, Crepus. Have the young Masters been giving you trouble?"
Until one night in the Ragnvindr manor, amidst the impenetrable serenity that always enveloped your rare moments alone together, you had used their title. Then, loosened by the bottle of wine you had shared, Crepus had laughed at you, that charmingly handsome smile creating beautiful lines around his eyes.
"Dear, don't you think you know us well enough by now to refer to them by name?"
A bashful smile had bloomed on your lips at the gentle teasing, and with heat growing in your cheeks, you had teased back, "Oh no, Master Ragnvindr, the last thing I would want to do is offend such a noble family."
His responding laugh still rang in your ears now, as you suddenly remembered Diluc standing in your kitchen, watching attentively as you came out of your reverie. The sensation of roughened yet tender hands cupping your cheeks faded into familiar numbness.
"Diluc," you said, but the informality tasted even stranger after three years of unfamiliarity, "I'm very sorry you had to find out like this."
With trembling fingers, you reached for the letters, tracing carefully over the deep red ribbon fastened around them in an elegant bow. The paper was in pristine condition, folded and pressed into a neat bundle, obviously well-preserved in the empty winery for the past several years. Crepus had preserved these letters far better than you had preserved his, you realised with a jolt of guilt; his own letters, penned whilst he was away on business trips or vacations with the boys, were crumpled from falling asleep with his words clutched tight against your chest, and teardrops stained the paper and blurred the ink in places.
"I didn't know he'd kept them." You admitted quietly, ignoring the way your lip trembled.
By his sides, the leather gloves Diluc wore squeaked slightly as his fists clenched.
"I thought you might like to know that he had." Was all he said, before he made as though to leave.
Panic flared in you as soon as he turned to leave; despite having complicated feelings about Diluc's return to Mondstadt, the thought of him walking out of your life once again so soon made your chest ache.
"Wait!" you exclaimed, your hand reaching out to grab onto his arm and somehow prevent him from leaving, before shrinking back when he came to a sudden halt.
"I…I have his letters, if you'd like to…" you voice wavered only slightly as he cast a look over his shoulder at you, before tapering off into silence.
The young Master turned hesitantly, peering at you curiously with those intensely stern eyes. They were far less warm than his father's. The blazing red irises were fiery and passionate, yet lacked the softness that you considered home for a while. Just below the surface of his gaze, you recognised the multitude of emotions that he had not yet mastered the art of masking as well as Crepus had; or perhaps, you had spent so long watching Diluc grow into the man he was now, that reading his emotions was like second nature to you. It had taken years for you to recognise the emotions which Crepus chose to keep hidden- the subtle tightness of his jaw when he was irritated, the slight twitch in his lips when laughter threatened to break free, the soft creases around his eyes whenever his gaze fell on you.
In Diluc's eyes, bitterness swirled like a tempestuous wind, and with another guilty pang, you realised that you couldn't blame him for feeling that way. Perhaps it had been wrong of you to hide your relationship with his father for so long, even after the man's sudden death, but at the time you simply hadn't wanted the attention of the city on you as the new Mrs Ragnvindr. So, other than Adelinde, who had helped to smuggle you out of the winery before the family's breakfast could take place one too many times, no one in Mondstadt was aware of the extent of your familiarity with the nobleman. Then, after his death, the idea of coming clean felt…wrong, as though you would be trying to gain from your connection to the noble family. At least, that was what you told yourself.
Truthfully, you were just too much of a coward to deal with the questions that would arise. So, you kept the truth to yourself, and ignored the rumours that filled the city at your sudden despondency. The funeral had been a horrid affair; rows upon rows of Mondstadt citizens wore black and mourned the loss of their icon, the symbol of their home. You kept to yourself at the back of the congregation, and avoided the questioning gaze of the one remaining Ragnvindr, Kaeya. His one sapphire eye was sure to see through your half-hearted lies. So, you retreated to Springvale, and hoped that he would never question you on the rumours he undoubtedly heard.
He never did.
"No," Diluc answered eventually, meeting your gaze with an honourable certainty. "My father's romantic history is none of my business. You should keep those memories for yourself."
He hesitated for a moment, opening and closing his mouth once, before glancing away and selecting his next words with apparent carefulness.
"I am simply relieved that he was happy. And…should you ever need anything, you will always be welcome at the Winery."
And he turned to leave once again, departing the claustrophobic kitchen as quickly as he could and leaving you to choke on the knowledge that you and Crepus had been real. Time had worn the few memories you allowed to slip through into hazy, dreamlike sequences that you could not even be certain were real. But with Diluc's tentative validation, they seemed suddenly brighter, more clear. The red of Crepus's hair had been so like Diluc's.
You remembered now that amidst the secrecy and clever lies, the hushed whispers and hesitant touches behind closed doors, there had been moments of true happiness. Lying in each other's arms and basking in the glow of a lit fireplace on winter nights, bare skin pressed against bare skin as he made some excuse about 'conserving warmth'. Tasting the sweet headiness of dandelion wine on each other's lips as you danced around the kitchen late at night while the boys slept, unaware of the small piece of Celestia you were building in their home.
And for the first time in years, you wanted to remember. Perhaps Diluc was right, and those memories were best kept in pristine condition, locked away inside your heart, bundled together lovingly with a beautiful ribbon.