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“Spar with me.”
Diluc stops wiping the glass, but only for a second. It’s not an unfamiliar request from the harbinger. It’s what he hears all the time when he’s at the tavern, after all.
And his answer every time remains the same.
“No.”
Childe whines, just as he predicted. There is a faint smile hovering over Diluc’s lips. If a drunkard notices the very rare expression on the master of this place’s face, they don’t say anything.
“Oh come on, firebrand. This game you’re playing is getting really old.”
Diluc only hums, his eyes focused on the glass he’s holding. Childe whines again, resting his head on the counter with a pout.
He doesn’t know when he ever let a Fatui harbinger of all people slip his way into his daily routine. Even if Diluc denies, the patrons at Angel’s Share would tell you the same thing. Every night, the 11th Fatui Harbinger comes by to pester the young master to spar with him. At first, he would come here at day time, but after learning that Diluc’s shift only starts at night, he only comes by when the sun can no longer be seen. What he does by the day is a mystery to everyone.
The biggest surprise to everyone is not that Diluc denies the harbinger’s request every time. It makes perfect sense to anyone who knows the man, actually. He just has far more important matters to attend to than grant a harbinger’s request to fight. There is also the matter of diplomacy, because anyone who knows Diluc knows that he would absolutely not hold back when fighting a Fatuus. And observing Childe’s behavior tells them that he’s also not the type to fight just for show. Diluc is probably declining for the sake of both of them. No, the bigger surprise is how and why the harbinger is still even here, like he’s welcome to prance around anytime to the abode of someone who has hated the Fatui all his life.
Why has Diluc not fended him off? Why does the harbinger walk in the tavern with a smile on his face every time like he’s an old friend? Why does Diluc smile back sometimes?
“Not today.” Diluc says after a while, when the pout on the other’s face remains for a little too long.
“You said that yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before before that.”
The bartender lets out an amused huff. “Well, maybe you should try again tomorrow then.”
That’s all he says before he’s turning his back on the harbinger, shifting his focus to making drinks on the counter behind. After a while, he hears the sound of the stool grating over the wooden floors, and Childe is leaving the tavern. Everyone knows that tomorrow, at the same time, he will be here again to ask for the same thing.
The night passes by quickly after that. There is an excitement in Diluc’s chest that he can’t explain. Like he’s looking forward to tomorrow. He hasn’t felt anticipation in a long time.
“Won’t you spar with me this time, firefly?”
Childe is early today. The sun is barely setting, and Diluc only started his shift fifteen minutes prior. There are only two other people in the tavern drinking, and none of them are still drunk enough for the night. Charles is still at the door, looking at his boss with an unskeptical face, like he’s silently asking who the new face is. It’s his first time seeing the harbinger since Childe only ever comes late at night. Well, at least all the other nights.
Diluc only smiles at him and signs him to go home. There’s nothing to worry about, Charles.
Charles only nods before he leaves the tavern. If Diluc says that there’s nothing to worry about, then it must be true. After all, the young master rarely ever makes wrong judgments.
“Pretty please?” The harbinger says again, and there is a drunk-like feeling on Diluc’s chest. He doesn’t drink alcohol. He hasn’t drunk alcohol in years, actually.
“My shift just started, harbinger.”
“I can wait.” Childe immediately sits on the usual stool. He has claimed property of that stool since the first time he entered Angel’s Share. It’s at the very center. Just the right place to be close enough to talk to the bartender. Diluc thinks it’s still too far.
“Hm. Of course you can.”
“I can wait as long as you give me the strongest alcohol you have.” The harbinger smiles, resting his chin on his palm. “What do you recommend?”
“Are you planning to get drunk?” Diluc scoffs, moving anyways to mix a Dandelion Wine. It’s not particularly their strongest alcohol, but it is what he’s the most familiar with. It is the Mondstadtian specialty, after all.
“Oh, Master Diluc. Mondstadt wine is hardly any alcohol, no offense.” Childe snickers when he catches a slight glare on Diluc’s face. “Come to Snezhnaya and I’ll show you a thing or two. Have you heard of Fire-Water?”
Diluc suddenly feels clammy. He’s not sure if it’s because of the mention of his dreaded alcoholic drink, Fire-Water, or the mention of Snezhnaya, the country he’s banned from visiting.
Or maybe it’s Childe’s personal invitation to visit his homeland with him. Childe is inviting him to come to his home, like that’s a normal thing you say to the bartender at the tavern you’re in.
(Maybe it’s normal and Diluc just hasn't been invited to anything at all for years.)
“I’m sorry to disappoint, but the Dandelion Wine is actually drinkable.” He says, placing the glass of wine in front of the other. “If you’re looking for something as poisonous as Fire-Water, this isn’t the tavern for you.”
Childe starts laughing, earning a few glances from the two other customers around. Diluc stammers over the attention. “Oh, you got jokes, firefly! I take it that you’ve drunk Fire-Water, then?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Didn’t go well, I presume?” He smiles lazily, slowly twirling the glass in his hand. He looks at Diluc, as if urging him to talk more. Diluc looks away before he starts thinking too much of it.
“I simply drank too much in one sitting. It doesn’t mean I can’t control my alcohol.”
“You drinking too much precisely means you can’t control it, doesn’t it?” The harbinger leans closer against the counter after taking a sip, and Diluc stops breathing when he realizes he can see the other’s freckles clearly like this. They kiss his cheeks at the right spots. Diluc begins to count the freckles in his head.
“Eleven.” He unconsciously says out loud, widening his eyes quickly when he realizes. Oh, I’m a dumb idiot, aren’t I.
Childe tilts his head sideways in confusion, raising his eyebrow as if asking for an explanation. Diluc quickly stammers, “Shots. Eleven shots. I drank… eleven shots of Fire-Water.”
There is a long stretch of silence between them. Only the sounds of customers coming in and out and glasses clinking can be heard. Sounds that are very familiar to Diluc, but eerily uncomfortable now that Childe just stares at him in stunned silence. And then, he laughs, a bit louder this time. He clutches his stomach like he’s in pain. Diluc can only turn red in embarrassment.
“Eleven?! Oh… oh it’s a miracle that you’re even alive!” Childe says in between his laughs. He wipes the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. “Actually, I’m impressed, firebrand. Consider me intrigued. Why were you even drinking eleven shots of Fire-Water?”
Diluc coughs on his fist, an effort to calm himself. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t drink eleven shots but that there are eleven dots on Childe’s face. “I thought it was the Snezhnayan way. I was just following customs and to uphold diplomacy.” Technically not a lie.
“Such a dignified gentleman, aren’t you, Master Diluc?” Childe purrs, and Diluc might just lose his mind twenty minutes into his shift. “Perhaps you’ll spar me now, since you’re such an upstanding citizen of Mondstadt?”
Diluc sighs, taking Childe’s empty glass to pour him another. “Tempting but no.”
“Really?” Childe actually sounds upset, his shoulders sagging. Diluc almost takes it back. He thanks the Archons that he still has a little bit of sense in his head.
“It’s a Monday.” He reasons, his voice a bit quieter. He does that when he lies. “I don’t want to tire myself out on the very first weekday.”
“I’ll let it slide since you think you’ll be worn out sparring with me.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Spar?”
“How about a good evening?” Diluc doesn’t even look up from his counter to look at the harbinger who just arrived. He also doesn’t have to look up to know that Childe is pouting again.
“Good evening, firebrand. Spar with me?”
“Will you ever stop with those nicknames?”
Childe pretends to think, his finger placed on his chin dramatically. “Hmm… no. I’m trying to come up with something else. Won’t you help me?”
Diluc looks at him with a deadpan face, but a ghost of a smile is present. “Why would I help you think of a nickname? I want you to stop using them.”
“No can do, fire… ball.”
“Well, that was awful.” Diluc says, his hands moving in pure muscle memory while he rocks a cocktail shaker.
“Fire.. work?”
“Sounds like an insult.”
“Firecracker?”
“What’s the difference with firework?”
Childe groans, and Diluc smiles in victory. “What is your obsession with calling me something related to fire anyway?”
“Because I’ve seen you fight, of course! It’s absolutely mesmerizing that you can control flames with the back of your hand. And that little phoenix you summon. Are you fond of birds?”
Diluc pretends that he doesn’t feel anything. It should have been easy to do since he has been doing it for years, but he still can’t help the blush that creeps on his neck.
“It is absolutely not little.”
“So you are! Little phoenix, huh. How about I call you that?” Childe wriggles his eyebrows like he just said something groundbreaking. Diluc rolls his eyes.
“If you call me that, I’ll kill you.”
Something shines in Childe’s hollow eyes. “That’s what I’d like to hear. Spar with me, little phoenix. Hawk. Falcon. Owlet?”
It’s Diluc’s turn to groan, his ears as red as his hair. “You’re absolutely insane, harbinger.”
“Hmm, I’ve heard worse.” Childe bats his eyelashes, looking up at the bartender with what DIluc can assume are puppy-like eyes. “Come on, owlet. I know you want to spar.”
Diluc wants to. Diluc wants it so badly that he’s ashamed.
But there is a bigger desire in his heart that can rival this. Something even more humiliating to him. He can’t bear to say it. Not to Childe. Not even to himself.
“Still no.” He says, with utmost finality.
Childe sighs, his demeanor deflating. Diluc immediately thinks of something to say.
“Why? Are you getting bored?” He wipes an already clean glass with a cloth. He pretends he’s not agitated at the thought of the harbinger getting tired of pursuing him.
“Bored? How can I ever be bored when you’re here?”
Diluc almost snaps his neck when he looks back up, the other man just innocently smiling at him, like he wasn’t just upset five seconds ago. The desire in Diluc’s heart continues to burn.
“You’re easy to entertain.”
Childe shrugs, his voice turning into something fonder. “You’re just pleasing to watch.”
“What happened to you?”
If the wounds on Diluc’s face already don’t hurt like hell, he’d wish to die with the very obvious concern laced in Childe’s voice as he enters the tavern. He gulps and regrets it. His own saliva still tastes like blood.
“No sparring today?” He tries to joke, immediately wincing as the movement on his mouth stings a little.
“What happened, Diluc?”
That makes him stop what he’s doing. It all feels a little too intimate. This isn’t supposed to be a conversation he’s going to have with a Fatui harbinger, for Archon’s sake. He gulps again and it’s even more distasteful than the first one. Perhaps it’s because this time he’s trying to bury unwanted feelings along with it.
“Nothing that concerns you.” He builds his defenses up again, like he has for the past five years since he returned to Mondstadt. The harbinger is hard-headed nonetheless. He doesn’t know if he should be thankful for that.
“It might not be, but I can’t just turn a blind eye if you’re in danger.”
“I’m not in danger. Even if I am, I can handle it.”
“I know,” Childe leans closer, as if to inspect the bandages and little scrapes on his face. Diluc flushes despite his furrowed eyebrows. “You’re a formidable fighter. Not anyone can just land a hit on you. So if you’re hurt this badly, it’s normal to worry, isn’t it?”
Diluc wants to say that no, it’s not normal. A harbinger worrying for the very man that has slain many of his kindred is a foreign concept. Childe should be reveling, in fact, or perhaps he should just end him here, when he’s at his most vulnerable state. Who knows just what kind of honor would be bestowed upon him when he goes back to Snezhnaya, informing them about how he has killed the trespasser that has plagued their nation all those years ago?
But alas, the usual bloodlust in Childe’s gaze is replaced by something akin to concern that he almost doesn’t recognize him. He almost wishes to be punched by Kaeya again, if it means not feeling the sensitive tingle of his skin under Childe’s worried eyes. His whole body hurts but the heaviness in his chest reigns.
So maybe he is harboring a deeper feeling to the Fatui harbinger than he originally thought.
His whole body feels like it’s being engulfed in flames. Normally that is not anything new to a Pyro vision wielding fighter, but this feeling is so unfamiliar. The thought of wanting something is not far flung to Diluc, but he’s never wanted someone. Diluc feels like there is something gnawing at his chest and eating his heart away that it makes him want to vomit.
“It was just a fist fight.” He says after a while, like he just didn’t undergo a crisis in his head. “With my brother.”
Childe stays silent, but the worry in his face doesn’t dissipate.
“It was… not something that you can prevent. And I can assure you that I’m fine.”
Childe seems to have bought it, opting to sit down at his usual stool slowly. His eyes are still trained on Diluc’s wounds, observing them like a hawk.
“You’d be a bad sparring partner, you know?” Diluc says quietly, a faint murmur in between them. “If we were to spar, would you worry for every hit you’d land?”
The harbinger is silent for a few seconds, before he’s showing his usual smile. “Not at all. I never underestimate my opponents.”
“But of course, that will require you to actually land a hit.” Diluc smiles, not caring that it hurts to do so.
“Getting a little bold there, owlet? How about we take it outside?”
Diluc actually chuckles, only to wince right after. The smile in Childe’s face drops for a moment. “Really? You’d spar me in my ragged state? How about a fair fight?”
“You’re right.” The harbinger immediately says. “So, get better quickly so we can fight sooner.”
“The Fatui should know better than to order me around.”
“Is this an ambush?”
Diluc doesn’t have to turn around to know that Childe has been waiting for him outside, his back pressed against the wall. The bartender is locking the back door of the tavern, while Childe stares at his slim back, uncharacteristically quiet.
Childe unfolds his arms once Diluc turns around to look at him, moving closer in an almost languid movement. Diluc blinks, and if he was an ordinary man, he would’ve felt fear. A harbinger is cornering him at the dead of the night, at the back of the tavern where no one else can see. Childe can just kill him easily here and walk scotch free when he disposes of his body. Yet Diluc just smiles.
“I’m tired, harbinger. Save the sparring for another day.”
The said harbinger doesn’t stop moving closer, face so strangely serious that Diluc gets worried.
Did he read him wrong, after all this time? Is this actually an ambush, something that Childe has been planning for long, now that Diluc has let him inside the walls that he desperately built all these years? Were all of their conversations just a means of letting his guard down?
(Was any of it real? Tell me some of them were real.)
After Diluc can even think of anything else, Childe moves his hand to cup his jaw tenderly, and he almost flinches. Diluc looks up, eyes going wide.
“Can I ask for something else today?” Childe says, his voice softer than Diluc remembers. “I’m not in the mood to spar.”
Diluc is sure that the other can hear his heart pounding against his chest, his throat dry and mouth agape while looking up at the harbinger. “You, not in the mood to spar? Tevyat might as well end today.” He manages to say.
The harbinger grins, blinding and charming all the same. Diluc’s heart soars at the sight.
Childe kisses like how Diluc imagined he would. Messy, but intense and passionate, compensating over his lack of experience, he assumes. That's when it hits him. Childe kisses him like he's sparring, with the intent to overpower him, his gloved hands making their way onto Diluc's waist, holding it the way he'd caress his water daggers. And then he'd bite Diluc's lip like a man starved, his chest rumbling as he laughs in his mouth, the same way the harbinger grins while slashing his enemies. It's all so painfully him, for Childe to kiss like he's still on the battlefield. Diluc is but a weak man to it all, morals be damned.
He takes Childe to his manor, walking across the streets of Mondstadt hand-in-hand at the dead of night. He stops giving a damn when Lawrence very obviously side eyes their intertwined hands when they leave the gates. Not when Childe is looking at him like that, with a boyish grin that probably has hundreds of ladies and gentlemen alike scrambling on their feet.
When they arrive, Diluc's thankful that none of his workers and maids are awake. Especially not when Childe's already feeling him all over once they step foot inside, and it takes everything for Diluc not to give in and just kiss him out in the open. No, he has to do this properly, and so he guides the harbinger to his room upstairs. He doesn't think too much of what this implicates, of letting a Fatuus inside of his personal space, but then again he thinks he had already let Childe in his personal space a long time ago.
"That enough for a spar?"
Diluc slightly grins with the way Childe's cheeks blush. The harbinger grins all the same. "Hm, for now, I guess. Don't go thinking that I'll stop pestering you for an actual spar, though."
The freckles are all over Childe's body. Diluc almost lost his mind when he first unbuttoned that maroon polo shirt. He stares at the harbinger's torso, their lower naked body being covered by Diluc's duvet, and he swears that if he tries to count all the dots, it would take him the whole night.
"I hope you won't stop pestering me."
He didn't mean it to sound so intimate. He really didn't. But then Childe looks at him so fondly that he feels naked, and not the naked state that he is in right now, but something else. He has to look away from that gaze if he still wants to live.
"Did you always reject my invitations to spar so I would never stop pestering you, little phoenix?"
Childe whispers it in his ear, and then he's suddenly kissing Diluc's temple. He says it like he has Diluc figured out from the very beginning.
"I don’t want to fight you, truly." Diluc says, completely honest. "You're a walking threat to my city, so I refused." The man whispers back, looking up at Childe who has his arm propped up to support the weight of his head, looking down on his lying figure with adoration.
"But it's also the only way that I can keep seeing you."
Something in Childe’s eyes twinkle, and he grins so unabashedly that Diluc realizes he wants this. He wants Childe and it feels so damn revitalizing, to want something ardently and with no shame.
He is so used to keeping his desires a secret, that the thought of succumbing to his selfish wants feels like a weakness. For years, he has learned to keep his emotions at bay, but to those who actually know Diluc at heart knows that the young master has always been a sensitive soul. A misunderstood man who wears his heart to his sleeve, and alas, his greatest foe as well.
“I can hear you thinking.”
The harbinger playfully pinches his nose. Diluc whines, but with a smile that he cannot hide.
“I like thinking.”
“Yes,” Childe says, and he’s kissing Diluc’s forehead again like it’s his lips’ favorite place to be. “I know.”
They stare at each other for what it feels like forever. For the first time, Diluc’s the first one to break the silence.
“When I wake up, will you be here?”
Diluc so badly wants him to say nothing else but yes. He doesn’t need anything else. Instead, the harbinger replies, “Do you want me to?”
“Yes.” And Diluc breathes out quickly, like the answer was forced out of him by an unknown force. “Very much so.”
“Then I’ll be here. For as long as you want me to.”
Sometimes, Adelinde washes two polos from the laundry. Both of them are often covered by blood, the other is gashed by flame burns, and the other fabric, who she recognizes as Master Diluc’s, is often wet before she even washes it. With the way a certain harbinger has made himself comfortable in the manor, sometimes appearing with a newer wound that she hasn’t seen, she needn’t ask anything.