Archive of Our Own ^beta

A familiar scene: Before the birds can start chirping, Childe carefully untangles himself from Diluc’s limbs, and wonders what good he’s done to deserve him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, really. A few years ago, Childe would’ve had Diluc dead or close for his crimes against the Fatui, and now… Well, let’s just say he finally understands Tonia’s obsession with romance novels. Sure, on paper it always sounds nice, but Childe didn’t think he could feel that way about someone until Diluc. Or maybe it’s just that he never gave it any real thought? Life as a harbinger doesn’t leave room for many heartfelt talks, and Childe would much rather let his fists do the talking. 

Diluc makes Childe want to sit and listen. Eventually, trips to Dragonspine made out of homesickness turn into trips to see Diluc specifically, and Childe’s a fool for not realizing he finds home in people, not places. 

He catches himself sometimes, thinking that Mondstadt reminds him of Morepesok even without the snow. It’s the closeness of everyone there. How in a small town kind of way, the word neighbor actually means something. It’s a shame that his title keeps most citizens cautious around him. He still gets the stares and insults in Liyue all the same, but there’s more people and everyone is not so tightly knit. He’s been able to make his own friends and connections there with relative ease. 

In Mondstadt, it’s mostly just Diluc and his staff, who are more loyal than Childe initially gave them credit for. He’s grown to like gossiping with the maids, and helping Adelinde cook whenever he stays the night. He’s even started to exchange recipes with her, and it’s nice to feel wanted when Diluc watches them both from the dining table, expression soft. 

The winery has become a place without pretense for all of them. Anywhere else, they remain secrets for each other to keep, because it’d do nobody good if the Tsaritsa found out they’re involved. A part of Childe thinks there’s no way she doesn’t know by now, but he’d rather not test that theory until he needs to. This can’t end on her orders. As long as Diluc still wants him, Childe will be there to give, until Diluc finally realizes he’s worth more than what Childe can offer. 

His mother used to speak to him about finding someone, before the abyss, as his eldest siblings started to leave home one by one. It was weird for Childe to associate marriage with the freedom that comes with leaving home, only to watch his siblings settle down and start families of their own. What was the point? He wanted to see the world more than he wanted to fall in love. When his father pushed for his enlistment, Childe didn’t need to think about what that meant for his love life. It never really appealed to him to begin with. 

If he was a better person, then perhaps that kind of forever would be possible with Diluc. Mondstadt is nice, and Dragonspine being the only other place in Teyvat like Snezhnaya kind of seals the deal. But Childe knows that sooner or later, he’d get tired and run, no matter how good he has it. There’s a restlessness in him he can’t quell, as if the abyss itself has permanently lodged a place in his heart. He’s sure that he’s destined to keep running until his last breath. Whatever this is with Diluc… is probably the most he’s allowed. He’ll cherish it until there’s nothing left. 

When the birds start chirping, Childe knows it’s time to think about leaving. He writes a letter on the nightstand. Something about another business trip to Fontaine, that he’ll probably be gone for a couple weeks but write when he knows for sure, that he’ll miss Diluc while he’s away. Signs it clearly: Yours, Childe.  

He’s truthful, and means every bittersweet word. Even when he can’t be completely honest, Childe still hopes there’s an authenticity to his handwriting that can’t be betrayed, whenever he writes letters to his family. And now, Diluc. He doesn’t know how else to convey care in his repetitive absence. Having written his letter, Childe lets himself watch Diluc sleep for a little longer before he truly has to go. 

Diluc is a deep sleeper: a stereotypical morning hater, always sinking further into his blankets upon being woken, trying to lure sleep until his responsibilities force him to get up with slow steps. Childe is the complete opposite, struggles to get hours in on the best of days, and a part of him is grateful that their contrast makes leaving in the morning so much easier. 

Not that it’s easy. Nothing will ever be easy about leaving Diluc, praying that this isn’t the last time he’ll see him like this, that Diluc won’t wake up and realize what a mistake he’s made in choosing Childe. 

There’s no point in dwelling on it. Childe can no more quit his job than Diluc can reverse his exile from Snezhnaya, and it’s enough of a miracle that they’ve ended up here at all. Childe needs to count his blessings. 

Quietly, only because the stillness of dawn allows it, Childe confesses aloud instead. “I wish you could come with me…”

A tickle in his throat threatens morning’s silence, and Childe struggles to keep quiet as the wind leaves him. Hands over his mouth as he gags, he manages to hold his breath just long enough to pull out the lamp grass bud by its stem, wincing as thick leaves scrape against his throat. It’s impossible to fully suppress the coughs that follow, but this is another perk to Diluc’s deep sleep: Childe can catch his breath without waking Diluc up. Gods know the last thing Childe wants to do this morning is explain why he’s coughing up Diluc’s favorite flower, like a living bouquet.  

Morbid romance aside, it’s objectively gross, slick with his saliva. And though it’s been weeks, Childe still can't believe the flower came from his lungs of all places. It doesn't even sound like a real disease, coughing up flowers due to unrequited love, but Childe figures after all he’s seen, he shouldn't underestimate Celestia’s ability to screw with people.

He cringes. It still feels funny, admitting that he loves Diluc. He’d tell him but it seems the gods have already answered that particular question. And, being completely honest, Childe isn’t really sure what love is supposed to mean between them. It’s definitely not the traditional marriage his mother would’ve wanted to see, or the whirlwinds of passion he’s heard of in plays and epic ballads. Would anything even change? 

So far, he’s gotten sick in light of the revelation and not much else. The disease itself is one thing, but Childe’s surely lost the lottery, having to dry heave lamp grass of all flowers. What started off as the occasional blue petal has turned into full grown buds, stems and leaves longer than his hands, and Childe’s not looking forward to their bloom: round, bulbous really, near the size of his palm. Sticking his tongue out in disgust as he pockets the bud, Childe lets the issue go, temporarily banishing both the flower and feeling of choking from his mind. 

Hopefully, it won’t get any worse than this. He just needs to find a way to get rid of the flowers. A way that doesn’t involve admitting how much he doesn’t deserve Diluc, because he’s not ready to give their relationship up yet. 

Of course, he’ll have to, if there’s no other cure. He’s already made his vows to a soldier’s life, promising to keep fighting until death claims him on the battlefield. This can’t be the thing that breaks him. 

Diluc shifts in sleep, an early sign of lucidity, and Childe starts to feel sick again.

He needs to leave. Now. 

*

Diluc reads Childe’s letter slowly, more than a few times, the morning light far too gentle on his skin for how he feels. He usually keeps his curtains closed at night, making the sun more invasive than it is familiar at this hour, but Childe likes them open and Diluc doesn’t care enough to make it a debate. 

It’s somewhat ironic, that Diluc would be the one to compromise instead of the other way around. His father used to call him a heartbreaker, inattentive to those around him. To be fair, Diluc never did firmly say he held no interest in women, so his father always assumed he’d have his own family one day. The traditional kind. 

And though Diluc doesn’t exactly feel like his heart is the one being broken now, it’s close, as he stuffs the letter in his desk drawer with the others, hidden and out of sight. 

Diluc doesn’t mind the letters. He likes them, usually, when Childe is away. They spend more time apart than together, and it works out because they never really stop talking in their distance. But when Childe is actually here? The last thing Diluc needs is a letter. 

Or breakfast carefully set on the nightstand. 

Or an empty bed.  

It’s not like Diluc doesn’t know Childe cares. That couldn’t be more clear. Childe trusts him too much to get jealous, gives Diluc attention and space when he needs it, but… It’s like Childe’s almost too fine with being apart. Diluc feels like a clingy fool for wanting more time together, wishing that Childe would stay just a little bit longer each time he visits. 

There’s not much Diluc can do about that alone, so he sighs and gets ready to resign himself to catch up on work, the way he always does after Childe leaves. 

Only this time when he steps out of bed he stumbles, grabs his bedpost for support while the room shifts. Nausea hits him, and once he starts coughing he can’t stop, choking on something that crawls up his throat. It’s not vomit but Diluc wishes it was, because at least then it’d come up easy. His saliva is bitter on his tongue, and he almost thinks he’s coughing up blood when he finally spits the red petal out of his mouth.  

Out of breath and blinking away tears, Diluc tries to put the image to name but it looks more like a leaf than anything, shaped like a wide fork. Bright red at the edges and fading to a pink near the steam, it holds a vibrancy that none of the flowers native to Mond have. Even the trees in autumn aren’t quite as red.  

Strange. 

Adelinde greets him downstairs like normal, and Diluc struggles to make right of himself when he feels like the furthest thing from it. “Master Diluc. You’re up early. Shall I prepare breakfast for you and—”

Diluc raises his hand, telling her to stop. “I’m not hungry.”

Adelinde makes a face of clear disapproval, but drops the matter easily. “How about some tea, then? Your voice is hoarse.”

“Adelinde, I—” Diluc starts, exasperation lacing his tone, but Adelinde is not the target of his frustration today. He tries again: “I would like that, actually. Thank you.”

“Have a seat at the table.” 

Diluc sits, thinking back to the leaf shaped petals. Perhaps he received a gift from a business partner without realizing it? He looks around the winery curiously, but the only pop of color he spots is the vase Kaeya gifted him. 

Stumped, he asks Adelinde when she places his tea on the table. She prepared two cups, which sours his mood a bit further, but he doesn’t exactly want to tell her Childe up and left in the middle of the night. “Did we receive any flowers recently?”

“I don’t believe so. Were you expecting some?”

“No, just wondering. Forget I asked.”

“If you insist… Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? I could make something light.”

“I’m alright.” He’ll have to look into the flower later. For now, he should just get his head on straight. “But I could use some company, if you want the other cup?”

“You hardly have to ask.” Adelinde smiles, and Diluc reminds himself that he has people who care about him, outside of Childe. It’s not the end of the world if they don’t say goodbye everytime he leaves. It’d probably get old, after a while, anyways. 

He’s just overreacting. That’s all this is. 

*

“Where did you get this?”

Diluc crosses his arms. “Why ask? Is there something special about it?”

“Special?” Venti places the petal back on the bar counter and sighs. Angel’s Share has been far past closed at this point, Diluc first getting the idea to ask Venti about the petal when he came in to drink. He figured if anyone would be able to identify a foreign flower without any heads up, it’d be him, and it seems like he guessed right. “Answer me this, before I help you. Did you find this flower out in the wild? Or do you just have the petal?”

Technically, he coughed it up, so he didn’t find it anywhere. “Just the petal.”

Venti hums, taps his fingers a few times, and Diluc suddenly understands that he’s talking to an actual Archon right now. It’s easy to forget, constantly faced with Venti’s frivolous demeanor and bartering for alcohol with song. To see him this serious all of a sudden because of a mere flower petal… It’s unnerving for Diluc.  

“What is it?” 

“How should I put it… Poets call what you have there a lycoris petal, but the flower is more commonly known as dendrobium. It was presumed extinct after the Archon war, but has bloomed again amidst Inazuma’s war. Very rare. It should be impossible for one to bloom here.” 

Diluc frowns. “It only blooms in Inazuma?”

Venti shrugs. In the past they could also be found in Natlan, but he hasn’t spoken with the Pyro Archon in decades. “According to legend, the flower is watered using blood. The loveliest of blooms grow in the bloodiest of battlefields, guiding souls into their next lives! They’re quite striking. I should’ve liked to sing about them if not for all the bloodshed involved.”

“Definitely not Mondstadt, then.”

“Indeed.” Venti laughs. “If that was a gift, my friend, it was more of a threat.”

“I see.” Diluc tugs on his glove absently. “And about the blood. There’s no stories of it growing in someone’s body, like… something parasitic?”

“That’d be most gruesome. No, it doesn't work that way, though a poet or two might speak such falsehoods to entertain.” 

Diluc isn’t sure if he should be more grateful or worried that he didn't find the petal in the wild. At the very least, it doesn't seem to be something harmful on its own, outside of needing blood to grow. 

“Now, was that all?” Venti inquires, twirling his finger in the air. “I do believe I have some bottles of dandelion wine waiting for my troubles.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got them. Don’t bet on this happening again.” 

“Why I’d never!” 

Same old Venti, alright, strange flowers aside. Diluc grabs the bottles from behind the counter and hands them over.

Venti’s quick to grab, cradling the bottles close to his chest. “Thank you, Master Diluc~ I’ll drink to the very last drop!”

“Take it somewhere else, would you? I have to close the bar.”

Venti salutes playfully and takes his leave. Diluc slumps over the bartop, for a moment, reorganizing his thoughts. 

So: The petals are not a gift. But not enough of a natural occurrence to be dismissed as nothing, considering they came from his own throat. He has more questions than answers now. But if this trend continues, perhaps it will give Diluc the chance to gather more information, if not time to freak out about his current health. He’ll just have to wait it out. For now, anyway.

*

The last thing Childe wants to do is seek Zhongli out after the Osial incident, but it’s not like he’s about to admit a potential weakness to any of the harbingers. One word about magical flowers growing out of his lungs, and he’ll find himself under Dottore’s knife before he can blink. 

Childe shudders. Yeah, no. Zhongli is infinitely times better, as much as he is boring, so he stops in Liyue after taking care of business in Fontaine. It’s easy enough to find the archon at the funeral parlor, and easier to convince him to talk once he mentions Wanmin Restaurant.

It’s hard to get a word in over food at first. Zhongli is adamant about enjoying his meal, and Childe supposes it’s been a while since he’s gotten to sit down like this, so they both eat in silence for a good amount of time until Zhongli prompts him. 

“The food here never disappoints. I do hope you aren’t about to pick a fight.”

“Nope.” Childe smiles like he might just do it anyways, if only because Zhongli’s flippant nonchalance is annoying. “Unfortunately, I’m here to pick your textbook of a brain instead. Ever heard of hanahaki disease?”

“The lover’s dilemma,” Zhongli recalls. “Yes, I’m aware, though it’s been some time since I’ve seen it last. I was once closely acquainted with a victim of the disease. She coughed up flowers until her lungs gave out, and when she died, there were nothing but petals on her tongue instead of last words. It’s a rare, mistakenly mythological occurrence. Not many writers choose to pick up the concept in fiction, and the validity—”

“Yep! I get it, freaky flower disease, that’s the one. Is there a cure?”

“Perhaps.” Zhongli stands up, moving to grab Childe’s wrist and close his eyes. Childe scowls, but stays put while Zhongli listens to his pulse. After a minute or so, Zhongli steps back and sits down, looking pleased. “How fascinating. I wouldn’t have pinned your type to be so romantic.”

“Yeah, well, I like keeping people on their toes,” Childe mutters. “What was that for?”

“Your pulse is erratic, even sitting down. You’re not in the early stages.” 

“I could’ve told you that. So? Can I be cured or not?”

“As far as I know, unrequited love can only be cured by its reciprocation.” 

Childe starts tapping his feet. “There’s really nothing else?”

“There is, perhaps, one solution spoken of briefly in historical accounts. An outlier that may not lead anywhere with your circumstances.”

“Outlier, cure, all the same to me. Did the person survive?”

“Yes. But it was at the cost of change, losing a part of themselves that—”

“Zhongli.”

Zhongli clears his throat. “I have heard of one doctor’s account detailing the circumstances surrounding a patient on the edge of death, recovering overnight. When the doctor questioned the patient, he found they had no recollection of their unrequited lover or the past years, and later found out they could not even recognize the person face to face. In losing their memories of the person, any romantic feelings harbored were also forgotten, and the flowers died out.”  

“Huh. And they were just… fine meeting that person? I mean, wouldn’t they fall in love all over again?” 

“No. That is what I mean by changed. If the love is not requited, and the person cannot move on, they must completely forget the part of themselves capable of loving so deeply."

“And how does one go about doing that, exactly?”

“It is unclear. As I was about to say, the validity of such accounts cannot be properly ascertained. Perhaps it was the cause of Hexenzirkel magic, or the science of scholars from Sumeru. Or nothing of the sort. It’s entirely possible this person subconsciously suppressed their memories on the edge of death, as a trauma reflex.”

“Of course.” Childe hates to admit it, but Dottore might really be the solution to his little problem here. “If I’m coughing up buds, how much time do I have?” 

“That depends.” Met with Childe’s glare, Zhongli specifies. “It could be anywhere from a few weeks to years, depending on how badly you want this person. Once you start coughing up fully bloomed flowers, the last stage will have taken hold, leaving you with a number of weeks. The timeline is consistent among historical records. When those buds begin to bloom, you will not have much time left. The flowers will grow faster than you will be able to cough them up, and this will eventually clot your lungs, suffocating you.”

Talk about a long, boring way to go. Childe covers his mouth with his hands. “But I have time.”

Zhongli picks up his teacup and swirls his tea around, now cold. “That you do.”

*

“Is someone in here? I could’ve sworn I locked the library when I left…”

“It’s just me.” Diluc steps out from his place behind the bookshelves, not keen on getting a fist full of electro energy today. He was supposed to be out of here before Lisa came back, but he’s had no luck so far finding information on his ailment. “Jean let me in.”

“Master Diluc. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for information on a disease, but I can’t find it.”

“You’re in the right section at least.” Lisa notes, walking over to him. “What are you going off of? A name, symptoms? Anything will narrow it down.” 

“The patient coughs up flowers. That’s all I really know.”

“Oh. That… Yes…” Lisa clicks her tongue and starts thinking aloud. “I’ve heard something like that before. With the books from Sumeru, surely?”

Diluc watches as Lisa navigates the library with familiar steps, fingers ghosting over book spines until she finds what she’s thinking of. 

“Here we go!” Lisa skims through the book she plucks off the shelves, pleased with her memory. “It was in mythos, but maybe I ought to move it to medicine…”

“It’s fictional?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Consider it poorly recorded, if not rare. It isn’t logical that someone would cough up flowers until their lungs collapse, so most people write it off as nonsense, but I’ll assume we’re not most people. This… patient of yours, must be in a lot of pain.”

Diluc sighs. “Forget that. Is there a cure?”

“Yes, but likely not the kind you’re thinking of. You’re describing hanahaki disease, a condition born out of unrequited love.”

“Unrequited love? How does that even…”

“I don’t know. It’s a myth for a reason.” Lisa shakes her head, closes the book with a knowing gaze. “But regardless of how, the cure to unrequited love is without a doubt, reciprocation.”

“Right.” Diluc breathes. Okay. Stranger things have happened under Celestia’s order. He can suspend his disbelief. 

Maybe what he has with Childe right now isn’t love, exactly, but he’s pretty sure it’s reciprocated. It doesn’t make sense for him to be torn up like one of the characters from Childe’s plays. “What if the patient is already in a relationship?”

Lisa’s eyebrows briefly raise, but she doesn’t bother prying, which Diluc appreciates. “I’m not sure. It could be reliant on the patient’s perception of the relationship, or… Hold on, let me think…” She starts reading again, eventually moving back to scanning shelves, and Diluc leans against the side of the bookshelf while she works. He won’t discredit Lisa’s intelligence. Whatever he might find himself would take twice as long, and probably be half as helpful. 

By the time Lisa’s done, Diluc’s halfway through a book discussing the different ways of brewing tea. He doesn’t mind the wait, but when Lisa walks over, Diluc’s quick to close the book and forget his place. 

“I’ve found something. Well, parts of something, scattered across different records.” Lisa says, dumping a pile of opened books onto the table. “Gods, that was a pain.” 

“Worth it, I hope?”

“That’s up to you to decide, dear. Wait—” Lisa covers her mouth as a yawn overtakes her; she skipped her afternoon nap for this. “My bad.” Sitting down, she takes a moment to regain her bearings on the matter, before summarizing:

“Generally speaking, unrequited love is the only known cause of hanahaki. But I’ve found a singular record of someone contracting the disease without such love. A father harboring a secret from his child, something so unforgivable, his guilt was said to manifest in the form of flower petals. It progressed until he finally came clean, and the flowers disappeared.”

“Just like that?” 

“Allegedly, yes.”

“So the cure is some kind of confession. Not necessarily romantic?”

“Close.” Lisa leans over the table conspiratorially as she drops her newly crafted hypothesis. “A confession related to deep guilt. The flowers likely manifest if you don't say something so important it starts to eat at you the way lovesickness would.” 

“Which would make the cure honesty, instead of some arbitrary measure of love.”

“Yes!” Lisa smiles. “Of course, that’s assuming this record is truthful. But if you’re really satisfied with your relationship like you say, and you’re still coughing up flowers, then I think there might be real merit to this.”

“I never said I was the one sick.”

Lisa gives him a look, but her tone remains polite as she speaks. “Don’t get all tense on me, I won’t tell anyone. You’re not the only one here with secrets.”

“Fair enough.” Diluc tugs on his gloves. “I appreciate it.”

Lisa nods, looking over the table once more. “Will you be alright like this?”

Diluc glances at the books. “What do you mean?”

“You aren’t exactly someone who talks about their feelings.”

“No. I suppose not.”

Still, it’s not as though he never speaks from the heart. And Childe is a good listener. A little too much so because when Diluc finally confessed, Childe (psyched but in disbelief) had a running list of things Diluc said that made him think he had no chance. 

Yeah… Okay. He doesn’t always say what he means, but Diluc thinks he’s been getting better at honesty lately. A little bit. 

And alright, fine, Diluc isn’t totally ‘satisfied’ with his relationship. It’s hard trying to be with someone who’s barely around. 

Childe still cares about him, when he’s away. Diluc knows it, can’t bring himself to pretend anything else is true, but he also knows that Childe doesn’t care enough to leave the Fatui. Diluc can’t even… It’s not a fair equivalent. He knows how much Childe’s family means to him. He can’t make that ultimatum, even with his own life on the line. 

Childe would listen, at least. Maybe agree to visit more, stay longer. But he can only do so much as a soldier when he’s called to work. They’d end up solving nothing. 

So if what’s bothering Diluc can’t truly be changed, what good does it do to bring it up? Why is he coughing up flowers now, of all times? They’ve already been honest. Frankly speaking, Diluc thought they both got past their biggest secrets after the whole I enlisted after falling into the war-torn abyss and I had to put my father out of his own misery or watch him bleed out, talk. (Cathartic, but not an event Diluc wishes to repeat.) If anything was going to break them up, it should’ve been that mess, not some near-mythological joke of a disease. 

It wouldn’t be the end of the world; Diluc would be able to move on, in time. But it’d be close, and Diluc doesn’t want to give Childe up just because long distance is hard, sometimes. 

“Master Diluc?”

Lisa’s voice takes him out of his rumination. “Yes?” 

“Come back in a few days. I think I can brew something for you that’ll ease the pain. It won’t last long, but… it’ll give you some time, at least. To think about it.”

Time. What else can he ask for, at this point?

“Of course. Thank you, Lisa.”

*

Time passes. Childe and Diluc both cherish it, not ready to bring up the flowers or what they mean for their relationship. Childe convinces himself that things are good, that he isn’t burdening Diluc and showers him in affection to prove it. Anything he can do, he does: prepares full course meals of Diluc’s favorites, hand carves figurines of Dawn, writes his usual letters sickeningly sweet, holds the spice for whenever Diluc needs it.     

His efforts don’t go unnoticed, and Diluc thinks they might actually be okay, like this. The time they’re together means so much more to him than the time they’re apart. He forces himself to be understanding whenever Childe’s business trips last longer than a couple weeks, and ignores the flowers because honestly, he’s had enough of Celestia’s games.

It doesn’t feel right saying the heavens were right. But eventually, they find themselves back where everything started: Diluc’s room in the Dawn Winery, on another night that Childe has to leave. 

“You’re leaving?”

“Uh, yeah.” Childe confirms, rocking on his feet. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Well you did,” Diluc mutters. He rises slowly, still feeling half asleep. “Are you that eager to leave me?”

“What?”

Childe goes still, and Diluc almost feels bad. This isn’t a conversation he meant to have. “Nevermind. Just… go.”

“No,” Childe says. “Not nevermind.”

He walks over, bed dipping under his weight, and Diluc groans because of course Childe wouldn’t just drop it.

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think anything. I’m just tired.”

“Diluc.” Childe says, reaching for his hands. “I never ‘want’ to leave you.”

“I know that.” 

“Do you?”

Diluc sighs. “I don’t know, Childe. Maybe? What else am I supposed to think, when you leave in the middle of the night without a word?” 

“I leave you letters.”

“I don’t want your letters.” Diluc criticizes. “I want you.”

“And you have me,” Childe insists. “I…” Now it’s his turn to fumble, the truth more uncomfortable than he wants to admit. Diluc watches him think, hoping for a reason he can understand. 

There is one. But it’s embarrassing, so Childe struggles to find the right words. 

“I’ve gotten used to saying goodbye to my family over the years.” He says, after a while. “I don’t want to get used to saying goodbye to you.”

Diluc melts. It’s hard not to, with the way Childe blushes, averts his gaze. 

“Then don’t say it,” he whispers, squeezing Childe’s hand. 

“Are you…”

“Yes.” Diluc smiles, pulling Childe into a slow, burning kiss. 

Not an adequate replacement for the conversation at hand, but Diluc needs to feel wanted, more than just told. Right now, he is neither a knight or a hero with an iron fist but some third thing, fragile and honest and nothing like the son his father knew himself to have. Diluc can’t help but cave in front of Childe, avoiding the issue yet again in a desperate attempt to preserve their relationship. After what it took for Diluc to open up this much, he’s not sure there’ll ever be someone else like Childe if they break up. 

It’s a bad train of thought. One he shouldn’t even be having— Not with Childe’s hands roaming his skin. So he forgets.

It briefly works, until Childe pulls away, one hand lingering on Diluc’s cheek. “I’m going to Inazuma this time.”

Diluc moves out of Childe’s reach. “That’s unusual for you.”

“Yeah. Can’t say much, but I’m headhunting. Not really sure how long it’ll take.”

“Okay.” 

“I’ll write to you?”

It’s a genuine question. Diluc realizes his tone earlier might’ve been too harsh. “Please do.”

“Okay! Well, then.” Childe gets up, walks over to the window. “I will… be back.”

“You know, you can leave through the front door. You don’t have to keep going through the window like a secret.”

“Aren’t I one, though?” Childe jokes. “I like the window. It’s more romantic this way.”

“Seriously?” Laughter soon turns into coughing as a wave of nausea hits Diluc, the telltale itch in his throat threatening more vulnerability than he can handle. He covers his mouth, swallowing the petals back down like bile, as inconspicuous as he can. “You’re a poor replacement for Romeo.”

“You read the play I left?”

Diluc shrugs, but his lip quirks and gives him away. “It was nonsensical and stupid.”

“But?”

“Not the worst way to spend an afternoon.”

Childe grins. Coming from Diluc, that’s basically praise. “I’ll have to return with another one for you then. Something a little more realistic, you think?”

“No, it’s fine. You can pick something similar.”

“Really? Consider it done.” Childe’s gaze falls to the floor, already sorting through the plays he knows and considering how likely Diluc is to enjoy their plots. For a moment, the fact that he needs to leave completely escapes him. It’s cute. 

“You should go,” Diluc prompts. “There’s no rush to pick the perfect story.” 

“Oh...” Childe stares out the window. The sun’s almost done rising. “You’re right.”

He steps towards his romantic exit, but stops one last time. He looks at Diluc for a moment, biting his lip, before asking quietly: “Are we okay?” 

Diluc could be honest here. Part of him wants to be. But Childe is seconds away from leaving, and nothing Diluc might say right now will change that. 

“Obviously.” He says. “Go on, Romeo.” 

“Alright, just asking… I’m really leaving now.” Childe steps through the window with a flourish, pausing only when he’s on the other side to look back. “See you.” 

Not needing any further answer, Childe jumps, and Diluc finally feels like he can breathe, staring at the sky outside. 

It’s only a little after when he turns, feels the room empty around him, that a second wave of nausea hits him. There’s not much he can do before he’s doubling over the floor and heaving, red petals tumbling out of his mouth and something else, stubbornly scratching the walls of his throat. 

He retches, sticking his fingers down his throat when it won’t budge, and finally manages to cough up the source of his trouble: a dendrobium bud. It’s getting worse. 

Diluc curses, throwing the flower across the room. He really is a fool. 

*

Diluc resolves to tell him the next time they’re together. For real this time, or else he’ll never do it, even with one foot in the grave. 

Childe will come back from Inazuma, Diluc will say they need to talk, and then he’ll just… rip the band-aid off. No matter how long he thinks about it, there isn’t a smooth way to say Flowers are growing out of my chest because I wish we spent more time together, but it’s really not your fault. He runs through what he’ll say in his mind over and over, and even though his nerves don’t go away, at least he’s got a plan now. 

A plan that’s forgotten entirely the second Childe shows up at Dawn Winery’s front door, beat up and bleeding at his side.

“Childe?”

“Hey, Red.” Childe shudders. He’s sure he looks as awful as he feels, bangs matted from sweat, but he can barely think enough to care. His chest burns, and his stomach feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, but for once it’s not because of the flowers in his lungs. “A little help?”

“Come here.” Diluc swings the door fully open, reaching out to support Childe’s weight. Childe leans into him, lets Diluc guide him to the nearest chair, because it took most of his strength just to make it this far. 

Diluc’s quick to grab first aid supplies, silently taking charge of the situation in an effort to control it. This isn’t the first time Diluc’s had to patch Childe up, but it’s unusual for Childe to purposefully come to him injured, and it’s late. His maids were dismissed hours ago. Diluc was only up trying to close a deal, but there’s no use in thinking about that now. 

He gets situated, pulls a chair next to Childe and pauses to actually look at him. There are miscellaneous blood splatters on him, no doubt from whoever was on the other side of Childe’s blades, but the pooled stain over Childe’s abdomen is clearly his own blood. Diluc doesn’t immediately see anything else wrong, but it might just be Childe’s uniform getting in the way.  

“Are you able to lift your arms?”

“Ah, yeah.” Childe gets the message, taking off his jacket and undershirt with a little more effort than normal. “How’s it look?”

Diluc grimaces. The gash isn’t the worst thing he’s seen, considering it's stopped bleeding on its own. But Childe’s skin is bruising badly, deep hues of red and purple trailing up his stomach, and he’s breathing too slowly. “Sorry for this.”

“Wh—!” Childe hisses loudly as Diluc probes his injuries, trying to be as gentle as he can, but it’s clear that even a feather light touch would cause Childe discomfort. Diluc’s no doctor, but after years of self-treating anything from minor cuts to broken bones, he feels comfortable determining the severity of injury here. 

“I don't think you need stitches, but you might have rib fractures. Does anywhere else hurt?”

Childe exhales all shaky before nodding. “Head. Concussion? I was seeing double earlier.”

“But not anymore?”

“No.” Childe stares for a second before smiling. “And thank gods for that. You are… breathtaking.”

“Ah, yes.” Diluc smiles back, humoring him. “That would be the concussion talking.” 

“Pretty sure it’s you.”

Diluc just rolls his eyes. He taps Childe’s knee lightly a couple times and gets up, grabbing a cloth to wrap some ice. When he comes back to apply the pack, Childe’s quieter about the pain, but Diluc can feel him shudder underneath his touch. 

It’s only after Childe stops shaking that Diluc finally lets himself ask, “What happened?”

“Headhunting.” Childe sucks his teeth, annoyed just thinking about it. 

He got to Inazuma, and everything was fine. Taking out the main target was easy once Childe found him, but then his hanahaki started acting up, and he had no choice but to book it before he could take out the whole group. Naturally, they tracked him down all the way to the empty outskirts of Mondstadt. Ambushed him when it got dark. 

He was careless. Since the petals turned into buds, this stupid disease has been killing him in more ways than one. He gets tired faster, needs to end fights quicker than he likes. It’s making these longer jobs more difficult than they should be. And Childe is embarrassed, honestly. He’s supposed to be better than this. 

He is better than this.  

It's about time he acted like it too. Dottore could fix this, probaby. If what Zhongli said was true, about losing memories and the capacity to love, Childe would become a true war weapon. The epitome of strength. He could be everything he swore to be in the Tsaritsa's name, and more— All he has to do is head home. 

“Oh, who knows," he says. "I must be losing my edge.”

“You, who’s nothing but sharp on the edges? Not possible.” 

His faith in Childe is charming. Everything about Diluc is charming, really, and it makes Childe’s chest tight in a way that is definitely not caused by his injuries. His stomach coils with illness. He realizes, with painfully quiet acceptance, that he needs to end this. He needs to forget. And it will be the thing that breaks him. 

Diluc looks at him with so much concern. It reminds Childe of his family, how at some point their care turned into something else, laced with worry and fear: a cautious love, fixated on the child he used to be. No amount of gifts, money, or acts of service, will ever get rid of the fear his parents felt when Childe first came out of the abyss. He knows it well. 

It isn’t the same with Diluc, who met the soldier before the child, but Childe will keep leaving. He’ll keep getting hurt, and Diluc, who has far too much to give, will keep tending to him. And Childe will try to make up for it, the best he can, but it won’t be enough. 

It never is. 

Childe smiles, terribly desperate for some kind of contact before everything crumbles at his touch. “I can be surprisingly soft when I want to.”

It’s an invitation, but Diluc doesn’t bite. “Try that again later when you can stand up and your blood isn’t on my floor.”

Childe laughs, wincing when he breathes in too deep. The pain draws a curse out of him, and he struggles lamely against Diluc’s hold as nausea runs through him.   

“You’re really pale,” Diluc notes. “I can go prepare something for a fever—”

“S’not a fever,” Childe chokes out. It’s the damn flowers, but he can’t say that, because if he does, then it’s really over. 

But maybe it’s been over for a while now. Maybe Childe needs to shut up and be the selfless one for once, because Diluc’s looking at him with so much love and Childe can’t bring himself to believe he deserves it. 

The coughing fit is unavoidable, with his current train of thought. Diluc’s hands are warm on Childe’s back, holding him steady as he covers his mouth with both hands. He can feel the lamp grass in his throat, fully bloomed, and panic runs through him because this is something he should say himself, but can’t. 

The price of waiting too long, perhaps. Struggling to breathe, all Childe can manage to say is “Sorry,” before he’s forcefully coughing the flowers up. Saliva coats his palms and he drops his hands entirely, letting the lamp grass fall out of his mouth onto the floor without resistance because there’s nothing else he can do. He’s done.  

If Diluc didn’t know the signs from experience, he probably wouldn’t have processed the flowers as Childe bends over in his seat, heaving. But when Diluc sees the flowers, lamp grass of all things, he knows immediately. 

All his worry about his own condition completely shifts targets. Very rare, they said. Contract a rare disease, and cough up an even more rare, no-longer-extinct flower! Diluc never thought, even once, that Childe might be going through the same thing. By the looks of it, he actually has it worse than him, since he’s coughing up flowers well bloomed. 

Diluc tugs on his glove nervously. Was Childe just going to keep quiet? Even though it’s progressed this far? 

Childe wheezes beside him, and Diluc waits until his fit passes to say anything. Too many things are running through his mind now.

He ends up stating the obvious when Childe quiets. “You have hanahaki.”

Childe clears his throat, expression twisting slightly in confusion. “You’ve heard of it?”

“I—” Diluc starts, but reconsiders. This isn’t about him and his dendrobiums. Not yet, anyways. “How long?”

“Almost half a year.” Childe knows it’s as bad as it sounds. 

That’s maybe two months, before Diluc started coughing up petals. Two months, he spent, oblivious and stupid while Childe kept this to himself. 

“Why would you not say anything? Gods, why would you go and fight while your lungs are— I mean, how are you not…”

“Dead yet?” Childe supplies. Diluc curses. “Come on, you know me. It’s gonna take more than a little heartache to kill me.”

This, Diluc slows down for. He doesn’t know why Childe’s coughing up flowers. He doesn’t even know if the flowers are for him, because of him… or something else. “Heartache?”

“I’m sorry.” Childe smiles, apologetic, and Diluc’s stomach drops. “Let’s end this.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you. Should’ve done it earlier, I know. But I can’t give you what you want, and I’m kinda on death’s door here so… Yeah.” Childe confirms. “We’re better off breaking up.”

No. 

No, Diluc can’t do this. Not here, not right now, with Childe injured and sick with no other place to rest. Childe can’t do this to him.  

God, he’s going to be sick. He really is. Here he was worrying, but still hoping, that Childe wouldn’t mind him being a little clingy. That admitting he wasn’t all that fine with Childe never really staying longer than a week or two at a time, might be nothing more than a little hiccup in their relationship. Diluc actually thought they could get through it, after beating all the other odds stacked against them. 

Not even an hour ago, Childe was sitting there, smiling and adorning Diluc with affection. 

But he wants to break up? Just like that, so easily? 

Childe knows the mental gymnastics Diluc had to jump through, just to admit he liked him. And he knows exactly why it was so hard, because Diluc personally told him everything that led up to him trekking to Snezhnaya, nothing but a delusion and death wishes for both the Fatui and himself. He accepted Diluc in spite of it all. 

But now, he wants to break up. Now, when like has turned into love, and Diluc can’t stand another goodbye. 

Diluc steps back, feeling dizzy. He tries to turn to head upstairs, to think without Childe clogging his vision, but moves too quickly and almost falls, grabbing onto the table for support. 

There’s no helping it. He starts coughing, the dendrobium’s bitter taste only worsening his urge to throw up, and Childe watches in shock as the red buds fall out of Diluc’s mouth.  

Alarmed, Childe reaches out to Diluc. How could it be both of them? Why would it be both of them? Diluc is better without him. He’s not worth the flowers in Diluc’s chest. 

“Sit back down,” Diluc forces, swatting Childe away. “You’re hurt.”

“So are you.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Childe goes silent. 

Diluc tries his best to breathe. It’s hard to, when he’s burning up inside. “Do you even mean the words you say? Calling me breathtaking, writing letters sweeter than any fiction, acting like some prince when you are anything but. Is it fun for you to play pretend? Play me for a fool?”

“That’s not it at all.” Childe says. “I have meant everything I’ve said to you, Diluc. You’re one of the best things to happen to me, basically, ever. I never even thought I could feel—” 

“Stop. Don’t… I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but… Is there someone else?” 

“What? Why would you— No.” 

“Then what is it? Are you tired of me?” 

“No, Diluc, that’s not—” 

“Then what? Why else would you be coughing up flowers? Why are you suddenly saying we should break up?” Diluc shouts, more than tired of himself. He’s felt weak for months now, driving himself up the wall trying to hide this inane disease, only to find out Childe’s had it this whole damn time. “Do you not think I care about you?” 

“I know you care. Right now. But that’ll change. Look at you! Coughing up dendrobiums of all flowers. I’m never going to stop fighting. You know that. The battlefield, to me, is…” Childe sighs, dropping that thought. “Blood trails where I walk. I’ll keep getting hurt. And I’ll keep hurting you, okay? So yeah, we should just end it now, because contrary to popular belief, I don’t want to hurt you. Or the people close to me.”

His family, he means. Diluc takes this in slowly. 

“I’m not coughing up flowers because of your love for fighting. Or your job.” He says, after a moment of thought.

“What?”

“If that was enough to deter me, we would’ve been done before we even started. I’ve long since been okay with you being a harbinger.” Diluc makes a face, and corrects himself: “Well, kind of. You know I feel about the harbingers. But you… I want you. Harbinger or not, I just do.”

Childe exhales. “That can’t be it. There has to be something I’m not doing for you to be coughing flowers too.”

Diluc taps the table, not particularly eager to explain himself. But he’ll do it. Since Childe, as usual, is too dense to realize that Diluc actually likes him. “I wanted you to wake me up, before you left. And I know, we kind of talked about this, but also not really?” Diluc starts, embarrassed to Celestia and back, but his chest feels lighter. 

Having started, the rest comes easier. It’s as if each word lightens the burden on his lungs. “I hate waking up to an empty bed after going to sleep with you in it. It feels like I spend more time missing you, than loving you. We barely get to spend any real time together, so the times we get to… mean a lot to me. And I guess at some point I started to feel like it didn’t mean as much to you.”

It’s kind of a lot to say at once. Childe’s left stunned into silence, as everything off about Diluc’s behavior these past couple months start falling into place. 

He’s an idiot. He’s totally, definitely an idiot, isn’t he? Blinded by his own insecurities, Childe didn’t even realize he was making Diluc insecure, too. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. “That’s not enough, but I just… I’m sorry.”  

The atmosphere shifts between them. Diluc breathes, really takes a deep breath, and realizes that for the first time in months it's easy. There's still some pain, as if he'd just ran a marathon, but he can feel the change. 

Childe, on the other hand, looks like a wreck. His injury isn’t helping the cause. 

Diluc wishes he could make it easier on him. Talking, really talking, isn’t something either of them are used to. But they still do it, when actions aren’t enough. They mean too much to each other to not try. And they owe it to themselves, too: their younger, clumsier selves, left stubbornly believing that they were alone when the opposite was true. 

It’s the same thing now, Diluc reminds himself. He’s not alone. Neither is Childe. 

“Look, all of this started with us not saying what we mean, right? So it's fine. Whatever it is, just… tell me. Don't kill yourself over it.”

Childe stares at Diluc like he could make or break his world with one word. It's terrifying. But Diluc is right. He usually is.  

“Okay,” Childe says, more to pep himself up. “Yeah, okay. Here goes.

“You overwhelm me. I promised myself that nothing would get the best of me until I conquered the world, but then you come along, and I realize your heart is something I can’t conquer. I don’t even want to conquer it. As much as I like sparring with you, I don’t want to fight you for real, and I don’t know if admitting this makes me weak or strong.

“I wish you’d come with me, instead of watching me leave for weeks or months at a time. I want to sneak you into Snezhnaya, introduce you to my family. Diluc, I…” Childe closes his eyes, breathing slowly. He can feel the knots in his chest start to untangle at his honesty, and part of him wishes that the stems would just strangle him instead. “I want a life with you. And I know I don't have the right to ask that of you. I can’t settle down, or leave the Fatui, or promise that anything about our situation will change. And it kills me thinking that you're settling when you deserve so much better than this.” 

It’s the strangest feeling when Childe takes another breath. Air has never felt so sweet. 

“You...” Diluc says. It’s too much to take in. Of all the things he thought Childe would say, a proposal? Does this count as a proposal? That’s not even half of it. Diluc thought at best, the Tsaritsa wanted him dead or something. At worst, Childe simply got bored of him. 

But the thought of Diluc meeting his family? That’s what got Childe, as fearless as he is unabashed, all tongue tied? 

"It makes you strong," Diluc answers. "I have never seen another with the same mastery you hold over your vision. In and out of combat, you're this unstoppable force I can't look away from, no matter how much I try. You are willpower incarnate— You say I overwhelm you, but you tackle everything around with so much intensity, I get swept up by it. Inspired, even.    

"I'm sorry for making it seem like I don't appreciate that." 

"Diluc... You don't need to apologize for anything. I was the one who—"

"Apologized first? Thank you for that. But it's my turn, now... I put so much of my anger onto you just because you were the closest thing around. I made it seem like loving you was the worst thing that could possibly happen to me, when it was one of the best. 

"I need you to know that I'm not settling. I'm choosing you, because there's nobody else as loving as they are relentless." Diluc smiles as he quips, "Or quite as insane." 

Childe's exhale rolls through his whole body. He feels so terribly fragile, speaks quietly because any louder and he's sure his voice will shake. "The insanity's part of my charm."

Diluc laughs. "You have no idea. I mean, really? Sneaking me into Snezhnaya?"

"Was it that corny?"

"No, it was actually..." Diluc covers his mouth, feeling his cheeks turn warm. "It's just that the Fatui would, well. I'm not sure what they'd do. That would be treason.” 

Childe gives Diluc a look. “Only if I get caught.” 

“You’re serious.” 

“Yes? Is it that crazy?” Childe brings a hand to his neck, stares at the floor. He can really breathe again. Pain aside, it's a lot more tolerable now. “Teucer already loves you. I want everyone else to as well, but they wouldn’t leave Snezhnaya, let alone Morepesok. Especially my parents. I can’t imagine that conversation ever working out.” 

Diluc starts looking as though he’s struggling with what to say, so Childe backtracks. “It doesn’t need to be as far as that. I mean, I’d love to take you home, and who knows, maybe with a little acting we can convince the Tsaritsa that I seduced you in order to bring you onto our side—”

“Absolutely not!” 

“Okay. Sorry. Not funny. Kind of funny?” Childe raises his hands in light surrender and starts to ramble. “But we could go to Sumeru, or you could just stay a little longer in Liyue. Take care of trade there. We could go fishing. Liyue has some really pretty fish.”

“I guess… I could stand to spend some more time out of the Winery. I don’t know. It's not that I don't want to? I feel guilty, leaving it again.” 

Childe nods, interlocking his hands with Diluc’s. “It’d be different than before. You’d be intending to come back, for one. And Adelinde is always trying to tell you to take more breaks.”

“Not fair. You know I can’t say no to Adelinde.”

“That's why I brought her up.” Childe grins and Diluc laughs, feeling so much lighter than before. 

"Let me think about it."

"That's a yes?"

"If you know already, don't ask." 

They fall into comfortable silence while they readjust themselves. A lot was said, and there will be more to come, later, when they’re composed. Perhaps also when Childe is not in so much pain. That would be ideal, Diluc thinks, glancing down at the bruises. 

At this point, any pain Childe’s injuries are inflicting don’t even register to him. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more relief at once in his life. All the tension leaves him, months of stress piled up on him just… gone. 

Eventually, before he even realizes it, he’s crying. 

“Childe?” Diluc blanks. “What’s wrong?”

Childe sobs, shaking his head. It’s hard to stop the waterworks once they’ve turned on. Gods know it’s rare for him to break down like this; a crying session is long overdue. 

Diluc seems to understand this, because he quickly turns silent. He starts to rub circles into Childe’s back, and when Childe pulls him into a hug, Diluc embraces Childe gently.  

Belatedly, and a little bit in awe, Childe explains through his sniffling. “You said you loved me.”

“Oh…” Diluc guesses he did. “You do realize that you just proposed, right? Why is this of all things surprising to you?”  

“I what?” Childe steps back as he tries to recall what he said. “Oh my god, no, I did not. That was not romantic at all, please forget about it, that can’t be… No, why would I…” 

It takes Diluc all he has to not laugh. Completely, hopelessly stricken, he loves. “It was very romantic, actually. I should think about my response.”

“No. I need to do it properly! ...And, uh, this too.”

Childe wraps his arms around Diluc’s torso, holding him lightly.

Diluc raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Yes?”

Childe just smiles, entirely sheepish. “I love you.” 

What a softie. 

Diluc isn’t much better, the way he beams. “Hmm… I don’t think I heard you.”

“Oh, really now?”

“You’ll have to shout, I think. You know how it is in our old age.”

Childe less laughs and more cackles, pulling Diluc into him. “I love you, Diluc. Anytime you want to hear it— anytime I think it— I’ll tell you until you believe it, and then more. I’ll leave you without doubt.”

“I believe you.” Diluc says, and means it. “I love you, too.”

Childe's expression softens and he finally gives in, leading Diluc into a kiss.

Yeah. They’re going to be more than okay, like this.