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The red of Diluc’s hair matches that of Thoma’s coat. It’s his favorite thing up to date, along with the dandelion wine that Diluc brews for him when he finds the time to visit Mondstadt. A few of his strands always get lost in the fabric when they hug, and Diluc quickly sweeps them away when he notices, but Thoma likes the way they blend in like they belong there. Thoma likes to think they do. Belong there. The two of them don’t meet often, but Thoma’s coat is familiar with the scent of Diluc’s shampoo. It knows of the oil that he puts in his hair daily, despite the many complaints of it being a hassle. Thoma can only laugh softly when he does, maybe help out a bit, but when it takes yet a few months before he comes back, he finds that his longing has a faint note of oil and wine to it.
*
Mondstadt is bustling with kids and adults all the same, the excitement and cheer reaching its high as they all exchange windblumes for the Windblume Festival. Thoma is yet to find what his is going to be, but there’s no rush. This time he’d taken an entire week off his work to visit, and the Festival doesn’t end in a day. The hours are long enough; he trusts he’ll find one that speaks to him. For now, he’s going to see Diluc. The tavern is busy on days like this, so Thoma doesn’t enter the city immediately — he lingers, and finds himself in a conversation with a guard. The guards don’t quite greet him as a visitor from foreign lands anymore, the way they did when he first came back, and Thoma promises them a game of TCG before he finally makes his way to Angel’s Share. He doesn’t go in, however. He sits down on the unoccupied outside table by himself, and entertains himself with people watching. Receiving windblumes from people he isn’t quite familiar with isn’t the worst, too. He’s received all kinds of things — from the traditional dandelion, to windwheel asters, and even seeds from the kids. Thoma makes sure to thank them and promises them with a windblume of their own when he finally figures out what it would be. “You promised!” the kids shout, running around and away from him.
It’s only when he hears a familiar voice behind him that he finally gets up from where he’s sitting. “Those kids are not going to leave you alone now,” Diluc says, arms crossed. It’s Windblume day, and while it isn’t the hottest, wearing a coat as thick as his will still feel uncomfortable. At least his hair is tied up high. “Will you have the time?”
“I have a week.” Thoma takes notice of the wooden basket in Diluc’s hands, and he reaches out for it. With the slightest hesitation, Diluc gives it to him. “What’s in here?” he asks.
Diluc turns the lightest of red, unnoticeable, almost, if it was anyone else watching. It’s Thoma, however, so notice he does. What he doesn’t do, is comment on it. “Snacks. And… dandelion wine,” he answers, and it takes Thoma a moment to realize that the corners of his mouth are quirking up into a smile, amused and endeared with how embarrassed Diluc is being. It’s not the first time Diluc had given him the dandelion wine, but with the basket he’d prepared this time, Thoma can guess that the other has plans of asking him on a picnic. It’s a nice day for it — the sun hides just right behind the clouds, so it’s not too hot, and the entirety of Mondstadt is blessed with a cool wind breeze that blows the dandelions into the air. This is all courtesy of the Anemo archon, of course, and while Thoma doesn’t have the best experiences with archons, he makes a mental note of leaving a windblume at Barbatos’ big statue. Maybe after their picnic, if Diluc finds it in him to ask. And if he doesn’t, well… Thoma will ask, then. They have never gone on a picnic; while the Mondstadt landscape provides a variety of places to host one, their time is far too limited to actually be in one.
Today is different, though. Today, they have time. Thoma tightens his hold on the handles of the basket. “You spoil me, Master Diluc,” he says, almost teasing, before turning his back on the redhead. “I’ll carry this. It’s a beautiful day out, Master Diluc. How about Cape Oath?”
Thoma doesn’t see it, but he figures Diluc shakes his head. “There are a lot of people on Cape Oath,” he replies, stepping into pace with Thoma. “We can go to Starsnatch Cliff, if you want.”
“Sure,” Thoma agrees, because while Cape Oath is popular during Windblume, Starsnatch does offer a beautiful view from the top. It doesn’t really matter to Thoma where they go, anyway. The picnic itself is enough. The company itself is enough.
They walk along the hustle of the city, observing the festivities with conversations of their own. Thoma talks about how it’s his first Windblume Festival in a while, and how the atmosphere is influencing him. Diluc smiles, talks about how Thoma should go more often if he enjoys it like this. Thoma laughs and tells Diluc that no, it isn’t entirely the festival. “Festival or not, I enjoy your company,” Thoma answers, cheer in his voice. It’s the truth, but the words come out more honest than he intends it to, despite the lightheartedness of his tone. Thoma continues on, still. “You’re a nice host, Master Diluc.”
Diluc’s cheeks must be burning, because he turns his face away from Thoma to hide them. With no basket in his hand, his fingers twitch with embarrassment. “Always so polite,” he says instead, with not a word about everything else that Thoma had just said. Thoma can only laugh again at the shyness. Adorable, he thinks.
They arrive at the cliff in the afternoon. Diluc was right — there are far less people here than there should be at Cape Oath, and Thoma takes it to himself to find a spot at the peak, putting the basket down. They’re near the cecilias, and so the air smells of fresh flowers. The green grass seems to be calling to him, Thoma believes, and he immediately lies down. From his periphery, Diluc sits next to him, facing the view of the sky that stretches out to the sea. Thoma sighs, “Walking is tiring no matter which region you’re in, huh, Master Diluc?”
There’s an almost silent laugh at that. “Being from the Yashiro commission, I figured you would’ve been used to it,” Diluc points out, and Thoma pouts. Sure, his work involves a lot of travelling, and Mondstadt is fairly easier to trek than Inazuma, but with relaxation and enjoyment in the air, it’s also not the most difficult to slack off. “But it’s okay. You can rest.”
“And you?” Thoma asks, but he doesn’t get up yet. From his place, Diluc glows with the gold of the sunlight hitting his face. The muted red of Diluc’s hair is bright now, burning, almost, his ponytail moving the slightest bit as the wind blows. Diluc looks back at him, and while Thoma will look away every other time, something warrants him to keep the eye contact today. Maybe it’s the scent of cecilias in the air, or the atmosphere of the people around them celebrating the festival; either way, he stares — right into the lighter shade of red of Diluc’s eyes, unblinking, before Diluc himself looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink. Thoma clears his throat, “Lie down, Master Diluc. Rest.”
“It’s okay,” Diluc insists. Thoma takes note that his sitting posture is perfectly straight, like heir of a noble family-straight. Which he is, but… Archons above, this man is simply too formal, and polite, and. And.
Beautiful. Diluc Ragnvindr is utterly, inexplicably, absolutely beautiful.
“Lie down,” he repeats, going as far as gently pulling Diluc down. Taken aback, Diluc doesn’t find it in himself to deny him again, and promptly falls softly beside Thoma. The ponytail makes it difficult for him to lie down properly, but before he could take his hair tie off, Thoma guides him onto his chest. It’s a bold move, even for him — his racing heart rate is a show of that, but Thoma tries not to mind. Tries to chalk it to the festivities influencing him, yet again, and focuses on the match of Diluc’s hair to that of his coat. They belong together nicely, Thoma is reminded, and his hands automatically caress the softness of Diluc’s hair.
Below him, Diluc’s breath hitches, more embarrassed than Thoma will ever be. Thoma can’t blame him; while they engage in physical affection as friends once in a while, they have never been like this before — the vulnerability that comes with resting together looms over them, the way the huge sky above them does, feeling like it’s going to fall over them anytime soon.
And it’s with this vulnerability that Thoma almost says something— anything, everything, all at once, but mostly—
I like you.
I… like you.
It’s easy to slip, but it’s also easy to slip away. He can say these words, say it with the intention of being friendly, say it is Thoma growing and cultivating the relationship they have now.
But no — Thoma wants to say it like he means it, because he does. Mean it, with the whole of his being, both Inazuman and Mond.
Diluc is still so beautiful, even when Thoma does not have a full view of his face. His eyes flutter quickly, now. Thoma thinks he’s slowly falling asleep with the combination of the warmth of the sun and the hand patting his locks, but is trying not to. Cute. “Go to sleep, Master Diluc,” he coaxes, and he feels than sees the shake of his head. How stubborn. That’s part of his charm, too. “It’ll be fine, Master Diluc. Go to sleep.” Thoma tucks the stray hair behind Diluc’s ears, and he pats his head once more before he yawns himself. “See, I’m sleepy, too.”
“The snacks…” Diluc murmurs, stubbornly fighting himself to sleep. Thoma reaches out for the basket and pulls it closer to them. The grass is making the back of his neck itch, the two of them forgetting to place a mat or some sort before they lied down, but it doesn’t matter. Thoma hugs the basket with one arm. Diluc sighs a laugh, kind of. “What are you doing?”
“Guarding the snacks. We’ll eat them later when we wake up, so you sleep, please, Master Diluc.” Thoma pats the basket for good measure, and the yawn that makes its way in between of Diluc’s huff of laughter shouldn’t make him feel so warm, but it does.
“...Okay,” Diluc finally relents, his shoulders relaxing. Thoma doesn’t respond anything else, only waits for Diluc to actually fall asleep, his hand returning to its place on Diluc’s hair. It’s soft, and it’s warm, and it’s really, really beautiful, and Thoma likes it so much.
Thoma likes Diluc so much.
“Sweet dreams, Master Diluc,” Thoma whispers, before he drifts off to sleep.
Everything else disappears to that of pitch black, and the words stay unsaid — lost in this place, only to be found in dreams, like windblumes are, only spoken to existence when a physical being finally, finally, chooses.