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Sometimes, when she wakes up in the morning and blinks away the last remnants of sleep, Jean expects to find herself alone. It isn’t unusual — she’s woken up alone more times than she can count, but there’s always a slight pang of loneliness accompanying the thought that she tries hard to ignore.
Because who is she to feel lonely? She is the Grandmaster, the highest authority in Mondstadt, surrounded by people on a daily. There are citizens who admire her, colleagues who respect her, and friends who adore her; she is never absent from people, so there should be no reason to feel such a thing, right?
She is also busy, too busy, that her mind is constantly occupied by work. It drowns out everything her mother would regard as a ‘baseless thought’. And even when she’s left physically and mentally exhausted, Jean still finds a sense of pride and purpose.
This is what she had been born and raised to do — to protect Mondstadt, to protect those smiles and dreams of the people she cared for most.
But she’s also only human, and Jean admittedly forgets that sometimes. Because at the end of the day, Jean is still just a young girl at heart. Just Jean.
And when she finds those moments to remember that she is only just Jean, she allows her thoughts to stray to that one person who knew that the best. She asks herself those million questions: Where is he now? Is he safe? What is he doing? Does he ever think about home? Does he ever think about her?
She hadn’t been able to say much before he left, but he’d left her a letter. The first of many, fortunately, and although she’d come to treasure every single letter he’d spared the time to send, the same questions still plagued her thoughts.
But that was then. Everything had since changed.
Jean isn’t alone - there’s someone else beside her now. Lying on his back, his eyes are still tightly shut but there is a clear absence of worry as sleep takes control of his body. She watches as his lips twitch slightly, possibly from the little dream he’s having, and Jean takes the opportunity to lean closer.
Even now, after so many months of waking up next to him, she never gets enough of the sight. He is as handsome as ever, his deep red hair splayed across his pillow like a bundle of flames.
It’s ruffled and unkempt, but this is how she likes his hair the most. It’s the perfect excuse to have her play with it.
Jean loves playing with Diluc’s hair.
But it’s not something he’s entirely eager about. She could count the number of times she’d caught him turning downright surly at some point when he’d noticed her fingers had started to twitch the closer they came to his hair. He’ll try to resist when she starts prodding him a little, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t take too long for him to give in.
He knows just how much she loves doing it so he lets her anyway (not without a few comments here and there, many of which had eventually left him flustered when Jean had taken the chance to smother his face in chaste kisses).
In an attempt not to wake him, Jean reaches out to smoothen and arrange his hair. She savours the feel of its silkiness between her fingers; sometimes she feels like he takes better care of his hair than she does with the way much of his thick strands are still so healthy.
Jean is sure to be extra careful, keeping her touches to caresses at best as she saves his long fringe for last. She brushes them aside, her fingers lingering with light sweeps.
But her breath catches when she notices his head shift to the side, closest to her pillow. Has she been caught?
A look closer tells her she hasn’t, his eyes still tightly shut as his breathing remains even. Jean bites her lip, grinning, as she continues to stroke his hair. His fringe had fallen into his face again, so she takes it as her duty to sweep it aside.
Jean doesn’t realise he’s awake and is giving her a rather grouchy stare (although riddled with some adoration) until she’s just about finished. Her eyes lock with his, his brow now raised, and she lets out a very undignified squeak as she hastily withdraws her hand.
But Diluc grips her wrist before she can fully pull away.
“What,” he says, voice dry from hours of sleep, “is so fascinating about my hair?”
She smiles sheepishly at him, shrugging. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”
“But I’m already asking. Isn’t that enough cause for me to ‘find out’?”
Jean shakes her head, reaching over to leave a chaste kiss on his forehead. Diluc’s eyes flutter close for just a second before she pulls away.
“Merely asking and giving you the answer takes the fun out of finding out,” she hums, “But what I can tell you is that this is what you signed up for when we got together.”
He reaches up to gently caress her cheek.
“I’d argue that you never showed much interest in my hair until now.”
Jean is genuinely startled at his remark. No interest? Had he been so oblivious to her very deep interest this whole time?
“Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown three heads?”
Jean scrunches her nose. “Because that’s ridiculous. How have you not noticed until now?”
“Noticed what?”
She twirls a piece of hair around his fingers, lightly rolling her thumb against the strands in a back-and-forth motion.
“That I liked your hair so much.”
“You never said anything,” he refutes, gaze never leaving her face.
“Did I have to say anything to show it?”
Diluc is silent for a few moments. At first, she thinks it’s because he’s trying to think, but then she notices his eyes beginning to flutter close. Not only that, but his head has started to lean closer to fingers that were twirled around his strands.
Seeing him enjoy this so much, a sudden thought pops into her head with glee.
Experimentally, Jean moves her fingers away from the front of his face to the back of his head. They gently clasp around his scalp before she adds a little more pressure, massaging his head.
He seems to very much like that as she watches his head begin to roll back into her fingers, eyes still firmly shut. Jean smiles to herself, adoration brimming in her gaze.
How cute, and how lucky is she to be able to witness this every day of her life. It’s a side of him that she knows no one else will ever get to witness, but she doesn’t mind. If it’s for her eyes only, she’ll gladly take it all.
“Enjoying yourself, hmm?”
“Yes, a lot in fact.” The question doesn’t faze him, his eyes still closed as he relishes in her ministrations.
“And you never noticed how I didn’t do this before?”
Diluc flicks an eye open this time, looking at her curiously.
She has switched her position from fully lying down to propping herself on her side with her elbow, hand still massaging his scalp.
“You’ve never massaged my head before we got together.”
Jean scrunches her nose.
“Yes I have. Multiple times actually.”
His brows crease together and she can tell that he doesn’t seem to have an inkling of what she’s talking about. Perhaps Kaeya had been right after all.
If nothing was said, nothing would happen.
“The only times I remember your hands in my hair was when you tied my h— Oh .”
Jean raises a brow.
“Go on,” she nudges, opting to pull her hand out from behind him at this moment. He makes a little noise in protest, but Jean is too curious to hear what he has to say.
She wants her full attention on this.
Diluc sits up a bit this time, catching her gaze.
“Is that why you took so long tying my hair? Because you played with it?”
A sheepish grin creeps up on her face as she takes the chance to sift her fingers through his hair once more.
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” she points out. Which had been true; while her argument at the time was that his hair was incredibly thick and long (which it was), her fascination with his hair over the years had grown tenfold.
His locks were just so bright and red, like the flames he controlled with a flick of his hand. Not only that, but it was like a majestic mane, akin to that of a lion; a fitting resemblance for the man now known as the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt.
“I wouldn’t complain if it were you,” he answers smoothly, his eyes fixated on hers.
“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t let them do my hair again.”
She snorts, “That’s a little bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Diluc shrugs, sitting up to lean his back against their headboard.
“Like some have said, I have a little flair for the dramatic.” He almost seems a little proud in his admission, but Jean hums in agreement.
“Not to worry, I happen to love a little dramatics.”
It’s his turn to reach out this time as Diluc gently slides two fingers down some errant golden strands framing the front of her face.
She watches him intently, her breath suddenly catching.
They’ve been together for over a good year and a half now but he still makes her feel like she still has a teenage crush.
“Your hair is just as interesting as mine, if not more.”
His gaze turns a little intense, Diluc’s fingers now brushing the sides of her cheek before cupping it warmly in his palm.
Jean leans in out of instinct, his hand cradling the weight of her head.
“Mm, you’re just saying that.”
“No, your hair is a beautiful shade of gold. It’s like the sun.”
She bites her lower lip, unable to stop the smile from growing.
“And that’s why it’s more interesting? Because it’s like the sun when yours are like a raging wildfire?”
“Describing it like that is going a bit overboard, don’t you think?”
Jean snorts, “Your hair is red , Diluc.”
Diluc snorts back. “Yes, Grandmaster Obvious. It’s red.”
She lightly smacks him on the arm but he doesn’t let go of her face, although his gaze has lit up with amusement.
“I mean that no one else has that same shade of red.”
“My whole lineage does, Jean. It’s really not that special.”
She huffs, frowning. “Now you’re just being difficult. You know what I’m trying to say.”
“Am I?” Diluc challenges, leaning closer to her face.
“Yes,” she stares at him firmly, “And for that you don’t get to complain if my fingers somehow find it’s way into your hair again.”
But he remains unfazed, the distance between them shortening within seconds.
“And you don’t get to complain if I use a kiss to keep you quiet.”
His lips connect with hers no sooner than the words leave his lips. Almost immediately, Jean’s hands bury themselves into his hair in an attempt to pull him closer to her.
She will never get enough of this, enough of him (and his hair), and she can only hope that this will never change.