Archive of Our Own

“I wasn’t aware we’d opened the library for the public.”

Diluc swallows and turns around, only to find himself face-to-face with arguably the prettiest man he ever met. It’s a boyish kind of charm, much like Diluc has been told his own face looks like, and he’s smiling like he’s… happy to see Diluc. Despite the somewhat sarcastic tone of his voice.

Diluc shrugs in an attempt to seem nonchalant. “No one stopped me from intruding.”

“Is that the way you go about things normally?” There’s a clear hint of amusement in his voice. The man tilts his head and sky blue locks fall into his eyes. Diluc watches how he draws his eyebrows together and tries to blow them away. It’s… endearing in a way.

And he’s too close to letting his guard down. “Only when I need to.”

“Which you did, of course.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, pretty stranger, which book in here is priceless enough to warrant such drastic actions?”

“I have yet to find it,” Diluc admits, wondering which poor Fatui recruit he’s crossing paths with—for shall he rely too much more information, there’d be no way around discarding him.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Mr-Blue-Hair clasps his hands together and there’s this excitement in his eyes. He must be young. Diluc wonders how long he’s been with the Fatui. “What topic are you interested in?”

“I was hoping to find something on dragons,” Diluc says slowly, watches the way the man’s lips curl into a smirk.

“Dragons, huh? I must say, I’m quite the fan myself. Are you from Mondstadt by any chance? They have quite the history with dragons there.” He keeps on talking as he guides Diluc down the aisle of shelves to a different one, and then traces his fingers over the spines of various books. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, I simply couldn’t help but notice your hair.” He chuckles to himself as Diluc tucks a strand of bright red behind his ear. “An unusual colour, even there, isn’t it? Truly fascinating. You think I’d be allowed to look at it closer after you found what you’re looking for?”

Diluc’s blood runs cold. It’s true—save for the Ragnvindr clan, red is not a common hair colour in Mondstadt at all.

The man pulls a book out of the shelf, entirely unaware of Diluc’s panic, and smiles again. “Perhaps this has some of the information you wish to find.”

Diluc clutches the book to his chest and follows the stranger to one of the tables by the high windows.

“Are you here often?” he asks as they settle down, the man already pulling out a pile of books from underneath the table like he stored them there.

“Yep. Especially recently. It gets kind of suffocating in the lab sometimes, and where I do my readings doesn’t matter much. I quite enjoy the view from here.” He hums and Diluc leans over to look out of the window.

“Is that the inner courtyard of the palace?”

“Indeed it is. Gorgeous, isn’t it? I find spring to be the nicest season here. The colourful flowers look extraordinarily pretty between the snow.” He smiles to himself and Diluc notes yet again how he’s rather pretty. He looks… almost soft, illuminated by the glow of the snow outside, and that small, content smile on his lips. He dips his head and the blue locks fall into his eyes again. They look soft, too, and Diluc doesn’t know what to do with all of those observations.

“Don’t let me keep you from reading,” the man says, or perhaps he’s more of a boy, Diluc isn’t sure. “Though I could tell you about the beauty of Snezhnaya for hours.” His eyes find Diluc’s and they shine with the same fiery red. “But, after all, your time here is limited, so you should use it well.”

Diluc nods and opens the book, flipping through the pages with no real idea what he’s looking for. Dragons… What was he even thinking? Fair enough, he hadn’t meant to find a book on it here—the library just proved to be the easiest way to get into the Zapolyarny Palace.

“I’m quite an expert on dragons myself,” the young man says after Diluc has been aimlessly skimming pages front and back of the book. “Anything specific I can perhaps help you with?” He trails his fingers over the rim of the book in front of him, his eyes finding Diluc’s.

“There’s been an incident in Mondstadt a while ago,” Diluc offers slowly, not entirely sure how much use this really has, since the chances that anything he’ll find out from a Fatui directly could lead him astray.

The young man hums and watches him curiously. “Go on.”

“Around two years and a few months ago,” Diluc says and keeps his eyes on the stranger. Though he’s keeping his face carefully scheduled, there’s the slightest hint of recognition at Diluc’s words. “Ursa the drake returned to Mondstadt and caused multiple deaths in one single night.”

“Ursa the drake,” the man repeats and there’s a spark in his eyes. “How updated on the situation are you, if I dare ask?”

“You’re implying something I might not be aware of has happened in the last few years.”

“I suppose I’m correct in the assumption that you have not been in Mondstadt since?”

Diluc narrows his eyes, but does not dare to lose his patience. “Would you be so kind as to inform me of the situation?”

The young man laughs, and it’s a pretty sound, though it feels cold and dangerous. “Of course! I’d be delighted to! You see, Ursa the drake has been defeated a while ago. Mondstadt is no longer being terrorised by him. Of course that meant a payback to the one who–”

“‘Him?’ I wasn’t aware there was as much information available on Ursa the drake.” He catches it, the split second of hesitation flickering through those red eyes, before the young man grins at him. His teeth are impossibly sharp.

“As I said, I’m rather curious about dragons and the like. Ursa the drake is no exception to this.”

Diluc nods and decides to let that rest for now. “I cannot shake the feeling that you have something to do with Ursa’s defeat.”

“And you’d be correct.” The young man leans in, his lips still pulled back in that grin, and Diluc could count each and every single one of his pointy teeth. “You see, it was me who defeated Ursa the drake.”

“Forgive my harsh words, but you don’t really look like you have what it must’ve taken.”

The young man barks out a laugh and Diluc glares at him. “That’s because you underestimate me.” He rests his chin on his hand and his hair bounces with the movement. “Don’t feel bad about it. You’re not the first person who made that mistake, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

Something sparkles in his eyes then, and Diluc frowns as he tries to decipher it.

“Your time has run out,” the young man sings, his voice melodic, despite the cold his words are lathered in. “But fear not. I shall be back here in three days, and perhaps by then you have been able to form the questions you undoubtedly wish to ask.”

Diluc opens his mouth to say something, but the man is right—he has no idea what he wants to say. So he gives up and pushes the book towards the pile of books balanced on the table. “Is that a promise?”

“I don’t make promises.” His eyes glint and Diluc crosses his arms in front of his chest. “And you can’t count on me either. Whether you choose to believe I’ll stay true to my word is entirely on you.”

Which is quite possibly the worst prospect of anything Diluc has ever heard. Who would be foolish enough to trust the man’s word and come back?

Three days later, Diluc is hovering by the table with the books in the library of Zapolyarny Palace.

There’s a significant amount less books than before, but he pulls the one on dragons out between various books on machinery, elemental traces, and a book on Mondstadt’s fairy tales.

Huh. That’s interesting.

“You really stand out wherever you go, with your fiery hair.” Diluc turns around to the guy with snow-blue hair and narrows his eyes.

“Hello to you, too.”

“I must say, I’m rather surprised. I didn’t think you’d come.”

Diluc scoffs. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

The Fatui grins brightly. “Fair enough! I see you even remembered the table? Quite delightful, indeed.”

“You promised me information?”

“Did I now? Hm… quite funny you’d say this. I don’t remember making any such promises.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Ah, no need to get quite so angry, alright, you shall get what you want.”

Diluc crosses his arms in front of his chest and frowns at him. “I suppose it’ll cost me something?”

“Everything in the world does,” the man says and has the audacity to wink at him. “Now, today is less of a calm day around here, and I’d rather we’re not caught by annoying superiors, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to suggest a different place.”

“Sounds like a trap.”

“How suspicious of you. But! I must admit, your mistrust is well placed. Though it does hurt a little, of course.” The man sighs and Diluc cannot believe he’s pouting at him. This guy certainly is no ordinary fatui.

“Fine,” he agrees, clutching the book on dragons to his chest. Not because he plans to read it, but because it’s nice to hold onto something.

“Ohh,” cooes his companion, and Diluc feels regret sneak its way into every cell of his skin. There is no getting distracted now. He has to make sure he survives this, and makes it back out of the Palace as well. However… This might indeed be quite a good chance to get some more insight while under the—he’s hesitant to call it protection —of this particular guy. “Well then! Please, do come along, my most esteemed guest.”

Diluc grabs the Mondstadt fairy tale book as well and follows the blue-haired guy out of the library.

“Try to be inconspicuous,” he tells him, and then turns back to frown at Diluc’s hair. “Actually, do you happen to have a hood?”

“Yeah,” Diluc mutters and drags the hood over his head.

“That’s better,” the guy purrs, and Diluc is convinced he’s never done anything quite this stupid.

Now, Zapolyarny Palace is as beautiful from the inside as it is from the outside. It looks as cold as it feels though, and Diluc wonders if it’s just Snezhnaya’s weather, or if the walls are neatly crafted out of actual ice.

His companion seems to feel quite at home, though he’s rather quiet as they pass through one endless looking hallway through another one through another — all of them looking exactly the same. It’s like a whole labyrinth. Oh, Diluc is hopelessly going to get lost if he ever tries to traverse this on his own.

“Where are we going, exactly?” he dares to ask quietly. The young man lifts his hand and waves it at him.

“Patience,” he whispers back, but doesn’t turn around to face Diluc. “We’ve almost made it.”

Turns out almost is a word they have drastically different interpretations for, because by the time they have finally made it to some quiet, darker hallway downstairs (and it’s been a long elevator ride downstairs), Diluc’s fingers hurt with how tightly he had squeezed them around the books in his arms.

“What kind of place is this?” he asks, eyes roaming around the dark walls. At the end of the corridor waits one heavy door for them, and the young man throws it open as if it doesn’t weigh a single thing.

Oh, Diluc is so going to get murdered here. Funnily, he does not care much.

The room is… surprisingly nice. It reminds him of a nest, in a way, with various different items piled up in corners and on shelves.

“Please don’t mind the mess,” he says as he climbs over a severed ruin guard’s arm and carefully pushes his way through different goblets and circlets to a table at the wall. “I’m quite the hoarder.”

Diluc laughs tonelessly. “Like a dragon.” He follows suit, doesn’t really note down the way the guy watches him. “What? Something I did?”

“No.” The guy smiles again, and holds out his hand. Diluc places the books into it without thinking. “You’re curious about how the Fatui and Mondstadt left off after I defeated Ursa the drake.”

“Ah.” Diluc crosses his arms in front of his chest because he doesn’t know where else to put them, and looks at the crumpled paper sheets littering the desk. “Yeah, I’d be quite curious about that, actually.”

The young man hums and gestures at a pile of blankets next to a shelf. “Well, feel free to get comfortable. There’s quite a tale to tell.”

Diluc eyes the blanket nest and doesn’t move. “I suggest you start talking, then.”

“Oh,” the young man says, and tilts his head with curiosity. “Oh, you seem to be threatening me. How bold. How very impatient.” He gestures at the pile again, one swift movement of his arm. “But please, I insist.”

Despite his will, Diluc moves to settle down in the blankets and—wow, those really are a lot of them. “Do you hoard blankets, too?”

He looks up at the guy, only to find him stare back, mouth pulled down in some upside down crescent shape, his eyes blown wide.

Diluc flaps his arms at him indignantly. “Hello? Are you listening?” He’s convinced if the italicized oh was an expression, this is what it would look like on someone’s face.

“I hoard everything I come across,” the other replies, his voice hoarse. He thankfully does not move away from his place by the desk. His knuckles are turning white where he clutches his fingers around the books.

“Huh,” Diluc offers and glares at him. “Not the point, you know. Tell me about Mondstadt’s diplomatic relations with Fatui.”

The young man averts his eyes from Diluc at last, and Diluc shifts for half a minute until he feels less like drowning in the blankets.

“Alright. Mondstadt and the Fatui have come to an agreement after Ursa the drake had been defeated. Essentially, we’ve been granted a rather generous amount of influence as a token of Mondstadt’s gratitude.”

Diluc clenches his jaw. “What kind of influence?”

“Ah, you know, the typical. Having diplomats in the city and around, further research opportunities when it comes to Dragonspine—the likes.”

Diluc can’t help but shake the feeling that it sounds more harmless than it actually is. He has little interest in Dragonspine and couldn’t care less for who researches what in there, but he’s still partial to Mondstadt, and if the Adventurer’s Guild or the Knights were to be hindered in their exploration of Dragonspine, he could not approve of the Fatui interrupting them. Besides, having diplomats in the city and around sounds like an actual nightmare. Especially considering that most of their so-called diplomats are anything but.

“As expected, you seem rather unhappy to receive this information,” the guy notes, now sitting on the edge of the desk. Some of the crumpled papers clutter the floor to his dangling feet.

“I care for my home,” Diluc replies, and this is as far as he’ll go. “Surely you’ll understand my distaste with the Fatui’s power in Mondstadt.”

“Surely.” He grins. “However, I cannot apologize for it, nor would I have the desire to do so. After all, it’s been making people around here rather fond of my merit in Mond.”

“Do not call it that,” Diluc snaps before he can stop himself.

“My most sincere apologies,” says the Fatui, not sounding sincere at all.

Not that Diluc expected him to. He fists his hand in one of the blankets and glares at the crumpled papers on the floor as he tries to sort through his thoughts. He’s not delighted about the Fatui in Mondstadt. Once he gets back, he’ll have to make sure they stop their doings there. Once he—well, it’s been over two years. Maybe he’ll feel ready to return soon.

Still, as long as he hasn’t gathered more clues on his father’s death, let alone as much intel on the Fatui as he can possibly get his hands on—there is no way he’ll return. This offers the perfect change. And perhaps, if he plays his cards right, he can use this Fatui to figure out what he wants to know. Though, this kind of thing would probably be Kaeya’s forte.

The thought of him makes Diluc’s chest clench and he focuses on not letting the pain be evident in the breaths he takes. Clearly, he fails.

“Are you quite alright, red-haired stranger?” Which is honestly a pretty weird way to be addressed, but Diluc can’t blame him. “Has this newfound knowledge thrown you off your rhythm?”

The words should sound mocking if anything, but all Diluc can detect is some form of concern, genuine even, and that makes breathing even harder. He’s not even sure whether it’s the knowledge that makes him feel like he’s losing the ground underneath his feet, or if it’s the reminder of Kaeya, the fear in his eyes as he looked at Diluc, expecting him to kill. If it’s the fact that he left without a word after, soaked to the bone, barely giving Jean a second to ask what happened—he had not given her an answer either way—or the loneliness that followed. The nights where guilt and grief consumed him, the way hunger and the cold had worn him down for days on end. Perhaps it’s the realisation of the sheer amount of blood on his hands, his father’s, Kaeya’s, the Fatui’s—he does not remember the last time he had fallen asleep in a day without his claymore or his daggers or his fingernails drawing the blood of another person, another creature.

He barely registers the soft thud of feet landing on the ground, or the rustling of countless blankets.

“Fire boy.” The guy’s voice is impossibly gentle and Diluc wants to kill him for it.

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses.

All he’s given in return is a light smile, and a cocked eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me your name then?”

Perhaps it’s the closeness Diluc hadn’t registered mere seconds ago, or the way everything feels warmer now. Perhaps it’s the look in those red eyes, something Diluc can’t quite decipher, but it makes him feel like things are alright despite it all. Perhaps it’s that one strand of blue hair that just curls so perfectly over the scarred forehead–

He doesn’t know what it is that possesses him to reply truthfully, but he can’t make himself regret it when he says, softly, scared to break whatever sacred quiet it is they have, “Diluc.”

“Diluc,” the young man repeats, and it sends a shiver down Diluc’s spine. “Like the dawn. Quite the beautiful name.”

“What’s yours?”

“Ah.” Red eyes cloud for a moment, but then they light up again and Diluc gets a bright smile. It’s the kind of smile Kaeya would give him when Diluc asked whether he’s alright, and Kaeya would say yes, despite missing his home and not being quite as alright. “I have long forgotten it. The name I now go by is Dottore, and you may call me that, if you wish.” He hums and slumps back into the blankets. “Unless, of course, you come up with a nickname that doesn’t make me want to murder you. In that case, I’d also accept said nickname.”

Diluc really doesn’t feel like testing out nicknames, especially not with the prospect of being murdered should he choose something wrong. He’s never been one for nicknames, anyway.

“Dottore,” Diluc repeats and raises an eyebrow. “So you’re… some kind of doctor?”

The answer is a short, barking laugh, but it sounds hollow. “Sure. In the most broad definition of the word, I suppose one could consider me some kind of doctor.”

“How long did you go by that name that you forgot what you were called before?”

Dottore puts a finger to his lips and smiles. “Long enough. A gentleman never shares his secrets.”

“You don’t strike me as a gentleman, though.”

“Ack!” He presses his hand on his chest in mock offense. “How dare! No sense for tact!”

Diluc huffs and crosses his arms. “You’re more of some dramatic… clown.”

“Sweet Tsaritsa, you wound me. Are you purposefully going for a kill every time you open your mouth?”

“Not in a bad way,” Diluc says and rolls his eyes. “More the theatrical kind of… entertainment.”

“Well, I do find joy in entertaining people.” Dottore throws himself back into the blankets. “Though it’s less to make them smile, nowadays.”

Diluc watches him, but Dottore just stares back without elaborating. Diluc doesn’t really feel like pressing the issue, lest Dottore assumes he wants to be involved in whatever tragic backstory hides behind those warm, red eyes.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asks instead, taking a moment to consider his escape route (something he should have done the second they set foot into this underground lair), but besides for the door they had come through, he can’t even see any windows. “Are we underground?”

“Obviously,” Dottore replies, amusement clear on his face. “Admittedly, not many people know of this place.”

Why me? Diluc wonders, but then he wonders whether not many people know because those who did are now dead. Fair enough, self-preservation in this case is not his strong suit. “How did you find it?”

Dottore smiles to himself and folds his hands on his chest. “When I first got here, I spent all of my free time exploring this horribly big Palace. All of my free time. Every second of it.” He lets out a breathy chuckle and Diluc can’t stop looking at him. “I didn’t even bother doing homework or extra training. Got me in trouble a lot, but that was something I got used to in the Academia already, so it didn’t help much in stopping me.”

“You went to Sumeru’s Academia?”

“I’m quite the scholar, you know?” He grins. “Well, not really. I never graduated, so there’s that.”

Diluc hums. “I’ve heard it’s inhumanely hard to graduate, anyway.”

“Oh, for sure. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the Fatui, there’s no telling where I would’ve ended up. Probably dead on some pyre.” There’s a certain air of nonchalance in the way he says it, as though none of it is as heavy as it sounds. Perhaps, Diluc thinks, it’s been so long ago, he’s made peace with it.

Dottore sighs dramatically and glances at Diluc. (Diluc refuses to get embarrassed about being caught staring.) “Now I’m stuck with goddamn babysitting duty every now and then. Go keep an eye on our newest, Dottore. Make sure little Tartaglia doesn’t get in trouble, Dottore.” (It’s a very bad mimic of what must be one of his superiors.) “Little Tartaglia is almost eighteen, the kid can keep himself out of trouble,” he goes on grumbling. “Besides, once he’s dead-set on fighting, there’s no stopping him. Absolute headache. He can go and get into fights, for all I care, I’m not his keeper.”

Diluc bites his lip in a weak attempt to conceal the grin that threatens to show on his face. It’s been… quite a while since he last felt the urge to smile. The past years really haven’t been filled with much more than misery.

“Do you have younger siblings? You look like the kind who’d understand my pain.”

“Perhaps I just thought your complaining was amusing,” Diluc replies, trying to ban Kaeya from his mind. He’s been plagued by him enough, can he not catch a break for once?

“You think I’m entertaining?” Dottore offers him a sharkish smile. Diluc wants to reach out and touch his teeth. He wonders if they’re sharp enough to puncture his finger. “That might just be the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far.”

“I did not say that.”

“It was implied.”

Diluc rolls his eyes. “You act like a child.”

“A little childishness never hurt anybody.” Dottore sighs and fights himself out of the blankets. “Did you keep track of time, Diluc?”

“No? Was I supposed to?”

Dottore laughs and climbs to his feet. “No. You are my guest, after all.”

Something in his voice rings the alarm bells in Diluc’s brain, and he wrestles against the blankets burrowing him in the nest. 

“Let me help you,” Dottore says and offers his hand. His glove is so white and pristine, Diluc fears the mere colour of his own gloves will stain them. 

He stares at the offered hand, limbs still tangled in the blankets. 

“What is it?” Dottore asks, tilting his head. The grin on his face is a challenge. “Do you not trust me?”

“Obviously not,” Diluc huffs, though it feels like a lie, considering he did come back, and considering he reaches out and takes the offered hand. Dottore does not point it out. 

“I have a proposal for you,” Dottore says and clasps his hands together. Diluc pats down his wrinkled clothes and nods. “I might be rather inclined to… let a few secrets slip, should you be willing to pay a price.”

Diluc frowns at him. “Is my company not price enough?”

He’s delighted to find Dottore speechless for a total of four heartbeats. “No, no, you see, my dearest Diluc, your company is already the price you pay for my company. Consider it a special offer, because I assure you, my company is rather priceless—”

Diluc waves him off and returns to the desk, fingers tapping on the books. “Okay. So, how about in exchange for information, I will not kill you.”

Dottore laughs and steps closer to him, arms outstretched like he’s introducing a rather exciting performance to the audience. “Aren’t you overestimating yourself a little? How cute.” He tilts his head. “Hm. No. That won’t do.” 

“Anything you want in exchange for information?”

“What would said information be worth to you?”

Diluc hums. “That depends entirely on the kind of information.”

“Anything you could imagine, if I happen to let it slip.”

“A lot of variables based on how you feel.”

Dottore smirks. “That’s how these sort of deals work.”

“It’s a lot of risk factors for me,” Diluc points out and leans onto the desk. “I’m sure you understand my hesitation in taking such a risk.”

“Of course I do,” Dottore says and his curls bounce as he inclines his head. Diluc hates them a lot. “Which is why I have a small suggestion. An exercise in trust, if you will.”

Diluc sighs. “Alright. I might be willing to listen.”

“Oh, how very cooperative of you,” Dottore purrs and places his hand on the desk, right by Diluc’s. Diluc does not pull away. Is this whatever exercise of trust he was talking about? “You should sneak back to whichever little room you’re staying at–” Diluc does not dare to consider how he knows the kind of establishment he’s living at during his stay “–get your precious beauty sleep—not like it’s much needed—and after a good night’s rest, you’ll be able to see how truly genius this idea is.”

“Not much of an idea you offer–” Dottore presses his gloved finger against Diluc’s lips and shushes him. There’s a part of Diluc that plays with the thought of pulling off the glove with his teeth. 

“Just think about it. I shall meet you in the library in three days.”

“Three days again?”

“Now, now, we mustn’t break a pattern that works, must we?” He winks at him and pats Diluc’s cheek. “As a little treat I have a much safer way for you to leave today.”

Diluc swallows and still manages to roll his eyes. “Fine.”

“Fabulous! Alright, if you may follow me.” Dottore spins around and leads Diluc further into the room, through rows and rows of cluttered shelves.

“You sure hoard a lot,” he points out yet again. 

Dottore chuckles. “Charming, isn’t it? I believe it has personality.”

“Sure,” Diluc mutters. It’s messy, that’s what it is. Unsurprisingly, hidden in all that mess, is a secret doorway. Diluc doesn’t even want to ask. “Where will this lead me?”

“Out,” Dottore replies and turns to him. “You might feel a bit lost once you’ve made it back outside. Do you need a light?”

“I think I’ll be fine.” 

“In that case.” Dottore gestures at the hole in the wall. It’s huge enough to fit, well, if Diluc didn’t know better, he’d even go as far as to say a dragon.  

Diluc stands by the doorway to what seems to be an endless, pitch black corridor. “Alright.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll be leaving then.”

“Yes. Do that.”

Diluc still doesn’t get to move. “I will.”

Dottore nods and folds his hands behind his back. “Okay.” 

“Not very talkative now, are you?” Diluc teases. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Hah,” Dottore huffs, but he has that expression again, the one where he just stares at Diluc. “Are you trying to surpass me at clownery?”

“I would never dare.”

Dottore raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, you do have further opportunities to prove it.”

Now Diluc might not be Kaeya in terms of reading people, but he likes to think he’s not entirely dense. Dottore is conspicuously hesitant about it to the point where Diluc half expects him to grab his wrist and tell him to stay or something.

Or perhaps he’s trying to come up with a plan to dispose of Diluc. For which he needs him to stay. In which case Diluc should leave and not come back.

“We’ll see about that,” he says, and steps into the dark corridor. “Have a good night.”

“Ah, is it that late already, huh?” Dottore chuckles to himself and the sound follows Diluc all the way into the dark. 

(Three days later, Diluc really shouldn’t have been surprised to find himself back at the library. And yet. Another three days later, the same spiel happens. And then again. And again.)

“Oh, wow, you’re uglier than I thought. Makes sense you wear that mask all the time.” 

Diluc slowly lifts his gaze from the book and narrows them at the tall ginger by their table. Dottore seems entirely unphased by the insult.

“Young people these days are so rude,” he sighs and turns to look up at the kid. “Why are you here, Little Tartaglia?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Maybe if you respected me.”

“Pulcinella said—”

Dottore groans. “Of course Pulcinella said. Well, Pulcinella can kindly go fuck himself, I’m not a babysitter.”

The ginger kid, Little Tartaglia, crosses his arms in front of his chest and pouts. “Pulcinella said,” he repeats with emphasis, “that I should tag along with you for another day to better learn about my future tasks as a Harbinger.”

“It’s my free day, Tartaglia. There’s nothing for you to learn.”

Diluc follows the conversation attentively from behind his book. Dottore has leaned back on his chair and is looking increasingly unamused. It’s a nice expression on his face, the way his forehead is all wrinkled. Maybe it’s just his face. Diluc has caught himself enamored by those stupid expressions quite often now.

“Then you have time to go over the directives with me,” Tartaglia says. “That’s what Pulcinella said, anyway. But I’m sure you don’t want to do that!”

Dottore claps his hands. “You’re so smart, Tartaglia.”

“Which is why I have the perfect idea!” Tartaglia goes on, and Diluc watches the way Dottore’s face falls and he slumps further down his chair. That man is so expressive. Diluc wonders if he even realises it.

“Please spare me–”

“We should fight.”

Diluc almost chokes on his spit at the way Dottore shoots up on the chair and stares at Tartaglia. ”What?”

“We should fight!” Tartaglia looks so very proud of himself and Diluc remembers that, yep, he’s probably mere seventeen years old, and yep, it’s evident that his childhood had been rather fucked up. “It’s training! It’s not going over directives, and you have time since it’s your free day and—”

“I also, in case you haven’t noticed, have company on my free day.” Dottore gestures at Diluc. “Because it’s my free day and I can do what I want.”

“Does that include allowing strangers to read in our library?” Tartaglia asks, all innocent. Diluc snaps the book closed and they both look at him. 

“He is a friend,” Dottore says firmly and gets up. He doesn’t need to gesture for Diluc to follow suit. “And if you keep your annoying little mouth shut about this and find something to do that doesn’t require my presence, I will greatly reimburse you.” 

Tartaglia tilts his head. “What do you consider worth my silence?”

“You may battle every single one of the men under my command at your desire, and be the first to test some of the machinery I’m working on.”

“I don’t think I’m interested in the machinery, but the rest sounds pretty neat.”

Dottore smirks. “It’s robots I intend to use in battle.”

“Perhaps I’m a bit interested in the machinery.” Tartaglia lights up like a kid on his birthday. “Gotchu. No one will hear a single word from me. Though it is rather foolish of you to meet up so openly in the library.”

“Yeah, yeah, off you go.” Dottore waves him off and Tartaglia skips away. “He’s gonna find someone else to spar for today. I’m sure there’s people in the palace more than willing to beat him up.” Dottore rolls his eyes. “In any case, let’s return to a more private place. It is rather foolish to be out here, indeed.”

“Does that usually work on him?” Diluc asks as he follows Dottore into the elevator. 

“Absolutely! He’s fun and easy like that.”

Diluc promptly chokes on the air he’s breathing. “Sorry?”

“Ah,” Dottore smirks and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Not like that. But it is always good to know your co-worker’s weaknesses.” 

“His weakness is fighting?”

Dottore puts a finger on his lips and winks at Diluc. “Something like it.”

“Not sharing secrets with a stranger, I understand.” 

Dottore chuckles. “There simply isn’t much more to say about Little Tartaglia. He does nothing else but cause trouble, get into trouble, and try to get himself killed.”

“Sounds like your average Fatui employee,” Diluc shrugs and leans back against the wall of the elevator. 

“Yeah, but he’s also a Harbinger, so there should be more to his immediate problem solving than murder.”

Diluc scoffs. “You’re telling me that isn’t the standard Fatui problem solving?”

“As a matter of fact, we do try to solve things diplomatically.” 

“There’s a lot to unpack from your definition of diplomacy.”

Dottore chuckles. “You’re rather witty, aren’t you, Master Diluc? I find myself quite charmed by it.”

Diluc merely rolls his eyes and allows his hair to fall into his face. “What’s on the agenda today, Dottore?”

“Whatever you’d like to do! Still caught up in your research, aren’t you?”

“Sort of. But I wouldn’t mind switching things up if you have any suggestions.”

Dottore laughs, and Diluc can’t shake the feeling that he has stepped into a trap. “I like the way you’re thinking.”

This time, the way down to Dottore’s nest—Diluc can’t help but call it that, it fits too well—feels a lot shorter than the last time, and maybe that's the fault of the uneasy feeling in Diluc’s chest returning. 

“Do you consider me a friend or a threat?” he asks, and Dottore’s hand stills on the doorknob. Diluc’s eyes trail over the seams of the white glove.

“You are, in fact, both, are you not?”

“I don't know,” Diluc shrugs, “that’s what I’m asking. What am I to you?” He’s acting a lot braver asking than he feels.

Dottore pushes the door open with an ease Diluc won’t ever get quite used to. “I consider you a friend, officially,” he says after a moment of pondering. This time, when he passes his desk, he pulls his gloves off and drops them on a pile of books. “But between the two of us, you are quite the threat.” Something glints in his eyes when they rest on Diluc. “However, it might not be in the sense that you might think of.”

What the heck does that mean?

“Is there any other sense?”

Dottore leans against the desk and crosses his legs at the ankles. Diluc can’t help his gaze being drawn to his legs. 

“Indeed there is.”

“I suppose you don’t intend to elaborate?” Diluc asks, and because he’s feeling bold, he steps closer. “I suppose it is yet another of your many secrets?”

Dottore tilts his head and his teeth scrape over his bottom lip. “Do you mind my many secrets, Master Diluc?” 

Something inside of Diluc stutters, and something inside of him ignites, and he’s moving before his brain can catch up. He’s up and in Dottore’s personal space, met with the head-on stare of red, red eyes. “I do in fact find them rather bothersome.”

“Then I shall share one of them with you,” Dottore offers, his voice dipping into something so low and gravely, it sends shivers down Diluc’s spine. A hand catches on his wrist, cold fingers push under his glove, resting against his pulse point. “I, too, am rather familiar with Mondstadt.”

It doesn’t feel like a secret at all, sounds like it’s cheating, but Dottore’s fingertips press against the inside of Diluc’s wrist, and they’re so very cold—he wonders how much his pulse has sped up, and how satisfied that observation must make Dottore. 

“Is that really a secret or just a deflection from your actual secrets?” 

Dottore leans in, eyes fluttering over every part of Diluc’s face, and Diluc can map out the structure of his scar in turn, can study the way it cuts off half his eyebrow’s growth, the way it stretches all the way up to his hairline, the slow healing of skin. 

“I bet you’d like to figure that out, huh?”

“Very much so,” Diluc retorts, quiet and still focused on mapping out the irregularities of Dottore’s face. A face that glows faintly red at his words, and Diluc bites back a smile.

“What’s stopping you?” Dottore’s voice sounds gentler now, curious rather than challenging. 

Diluc is still overly aware of the way three of Dottore’s fingers are placed on his skin. It feels a little like tiny sparks of electricity traveling through his veins. “You want me to force you into opening up?”

“Is that the solution you’ve come up with? Violence?” His face is still impossibly close, and Diluc wonders whether he intends to kiss him. He’s not quite sure whether he’d mind. It’s a thrilling realisation, kindling the ignited spark. 

“Is it not the one you would resort to, as well?”

“Such frivolous assumptions,” Dottore hums, slowly trailing his fingers down the veins of Diluc’s arm. Under his touch, Diluc’s skin burns. “Is that what you think of me?”

Yes, Diluc wants to say, but the word burns on his tongue. “You are a Fatui after all,” is what he settles on. It expresses the same, but feels like direct, less like he’s actually insulting him. 

Dottore laughs quietly, a low sound vibrating through his body, and Diluc feels warm, unable to take his eyes off his face. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way scarred skin is pulled over muscle and bone with the movement. 

“I suppose I am,” Dottore offers, tilts his head. A blue lock bounces on his forehead, and Diluc can only barely stop himself from flicking it away, from pushing his hands into Dottore’s hair and pulling his head back, to kiss the laughter right out of his mouth.

The thought settles deep in his stomach, sinking down heavily. Diluc stumbles back, pulls his arm away from the burning touch. Something flickers across Dottore’s face, and Diluc thinks he’s familiar with it, but he can’t place it. 

“Surely this is not news to you,” Dottore says, bringing his hands in front of his chest. Diluc watches the way his fingers rub at skin, gently massaging muscles, and he needs a moment to realise Dottore has said something. 

“No,” he replies, his breath slowly returning to him. His skin burns where Dottore has touched it, and Diluc accepts it as what it is: a pleasant tingling, one he itches for, craves, but won’t seek out. “But you’re not just a Fatui recruit either, are you?”

The signs have been there from the very beginning, yet Diluc refused to see them, swept up in the thrill of doing something forbidden, of gaining access to valuable information, of company—company he does not mind at all, despite his status as a Fatui. A harbinger, he realises now, the way he had treated Little Tartaglia, the way he is able to wander around and do as he pleases, even when it includes bringing a stranger into Zapolyarny Palace. Repeatedly. 

“Your perception is flawless,” Dottore hums, but there’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and it almost makes Diluc smile. “Or perhaps it has been a deduction.” 

Something is still brewing in Dottore’s eyes, something dark and akin to hurt, something he doesn’t bother hiding, or perhaps isn’t even aware of himself. 

Diluc notices though, but he doesn’t know what to do with the information. 

“That makes you a threat to me as well,” Diluc ends up saying. The corner of Dottore’s lip ticks up.

“How exciting, don’t you agree?” 

Diluc agrees, but he’s quite enchanted by the way blue locks bounce with the movement of Dottore’s head, the way his expression lights up, the way his fingers curl around each other, and Diluc finds himself craving for their touch, for them to curl around his fingers, his jaw, his waist, his thighs.

He, of course, says none of it, hides it in his stomach alongside the thought of kissing him, locks it all away.

Dottore places some books back in Diluc’s hands, and they settle back down in the blanket nest. Dottore didn’t put his gloves back on, and Diluc considers taking off his own as well.

It feels like crossing a line though, so he doesn’t. Dottore’s feet meet his calf, and Diluc bites his lip to hide a smile. 

This right here—this feels familiar. It feels comforting. It feels as though whatever spark just burned so brightly between them earlier hadn’t been ignited at all. This is what they’ve done the past weeks, flipping through each and every book from Zapolyarny’s library, reading out interesting or funny passages to each other. 

It’s a comfort Diluc doesn’t see much value in when it comes to his long term goal, when it comes to his goals at all, but he can’t seem to stay away. He can’t help but want this. Perhaps, he thinks, it’s time to review his goals. 

Maybe he is allowed to enjoy things just for the sake of enjoying them.

“There’s ruin guards in Mondstadt, too, isn’t there?” 

“Yeah,” Diluc stretches his legs out, bumping his feet against Dottore’s legs. “There’s some in the ruins of the Thousand Wind Temples.”

“The classic ones, no?”

“As far as I know.”

Dottore hums and burrows himself in the blankets. “Perhaps I’ll take a look at them some time.”

The exclamation nags at Diluc, the mistrust blooming in his chest, and reality slowly seeps back into his body. 

He tends to forget what they actually are quite easily, when they’re sinking into the warmth of the blankets, when Dottore reads him a passage on economy in his soothing voice, when Diluc forgets his grief and anger, because he feels safe and welcome.

And how fucked up is that? Feeling safe around a Fatui, a Harbinger, and he doesn’t even know which one. Diluc has not thought this through well, and he fears it’s too late to get out of it now.

The worst part is that he doesn’t want to. He likes the company, he likes the comfort, the warmth, the way Dottore’s forehead wrinkles when he reads, or the way he pushes blue locks out of his face, or the way his leg feels cold against Diluc’s toes. 

“Perhaps,” Dottore goes on, tilting his head. His eyes rest on Diluc with a curious glint, patient and pondering. “Perhaps you could even accompany me. Incognito, of course, as I suppose you would not wish to taint your image in Mondstadt by being seen in the company of a Harbinger.”

For some reason, the comment makes Diluc bristle. As though Dottore is implying he’d be embarrassed about it. As though anyone in Mondstadt should even care–

And yet, Dottore is right, of course, but the thought that he considers Diluc someone concerned with his reputation is rather annoying. Not that he’s wrong. It just feels weird.

“You crave my company that badly?” he asks instead, and Dottore’s cheeks flush the most beautiful tint of pink. 

“Quite the contrary,” he says and clears his throat. He does, curiously, not meet Diluc’s eyes. “I figured you’d rather not have me run around your beloved land without being able to keep an eye on me.” He looks at him then, lips pulled into a devilish grin. “Or rather, our beloved land. Not that you’d buy that, coming from me, am I right?”

“Should you really be from Mondstadt,” Diluc starts, and then he falters, because he’s unsure what difference that would make. Dottore is still Dottore, one of the Fatui Harbingers, and he is still Diluc’s enemy, even if he doesn’t seem all that dangerous.

Dottore is also considering him patiently, his head tilted ever so slightly, and it reminds Diluc of the dogs roaming Mondstadt’s street, waiting for a treat or pet. “Do go on.”

“I’ve had nothing smart to say,” Diluc admits. He leans back in the blankets and closes his eyes. “I suppose it doesn’t matter much.”

“Hm,” Dottore hums. “It does seem like a topic close to your heart. It’s not hard to tell how important your home is to you.”

Something inside of Diluc cracks open at the mention of home, leaving him falling and gasping for air. Dottore is right—home is important to him, and yet he has thrown it all away. Lost the most important part, and then—he’s abandoned it all. He ran away, and he is now not a single step closer to his goal than he had been before.

That, too, is a lie. Diluc has learned a lot during the afternoons with Dottore, has tried to stay conscious of the fact that there should be a clean line between Dottore letting him nap in his bed and the Fatui somehow getting a drake to attack his father. And he’s not even sure how or why, or if it was intentional at all.

Hell, he doesn’t even know for certain the Fatui have anything to do with it at all—it was merely a hunch, and this is where it landed him two years later.

Somewhere in between his regret and sorrow, and the sound of Dottore’s breathing and page-turning, Diluc’s consciousness slips away from him. 

The fear in Kaeya’s eyes haunts him, followed by the rattling of his father’s breath, the sound of never-ending rain drumming onto rooftops, the bellowing of the drake, the shackling weight of his father’s delusion resting in Diluc’s hand, the weight of his own vision as he places it down in the headquarters.

Hair tickles his forehead, and it takes Diluc a moment to wake up fully. Fingertips trail over his face, tucking wayward strands back behind his ears, and when he opens his eyes, he’s met with Dottore’s smile, soft and content, and Diluc immediately closes his eyes again. His heart is racing in his chest. He hopes Dottore does not notice. 

What’s he so close for anyway?

“Apologies,” Dottore says quietly, the smile still audible in his voice, and he only pulls back after running his fingers over the freckles on Diluc’s cheek. 

Only when Diluc is certain that Dottore has brought distance between them again, does he open his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It is quite alright. You didn’t seem very uncomfortable.” 

Which is true, because Diluc assumes that had he felt uncomfortable, there’d be no chance he would’ve fallen asleep in the first place. 

“And I don’t mind it much,” Dottore goes on, turning a page in the book he’s allegedly reading, “we can’t always talk and chat the day away. Lest we run out of conversation topics!”

Diluc wrestles himself into an upright position and watches Dottore. His heart is still steadily hammering against his ribcage. “What did you apologize for?” he asks, reaching up to loosen his ponytail. 

Dottore stares at him as the hair falls over Diluc’s back, and Diluc pulls it over a shoulder to comb his fingers through. “Well,” Dottore says slowly, “essentially for touching you, I assume.”

Diluc did not expect such sort of honesty. In fact, he’d expect denial, or deflection. Instead, Dottore looks at him, a sheepish smile tugging on his lips, and Diluc can’t stop the corner of his own lips from ticking up. 

“You’re smiling,” Dottore mumbles. “You’re also–” He bites his lip and looks away. “In any case, I hope I did not make you uncomfortable by crossing boundaries.”

Diluc hums. “You did not.” 

“Well, that’s good.” Dottore clears his throat and gets up. “I hate to interrupt this,” he says and Diluc scrambles to his feet as well.

“Time has run out. I understand.” 

“As unfortunate as it is.” Dottore grabs his gloves and, interestingly enough, his mask. “Work calls.”

Diluc follows him to the tunnel at the other side of the room. Dottore’s mask covers most of his face, his scarred skin, but it leaves out enough for Diluc to see the bright skin of his cheek, the sharp teeth, the brightness in his eyes.

“I wish you much success, then,” Diluc says. His glance keeps getting stuck on the exposed cheek, the corner of Dottore’s lip. And then, because he hates leaving without having taken at least one little risk, he leans in and presses his lips to the exposed corner of Dottore’s lips. “I’ll be back here in three days.” 

Dottore makes a little sound in the back of his throat and dips his head. “Until then,” he replies, his cheek now a delightful shade of pink. “My pleasure.”

Diluc offers him a bow and ducks into the tunnel before he can regret his decision or before Dottore can catch him. His heart is jumping in his chest as he makes his way through the tunnel.