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He had been ten years old at the time.
A traveling merchant — passing through Mondstadt to join the April festivities — found him hiding behind the legs of his newly appointed guardian. Struck by the boy’s fragile shyness, the man, with the tender protectiveness of someone already a grandfather, crouched down to meet him eye to eye. With a gentle hand that smelled of clay and long roads, he brushed the boy’s hair and whispered that he must surely be a good child, and that there was no reason to feel cornered in the land of freedom.
To coax out a smile, the old man rummaged through the cart he pushed merrily over the cobblestone streets and produced a delicate cloth doll. With button eyes, a summer rose sewn into its hair, and hand-painted clothes, it became the very first toy Kaeya had ever owned. And he cherished it.
He grew so deeply and wholeheartedly attached to it that even Lord Crepus eventually offered a gentle warning, afraid that the boy was already too old for such devotion. But Kaeya was far too quiet for his own good, and in that doll he had found a key to his inner world. Through whispered play and small imagined conversations, Lord Ragnvindr and the housekeeper learned all his frustrations. When Kaeya fell sick and, too scared to trouble his loving caretakers, confided his aches to the toy. Or when nightmares tormented him at night, and the next morning he clung to the doll with a fierce protectiveness — as though he needed it, all through the day, to keep the dark memories away.
Such pure and absolute devotion planted a small seed of jealousy in the heart of the household’s only child, Diluc. Not over the object itself, but over what it meant. Troubled by a hollow feeling he could not name and, above all, jealous of the attention Kaeya shared with that intruder of cloth, he demanded a doll of his own. Once he had it, however, he clung not to his new toy, but to Kaeya, diving headfirst into the make-believe universe the younger boy had created.
It was well known that Diluc was a storm of energy. His lack of interest in pretend-play was transparent, and even Kaeya, two years younger, noticed the effort behind the performances. But he also saw the kindness driving that clumsy little hand. Warmed by such innocent affection and moved by Diluc’s dedication, he tasted, for the first time, the selfishness of love — choosing to ignore the boredom flickering across his friend’s face.
Even so, Diluc never complained. There was one game that excited them more than all the others — a secret one, played hidden beneath the bed, embarrassed even though neither of them knew why. It was a simple kind of pretend-play, the sort only innocence could invent: there were two dolls, and there were the two of them, lying on their stomachs on the wooden floor, shoulder to shoulder, their silhouettes merging in the light that filtered through the window. And there was the slow turn of their wrists, tilting the dolls toward one another in small, hesitant arcs, like petals closing.
Back then, they pulled away with stifled giggles and burning cheeks, both intoxicated by a sweetness they did not know how to name but that weighed in their chests like a precious secret. They never revealed those games to adult eyes. Not out of guilt, but from an unspoken agreement that the moments belonged solely to them — a world for two. And when their noses brushed in the dark, the smiles they shared seemed better when kept only for each other.
Eventually, time did what it does best, and they grew up. The cloth dolls were relegated to the bottom of a chest, replaced by the cold weight of steel, swords and shields. Fingers once soft, meant for caresses and little stage plays, roughened and reddened from training, hardened by labor.
And yet, in the quiet of his room, Kaeya hadn’t abandoned his childhood habits. Ashamed and painfully aware of his age, he still spun imaginary tales for those two figures of cloth. On Mondstadt’s coldest nights, when guilt coiled around his chest like poisonous ivy and drove him away from the warmth of those he still had left, he sought refuge in the cramped darkness of his wardrobe. It was pathetic — he knew it — a grown man of his stature, cornered by a sadness that shaped itself into the faces of his loved ones, seeking comfort in the laps of two dolls.
There, in the dark, he still made them kiss. He sat them on his knees, facing each other, and in the stillness imagined their button eyes shining with all the things he had once dreamed of hearing.
It was a foolish want, yet a want nonetheless — a childish wish that faded beneath the cruel weight of reality; beneath a future that had burst into his life like a blade, cutting in one swift motion the fragile crocheted threads that once tied his pinky finger to Diluc’s — the same threads he had once believed unbreakable.
And now, years later, Kaeya found himself here. Not on the warm wooden floor, but at the table of a sunlit café, light dancing over silverware and wine glasses. The sweet aroma of Padisarah Pudding and fresh coffee lingered in the air, a contrast almost cruel beside the bitterness rising in his throat.
On the opposite side of the table, Kaveh was laughing at something, his exuberance filling the space. Alhaitham watched him quietly, a kind of enchanted tenderness softening the usually analytical sharpness of his gaze. And beside him sat Diluc.
Diluc, whose fingers calloused from blades and fire, held his glass with a restrained elegance. Diluc, who now, after all this time, was performing make-believe for him once more.
The script was different, and so were the characters. No longer two cloth dolls, but sworn brothers who could no longer repeat the same vows, stubbornly reenacting the farce of a closeness they had long since buried beneath ashes and clashing steel.
Taking advantage of Kaveh and Alhaitham’s distraction, Kaeya leaned just slightly to the side, his shoulder nearly brushing Diluc’s.
“Luc, could you pass me the sugar?”
Diluc nodded without hesitation, utterly unbothered as he reached for the porcelain pot. His complete indifference never failed to surprise Kaeya. There wasn’t a trace of annoyance in him — no irritation, no decipherable negativity; at most, the stubborn sunlight pricked his sensitive eyes, giving him a brooding, taciturn look.
Kaeya wanted to reach out and smooth away the crease of discomfort between those red brows, but even he knew his limits. It was humiliating enough that a drunken decision had dragged him into this farce. With every whispered word that afternoon, shame carved a deeper hollow in his chest.
Honestly, he didn’t know who was more unhinged: himself, for having imagined all this, or Diluc, for agreeing to it. What could have passed behind those crimson eyes when Kaeya — dizzy, desperate — had pleaded for him to pretend to be his lover? And why, by the blessed underground realm of Khaenri’ah, had he not refused? Was it some eccentric form of torture? Did Diluc hate him enough to indulge his whims just to watch him crumble in embarrassment?
“Are you all right?”
Diluc’s voice reached him, closer than expected. Kaeya jumped, and in an automatic gesture brought his glass to his lips. The bitterness of the wine granted him a flimsy sobriety — a convenient excuse for the flush exposing his misery.
“Kaeya?”
“I think I should be asking you that,” Kaeya finally replied, feigning composure. A glassy smile curved his thin lips. “Sorry about the situation.”
“What situation?”
“Luc,” Kaeya repeated, guilt winding itself with a familiar, bitter tenderness. It was the only explanation he offered.
Diluc’s frown deepened, as though faced with some tedious ordeal.
“You used to be a better actor,” he murmured quietly against Kaeya’s ear. “If you keep saying things like that during the act, you’ll ruin everything.”
Kaeya risked a glance at Kaveh and Alhaitham. A trapped breath escaped him. They were lost in their own private universe, orbiting one another with the inevitable gravity of people who argue and adore in the same breath. The outside world was mere scenery.
It was an affection as eccentric as it was endearing; for Kaeya, it struck like a tender ache of envy.
“I believe the quality of our performance won’t be a problem.”
“Even so. Using pet names between lovers is natural behavior. Apologizing for it is idiotic and sounds fake. At least try to appear authentic.”
Kaeya parted his lips for a sharp retort — ready to scold Diluc for scolding him in the middle of a favor he himself had begged for — but the words dissolved in his throat. Diluc’s calm indulgence pressed painfully against his ribs.
“So delicate and subtle. You should consider a career in theater directing. Your ability to guide actors is truly touching.”
“Stop thinking of this as a performance. Think of it as practice. A habit you forgot.”
“A habit?”
“Like picking up an instrument after years. Your fingers are rusty, but the music’s still there. You just need to remember it.”
He considered the thought, wanting to mock both himself and Diluc for taking the charade so seriously. But he couldn’t. Knowing that Diluc was indulging his own pettiness and caprice was strangely comforting; it reminded him of their childhood, of the gentle spoiling hidden in small acts of affection. It was the same boy who pretended boredom but spent hours playing with him just to make him smile.
Ah, Kaeya thought, his heart stumbling in his chest, this is terrible for my heart…
Diluc sighed — a touch dramatic, yet threaded with a subtle, harmonious note of amusement that made Kaeya turn his head back on instinct, like a flower following the sun against its will.
To his surprise, there was a minuscule, fleeting smile at the corner of Diluc’s mouth, so faint it might have been imagined.
“What?” Kaeya asked, suddenly defensive, feeling strangely exposed by that rare smile.
“Nothing,” Diluc replied. Then he shook his head, as though arriving at an unavoidable conclusion. “It’s just that sometimes, Kaeya… your stupidity is downright charming. The monumental way you complicate your own life is almost a talent.”
Kaeya opened his mouth, then shut it again. The remark disarmed him completely, hovering far too close to being an actual compliment. It was the strangest, most terrifying kind of provocation he had ever been subjected to — and he could hardly believe that Diluc, of all people in the world, was accusing him of making things complicated.
“I…”
His attempt at speaking was cut short by a loud, enthusiastic slap on the table that made him jolt like a criminal caught in the act.
“Sorry to interrupt this… intense exchange of glances,” Kaveh’s melodious voice chimed in, a touch too cheerful. “Alhaitham here just reminded me of that place I wanted to show you. A terrible shame to drag two lovebirds out of their cozy nest, but life calls!”
Kaeya blinked slowly, dragged back into reality. He reached for his wine as if it were a lifeline, draining the glass in a single swallow in the desperate hope that the alcohol would drown both the embarrassment and the lingering sweetness Diluc had left on his tongue.
Beside him, Diluc rose and straightened his wrinkled shirt.
“Apologies,” he said courteously, his face already shuttered behind the usual mask of impassivity. “Earlier today, we were also reluctant to pull you out of your affectionate little refuge. Seems we all ended up in similar situations.”
It was a perfect counterattack. Kaveh, caught in his own trap, flushed. He turned to Alhaitham for support, finding only the scribe’s icy stare — as though the blame for this mirrored teasing was entirely his.
Kaeya almost failed to stifle a laugh. He hadn’t expected Diluc to defend them.
Distracted, still savoring the wine and the tiny victory, he barely registered the hand appearing in his peripheral vision. He only realized what it was when Diluc’s fingers — firm and familiarly warm — wrapped around his, pulling him gently to his feet. The contact was brief, but enough to leave the memory of a supportive heat on his skin. Before Kaeya could even stammer a thank-you, Diluc was already pushing his chair back toward the table with a quiet, automatic gesture.
Watching the entire scene, Kaveh turned to Alhaitham with an exasperated sigh of envy.
“You see? You could be like that, you know? Chivalry doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Alhaitham ignored him with a dismissive huff, offering some dry comment that — somehow — actually seemed to lift Kaveh’s mood.
Meanwhile, Diluc turned to Kaeya.
“I’ll pay our bill.”
“Wait, how much do I—”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Diluc, wait!”
Diluc elegantly ignored him, walking away with long strides. Kaeya could only sigh, frustrated. It felt as though he had no control over anything. And the bitter part of him blamed itself — after all, he had built this cage with his own hands. The idea of pretending to be lovers just to quiet his own inner demons — his envy, his hungry ego — had come entirely from him.
This was his whim being granted.
The problem was that he had never expected Diluc to accept, much less to commit so intensely to the role. It hurt. Every act of feigned gentleness was sunlight on the skin of a man who had lived his entire life in shadow. It warmed him, yes — fed the foolish, dream-sick part of him he kept chained in the deepest cellar of himself. But it was a warmth that scorched, a heat that burned without bleeding and reduced his heart to a trembling pile of ash.
Pathetic…
“Seems you Mondstadters take chivalry very seriously,” Kaveh’s voice broke through his thoughts. The architect approached, a faint smile curling his lips. “Is splitting the bill not a thing there?”
“That’s not quite it,” Kaeya replied, restoring his mask with the ease of long practice. His smile came readily, the perfect mirror of amused exasperation. “Diluc is simply dramatic. Typical habits of a young master raised with too much luxury and a penchant for solving problems with his wealth.”
“Young master?”
“Surely you’ve heard of the Ragnvindr Clan — owners of the wine empire that supplies all of Mondstadt?” Kaeya let the question linger, feeling a small, selfish thrill as Kaveh’s eyes widened in recognition.
The chance to talk distracted him enough to loosen the grip on his own restraint. Unexpectedly — or perhaps not entirely — Kaeya found comfort in boasting about Diluc, recounting his achievements as though they were partly his own. He spoke of how, before even reaching twenty-five, Diluc had not only inherited his father’s legacy but reforged it in steel and flame, guiding it to a resounding success that stretched far beyond Mondstadt’s borders.
His admiration, unfiltered and painfully genuine, seeped through in lavish adjectives and in the way his expression softened, losing its razor edges of frost.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speak so sincerely about anything, Kaeya.”
Kaeya fell silent, struck by the truth of it. For a moment, the scents of Sumeru vanished. He was fifteen again, standing in the cold corridors of Dawn Winery, watching the red-haired boy practicing his swordsmanship in the courtyard.
Back then, praising Diluc was as natural as breathing. He was the sun around which Kaeya’s small world orbited. Speaking of his courage, his strength, his unyielding kindness was simply stating the most basic facts of the universe. Kaeya had been the shadow stretching itself gratefully toward the light that blessed it.
The ironic part was that, buried beneath cynicism and time, that innocent admiration remained — untouched, crystalline, protected by the very frost of his own defenses. Diluc was still the measure of things. The gold standard of chivalry, integrity, and strength against which Kaeya secretly compared himself — and always found himself lacking. If he could be even half the knight Diluc once was… would he regain the respect he had longed for since childhood?
“Kaeya? Are you okay?”
Kaeya met Kaveh’s ruby eyes — red like the pair he knew, but colder, missing the burning ember he was accustomed to.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”
At that moment, Diluc and Alhaitham returned. Their impenetrable expressions formed an almost comical contrast, one that managed to free Kaeya from the weight of his thoughts. Blinking away the haze of melancholy, he pulled the mask back over himself in an instant, the smile returning to his lips as though it had never left. But it was Kaveh who broke the silent tension. Kaeya suspected him of being far more perceptive than he cared to deal with — yet he didn’t mind. There was something inherently gentle in Kaveh that made Kaeya feel comfortable enough to let a few cracks show.
He watched as the architect took his hands and, in a conspiratorial tone, changed the subject.
“I just remembered, Kaeya — you need to help me choose a fabric for the new curtains at the Palace of Alcazarzaray. A Mondstadter gentleman with such exquisite taste is indispensable,” he declared, tugging him forward with friendly insistence. “Come on, come on, the other two can carry the bags. Men of action, not aesthetics, clearly.”
They headed straight into the bustling main street. Soon, conversation with Kaveh flowed nonstop. He always had something to say — observations about architecture, dry-witted anecdotes, clever remarks delivered with such sharp clarity that Kaeya found himself laughing genuinely. It was refreshing, almost strange, to be around someone so keenly intelligent who chose to wield that brilliance for the frivolous and the social — a stark contrast to the calculating minds Kaeya usually surrounded himself with.
Over Kaveh’s shoulder, he noticed Alhaitham trailing a few steps behind, nose buried in a worn book, his presence more like an accessory Kaveh refused to leave behind than an active participant. That role, silent, voluntarily removed, made Kaeya’s gaze seek Diluc of its own accord.
Diluc was already looking at him. He kept a respectable distance, but once caught, he moved closer. Kaeya became keenly aware of him — the way Diluc’s elongated shadow merged with his on the uneven stone pavement, the rhythm of his boots forming a soft counterpoint to Kaeya’s own steps.
It was strangely comforting. Kaveh, generous with his chatter, directed comments about pediments and arcades toward Diluc, and Diluc responded with quiet interest. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but his sharp mind surfaced in concise, pointed observations. Yet somehow, he always pulled Kaeya back into the center of the conversation. A small gesture, a subtle tilt of his head toward him, as if afraid Kaeya might feel excluded. As if he wanted Kaeya to have the spotlight.
It was exasperating. An excessive attentiveness, behavior befitting a perfect lover. He was so dedicated to his role, so committed to the make-believe, it was infuriating. Kaeya tried not to sigh when the four stopped in front of a trinket shop for tourists and Diluc, without asking, purchased a small crystal globe filled with swirling Kalpalata petals dancing in a tiny sandstorm. He handed it over with a neutral expression, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to gift him something so thoughtful.
Worse still was when the greasy smell of fried dumplings filled the air a bit later, and before Kaeya could even consider it, a warm paper bag was placed in his hands, translucent with oil.
“Diluc?” he asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice.
Diluc didn’t answer. His hand simply found Kaeya’s back, his fingers shaping themselves subtly against the muscle beneath the fabric. The pressure was firm enough to guide him, gentle enough to resemble a caress. The touch lasted less than a second, yet it branded him with heat — the kind that sears through fabric, through skin, and marks a man as only truly painful things can.
The rest of the day passed peacefully. Or at least as peacefully as an anxious mind could allow. It had been so long since Kaeya felt outside of himself, a foreigner in his own skin. The weight of regret seemed to grow heavier with every hour, until he found himself yearning for tomorrow with something close to desperation. For the sake of what remained of his dignity, he swore he would avoid Angel’s Share for weeks.
Despite Kaveh's insistence that it would be more pleasant to leave the following morning, Kaeya maintained that he and Diluc were perfectly capable of traveling by night, ensuring both their own safety and that of the coachman.
“If you insist…” Kaveh finally conceded.
He left with a tight hug, leaving Kaeya with a bag full of tourist trinkets and promises of letters. For a moment, his friendliness stirred a pang of regret in Kaeya; that he had ever dared to feel envy toward this man, jealous of the very relationship he himself had once wished for. Wow, he thought to himself, his heart a tangled knot of conflicting emotions.
Pathetic.
He jolted when Diluc suddenly approached, his quiet step slicing through Kaeya’s melancholic haze.
“I heard the port has night attractions.”
Sumeru's night climate was the complete opposite of its daytime self. The winds, once warm and laden with the scent of spices, were now cold and biting, raising goosebumps on the skin and carrying the heavy moisture from the nearby river. The freshwater connecting the small towns evaporated in the chill air, leaving a veil of dew over everything. Kaeya felt — and undoubtedly looked — like a mess. His blue hair, usually immaculate, was tousled, stray strands clinging to his damp cheek. With an irritated gesture, he brushed them aside and turned to Diluc.
As expected, the young Master Ragnvindr was impeccable. His red curls fell over his forehead in a carefully careless way, framing his noble features like a perfect picture. His dark overcoat swayed elegantly with the breeze, as if even the wind conspired in his favor.
“Is that so?” Kaeya murmured.
He had apparently not taken the bait for further conversation, for when he mentioned the potential cost of the caravans and possible routes for the return home, Diluc merely scoffed.
“Wouldn’t you like to see it, Sir Kaeya?”
“Well, I…”
His eyebrows furrowed. Perhaps it was that stubborn inflection, that mix of exasperation and... something else, something that sounded almost like a disguised plea. Whatever it was, it made Kaeya, for the first time that night, choose raw honesty.
“I thought it’d be better if we left.”
Diluc tilted his head, thoughtful.
“You want to leave?”
“I…” Kaeya began, but frustration welled up in him. He searched Diluc’s face, desperate for any hint — any clue — to decode this behavior.
What he found instead was a small, ironic smirk. As if Diluc were enjoying a private joke at his expense.
"Well. I thought you would like to leave. Believe me, I wouldn't be offended if you were feeling bored."
By the Seven, Diluc rolled his eyes at him. It was such a youthful, exasperated, familiar gesture that it hit Kaeya like a punch to the gut.
"Kaeya" and his name sounded strangely tender on the other's lips, "you should hold your own company in higher esteem. Or mine, at the very least. The night is just beginning. I know how much you enjoy these summer festivities."
For Kaeya, Diluc’s words were so utterly unbelievable that, for a moment, he wondered if the night wind had played tricks on his ears. Diluc was actually suggesting that he enjoyed Kaeya’s company — and not only that, but that he was willing to keep it a little longer?
“You…”
Heat rushed to Kaeya’s face, a wave so sudden and intense that the cool night became irrelevant. The great Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, a master of manipulation and sharp words, was reduced to a stunned silence and broken sentences.
Diluc laughed at him. To Kaeya, seeing that expression of genuine amusement lighting up the usually severe features was disconcerting. Those crimson eyes, devoid of any shadow of irritation, shone with quiet humor as he watched him, visibly appreciating the effect his words had caused.
Not knowing what else to do, Kaeya fell back on what he knew best.
"What an unexpected advance, Master Diluc. Your night must truly be a mess for you to resort to creative flattery. Seriously, a little more, and you might have convinced me of your interest."
He crossed his arms, trying to project an air of nonchalance, but the stubborn flush on his face betrayed him.
Unfortunately, his efforts to maintain composure were useless, as Diluc didn't even blink. Instead of engaging in their usual verbal sparring, he simply held out his hand.
"The time for debates is over. You should be aware, Sir Kaeya, that not every situation can be escaped with a few hostile words. Anyway," He didn't allow any protest to be uttered. "the spices won't buy themselves. Come. They say the twenty-second hour market attracts the best merchants in Sumeru. It would be a shame to miss it."
Kaeya looked at Diluc's hand, then at the face of the man he had once known better than his own, who now seemed like a fascinating stranger wearing familiar skin. Every fiber of his being, trained for suspicion and self-preservation, screamed for him to recoil, to turn around and bury that dangerous vulnerability under layers of sarcasm and alcohol. But another impulse, weaker, long dormant and deeply buried, whispered a reckless question: What if?
What if Diluc truly wanted him around, if only for this one night? The man was not known for games or silly lies. Even with his excessive pride, honesty was like a second skin to him.
With an almost inaudible sigh, Kaeya let his arms fall. His hand, slightly trembling, rose and slid into Diluc's. Almost immediately, Diluc laced their fingers together in a way that made his heart race. Then, without another word, he turned and gently pulled him forward. Kaeya, with a strange tightness in his chest, allowed himself to be led.
Diluc led them through side alleys lit by paper lanterns, away from the main square, until the pungent aroma of cinnamon, cardamom, and turmeric began to dominate the night air. Stalls of colorful fabrics swayed gently on the corners. The gold of Sumeru glimmered under the lamplight — delicate statues, intricate jewelry, tins of incense sending spirals of perfumed smoke to mingle with the scent of freshwater.
Children ran across the cobblestone floors, racing up and down the long ramps. Some leaned over the arches of the buildings, laughing and playing, while others settled quietly with their families near the river. There, the harbor opened up, a vast black mirror dotted with the shimmering reflections of hundreds of small lanterns rising into the sky, carried by children's hands. They were like a swarm of golden fireflies, strongly reminiscent of the wish lanterns of Liyue.
For a moment, Kaeya could almost imagine the familiar peaks of Mount Tianheng on the horizon instead of the exotic silhouettes of Sumeru's palms and temples.
The cold night air was cut by the heavy, sweet perfume of roses blooming in lush clusters along the pathway. The intoxicating scent mingled with the smell of street food. Despite this, Kaeya could barely focus on the stalls or the lanterns; his awareness was hyper-focused on Diluc and on how, despite the chill that made his free fingers tingle and the wind that played with his hair, the palm of his hand interlaced with Diluc's was like a furnace — a consistent warmth that seemed to radiate throughout his entire body, keeping him anchored and, against all his expectations, deeply comfortable.
For his second — or third, or fourth — surprise of the day, it was Diluc who carried the conversation. Unlike when he was with Kaveh, he kept his comments flowing, with fewer pauses and not a single scowl on his courteous face. He entertained Kaeya with random purchases, mentions of local facts, and light commentary.
Almost to match the tone of the conversation, he later guided him away from the main bustle toward a lonely bench by the river. The dark water whispered quietly against the wooden pillars of the dock, and small fishing boats and canoes swayed gently, their stern lanterns flickering as they ventured downstream, disappearing into the night's darkness.
Kaeya sat down, his hand finally — and somewhat reluctantly — releasing Diluc's. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the points of light dance on the water, his mind distant, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions.
It was in this moment of distraction that he felt a touch in his hair.
Diluc's fingers brushed away a strand of blue hair the wind had blown onto his forehead. The movement was incredibly gentle, a brief, innocent brush of knuckles against his temple that stole his breath. Kaeya turned his head slowly, his eyes wide with disbelief, to meet Diluc's gaze.
"You had a leaf there," he explained. "Are you alright?"
The question seemed particularly outrageous to Kaeya. For a moment, he considered raising the wall of sarcasm, saying something cutting about how Master Ragnvindr was particularly attentive to insignificant details tonight!
Fortunately, the residual warmth of Diluc's fingers on his skin and the sweet weight of nostalgia in the air were stronger.
"Strangely, yes," he admitted. He looked at the river, avoiding the scarlet eyes he could feel burning into his profile. "In fact, I feel… peculiar. For a moment, it's as if I've traveled back in time. As if we were still..."
Diluc didn't press him. The sound of distant voices from the market and the water lapping against the docks filled the gap.
"As if we were kids again," Kaeya finally finished.
"Why?"
Kaeya risked a glance at him. The serious, yet open, expression encouraged him.
"Do you remember that time we practically lived in our pretend worlds? The puppets, the elaborate stories..."
The corner of Diluc's mouth moved almost imperceptibly.
"I remember. You were a creative tyrant. You demanded I follow increasingly complex scripts. It was more exhausting than my father's cavalry training."
"And you followed them!" Kaeya laughed, the sound coming out a bit shaky, though real. The memory was vivid in his head. "I remember us running away from our lessons, hiding in the stables or under the bed to play."
"Your adventures always involved some imaginary danger that could only be defeated with a wooden sword and a snack stolen from the kitchen," Diluc added, and now there was a real note of fondness in his voice, an undercurrent of affection that disarmed Kaeya completely. "Miss Adelinde was always looking for us."
They sat in silence for a moment, wrapped in the softness of the memories.
It was Diluc who broke the peace, his voice introspective.
"Sometimes, I feel like doing that again."
Kaeya, lulled by the moment, took the bait with a light, ironic tone.
"What? The pretend games? I think we're already kind of doing that."
Diluc turned his head to look at him fully. The lantern light reflected in his serious eyes, and there was no trace of playfulness on his face.
"No," he said, his voice low and suddenly profound. "Not the pretend part."
Kaeya's ironic lightness evaporated, leaving him facing the raw intensity in Diluc's gaze. He felt a chill run down his spine, followed by a wave of nervousness that made his fingers tremble.
"So... what then? Skipping lessons? The stolen snacks? Please be specific; my memory is a little foggy."
He forced a tense smile, hoping Diluc would pull back, that he would laugh at the weak joke and break the unbearable tension.
But he didn't laugh. Instead, his serious gaze softened with a spark of something so profound it made Kaeya's breath catch.
Silently, Diluc leaned to the side, his movements calm. He plucked a single Sumeru rose from a nearby flowerbed, its color a lilac so deep it seemed almost black under the night sky. Kaeya sat motionless, watching, completely unable to process what was happening. Diluc turned back to him and, with unexpected gentleness, moved to carefully tuck it behind his ear, weaving the stem between the strands of his hair.
"Your doll," he said, his voice a husky whisper. "He wore a rose like this."
He pulled his hand back, but not far, his fingers now hovering in the air between them, as if magnetized by the proximity of Kaeya's skin.
"I confess I don't remember my own cloth doll very well. But I remember perfectly what he did."
Before Kaeya could even attempt to form a response, the same hand that had placed the rose moved again. This time, Diluc’s fingers, rough with calluses yet impossibly gentle in their touch, caressed his cheek. The tips traced along his jawline, and despite the lightness of it, Kaeya shuddered violently. His eyes widened, pupils blown with disbelief and with a sudden, overwhelming longing.
“Luc…”
Instinctively, his own hand flew up to grasp Diluc’s wrist, though his fingers didn’t tighten to push him away. On the contrary—they curled there, feeling the rapid pulse thundering beneath Diluc’s skin. A rhythm that echoed his own.
“I’ve been looking for an excuse to do this,” Diluc confessed, his voice even lower now, laced with a vulnerability Kaeya had never, in even his most optimistic realities, imagined hearing from him. “Since I came home three years ago. Every day. Even when I refused to accept it myself.”
Kaeya couldn’t breathe. The world had narrowed to the touch of Diluc’s hand, the scent of the rose in his hair, the sound of water flowing beside them. All the fear, all the distrust, every carefully assembled brick of his internal walls seemed to be crumbling, one by one.
Diluc leaned forward — just slightly — enough for Kaeya to feel the warm brush of his breath against his lips. His eyes, intense and solemn, searched his.
“May I?”
Kaeya’s mind, always so sharp, had short-circuited completely. As always, Diluc had the talent of reducing him to a miserable mess; a storm of emotions, a detonation of feelings so violent they felt almost tangible.
This time, instead of humiliating himself with stuttered words and broken sentences, he chose to act. With a sharp, desperate tug on Diluc’s collar, he erased the last bit of distance between them.
It wasn’t a graceful kiss. It was clumsy, rushed by panic and blind yearning. Kaeya simply collided with him, his eyes squeezed shut, his entire body pulled taut like a bowstring.
Diluc jerked back a fraction, startled by the suddenness of it. A small, muffled sound escaped him. Then his body relaxed.
He was laughing. Again. Low and deep, genuinely joyful.
Kaeya almost fainted, but then Diluc decided to take control, and Kaeya’s mind lit up like a flare.
His hands left Kaeya’s wrist only to rise and frame his face, holding him with a firmness that was both desperate and unbelievably tender. His thumbs stroked Kaeya’s cheeks as he tilted his head, his lips moving slow and deep, as though savoring a rare wine he had waited his entire life to taste.
Kaeya went perfectly still, save for the uncontrollable tremor that coursed through his body. A swarm of butterflies exploded in his stomach, so intense and youthful it robbed him of the rest of his breath. He was shocked. Overwhelmed. And profoundly, irrevocably happy.
Diluc was the one who finally broke the kiss, though he didn’t move far. His forehead rested against Kaeya’s, his breath unsteady and mingling with Kaeya’s own. His eyes, now dark with desire, held an affection so raw it made Kaeya’s heart ache.
“You’re so clever, Kae,” he murmured. His thumbs kept stroking Kaeya’s cheekbones. “But by the Seven, you can be unbelievably dense sometimes.”
“Don’t judge me for that! You’re the strange one. You can never be direct. Always favoring your old-fashioned eccentricities.”
“Well, that sounds like an echo of your own habits. Except you’re more theatrical.” Diluc paused, then shook his head. “Maybe we’re both idiots.”
He smiled — a small, genuine smile, tinged with a tired kind of wonder. Then his hand slid to the back of Kaeya’s neck, gently guiding him into the crook of his shoulder for an awkward embrace.
“It took me three years to get close enough to do this. To…” He hesitated again, searching for the right words. “To use your own phrasing: to show you I wouldn’t mind pretending with you for the rest of my life, if that were the only way to have you close again.”
Kaeya pulled back just enough to meet Diluc’s eyes. The mask of confidence he had crafted so diligently was fractured, allowing vulnerability to seep through.
“That is… quite a commitment, Master Diluc.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, a whisper loaded with skepticism and hope. “You… you really want this? They’re not just other feelings — darker ones — speaking louder? Because I—” He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Because it would be very, very unpleasant if you changed your mind after this.”
It was the barest truth he could offer. An admission that the boy who once believed in ragdoll promises and young lovers’ vows was still inside him.
Diluc didn’t hesitate, nor did he smile to soften the tension. Instead, he lifted his hand and—with a gesture entirely inappropriate for a man of his stature and age, yet utterly perfect for him—lightly touched the single rose petal still resting in Kaeya’s hair.
Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Kaeya’s forehead. So pure it made Kaeya’s eye sting.
“I’m not changing my mind. It took me too long to get here. Cost me far too many sleepless nights and embarrassing thoughts. I won’t back out.”
The tension in Kaeya’s shoulders dissolved. A trembling breath left him, and he let his forehead drop once more onto Diluc’s shoulder, his body finally surrendering to the truth of it.
They stayed like that for a time they couldn’t measure, tangled together on the bench by the riverbank while lanterns drifted silently upward toward the stars. And the world, at last, made sense.
The pretending was over.
What began now, under the night sky of Sumeru, was infinitely more fragile, more terrifying, and more real than anything their ragdolls could have ever acted out.
And for the first time in many years, Kaeya allowed himself to believe it might be true.