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you gave up hoping a long time for him to look back at you. whatever made you feel lighter, then. you closed your eyes and counted to three and envisioned yellow tulips and carnations and baby’s breath until it felt like leaves were growing at the edges of your vision. you swerved past the bars, going to find the grand library instead. you dropped money at wagner's bench for your shoddy little knives, pointedly ignoring the claymores hung up proudly like the head of an elk atop a fireplace. anything to quell that man’s effect on you. yearning was for sighing princesses in towers and dainty maidens dressed in white, not for muddy stained souls and drinkers.
a world without him was missing something or other that wasn’t important to you right now, because thinking about it too much might drag you back into that dungeon you had locked yourself in. occasionally others would notice how detached you were— flora tucking a few extra snowdrops in your bouquet or glory tilting her head at your pathetic tone. but it was all worth it. the spiralling pit of dread in your stomach had lessened, now more of a… gnawing feeling that you could ignore.
“your pile ‘em up.”
you had forgotten yourself, it seemed, and you focused properly. for the past half an hour, you had been staring into the cuihua table in front of you, thinking. a bug trailed along the dark grain, following the lines, before arriving at a knot where it followed it round and round in a circle. ever so gently, you pushed it back to the lines where it was before with a finger. a plate was placed in front of you gently, but you gave sara a puzzled glance.
“i only ordered an omelette.”
“this is from diluc.”
you seized up in your seat without meaning to, brambles wrapping around you and squeezing your bleeding heart so you couldn’t breathe. thorns pricked at your mind and made scarlet constellations over your spirit, your nails bit into your palms like snakes to a mouse, all over his name.
“i don’t want it.”
it took too much for you to force those words past your lips, spitting it out like bile after vomit.
“he said to make you.”
“i don’t want to be made. i’m not ten.”
the last part was a bit unnecessary, evident in how sara winced at it.
“sorry. i’m just a bit on edge. can i just…”
the unspoken plea wasn’t enough to get her to cave.
“can you at least give some a try? i’m not usually this adamant, but it takes quite a bit of product to make one of these, and you know how i can be about waste.”
you couldn’t see past the daffodils blooming across your eyes. she took your silence as assent, and quickly departed before you could say much else. the food sat in front of you. it was gorgeous, objectively— well, as gorgeous as food could get, but still gorgeous— and was certainly a hefty meal. it was slightly daunting, even. you took down one of the steaks, seared to perfection, and cut into it. a dark brown outside gave way to a rosy pink. you lifted the fork to your mouth and sighed, a hand passing over your lips to cover your blissful smile. it practically melted away, tender and meaty and worth triple the omelette you would’ve had.
when you approached sara a while later, apologising again for your curt tone, she only laughed, talking about “food pangs”. you left the square at dusk, the sun dipping below the city walls and tinting everything a pretty lavender. it was oddly peaceful for an evening in mondstadt— soldiers just off patrol usually cheered on their way to the pubs and there was light chatter from those shutting up shop, but it was much more… calm. the walk to your apartment was to be much less adventurous than normal.
he had been waiting at your apartment door for a while. you avoided him at every turn, through something that might remind you of him to literally walking away from him. but you had to talk with him somehow, and he didn’t plan on moving. a finger tapped impatiently on his elbow; what was taking you so long? you didn’t have to do that much, just finish up eating and come back.
the main only reason he got you that meal was because you looked worse for the wear. you had been like a walking corpse, practically dragging your limbs behind you as you walked, barely focused, half-absent at any given moment. not that he himself focused on you, anyways. but you’re usually brighter, or drunker, than this oddly somber version of yourself. even the roses at your window box were a wilting, tangled mess of thorns.
“hm? ah, it’s you.”
he looked away to see you, finally finished from trudging up the hill— and now frozen like a deer in headlights.
“we need to have a conversation, i think.”
“i don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”
your voice sounded hoarse; raspy, even.
“you’re ignoring me. that’s a childish way to deal with anything.”
“you ignored everything. what does that say about you?”
“there’s nothing to ignore.”
his flippant tone made nettles crawl up your back. you felt yourself tense, placing your feet one after the other.
“that’s all you do, diluc. ignore. you ignore your advances, you ignore my advances, you ignore the effects you have on people. you’re no suave gentleman. you’re still just a kid.”
with each syllable you spit out, you take another step to him
“you’ve never been anything more than just a kid, because you never really grew up, did you? children can act mature, can learn how to be quiet, can be anything they have to be, but you see a problem and you just skip past it because it doesn’t concern you. nothing concerns you. that’s what a kid does.”
he bristled, stepping forward himself.
“you’re no better. you try to forget about me by drowning yourself in alcohol and laying with my brother. childish solutions to childish problems.”
“don’t you dare call this childish.”
“if it’s so grown up, why do you refuse to talk about it?”
“i don’t refuse to talk about it. i just refuse to talk to you.”
“i suggest you grow up and start talking about it.”
“i suggest you follow me in, if that’s the case.”
you unlock your door and slip off your shoes, leaving the door open. it only closes when he steps in behind you.
“don’t make yourself too comfortable. we have to talk.”