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Summary
“I did not expect to see you work as the Starshyna’s messenger boy,” Varka said with a relaxed, almost all-knowing smile. “What happened to Illuga?”
“Nothing,” Flins said. “The Starshyna you might try to steal him away from the Ratniki. It is more appropriate if I come instead.”
Varka had to find something funny in Flins’s half-truth, laughing first and then tapping his chin pensively. “Is he not afraid of me trying to steal you away? I’ll say, it seems like his judgment isn’t as sharp as he’d want it to be.”
Varka was a very touch-oriented person. Always clapping shoulders, patting backs, or holding onto his friends’ arms when he laughed too hard. Flins wanted to feel that for himself.
But when he had it, it felt shallow. He missed the lingering touches, their feet playing under the table, their hands gravitating towards one another. He wanted Varka to hold him and never let go.
It was a lot to ask because Varka did not belong to the graveyard or to Nod-Krai. He belonged to his family back in Mondstadt, whom he had never spoken to Flins about.
Because for the first time, it was Flins who was temporary—not the other way around.