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Varka had always known Lohen was beautiful.
Alluring, handsome. An exquisite sight, even. Poems were more of Venti’s strength, truly. He was a warrior, not a poet. But for this one Vice Captain of his, Varka tried the very best.
Varka remembered the first time he noticed it. It had been years ago now, an ordinary day of catching the new recruit in the middle of obliterating his enemies. Lohen had been grinning, dangerous, and completely enjoying himself. There was blood on his knuckles and wind in his hair. Yet, despite all that, he had caught Varka staring at him. He had then sent Varka a wink, cheeky, as though daring him to look closer.
The rascal. The very stunning rascal and his sparkling glee—because looking closer Varka eventually did.
There was something about the beauty mark framing Lohen’s right eye like a stray star, something in the dance of his movements amidst fights. Each detail tugged at Varka in a different way. Something about the red glinting within his eyes, too. They called the gemstone 'ruby,' didn't they? But to Varka, the way Lohen’s eyes shone and reflected what he felt inside; the red blazing with mania and gleaming with tenacity? Those were so much more beautiful. Rubies were just dull stones in comparison.
Lohen was beautiful. That was both a fact, or as close as ever to one, and also Varka's most beloved opinion. Even in a city that whispered about what he did with those sharp knives and sharper quirked lips, not a soul could deny it. Lohen was beautiful in blue, in nude, in red; in the red of his enemies' blood, and sometimes, in the blood from his own injuries, which bewitched and worried Varka all the time. The trails of violence that followed him, the half-shocked admiration people gave when his name was spoken, and the fear that undoubtedly rose right after, only seemed to highlight what made him striking.
And, last week, even in the paleness of his skin as he lay strapped to the bed under Barbara's strict order for rest, Varka had still thought him the prettiest thing in his grasp. Varka had kissed his temple and the top of his head, the apples of his cheeks, and the backs of his eyelids. Lohen had smiled, a bit more subdued compared to his usual deranged smiles for enemies or his cheeky ones for teasing Varka. But always, and always, Lohen had been beautiful then.
Now, as he leaned gently on Varka's shoulder with eyes closed, the wind caressing their resting figures beneath the willowy tree—especially now, as Lohen's cheek bloomed in health and rose-colored serenity; the red of him looked absolutely angelic. Varka would have called him heaven-sent despite knowing everything else proving contradictory about his beloved rascal.
"You're quiet," said the angel-like being. Varka arched an eyebrow just as Lohen added, "You're not passed out, are you? I didn't lace our picnic food with poison this time, pinky promise."
Varka snorted in humor. So much for an angel, this man.
"I was just enjoying the peace," and your warmth, Varka replied, "and there you go shattering it with the mention of your hobby."
Lohen's small laugh was precious. Most people only heard the deranged version of it as Lohen drove whatever weapon he had in his hands into an unfortunate enemy. "Oh, really? But don't you also enjoy my hobby, right, Grand Master?" he asked in a sing-song voice.
Varka raised a hand to give Lohen's hair a tussle. A very soft tussle; it might as well have been the breeze. "Shut up, brat. You're lucky I love you," he groused.
Lohen chuckled. Oh, how Varka loves the sound after hearing only his coughs and sickly wheezes nonstop for the last week.
When Lohen looked up, the red in his eyes reflected the warmth of Mondstadt's sunny sky and the affection they had lovingly nurtured for what must have been several lifetimes and in this one life. "Lucky I am, indeed,” he said, “I even got the Grand Master as my personal healer and caretaker, too."
Varka hummed in response, remembering. Lohen didn't get sick easily. In fact, Varka couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him confined to a bed before the Dragonspine rescue. One frozen lake, one blizzard, and several days of terrifyingly high fever later, Varka had become intimately acquainted with every cough and shiver his lover could produce.
Jean had practically thrown paperwork at someone else when Varka refused to leave Lohen's side. Even Venti had dropped by to chase away the lingering chill with a song. That was how bad it had gotten, really. No one in Mondstadt had questioned Varka abandoning paperwork for a week straight.
Now that Lohen was finally warm again, Varka intended to keep him firmly under the sun whenever possible. So there they were with a small picnic date, cuddling under the great tree in Windrise.
Varka's answering grin was just as warm when he finally replied with: "You're mine to take care of.” Mine to love. Mine to embrace. Mine to cherish.
Mine, always.
The word settled heavily in his chest.
There had been a moment. Just one brief and terrible moment when Albedo stood in his office describing frozen water and blinding snow, when the alchemist mentioned in detached details how he arrived late but in time to see Lohen crawling out of the lake on his own, all fours, and his cryo vision keeping him alive—that one moment, Varka had wondered whether he would ever hear Lohen laugh again.
He had hated that feeling. Hated how helpless it made him feel. Hated the sight of Lohen shivering beneath blankets. Hated every cough.
Lohen, of course, had laughed at him for fussing.
He was laughing now, too. A small, merry chuckle. "Sappy old man."
"Your sappy old man. Yours,” said Varka. The words stumbled out of his heart like a vow.
Lohen's smile softened. "You're still worried."
Varka snorted. "You fell into a frozen lake."
"And survived."
"Barely." Varka gave his lover an unimpressed look.
"Varka."
Lohen moved then, soft smile directly in front of Varka’s lips. His eyes glowed warm instead of fever-bright. There was color in his cheeks again.
Beautiful. Always beautiful.
But right now, sitting beneath the tree and smiling at him with that ridiculous softness he reserved for no one else, Lohen looked alive.
Varka thought that was his favorite look of all.
"I like the sound of that,” Lohen continued softly. “Mine and yours.” Yours to worry about. Yours to keep safe. Yours to go home to.
Everything, yours.
When Lohen's hand came up to cup his jaw, Varka nuzzled it with familiarity and intimacy only reserved for this one person. “Good.”
The corner of Lohen’s lips quirked up in teasing. “Like a puppy,” he commented cheekily, "Why are you looking at me like that now?"
Varka huffed in happiness. "Because it’s you."
"Still?"
"Still."
The answering smile was unbearably fond, so Varka kissed it. He kissed the curve of Lohen's mouth, slow and unhurried, with all the gratitude he hadn't managed to put into words. The wind stirred around them, gentle as a blessing. Lohen laughed softly against his lips.
Alive. Warm. Here.
Varka kissed him again and again; long, soft, lasting. Until Lohen’s lips bloomed red in love, until Lohen’s lips only remember his name. Beautiful. His.
The wind around them carried with it the words neither of them needed to say aloud. The I love yous. Thank yous. The forever and always.
(”I made excellent soups, though, didn’t I? Lisa gave me the recipe. You recovered faster after you stopped fighting me when I tried to feed you them.”
“I’m more surprised you didn’t use the wrong ingredients. I left some unlabeled bottles and jars of … ’surprises’ in our kitchen. I think some could pass as salt or sugar.”
“…” “What nefarious purposes will you be using them for?”
“Such an accusation. Like I said, ‘surprises’~ Delightful ones, I promise on my honor.”
“…You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”
“Aw, I know you love me only for my body and not for my penchant for keeping you on your toes.”
“Lohen.”
“Varka.”
“Lohen.”
A laugh.
“Go back to napping, will you?”
“Only after I finish feeding you this sandwich as a payback!”)