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It rains the day Lohen is put in solitary confinement.
He lies on the bed sideways, legs dangling off the edge, an arm draped over his eyes. The white noise washes over him. The wounds on his body have been seen to, largely by Cardinal Seamus who had frowned at him the entire time, looking at him like he was the dirt at the bottom of his shoes. It was the most contempt he'd received from the man since the time Lohen broke ranks and came back to camp covered in blood and ichor from slaying his way through the horde of wild hunt alone.
And like last time, the man still did a thorough job regardless of his unvoiced personal opinions on Lohen. Barely a scratch is left on his skin, barring some scars and redness from the deeper wounds. Cardinal Seamus' healing magic is the most advanced out of all the Vision wielders in the Church of Favonius. So much so, that when Varka was planning the expedition, there was no question who would join as a medic.
It’s a shame, though.
If the good Cardinal were just a bit less competent, maybe Lohen would have something else to focus on. Pain anchors him, would have made him feel less terrible—less prone to boredom as he waits for his verdict.
Lohen doesn't know how long he lies there. The rain builds up and clears away. The sun sinks, and darkness blankets the room. Then it rains again.
At some point he must have fallen asleep, because he startles awake when a knock sounds. It is light, though. Just once. Followed by a painfully familiar voice.
“Lohen,” says the person behind the door. “May I come in?”
It's ridiculous, he thinks, to ask for permission. Lohen is incarcerated after all, no matter how comfortable his prison is, and the man on the other side, is essentially, his incarcerator. His judge. His boss. Whatever.
“Yeah, sure,” says Lohen all the same, voice a little hoarse from sleep and unuse. “Come in, Grand Master.”
A pause. Then the door swings open.
Varka walks in. His gait is even and slow as if he's trying not to scare off Timmy’s skittish pigeons.
Lohen gets up slightly, an elbow supporting his weight, but decides not to bother with it when he sees Varka’s somber expression. Oh hell. He lets himself fall to the bed again, too tired to care.
“Lohen,” says Varka, “you okay?” His brow is furrowed. His face obstructs Lohen’s view of the ceiling as he leans over the bed a little, bending at the waist.
Lohen's usual default mode to that sort of question is to answer flippantly. Now too, the response sits at the tip of his tongue, but he pauses before uttering it.
“Been better,” says Lohen instead.
Varka’s expression softens. “Long day, huh?”
“You can say that.”
The bed dips beside Lohen. Varka’s body heat is suddenly palpable as he sits close.
“Lohen.” Varka’s large palm covers his forehead, swiping Lohen’s hair back. “Can I check on you?”
“I’m fine. Your dear Cardinal Seamus made sure I was alive and well before leaving the clinic.”
Lohen didn’t know much that happened subsequent to him passing out. The horde of augmented monsters did a number on him, and he really did mean it when he told the Traveler that the fight took a lot out of him. He remembered spending half the trek back to Mondstadt on Varka’s back, drifting off between sleep of exhaustion and from the injuries he sustained in the fight. The rest was blurry, until Varka dropped him off at the clinic, leaving only after he made sure Lohen was seen to.
“Indulge me,” says Varka.
“If you want to see me naked, you could have just said so, old man,” says Lohen.
“Lohen…” Varka’s hand moves to his cheek, thumb resting just below his eye.
Lohen sighs. He scoots forward until his dangling legs touch the floor, and stands up abruptly. Then he turns to face Varka, stepping into the space in between Varka’s legs. “Sure,” he says. “How do you want me?”
“Unharmed, for one,” says Varka.
Lohen huffs. His capelet and armor were long gone, from the moment he was escorted to the room, actually. Those were the first things he took off his body. So now, as Varka grabs Lohen’s waist, he cursorily unbuttons his shirt.
Varka knows where Lohen hides his arsenals, and as Lohen works over the buttons of his shirt, Varka pulls his hidden weapons off, one by one, leaving them to clatter noisily against the floor. Daggers, concealed in the outer seams of his pants, high up near the waist — the pants were specially designed by Albedo to fit Lohen’s fighting style, and Varka was the one who had to sign the approval for his request. A knuckle duster, stored deep inside his left pocket. It is rarely used, but Lohen still likes to have it. A last resort of a sort, because Lohen prefers to fight with a polearm, then daggers next, to add the element of surprise. Fist fights have never been his preference. Lohen knows his own strength. He relies more on agility and unpredictability, rather than sheer force. Unlike Varka.
Taking the man’s claymore with his polearm rattles his frame, more often than not, and Lohen has learned that it’s better to avoid his hits unless absolutely necessary from day one of sparring with Varka.
Varka smooths his palm down Lohen’s thigh, stopping at the top of his boot to pull out another small knife. Then he unlatches the buckles, peels down the leather over one knee. Lohen lifts his leg, resting his foot on the slice of bed in between Varka’s leg to make it easier for the man.
At this point, he’s done undressing the upper part of his body—and when Varka’s done with his other boot, and yet another knife, Lohen closes in.
He holds both sides of Varka’s jaws, tilting the man’s head up.
Varka’s blue eyes always catch him off guard. Lohen used to not like it, when Varka sized him up with that gaze. But as time went on, Lohen craved it. He wants Varka to always look at him, chasing him with his eyes, placing Lohen in the center of his regard. It is, he knows, a dangerous want.
What’s surprising to him is that Varka does indulge him. Cardinal Seamus and Anselm hate Lohen for it. Varka’s blatant favoritism has not gone unnoticed, it seems. But the man himself doesn’t seem to care much.
Or… maybe it’s not that for them. Maybe it’s because he tampered with Cardinal Seamus’ food once, testing the veracity of the man’s claim about his spice tolerance. As for Anselm, well—let’s just not go into it.
Lohen smiles, amused at the memory of Seamus’ red face. He leans down to kiss Varka on the mouth lightly. Varka is so tall that even while he’s sitting and Lohen standing before him, he doesn’t have to lean in all that much.
“I’m fine. As much as he hates me, Cardinal Seamus still did a good job,” says Lohen. He points to the pinkish patch of skin, a rather nasty stab from a Geo Vishap’s flying spike that lodged quite deep, only missing his internal organs by degrees. “See? Like new.”
Varka inhales sharply. Rough palm rubs over the spot, and Lohen tries not to flinch, not because of the pain, but because he’s always ticklish. Varka follows that touch with his lips. He skims Lohen’s skin gently.
“Unharmed, and staying where I can protect you, for another,” says Varka as he leans back, continuing what he said just a little while ago.
He slides his hands up Lohen’s torso, then shoulder, then neck, and as he reaches Lohen’s face, he pulls Lohen in for a kiss by his nape. The kiss is so tender that it makes something in Lohen’s chest ache.
“That would rather defeat the purpose of being a knight myself, huh?” says Lohen.
“Believe me, I know,” says Varka. “I trust in your ability. I trust you to come back to me whole,” he pauses, “but when I saw you lying on the ground like that, I couldn’t help but fear the worst.”
Lohen tilts his head. Instead of answering, he drops down to sit on Varka’s lap. The crook between Varka's neck and shoulder fits him, as always. Lohen presses his face there, taking comfort in the warmth of Varka’s skin, breathing in the slightly sweaty scent and the musk that he knows belongs to Varka alone. He circles his arm around the man’s torso and feels Varka doing the same to him.
They stay like that for a moment.
The rain outside builds up and up, but all Lohen can hear is Varka’s breathing. Warmth blooms inside his chest. It isn’t hard to admit that he is in love with Varka, and with Varka’s personality, safe to say... he let Lohen know once he’s certain of Lohen. It still took many years, sure. It wasn’t easy for Varka to let himself go and finally let Lohen into his bed — into his life. Lohen thinks he understands, though he can’t say he agrees with the sentiment.
Whatever. It’s behind them now.
Lohen stirs first.
He sits back, and Varka steadies him with his arms around Lohen. “So any updates about my punishment?”
Varka drops a kiss on his forehead. He hums before answering. “Not yet. I took myself off making the decision, in any case. I don’t think I can be objective.”
Lohen snorts and bites his jaw playfully. “Isn’t that too late, now? You’ve let me get away with too many things.”
“Rascal,” chides Varka, though he doesn’t push Lohen off, and Lohen takes that as an encouragement to continue, he latches on to a patch of skin near the collar of Varka’s shirt, and sucks a mark there. “This is different, and you know how.”
Lohen doesn’t. Not really. Is it because of Ursa? Or the connection with Eroch? Or because of the severity of Lohen’s unknightly conduct this time? Or maybe, all of them?
Still, he kisses Varka’s jaw.
“You know? It’s quite lucky for me already that the Master of Knights did not put me in the brig,” says Lohen.
Varka swipes his palm over the back of Lohen’s head. “I guess she knows that I would visit you and stay with you, and that would be the talk of the town.”
“Hmmm, maybe.” Lohen pulls Varka in for another kiss. He savors it. Varka tastes like dandelion wine, probably had a few drinks before he came to see Lohen. It is never Lohen’s drink of choice. He prefers non alcoholic apple cider by far. But on Varka, he enjoys it. He licks deep into Varka’s palate, chasing the taste.
When the kiss ends eventually, against Varka’s lips, he says, “If I’m dismissed, you have to marry me. I’d rather be your house husband than come back to live with my parents.”
Varka pauses. He looks down at Lohen. Lower lip cherry red where Lohen has bitten him.
“You’d want that?” Varka asks. A little disbelief colors his tone.
“Why not? There are no rules against fraternization within the ranks, sure. But with me off your chain of command, that would make it easier, right?” says Lohen, facing Varka’s blue, blue eyes. “I can be an adventurer, just like I used to be, and this time I won’t have to worry about money and take only the commissions that I want to do, when I want to, because you’re rich as fuck, hm?”
Varka huffs. “Cyrus would love to have you back, probably.”
“Hmm, is that a yes then?”
“If you want to be my trophy husband, then who am I to say no?”
Lohen laughs brightly. “Well, that settles it.”
Lohen says those words half in spontaneity and half in jest. But unexpectedly, there was a metaphorical weight lifting off his shoulders when Varka said yes. It is, Lohen realizes belatedly, something that had been bothering him. Another thing that had put him in anxiety. Losing his position as a knight, losing the man he has called family for the better part of his life, more than his own real family. Losing Varka on top of that would be… something.
Lohen rests his head against Varka’s shoulder again.
It isn’t long though, before Varka shifts them both. More than strong enough to bodily move Lohen along with him, until they both settle on the bed. Lohen is on top of him, still with his face against the crook of Varka’s neck. Without his weapons and boots and shirt, it certainly feels more comfortable. If anything is to happen to him, he knows Varka is there.
The strongest mortal in Teyvat. The knight chosen by Lupus Boreas. Someone who can call Barbatos a friend. The person that will leave an indelible record in the history of Monstadt.
He is destined for bigger things, despite what the man said about himself.
He is definitely unlike Lohen in that regard.
Lohen would have envied him, probably. But now, after he had a taste of temptation, of power that might not be his to control and paid the bitter price for it aplenty. Lohen thinks he can be satisfied to stay as he is.
To be limited by his mortality.
If he were to grow stronger, then it would be because he put in the effort to be.
“How long do you think we have until Jean comes knocking with my verdict?” asks Lohen.
“It’s pretty late,” says Varka.
“Hmmm, probably tomorrow morning, then?”
“Maybe.”
“Plenty of time then.” Lohen grins. He crawls down Varka’s body. “Enough to show you what this trophy husband can do.”